My son, Avery, is the color of caramel. He is 15 years old, stands nearly 6 feet 2 inches tall and weighs almost 200 pounds. He is a Big. Black. Boy. Because Avery is a big black boy, when we moved a couple of years ago, one of my first tasks was to parade him around our new neighborhood. Smile and wave, I told him, so they know you belong here.
almost gone again
It was the summer of my 9th year when I was almost gone again. Days were spent running barefoot with my younger cousins, Tonya and Tara, in the field between my home and theirs. Kinky hair running wild or in slept on, half-undone plaits scattered over our heads because everyone over age 16 was too busy to comb it.
almost gone girl
The first time I almost wasn’t here happened when I was about 4 years old. It was a warm but not hot day and I was riding in my daddy’s big white truck. I sat beside Deddy, as I called him, back in the days before booster seats and even seat belts were required, leaving just enough room for him to maneuver the stick shift without being in the way.