Fatherhood: Reflections on the last days of summer with my son

Popcorn, beer, and fans in blue surrounded us. Summer sun was beating down; a cool wind comforted us; and the crowd roared when a homerun soared over the back wall.

His face glowed with hope and joy as we sat: My son and I perched in the Bronx. 

He knew that I didn’t like staying for a full game, but he asked me, “Dad, can we stay till the end?” 

Usually, I said no, giving a reason like we needed to get home to do something important. 

But a realization slapped me, hard. And it was this. The only summer I have with my son as a five-year-old is ending. 

“Make the most of it, fool,” I thought to myself. 

Making as many happy memories as I could with him became my aim, doing the things he wanted, even if they went against what I preferred. 

So we stayed. 

The innings were exciting. But witnessing the wonder and excitement in his eyes brought me the greatest joy. My son smiled, cheered, clapped, and laughed. And I couldn’t help but join him.

And I found myself not wanting to leave the game even after the last out. 

But we both left satisfied, hand-in-hand—father and son. 

This pizza will make your life better

Pizza is one of my favorite foods to eat.

So I love it when I find another great place to get a delicious slice.

There is this proper Roman pizza shop on the Upper East Side that I discovered, and I am so thankful that I did.

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How I fight my cravings everyday

Saying that I love bagels, pizza, donuts, and ice cream just doesn’t do it justice. I think about them all of the time, every day. I’m obsessed. I’m thinking about them right now. And I crave them, want them, yearn for them. And they seem to love me too. I can hear them calling to me as I type. Right now, a toasted sesame bagel smothered with scallion cream cheese is shouting my name over and over and over, “John Pa! Get over here, now. You need me!” And the others are always in the background, clambered for my attention, too. And I want to yield. Oh, I do.   

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How New Yorkers react to our five pound baby

New York can be a hard place. People are rushing around you, treating you as if you weren’t human, only something in their way. The bustle can be overwhelming. You can get lost in the shuffle and feel like a number. But living here with a family has been very different, especially with a newborn.

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The Saturday afternoon we lost our son

It was a beautiful Saturday afternoon, and we were in Washington Square Park, the iconic park in downtown Manhattan. The large marshmallow clouds marched in rows over the skyline; there was a slight breeze that brought comfort from the warmth of the sun shining down on the sea of humanity. The fountain was spraying water in the air, while kids danced and frolicked in the water. The landmark arc was white and seemed to glow as it towered over everything and everyone. People were everywhere: around the fountain, on benches, milling around, walking through, watching entertainers, on the grass in bathing suits. Dancers were dancing, musicians were playing, and the audiences were paying. Every creed, color, nationality seemed present. It was a collage of park, people, art, music, city, and nature. It was truly humanity at its best on a beautiful Saturday afternoon. 

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What the crosswalk lady said unsettled me

On our way home from school, a stream of neighborhood children cross at an intersection where a woman with a rich Latin-American accent greets every child by name as she helps them across the street every day. Dulce’s our crosswalk lady.

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One of the greatest challenges for an NYC parent: Preschool

NYC is notorious for being competitive…for everything—even preschool.

That’s right, we aren’t talking about college, Ivy League, Harvard…Nah. I’m talking about the institution where your kids go to play with blocks, take naps, and get milk and cookies.

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