parents

The boundless love a parent has for their child is matched only by their capacity to embarrass them.

Dad to the Rescue
I was never really close with my father. I always thought he favored my older sister. Growing up, I would catch him staring at me with confused fascination. It was almost like he was baffled by everything I did, like I was some sort of puzzle to figure out. It wasn’t until I got older that I realized the importance of our time together.
By Patricia Corn4 years ago in Families
My Daughter's Father
I'm standing in the bathroom, fighting back the urge to let the tears fall like late spring showers. It's two days until Christmas and I'm praying for a holiday miracle, "Lord, please let this test be negative". I take a deep breath, gather my courage, and pick up a tiny plastic stick that holds the ability to change my entire life. Positive. The tears win the battle and flood my face. A million thoughts rush through my mind as I walk to the door. I know once I open it, once I show him the result, he'll go. He will leave the same way my father left me.
By Haley4 years ago in Families
A STRANGER FOUND
It is dark and the damp air hangs heavy about me. I know what comes next, it is the sound of explosions and the bright light they cause. I tremble with fear and cower into the corner of the hill side. With each moment that passes the sound is louder and the flashes more intense; my heart beats faster. I feel the end is close and that any moment the explosion will be so close I will not be able to escape it. Through the brush I see a dark figure approaching. I pray, to save me from this peril. His hand reaches for me and then a sudden flash of light blinds me and his words are lost in the blast. My throat closes in fear and my scream silent as I suddenly sit up soaked in sweat, the covers tossed all about the bed. I hear my husband ask, “What’s wrong?” I tell him it was my usual recurring nightmare. Who was this faceless stranger coming to my rescue? I leaned back and put my head on the pillow hoping I would be able to relax enough to fall back asleep. All I could think of is why, why do I have this recurring nightmare. Later that morning I awoke and had a moment of clarity, I decided to find my father.
By EVELYN DORN4 years ago in Families
A Tale of Two Speeches
I peer into the mirror, no trace of your face returning my searching look. There never was, and I know that won’t change now. Your legs, however, hold me up, your feet, your toes, your….actually you laid this floor, didn’t you? On your hand and knees, refusing to wear a mask, working late even when I grew fed up and impatient to stop the clatter and rest, knowing that tomorrow I wouldn’t thank you all that much, but that I would walk every day on this floor you laid and not even notice how thankful I should be. I look down. Black socked feet against the now tired laminate. There is a gap, where the door frame curves and the square cut edge does not meet its bending. It’s filled with a built up cloying grime I can’t seem to keep at bay.
By Hannah Moore4 years ago in Families
The Father I Didn't Know
My father was distant when I was young. Not just emotionally but often physically. He was a quiet man. He spoke little and faced the world with an expressionless calmness. He also had a job that required him to travel extensively from our house in London. He would be gone for days in Europe and sometimes as far away as Australia. And to my way of thinking, that was how fathers were.
By Pitt Griffin4 years ago in Families
To My Father - I'm Sorry
Dear Dad, It seems strange writing that. 'Dad.' It's been so long since you passed that I suppose I've got accustomed to not having a father.
