For several years in the mid-1980s, my wife Sally worked and I stayed home with our son, Max. There were few of us househusbands back then (just me in our suburban Boston neighborhood). I did the shopping, cooking, laundry, cleaning, and took care of the kids. I was the only guy at the playground, preschool, the library's story hour, swimming lessons, and all that sort of domestic stuff. I wrote about those years, but never got those writings published as a book. It was a different time. The assumption by many -- in-laws, landlord, neighbors, and other parents -- was that there was something wrong with me. Granted, that might be true, but not for those reasons. Looking back, I wouldn't trade those years with Max for anything!