A view from the Arch

St. Louis occupies a kind of in-between territory for me, an anchor for my young and adult lives. It’s the mythical big city of my childhood, where my favorite baseball team played two hours west across the stark cornfields of southern Illinois. Now it’s the smaller weekend destination downstate, but its own divisions seep into my experience in new ways.

Lost and Found

For years I operated under the assumption that I threw it out my old favorite baseball glove. I never once considered it an accident, that I simply lost track of it through moving houses and major life events. But when it suddenly reappeared, it proved me wrong about my own worst habits.

Mr. Sentimental

I’d be worried about my qualifications as a parent if I didn’t get choked up at the sight of my three-year-old’s palm preserved for posterity in purple paint on a piece of construction paper. But I’m surprised that my son is showing that same streak of sentimentality already too.