Top Stories

Stories in Families that you’ll love, handpicked by our team.

What it Really Meant to Grow Up
When I was born, it was about ten years after my parents had been in a house fire that very nearly destroyed my entire family. My parents, who had both come from large families, had envisioned having five or six children themselves, but until this point, had the one-- my older brother. I can’t imagine it was easy for him, nearly 12 years old, to suddenly go from hitting all his developmental milestones as an only child, but, there you go, it was September, 1984, and I made my debut, into a weird little family that had been waiting for another baby for a long, long time.
By Rachel Collins3 years ago in Families
Brothers
I grew up on an Arkansas farm where we raised pigs. I enjoyed living in the country and our house was nestled in a valley where the same dirt road that led you in was the same dirt road that led you out. It was generally a quiet place and from anywhere in the valley, even though you couldn’t see the vehicle, you could hear it quite distinctly as it traveled down the big hill into the valley. The sound of the tires rolling across the dirt sending up pings of gravel into the bottom of the car or the wheel well.
By Don Money3 years ago in Families
Return of the Stay-at-Home Dad
My daughter’s mother, my ex, died. The funeral was to happen in 48 hours. I scrambled to find the quickest way back to Minnesota from Bali, Indonesia. I told my daughter to do her best with the funeral arrangements until I arrived.
By Arlo Hennings3 years ago in Families
Natural and Normal: Not Gender Specific
I always knew this day would come, and I honestly always knew how I would react to this situation. My dad would be livid with me if he was still alive, but I surprisingly don't give a shit. The majority of my family members would reactively respond as well, and something small and unproblematic would be escalated to an insane and ridiculous level. However, I don't have a problem with it and I don't care. They could list off examples of what one small action is going to do to "damage" my child's psyche, but it won't happen.
By E.L. Martin3 years ago in Families
Can We Drop the Evil Mother-in-Law Trope Already?
She is the stuff that nightmares are made of. A creature so fearsome that she is the butt of jokes at weddings, a prediction of the woman we are all terrified of becoming. The mother-in-law.
By Nicole Correia4 years ago in Families
The Pearl Necklace
I remember back in the 80s, when I was a girl, my mother bought her first "real" pearl necklace. She was so excited. She was a homemaker for most of her life. She never had her own money, never had a job, never had a feeling of independence. She was always at home taking care of her children. When I turned 12, this all changed.
By Kristi Flowers4 years ago in Families
Remembering Again
It has taken ten years for Poppop to remember my name again. We are sitting at a table outside under string lights and stars. He is wearing a blue sweater vest and his head is still bald. I cry as he marvels at my tattoos. He tells me he would like to get some. How outlandish! How hip! He doesn't ask me why I’m crying, and I don’t register the tears until I wake up.
By Sone Kramer4 years ago in Families
The Dappy Dinky Doodler And Other Childhood Fantasies
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
Morning Shave
The soft click of someone turning on a light switch stirred me from my twilight slumber, and I stretched my hands over my head, arched my back into a perfect stretch, held it for a second, then relaxed and laid still. I gently rubbed my eyes; then, looking towards the window, I could faintly see the beginnings of the dawning sunlight peeping between the window blind slats giving all indications that morning was on its way. I sat up, rubbed my six-year-old eyes, pulled on my pink terry robe, slid my tiny feet into my bunny slippers, and carefully eased out of bed so as not to make a sound. I looked towards my bedroom door, and I could see that it wasn't fully closed but stood just about three inches ajar, and through that space, I could make out the bright light streaming from the bathroom into the narrow hallway. I quietly crept into the hall and headed towards the open door. You didn't say a word as I quietly took my usual seat on the hall floor, crossing my legs and placing my hands in my lap. The year was 1965.
By Sharon J. El Mouhib4 years ago in Families
Don't Eat Chocolate Like it Was Bread
Foreword My father’s home was in Ingria, a little-known area in what is now within Russia’s borders, just east of the Gulf of Finland and Estonia. It had been fought over by Sweden and Russia for hundreds of years until it was ceded for the last time to Russia in the 1700's.
By Lea Waske 4 years ago in Families
Sit down.
Sit down. Those are terrifying words from my father. He’s a country boy, he’s military, he’s a prison guard. Sit down is what he says when our mother threatened to tell Dad about our behavior a time too often. The follow through, you know?
By Spencer Reaves4 years ago in Families
The Passing of Time
My grandfather was an honest man. He spun words into dreams and old watches into gold. He never did own much other than the stories that he told. Yet, stories to a young boy, were worth more than the time he sold.
By Will Kearvell4 years ago in Families