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Dave Pack
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I teach. I write. I take pictures.
I teach. I write. I take pictures.

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Glory Days
Whenever I listen to Bruce Springsteen, I think of small
town life, of decaying towns and villages, of people struggling to get by, to
make their world a better place, or at least deal with the fact that it’s not
what it should be. There is a sense of nosta...

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Housecleaning
Discarded parts
to projects long forgotten; a broken dryer with no door; a lawnmower turned on
its side, the blade dull, rusty, and loose, up on sawhorses as though left
midway through repairs, just awaiting the return of someone to finish it,
someone who i...

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A Step of Faith
We’d all gathered on
the sandy bank, standing where the pebbles and grass gave way to soft, damp
sand and mud. Leaves had been changing for over a month, many now strewn along
the bank and floating up and down the wide creek. In the summer months, we’d all
...

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Leaving the Matinee
An orchestral swell fills the house, surrounding the audience in its lush, sweeping melody, sweetly melancholy; the type that pulls tightly against the heartstrings, loosening with each melodic downswing, only to pull the audience back in seconds later. Tea...

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Gimme Some Truth
Someone
told me over dinner recently that, while he enjoyed my writing, he didn’t think
I was being completely honest in it, that I was sharing only partial truth,
revealing only shades of myself, what I wanted to express at the time. And I
think that’s wha...

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The Id and the Superego Walk into a Bar, or What the Freud am I Thinking?
“We approach the id with analogies: we call it chaos, a
cauldron full of seething excitations… It is filled with energy reaching from
the instincts, but it has no organization... but only a striving to bring about
the satisfaction of the instinctual needs o...

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So This is the New Year
So this is
the New Year/ And I don’t feel any different… So everybody
put your best suit or dress on/ Let’s make believe that we are wealthy now for
just this once Ben Gibbard, you know I love you, but why couldn’t
you have written happy instead of wealthy ...

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A Post-Divorce Guide to Not Being a F@$k-Up
My first serious relationship (sorry to anyone I dated
before the herein referenced person) came when I was seventeen. It was just
after Christmas, and I had gone with a couple friends to Katie’s Corner for
coffee, and it just so happened that a friend of a...

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A Post-Divorce Guide to Not Being a F--k Up
My first serious relationship (sorry to anyone I dated
before the herein referenced person) came when I was seventeen. It was just
after Christmas, and I had gone with a couple friends to Katie’s Corner for
coffee, and it just so happened that a friend of a...

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When EBT Wears a Tie
I remember one afternoon when I was working at the grocery
store when a man came through my line with his daughter. She looked at the
little yellow EBT sign on the front of the pin pad asked her father, “Do we
have EBT?” His response came with a disgusted l...
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