First My Brother, Now My Son

Finding lessons within lessons

Sometime in 1987, my family was robbed. We were robbed of the opportunity to hear my baby brother’s voice and to hear his thoughts.

The Last Neighborhood

Growing up in a dying city

Falling for Sociopathy

The Other Side of Charm

Black Sheep

The experience of racial otherness

Humanity’s Longest Civil War

Team Light Skin, Team Dark Skin: why we all lose

Two Girls

Let me tell you about the girl on the left. 32 years old. Married. Associate at a large law firm. She lived with her husband in a 2400…

Fifty States.

My grandmother spent several months studying for her oral U.S. citizenship test. Just days before her exam, I sat on the edge of her…

I miss my son

the neverending ache

I miss my son.

Labels

I’d like a new one.

In a custody case, there are lots of labels.

How to escape a desert island

James, an 8th grader, spied my father in the pick up line -- my dad with his wild nappy hair -- and said to me, “No offense but your father looks Jewish.” I giggled just a little and didn’t think much more of it as I was not sure what a Jew was and didn’t want to admit it. And…