My Mother, The Refrigerator

Hmm… 10pm… time for my midnight snack. What to eat? Cold chicken? Leftover spaghetti? A quick index finger through the peanut butter? “Blueberries.” “Or better yet… just a glass of water. You’re on a diet… at least, you were on a diet.” This had better be a dream because my mother’s voice seems to be …

Whose Privilege is it Anyway?

“How’s Kat?” “They’re fine.” “Who’s they? I asked about Kat.” “They’re fine.” This conversation with my eldest daughter was a millennial Abbott-and-Costello-routine gone bad. I was asking about “who” and instead was hearing about the whole infield: Who, What, I Don’t Know and I Don’t Care. I really was starting not to care myself. “Why …