I could have made it clearer that I would only put myself in her shoes up until the point she donned the matching hood!

But if you never learned to have a mind of your own (tsk, tsk), you’d accept whichever crusty old dude your father gave you to.

I turned thirty nearly twenty years ago. Personally, I have yet to freak out about any “milestone” birthday. Maybe if I hit the century mark.

That is the concern I would have about this. They aren’t going to get their daughter back, if that is what they are hoping.

Nope, it sure didn't.

Exactly. I could empathize, except this isn’t just grief, this is speaking her racist mind.

Yep.

Uh, no.

I’m sure I’d be distraught if a family member had been shot. I might be angry at reporters calmly treating my anguish as a “story.” I’m certain I wouldn’t hurl slurs.

I am tired of his face. I am especially tired of his artfully moody face.

“Peace, I guess. Sigh.”

Felony hand-holding.

It is heartbreaking just to read about. I can only imagine living it. I fervently hope your daughter finds it in herself to leave, and soon.

Ugh, that is so awful. I’m sorry.

I envy you and your stocking-gripping thighs!

Those have never worked for me. They creep down my legs, like those sticky wall crawler toys from gumball machines.

I’m so proud of the man he grew up to be.

👏👏👏

So, jar(head)s of male tears?