I Remember Coretta_A Half Lucky One_My Starry Sky_What I Learned in English Class and How It's A
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I Remember Coretta
Harbor Island, Hillsborough County Florida - Early Spring, 1991In 1991, I was a young mother of two, raising my children alone for the most part, and I was selected by the local child welfare agency to attend one of the most important seminars of our time. Coretta Scott King, and her daughter Yolanda were in Tampa teaching child abuse investigators about the necessity for special investigations of rigor and heightened awareness of children of color due to the staggering minimalization of black children in society. I had never thought about the need to prioritize investigations of physica...
A Half Lucky One
Content warning: PTSD He loved his parents and he loved his wife. Gerry even loved the baby Marla was expecting that hadn't yet come. Two months before he would have his first child, a son of all things, there was so much he wanted to say to the lot of them, not to mention also his pals in service, those who were now back home like him and others he's met like himself since his return. He had a lot to say to his doctors and the many nurses and experts he had encountered, especially those hard working rehabilitation specialists doing their best to make broken people like him whole again. There ...
My Starry Sky
If ever there was a man that had cheated death, it was me. I washed up on a moonlit beach, not knowing where I was or who I was. A cold numbness quickly enveloped me and after walking for what seemed like forever, then my body gave in…The following morning I woke up to the sound of the tide, hearing the noise of seagulls and feeling the sand caked to my face. Sitting up and taking in my surroundings, I realized that the sea had spared me. Why the sea had done this, I don’t know. Then I caught a glimpse of two people coming toward me. As they came closer I could see their brightly colored runn...
What I Learned in English Class and How It's All Horribly Wrong
Well, I don’t know if it’s fair, exactly, to say I learned. I never paid (or even borrowed or stole) attention, because, in my mind, as an already fourteen-year-old prodigy, I’d learned everything there was to knowwww.onedoor.cc. Right? Literature-wise, I suppose. I’d read all the books we were reading—never made any of the grammar mistakes the other kids were making—analyzed what we were fated to be analyzing in my prepubescent time by the river, stuffing the chinks between the log bridge with moss and pondering the meanings behind Austen and Orwell and Lee (Harper, not Bruce). My parents left me alone a l...