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53: Jack Ridl on the most important word in the world
And Then Suddenly
English - February 04, 2020 15:31 - 42 minutes - 34.4 MB - ★★★★★ - 22 ratingsPersonal Journals Society & Culture interview conversation diversity flashpoint lifeevents shocking sudden unexpected Homepage Download Apple Podcasts Google Podcasts Overcast Castro Pocket Casts RSS feed
Jack Ridl was walking with his 7-year-old daughter when she said "with" was the most important word because people always have to be with something, someone, or themselves. When she added that it meant everyone has to makes sure they have a good "with," Jack's perception of the world changed. We talk about how a simple and profound concept has since shaped his life, health, and poetry.
Additional Resources
Jack Ridl ridl.wordpress.com on Facebook Saint Peter and the Goldfinch by Jack Ridl (Wayne State University Press)
My Brother—A Star
My mother was pregnant through the first
nine games of the season. We were 7- 2.
I waited for a brother. My father
kept to the hard schedule. Waking
the morning of the tenth game, I thought
of skipping school and shooting hoops.
My cornflakes were ready, soggy. There
was a note: "The baby may come today.
Get your haircut." We were into January,
and the long December snow had turned
to slush. The wind was mean. My father
was gone. I looked in on my mother still
asleep and hoped she'd be OK.
I watched her, dreamed her dream: John
at forward, me at guard. He'd
learn fast. At noon, my father
picked me up at the playground. My team
was ahead by six.
We drove toward the gym.
"Mom's OK," he said and tapped his fist
against my leg. The Plymouth ship that rode
the hood pulled us down the street.
"The baby died," he said. I felt my feet press hard
against the floorboard. I put my elbow on the door handle,
my head on my hand, and watched the town:
Kenner's Five and Ten, Walker's Hardware,
Jarret's Bakery, Shaffer's Barber Shop, the bank.
Dick Green and Carl Stacey waved. "It was
a boy."
We drove back to school. "You gonna
coach tonight?" "Yes." "Mom's OK?"
"Yes. She's fine. Sad. But fine. She said
for you to grab a sandwich after school. I'll see you
at the game. Don't forget about your hair." I
"We're doing geography," Mrs. Wilson said. "Page
ninety-seven. The prairie."
That night in bed
I watched this kid firing in jump shots
from everywhere on the court. He'd cut left,
I'd feed him a fine pass, he'd hit.
I'd dribble down the side, spot him in the corner, thread
the ball through a crowd to his soft hands, and he'd
loft a star up into the lights where it would pause
then gently drop, fall through the cheers and through the net.
The game never ended. I fell into sleep. My hair
was short. We were 8 and 2.
for my mother and my father
Jack Ridl
First published in The Journal/Ohio State University
Subsequently published in Saint Peter and the Goldfinch (Wayne State University Press)