Dad
I can't stop the tears as I shuffle through a box under the our bed and find a tattered letter to Santa, written by my now drug addicted son.
I can't stop the tears as I shuffle through a box under the our bed and find a tattered letter to Santa, written by my now drug addicted son.
The day my daughter was born, I walked around all day smelling her on my hands and falling in love with her more every time.
No sound compares in fury or power to the sound of a woman pushing a baby through the birth canal without the aid of drugs.
Visiting Virginia, I thought the grocery clerk was calling my newborn son precious when in fact she was telling me in her southern drawl to "press yes" on the keypad.
You constantly prove me wrong when I think you can't disappointment me any further.
When she cried the first time, I was surprised that I was ready to handle it like a father should.
President Bush killed my father, a soldier whose burned remains are now a part of the Iraqi desert landscape, and I, longing to fit in by supporting something I did not understand, was stupid enough to vote for him the previous year.