Go to the Globe and Mail homepage

Jump to main navigationJump to main content

Christopher Shulgan at his Toronto home with his kids. (Glenn Lowson for The Globe and Mail)
Christopher Shulgan at his Toronto home with his kids. (Glenn Lowson for The Globe and Mail)

An excerpt from Superdad: A Memoir of Rebellion, Drugs and Fatherhood Add to ...

I almost threw out the rocks. Well, no. There was an impulse to throw them out. But this would be the last time; there had to be a last time. From the upstairs bedroom I went to the basement, stopping only for the baby monitor. I went back upstairs because I needed the scissors to cut a little hairball from the steel wool. I grabbed a butcher's knife to cut up three equal chunks of the $20 rock. I went back downstairs. The baby monitor shushed as I exhaled the white smoke. The second rock went some minutes later. And the third rock, my last rock, the one I promised myself would be my last one ever, because I missed it, right, that was why I had to get up to this, I missed it, this was my last time, the third rock was my last rock. And then: I couldn't find it. I looked in the folded cuffs of my jeans. Everywhere around the desk in my basement office. I went around the kitchen. The counter, the utensil drawer, the stove, the sink? Nothing. I was on my hands and knees going over the floor when Myron cooed. I heard it through the monitor. I froze. Then silence. I returned to my search.

Excerpted from Superdad: A Memoir of Rebellion, Drugs and Fatherhood. Copyright 2010 Key Porter.

Follow us on Twitter: @globeandmail

 

In the know

Most popular video »

Highlights

More from The Globe and Mail

Most Popular Stories