Author: Eric Nelson

Children Are (Hopefully) Not Our Future

Is this what all those tutors, lessons, sports, and camps, angst about toys, playtime, socialization and discipline, fights about homework, college prep, lectures about drugs and alcohol were about? Is all the money we pour into our little critters, all that time spent hovering over every detail of their lives, and all that driving — only intended to churn out another child’s personal assistant?

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Divorce Disaster Preparedness, Part I: Duck, Cover, and Hold.

But you know, it just shouldn’t be the role of the people going through the divorce to convince you that their divorce would be okay for you. It isn’t your divorce. It isn’t up to you. You’re not their judge and jury. If you’re their friend, be a friend. If you’re their family, be their family. Maybe you do know better. Good for you. But this is not your moment to play Judge Judy, Dear Abby, Solomon, or Freud. Do everyone a favor and shut the fuck up.

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I Did a Bad, Bad Thing, Part III.

[Part 3 of a series. You should read Part 1 and Part 2 first.] “What’s the matter?” Vince feigned, as Jer stumbled into the room clutching a little piece of white paper and a torn white envelope. “You look awful.”…

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Just Saying “Yes.”

Finally, she asked me something that I didn’t understand in the slightest, and paused to let me answer. My head was swimming. I had no idea — absolutely no idea — what she had said. But it sounded like an open-ended question. She was sitting like a cocker spaniel, head slightly cocked, waiting for me to respond. My mind raced, searching for some slight recognition a word — any word — she had used. Nothing came back.

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The “Gay Gene.”

Is there a “gay gene”? Does it really matter? So, we were having one of those Facebook face-offs the other day, about homosexuality, and the issue of a “gay gene” came up. For us heterosexuals in the discussion, it was…

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Adventures in Surgery IV: Putting the Where in Underwear.

This is the fourth, and finale, in the series, “Adventures in Surgery.” I tried to open my eyes, but could lift my lids only part way. There was Susan. “Oh, Babe!” I exclaimed, delighted and slurring, as if David Coperfield…

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Allen Point: Shooting to Kill

It wasn’t a pretty death. But it seldom is. Kenton lived just up the road from where we moved to Moorelands. We faced Hale’s Passage, and Kenton lived on Horsehead Bay. It was a long ways to go from his…

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