Even though we had phoned my son London’s school to let them know he would be missing three days, we were repeatedly informed (twice on the home phone, once on the cell) that, upon his return, the little scholar would need a letter explaining how his absence was...

I recently took my son London along to the gym. After I had inelegantly completed my routine and he had demoed all the machines that would not land him in traction, we hit the locker room. He was giddy at the exclusive father-son time in an exotic locale where adults...

“Why do you think they’d name this the La Llorona Trail?” my wife Lala asked me as we stepped out of the minivan. The moniker did seem an odd choice given that we were about to walk along the Rio Grande with our two children in tow—two children who had...

It would be hard to believe if you saw me, but I’ve been hitting the gym. The reason I started this relationship has more to do with my back than my gut (though I’m told those two areas are connected) so, while I was travelling recently, I wanted to stay committed to...

Maybe it was the unseasonably warm Manhattan weather and I felt unencumbered in just a sweater and jeans. Perhaps it was the joy I experienced riding the cross-town bus, iPod pumping Ryan Adams (Hell, I still love you, New York) while I watched the different flavors...

“No you don’t!” I had spotted my daughter Poppy mixing a glass of Ovaltine on the kitchen counter. “You’ll spoil this restaurant-quality meal. How many dads make a grilled undercut of pork with a fresh fruit salsa on a school night?” I admit I...

The good thing about being a minivan gangsta is that when a few friends or relatives drop by, you can jam them into your clan van and all drive together like a happy bunch of missionaries. Being stuffed into such close and mobile quarters may cause some minor...

I’ve never been much of a tree hugger, but lately I’m starting to understand the need to weave myself some hemp sandals, let my nails grow long and pretend. You see, last spring my wife Lala somehow fancied herself a gardener and started planting like Johnny...

When my family moved from a tiny beach community on Long Island to suburban Connecticut, one of the words my father couldn’t stop uttering was “liability.” In Point Lookout, our lot size had been a tidy 80-by-100, so as my father looked out over his new...

Maybe it’s our fault for creating a history of elaborately themed parties for his older sister Poppy or for sustaining a Thursday-night ritual in front of CBS at 7 pm, but not so long ago we were walking along the arroyo and my son London declared, “I know what...