kids – Wolverine Lily

Broken Wing and the Middle Finger

“Hello,” I answered, shutting the trunk of my car.
“I think Nellie broke her arm. She fell from a structure on a playground, and she can’t stop crying. Where are you?” he asked, urgency spilling through the phone.

In the background, I heard my daughter screaming at full volume. It was the most devastating roar I’d ever heard from her—deep and loud, like a whale, but screechier. I felt a sudden rush of heat, as if someone had poured boiling water over my head.

Damn. She’s hurt, I thought, starting the engine. I gripped the wheel tight and took off.

“I’m in the car. I’ll be there in ten minutes,” I forced the words out through my tightening throat.
“We’re waiting for an ambulance,” he said, his tone mirroring mine. “Hurry,” he added, and hung up.

My heart was pounding. I accelerated, but soon got trapped behind an old lady driving fifteen miles per hour in a thirty-five zone. I followed her while Nellie’s cry echoed in my head, louder than the speakers in the doors. How badly is she injured? What if she fell on her head?

For a few blocks, my thoughts raced at the speed of light, while my car crawled like a turtle. I was tempted to honk, but this lady probably was too old to hear it anyway. My frustration boiled inside until Granny stopped at a red light, nearly rear-ending a white Mercedes. I swerved to the right lane, hoping to pass both cars when the light changed.
A few long seconds later, I finally got the green. I hit the gas like I was auditioning for Fast & Furious—minus the fancy car.

I looked into the mirror to see if I had enough distance to change lanes, but then I saw… a hairy arm and a middle finger coming out of a white Mercedes! Like a reversed palm tree flipping me off from the jungle of traffic. I tried to ignore the gesture. My daughter’s screams still resonated in my head so, surely, I could not care less about an asshole in a Mercedes. Yet, I was pissed. Pissed and frantic.

I wanted to be with my daughter. Shit. I was pushing past fifty! A speeding ticket now would kill me. No way, I couldn’t afford to lose a second.

I stopped at a red light and saw the white Mercedes slide up to my right. No more palm trees waving. He must’ve thought he’d lost the race to a blonde chick in a dusty Subaru, now idling for a rematch. Then the window began to roll down, revealing Mr. Asshole with dark shades and an even darker attitude.

He shook his head, adjusting his flashy glasses (or just showing them off in the most ostentatious way), looked at me, and spoke: “You couldn’t wait, could you?”
Wait for what? I thought. But I hadn’t said anything—not for another three seconds.

Then I took a long breath and said two precise sentences, both of which would’ve made my mother gasp and a pirate proud.

I watched his jaw drop, the black stubble blending into his black T-shirt.

I stared at him for a moment. Still. Then winked.
“Nice talking to you. Drive carefully.” The light changed and I drove off, leaving behind a faint, fading ‘Oh, uh…’

When I finally got there, I saw an ambulance driving off. Red lights flashing, siren wailing. My stomach turned.

I followed them to the hospital. Doctors confirmed: My angel broke her wing.

Author’s Note:
This happened a few years ago, on Max’s birthday. One I’ll never forget. 🙂

‘I Agree’: The Price of Your Child’s Click

Would you let your child sign a contract with a corporation that profits from her/his image, tracks their location, collects their data, and limits your ability to sue in court?

No? Then, you must understand what happens when your child begins to scrolls.

One click = a legally binding contract.

That’s all it takes to hand over their digital rights and, sadly, yours.

My daughter is almost twelve, and she’s been begging for a phone. “Everyone has it,” she says.
But I grew up without one, so one question keeps bugging me: Is my child old enough for what’s coming through that screen? Because, let’s be honest, a phone today isn’t just a device to make a call. It’s an admission ticket to a digital universe! It’s a portal into an adult internet, strangers, cryptic algorithms, and hidden contracts.

What scares me the most is access to the unknown. Even if I forbid certain applications, she will eventually install social media because all kids do! And although platforms like Instagram, TikTok, and Snapchat require users to be at least 13, it’s incredibly easy for children to bypass this rule.
Kids lie about their birthdate. No parental verification nor ID checks exist, so one click—”I agree”—gets them in.

But wait, does anyone ever read what they agree to? Most adults never do, so we can’t expect kids to read the terms.

Yet, this one blind click binds them into a legal contract with the platform, permitting the app to access their phone and track their location. Moreover, it limits the ability to sue the company in court, often forcing you into private arbitration, even for potential privacy violations.

Moreover, this “I agree” click opens the door to instant feeds—the content parents may disapprove of: perverse images, violent or sexually provocative clips, and strangers that may influence your child more than we wish for. Sadly, neither you nor your child have much control over the screen. The platform’s algorithm decides what shows up.

Once the account is live, multiple predators have a direct line to your child through comments, likes, or an instant DM. You might think their profile is private, but most platforms still allow message requests from strangers—and your child might not even know what’s safe to open.

The Children’s Online Privacy Protection Act (COPPA) is a federal law that’s supposed to protect kids under 13 from online data collection. Other laws, like consumer protection rules, unfair practice regulations, and even state-level privacy acts, also apply to kids and social media platforms. Still, most platforms aren’t verifying anything, and much of the responsibility lands in parents’ hands.

So, how old should your child be to get a cell phone?

I don’t have all the answers.
But if they have one, check it regularly. See what apps they’ve installed. Look at who they follow and what’s showing up in their feed. Talk to them, even if they roll their eyes.

Finally, before we hand over the phone, we need to understand the rules and consequences that come with it. Read the terms. Because once they say “I agree,”—it’s a contract.

Note: This post is for informational purposes only and isn’t legal advice.

Lighthouse of Childhood Dreams

Dreams, my child, are treasures deep,
Cradled in your heart where they safely sleep.
While coins and jewels swell with rust,
Your dreams are the riches that defy all dust.

On a tree of wishes, tags swing high,
Soft tears whispered to the everlasting divine sky.
Gold may glitter, diamonds may gleam,
But nobody can ever steal a sweet childhood dream!

Health is wealth, the wise declare,
Yet, dreams have wings beyond compare.
So dream your dreams, chase them far,
A priceless gift—a magical shooting star.

Your dreams are fires that never die,
A beaming lighthouse—guiding you through the night.
So dream big, dear child, the world is wide,
Open your heart, let your dreams soar with pride.

Little Chalky Feet

Her little feet with chalky dust,
Growing up too fast to last!
Sidewalk art with siblings’ cheer,
A special time my heart holds dear.

Amid each day’s relentless race,
These tiny toes print love I chase,
And memories carved to last forever,
Of joyful days we laughed together.

Author’s Note:
Some moments are just too precious to let fade, right? My youngest daughter’s chalky feet—capturing the fun and colors of a sunny afternoon in the park (before she turned 4.) I stumbled upon this photo and couldn’t let it go. It inspired this short poem and now lives here, safe and treasured. 🙂