I am a verb.  I am all action.  I make homemade soup for my daughters when they are sick.  I jump out of bed in the middle of the night to lend a sympathetic ear to a frightened child and reassure her it was just a bad dream — their mother, father, brother, sister or friend did not get shot to death in their apartment.  I write checks for tuition, tutors, cheerleading uniforms, school supplies, clothes (some functionally necessary and some to avert the fashion death that they believe will occur if said clothing wasn’t purchased), food, cell phone charges, doctor visits, gym memberships, family vacations.  When my daughters were younger I went to parent-teacher conferences, graduations and plays.  I did not go to PTA functions at one daughter’s high school because she didn’t think she could explain having a white parent when she’s black. […]