Childhood
Jesus is Real
Any person who says, “I don’t have to do what my parents say, I’m eighteen,” has probably never had their mother utilize her sandal as a tool of public humiliation in the middle of a low-priced grocery store. I grew up in a mixed-race household that fulfilled the stereotype for both Mexicans and Irish individuals. It began as Catholic and became non-denominational Christian, which meant that while we attended normal church and experienced communion, we did not have ‘Mass’. Because of the nature of my family, hearing sentences like “my mom will totally beat my ass,” always held different connotations than what most people would think. The saying doesn’t mean “I am a victim of abuse” as much as it means “my parents weren’t afraid to spank me as a child.” With all of this said, there was a moment in my life in which I was sure my mother was going to beat my ass in front of all my friends—the time I dropped the communion juice in Church. Through this disaster of an event, I came to realize that Jesus was real, and he saved me from an ass whooping.
By Kai Jeffreys3 years ago in Confessions
Letter to a Former Teacher
Dear Mr. Jones, As a former student I am writing to you to apologize for my behavior that was not your responsibility to bear, as well as try to offer some perspective on that time in my life. Fourth grade was a very difficult time for me and I lacked the social-emotional skills to cope with a burst of new feelings. I was alone a lot. Alone at home. Alone at school. Things were very difficult when you grew up poor in a rich zip code. My mother did her best to brainwash her children into thinking there was nothing wrong with growing up the way we did. Wintertime was always the toughest in my house as we had no heat other than a woodstove in one room of a completely uninsulated, drafty house. It was difficult to focus on my schoolwork when nighttime brought the seemingly endless struggle of where to find firewood or what we would eat. I vaguely recall hearing news stories at that time about a serial killer who was arrested and charged with cannibalism. At the time, it was less sinister and more worrying on a personal scale because I was almost jealous of his full belly. I didn’t quite grasp the importance of the moral outrage being expressed by the revelation that a man who was killing and eating people had been loose in the world because I was hungry enough to do the same.
By Juliana Dentata3 years ago in Confessions
Iconic Summer Food
I moved to NEPA when I was 12 years old and that summer, was indoctrinated into the summer activities starting with the Rattlesnake Roundup, hosted by the Noxen Volunteer Fire Department. Aside from the snakes (contained behind a double fence) these gatherings featured music and food. According to my taste buds Potato Pancakes were the most wonderful of these. They were Invented in Eastern Europe by the Ashkenazi in the 1800s when there were crop failures. Polish and Ukrainian farmers planted potatoes to replace the lost crops because they were inexpensive and easy to grow. When they emigrated to the Wyoming Valley in NEPA they brought their recipes. These delightful pancakes are sold three for a dollar and served with applesauce or sour cream (I like both). It is a delicious combination that tones down the oil (usually grapeseed or vegetable) and is most perfect when the potato pancakes come hot off the griddle. Because they are lightly fried in oil (not drowned deep fried), potato pancakes have a light flavor of potatoes and onion.
By Wanda Joan Harding3 years ago in Confessions
Father Daniel - a childless priest who educates the children of others.
I recently heard of this father Daniel, a family friend of some sorts. One of my relatives said like a good health wish for him when she heard of him. This made me feel something interesting about father Daniel.
By Estera Lupu3 years ago in Confessions
Looking for childhood
Grow up, forget the world of childhood. The world that only exists in the eyes of children, that changes infinitely, sometimes such as the misty blue sky, sometimes such as the vast boundless sea, sometimes such as desolate desert. Sometimes it's not so grand, like a little dewdrop on a beautiful petal that opens at dawn.
By test3 years ago in Confessions
Goodbye, old house of childhood
My home is not what merchant rich and so on, had not seen build imposing manner grand, carve column jade build by laying bricks or stones and so on mansion, needless to say the winding path in grand view garden is deep and quiet, bamboo creek is beautiful place, but za common people has an old saying, gold nest silver nest is inferior to oneself earth nest, that 4 earth walls, the place of one party eave calls home.
By test3 years ago in Confessions
Why I'm Grateful for Duck Hunting
I still remember what it felt like. The year was 2015 and the quiet morning breeze that usually smelt of freshly mowed grass and the ink of ballpoint pens was different that Monday morning. Something had changed. Colors came off a little bit brighter, the sun shone just a bit warmer, and my priorities had shifted ever so slightly. Instead of thoughts of the day’s upcoming spelling test or anxiety over the report card that awaited my parents in the coming weeks, I saw images of men in white and men in green facing each other with nothing but a painted line on the grass to separate them. A massive concrete structure filled with a sea of people in green and gold, their voices echoing and ringing and vibrating, in sternums, out of vocal cords, down the stands, onto the field. The Ducks versus the Utes: the night the team from “Sack Lake City” startled the nation with a resounding 62-20 victory, handing Oregon a historic Whittingham-style loss. Duck hunting season hadn’t even started yet.
By F. Elle Hull3 years ago in Confessions
Blocked No More
Reading and writing were two of my biggest passions growing up. I would get lost in fictional worlds while reading and turn mine into a fictional one too while writing. It would always start out with "This is how my day went today..." and end in some dramatic new twist ending that never happened. I haven't written a story, or a journal entry, or anything in almost 20 years!
By Vida Nazir3 years ago in Confessions
"Shut up"
Everywhere I go, I feel I don’t truly belong. Every song I sing along to, amongst those beside me feels disharmonic. As if I’m the odd one out and this is always how it’s been. I feel like I was born in the wrong place, with the wrong people and I am constantly experiencing that same experience over and over again.
By Juliette Ivy3 years ago in Confessions
I was alone
Finally, I was alone, but not like I am most of the time, when I’m trying to build my career, to center my mind to my body, taming the chaos in my mind and desperately trying to figure out who I’m trying to become. I was alone, my mind was quiet, my body was numb, I didn’t feel the desperate need for affection and socialization. I was contempt with myself.
By Estera Lupu3 years ago in Confessions
