The Dream


The man’s son is 11 and dreams about a puppy.

He tells the man about his dream one morning. The man is drinking coffee before work, paging through a magazine. He pauses on the perfume ads and traces beautiful people with his eyes. His hair sticks up and his stubbled beard is gray.

His son says, “Every night I dream we are looking at puppies. One of them loves me so much and wants to go home with me. Then I ask you and mom if we can keep it, and you say yes and then I’m so happy. But then I wake up and I realize it was just a dream and I say ‘Oh’, and I just have to get up like every other day.”

The man nods his head and turns the pages of his magazine. Beautiful people have found blue water and sunshine; they put their hands on each other with their eyes closed and they have never known loneliness.

He looks, then, at his son. The boy is smiling, still tuned to the joy of the vision even though there is no puppy and he’s perched here with the man on the cold gray granite surface of this day. How much should he tell his son about what is to come? When is the time to start breaking his son’s heart, just a little, for his own good?

He turns a page. Beautiful people kick water into diamond droplets with the sunshine in their eyes.

“I’ll tell you, son,” the man says and his son’s eyes grow wider and hope flares in them like a beach fire, “that is a good dream.”


Mr. Rogers Helps Me Deal with Terror

What did you think when you heard about the terror attack in Paris today?

Did you react the way I did with anger? Did you feel what I felt: despite yourself— despite your better judgment, despite your expectations of yourself – a welling-up of hatred?

As soon as I opened my browser this morning and learned of the attack, I was exhausted, tired of thinking that this is the world we live in now. I knew I wanted to write something, I knew I had to say something even if only the birds and the rain would hear it.

I opened the Notes app on my phone and started typing what was on my mind in that moment. Here’s what I wrote, look at how full of Us/Them oversimplified thinking it is:

That’s it! I’m done. Done defending their culture.

Why do we have to be sensitive to their culture when their culture is murderous?

I’m not alone in that either. Look at the trending topic #Muslims on Twitter. Here are just four examples from that thread:





The worst of us can bring out the worst in us.

Seeing people giving voice to the hatred that I myself felt, made me realize pretty quickly how misguided that is. I took stock, I wrote this in my Notes app:

No. You can’t dismiss the whole culture because of the acts of a few. The culture is one thing. The crazy people who are inclined to defend the culture with murder are another and a separate thing.

And there are other voices on the #Muslims thread:


It’s all so complex. So hard to know what to think or how to feel. Or is it? What if it’s as simple as this:

These are two bad people doing a bad thing.


But look at these people:


And these people:


And these people:


These are thousands of good people doing good things. Standing up for good things. Standing up for the hurt among us. Standing up for all of us.

The worst of us brings out more good than bad.

Looking at these images of the good among us outnumbering the bad, I was reminded of what Mr. Rogers said. He was counseling on how to help children deal with images of tragedies on the news. He said to tell the children “When something bad happens, always look for the helpers.” When someone inflicts pain, look how many people come out to help ease that pain. Look at the helpers. “Because when you look at the helpers, you’ll know that there’s hope.”

So many helpers. So much good in the world. Even on a day like today. Still so much hope.