I was distracted in daydreams about being named Sloan(e) and if I were, would I spell it Sloan or Sloane?

A Wetback Job

At Le Petit Café on Court Street, I sat across from Nina with a smile on my face and a clenched stomach.  We chatted over lattes about the boys and the holidays, just as we always had.  What I had to say to her shouldn’t have been explosive, but it was.  In spite of the... Continue Reading →

The Reluctant Return to College

I assisted with kids in Special Education, or what we called 12-to-1 classes, after the required ratio of students to teachers. The kids were a motley crew of dysfunction. They were middle-school-aged juvenile delinquents, learning disabled, violent, from foster homes, and no one seemed to give a damn whether they succeeded or failed.

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