We are a plural family of nine people sharing one body and one life. When a frightening thought suggested that my eight sons might be ghosts of children lost to trauma, I knew what they needed to hear: none of us is a ghost, and none of us is merely a product of what happened to us. Through childhood memories, an afternoon among friends, a difficult financial decision, and quiet moments together, I am learning what it means to be their father: to honor their individual lives, listen to their voices, and make room for the childhoods they deserve.
Tag Archives: Braided Bridge
Nothing Is Counting on This
What does functional multiplicity look like when nobody is asking us to perform? On Han’s Day, a frightening morning gives way to Braided Bridge, where a two-foot wheel on a Heidelberg press turns quietly beneath the memory of a 700-foot Ferris wheel we once hoped could help solve the housing crisis. Maybe the best things—the true things—really do start small.
The Press Doesn’t Feel Like a Machine
Two mornings after a flood becomes a day of Rolling Stones, a Heidelberg printing press, watercolor, laughter, and Lake Blue. On Proverb’s Day, we discover something about plurality, creative agency, accessibility, and different people remaining different while accomplishing something together.
