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Point of View

Powder Blue and the Disco Gymferno

That afternoon, we don’t walk into the Disco Dance, we strut in like we’re John F-ing Travolta powering down 86th Street. I toss a couple finger guns at some admiring dads who somehow, foolishly, are wearing regular clothes. Little Bean checks in with her peeps and I see her pointing in my direction, obviously showing her friends how Disco awesome her old man is. No one looks as good as us with the possible exception of Mr. O, the school gym instructor who is also subbing as the dance DJ. READ MORE

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Breath of melancholy

“I can’t do it!” My daughter is shouting from the playground. I look up to discover her hanging nearly upside down from one of the metal spider web domes, vainly trying to right herself. But before I can leap up, two other kids come over and boost her up. Crisis averted. My services, unneeded. READ MORE