Dear Darryl George, when I first saw your story on the internet news; I remember thinking Wow that young man is brave. He’s taking a stand for his rights. I also remember feeling angry about the unjust way you were being treated, and thinking about the stress and suffering you were going through, just because you dared to keep your dreds (cultural hairstyle).

Young man, I am sorry about your pain and injustice. Just know I support what you had the courage to do and am inspired by your fight for justice. I am truly sorry you did not get the outcome you desired. The decision the judge rendered concerning your case, was not just or correct. Right now, we have a level of corruption that is extreme and it influences systems and institutions. We have a far right leaning immoral Supreme Court justices that sit in the highest court in the land. What you are facing and up against is white supremacist institutional racism.

Texas was one of the states of the Confederacy historically. It presently contains 97 hate groups and still has active chapters of the KKK in existence. Let’s not forget the history. When black people gained their freedom from slavery and started gaining civil rights in the state; the government undermined the law and passed Jim Crow laws in direct opposition to the new law. The passing of the Jim Crow laws were to keep African Americans/Black individuals from exercising these new freedoms due to the racism of the whites that were in power. These same individuals who historically outlawed Black languages, black religion, black cultural clothing, banned African hairstyles and forced African Americans to assimilate to European colonial standards of practice are not going to just change their ways; without political pressure, civil war or powerful social movements. The racists in our society aren’t just going to fall in line without a fight. Southern states especially, those historically Confederate have a practice of undermining, defying new laws that give black people protections under the law.

I say to you well done young king. Irregardless, of the unjust decision the court rendered, you have my respect. And what you have done will be listed in legal history. Even when cases aren’t won, the decisions rendered, still set a precedent and a foundation for future cases and court battles like yours. There will be others who will look at the example you set and follow in your footsteps. There will be others who will take up the mantel, where you left off and fight for their hairstyles and personal expressions of culture and against discrimination. Your fight gives people hope. It gives people the courage to say I am Black and I am proud, respect my culture, I have the right to express it. We all know that the school administration did discriminate against you and did violate the Crown Act in the way it treated you. We know a Republican right leaning judge in a state that upholds white supremacist ethics and culture is not going to give you a fair/impartial decision. In spite of all this, you stood firm, I salute you and thank you for the example you have set and the reminder that we all need to stay socially aware and keep fighting for justice.

Don’t let this unjust decision that they gave you, get you down or make you give up on your dreams. Stay focused, keep standing up for your beliefs and standing up for the principles you hold. You remind me of a young Marcus Garvey or Martin Luther King Jr. You have a bright future ahead of you. This obstacle will not define the rest of your life. Things will eventually have to change in this racist society. The struggle for equality, justice, fairness will continue. Young man you have done your part. I tip my hat to you. You and your family will be in my prayers.

Its been a long journey with doing three DNA testings thru Ancestry, 23 and me, and My heritage. I finally spoke with my half aunt, Dad’s half sister Julie (Aunt Jewel). She told me the story of what happened to my abuela. She was raped/sexually assaulted after going on a date with my grandfather. She already had a baby at the time. All the research I did, brought up cousins and ancestral places that come from my grandfather’s bloodline. But she shared a name and surname, that I never heard before. The name Phillip Simmons. When I try to find records of someone by that name, its pretty elusive. I don’t know if the name is his biological surname, whether or not he was adopted and took on his adoptee family’s last name, or whether it was an alias. I looked up public records and there are numerous people with that name, but none that fit the details of what I believe would be him.

He would have to be around my grandmother’s age or older, she’s in her 80’s and frequented the NY (Bronx,Spanish Harlem, New jersey area; my abuela lived in those places). Its like my grandfather is a ghost, a criminal phantom that keeps eluding us all. Who the hell are you granpa? The one who is responsible for my abuela Julie’s trauma, that led to her giving up my dad and uncle for adoption, the one responsible for creating a family line out of your lack of sexual control and inability to respect a woman’s choice/consent over her own body. My kids have medical illnesses that may have been passed down from your genes or etc. But I can’t know that for sure because I don’t know who the hell you are or what you look like or your medical issues. I don’t even know if your alive or dead.

