Posts

That's All He Wanted

Image
When I was a case manager for a foster care company, I received a file on a boy for possible foster care placement. I read through his information, surprised that he could even be capable of all the menacing things listed in there. At just 12 years old, Jackie had taken hard core drugs, huffed gasoline fumes straight from a gas tank, stolen, and physically assaulted his peers. All 4’9” of him. They brought him in to meet me. He was no bigger than a minute. He stood in front of me. Shy. Stoic. I immediately wanted to hug that little thing up. But he wouldn’t have allowed it. He was hardened, damaged, and constantly proving it. If you had no back history on him, you would think he was just like any other little boy. Dirty shoes, freckles, and blue eyes that just sparkled through his long eyelashes. But they were sad eyes. They had seen too much in 12 short years. I placed him with foster parents who lived out a holler in Eastern Kentucky. They were a firm, fair, and loving couple who nev...
Post a Comment
Read more

We Stay Up Here

Image
Our College Hill neighborhood school, Pleasant Hill Academy, was one of the Cincinnati Public Schools to receive money to build an outdoor environment where students can be hands-on while learning about nature. The chosen site was in the park at the end of our street. We had been watching its development since early Fall, so eager to see it all come together. It was extra special for the neighborhood children who may not have a yard or regular access to parks and nature. The log bridges, bird watching station, huge rocks to rest on, and the waterfall and creek make you forget for a moment that you are in urban Cincinnati. After dinner this evening, I asked my husband, Chris, to take our dog, Tucker and walk down to the park with me. Today was the day they turned the water feature on. Tucker immediately began tromping through the flowing creek, leaving watery paw prints behind on the staggered rocks. He waded through the high grass, found sticks for us to throw, and lapped up some of th...
2 comments
Read more

Cold Hands, Warm Heart

Image
My son, Holden, strapped his GoPro to our dog, Tucker, and we let him run around the park. We joked about the lame footage that would be on the camera once we reviewed it: Tucker biting at my son's bike tires and eating clumps of snow. When we got to the top of the hill, a young boy seemed to appear out of nowhere. He called out to us, asking if Tucker was a German Shepherd. I asked if he wanted to meet him. He quickly said yes and ran over to us. As he got closer, I noticed that he was just wearing tennis shoes and the snow was already thickly caked onto his laces.   On his upper body, he simply  wore a thin rain jacket and a puffy vest. When he removed his hands from his pockets he wasn't wearing any gloves. He asked to throw Tucker's snowy ball anyway. The icy ball stung his fingers and he shook them for the warmth to return.  I asked him where his gloves were.  He said his mom still needed to buy him some.  He said he just keeps his hands in his pocke...
1 comment
Read more

Creators, not consumers.

Image
My father used to have great bonfire parties in October.  In the months leading up to them, he would spend loads of time gathering old brush, fallen limbs, and dried leaves to add to the mountain he was assembling in his field. All of his friends looked forward to it, mostly because he was such an excellent host. On this night, his dining room table transformed into a buffet of appetizers, chips and dips. And his porch boasted several galvanized tubs complete with a sea of chilled craft beers just begging to be sampled. His friends, many of whom he had known since childhood, spent the evening mingling about, laughing, and drinking, their faces warm and glowing from the fire, and probably a little from the alcohol, too. When my son was three, he attended his first bonfire party. I took great care in ensuring that I was outfitting him with a true bonfire "look". I bought him bibbed overalls, a thermal shirt, and hiking boots. So many of my dad's friends were going to...
1 comment
Read more

You Messed It Up Again.

Image
Our son, Holden, recently signed up for a lifeguard course.  I was certain that the amount of hours he would have to commit to the course would turn him away.  Not to mention that it was being held during the most glorious weekend weather we'd had in months.  From 9 a.m. to 5 p.m. each day, his mind was not on Instagram or You Tube video of BMX stunts. No, there was no time for that.  He had to be hyper-focused on compressions and breaths and making sure he called out the "tweet-tweet-tweet" of the whistle during his drowning victim scenarios. Each evening, Holden came home exhausted.  We watched him use just enough energy to eat dinner and share a little bit about that day's lesson.  He was showered and nestled in his covers earlier than in his toddler years.  Part of us felt badly for him.  He was missing movie nights, favorite restaurant breakfasts, and the spring-like weather.  He would mention it in passing, "It sucks that I can't be r...
5 comments
Read more

What Have We Become?

Image
Six months ago, our four person family was living in a one bedroom apartment.  We had been there for a year, waiting for our home to sell and to find and purchase a new one.  We celebrated every miserable holiday inside those walls.  Our bedroom was the dining room.  Our children shared a bedroom, my son sleeping on an army cot to save space.  We ate on tv trays.  We could hear every step that the neighbors upstairs took.  We heard every cry  and every argument within their family.  And they heard ours.  It was dismal.  Hands down, it was the lowest point of our lives. I don't think a day went by that we did not feel sorry for ourselves.  Poor us.  We don't deserve this.  We are so  above this.  What the hell are we doing in Section 8 housing?  I remember asking myself, "What have we become?"    I had so much anger toward God.  Driving in my car I would look up and cry out, "Why...
2 comments
Read more

Open Letter to the Man Who Sleeps in Our Stairwell

Image
You startled me.  When I turned to walk up the parking garage stairway and saw you lying over in the corner, you startled me.  You didn't mean to, I know.  It's just that I'm not used to seeing anything over in that corner of the Washington Park Garage , let alone a body.   I took a few steps forward and my hand took hold of the stair rail as if to begin my ascent.  But I couldn't.  I had to pause for a moment to get a good look at you.  You were lying on your stomach, using your bag as a pillow.  My body took a chill when I thought of yours pressed against the cold, cold concrete.  Your coat was decorated with black scuff marks, dirt, and stains.  It wasn't a proper winter coat. As one would do for a cranky toddler, I began to rummage through my purse looking for something, anything, to give you.  I cupped the contents of the bottom of my purse for anything packaged, edible.  I sifted through the lip gloss, ...
3 comments
Read more