Andrew Riutta
March Madness
When I tried to pray this morning, I wasn’t really sure of what to say or ask for. So, for several minutes, I just sat on the edge of the bed, cloudy and numb, bowing my head—not in humility—but raw defeat.
Tomorrow’s my daughter’s twentieth birthday. What could she possibly want amid this modern-day plague and societal breakdown that might be of any actual value to her? A tarot deck to help her navigate her own depths—as well as those of the stars? A flowery scarf to keep them wrapped nicely together? Cash for a couple of full tanks of gas? A shiny phone that can map out all the pockets of the diminishment? Yellow roses? A pound of weed, along with a year’s worth of ramen noodles?
At this point, I’m leaning toward the smoke and groceries. She loves the Beatles, and so I’d also considered adding to her iTunes. But—too many of those songs too easily remind of the depths of the horror we’re now in because they speak so profoundly about the delicate beauty outside this horror. And that wouldn’t be much of a gift.
cold night— with an old pocketknife I stir my instant coffee
About the Author
Andrew Riutta was born and raised in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan. He is a father, chef, and Zamboni operator. His essay “The Myths of Manhood,” from the collection This I Believe: On Fatherhood (Jossey-Bass), was featured on Public Radio International’s Bob Edwards Show in 2012.