He: “mine is more like I’m lost in an ocean of black oil. It slows my movements and it’s sickening and everywhere I look there’s blackness with no land in sight.” She: “for me it’s that I see it coming, it’s a tidal wave and it’s big and I jump up on my feet, run […]
moreAfter dinner, I rested my forehead on the table next to my plate, left it there for a bit. My son said, “you’re tired mama.” I raised my head and nodded. “Do they know how hard you worked?” I shrugged my shoulders. “And do they know how lucky they are to have me?” I laughed […]
moreMy son is now 14. His father and I took him to Ghana when he was 4. He didn’t speak the same language as the kids and it frustrated him. So I suggested he try playing with a ball. And there he was, frantically running around villages with a ball, white-haired and red-faced from overexerting […]
moreRecently, someone said to me, “I’m sorry you’re hurt.” It had me feeling unarmed. Something wasn’t right. My immediate instinct was to say “that’s okay.” I didn’t. Instead I said, “but you’re not sorry, are you? Not really.” And I left it at that. “I’m sorry you feel that way,” is becoming a new social convention. […]
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