Happy Father’s Day! I wonder if Dad’s up for a wrestling match, but the better part of me says to let him do his crosswords and sudoku in peace. Maybe I can let the day slide with just a couple of noogies or a wet willie.

I’ve been attempting to put my room in some semblance of order, in between physics and music. Those of you who know my room and its bookshelf walls may recognize how long this is going to take me; I stop for each memory, and I have several hundred volumes of them to push around. Sometimes the care pays off, though, as it did today when I found a folded up piece of graying paper peaking out from my copy of Einstein’s Dreams, which I took with me to Tanzania a few years ago. It was written on in brown marker as follows:

This morning we went to Amani Home for Street Children. We met Rashidi, one of their social workers, and Valerie Jackson, a Duke graduate who practically runs the place. We brought markers, pencils, paints, brushes, pens, and paper. Meg and I started out inside coloring with Nora and Maria, whom I helped with math and counting in English. They went crazy with Uncle Carl’s and Meg’s cameras, especially Maria. She posed and then couldn’t stop giggling when the flash went off.

Amani, by the way, means peace. My favorite memories of Moshi are of being with the street children, playing soccer, painting, and just staying with the kids. This is just a fragment of a much broader picture, and if I can find some of my other writings about them, I’ll post them. In the meantime, please check out their website, www.amanikids.org.

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