I never thought about how not knowing your roots, history or bio bloodline would affect me detrimentally; until a few years ago. Lord knows I’m grateful for my adopted grandparents Luz and Don Arturo; they gave me love, acceptance and taught me boricua culture. I will always be grateful for that. My dad had parents that stepped in and did the job that his bio parents didn’t. But to not know that bio history has always been a mystery and nagged at me. How can you know who you truly are, unless you know where you came from? I hope to one day find the answers that I seek

Being a domestic violence survivor is an experience. I was triggered last Friday. Something was done to me by an individual that I found unjust. I felt as if my rights were violated. Because this person was in a position of power, I felt nothing but inward rage, fear,anxiety for days. So much so I began to have tension headaches,literally feeling the right side of my head throbbing coupled with insomnia. It’s frustrating as fuck when you feel angry and helpless. Someone wrongs you and they get away with it, because they are in a position of power. When you go to other entities/agencies for help or support, they take up for the person who violated you.It’s the worse feeling in the world when you feel like justice is witheld from you.

As a black woman, I realize these institutions were not set up for us (communities of color). The people who run these institutions are wicked, and they could care less about helping people. I’m beginning to think its all about the money, and maintaining the status quo. Its disgusting that you have to be in close contact with individuals who try to manipulate, oppress, use or abuse you. People in power think they can treat you or talk to you anyway they please. When you work for individuals who treat you that way its even worse. I’ve had individuals try to lie on me to try to get me in trouble or ruin my reputation. When its someone you trusted, you feel betrayed, like you were stabbed in the back.

I had my narcissist mother lie on me and also get my sisters and other relatives to do her bidding, as well as an abusive ex-husband. Demonic, evil people influence and control other people’s minds.It makes it hard to stand up for righteousness. When you do, you become a target of their revenge,dislike, machinations or punishment. PTSD is like the past visiting you and intruding on present time. Flashbacks of painful memories (vivid photogenic pictures) or deja vu/an experiential time loop of recycled pain/extreme emotions. Fearful of the same feelings, fearful of the same past hurtful experiences repeating itself in present time.

You try to overcome, you try to move forward, but the moment someone or something triggers you, your back to square one. I began to drink years ago to try to deal with my pain; then gave it up for God. I’m not on meds because I don’t want to be medication dependent. Therapy is a true help. But the difficult moments where you are alone and dealing with the emotions is a true test.You try not to think about it (whatever the trigger is), you try not to be afraid or hypervigilant but its a natural reaction. Your defenses go all the way up and you feel as if your being swept away in a current of deep waters or an uncontrolled sea. Your trying to find your way back to land or to a buoy or life preserver that you can hold on to; until the waters are calm again.

Its been 5 days and I’m still not completely ok yet. I’m trying to get there, back to equilibrium,back to normalcy, back to freedom, back to my sense of calm. I hope I make it thru this, without spazzing out. I just want my centeredness back.I have to get back to me.I have to get back to myself.

I decided to do a deep dive into Christian history a few years ago. I found out about theological racism, the slave bible, the American Colonization society started by a “christian” presbyterian clergyman whose purpose was to send emancipated slaves and free people of color back to Africa, the history of the KKK visiting churches, lynchings of black people after sunday church services being watched as a spectator sport by white Christians and other atrocities. It affected the way I saw the religious aspect of Christianity.

The Christian culture practiced here in the United states and many other places has been tainted by white supremacy and, Roman/Greco Western culture. I saw the election of Trump ,as well as the murders of Trayvon Martin, Michael Brown, and countless others cause debates and schisms between members of my church and other churches. I even lost white friends and had to end friendships with conservative Republicans who were being racist or putting their politics above their faith. The fact that the majority of churches are still segregated, has led me to distance myself from the religious aspects of Christianity. I began to feel disconnected and disgusted by certain circumstances going on within Christian culture and churches.

I’ve had to do tons of research just to find black, Native American and latino theologians with realistic, truthful progressive views that challenge the immorality and incorrect status quo that the Euro-Christian Western culture promotes. To find religious leaders from my ethnic backgrounds and community who talk about faith and their racial/cultural experience and incorporate that into their theology. The late Reverend James Cone was a powerhouse. His words and the words of other African/Afro American theologians are like water to me. The fact that they are courageous enough to challenge unjust, racist, ungodly religious systems really inspires me. The status quo is dangerous and leads so many astray. Christ if he were still on earth would care about communities of color and would be ministering to them, because Christ often went to the marginalized and outcasts.

