Write some random stuff on here

My youngest son, Neyney (yes, that is his nickname) looks so like Roberto Carlos that it’s scary. How could it be that his dad and I, who look nothing like RC (for starters, I’m caucasian and my ex is aswad black) come together and produce a perfect replica OF SOMEONE ELSE??? Seriously, if it wasn’t for DNA test, I could be claiming child support.

If I knew how to include pics in the post I would use one of Roberto – picture him with unblemished skin that only a 4 year old who has overcome infantile excema can have, and that’s my boy.

something upsetting yesterday. My boys and I were slogging it to the library in the hot afternoon sun, when I noticed a couple across the road from us. Both tall, mixed race looking, both wearing white t-shirts and jeans. The man was bigger, though, and what caught my attention was that he was twisting the woman’s arm up behind her back, then pushing her and pinching her, and ….
I have to continue later.

My keyboard was playing up again. What happened next? Well, the woman looked like she was holding back tears, and I was rooted to the spot and feeling hot, tingly and angry. My first instinct was to shout to the woman, did she need help, but I was scared I might A) make it worse for her and B) get myself in big trouble. Also, I really, really didn’t want my children to see – I don’t think they can imagine that a man would hit a woman like that. So I was pushing them ahead, twisting to see what might happen and thinking desperately of what I might do. I did nothing.

I feel really bad about that. There’s a big church on the corner of that street, and when I reached it (with the couple still in sight) I wanted to ask the group of women in the church carpark for help. No, I didn’t. I really, really, didn’t want my children to know what was happening, but should that hold me back from trying to help someone who clearly needed it? I feel I let that woman down, and all I can do now is pray she escapes from the hold her abuser clearly has over her.