Editor's Notes

Reformed, and always reforming.

I heard that phrase the other day.  To be sure, it was a phrase that I took some time to reflect upon recently, in so many areas of my life.  As a parent, as a husband, as a member of the community, and in foster care.

Yes, foster care needs reform.

It always has, and it always will. As the world continues to change, foster care will need to change with it.

I know when I am whipped. I know when I’ve run out of road. I’m trapped in my own body. I lose days. Several at a time some weeks. I’m kicking my legs and trying to keep my face in the sun while drowning repeatedly. 

Giving up, even in the face of a mountain, isn’t my style. Hitting the problem with all the strength I have left inside of me square in the jaw, that’s more of the kind of guy I am. 

This is the best thing I’ve ever done, outside of creating my family, why would I give up now?

Nine complete years. Seriously? Must have made a mistake, let me try again. Nine complete years. Yeah, that’s what it is. Nine of ‘em. Doesn’t sound right every time I say it. I remember thinking that I’d be happy to get a year out of this thing, say that I did it, and get back to selling cars or something.

Never, not once, did I think I’d still be sitting in front of this computer nine years later.

I was born in Philadelphia, raised in the Coal Region of Pennsylvania and came into my own in a tough little city named Williamsport. All those places speak to resiliency, chips on shoulders and a stubbornness to keep getting up when the world knocks you down. The world has been kicking mine and its’ own ass this year. I keep trying to get back up. I keep trying to get back up. I. Keep. Trying.

Full disclosure: I’m writing this on the 21st of October, because the distribution system I have used for nearly ten years has failed me for the second time in as many months. Disheartening to say the least. But this is 2020 and these terrible streaks of bad luck are simply the norm. My apologies for the tardiness, a new system is being put in place. On with the show.

I feel like I have been keeping my mouth shut more in the last few months than I have most of my life.

Let’s call it 25% not being able to find the words, 15% feeling like it isn’t my place and 60% being wrapped up in my own issues. Pretty selfish, I know, but they keep talking about self-care, as if that takes away the guilt. It doesn’t 

Nine complete years. Seriously? Must have made a mistake, let me try again. Nine complete years. Yeah, that’s what it is. Nine of ‘em. Doesn’t sound right every time I say it. I remember thinking that I’d be happy to get a year out of this thing, say that I did it, and get back to selling cars or something. 

Never, not once, did I think I’d still be sitting in front of this computer nine years later. 

For all the bellyaching I do about my health, life isn’t all bad.

On an oddly warm Winter Tuesday night, in the most famous city in the world, I’m about to enjoy one of the perks of being me; an interview with one of my favorite comedians, Monroe Martin III.

Nobody on the road. Nobody on the beach. Nobody at the print house? 

I was all geared up for Social Work Awareness Month when out of nowhere, the world flipped upside down. I generally tool the whole issue to social workers. I’m a big fan. I’ve penned an article or two about how much I appreciated my social worker. It’s my honor to honor all of you in the field. I do so with a special print issue of the magazine. But there is nothing more pressing than dealing with and cover the COVID-19 pandemic. 

Maybe getting health insurance wasn’t the best idea?

I was blissfully walking around, thinking all was well in my world. I couldn’t have been anymore oblivious as to what was going on with my health.