I am a father, writer, marathoner, and teacher. Each title uniquely describes my experiences, and I especially enjoy looking for patterns between these roles. I believe these moments open a window where people can be brought together.
My son nearly died at birth. I realized that everything I did from that point forward would start and end with him in mind. So, thank you for reading about our wonderful way of life.
Rather than describe my background in a typical fashion, I will gladly share by stating, “ I am from…” statements. …
Drop-off and pick-up time are like scenes from the ‘Twilight Zone’ Monday through Friday. A few blocks from daycare, I slowly wind down the volume to our quickly aging Kia. If you pulled up next to me just a few minutes prior, you would’ve caught a glimpse of me matching the lyrical flow of several 90’s rappers. I’m likely to park near a matching his/her Audi or Tesla on any given day. I remind myself, “your family deserves to experience the same privileges they do.”
Who are “they”?
They are marketing agents, consultants, lawyers, and associate professors. They are predominantly…
This post is an entry in Modern Parent’s “Am I Doing This Right?” writing contest.
Mic check, mic check. Am I doing this right?
Let’s put it this way: if I had to choose between anything else in the world and my son, I’d choose my son without hesitation.
Am I doing this right?
I ask myself this question every day. I think about it when I’m teaching a fluctuating class of 27 students. The thought races through my mind as I lay my son down for naptime. And it’s painfully apparent during every physical therapy session I attend.
We don’t need you to be our savior. Be in community with us, and know us.
The state of law enforcement isn’t so black and white. There’s a middle-ground that is taken for granted.
Our nation’s police don’t represent our racial, cultural, or communal makeup. For that reason, we continue to see predominantly black men shot and killed at the hand of trained officers. So what does that say about the training they receive, the oath they uphold, and the people carrying a badge?
We don’t need to defund police, but we do need to alter their role in and…
Drop-off at my son’s daycare follows a familiar script: We leave home in my quickly aging Kia with its speakers throbbing, as I match the lyrical flows of the ’90s rappers who raised me. Upon approaching the nursery, I slowly reduce the volume and compose myself before parking alongside Audis and Teslas owned by consultants, marketers, lawyers, and the like. Before stepping out of the car, I silently remind myself that my family deserves to experience the same privileges that they do — even if we’ve shaved our budget bare-bones to afford the cost of preschool enrollment.
My son is screaming at the top of his lungs. It’s as if I’ve ripped away all that matters to him in the world.
The reason? “Hickory Dickory Dock” is glitching on Spotify. Who knows? Maybe that is all that matters to him.
We’re making our way home after what has thus far been a great day. No major tantrums have happened up until now, and the kid turned out to be a natural ice skater. He’s barely halfway to three, and I can’t stop bragging about the little booger.
But this ain’t one of those moments. How do you…
Ten years ago, I set out for a timed mile run. The sky was clear of West Texas dirt, but the road was paved straight to torment. By the time I finished, I collapsed in front of my college apartment. My elapsed time was 10:08.
At 19 years of age, I was unable to break the ten-minute barrier and I almost earned myself a trip to the hospital. In fact, I recall hearing sirens in the background, hoping an ambulance felt my body’s distress call and was on its way to rescue me.
Why I Timed Myself
My running career…
You are the difference-maker.
One by one, cameras slowly awaken, and bright-eyed faces await on the other end — some excited, others bordering anxious and reluctant. I close my eyes softly, inhale deeply, and press the video button. With a glued smile, I happily greet each student by the first name. The class has officially begun.
If my camera were on 15 minutes earlier, you’d see me rushing to open my front door, feeding the pets, and glancing over our learning plan for the day. For the last hour, I’ve been playing chauffeur to our one-car family, driving my son…
My biological dad died in a bizarre accident, which some believe was an attempt to commit insurance fraud. My single mother raised me the best she knew how, but I had no real-life male role model to reference. That can be particularly challenging for a Latina mother. Mr. Feeney from Boy Meets World was the closest I ever had to a mentor. And I made sure to check-in with him every school morning around 6 am throughout elementary and middle school.
Fast forward twenty-nine years.
At the ripe age of two and a half, my son has a real affinity…
When I was growing up, my stepfather used to refer to me as “boy.” “Boy, go get me a beer” or “You’re gonna learn real quick, boy.” And while I absolutely despised my name being replaced by a lesser, more so, I hated being told that I knew better. In fact, the only truth I knew was to trust his words and actions. He was the type of man whose word had to be taken with a large shaker of salt.
So, what’s the big deal anyway?
I’ve seen or heard this saying weaponized with such ease among parents, and…