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    OpinionatorSung J. Woo5 min
    4 reads2 comments
    4 reads
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    • Jessica
      Top reader this weekReading streakScoutScribe
      2 weeks ago

      It was 10 at night when my parents returned, exhausted. My mother headed straight for bed, but my father hung around.

      “Why are you here?” I asked.

      “I want to see the game,” he said.

      Excellent to read with this piece: https://readup.com/comments/-the-new-york-times-company/like-father

      @sjwoo, thank you for sharing these raw stories and memories of your father. They are powerful.

    • DellwoodBarker
      Reading streakScribe
      3 weeks ago

      💥 Powerful 💥

      My father took the glove off and shook his left hand. His palm was as red as a beet.

      Dad, who passed away 11 years ago, never told me he loved me. But that sound of the baseball landing in the soft flesh of his hand, over and over again — it spoke its own tender language, though at the time, all I felt was shame.