The other day I went on a walk to the park with the kids and their Auntie and cousin. There was a group of older boys (roughly 11-13 years old) hanging around when we arrived. E was excited to talk their ears off; he loves older kids. In between his excited tales about the mom that made him get shots in his legs that day and wandering off to play on the slides (then right on back to expose the band aids that gave proof of mom's tyranny), I watched and listened to these boys as they loitered on top of the playground. What I heard made my mother heart hurt. It hurt for the boys whose childhoods I can only assume (due to my ability to overhear conversations and language that no thirteen year old should utter) are filled with anger and violence and smut. It hurt for the parents who aren't taking the time to teach their boys responsibility, respect, or virtue. It hurt because these are the boys my sons are growing up with, this is the generation I have to help them navigate. I wish ...