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| Sophie, Car-wash, Los Angeles 2013 |
We're tribal people, and many moons ago I read a signature piece for the parents of the disabled called Welcome to Holland that I keened toward for about one moon and then crumpled up as I crumpled, lit it with a match, burned a few animal gods in sacrifice and threw it to the wolves. My tribe left Holland behind and ranges loosely at the borders, howling at every moon whether full and shining or slivered, letting only cracks in. Sophie's summer school (ESY) teacher sent home a progress report the other day, something I'd normally glance at in scorn because, really, what's the point? Our tribe resists the denial, doesn't welcome false blessings, looks for grace in contrast. Somehow, though, this small report of A: Produces markedly superior work and E: Excellent citizenship meant something. Under Teacher Comments: A pleasure to have in class!, the exclamation point seemed merciful. I fell back from the tribe for a moment, the moon's pull, the tide washed over me, outlier.
