Today I was browsing my email and finally making time to read the plethora of newsletters to which I subscribe. With a few more clicks, I landed at this blog. I read it, tears streaming down my face, and felt it was worth the read for all who care to.
Excerpt:
The bus ride home from the field trip is long; the kids laugh and chat and hang out of their seats and point at the lights-flashing police car. As we come back into the city:
“Hey, I’m right down that street!” “See that brick wall, behind the corner store? That’s where I live!”
The boy in front of me turns to speak to just me:
“I don’t live anywhere. We live outside.”
And I want to ask him if he’s joking, trying to pull one over on the gullible adult as kids so love to do – then I notice that his pants are far too short and the corduroy is almost worn through.
Damn.
I am thirty-nine years old.
I know thousands of words.
But I am lost at what to tell this child –
This is the world we live in. Where we are bringing up our children. As depressing as it is, there is always hope. And hope feeds action.
‘Nuff said.
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