When the cab pulled up outside my grandparents’ house on Mirror Lake Drive, everybody walked outside to greet my brother and sister-in-law. But I ran. As fast as my little legs could carry me. And in to the arms of my brother where I burst out in to these gigantic sobs. I couldn’t stop. ...
First, they start going down to the playground at the end of the street. By themselves.
And walking the mile home from school.
I’ve been thinking a lot about that post I wrote last week.
Don’t Stare At My Daughter.
I got a lot of feedback on it. Mostly women with daughters who were feeling the same way that I did.
Disgusted. Concerned. And powerless.
I went to the mall yesterday with my two kids. My giant 16 year-old son and his sister, my petite 14 year-old daughter.
We had just walked through the doors, and were on our way to one of those smelly teen emporiums to return a shirt, when I noticed these two men staring at us. ...
Okay, so I’m not fat but I’m heavier now, by almost ten pounds, than I was a year ago. And I liked my weight a year ago. Really liked it.
But now my clothes are tight.
And I know what has happened.
My daughter and I went to see Big Sean last Thursday night.
Yes, Big Sean. The rapper who sings Dance A$$ with Nicki Minaj. Who denigrates women with his lyrics.
My almost 14 year-old kid has a thing for rappers. And explicit music.