By the Child Dear father, I remember my mother recounting when I was born. It was a drizzly day at a hospital like but legally distinct from UAB. When the doctors saw me they grinned in delight, or…

By the Yearning Writer  Dear Freddie Poo,  It’s really not funny anymore, Freddie. I shouldn’t have to air out our affairs in the newspaper like this just for you to acknowledge me. I’m risking everything — my job, my reputation, my dignity. I’m mortified.  I know I’m not blameless here, Freddie. I…