Carol Kirkpatrick, possibly the brightest writer I ever met in a writing group (proof positive being her ability to scribble out a pithy, brilliantly crafted story on the spot) had the additional charm of treating me to an oral history of Brooklyn whenever we walked its streets together. Combining warmth, depth, humor, and subtlety well into her 90s, she will always represent perfectly what I’d like to be when I grow up. My hope is to charm you with this sample of her writing:
Deja Vu
Child rearing. That term jars me profoundly.
It conjures up what is not entirely fantasy: round-up time at the O.K. Corral of human society. There is branding with hot irons, castrating, notching of ears, docking of tails, piercing of nostrils, and slaughter. We can’t omit the barbeque.
All this is done in very ceremonious, celebratory style. Elaborate preparation, great fanfare, ballyhoo, parades.
First days of school, communions, bar and bat mitzvahs, graduations, weddings, christenings, brises…most of our human pageantry has distinctly warlike overtones.
