using the arrow buttons.
by clicking on the page.
the page around when zoomed in by dragging it.
the zoom using the slider when zoomed-in.
by clicking on the zoomed-in page.
by entering text in the search field, and select "This Issue" or "All Issues"
by clicking on thumbnails to select pages, and then press the print button.
displays sections with thumbnails and descriptions.
displays a slider of thumbnails. Click on a page to jump.
allows you to browse the full archive.
about your subscription?
Lions Roar : July 2018
been keeping the details about my own feelings pretty vague, slyly playing the role of an objective outsider whenever we get together to talk. I wasn’t sure he would even remember any of the specific incidents that I’ve been holding on to so closely for all these years. It was embarrassing to imagine bringing them up, only to have him reply with a blank look. He encourages me to go through my list, so I do. The sand- box, the soccer field, the schoolyard. Just as I figured, none of them ring a bell. I am actually relieved, and I tell him that while I know that the events in my memories sounded like small things, they were huge factors in shaping how I felt about myself for a long time. “Looking back on myself as a kid,” he says, “I can tell you that anything bad I said or did to you wasn’t actually meant to make you feel any certain way. I was doing it to make myself feel a certain way. Does that make sense?” “Yeah,” I say. “It makes sense.” I share the anecdote about our elementary school teacher, the woman who told me she believed kids were, at their core, pretty much who they’d always be by the time she met them. Jeff winces, and then laughs. “It’d be pretty sad if that was the case, wouldn’t it?” But he quickly follows up with an additional thought. “I am the same person, I guess. It’s not that my thoughts are necessarily different—it’s that my actions are. Buddhist teachings haven’t changed who I am, but they’ve changed what I do.” He offers his favorite quote by the Zen master Shunryu Suzuki, Roshi: “You’re all perfect exactly how you are. And you all could use a little improvement.” After dinner at an Indian restaurant with my family in the Mission, we walk to an ice cream shop. Jeff buys a pistachio cone for himself and a strawberry cone for my son, Franklin. He’s four years old, just a little younger than when Jeff and I first met. The two of them sit on a bench in front of the shop, eating ice cream in the warm night. Franklin looks so sweet, and I find myself thinking about how much I want him to stay this way. But I also want some- thing else for him: the power to assert himself and not be so sensitive that he gets bowled over by people who are mean to him. Because people will, of course, be mean to him, and there’s no good reason that these moments should hang around in his head forever. I snap a photo of Jeff and Franklin eating ice cream together. They’ve both got huge smiles—each has found a friend for life. It’s a funny picture, and for me it’s also strange and profound. It’s a picture I could never have imagined when I was growing up. It’s a picture I’ll never let go of. ♦ Steuer’s son Franklin has ice cream with his new friend Jeff. “It’s a picture I never could have imagined when I was growing up,” says Steuer. “It’s a picture I’ll never let go of.” PHOTOBYERICSTEUER