Latest Stories
Most recently published stories in Families.
The Elderly, The strongest of our race.
Now, perhaps, I have a penchant for older folk. Perhaps? no, it's clear, I do. The generations that preceded our own have been privy to things we will never know, as we are to our own followers, the children in elementary & college right now.
By Ishka's World6 years ago in Families
Pearl's Gift
Pearl’s Gift “Hi, would you like to buy some perfume,” says a little girl with dirty blonde hair as I walk around the corner. Her voice is a pleasant interruption to my daily stroll through the neighborhood park. She points to her display of glass bottles. Some are colored brown, some blue and several clear. Each one is filled with varying degrees of what appear to be mucky green pond water. “You can pick which ever one you want” she says. Stepping up to the wooden board strew across two rocks for a makeshift shelf, I admire her collection. “Wow, where did they come from?” I inquire. “Me and my brother found them.” She answers happily and she points into the grove of trees behind her. Then I see an older boy that is the spitting image of her carrying even more treasures to put on display in their market. He stumbles up the hill with a rusted can, a plastic cup from a local fast food restaurant and more bottles in his hands. The quarry several feet down the slope seems to serve as the warehouse to replenish their inventory. “Okay, I think I like this pretty blue one.” I say and pretend to smell the make believe “perfume”. “Twenty- five cents please.” she states. I dig in my coat pocket hoping to find some loose change. Mixed in with my car keys and some crumpled up tissues, I find a quarter. When I hand it over, she exchanges the bottle with a big smile. A grin passes between the two siblings in honor of their transaction.
By Theresa Yantz6 years ago in Families
Unexpected Kindness
Lucinda sat silently in the crowded gate area, a son on each side. They were encapsulated by grief. Lucinda felt guilty not staying with her husband, but they had to get back to work and he had to deal with the estate of his father. It is just more expedient to take care of some things in person. His sisters were of no help, they were too grief stricken, as if he had no feelings. Part of Lucinda had expected this, the man was well into his eighties, not quite a shock. The sisters were behaving as if he was struck down in his prime. Her own mother had been only sixty-seven when she died, that was a shock. What she would have given for just five more years with her, let alone seventeen more years. Those were all inside thoughts.
By Gina VanSicklen6 years ago in Families
The Father's Line
Sunrise in the outback is a surprisingly noisy event. Even as the first dusty colours creep out to play across the horizon, the kookaburras start. Rich percussive calls, bouncing off the crisp air giving permission to the smaller birds to start their own tweeting and squeaking through the bush. Only a few birds at first but before long, as the rest of the colours begin to join their siblings in the sky, the whole landscape comes alive with sound. And in the midst of it all, a majestic song begins, following a melody as complex as the very land it reverberates through. From his perch at the top of an old dead Eucalypt the Magpie calls in the morning, and everyone, it seems, even the Earth herself, stops to listen.
By Steve Nossiter6 years ago in Families
Lost Childhood
I remember the metallic burnt odor, like when Dad forgets to check the grill. Unlike the food on the grill, however, it was my own flesh being burned to cinders. Pain overwhelms my abandoned corpse-like body. I’m numb, a host to the parasite of pain that is feeding on my every relief. I feel as though I am alive in a coffin. My insides were toxic to what is supposed to cure me. My eyes shoot open, scared and alert. There are hands inside my open and exposed body. The people in the white coats bark orders to each other, their ghostly faces petrified like wood. I wish I could scream, move, panic, but I cannot evade this. I’m stuck, awake, during surgery, where I’m supposed to be asleep. Chills begin to overwhelm my fragile body; every single hair saluting the next. I want out, away from this sleepless slumber. A salty trail of tears escape my emerald eyes, as the fighting to stay alive voids the longing for peace, and I slip into the darkness.
By Alley Cowgill6 years ago in Families
Love Letters from Heather
To my oldest brother, David, For some, it would be handy to have a lawyer for a brother. Sadly, I am one of those people. So I will start this letter by commending you on your career choice. It has helped me and one or two of my kids out of a pickle more than once.
By Heather Down6 years ago in Families
Following My Father: San Francisco
My year off left me eager to embark on my college career. I had the break I wanted and sensed an urgent need to get on with my education. I enrolled at City College, and took buses and the Ocean Avenue streetcar to the campus to register.
By Caroni Lombard6 years ago in Families
Being Daddy's Little Girl
It's hard to know what to say if you wish to write about your best friend who, during my childhood, was my father and died when I was only ten. Because I lost him so soon, some of my memories are brighter and more definite than they might have been if I had been able to be with him as an adult.
By Rasma Raisters6 years ago in Families
Beef Shanks and Alcohol
In the cupboard where I keep my cookbooks is a small square black spiral bound notebook with a colorful butterfly on the cover is a forty-five-year-old recipe for my sister Winnie’s beef shanks. On two pages, the recipe, in her handwriting, is taped on pink stationery. They have got to be the best beef shanks I ever ate!
By Caroni Lombard6 years ago in Families
