parents
The boundless love a parent has for their child is matched only by their capacity to embarrass them.
An Open Letter to My Dad
Dad, I can remember when I was little and only had eyes for you. You could do no wrong, you were my superhero, and if anyone asked who I was going to marry when I was older, I told them, "my daddy!" Of course as I have grown up, our relationship has changed, but you are still, and always will be, the man who has my heart.
By Paranneting/Anne Reboa8 years ago in Families
700 Telephone Poles Down
This was the blizzard that made me very afraid of blizzards. My sons were eight, seven, five, and three. I was teaching at a private school an hour drive from my house. My husband didn’t have a job. Only my seven-year-old went to the school, a school for advanced students. He wasn’t there that day for some reason though. I can’t remember why. They let us leave work early, but I almost didn’t make it home though. It went from barely any snow to blizzard very quickly. When I got close to my house, I almost went off the road. The roads were terribly slick and it was very difficult driving in it. I was so thankful I made it home.
By Alaequah Moves Camp8 years ago in Families
Dear Dad
Dear Dad, You might remember me but then again you may not so I thought I'd re-introduce myself again. My name is Audrey Hardwood and I'm your daughter. I was born on the 3rd of March, 2001 in the Royal Brisbane Women's Hospital. My mum's name is Nina Mueller; you were married for ten years but none of them were blissful. I have long auburn curls like her which often tickles my face when I don't tie it back. I always were concealer to hide the black lines under my pale blue eyes. I'm 5'4" and my shoe size is an eight in women's and I own a pair of socks in every colour of the rainbow. My favourite subject is biology as I want to study to be a vet in my tertiary studies, but I also like to draw. I like the way the pencil sinks in the page and I like the marks that it leaves. When I'm not studying, I like to drink lots of coffee and drown in a tale from a far off land where both the prince and princess save themselves. I like stories that have places that aren't black and white, but are grey and brown.
By Virag Dombay8 years ago in Families
Sleepwalking Through Sundays
It's time for church. Your mother's voice travels up the stairs and wakes you from the fog of sleep. She wants to know if you'll eat breakfast at home. As you slip back into the fog, you begin to dream of the doughnuts waiting for you at church. The traditional glazed doughnuts, ones with chocolate frosting, and your personal favorite, chocolate cake doughnuts. You smile to yourself as you think of how good one of the sugary breakfast treats would be paired with a glass of milk. That's when your mom's voice disturbs you once more and you remember her warning. "You really should start eating healthier, you won't be 17 forever." You call down with the answer you know your mother wants to hear. You'll have whatever she's having.
By Kassie Henry8 years ago in Families
Life as a Daughter of Agent Orange, Part 8
Wow. That is about all I can say when I looked and saw how long it has been since I last shared Part 7. I will eventually get to why it took so long, but suffice enough to say it had to do with my dad's health problems as well as a surgery my mom underwent (both are fine right now, though!). The first order of business I wish to tackle is to explain my subtitle: "A Chemically-Forced Submission in a Self-Absorbed World." I believe in the commandment to honor one's father and mother; to me, that is to be respectful, serve them with love, and submit to them regardless of one's age. By "submit," I mean there are times when their needs are greater than my own and, out of love, I put my needs in a "later" box. Note how I say the word "love" and not include "respect." There are not a lot of moments where I respect my dad after all that has happened, but I do respect him as a fellow human being as as the person who sired me. Agent Orange required me to put my needs on "pause" so early in life, long before I had the maturity to understand, that it felt like a forced submission. Only in recent years have I learned how to not have it be forced, but done in kindness and love.
By Elizabeth Kozlowski8 years ago in Families
Step-Momming
Being a step-mom is hard. It can be thankless, and exhausting, and enlightening, and beautiful all at the same time. You don’t always know when to speak up, because you’re afraid of stepping on toes. You don’t know how hard to discipline sometimes, because you don’t want to cross a line. You’re terrified of hurting more than you help.
By Madison Elliott8 years ago in Families
An Open Letter to My Mother
I want to start by saying I'm sorry. I'm so sorry that, throughout my childhood, I took you for granted. I took you being there for granted. You were, and still are, the best mother a girl could have. You taught me how to cook, how to live, and defend myself.
By Destinee Howard8 years ago in Families
The Beginning
When we were kids, we couldn't wait to grow up. To turn 16 and get our license. To graduate school and go to college, or get a job and move out on our own. We believed when we were kids by the time we were an adult we would have it all figured out. We would know what we want and where we were going and if we were lucky to share it with someone. To have them share their life with us as we grow up together. Sometimes, we aren't so lucky, though.
By Shyann Katz8 years ago in Families
My Dad Is Mentally Ill
Today while watching an episode of ER, a sub-story triggered a long held memory. A sixe-year-old boy had just found out his mother was a paranoid schizophrenic, and although just a show, I felt his sadness to my core... because I too, have lived this life.
By Crystal Pineda8 years ago in Families
