In which a veteran of cultural studies seminars in the 1990's moves into academic administration and finds himself a married suburban father of two. Foucault, plus lawn care. For private comments, I can be reached at deandad at gmail dot com. The opinions expressed here are my own and not those of my employer.
Friday, February 17, 2006
The Tragic Boy
The Boy, in the morning, as The Wife tugged on his pant cuffs so he wouldn’t look like he was dressed for high water:
“I don’t feel like a person when you do that.”
It’s utterly crumpling when a four-year old says that.
