The Bath

It was the middle of the afternoon. My mother’s voice was smoky and quiet, calming. I was five and a half years old.

“Billy, you and I are going to take a bath together, and I’m going to show you my breast. You know I had a mastectomy, and they removed my breast, but I’m better now, and I don’t want you to be afraid.”

Letter from an Arizona Jail: My Friendship with Jodi Arias

“So the question is not whether we will be extremist but what kind of extremist will we be. Will we be extremists for hate or will we be extremists for love? Will we be extremists for the preservation of injustice, or will we be extremists for the cause of justice?” Read more

The Longest Conversation

The man in line behind us at the grocery store told my 11-year-old daughter that she had beautiful blue eyes like her mother. It was probably a very innocent compliment. But my heart started racing. All I wanted was to pay for our groceries and get my daughter away from Read more