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My mother and the men believed that being a good man is an art, and being a bad man is a tragedy, for the world as much as for those who depend on the tragic man in question.
no matter how intently I watched and listened, my mother was often a complete mystery to me.
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Taking care of my mother meant saying nothing to disrupt her fragile optimism,
“Your grandfather’s a good man. Marches to his own drummer, but I like that about him.”
Manhood is mimesis. To be a man, a boy must see a man.
Flaming arrows? Demolition derbies? Pie fights? Dickens sounded both silly and sinister, like a children’s birthday party on a pirate ship.
