I was four when I first encountered Lyndon's freckles. They were spectacular - unlike any freckles I had ever seen - light brown and perfectly round, all the same size, distributed across his nose and cheeks like they had just fallen from the sky and stuck there.
He and his parents were American, but they had been living in Brazil when he was born. ( Read more... )

Any chronicle of the men in my life begins, necessarily, with Ben.
Our mothers have told the story so many times that it feels like memory, and maybe somewhere in my brain there are fragments of the day we met: something about sunlight streaming through the windows of the preschool classroom comes to mind whenever I hear or retell it. In any case, ( Read more... )