Jesus. It was supposed to be a simple weekday lunch with my father.
Author: Tony Smith
He mopes onto the northbound Red Line train at Madison.
In 1981 I went to France and left my mark.
I gave my soul a name, Tommy.
In the 1960’s, I went to confession at Saint Joe’s Catholic Church in Libertyville, Illinois.
Ours was a common post-war catholic family. Nine kids, five boys and four girls, bouncing off each other 24/7. We all went to the same mass every Sunday and sucked up a whole pew.
It happened. I got old. Middle age is in the rear view mirror and here I sit an old fart still trying to figure it out.
On a Saturday afternoon in June of 1962, when I was seven years old, I left my hometown without a parent for the first time. That day, my three older brothers and I drove from our house in Libertyville, Illinois to Lake Forest, Illinois.
Sometimes it takes only a few minutes for the world to jerk you from one stage of your life to the next.