Even to this day, with kids, a wife and a home of my own, every single phone call with my father ends with the same parting words: “Be careful driving.”
I could call my dad today and tell him I’ve decided to move to a tree house in the forest, where I’ll live off the land and avoid using anything that runs on an engine and the old man would still utter that last line before hanging up.
When I started dating my wife in July 2010, my timing couldn’t have been better.
The Mets were 47-39. While not a bad record, it was the point in the season when my favorite baseball team’s annual slide was set to begin. READ
In 2009, shortly after New York State passed the ill-advised MTA payroll tax, I found myself in a conversation with a campaign staffer for former state Senator Brian Foley. Mr. Foley had voted in favor of the plan — which added a payroll tax to local businesses in an effort to balance the MTA budget — despite concerns from constituents across Suffolk County who felt they were underserved by the agency. READ
My son is spoiled.
I talked a big game before he was born. “Any kid of mine better get used to hearing the word no,” I’d say. “I’m going to limit the TV, the toys and the sweets.”
Then my wife gave birth to him three years ago and he’s been calling the shots ever since.
“The Secretary of War desires me to express his deep regret that your son, Russell M. Penny, was killed in action in defense of his country at Hickham Field, Territory of Hawaii, December Seventh. No remains can be transported to the United States until after termination of hostilities.” READ
Lately, it seems everyone just wants an escape from the election.
Last week, I had been planning a humor column about people posting on Facebook that they couldn’t wait for Election Day to pass so their newsfeeds could return to normal. READ
Shortly before my head hit the pillow at 2 a.m. Wednesday, I scanned Facebook to see how my friends were reacting to the news that Donald Trump would likely be the next president of the United States.
I was in the early stages of a fantasy football draft when I first noticed the code red alert at the top of the television screen: It called for all of Suffolk County to be evacuated.
My first reaction was: “This can’t be true.”