Chaplain’s Corner

*This post contains graphic descriptions of bodily functions. In casual conversation last week, I heard someone refer to a U.S. Army base grocery store as The Commissary. My brain hiccupped and for a moment, I was in a prison cell. This happens almost every day— these prison teleportations. I had forgotten that commissary is a term used by respectable people in honored places. That concept was buried deep within my psyche, packed away with all of the other innocent associations I once held. These days commissary is evil, albeit necessary. It is also a PITA: Can I get some money on my account this week? Store… Read More »

I am a strong supporter of The Innocence Project and of Wrongful Conviction awareness, in general. Research-backed estimates place the number of falsely convicted United States citizens to be upwards of 200,000 people. While a significant problem that demands our consistent attention, I did not start a blog to build a case for my son’s innocence. He is not innocent. He pled guilty because he was guilty of several U.S. criminal laws— Do not collect $200. Do not pass Go.   We can all sleep better now, right? No. What he is guilty of has required an inquest of my soul. After years of tossing and turning at… Read More »

In another life, I had 3 teenagers— and they were all 3-sport season athletes. It is tempting to reminisce about this one precious time in our family’s life— the drama-filled highs and lows of competition; the pride of seeing my children overcome obstacles within themselves and as part of a team. But I will stop there. You know what else I vividly recall about that time? Our grocery bill. During that season, we could have financed a fully furnished second home— on the water— with the money we spent feeding our kids. I would buy 6 gallons of milk a… Read More »

In Mexico at dinner last week, I excused myself from the table and inquired with a young, smiley waiter about how one would find los baños. Attentive and kind, he eagerly offered to walk me, personally, to the start of a paver-lined path where he then pointed and nodded and smiled more, giving me a general direction in which to keep walking. Los baños were further than I had anticipated. The music trailed off behind me. The path became denser around each curve, framed in by blue-grey agave plants reaching upward like giant Edward Scissorhands. There were desert ferns and spikey plants and gnarly,… Read More »

I am taking a vacation this month. It is a long anticipated re-do of a cancelled anniversary trip from last year, for which I had been too ill to travel. My husband and I have worked hard; we have saved and planned and organized and jumped every logistical hoop in our personal and professional lives to make this happen. And yet, I have been apathetic and fretful and generally unenthused. I sat with this apprehension for a while the other day before I realized what it really was: guilt.   At the top of a backpack chocked full of conditioned shoulds… Read More »

In the 80s, I was a scrappy kid with a dare-devil, partner-in-crime younger brother. We rode bikes all over town, menacing the elderly neighbor-ladies who called the phone attached to our kitchen wall to tell our mom that we were jumping our bikes off the buckled sidewalks again. Back then TV time was minimal for us (cuz 4 channels), but one thing was certain: We sat cross-legged on shag carpet once a week, engrossed in the ruckus caused by the Dukes of Hazard County. Funny thing, it never occurred to me that I was rooting for two cousins on probation. Back then, county… Read More »

The moment my son rounded the doorway to step into the courtroom, his wrists bound close to his waist, a part of me died. I am not being dramatic. Seeing my son paraded out in line with 6 other inmates, shuffling in their floppy slides, killed the mom I once was. The jumpsuit stamped PRISONER made him, undeniably, property of the State. Responsibility for his life and well-being had changed hands overnight.   Timothy D. Easley/AP No, I am not the same person that arrived to that courthouse a few years ago. That woman, that mother left her body in slow dissociation. She ascended… Read More »

Confession #3: I spanked my child. I did the best I could. Bridget Young Jan 31, 2025 He never crawled. He went straight from a lightning fast, efficient inchworm to suddenly standing and walking before age 1. ‘A Behavior Problem’   It started with book recommendations like “The Strong-Willed Child” and gentle (but firm) suggestions by a preschool teacher to have him seen by a doctor. He was my first born, and I had no meter by which to gage his energy force. All that I knew was that he was exceptional. Well, that and the fact that I was… Read More »

Confession #2: I haven’t seen my son in 6 months.   Last year, my son spent over 100 days in “Administrative Segregation” (aka solitary confinement, aka The Hole). This largely occurred through the months of December and January. Why was that? Because Punishment is a For-Profit Business in this country. As such, random Covid testing resumed at his facility just in time to reduce DOC staffing burdens during the 2023 holiday season. I said what I said. All other mandatory virus testing had ceased in our society by then (i.e., schools, hospitals, etc.), however, as a matter of business, the DOC held in… Read More »

Ernest Hemingway said, “Write hard and clear about what hurts.” This hurts. So, I’m writing.   I’m writing here and I’m writing at www.blacksheepmom.com. *The difference is the paid content and comment community here. The public blog posts will be posted to both pages so choose your level of engagement as you wish!     As I get underway, it should be clear: This space is bound to be more raw than the website. At times, it may contain strong words. It will likely evoke conflict, both within and amongst readers. No matter what happens here, I argue that this… Read More »