The Evenin' Shadders

So the manager of the Blacked Eyed Peas smacked uber-blogger Perez Hilton upside the head and now poor Perez is all upset. Meanwhile, Britney has been seen topless, yet once again; Lindsay is having problems with her girlfriend, and Paris is swapping spit with athletes. Wow. Across the country, page after page and video after video about this group of “stars” continually finds its way to the public. The idea of living vicariously through celebrities has reached a new height here in the good ol’ U S of A and, honestly, it makes me laugh. While the Hiltons and the Lohans are throwing their public tantrums, thousands of people are losing their homes, people are hungry and that weird dude in North Korea keeps trying to take over the world. Of course, part of this is the press’ fault. Photographers stake out nightclubs hoping for a photograph of a drunken starlet, and writers devote countless man hours and thousands of inches of magazine and newspaper space to reprint rumors and trash that ...

I’m alone on the porch. Outside, my kids run and play in the twilight. The smallest, a sports nut, has organized an impromptu neighborhood football game. Their stadium is the street. Their turf, the asphalt. Clay goes long and catches a well thrown football. Not bad for a 10-year-old. On the driveway, my daughter, Sara, hovers with a covey of girls. They giggle and gossip — the conversation is hushed, but if you watch closely, you’ll see Sara throw a quick glance quickly at the tanned blond boy on the skateboard (who manages, easily, to stay just within eyesight). In the distance I can hear the drone of that damned ice cream truck — it plays the same song over and over and over. I like ice cream, but I really would like to deflate this guy’s tires. Thankfully, he bypasses our street, exiting the neighborhood after a long day of pushing frozen treats. It’s warm and the evening is clear. Quietly, Ethan walks his little brother down the street. Zach simply looks around him, taking in the ...

My darling boy: This week you turned 18-months-old. And as I watch you learn and laugh and smile, I’m so grateful… Because you’ve earned each and every day. Your little body carries the scars of two heart surgeries. Scars which serve as a constant reminder of the fear your mother and I faced as you made your way into our world. Of course, since then, you’ve been a delight to your parents, your brothers and sister and the rest of our loud, raucous family. You’ve discovered that chocolate is wonderful and that a well cooked French Fry is worth waiting for. You’ve learned that dogs are great to sleep against and that there’s nothing quite like splashing in the bathtub. I’ve watched you watch your brothers and sister. And I know that you take in and absorb everything they show you. You’re too young to realize it Zach, but living with you and seeing your strength has renewed my faith in God. You reinforce my hope in making the world a better place. Your tiny hands are everywhere. Most often...