Ultimately, Time Is All You Have And

How Many Of The People I Know - Sons And Daughters - Have Intricate Abstract Expressionist Paintings Of Their Mothers, Created Out Of Their Own Emotions, Attitudes, Hands. And How Many Have Only Polaroid Pictures Of Their Fathers.

It Is Not That Fathers Are Better Or Worse, Not That They Are More Loved Or Criticized, But Rather That They Are Viewed With Far Less Intensity. There Is No Philip Roth Or Woody Allen Or Nancy Friday Who Writes About Fathers With A Runaway Excess Of Humor, Horror ... Feeling. Most Of Us Let Our Fathers Off The Hook.

We Continually Want To Unmask Our Heroes As If There Were More To Be Learned From Their Nakedness Than From Their Choice Of Clothing.

We Spend January 1st Walking Through Our Lives, Room By Room, Drawing Up A List Of Work To Be Done, Cracks To Be Patched. Maybe This Year, To Balance The List, We Ought To Walk Through The Rooms Of Our Lives...not Looking For Flaws, But For Potential.

I Have Never Been Especially Impressed By The Heroics Of People Convinced They Are About To Change The World. I Am More Awed By Those Who Struggle To Make One Small Difference.