More Daniel

Daniel has always been Daniel, whether anyone recognized him or not. As our five-year-old son learns to say no, express anger, and tell us what he wants, the rest of us are learning something too: how to create a family in which he never has to become loud in order to matter.

Your Children Are Your Life

A trip to Hayward becomes something more than a meeting: a family moves toward an uncertain future without leaving anyone behind. There is BART, peanut butter and jelly, grace, a new Vincentian home, time together afterward—and a friend who understands something essential: “Your children are your life.”

What Belongs to This Day

For three days, Dad’s sons have been teaching us how to live with an unknown future: Han helped us remain in the unknown, Justus helped us become oriented within it, and Proverb is teaching us how to live there. Sometimes what belongs to the day is not another heroic project to save the future. Sometimes it is cucumber sandwiches, twenty sit-ups, making the bed, turning on Solis’s little lights—and discovering that none of it is nothing.

And Then Saturday Happened

Daniel said no, so we stayed home. What followed wasn’t a therapeutic exercise or something devised for a blog. It was simply Saturday: blueberry waffles with peanut butter, boys needing Daddy, Hilda, quesadillas, an old letter finally sent, an octopus reclaimed, and ordinary family life unfolding because we listened.

Daniel Does Not Need to Become Brave Enough

On the eve of Daniel’s Day, a five-year-old says, “I don’t want to go tomorrow.” What begins as a question about Saturday plans becomes something much deeper: a father learning that his child does not need to become brave enough for tomorrow. Tomorrow needs to become safe enough for his child.

And All Before Breakfast

Before breakfast on Jude’s Day, a night of disturbing dreams opens into questions of belonging, work, therapy, faith, family, and what it means to build a life in which no one has to disappear for the family to survive.