And 3 Things I’m Still Sure Of At 39
When I was 7, I was sure the world wasn’t much bigger than our backyard. It didn’t need to be. I was a major league baseball player, an astronaut, a Goonie, and Luke Skywalker, all in a space no bigger than a few hundred feet.
When I was 11, I was sure Maniac Magee was the best book ever written. Until a year later when I read The Westing Game. And two years after that reading Fallen Angels. Today, there are too many great books to choose just one.
A website detailing male postpartum depression–yes, that’s a thing–offers signs you may be struggling with PPPD (paternal postpartum depression).
The technical term for an adoptive family like ours is transracial. We are white, white, white, black, and black. It confuses people when they first meet us.
A stranger kneels to address my son. “Excuse me, buddy, where are your parents?”
“I’m right here.” I wave, not ten feet from where the kids play.
“Oh, right.” The concerned dad smiles, his voice awkward, “Sorry, I didn’t…”
“No worries. Thank you.”
Nearly every day, I’m reminded that our family, the Knoxes, isn’t your typical family. White spouses rarely produce multiracial families, but we did. …
Identity, wellness, parenting, & the common good. Writer, educator, mentor.