I stumbled across this photo of a Calvin Trillin flyer in Flickr. When I was a kid, my Dad had copies of Trillin's political humor collections lying around, but it wasn't until I was 19 or 20 that I read Trillin on my own. He quickly became one of my favorite writers. His books always felt like home. Trillin, with his wry humor, reminded me of my Dad. And Alice, with her smart practicality seemed a lot like my mother. When Trillin talked about his urban adventures with his two little girls it brought back memories of Saturdays when my Dad would take my sister and I on downtown adventues of our own. We'd go to greasy diners, European coffeeshops, and my Dad would try to entice us into exploring the city's steam tunnels. Joking, of course, but I always took him seriously.
On Saturday I read About Alice, Trillin's latest book and tribute to his late wife. I found it beautifull written and quite moving. I wish I had time to say more. Perhaps later.
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1 comment:
Sounds like your dad gave you great memories.
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