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…

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…

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…

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?…

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…

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…

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…

Once upon a time, back-to-school was strictly interpreted to refer to school-aged children. When children went back to school, parents went straight to happy hour. But, in yet another sign that our country is declining into a sad twilight of…

I guess I’ll look back one day and laugh at the whole thing. But right now, sitting here in this spine-twisting camp chair in the middle of all the splashing, yelling, whining and cheering, with whistles screaming and horns blowing…

The jutting chin. The inscrutable eyes. The shock of unkempt hair. It’s all there in the alabaster bust of Ludwig von Beethoven sitting just outside the door to the violin shop. We’d caught his brooding gaze many times before as…