a little suggestion.

Over the weekend, I had a lot of time to just sit and read. A friend's grandmother was kind enough to give me several issues of the New Yorker, and there were some really great pieces in them. A piece by Zadie Smith about her father and British comedy really stuck out as my favorite, maybe because I myself adore British humor (the British Office is one of the best shows ever made), but also because of the way she spoke about her father and brother. It has little to do with the story, but this paragraph is my life:

"We had been tight as thieves as children, but I’d barely seen him since Harvey died, and I sensed us settling into the attenuated relations of adult siblings, a new formal distance, always slightly abashed, for there seems no clear way, in adult life, to do justice to the intimacy of childhood. I remember being scandalized, as a child, at how rarely our parents spoke to their siblings. How was it possible? How did it happen? Then it happens to you."

Read the rest here.