Column: At home in the city streets

The flags along Forsyth whip lazily back and forth in the late afternoon breeze from the harbor while the summer sun slides down the sky, like the ice cream slowly dripping down the side of a little girl’s waffle cone. She’s standing next to the reflecting pool with her dad, watching her reflection ripple and giggling as he makes faces at her in the water. She wants to hold his hand, but hers is covered in vanilla ice cream. She licks a sprinkle off her pinky before it falls onto her pants and smiles up at her dad in triumph – it doesn’t matter that a few drops have already made their way from her chin onto the collar of her pink polo.

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Column: Hail to single parents

My parents split in 1996. At the age of two, I became that kid with the divorced parents who spent every other weekend with her dad. My family was concerned that my parents had “set me up for failure” or that my ideas about love and healthy relationships had been forever flawed. Divorce isn’t the greatest thing you can do for a kid, but I’m here to say that it’s really not the worst thing in the world either.