Space in a Chair

Bodies being carried out of rubble pop up on the TV screen. The sounds of families wailing over the death of a loved one pour into our living room. I look for the remote in order to quickly change the channel to more age appropriate show. A cartoon – hell, even Jessie. Only I can’t find the remote, of course. My kids hungry eyes, thirsty for information, soak up this tragedy that is playing out on the screen. I stop looking for the remote and start staring at the gruesome scene. Those poor people. I stand up and turn the...

Big Girl

I sit watching my daughter struggle to put her shoes on. Why must she always pick the most difficult shoes to put on when we are in a hurry? “I can do it myself, Daddy!” Yes, you can do it yourself, but it will take forever and once forever is finally over, I will be horribly late for my meeting at school.  Just let me put the damn shoes on for you so we can get out of the house! “Take your time, dear, I know you can do it.” I continue to work on deep breathing and reminding myself...

March is way too white

  Are we back to reading books about the weather, zoo animals, and Miss Know-it-all? Have we forgotten about  Friends for Freedom? Great Black Heroes: Women Scientists? Ruby Bridges? If A Bus Can Talk? Harriet Tubman? Bessie Coleman? DIZZY! Dr. King?  Dr. King!   Is it already March? March is way too white.   My chin and neck are wet on account of their hair still being damp from the shower.  It smells like a citrus grove; the shampoo not completely rinsed out since I am always in a rush to get the kids to bed.  Pajamas are on, teeth...

good job, kid.

Taking the sharp scissors out of the drawer, I reminded my kids, once again, that these are- “we know!” they chant in unison. -not for kids.  I cut the thick paper quite easily and began piling up the letters on the table as my kids stare at the sharp, shiny scissors. I pause. “What?” my oldest said.  “What are you waiting for?” I smile. Sometimes I enjoy these tiny moments of control. One by one, I drop the letters of the alphabet off the table and they fluttered down to the floor.  My son, the diligent Kindergartner, begins arranging them...

to the dad…

to the dad who lives in a small town.  not part of a major city, but to him and his family, it is the center of the universe to the dad who leaves early in the morning when its dark and comes home late at night when its seemingly still dark.  Only to give a kiss on a forehead, a tight tuck into bed, and a quiet whisper of,                            good night. to the dad who is tired of being portrayed as a bumbling fool       ...