The fact that the current government is going as far as to ban books, or limit/ban black history courses, and labels any history/facts that offend white fragility as “wokeism”, is a sign of the times and the fact that this is not a post-racial America. That racism is shown each and every time a certain white demographic tries to suppress the truth of the histories of minorities in this country. The church and the Christian religion are not immune from that racist influence either.

We are such brothers and sisters in Christ that we live segregated lives, in segregated communities, and when its time to vote, a certain racial/political demographic votes for policies that harm communities of color and minorities. Its really hypocrisy and the use of religion to try to hide these racist sensibilities. The true church isn’t always in a building or institution. They are individuals of faith that live in love, seek after truth, and try to abide/promote Christ’s teachings.

Christ ministered to sinners, the poor, the sick, the homeless, the demon possessed, etc. He was always criticizing and rebuking the Pharisees (religious elites) for their legalism, duplicity and hypocrisy. I keep searching for how my African/indigenous ancestors worshipped God before slavery/colonization, before Christianity was tainted and poisoned by Euro-supremacy. From negro spirituals, to watch night services, to testimony gatherings, to worshipping God freely in the swamps/bush away from white supervision is the history of some of my ancestors. I also found out that there were Christians in African before European colonization and the slave trade. The history has been minimized and hidden due to theological racism. I continue to do the hard work of searching for these truths. So my Deconstruction continues.

My son recently turned 18, and is graduating from high school this year. He has a disability and is still a honors student in the National Honor Society. He’s a great son. He works hard, studies and does his school work. He doesn’t give me any trouble. He got accepted to 13 colleges. Out of the 15 he applied for. I am so incredibly proud of him. In spite of all his medical challenges he worked hard and got the acceptances. But the reality is most of the schools he got accepted to, I can’t afford to pay the tuition, so he won’t be able to go. So all the excitement and joy I felt for him, has now turned to self shame on my part.

We signed him up for so many scholarships and he didn’t get them. I’m a divorced single parent that lives on a fixed income. I make just enough to get by. I’m blessed and I’m grateful for the blessings that I have. There’s no feeling like the disappointing feeling of telling your son, you can’t afford to send him away to school. You feel your kid’s pain and disappointment as a mother. I know my son is down about it. Even though my son plans to go away to school eventually. I can’t help but think if I married the right man or a wealthy man, maybe I wouldn’t be in this position. Or if I had kept my late grandmother’s will safe for her, I would have had some money to give to my son for college. My abusive narc mother, stole my inheritance; by falsely accusing me of attacking my sister, and secured an order of protection for herself and my sister; barring me from my grandmother’s home, so she could access her will and destroy it. She then told the court my grandmother had no will, so she got everything, property, assets, money, access to accounts etc. I appealed the false order of protection, and won. They cancelled it and sent the case back to family court. I won that case and it was completely terminated. By the time all of that was over it was too late. Eventually my mother assaulted my late grandmother, got arrested. I and my grandmother ended up with an order of protection from criminal court. But two and a half weeks later, my grandmother ended up passing away from complications from a stroke. I could have had money from that inheritance, but my mother made sure I got nothing.

It’s hard when you feel regret and shame, because you don’t have wealth because of your single parent status. You do the best you can. You struggle, but when situations like this come up, its a reminder that its never enough, you are limited. Locked out of certain opportunities and spaces ,because you can’t afford it. Some of this also has a racial component. Some of the colleges and their tuitions, and standards are the way they are to keep certain ethnic demographics limited in attendance or keep them in debt thru all the student loans that have to be taken out just to afford that college experience. White parents with wealth or with wealthy relatives and privilege, don’t have this problem. Why should people be in debt just to get an education? That’s a question many parents of color face. You want your child to have opportunities, but not to make him a slave to debt when they graduate school. My son basically has to accept a lower quality school, as opposed to a more quality school because my lack of money is a barrier. Its like you have to shop at Family Dollar, even though you’d rather be shopping at Saks Fifth Ave. I feel depressed over this situation, I’ve accepted the situation ,but it doesn’t mean I have to like it.

This is the shame of a parent, when you feel you can’t provide something for your child; or see him locked out of his dreams because of the limitations of not being able to afford it. I’m just trying to deal with it. But it inwardly hurts.

