humanity
Humanity begins at home.
My life, my humanity.
I remember it all began with remembering things and noticing the world around me at ages three to four. My life was difficult, My mother was a raging nagging bitch, I was lucky if she ever shut the heck up and enjoyed a cigarette and a beverage of her choice while listening to music. Life was repeatedly a jerk, throwing mass stumbling stones in my way. I won't share her real first name so we shall name her Dodochelle in this novel. I would rather keep it copasetic. My aunt Dodochelle's sister just recently cut me off completely because I made the right decision on 2012 January day 18 and adopted my children out at birth due to poverty and my own personal issues. I thought and still believe to this very day that I made the right decision in regards to my twin daughters and my aunt Rose bitched me out and cut me off, and still to this day I feel like she was in the wrong for overreacting to my situation and my choices and I was not going to change my mind regardless of what anyone said to me. I made the right decision and I dare anyone to say otherwise. Mama bear knows what's best. My aunt rose is the cunt of cunts, no better than my other aunt on my ma side, Roland. Roland always kept her hair and nails done like a wanna-be-high-maintenance bitch, makeup too. Dressed to the nines for the Keebler company working for Dennis her boss crunching numbers constantly but always pretending to be some high maintenance type of broad. Always mean-spirited a total jerk.
By Angelina F. Thomas4 years ago in Families
A Bed Time Story
I’ve ditched chairs with no regrets. I once separated from a wool rug just because I wanted to see something else. And when a vintage dinette set — so charming during our first five years together — began to bore me, I threw it in the back of the station wagon, drove out to a charitable donation center and left it without so much as a backward glance.
By Vivian R McInerny4 years ago in Families
Hoping to not be too weird. Runner-Up in Identity Challenge.
“Bring your raincoat,” I said to Jade. My daughter was finishing up her morning routine: brushing her teeth, pulling her new braids back into a ponytail and laying her edges. The familiar smell of coconut oil meant she was almost ready to go. I heard the squeaky door on the shoe closet open and looked over. She reached past her Nikes to grab her Adidas, then remembered the field trip and pulled on her boots instead.
By F Cade Swanson4 years ago in Families
Coffee Cans and Blood
When the phone rings, I’m sitting at my desk at home, staring out at the pool, nursing a hangover. The bank foreclosed on my house a few months ago. As the day of the public auction draws near, I try to imagine a crowd of people in my driveway. I wonder if my neighbors will be there.
By Leith MacArthur4 years ago in Families
Break The Chains
A car pulls up to the curve and a man gets out. Briefcase in hand, he walks toward the double doors where he reads a sign above him that says, “Break the Chains”. Upon entering, he is greeted by a receptionist. He introduces himself as Bill Cole, a stress and mental health counselor. The receptionist escorts him to Mrs. Booker’s office, the supervisor of the school. Mrs. Booker rises to shake his hand. “It’s been a while Mr. Cole.” “Yes, it has, Mrs. Booker.” “I see you’re still dedicating yourself to these kids.” “Crazy, right?” “No, Mr. Cole, I wouldn't say that. I say it’s love, a genuine love.” “And that it is.” He gives Mrs. Booker a hug. “Bill, this may be your toughest challenge. You are dealing with five kids that have nothing in common. Bill, I mean nothing.” After they go over a few procedures, she takes him to his room.
By Larry Wright4 years ago in Families
A Tribute to Hank, the Cowdog
I was a dumb homeschooler. Firstly, I began on accident, since our family was in a remote third-world village. Our oldest, Travis, was six years old and should have been starting first-grade. On returning stateside, he could read, add, and subtract. Our secondborn, Kate, was learning her letters and numbers. I thought, “If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.”
By Lisa Bartow4 years ago in Families
Thirteen Going on Six
I never got to experience the trepidation and excitement of waiting for lines to show up on a urine stick with her. I didn't go through all those months of carefully watching everything that went into my body to ensure her optimal growth and health. I didn't feel her very first flutters of movement, nor did I get to hold her close to my chest as she drew her first breaths. We were never truly 'one', but still, she is mine and I will love, nurture and defend her to my dying breath.
By Analise Dionn4 years ago in Families
514 S. 6th Street, #3. Top Story - November 2021.
“I like Jean’s version best,” said Uncle Jimmie. Aunt Jean had a gift for telling stories. They may have been filled with embellishments to brighten them up or exaggerated so the heroes became superhuman. I remember when she told us the story of Aunt Anne, who was being bullied every day by a slightly older girl. On the way to school, that girl would steal Aunt Anne’s lunch. My aunt would cry and go hungry. Then one day, she figured out how to stop this bully once and for all.
By Nancy Nason Guss4 years ago in Families
Ginkgo
The ginkgo, with its delicate fan-shaped leaves, has always seemed to me a little exotic to be growing alongside everyday maples and oaks. I suppose it’s because I knew ginkgo as a healer years before I saw my first tree. Ginkgo biloba is a stalwart in traditional medicine, often recommended for mood disorders, memory problems, and inflammation. Healers, in plain sight. Magnificent.
By Catherine Kenwell4 years ago in Families
Giving Down
I don’t know how I got to this place. I guess you could say it took a lifetime. A lifetime. A lifetime of pain, tears, oh so many tears. Tears that ran from rivers of sadness from as far back as I can remember. The old engine sputters as I contemplate this place, this dark and lonely place. Pictures of my beautiful girls line the dashboard as my pen shakes against this page. I’m going to miss them. Or maybe I won’t. Maybe I’ll just blend with the nothing that doesn’t exist anymore. Their youthful faces glow and smiling eyes caught in a glimpse of innocence and naivety. They don’t know what’s to come. They have no idea. If they only knew how hard this world can be on the innocent. It’s like everything around us is designed to sniff out the good, the hopeful, the genuine and corrupt it. Pollute it. Defile and degrade it. To bring it to its knees and finish it with the cold blade of unfettered guilt.
By Michael Nash4 years ago in Families
Journal Entry
Well, it is Easter Sunday morning when I was young this was a time of great excitement in our home. Mom would be up cooking breakfast the smell of bacon and eggs would be heavy in the air. She would fuss at us to get ready to go to church. We giggled with excitement as we rushed to put on our new clothes. We had spent the night decorating our Easter baskets with artificial flowers and greenery. The Easter egg hunt after morning service was one of the special events of year. The two of us were ruthless as we elbowed other children to get the eggs. Sometimes mom had to pull us aside and remind us we were pretty little girls not boys and to stop what we were doing.
By Hadayai Majeed aka Dora Spencer4 years ago in Families
