If Rudolf Dreikurs had not died in 1972, I might be in prison today . . .
She ran up to me kind of sideways, half willing herself to approach me and half strangely drawn to me. Even from across the room, she yelled out for all to hear:
“Why did you come?!” . . .
I have no toys.
I was hoping that at this stage of my life, as both husband and father, I would have some pretty cool toys. But I don’t. Instead I have four daughters, and this is why I have no toys . . .
Back in 1949, I lived with my grandparents out in the country on a small farm near Richmond, Virginia. Something serious was going on one day as I entered the kitchen at five thirty in the morning. Grandpa and Grandma were standing at the sink, staring so intently out the kitchen window they didn’t even hear me come in . . .
Featured: Black Interest
- New-Generation African Poets: A Chapbook Box Set (Tatu)
- New Worlds, Old Ways: Speculative Tales from the Caribbean
- Black Marks
- New-Generation African Poets: A Chapbook Box Set (Tano)
- Confessions of a Ex-Doofus-ItchyFooted Mutha
- Addis Ababa Noir (Ethiopia)
- Getting It Right
- Anna In-Between
- Abstraktion und Einfühlung