Layers

My family and I are running errands. We stop at the place where my father works. The boss is there and is pleased to see my mother and I. She was already talking to someone and begins to introduce us. After my mother's introduction comes mine: She's the one who was in the middle of the shooting inside the high school up North. Now she's teaching in inner city Baltimore. She teaches the bad kids. Yes those words come out, exactly. They look at me, waiting for a signal of that's me. Instead I keep looking.

I like
awkward
ignorance
to hang.

Are your kids really tough? Silence ruins people (people who don't know how to listen, that is), and I'm not that mean. I finally respond.

"My kids give me exactly what I expect."