Personal Narrative-Feed Children In The US

We have a friend (that was introduced to us by a mutual friend) who has been a big resource for us. Her son and Noah had a lot in common, including the trials and tribulations that kids like them (and their families) had to deal with. The afflictions that affected my son and hers did not have her suffer in self-pity (even though she has admitted that there are times she has felt defeated). She instead became a true champion of the cause, since she ultimately felt that what happened to her son could have been avoided. She did it all; fighting state regulations (particularly medical insurance), educating other parents with kids like hers about what she felt was the government’s role in what now affects 1 in 65 kids in the United States, to even pointing out that what we feed kids like hers affect how they
I looked at him, not quite knowing what to say to him...before Noah brought my attention back to him as he kicked me in the elbow.
That poop hurt.
Ok, Mrs. H, do you see what I am going through not expressing myself? That poop? I am a man on the downslope to his 50’s, and I am saying “poop” to avoid cursing.
I hope you pray for me.
Noah’s rage lasted another 10 minutes or so, I trying to get him off the ledge while hoping that no one was going to call the cops due to his screaming. I don’t know if you have noticed recently, but folks with my melanin content are becoming an endangered species, and I was not trying to become a news story that night.
Then, just like that, it was over.
Noah, a blank stare on his face void of emotion except rage a moment before was now smiling at me, the insanity draining out of his eyes as quickly as it came on. I slowly let him go as a kind “Hi, Daddy” escaped his lips. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to cry or let out a sigh of relief.
Needless to say, dinner did not happen that