The air that he breathes

On their way to the school bus stop his boys run ahead to an adventure of burnt logs they call "The Fires" beside a huge Australian river red gum stump they clamber up, inventing games.

A Pocketful of Change

I am not asleep, but I pretend I am. Clenching my face, eyes tightly shut and breathing loudly, as a 4-year-old this is my best impression of being asleep. It isn’t a terrible performance, but it is unlikely that I am fooling him. I hear him shuffling in his pocket, the coins weighing it down heavily. The pockets are as deep as his generosity.


“You’ve got to see this,” Sullivan tells me as he unwraps the newsprint from his latest treasure, an unremarkable dessert plate he picked up at the thrift store this afternoon.

My University

“I participated in the book burnings at the university last night!” my brother Peter exclaimed.

“Where books are burned, people will eventually be burned,” I retorted.

We were students at Berlin University. He had joined the Nazi German Student Federation as many students had. The Depression dimmed prospects for employment. Hitler seemed intent on reducing unemployment and dealing with the Depression.