It's like fighting every day to find a part of yourself without losing the parts you barely have
I was distracted in daydreams about being named Sloan(e) and if I were, would I spell it Sloan or Sloane?
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 →
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.