I think of the children who will never know, intuitively, that a flower is a plant’s way of making love, or what silence sounds like, or that trees breathe out what we breathe in.
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Peter Selgin’s writing has appeared in Best American Essays 2006 (Houghton Mifflin), and he is the author of By Cunning & Craft: Sound Advice and Practical Wisdom for Fiction Writers (Writer’s Digest Books). He leads an annual writing workshop in Italy and lives in the Bronx, New York.
I am the “man from ’Stanbul.” Yes, I cannot pee. Oh, I can squeeze out a few drops here and there. I can dribble; I can even trickle. Occasionally what passes for a stream arcs into the commode. But it’s no McDonald’s golden arch, let me tell you, not the yellow rainbow of satisfaction I once knew so well, the Victoria Falls of my not-so-distant youth.
Sugar suspected I was a fruitcake because of my friendship with Mr. Quick, which began during my freshman year. Sugar had learned about it from my mother. (My father was dead.)