Tagdad

WIN A GOAT FARM

I never thought I’d see another stupefying essay contest to win some real estate. But here we are. And here we go.

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THE PHEASANT DIES AT THE END

When I was 33, my father gave me his shotgun. He was recklessly unconcerned about the consequences of giving his most incompetent offspring a firearm. I thought I should use it. So I headed out to someone’s unused farmland to shoot birds with three Chicago detectives. Continue reading

SCUBA

On June 1st 2006. my dad lost his very one-sided battle with pulmonary fibrosis. Before he died, and since, I’ve been trying to capture my feelings in fiction. I found this short bit looking through old files. Very little of it is fiction. 

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PARANOID PARENTING

by Jeff

When I was nine, I would go to bed with my arms folded neatly on my chest in case I died in my sleep. Continue reading

Working Dad

Readers who know me and read my last post asked if I was maybe just absolutely lying to them. Continue reading