Sy Safransky
Sy Safransky is founder and editor of The Sun. He lives in Chapel Hill, North Carolina.
— From December 2023December 1996
I tried to understand something about forgiveness. I wrote a letter to my dead father, then tore it into small pieces. I carried the pieces around for years before I buried them. I forget where.
December 1996My New Car
After lunch, R. asked me to give him a ride. We walked across the street to my car. When he saw my beat-up station wagon, he looked at me quizzically. I thought things were going well, he said.
November 1996A Prayer
This is the 250th issue of The Sun. Given the life expectancy of most small journals, I’d like to offer a prayer of thanks. But on which knee? To which God? I’ve always been reluctant to identify myself with any spiritual path. I don’t even like to use the word spiritual, because it divides the world into what is and what isn’t.
October 1996August 1996
Oh perfect word, shaped to meaning like a body without an ounce of fat: supple, strong, walking through the centuries like a god.
August 1996Glorious Failure
Bad news is supposed to travel fast, but this news took nearly three months to get from a snowcapped mountain in Vermont to my office in North Carolina. It finally arrived on a beautiful spring afternoon, eyes downcast, dragging its heels.
July 1996Where The Parking Lot Is Now
I wondered how I’d feel when the place was gone. It would stay alive in my memory, but I couldn’t take much comfort from that. Memories we’re sure are indelible — how long do they really last?
April 1996January 1996
Truth can’t sign its name, can’t read lengthy contracts, can’t afford a lawyer. Truth depends on us to speak it.
January 1996December 1995
I keep imagining that someday I’ll get caught up: write those letters, read those books. What a great imagination!
December 1995Philadelphia
As we waited outside the theater for Pam to arrive, the late-afternoon sun buttery and generous, I was struck by how healthy everyone looked: we could have been the bowling team, the swim club. AIDS seemed remote for a moment: distant, unreal, a bad dream from which the world would one day awaken.
October 1995