A conversation with . . . Jennifer?
Find me over at my colleague Denise Schipani’s blog today. The conversation may be with me but you can imagine who we’re talking about!
Similar Posts
On most-wanted lists
Jess and I are going to see Muppets: Most Wanted, and she wants to know what “most wanted” means. Me: If the police know you’ve done something criminal, but they don’t know where to find you, they might put you on the most-wanted list. Then if you’re spotted, the police will arrest you. Jessica: Well,…
On not being quiet
On Wednesday Jessica had an early release day from school and so we went into the studio and made some glass. Jessica is a glass artist, an eighteen-year-old senior in high school, my daughter and my ward. She is cognitively impaired and through a painful and too-lengthy guardianship process, her father and I proved to…
The nature of remembering
I don’t know how my daughter’s memory works. She doesn’t remember much about the winter she was seven, which experience has been scarred into my soul (“How can you not remember that!” is how it feels to me). She doesn’t remember the day camp teacher who saw her every day of every summer for four years,…
Jessica’s Story
I wrote this essay five years ago, when I first discovered the story that Jessica tells herself about her life–apropos of last week’s post on the most important story you’ll ever tell. *** “Where is your scar, Mama?” Jessica asks as she brushes her short brown hair. We’re in the bathroom. I elbow her out…
One of my favorite things
A few years ago, as I was tucking Jessica into bed, she kissed me on both cheeks and said, “I love you and think you are beautiful.” I have no idea why she thought I needed to hear those two sentiments at once, but I am glad she did, because it has become my favorite…
Talking to strangers
I wrote this essay about five years ago, and reading it today, realized how much it still captures who Jessica is and what my life with her is like. I hope you enjoy — My eight-year-old daughter Jessica is a friendly soul. From the time she was tiny, she would march right up to strangers…