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There comes a time when you have to stop believing in the men you read in your 20s. Miller, Hemingway, Fante, Bukowski—strong writers, bad with women. Not role models. You have to confront the cowardice within you that says hold out for the person that can save you from yourself. That person isn’t out there. There isn’t anyone who can do that. It’s better to make the decision to stay and love someone.
Eli is my five-year old son. He has an older brother, Slade. Slade writes fiction and spends a substantial amount of time on FlipNotes, so he rarely says anything worth quoting. Eli, on the other hand, has unknown goals and will say things that I feel other people could relate to, so I occasionally quote him via Twitter and once on Autostraddle.