People person

He told me I had a good ear after our first long talk. He'd come to the program directly from prison where he'd spent the majority of his adult life. He said for the first couple of weeks he stayed in the upstairs bathroom, even ate his meals sitting on the toilet, because it was about the same size as the cell he'd spent so many years in. He couldn't be in a large room with other people. He told me someone needs to write a book on how to deinstitutionalize one's mind. 

He came back to the program today looking for the collared shirt he'd left behind to wear to court tomorrow morning. He's picked up another minor charge. He can't blend in this town. He's marked by the color of his skin. He called me big brother today. I'm hoping they don't lock him up again. That place is a fucking magnet.

I saw my youngest boy walking through town with a group of his friends while driving tonight. I smiled the whole way home.

In a restaurant, the Chinese waiter went to great lengths to explain the fish dish I'd ordered without really knowing what it was. It's Cantonese, he let me know, and then listed all the ingredients and how they were prepared. When I appeared to be enjoying the dish, he looked very proud. That made me smile too. 

This particular town has more than its share of anxiety, gummy smiles, allergies, sensitivities, special orders and complaints. I'm trying to keep smiling anyway. 

Maybe it's because I'm a step child, but I've never felt entitled to anything. And even though we look alike, you don't feel at all like my people.