Four Crying Out Loud

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...

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...

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...

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...

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...

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...

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, ...

My son, Holden, wanted rid of his prohibition haircut. We were in Cincinnati's Clifton neighborhood. It was late. The salons were closed.  I knew there was a small barber shop a few blocks down the street so my daughter, son and I set out to find it. It was still open.  We walked inside to find three black men cutting three black men's hair. There were two tv's blaring the Emanuel AME church massacre.  There were three black men, staring at us, with electric razors suddenly paused in mid air. It was like we were a record on a player and someone had just lifted the needle. We didn't belong and I recognized that right away. I wanted to turn Holden by his shoulders straight back out the way we came but that thought was interrupted by one of the barbers. "Can I help you?" he said. I tried to think up a lie. Ask where the nearest ATM is, ask if they had seen my lost puppy, ask if they could give me directions to the nearest white place. But I didn't lie. "...

A two foot tall snowman had been assembled on the lawn in front of our new apartment complex.  It even had a carrot for a nose.  It was the first thing we all noticed as we pulled up to the place.  The reviews of the apartment complex spoke of prostitutes frequenting there.  For a split second, I imagined a scantily-clad woman in fishnets and stilettos, placing the carrot into Frosty's head with her fuzzy-gloved hand.  My daughter quickly broke that thought by shouting loudly, "Maybe kids live here!"  I explained that this complex is comprised mostly of University of Cincinnati students, kids in college.  "Oh." she said. She held the door for us as we were moving the last of the large pieces of furniture into the apartment.  When my daughter passed by her, I noticed that they were the same height.  The two girls smiled at one another briefly.  She was quiet, hadn't lost any teeth, and was Asian.  She was on her way to th...

For as long as I can remember, he called me “Mudpie”.   To him, it was a term of endearment.   I always thought it sounded slighting, but never let on.   After he and my mother divorced, he took me for day visits one weekend out of the month.   We went to the mall, a restaurant, or to the art museum.   In the car, he would slap my knee, squeeze and say “Whad’ya know, Mudpie?”   He seemed delighted in the smallest details of my stories.   I mean, I could tell him that I found a red rock that writes, and he would exclaim “How interesting!”   The gifts always came as soon as he started the car.   I sat poised as he would reach into the pocket of his jacket and pull out a small token of some sort.   It was always a surprise.   It may have been a die cut set of Alice in Wonderland stationary or an antique gold metal razor case with a note tucked inside.   The gifts were never predictable, but always anticipated. He was a han...

The night before Thanksgiving, my husband, niece, and I snuck out of the house leaving my mom with the 6 year old.  We knew we didn't have much time before she realized we were gone, but we wanted to go shopping in peace.  After shopping, we had to stop at the grocery store to pick up a few items that we needed for dinner the next day:  milk, Cokes, and artichokes. My husband pulled up to the door of Giant Supermarket and we all three recited the grocery list again.  My niece and I promised not to dawdle or stray from the list as we shut the car door behind us.  We tried to get our bearings in the unfamiliar supermarket.  We wandered up and down the wine and candy isles saying "Milk, Cokes, and artichokes".  I felt like I was in the old Sesame Street clip of the little girl dancing on the way to the supermarket, "a loaf of bread, a container of milk, and a stick of butter". We grabbed everything we needed and headed ...

I don't speak of him much.  He was in my life for such a brief season and I was so young.  Sometimes I recall bits and pieces, but not much of it is significant.  My mother had been dating him for some time and took us to visit him at his home.  He was the radiologist at the local hospital and his house proved it.  I first noticed his refrigerator.  It had a real ice maker and real water dispenser.  I pushed its black lever and the water shot out onto my hand.  His wallpaper had a shimmer and a velvet, intricate design.  I traced my fingers over the blue  pattern.  My walls at home were painted.  He showed us the upstairs; five bedrooms.  My bedroom at home was my mother's room.  My sisters shared a bedroom and a bed.  He had a "sitting room" which was a large ballroom with a fireplace.  We had no fireplace at my house and with only five rooms ...