Chủ Nhật trời đẹp tôi dắt hai đứa nhỏ ra công viên chơi. Khi đến công viên Đán gặp thằng bạn cùng lớp. Ba đứa cùng chơi với nhau vui vẻ. Một lúc sau chỉ còn Đán và đứa bạn của nó tung tăng nô đùa. Thằng Đạo thì lại ủ rũ. Tôi hỏi, “Sao con không chưa với hai em?” Nó đáp, “Em Đán quên con rồi.” Tôi cười trả lời, “Em con làm sao quên con được.” Nó nói rằng, “Em Đán lờ đi với con.” Tôi gọi thằng Đán đến và hỏi, “Sao con lờ đi với anh Đạo?” Nó trả lời, “Con không có.” Tôi nói, “Anh muốn chơi với tụi con.” Nó quây qua hỏi anh Đạo, “Anh Đạo chơi với tụi em không?” Đạo dỗi hờn đáp, “Không.” Thế thì thằng em tiếp tục chạy nhảy. Với nét mặc buồn, Đạo quây qua tôi nói, “Em Đán quên con rồi.”

Vài tháng gần đây tôi để ý thấy sự thay đổi trong cảm nghỉ của thằng Đạo. Mỗi khi không được xem iPad hay chơi game nó khóc lên và nói không ai thương nó cả. Những lúc ấy tôi vừa giận lại vừa thấy nó tội nghiệp. Lần nào cũng giải thích cho nó sao là thương và sao là không thương nhưng chẳng lúc nào nó chịu nghe cả.

Tôi hiểu được sự nhạy cảm của nó nên tôi thường lưu ý đến nó nhiều hơn thằng em. Thằng em thì không nhạy cảm lắm. La nó một chúc là nó quên hết và trở lại bình thường. Có nhiều lúc nó còn quên và không để ý đến. Tính của thằng Đán không nặng về cảm giác nhưng nó rất tình cảm. Ngày nào nó cũng muốn bế thằng em trên tay và hôn em cả.

Cũng ngày hôm qua khi thấy đứa em của thằng bạn, nó nói với bà mẹ rằng, “Our baby is better than your baby (Em của tôi tốt hơn là con của bà.” Tôi cũng không biết nói gì hơn chỉ xin lỗi bà ta thôi. Cũng may bà cảm thông được con nít nó nói những gì nó muốn nói.

Cách đây mấy tháng, nó hỏi một bà mẹ lùn (dwarf) rằng, “Tại sao bà nhìn như thế?” Tôi không biết phải nói gì nên cũng lặng câm. Bà mẹ trả lời rằng, “Vì tôi là một người mẹ lùn.” Bà cũng không có vẻ dỗi hờn hay trách móc. Có lẻ đối với bà những câu hỏi như vậy không còn xa lạ gì nữa.

Đạo has been studying about Abraham Lincoln at school; therefore, he has been pointing out facts about our 16th President. Yesterday when we went to Kid Junction, he said, “Daddy, do you know Abraham Lincoln’s grave is still here.” I assumed that he meant Lincoln’s grave is in D.C., which is closed to Virginia. Đán interrupted, “So is my best friend.” He has a friend named Lincoln.

When we were checking into Kid Junction, Đạo said to a lady at the front desk, “Did you know that Abraham Lincoln was shot?” It was out of nowhere, but the lady played along, “Oh yeah, who shot him?” He replied, “It was John Wilkes Booth.” Đán jumped in, “So was my best friend. His name is Abraham Lincoln.” We both laughed.

For the Democratic nomination, we only have two choices: Hillary Clinton or Bernie Sanders. I trust that you have done your research on the candidate you support; therefore, I won’t bored you with the details.

In short, both Hillary and Bernie shared similar visions for America. The differences are in their approach and experience. On economy, Bernie is bold, but Hillary is realistic. On foreign policy, she has stronger experience. On gun, she is tougher. On women, she is leading the fight.

Although her position on important issues is impressive, Hillary is not flawless. She has her share of problems, but she has maintained her resilience and progress. After weighing in the pros and cons, I have decided to cast my one vote for Hillary on Super Tuesday. She is the leader America need in the next four years.

Joan Walsh, “Why I’m Supporting Hillary Clinton, With Joy and Without Apologies”:

I’ve come to feel passion for Clinton herself, and for what I see as a movement that supports her, even though only Sanders is judged a “movement” candidate. I believe she’s evolved back to be the progressive Democrat she used to be, more progressive than her liberal husband. Some of my feelings remain defensive, but in a warmer sense: I really don’t want to see her abused again. I’m tired of seeing her confronted by entitled men weighing in on her personal honesty and likability, treating the most admired woman in the world like a woman who’s applying to be his secretary. I’m stunned anew by the misogyny behind the attacks on her, and her female supporters, including my daughter.

In just one week, as reported in The New York Times, governor Paul LePage went from saying “Mr. Trump’s nomination would deeply wound the Republican Party” to “Mr. Trump could be ‘one of the greatest presidents.’”

When being asked about his future, Đạo always replies that he wants to a doctor. His answer is consistent because his mom would like him to be a doctor to help other people when they are sick. Đán, on the other hand, makes up his own mind. One time we were waiting to get off the airplane and the boys were having a conversation with a woman. When she asked them what they wanted to do when they grow up, Đạo gave his usual response and Đán said, “A pizza make.” She smiled at me and said, “Well, my niece’s dream job is to work at Dunkin’ Donuts.”

When we went to a seafood restaurant for my niece’s wedding rehearsal, they provided each customer a wooden hammer to crack the crab’s leg. Đán enjoyed banging the crabs so much that he switched his occupation to a crab banger. Several weeks ago, I took him to Wendy’s and ordered him some fried fish. He loved so much that he wanted to become a fish maker. Last night he told me he wanted to be a Toys “R” Us cashier so he could get all the toys for free. I am wondering what he will be next.

Robert Bringhurst, The Elements of Typographic Style, (p.43–44):

The typographic terminology is telling. Isolated lines created when paragraphs begin on the last line of a page are known as orphans. They have no past, but they do have a future, and they need not trouble the typographer. The stub-ends left when paragraphs end on the first line of a page are called widows. They have a past but not a future, and they look foreshortened and forlorn. It is the custom — in most, if not all, the world’s typographic cultures — to give them one additional line for company.

Hou Hsiao-hsien’s Assassination is moving and masterful. If you have Netflix, it is definitely worth every minute of the two hours you spend watching.

The Onion:

“Ever since I was a child, I have had a weaselly, piece-of-shit face that you can’t help but want to hit, and that’s never changed—how many other candidates on this stage can say that?” said Cruz, adding that oftentimes when he looks in the mirror, even he wants to drive a screwdriver through his eyes so he never has to see his stupid, boxy head and waggling, doughy chin ever again.

I concur with Amy Davidson:

[N]o one else onstage seemed all that Presidential. Rubio acted a little too pleased with his hits, like a guy doing an extended dance after hitting a single in the company softball game. It didn’t help that his lines seemed memorized. Cruz, in one of his cross-talking squabbles, was effectively shut down when Trump called him a “basket case.” Carson, discussing judicial nominees, said he’d look at the “fruit salad of their life.” Kasich said that he’d have resolved the Apple-F.B.I. fight by secretly locking all the parties in a room. More important, the debate was empty of a counterbalancing vision.

The Republican party is fucked.