Tag Archives | beginning

Tribal

Hunched over my desk on a Friday – filling out forms – I let more than an hour slip by before I lifted my head to look out the office window. Smoky sun dust trailed to the west. September dusk yawned orange over an empty playground. Where had everyone gone? Was I the last man […]

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Flash

A flash in the form of a three foot, nine inch boy lit up the yard this morning. I hadn’t witnessed a pure blue bolt quite like this one before. Now, I find myself standing here, in the middle of the empty kickball diamond, scribbling notes. My question: What did I see? I don’t want […]

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Flower

In front of me stood a breathless, upset, ten year-old, Daffnee.  Teary eyed, she bobbed up and down, over-sized beret flopping with each spoken fragment. Words fell out in fives and tens. As she’d come near to completing a thought, she’d get stuck and head back for one more go. I waited as her lips […]

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About Notes from the Playground

My school sits on top of a hill. Down one side of the hill, some of our city’s poorest reside. Narrow streets and gritty alleys split the eastern patch of the hillside into slices of irregular geometry. Streets cut paths where children can run from bad luck into good fortune in just a few seconds. […]

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Bridge

When seven year-old Raymond came to school each morning, he had to walk only a few blocks. He came by way of three alleys and a set of stairs. Not too far maybe, but farther than forever on some days. I once asked him, do you ever get scared coming to school by yourself.  He flipped back […]

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