If you know me well, you'll undoubtedly know about my former neighbour/60-year-old foster child, Byron the Pirate, who loved my cat (my kids call him Catman B because of his love of the neighbourhood cats) and kept watch over my family until he moved away last year.
We helped him move into his new place, gave him some set-up stuff: a couch, some blankets, etc. I took him out for brunch around Christmas and got the most heartbreaking message of thanks via computer-translated text message on my answering machine. He helped us feel less bourgeoisie. We helped him feel less alone.
But the winter divided us. He recently got into an altercation when someone tried to steal his bike and ended up spending a night in the clink.
J told Nate about it and my Cornelius instantly expressed his emotions via a spoken word poem.
All the time.
Going to jail,
Turning to crime.
Feeling the world,
In their eyes.
Until they die.
Nathaniel Silverthorne, age 5.