The Whistleblower
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     My sister was so mad at AJ that the kid was on my doorstep Saturday morning before the sun even came up.

     The previous night AJ had dialed 9-1-1 and reported his mother for “feeding” him narcotics. Two cruisers showed up at the house.

     “Allergy medicine,” my sister told me. “I was so embarrassed.”

     Seems the police department had a little talk with the day campers about right and wrong.

     “You hear about this stuff in the news,” my sister said, “but never think it will happen to you.”

     I sent AJ to the guest room, hoping his old toys, books, and movies would occupy him while I showered.


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