I first met my son in a Guatemala City hotel room. Surrounded by his foster family, all of whom were weeping, I held that little eight-months’ old miracle in my big clumsy hands—these hands!—and, gazing into his eyes, murmured “Me llamo pappa”: My name is Potato. I had been studying Spanish, you see.
They say (Zen teacher Cheri Huber says) that how you do anything is how you do everything. This anecdote tells you a lot about me, and what to expect: authenticity, mistakes, honesty. Some things are true even if they never happened, according to Ken Kesey or The Talmud, whichever came first; but this thing actually happened.