He Goes to 11
Atticus is one louder.
On Privilege and Perspective
“I don’t get it,” he said. “I don’t either,” I told him. Such is the dance of perspective and privilege, the lies we tell and those we hold onto.
On Condolences, From My Son
Atticus wrote a note to his teacher on the passing of her father. He wrote it with compassion.
A Mother’s Arms Are Made of Tenderness and Children Sleep Soundly in Them
Tricia’s father fought a long battle before he left us a few months ago. This is a post from one such fight in the summer of 2009.
Between the Groundwork and Soft Foreshadows
Sometimes kids hear things you aren’t ready to talk about. Remember, every word is a butterfly.