To frame my thoughts about A Song for Martin, I painfully recall taking my 90-year-old college professor father to buy a pair of pants. Dad did not believe he needed the pants, but he went along at my insistence. He took the selection into the dressing room. I stood at the door, waiting. Dad emerged with pants in hand and took me to be a salesman. He began to inform me that the store should be ashamed to charge so much for pants like these, and he was not about to buy them. I remember his confusion, something like fright, when I said that I was his son, Edward, and not a salesman. The pain and embarrassment of that moment was shared by us both. Continue reading »
Feb 222010
