Brian Doyle

By chance I was in New York City seven months after September 11, and I saw a moment that I still turn over and over in my mind like a puzzle, like a koan, like a prism. I had spent the day at a conference crammed with uninformed opinions and droning speeches and stern lectures, and by the evening I . . . . Continue Reading »

Among my first memories in this wondrous world were brittle palm fronds folded reverently behind the four crucifixes in our childhood home. Continue Reading »

“I would suggest that you not consider marriage again until you are at least ten years old.” Continue Reading »

As I am sitting at the stoplight under the maple and oak and cedar treesI see three tiny kids skiffling and shuffling and skittering and scufflingIn the leaves—bigleaf maples, mostly, but also some oak, and a seriousDrift of fir and cedar needles—duff is the word for that, a delicious one,Is it . . . . Continue Reading »

Another great thing about being an altar boy was getting to the church early, before everyone except the ostentatiously devotional railbirds who actually competed to see who could be there first kneeling at the rail fingering their rosaries and pretending to be lost in meditative reverence but . . . . Continue Reading »

I will start out politely, with the traditional As-salaam-u alaykum, peace be to you, and I will even use the title you have given yourself, and I will try to keep this note brief, for I can only imagine the press of your days, what with trying to manage a nascent state, and a fractious staff, and . . . . Continue Reading »

If you have to sneeze on the altar do so quietly and turn Your head away from the Holy Sacrament. Please carry A handkerchief in the pocket of your trousers. No jeans. Wear good shoes. No sneakers. Arrive 30 minutes early Minimum: 5 minutes early is 25 minutes late. The bells, As a crucial part of . . . . Continue Reading »

In our family, we went to Mass every blessed Sunday of the year, and here and there you would have to go to Mass during the week because of funerals or weddings or Days of Obligation or Masses to Open the School Year or Masses in Memory of the Faithful Departed. So by the time I was fourteen years . . . . Continue Reading »

You know what I remember first about my daughter being born? Weirdly, not the miracle of it, or the bruised tender extraordinary Courage of my wife, or the eerie alien glare of the birthing room, Or the cheerful doctor chatting amiably as she hauled out our girl, But my daughter staring at me, from . . . . Continue Reading »

What is the best poem you ever wrote in your whole life?I ask a friend of mine, aged six, and she thinks about this For a whole minute, looking down in the grass for words, . . . . Continue Reading »