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Editorial Reviews. About the Author. Debbie and Greg are thrilled to be the parents of seven The Last Bus: Time Matters by [Kuhns, Dr. Gregory, Kuhns.
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After all these years, my life on the bus continues to transform me. It reminds me that I am not in control, even if these days the waits are shorter and we have tools that can tell us just how long those waits will be. It teaches me to cherish the moments life offers me to simply be still.

I started riding the bus alone at eight years old , younger than was common in , and most certainly younger than is common in My initial solo bus trips were to school and involved a transfer downtown. Even though at eight I was a bit on the shy side and pretty risk averse OK, I still am , I never felt any reservations about taking the bus alone. I was confident in my abilities and proud that I could get around the city on my own. Ironically, it was at around 14, an age when it is common to move through the world without the assistance of an adult, when I started feeling afraid to travel alone.

My parents had prepared me well for the logistics of traveling by bus, but no one prepared me for life on the street as a woman. Groping happened rarely, but leering and yelling were near constant. I would cross the street to avoid encountering groups of men and hold my breath every time I passed a construction site. When men grabbed my arm, I would pull it away and keep walking faster, and without turning back , so busy feeling scared and intimidated that it never even occurred to me to be angry.

Angry that experiencing this type of harassment so early in my womanhood changed the way I viewed myself and my right to move through the world. Angry that, when I was considering giving up my car 15 years ago, what gave me the most pause was not the logistics of how I would get where I needed to go, but the prospect of being on the street outside of normal business hours. Angry that my daughter, who will turn 11 in exactly one month, will soon face the same abuse I did as she ventures out on her own.

Even now, at several years past 40 and mostly past the street harassment period of life , I regularly constrain my movements because of my gender. I repeat: I, a grown-ass strong, intelligent, capable, adult, regularly constrain the way I move through my city because of my gender. But the particular problem of street harassment happens more often to women who spend more time walking and standing outside.

And yes, to women who share space with men on buses and trains. Public transportation represents freedom. It provides mobility for everyone, regardless of age or ability or economic status. But women and girls will never be truly free to use transit until they no longer have to contend with abuse every time they walk outside. Public transportation offers us the gift of contact with our community. But we cannot expect young women to embrace or even tolerate contact that is often demeaning and is sometimes threatening. Public transportation, like any public good, is only as healthy as the culture it is a part of.

If we want women and girls to embrace life on the ground, then we must pay as much attention to the misogyny that pervades our culture as we do to travel times and vehicle design. May is Foster Care Awareness Month , a time when we commit or recommit to understanding the conditions and needs of some of our most vulnerable citizens. But beyond educating ourselves, what can we do to help?

In some ways, it really is that simple: A child needs a safe, loving home, and an adult or adults with the desire to parent steps up to provide it.

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But to truly show up for our kids, we need to do much, much more. The experience was transformative for me. Yes, it was hard. But the emotional toll, the love and loss — and yes, occasional drama — were human experiences that deepened my compassion and helped me grow. These beliefs are what drew me to foster care. But to be a foster parent, you must participate in the foster system. And the foster system is deeply, deeply flawed. Kids are placed in foster care when their families of origin are unable to care for them.

We must remember that norms for supervision are extremely contextual and also that our current expectations require time and money that many — perhaps even most — families do not have.

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Child welfare systems across the US have a history of harming people of color — in particular, African American and Native American families. This harm has happened in egregious and obvious ways — Native American boarding schools , for example — and in subtle, insidious ways, such as the overrepresentation of children of color in foster care. In Washington State, Black and Native American children are removed from their families of origin at higher rates than white children, even when their living conditions are the same or similar.

And, of course, families of color are also disproportionately harmed by other systems, which makes them more likely to have contact with the child welfare system in the first place. Foster care, like many other critical services in Washington State, is underfunded. Social workers have more cases than they can handle and not enough resources to provide essential services.


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So yes, we should show up for kids right now, as foster parents and mentors and even perhaps as social workers. But we must understand that serving the system as-is will not create the wholeness we are seeking for our children. We also must be willing to do the harder work of building a society that truly supports their well-being.

The best thing we can do for children is to sustain the families they were born to.

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This means we must build a society that prioritizes people, where living wage jobs, health care, child care, housing, accessible transportation, safe streets, and humane schools are available to all. We also must work to strengthen our communities , so that families have healthy social connections and can rely on support from friends and neighbors for short term needs or in the event of a crisis. We must address the racism that is inherent in our child welfare system —- and all of our systems.

This means that we must first acknowledge the harm that was caused in the past. We must look with clear eyes at the ways white supremacy and racial bias continue to influence the outcomes we see today. Then, we must commit to changing those outcomes. And finally, we must fully fund agencies that are tasked with caring for people, particularly agencies involved in the foster system.

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Because when the state takes the monumental action of removing a child from her family of origin, the state is morally obligated to provide that child the safety and resources she needs to thrive. This month marks the 50th anniversary of the founding of the Seattle Chapter of the Black Panther Party.

I live in a gentrified neighborhood. Now, skyrocketing housing costs and rising property taxes have pushed all but a very small number of black folks out of the neighborhood.

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The circumstances that led to displacement in the Central District are not unique, but the community was. And what has been lost can never be replaced. As a biracial black person who can afford to live here, as someone who did not grow up in this community but who is the daughter of a man who started his life mere blocks from where I now live and the granddaughter of a woman who lived here for a good portion of my childhood, my relationship to the changes is complicated. And I recognize my status as a relative newcomer, having purchased my first home here after prices had already risen beyond the reach of many longtime residents.

That post is coming; I only need another decade or so to process all of my thoughts and feelings. The store sat empty for several months after its last day of operation. Then, last month, the bulldozers came. The loss has been difficult logistically for our family because there is no longer a grocery store within walking distance of our home. But it has been much more difficult emotionally.

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It seems strange to say, but I am in mourning. In those years, I have visited the store close to 2, times. The many customers who walked to the store were forced to cross a giant parking lot that was at least as big as the store — and never more than half full — to reach the front door. Prices were understandably higher than you would find at a large chain. But Red Apple was much more than a grocery store; it was a part of the community , a place where people felt seen and known and valued. The management and staff of Red Apple showed that they valued people by the products they chose to stock, continuing to carry foods that are culturally significant to black folks long after the demographics of the neighborhood had shifted.

They showed that they valued people by affirming our dignity, allowing anyone to use the restroom or come inside to warm up or cool off. They showed that they valued people by celebrating with us, hosting holiday parties and Easter egg hunts and backpack giveaways year after year after year. The plans for the new development look lovely. There will be better pedestrian access and new apartments and even if the early designs are followed some sort of outdoor plaza.

More housing in a city facing an extreme housing shortage, a built environment that makes walking safer and gathering with others easier — these are important improvements. Except accessible design does not make a place accessible.


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And physical beauty is not the same as soul. The new apartments will be unaffordable to all but the very wealthiest slice of this city. The new stores will likely be as well. If history is any guide, gathering will be restricted to those who are perceived to belong. Happy holiday, everyone! So today is the perfect day for me to share my interview with Estela Ortega, a woman who has spent her life fighting for justice and building community.

Without access to housing, there can be no community. Black women — both my own loved ones and those courageous souls who stood up to evil in the public sphere — were primarily responsible for keeping me sane this year. Other than that, it was bus drivers. As you probably already know, bus drivers are my version of superheroes.

I am consistently awed by their kindness and humor and professionalism.