Latest Stories
Most recently published stories in Families.
Keeper of Faces
The pudgy cheeks were the most unnatural red during her first moments of life. I imagine she wailed at the tops of her lungs in her mother’s arms, and those dimples appeared. When her first steps would have become a confident run, her round cheeks nearly split her face in two--even as the little girl's features became more refined by the day. They flushed red when flying down her favorite playground slide just as they did when a teacher read the note she passed to a cute boy in her class.
By Megan Cessna5 years ago in Families
House Parties and Pastries
I’d never imagined that much like my grandmother, I would find myself as an immigrant in a distant land. The circumstances on which we both traveled were very different. She fled Portugal nearly a century ago to escape an upcoming dictatorship and its social and economic crisis and to look for opportunities with her husband and a toddler in her arms. I was pursuing a new phase in my adult life that included taking a leap of faith and starting a new career in another country.
By Maria Elizabeth Coverdale5 years ago in Families
Ship of Dreams
Grandfather Thomas stepped foot on the deck of the ship. It was a ship that had been in his dreams almost his whole life. Thomas's four grandsons had begun to build it exactly one year ago. They used the details that were, written by their grandfather's own hand in a black leather-bound book that he always had on his bedstand.
By Beverly Severin Fearon5 years ago in Families
The Title
The Title Everybody used to joke about Grandma’s little black book. “You got some phone numbers in there, Ellie?” they would say after my grandfather passed, and even now and then when he was alive. Other popular choices were, “You working for some secret operation, Grandma?” and, “How long until you publish that sequel to War and Peace?” Sometimes Grandma would look up and smirk; sometimes she’d smirk without looking up; and sometimes her face remained fully devoted to whatever world was in that book. But she’d always reply, in a tone as bold and carefree as the frizzy silver curls that spiraled down to her shoulders, “If I tell you, will you shut up?” All us grandkids would giggle, and our parents and great-aunts and great-uncles would roll their eyes and chuckle softly, having partaken in this back-and-forth for at least a couple of decades.
By Rebecca Longabucco5 years ago in Families
Crazy Little Thing Called Love
Crazy Little Thing Called Love “Who died?” After years of believing myself the last of my family line, these unexpected words of consolation didn’t compute. Brian and I squinted across the Starbucks table at the woman. Had my dead-end life just received a transfusion?
By Paula J Peckham5 years ago in Families
Tuckaleechee
As soon as Lynnette got the call she began researching where her grandparents had been buried in the Tuckaleechee Primitive Baptist Church cemetery. She looked up Tuckaleechee, it meant "Happy Valley" in Cherokee. The stories of those hollows didn't seem very happy to her. She had a dim memory of her grandmother's funeral. It was the only time she had ever set foot in Tennessee in her life. She was eleven at the time. Her cousin Rollie was there too. They became instant best friends. However, when he dared her to touch their grandmother's corpse, she reached up and opened one of her dead blue eyes, proving she had no fear of anything, poor Rollie took off running. He kept a wary eye on her after that. Still, he took her fishing and showed her how to string corn on her hook instead of a worm. He was two weeks older than her and felt responsible as the older cousin. He also warned her about snakes.
By Danielle Branley5 years ago in Families
Dear Tio Hector
My Abuelo Lucas would make the most intense faces whenever he cooked. He would make angry faces that meant he was satisfied and happy faces told he was unhappy with a particular element or flavor. The smell of onions frying and peppers baking would fill the home so deeply you could smell whatever was cooked in my hair, even the day after. He would raise his wooden spatula into the air, fanning around the aromas, absorbing them right out of the air. I would ask why not just sniff them out of the pot, but he said never to do that. He explained how the smells from the pot are much too intense and may manipulate your nose. "Always gather your aromas from the air," he would say in his broken English.
By Thalia Bello5 years ago in Families
BIRDS ON A WIRE
The lake looked different from the summer and fall months, as William walked around it. There had been snow and the landscape had magically turned into a winter wonderland. He had not been to Memorial Park in quite a while. It had always been a special place for William to get back to nature. He liked watching. He watched the people, the dogs being walked, the homeless huddled under blankets, trying to stay warm and all the creatures. He saw squirrels, geese, ducks, crows, pigeons, and other birds. On this day he was intrigued by the birds on the wire. He found a bench and sat down, observing the birds. The birds he thought, are they cold? Do they lose their balance? What do they think of us humans down here, on the ground? It was nice to just sit and see the beautiful landscape, with Pike’s Peak, America’s Mountain as the canvas behind the lake. How simple it all was, nature and the land. He envied the creatures. They too, could just watch. It was time for him to leave this beautiful spot and go about his day.
By Tricia Thomas5 years ago in Families