By Christopher Donovan4 years ago in Families
Mean Face
I remember that I heard yelling. I looked out my upstairs bedroom window, and I saw my stepmom and my Dad standing outside the garage. She was yelling louder than I had ever heard, and my stepmom was particularly loud, so that was really saying something. I looked at my older sister, "What's happening?" I asked. She just shrugged. I was scared to go downstairs. Dad looked confused. I could tell he was drunk, when was he not? He had that glaze over his eyes. I could hear them come inside through the back door downstairs. Against my tremendous anxieties, I went downstairs. My stepmom was still yelling, but now I could see she was sobbing too. "I can't take this anymore," she cried. Dad was just leaning against the counter casually, only offering his perfected denial and condescendence as comfort to her, asking, "What's wrong honey?" over and over again. I couldn't help but respect his consistent, unforgiving denial, but I also hated him for it. At this point, my older sister, as well as my older brother, were all in the room. We were all standing around the kitchen silently, and I could feel our collective anxiety and sadness. My stepmom, completely distraught and exhausted, blurts out to us all, " Kids, you're dad is drunk and he's sick and I can't keep doing this!" Her sobs were the only noise in the room. Dad just looked at her with the perfect look of absolute confusion and shock, as if she were spouting the most outlandish plea he had ever heard. We all sat there silently for a few minutes just listening to my stepmom's sobs and apologies to us, "I'm so sorry kids, I just can't do it anymore." Dad just kept asking for some kind of explanation, " Now honey, what can I help you with? What's the problem?" This is what started us off with tears. My sister was the first to join my stepmom with her tears. I watched as her initially quiet tears turned into gut-wrenching sobs. I saw her face break, and I felt my heart break simultaneously. Dad switched his focus to her asking similarly, "What's wrong honey? Why are you crying?" That only made her cry harder. Next was my brother. I had never seen my big brother cry. All of my life I had seen him have seizures that undoubtedly took some emotional capabilities from his brain. Because of that, I never saw his sadness. I was convinced he never really experienced it. I saw the tears fall from underneath his glasses, and I felt my eyes water in response. His cries turned to sobs much quicker than my sister's. The pain in his face hurt me more than Dad's drinking ever had. Instinctively, Dad's attention turned to my brother, but his questioning was harsher now, " Oh come on now, what's wrong with you now? Why are you crying?" My brother just sobbed harder having to take off his glasses. Immediately, my own tears started to fall, and I could feel the sobs pushing themselves out involuntarily. There we all stood, now everyone crying except Dad. All of us just crying together and mourning our drunken father and husband. I could tell that all of our distress alerted something in Dad's head to try and stop the commotion, so as to keep his sickness safe from serious speculation. Dad tried to make his rounds, going around in circles to each of us trying to hug us and console us from his addiction. When Dad got to my stepmom, she refused his comfort and left the room, and I'm not sure where she escaped to. So it was left to us. Just three children crying in our own spaces of the kitchen. I can't remember how everything ended that night. Maybe Dad went to fall asleep in his chair, and maybe we all slowly wandered back to our own rooms. Our cries lulled us to sleep that night while the alcohol lulled Dad to sleep.
By C. Hyde4 years ago in Families
A model father and an excluded daughter
Well, how do you start a personal report? Okay, I'll start introducing myself then….. My name is Jolene Santos, and no, I'm nothing like Jolene from Dolly Parton's song. My father chose that name for me because he thought I would look like him and my mother. My father is blond and tall, with blue-green eyes, the most beautiful I've ever seen, he's the hue of the ponds of Switzerland when the sun is shining on them. My mother is Snow White herself, with short, black hair and very white, smooth skin.
By Emilly Hipolito4 years ago in Families
Big Al
My father endured so many hardships in his life, still, he is the most light-hearted person I know. He continues to have all the typical dad jokes, punch lines, and funny insults. His great sense of humor has stayed intact throughout everything he has been through. As my main supporter throughout my life, he has instilled in me the best qualities of who I am today.
By Bridgette A Mercer-Jamgochian4 years ago in Families
Dads Are No Joke
Thank you dad for being the help that brought me into this world. Thank you for being born the first son of my grandfather and grandmother, even though you were third in line and have two older sisters.
By Just Daniel4 years ago in Families
Saturday’s with Dad
I’ll never forget spending Saturday mornings with my dad. First we’d go to my grandfather’s house for breakfast. We ate Jok and that’s no joke! Laughing aside if you didn’t already know, “Jok” is Asian rice porridge with meat and bean curd garnished with green onions and peanuts. After breakfast, we’d drive out to this bar he helped manage. That’s where I first learned to count, do basic math, and understand simple bookkeeping. I’d count out stacks of money and wrap them in paper bindings for him to deposit at the bank. He’d also check inventory against sales receipts and logs.
By Katherine Nesbitt4 years ago in Families
The Dappy Dinky Doodler And Other Childhood Fantasies. Top Story - July 2022.
There are many things in life that mold us and make us into the people we are. Every day, every moment, every person we connect with brings another form of change to who we are meant to be.
By Kelli Sheckler-Amsden4 years ago in Families