When I was a teenager, I got dropped on my head by my skating partner. The wail of the siren was muffled from inside the ambulance. Paramedics pelted me with questions I may or may not have answered correctly. My body and my brain were still in shock.
Read MorePlaying for the New York City Little League championship was a big deal for College Point, my part of Queens. Not much else to cheer about in the summer in 1966. Vietnam protests, transit strike, Yankees mired in last place. The hapless Mets! The Civil Rights Act had passed two years earlier but redlining was still legal.
Read MoreThe rink sounds older at night. Compressors hum behind the boards; edges hiss in tight half-moons; a stick taps twice—code, courtesy, warning. In Kladno, under low municipal light, number 68 leans over a defensive zone draw on the right dot.
Read MoreMay 26th, 2024, my father and I scroll mindlessly on TV and find a Cubs-Cardinals game on ESPN, teams neither of us care about but are broadcast here in the Chicago area. Watching is an easy way to while away the hour between now and dinner. Rain rages outside, and so Wrigley Field is rained out too.
Read MoreThe day Zach asked if we could listen to the song “Perfect Timing” started like most days in my third-hour Grade 11 English class.
“Shut up, Zach,” Caleb barked. “Shut up about ‘Perfect Timing’”.
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