Family
Mother and Tea
I grew up in the Suichuan mountains, playing as far back as I can remember, I like to drink my mother's tea. A few days before Qingming, farming is tight, but my mother put aside the chores, pick a sunny day, see the fog in the forest dispersed, lift the feet out, carrying a bamboo basket, quickly pick a leaf a bud, until eleven o'clock in the morning to close. A large basket of tea leaves, heavy, poured into a large dry round bamboo plaque, shaking loose, put deep in the hall to dry. My sister and I four hands, the fresh leaves picked less than half of my mother.
By SondJam4 years ago in Confessions
Less Than a Handful
Five. That's how many fingers are on one hand. Or Four and a thumb if you prefer to fee it that way. What does this have to do with my dad? Well, sadly, five would be a greater number than the amount of times I remember telling my dad I loved him before he passed. Less than a handful of times in over twenty- four years on this earth with him. Even more sad is that the number of years I could have told my dad those words and meant it are even less. In fact It wasn't uncommon for me say that the only thing my dad ever did right was teach me how not to be a father to my future children, and that I hated him. So, the story of my dad begins in March of 2021, just nine months before I said goodbye to him. Why? Because that's how long it took for me to finally get to know the man I called my dad.
By Jeremy Smith4 years ago in Confessions
Traumatic Childhood Memories
( Sorry for the delay, had a power outage and was feeling unwell. ) For today's entry in this series I will be discussing the friend my biological father had in my youth. Just by that sentence alone you might be able to guess away at this entry. Allow me to retell one of my most awful memories. I will exclude the details that are not required. All I can say to begin this story off with is that after this moment in my life where I was young, helpless, and in need of protection . . . my own father shunned me away in favor of a backstabber.
By Kim.D.4 years ago in Confessions
Why My Dad Is My Hero
The first thing that should be stated about Dad is that he is the mayor of nothing. I live in Albuquerque, New Mexico and it seems like half of the people who share the city with me know Dad. He and I have had to work on multiple projects that require trips to the store for equipment, groceries, etc. Almost every time we step into a retail outlet, his face will split into a smile and his voice will boom out in greeting of yet another person I’ve never met before, but yet another person he has known longer than I have been alive. They’ll stand and talk like old friends for a few minutes and the person in question will inevitably smile and say how nice it is to see Dad like he’s some kind of puppy rather than the imposing figure he is at six foot four and three hundred pounds. Both parties will agree to talk soon and we will all part ways to go about our respective business. After a minute or two and usually without prompting Dad will lean over and tell me who he or she was, how he knows them and for how long. Dad may not have a lot of friends, but he has more acquaintances than I care to count; with all of whom he is somehow on good terms.
By Travis Rawlins 4 years ago in Confessions
Mom's Love Power
"Hey Mom. I never told you this before, but... you made me stronger than you think! There were times that I did not understand how you did so much to love me, and I did not realize that until I stopped going to the Boys & Girls Club. "Tia, I don't care if you are 18 or not, you're going to that Boys & Girls Club as long as you in my house." Those were the words you said. Confusion sunk in at that time not knowing why I could not go places after school or hang out with my friends. Little did I know that was protection from things that would throw me off track because you knew that I had dreams that could only be available to me if I stayed connected to the discipline instilled by your love. I love that she cared about how I proceeded in the world.
By Nitia Johnson4 years ago in Confessions
Sugar-Free Popsicles
My dad was born on December 17th. From what I know (my mom told me all this) he was really smart, but just didn't like the idea of societal norms chaining him to a certain system, or a certain job. So he finished high school and didn't go to college. He seemed to live life at the moment. He hang around with his terrible friends, they were nice, just not a good influence. They would smoke and make irrational decisions to drive to Arizona and ride on quads. Like I said bad influence.
By Burnt Baguettes4 years ago in Confessions
Without My Dad
Without my dad, I wouldn’t have learned to ride a bike. Without my dad, I wouldn’t have learned to fly a kite and fix it when it gets tangled from the rushing winds. Without my dad, I would not have the skill or desire to search out the truth. Without my dad, I would not be the writer I am today. Without my dad, I would not have this love for sci-fi and fantasy such as Star Wars, Dune, Children of the Dune, and Star Trek; the list goes on! I owe my skill as a writer of fantasy and fiction to my dad. I can remember my siblings and I would beg my dad to make seasoned stove-top popcorn so we can all watch Dune at midnight until we passed out. Memories.
By A.M. Lillard4 years ago in Confessions
