WELCOME TO THE PIGSTY OF MY MIND:
Photo by Cecily Pollard
In the parable of the prodigal son, the younger of two brothers born to a wealthy family demands his inheritance while his father still lives. He then travels abroad where he “wasted his substance on riotous living.” A moderately riotous life is something many of us can relate to, particularly on week-ends. But this boy literally reaches bottom in a pigsty, and decides to make for home. He’s not looking for money, or even redemption, but what he finds is more tangible than cash and more transformative than pity.
He finds his father’s arms, and in doing so, himself.
Like many lost children of the 70s, I didn't have a father like that. There was no table, no place set out for me, and I wandered into the world with relatively empty pockets and a noticeable hitch in my step. Much of my work (in terms of my writing and, well, my personhood) deals with learning to become a functional human after landing in a dysfunctional family. It explores the things I've done to bring a sense of wholeness to my adult life while trying to come to terms with a turbulent childhood marked by disability, divorce, and depression.
Influenced by the work of Rebecca Solnit, Donald Miller, Nick Hornby, and Matt Haig, my writing shines a light on the people and things that have supported, sustained, and inspired me throughout this journey, like my high school art teacher, my childhood dog, and Malcolm X. It frames my world via the lens I polished as a sociology student, and takes small steps towards understanding broader topics and issues I have wrestled with, or that have captured my attention, like faith, privilege, memory, and the monk parakeet's improvisational survival skills.
I started this site as an online journal where anyone could contribute. In that iteration, Prodigal's Chair had a four-year, fifteen issue run. Each issue was anchored by a single theme I wanted to explore -- love, animals, water, for example -- and featured work from professional writers, artists, musicians, school teachers, and students. You can still find those issues here; but, ultimately, I needed PC to be more about me. It's as if I was avoiding something, hiding behind "editor" because I was afraid to embrace "writer." Who was I to make that claim?
Turns out, I'm a lot of things. I'm a husband (twice now), a father (just once), and a birdwatcher (as often as I can). I am a teacher (23 years), and the co-owner of two geriatric dogs (Cocker Spaniels). After growing up in the desert (Las Vegas), I now call the Northeast (Beverly, Massachusetts) home. And I am -- I'll just own it -- a writer.
He finds his father’s arms, and in doing so, himself.
Like many lost children of the 70s, I didn't have a father like that. There was no table, no place set out for me, and I wandered into the world with relatively empty pockets and a noticeable hitch in my step. Much of my work (in terms of my writing and, well, my personhood) deals with learning to become a functional human after landing in a dysfunctional family. It explores the things I've done to bring a sense of wholeness to my adult life while trying to come to terms with a turbulent childhood marked by disability, divorce, and depression.
Influenced by the work of Rebecca Solnit, Donald Miller, Nick Hornby, and Matt Haig, my writing shines a light on the people and things that have supported, sustained, and inspired me throughout this journey, like my high school art teacher, my childhood dog, and Malcolm X. It frames my world via the lens I polished as a sociology student, and takes small steps towards understanding broader topics and issues I have wrestled with, or that have captured my attention, like faith, privilege, memory, and the monk parakeet's improvisational survival skills.
I started this site as an online journal where anyone could contribute. In that iteration, Prodigal's Chair had a four-year, fifteen issue run. Each issue was anchored by a single theme I wanted to explore -- love, animals, water, for example -- and featured work from professional writers, artists, musicians, school teachers, and students. You can still find those issues here; but, ultimately, I needed PC to be more about me. It's as if I was avoiding something, hiding behind "editor" because I was afraid to embrace "writer." Who was I to make that claim?
Turns out, I'm a lot of things. I'm a husband (twice now), a father (just once), and a birdwatcher (as often as I can). I am a teacher (23 years), and the co-owner of two geriatric dogs (Cocker Spaniels). After growing up in the desert (Las Vegas), I now call the Northeast (Beverly, Massachusetts) home. And I am -- I'll just own it -- a writer.
- Tom Guzzio
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