Come Home. Love Dad

By: Shelly Reuben

Come Home. Love Dad

Come Home. Love Dad

Introducing Sam Reuben – Inventor, Poet, Husband ... Father

I am writing this as a tribute to benevolence. As an attempt to immortalize sweet eccentricity, masculine sobriety, and the sublime security that results from having had a home. A real home with a mother who expected us to wash and dry the dishes after dinner, a father who cleaned out the gutters and chopped down the tree in the front yard when it died from Dutch Elm disease, and a telephone closet where, tucked between a camel hair coat and a navy wool jacket, we could exchange intimacies with our best friends and write otherwise forgotten telephone numbers on the wall.

I am writing this knowing that on my desk there are plots to be invented, characterizations to be worked out and manuscripts to be edited, but wanting, instead to take off my shoes and feel the cool sand of my childhood wiggling between my toes.

Mostly, though I am writing this because, lately, my father has been popping into my mind, unexpectedly, and insistently.



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