When I was born, my brother David was already in junior high: a 12-year-old boy with glasses, gap teeth, and a sort-of-shag haircut, except not as cool. It was 1973, and his geekiness belied what a heartbreaker he would soon become — after contacts and braces and athletics (plus a better haircut). He already loved nature... Continue Reading →
Today the weather was so much like it was 16 years ago today: clear and crisp and full of promise. That feel of autumn just nodding its head, the school year starting, new beginnings. Still, I was tugged back to one of the hardest days ever, because that's what painful anniversaries do. Three hundred and... Continue Reading →
It's my brother's birthday again, the day each year when I marvel at what age he would be if he hadn't died — nearly 16 years ago now — from a fall while hiking in the Colorado mountains, and I deeply wish he were here so we could celebrate in person. Nevertheless, I always like... Continue Reading →
Me and David on his birthday in 1977 or 1978, I think... Every year on this day, I celebrate the fact my big brother was born. And I mourn the fact that he isn't growing any older, since he died almost 15 years ago. Today, David would have turned 62. Sixty-two! An age that, when... Continue Reading →
You know it’s been a long time when you think it is the 15th anniversary of a death and then realize, counting backwards, that it's actually the 14th, and your brain has done bad math again. It might as well be the 100th, it feels so long. Or the first, all over again, because there's... Continue Reading →
Today marks my big brother David's 60th birthday. I doubt he ever imagined himself at 60, so youthful was his entire sense of being, but I do. I try to picture him every year on March 13, marking the march of time, celebrating that he was born, guessing at how he'd look each year, and... Continue Reading →
I often wonder how my brother David would have reacted to developments in the world had he lived. Would he have joined Facebook? Probably — he would have liked creating photo albums of his trips and carrying on conversations in threads with other athletes. I think Instagram would have delighted him, with his penchant for... Continue Reading →
“When he's free soloing, it's when he feels the most..." Honnold's mother starts saying to the camera and pauses, so that I think something else is coming: ...the most alive, the most excited, the most successful. “It's when he feels the most,” she then reiterates, and leaves it there. “How can you take that away... Continue Reading →
I've been dipping in and out of the PyeongChang Winter Olympics, being loose and cavalier with the performances of people's lives, treating them like any other TV entertainment. Here and there, I catch a figure skater, a snowboarder, a downhill skier, a luger, doing his or her thing. Some of these individuals make me breathless,... Continue Reading →
True Scrawl 