grandparents
Becoming a grandparent makes getting older something to look forward to - all the fun of parenting, without the hassle.
Strong Women
My grandmother was the daughter of a freed slave and a mixed race mother. She ran away to marry my grandfather when she was only 15. My mother was the babygirl of 3 older sisters. When my grandmother left North Carolina she only had an 8th grade education. That was all most women of color were permitted in the 1920’s , if even that. My grandfather worked 3 jobs to take care of his family while my grandmother was a house wife. She would prepare breakfast for her family of 9 then read the newspaper every morning.
By Karolyn Denson Landrieux4 years ago in Families
Dad Challenge
I have never consciously met my biological father. To me, he is merely a sperm donor who came and went. A fly-by-the-night addition to my life that has impacted me as much as my change in pants every night. A man for which I have very little interest in getting to know as he never made an effort in my life.
By Ben Shelley4 years ago in Families
Black Bird, Bye Bye
The pallbearers mournfully placed the sleek gray casket in the hearse. I closed my eyes; I couldn’t look. The funeral director arranged the last of the flowers around the casket and slammed shut the door to the hearse. That harsh sound brought me back to a nightmarish reality that had started a month earlier—the day I drove to Gram’s apartment in Queens. There she stood, patiently waiting for me at the curb on Astoria Boulevard, oblivious to inner city dangers. Her body, once full bosomed and well padded, was now so small and thin that it all but disappeared in the folds of her black jersey knit blouse and pants. She clutched, with one had, her red cape just below the neck to keep the brisk spring air from her chest; with the other, she reached for my hand as I opened the van door to help her to her seat. Over the last few years, glaucoma and cataracts had fogged her vision and stripped the twinkle from her eyes, leaving only her voice to reflect her usual high-spirited frame of mind. Today, however, she appeared troubled and uncomfortable. Her shrill complaints about her failing health, the terrible things happening around the world, and all the members of her family who work so hard at paying her no mind were made continuously throughout our trip. I glanced at her through the rearview mirror. Her feathery dark brown hair separated from her once handsome soft pink face by a halo of gray hair, now crowned a deathlike ashen mask with features hardened, sharp, and deeply lined with seventy-five years of living. We pulled into the Medical Center parking lot. As our eyes met, it was apparent that we both sensed the impending outcome of her visit to the physician.
By EVELYN DORN4 years ago in Families
The Stories of my Fathers
It started - for us, at least - way back in 1907, on a ship, in Genoa, Italy. My great, great grandfather Giovanni Passariello and his family, along with his brother and HIS family, boarded a ship to take them from their little town of San Felice a Cancello to the United States. Upon arriving in Ellis Island, the brothers were ushered into separate lines to obtain their paperwork and documents. During this process, they were given shortened (albeit, barely) versions of their now-different last names. My side became Passerello, and the pair was so happy to be on their way to new lives that they never went through the process to change them back, or match them again.
By Megan Passerello4 years ago in Families
New Year's Eve and Grandparents
When people reach middle age, they find that many of the original good things have become tasteless, such as love, such as the ideal, such as holidays. Sometimes I wonder if it's not just the skin but also the mind that ages with age. The main support for living on has become mechanical responsibility and inertia? Whenever you think about it, you miss your teenage years. Because you can do something to satisfy both the skin and the mind, there is a certain inertia but do not need to be responsible for things. Like being naughty and mischievous.
By BlossomParker4 years ago in Families
Grandma's Kitchen
It was that time of the year again. The sound of the last school bell echoes throughout the halls and the smell of summer air and a three-month vacation hit like a slap in the face as soon you surge through the double doors. But that wasn’t the only pleasantly nostalgic aroma during the heat-filled seasons of my youth.
By Shane Farias4 years ago in Families
S'mores
Toasted marshmallows were dated as early as 2000 B.C, enjoyed by the Ancient Egyptians and reserved for gods and royalty. Later partnered with and evolved into the graham cracker sandwich. The campfire dessert. The gooey toasted treat, better known as the s’mores, has been around since the 20s when it first appeared in Tramping and Trailing, A book created by the Girl Scouts. The s’mores have been a summer night staple for centuries and, as of 1965, the symbol of love.
By LaRissa Dawn 4 years ago in Families
Summer Memoirs of a Grandfather Who Has Synesthesia
It's amazing how we are able to hear colors, feeling the sounds pra feeling the taste of shapes.. The first thing we think of when we talk about summer is a watermelon stand on a paradise beach. For me, summer tastes like strawberries, strawberries bathed in cream and sigh.
By Emilly Hipolito4 years ago in Families
Mammy's Peach Cobbler
Today was the day. The peaches were ripe, so heavy on the tiny peach tree that the overloaded branches almost touched the ground. I could smell the sweet, mouth watering scent of the near-bursting fruit. But before I was allowed to enjoy how the peaches would explode with juice from a simple bite, I had to spend the time to pick the best ones.
By Nicole Deviney4 years ago in Families
