My father died 25 years ago when I was 7 and a half years old. He was a god to me then. Now he is a man partially restored. Not who I needed him to be, not who I wanted him to be but who he was: mere mortal, fallible as them all and my father a human I felt a profound connection with and whose eyes I saw the world through.Read More
What is with the eyes? We just can't look into them and if we do, we like our glances to be fleeting as can be. Last Sunday morning in Paris I went out to watch the city wake, walking with the sun on my face. I walked past a father walking his toddler, I smile. The man looks away.