I have spent most of my life having questions about who certain family members were. My father Hector, an Afro-Puerto Rican (afro-latino) American was adopted as a baby, by a Puerto Rican family. His parents Luz and Arturo were loving grandparents. They made me feel loved and completely accepted me. My father one day revealed after an argument with one of my grandparents, that they were not my biological grandparents. It shocked me at that young age. My father was an angry, abusive, controlling man at that time of his life. I think he revealed that to me out of the bitterness he felt towards my grandparents because of the disagreement, or because of the bitterness he felt towards his real mother who gave him up. I had questions. My father eventually shared with me that his mother a Puerto Rican woman named Julie; had supposedly been raped by my biological grandfather, who was a African American man of mixed heritage. She got pregnant with twins, (my dad and uncle) and then gave them up for adoption. He let me know that him and my uncle Roque met their mother, and didn’t like her personality. They found her to be cynical and cold. Maybe they thought she’d have some love for them, but she probably didn’t give off that energy. The thought that my grandmother was possibly a rape/sexual assault victim, still messes with me until the present. I would find out after doing research she wasn’t the first victim in my family tree. I never met Julie, or knew anything about my biological grandfather. I grew up secretly hating and being filled with rage at him. Years later, my dad would revise his story and tell me it was possible that Julie wasn’t raped, she may have had a fling with my grandfather and ended up unexpectedly pregnant. She was young and had another man she was interested in marrying and having a baby would have gotten in the way of her plans; which led to her giving my dad and uncle up. These revelations show me how dramatic and Jerry Springer like, family social interactions can be. My father and I don’t get along, I went no contact with him almost 8 years ago due to his abuse. Before, that happened while we were still on speaking terms, he asked me to help find his father (my biological grandfather). He knew I was researching my genealogy. I became curious last year and decided to take an Ancestry.com DNA test. The things that I discovered blew my mind and I’m still processing the information that I found out.

In my family line, there were murders, homicides, slave schedules/slavery, tragedies, affairs, traumatic events, historical events, statutory/sexual assaults and rapes; as well as ancestors who did great accomplishments, some famous and some not famous. Doing deep genealogical research isn’t for the faint hearted, you have to prepare yourself for the truths you may encounter. Some truths are life changing, life altering, and even traumatic. After 10 months of research, I am changed. I got some of the answers I was looking for, while some things remain mysteries due to limitations on records, and the fact there are no surviving relatives to tell the tale of what may have occurred. I did find my grandfather’s people and family. Most have passed away, but there are still descendants from his family that are still alive. Some are my 2nd and third cousins. I keep in contact was a few of them. As an African-American,Caribbean, afro-latina, I find that researching family history, isn’t as easy as other Europeans ,who research their lines. They have money, access to records, and can pay genealogists to do the research for them. As an African descended person and because of slavery, some records were not kept, because slaves weren’t seen as human beings, but as property or belonged to the slavemasters/overseers that owned some of my ancestors. Its a frustating thing. Knowing that colonizers that saw your ancestors as three fifths of a person, saw them as nothing but property, and purposely tried to obliterate and stamp out their history. I and other african american descendants are the legacy and resistance, to what the racists tried to do.

What I’ve discovered is that family trees and one’s genealogy is like a patchwork quilt. There are so many different ancestors, family lines, that connect to one another. Like the patches stitched in a quilt, each patch connects and some are interwoven with each other. Many different patches make up a quilt, just as many ancestors from different families came together and formed new families, and the very relatives that we descend from.

My research on Ancestry.com continues. Its been months. My teen daughter seems to think I’m obssessed. Maybe I am. I’ve had questions for so long . Now that I have some of the tools to possibly get my questions answered, I find that I can’t stop. I can’t stop researching, I can’t stop looking. I found one answer and so much more. Its like more truths begin to be unlocked as you do deeper research. I know I’ll probably never meet any of my living cousins in real life, except by some miracle. I’ve resolved its enough for me, if I know what they look like or where they are from. I can finally tell my children, these are our people. We come from these families or are related to these families, these particular relatives are a part of our family tree.

This process isn’t easy emotionally. The records sometimes aren’t there or don’t give much info about an ancestor. There are some ancestors that are like ghosts, like they never existed, because they don’t have a paper trail attached to them. You only know they existed because their name was written on another person’s marriage certificate,death certificate, obituary or birth record. That’s the most frustrating thing. I’ve been looking for information on my great-grandfather Anthony Rivera Sr born in Puerto Rico in the 1900s. His name is so common, I can’t find any birth records or know anything about who his parents were. The same with my great-great grandfather, Ivan Johnson who was born in Jamaica, West Indies. It lists him on my great-grandfather’s marriage certificate. It does not list his wife or who he was married to, so I don’t know my great-great grandmother’s identity either.

