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<p>Some of you may have already seen my post on Facebook so this won’t be news. But one of G3’s short stories has been accepted for publication. It will be in a print journal — which is awesome because he will always be able to keep the book in which his first story appeared — [&hellip;]</p>

<p>Dear Dad, After more than 30 years, I finally got to go on a Boy Scout camping trip and when I got home there was only one person I really wanted to call. If you were alive, I suspect we would have had a very long conversation.&nbsp; I remember very clearly you coming home from [&hellip;]</p>

<p>I was in high school the first time I heard of a book called Animal Farm. I couldn’t tell you which teacher mentioned it, if it was history class or English, my memory is vague. I only remember thinking, “A book about Animals, that sounds stupid.” And so, I didn’t read it until years later [&hellip;]</p>

<p>Dear Dad, Last night, I had a dream about you. I was home and G3 and I were in the middle of a homeschool lesson. He was angry about something I asked him to do — the details are a blur — and we started to fight. Before it could escalate, before I could get [&hellip;]</p>

<p>In late September, G3 went to Block Island with the Boy Scouts. It was his first weekend camping trip without me and Kati and he had a blast. Of course, he was not too happy when he returned to school on Monday and I told him that he should write about the experience. As much [&hellip;]</p>

<p>Dear Dad, On Friday night, Kati walked into G3’s room and found him curled up on his beanbag chair, a blanket pulled up to his chin, and Billy Joel playing softly on the cd player you bought him. When she asked him if he was okay, he responded, “I just miss him so much.” Tears [&hellip;]</p>

<p>G3 continues to amaze and entertain me with his writing. He far surpasses me when it comes to talent and creativity. When I was his age, I was still rebelling against stupid school assignments. I despised writing — all kinds of writing. The concept of doing it for fun was about as appealing as taking [&hellip;]</p>

<p>The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho is one of my favorite novels. I read it years ago shortly after my first trip to Korea. I liked it because I could completely relate to Santiago, the main character. He chose to be a shepherd because he wanted to travel. I chose to teach for the same reason. [&hellip;]</p>

<p>Yesterday was not a good day. Tomorrow it will be exactly 18 months since Dad died. In that time, it has become evident that I can’t seem to catch a break. It’s as if the universe has cast an unbreakable curse over me, a curse ensuring that the dark clouds hovering above are unable to [&hellip;]</p>

<p>Dear Dad, I took G3 pumpkin picking with his friends today. Even though we went to a farm here in New Jersey, a farm you had never been to, it was impossible not to think about you all afternoon. Oh how you used to love when we visited this time of the year. I think [&hellip;]</p>

<p>My neighbor, I will call her Bikini Lady, does nothing all day except lounge in her backyard blasting country music — as if everyone in the neighborhood wishes to hear it — while wearing nothing but a bikini. She lives in a bathing suit, wearing it to do all her chores including folding laundry out [&hellip;]</p>

<p>The idea of students writing essays about what they did over summer vacation has increasing fallen out of favor in schools. For years, while the assignment excited some students, allowing them to relive the more thrilling moments of their summer break and perhaps easing their return to school, it absolutely devastated other students, kids’s whose [&hellip;]</p>

<p>Dear Dad, You always joked that I had a limitless amount of energy, that I could keep going when everyone else was ready to drop. When G3 was born you laughed, “Now you will know what it’s like to have someone push you to the brink of exhaustion.” Well, Dad, I’m sorry to disappoint you, [&hellip;]</p>

<p>Dear Dad, I struggled to get up this morning. The thought of tackling the day completely overwhelmed me. But I couldn’t figure out why my body felt heavier than usual, why my eyes refused to open, why all I wanted to do was go back to sleep. Then I reached for my phone and saw [&hellip;]</p>

<p>Dear Dad, Last weekend, G3 went on his first camping trip with the Boy Scouts. Oh how I wish you were here because you would have been really excited to hear him talk about it. You always enjoyed his enthusiasm about scouting. This trip wasn’t just a plain old camping experience. They went to Block [&hellip;]</p>

<p>Dear Dad, Yesterday was your 50th wedding anniversary. You and Mom were supposed to be on a cruise touring Europe and celebrating. Instead, Mom was with me in Mattituck doing last minute cleaning and packing so that she can sell the house. It’s happening. There is no hope that she will change her mind. All [&hellip;]</p>

<p>I dreamed about Dad last night. It was the first time in ages. I was in Queens cleaning up after the flood, but instead of helping Mom, I was helping Dad. He was wearing black rubber rain boots, boots he never owned, boots that didn’t seem odd until I woke up and realized they didn’t [&hellip;]</p>

<p>Dear Dad, How many Labor Day weekends did I spend at the Mattituck House? How many did G3 spend there? I think — except for the year you were in France, and the first year you were dead — he spent every Labor Day weekend of his young life with you. And what used to [&hellip;]</p>

<p>Dear Dad, Despite the horrible flood, Mom wanted G3 to have one final day at the beach in Mattituck. So, while she stayed in Glendale to continue cleaning the basement, I took G3 back out to Long Island for a day. Since it was going to be his last and he wanted it to be [&hellip;]</p>

<p>Dear Dad, Mom is hurting — physically and emotionally. She is getting hit by too much. This was supposed to be our last weekend in Long Island — our last Labor Day at the beach house. I knew it was going to be hard, but now it’s not even going to happen. Yesterday morning, G3 [&hellip;]</p>