immediate family
Blood makes you related, loyalty makes you family.
Excommunication of the Self...
Originally written by Olivia Petrus. Oct. 7th, 2007. I stared out the car window at the green open fields enveloped in the early Sunday morning light. The car moved slowly up and down the hilly road that led us past the Illinois countryside. I noticed the birds soaring freely in the blue skies and watched the cows graze, while the horses galloped in and out of the stereotypical barns littered across that Middle-of-Nowhere Town.
By Unlisted&Twisted!4 years ago in Families
I Got It from My Mama
“I do believe in love at first sight because I’ve loved my mother since the day, I opened my eyes.” Florence Etta June was born in 1916. She was the second eldest child born to a sharecropper farmer and a housewife in South Carolina. There were eight other siblings, and granddaddy made sure they all finished high school. She once said that she loved finding a secret place to read and memorize poetry with so many children in the home. Another time, she told us, her family was so poor that they didn’t know there was a depression for the first two years because they always had smoked meat, fresh eggs, and vegetables from the garden.
By Carolyn June-Jackson4 years ago in Families
Christmas morning
I am around eight years old; it's Christmas morning. I woke up to my little brother, six, jumping up and down on my bed yelling "it's Christmas wake up! Santa was here!". I look out my window; of course, it's still dark out. I comply, crawling out of bed. Hell, I'm eight. Why do I care that he woke me up early? Who does care? Mom and Dad. My brother races down the hallway to wake up my parents and baby sister, only a couple of years old. As expected, the parents kick us out of their room until the sun rises. We three kids sneak downstairs to see what Santa Claus has brought us. We approach the sunroom, a wicker-filled, window-walled paradise that is only ever used for the Christmas tree. The room is roughly 3 by 4 metres with a door at either end. It is filled to the brim with gifts. We can't believe our eyes. The room sparkled from the lights on the tree, emphasized by the shiny, sparkly wrapping on the boxes. My brother, the investigator, starts counting. He reaches into the pile to see who's presents are more abundant in quantity and size: A true detective at work. He says, "I can't even walk through to the tree!" The room is full. Unable to fully evaluate his Christmas, he grabs his stocking, overflowing with sugar-filled treats and tooth-care products (oh, the irony) and sits on the couch in the next room. His little legs bounce up and down, trying so hard to wait patiently for Mom and Dad. A few hours pass, baby sister is asleep on my little lap. We hear coffee grinding and fridge opening. Mom is making coffee. We don't exist until Mom's made her coffee. Dad is in his study, digging around for his camcorder. He sets up the camera on a tripod to capture the joy on his children's faces as they open their gifts because he knows he's too tired to enjoy it in the moment. Mom sits down, handing a '#1 Dad' mug to Dad. She sinks into the couch, crosses her legs, and gives a hand wave signalling to the kids 'go ahead'. I bounce up, grab more stockings, hand one to baby sister and get to work. I grab the sock by the toes and dump the goodies onto the carpet. I rip a toothbrush out of its wrapping and toss the garbage to the side. Next, a tube of toothpaste. An oversized lollipop, a container of floss, a bag of jellybeans. Wrapping paper already fills the room. Dad makes a sound of frustration and stands up. I notice, but brother and baby sister are too in the zone. Dad comes back with a garbage bag. “Put the garbage in here please”. We unwrap everything in the stockings and place all our new things back into the socks for easier transportation. Brother trots back towards the sunroom and looks for the largest gift with his name on it that he can find. Dragging it back to his seat, he tears open the wrapping. “Who’s it from?” Mom asks. Brother pauses because he didn’t check before opening. “That one’s from your aunt”. Brother nods and refocuses on the task at hand. Wrapping paper onto the floor, Dad makes a noise, wrapping paper into the garbage bag. I grab a present, baby sister gets help from Mom. There is no method to this madness. The room is chaos. Within twenty minutes, the sunroom is empty, and two garbage bags are full of shredded wrapping paper. Brother sits in glory as he stares at his pile of new toys that overtakes the couch and some of the floor. One by one, we each start carrying our toys up to our rooms. Handfuls and handfuls later, brother’s door closes. Mom starts making breakfast. Dad’s study door closes. Baby sister is on her bedroom floor, unable to fathom all her new things. I sit on my bed for a moment, listening to the new silence that is Christmas day. I turn around and observe my mountain of new things. I pick up a snow globe and think 'I don't remember opening this one'. I turn it on, it plays a classic piano tune. I go to the edge of my room and I close the door.
By Cameron Palmer4 years ago in Families
A Day At The Lake
The Petersen family lived in Milwaukee, Wisconsin. They had three girls and three boys. Their names were Sandra: 15, Cheryl: 12, Leslie: 10, Larry: 8, Curtis: 7, and Joseph: 5. The family decided to go swimming and surfing in Lake Michigan. There were many people swimming and surfing that day. It was a nice Autumn Day. The sun was shining, and the temperature was 75 degrees. They brought a big picnic lunch that included fresh fruit, chicken, potato salad, macaroni salad, and their favorite sodas to drink. The boys had recently learned how to surf, and Joseph had recently learned how to swim.
By Darla M Seely4 years ago in Families
Personal Grief
You don’t need to read this. It’s just me blowing off some steam. Still trying to come to terms with my father’s death. When my mum was suddenly taken ill, I was working / living in Australia. She passed away before I could even book a flight to get home.
By Keith Mole4 years ago in Families
Wish you were here....
I’ve gone back and forth in posting this all day, but as I sit in front of the home I grew up in when my dad dropped my brother and I off here in California years ago so he could go on another “business trip”, I am deciding to post this. Not because this is your everyday post of losing a parent and expressing grief to then have someone say “I am sorry for your loss”, but because for most of my life when people have asked me the question of “What are your parents like? Or where does your family live?” I have only been able to answer them with: “Oh they live in different countries and I haven’t seen them for 10+ years”. But what I really want to say is, “I don’t know my parents, I haven’t known my parents for who they truly are since they divorced when I was only 6 years old”. And for most of my life I have wished with everything I have that I could know them and fill the constant void I feel in my life (I did reconnect with my mother via social media after my son Jaxon was born 5 years ago). So here I go with trying to put into words my feelings because this is how I can give myself some kind of closure for the mystery of a person I have imagined my father to be:
By Angelina Sumner4 years ago in Families
Happy Halloween
Halloween is that time of the year to have fun with your family and your friends, and sometimes those friends are the furry kind. Our two pups were the lucky ones and they got to dress up with the kids. I'm not sure if they were as pleased as the kids, but they looked precious. I wasn't sure what to do with the little one since he was a bit too small for the costume he got, but instead, when Rolly climbed into the plastic pumpkin and peeked out of the top, we all decided that he had to be the little treat in the pumpkin.
By Paige Kostyniuk4 years ago in Families
