Somebody’s Baby

 

My dad and I walked down the street like two people who just went shopping at the hat store, because that’s exactly what we did.  It was winter. My dad had chosen one of those furry Russian-looking things, while I went with a red and black checked hunting cap with ear flaps.  I was a recent English major, and I thought it made me look just the right amount of Catcher in the Rye.  It was snowing. We went inside for meatloaf.     A homeless man was near the entrance. He had just been kicked out.  He looked like he’d had a hard life made harder by some bad choices. It was cold.

“Every single person,” my dad said, “started out as somebody’s baby.”

My baby is fast asleep right now in her crib.  The owls on the wall are looking over her while I am not. Her road began with its own bumps, but now her sea is pretty calm. She’s starting out as my baby, and I am so grateful.

I’m making a donation to Ronald Poppo’s medical fund here.

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