A sad documentary; a quiet day; a poem
I have been watching, on Hulu, the documentary series about Steven Stayner and his family. I remember viewing the 1989 dramatization, I Know My First Name is Steven; I was eight years old. Stayner was seven when he was kidnapped.
The dramatization was the bleakest TV show I had seen in my young life.
The new documentary retells the story and brings it up to date. Yes, much more has happened to the Stayner family. Terrible things. Imagine having to play a “horror lottery,” a “lottery” of devastation, as in the Shirley Jackson story, and losing it twice.
♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
Today was gloomy but not ugly. Daniel slept more than usual. I had forgotten that the weather has this effect on babies.
♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
A poem:
(Karin, to Daniel)
The dramatization was the bleakest TV show I had seen in my young life.
The new documentary retells the story and brings it up to date. Yes, much more has happened to the Stayner family. Terrible things. Imagine having to play a “horror lottery,” a “lottery” of devastation, as in the Shirley Jackson story, and losing it twice.
♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
Today was gloomy but not ugly. Daniel slept more than usual. I had forgotten that the weather has this effect on babies.
♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
A poem:
⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯
Son, my son
You are my son
You will always be my son
⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯
(Karin, to Daniel)