Being a black woman of African descent can be complicated; in that the people who colonized us also made it harder to retain our history. The enslaved descendants names were often changed to the surnames of their slave masters. African people already had African names, their own culture and spoke African languages, before coming to this country. The European colonizers outlawed their languages, forced them to speak English, Spanish or whatever European language that they spoke. Banned their cultural expressions: hairstyles, dances, religions, rituals, rites, dress styles. It was basically a cultural genocide, destruction. The colonizers saw them as three fifths of a person, without souls. That meant they could control, rape, abuse, kill, and manipulate them at their wills. While I’m doing this research and I go onto some people’s family trees, they have a slave master listed as being the father of a child/descendant, and the parent listed as a slave, Indian woman, etc. It angers and enrages me because these women were people. These women had names and in history we know they were more than likely raped or sexualy assaulted by their “master” or “overseer”. These women had no sexual autonomy, control over their bodies or sexuality, especially when they were seen as property. History can be heartbreaking and fill one with rage.

So, many walk around not knowing their history or where they come from. Not understanding why the present state of things are the way they are; or could it be that its too painful for some to confront the realities of what occurred. I choose to to confront it, understand it, mourn it and learn from it. I go thru periods of rage, anger, depression, and deep reflection, but its worth it. I feel like my eyes are now opened and i can’t go back to keeping them closed.

So I decided to do a deep dive into my geneaology. A few years ago, I took an DNA ethnology test on MyHeritage.com. I found out that I’m about 64% African and 40% something else (which included European (Scandinavian),West Asian, Jewish,Indigenous/Native). That is pretty much what my Jamaican grandmother(maternal side) told me about our family history. She claimed that her mother was Black,Jewish and Arawak Indian and that her dad was of Jamaican and Cuban heritage. I had a lot of Puerto-Rican cousins that kept popping up, which also confirmed Dad’s heritage because he is Afro-Boricua. This year I purchased a Ancestry DNA test. I decided to do this to make sure my other results from MyHeritage were credible. I figured if the two tests were similar, then the details of my heritage have more certainty. When I got the tests back it confirmed the other one, with slightly different categories. Also, because my dad took a Ancestry DNA test, a lot of relatives from his line popped up.

I decided to sign up for the monthly payment to do deeper research. This gave me access to records that I had never seen before: birth certificates, death certificates, WWII draft registration cards, slave censuses, other censuses, marriage certificates, yearbook pictures, or pictures other relatives shared of an individual. A whole wealth of new information was made available to me. However, I found only some answers and some mysteries that still remain, because the record trail either ran out or there were no records for some relatives. You also sometimes find out family errors/lies ,tragedies, family secrets, or new information never known before. My family history is a tapestry of a lot what I just mentioned.

My dad Hector, was adopted by a PuertoRican family (The Osorio’s). His identical twin brother Roque was also adopted by another PuertoRican family (The Rodriguez’s). The two families knew each other. My dad and uncle didn’t grow up together, though. The two were given up for adoption by my grandmother Julie when she around 19 years old. I was told the story that my biological grandfather raped/sexually assaulted my grandmother and she became pregnant with dad and my uncle, she then gave them up and they were later adopted. I was later told years later that that story may have not been entirely true, it may have been possible that my grandmother Julie and my grandpa had a fling which resulted in an unwanted pregnancy, my grandmother may have had a boyfriend/ another love interest and wanted to marry. Having two babies would have gotten in the way of her plans. I grew up believing the first story, though. I reached out to my grandmother by letter in my teens, asking if I could meet with her. She basically told me that my uncle and dad met her and didn’t like her and she figured it would be the same with me. She also had a family and life that she didn’t want to interrupt by meeting me. So, I accepted that and never contacted her again. Because of the way she reacted, I figured it maybe traumatizing to her to meet me, because I represent what comes from my father, who if the first story is true, is a child of rape. I later spoke with my half-aunt who confirmed my abuela was in fact raped. She went on a date with my grandpa who then decided to sexually assault her. My half-aunt also gave me a name, Phillip Simmons. He may have also been an adoptee, so that may not be his biological last name. After the rape, she was sent away to a mental home, because she had a breakdown, and the child she already had was taken by the system, she went thru horrible experiences. No wonder she wanted nothing to do with me or my dad or uncle.

