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Hello Muddah, Hello Fadduh

So, it is summer, and some of you are probably planning to send your children to camp for the first time. I have three words of advice: Don’t do it. Summer camp is hell. Separation anxiety. Your world turned upside…

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Fare Thee Well, Cassidy

You were just a trembling pup all those years ago, only eight weeks old when we picked you from the litter. We brought you home in a box filled with blankets and put you to bed that first night surrounded…

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Dad on Fire

Okay, here we go, let’s see if we can get you to catch. It’s just a tiny flame at first, gnawing away at the edge of some crumpled newspaper. now the paper feeds the smallest twigs, and pretty soon I’m…

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Car Talk

When I was much younger, I made a promise to my future children.I would never answer their questions with the despised dismissiveness I so commonly received to my own (incessant) inquiries: It’s nothing you need to worry about. Or, Because…

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Grass and the Dad

That’s okay, kids. Go ahead and laugh. I don’t mind. After all, it’s not every day you get to see your dad crawling across the wet lawn on his stomach, soaked and muddy, in full view of the neighbors. Don’t…

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With Love from Planet Boy

Happy Mother's Day! As my gift to you this year, Dena, I am using this valuable DadZone real estate to publish an open letter of appreciation for the wonderful wife and mother that you are. Don't worry. I'm not going…

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Let the Show Begin

If you are reading this column, there is a good chance that you are a dad. Or, maybe you are pondering fatherhood and have landed here hoping for insight. Maybe you are wondering: Do I even belong in the DadZone?…

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To All of You, From All of Us

Yes, yes. We know, we know. Here we are again, right on schedule. Time again for our one-size-fits-all, here-we-are, look-at-us, oh-how-wonderful-we’ve-been-this-year, annual holiday letter. We submit it to you on perfect paper stock, and we have chosen just the right…

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Here’s to Autumn

The English romantic poet John Keats described autumn as the “Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness.” Keats was twenty-four when he wrote “To Autumn,” and then, adhering to the romantic code of conduct, promptly died of consumption. Which explains a…

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All Hail Halloween Dad

So here I am again, standing at the end of the walk with the flashlight in my hand. Up at the front door, past the jack o’ lanterns on the stoop, the monsters, superheroes, and fairy princesses crowd around the…

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