After three weeks of training, a period my classmates and I called Truck U., I had to pass two tests (written and driving) to earn a commercial driver’s license.
Set amid the dark, dingy streets of Boston where the homeless sleep on park benches or regroup in shelters to survive another day, Nick Flynn has one last opportunity to engage his father, a homeless, self-proclaimed novel writer.
Whether you grew up in New Jersey as I did, or the rural Great Plains as did author Lacy M. Johnson, one’s childhood surroundings can’t help but seep into your pores and influence the way you view the world – even if you move many miles away.
At a playground near my apartment in Boston, my children on side-by-side swings, their mother, my ex-wife, pushing our daughter while our son pumps his legs until he is higher than he intended. He asks for help slowing down, then stopping. I catch his legs and hold him steady. He laughs. Let go, he tells…