After researching on Ancestry, I found out about my grandmother’s family. Its deep how a blood relative can live as if you don’t exist. I have to basically find out about my own close relatives through a website.Its a difficult process to go through emotionally, but for me it was very much needed. How could I know who I am, unless I know where I came from. I found a lot of my ancestors. I even found my presumed grandfather’s people/relatives on there. I never knew my biological grandpa. I didn’t even know a surname. I found out that his relatives came from Alabama (Harris and Turner families). He was a black man with Native American ancestry. Two of his relatives perished in the highly publicized 1970 Marshall Air Crash. These individuals were my cousins. A father and a son. It was incredibly sad and it’s still taking me time to get over finding out a historical fact like that.

Another thing I found out while researching, was that 6th great grandmother was a slave and her daughter my (5th great grandma) was born into slavery in Jamaica. There’s no words to completely describe how I felt when I saw a slave census, with my relatives names on it. The plantation where she lived and what slave master owned her. I was at work when one of my new found cousin’s emailed me the proof of the ancestor we had in common. Her name was Acco (5th great grandmother), and she was a slave at the Rio Magno plantation, in Saint Thomas in the Vale, located in Jamaica ,West Indies. She had no last name. They were considered only three fifths of a person. I later found out slaves were often renamed by slave masters and because they were property sometimes took on the master’s last name. I wanted to cry, scream, throw something through a window , but could not.

Sometimes biological ties can hurt, The cicumstances that make up one’s family tree can bring anger, pain, sorrow, grief but also joy. When one decides to do a deep dive, one must do so wisely.

It’s never easy when your the mom of a child with a chronic condition. The emotions you feel can range from anxious fear, to sadness/grief, to feelings of powerlessness, to anger. Why is this happening to my child, you ask yourself, you see your child as an innocent who hasn’t even begun to live adult life yet, and has to go through some very adult things. I hate seeing my children suffer and be in pain. If you could heal them or take away their pain, you would. The harsh reality is that you can’t and the situation is much bigger than yourself.

So you appeal to God,you pray for the healing of your child and the disease doesn’t leave, causing pain,discomfort and sometimes limitations to your child’s life. You get bitter and you question God why? You begin to wonder if God cares. My teen son was diagnosed with Crohns Disease last year. The disease causes issues with the digestive tract and flareups and infections. My son has to go through all types of invasive tests,ultrasounds ,colonoscopies,biopsies, constant visits to the hospital, specialist appointments. I hate it. I hate every part of this process for him. He’s a young man having to grow up a little more quickly and be acquainted with suffering in a way others aren’t. Why? Why is this happening to him? I hate this. He shouldn’t have to deal with this.

I am currently sitting in the hospital again with him as he is in pain,waiting for an ultrasound. We passed a hematology room where we saw kids of all ages sitting, receiving treatments for sickle cell and chemotherapy for pediatric cancer. The teen boy sits there on his phone as the IV drips medication in his arms. A completely bald younger girl that looks around 7 years old, sits there with her parent by her side as the chemo is being administered thru her IV. As I walked past that room , inwardly I feel sadness and pain. These are children, suffering and hurting. Dealing with complex horrific diseases that they shouldn’t have to experience. I feel angry and sad. I’m a parent and there is no pain greater then when your child is suffering. The question comes back to me, why God why?

I don’t think I’ll get this answer while on earth. Some things are mysteries, but this answer less mystery sucks. A mother has many hats. One is Nurse mom. When my children are sick, we have to play the role of nurse, we comfort the child, administer medication, monitor and treat symptoms, act as your child’s cheerleader when they are physically and mentally exhausted. You set your face as neutral, to be strong for your child. However my son doesn’t know the amount of times I took a bathroom break just to go and cry in private, because of how stressful the whole situation is. We as mothers play roles in society that we are never rewarded or paid for. And that’s ok because we do this for love and for our children and loved ones. Love doesn’t require payment or a reward, it’s it’s own reward.Today I am nurse mom waiting for ultrasound results, and I’m hoping my son doesn’t have to be admitted to the hospital again.