Latest Stories
Most recently published stories in Families.
The Prince of the South
THE PRINCE OF THE SOUTH Growing up, I came from an intact family in a small southern town. I grew up privileged. I grew up in a big pretty house. My parents never divorced. Everyone in my family was highly educated. I thought that was the norm. I did not realize until I became an adult how rare my family structure was. I had a charmed upbringing because of my dad's rich heritage. There will never be another man like my dad for many reasons. Men like my dad are very rare. Why? Because my dad was the Prince of the South.
By Gwen Walton6 years ago in Families
Déjà Maybe
T-tops off, wind blowing, locs flowing, Marley playing, herb burning—I was flying. The thing about my family is we weren’t religious, meaning we didn’t subscribe to any dogma. I’m sure this has a lot to do with my mother being the person she has always been. A strong willed woman who was raised in a very religious, country household in the Jim Crow south; Zuni, Virginia to be specific. After living through segregation, integration, and being a so-called “black” wombman (as she often spelled woman), in this “land of our foremothers” (as she often called America), she at some point decided to unsubscribe to the traditions that had been blindly handed down for generations. It was probably some time during her enrollment at one of the local HBCU’s where the seed of curiosity began to sprout into the fully blossomed thirst for research. I mean, dad is smart, but mom is constantly learning in an attempt to find the universal truth that connects all, at least that’s my interpretation of how she tries to define her affinity. The best part is that she also instilled it in me, it’s even rubbed off on dad. For example, since my mom has been attesting to the power of words and etymology, and learning new languages like Hebrew, Arabic, and Kiswahili, dad did his due diligence and informed everyone that in Kiswahili, zuni is the root word for sad. Most people would see this as mere coincidence, however we don’t believe in such a thing. Everything is connected, we call it synchronicity. Now, I’m not saying that my mom had a sad childhood or that Zuni was a sad place. As dad puts it, “you don’t know you’re missing something if don’t first know that it exists.”
By Cameron Marquis6 years ago in Families
Déjà Maybe
“You see, the crazy thing about real love is,” dad randomly lectured on as he always does, “even though there are many ‘definitions’ of the word; philosophers, poets, and artists of all forms have all tried to describe or portray their perspective of what love may be. And that’s the beauty of art! But love is indescribable, and that’s the beauty of love!!”
By Cameron Marquis6 years ago in Families
A Hated People
From a young age, I was taught the morals and foundation of Judaism. I attended a Jewish preschool, where I recited the prayers over the challah, wine (or grape juice for us 4-year-olds), snack and Shabbat. I earned the most mitzvah leaves in my class- each mitzvah leaf would be pinned up on our tree labeled with our name to keep track of all the good deeds we did. Being Jewish is giving back to the community and our families, providing support and prayers for those who need it, cooking delicious meals and using every opportunity to turn a Jewish holiday into a feast. Also adding a few comical Yiddish words into everyday conversation. The Jewish culture is rich in traditions, values, flavors and compassion. Coming from a reformed family mostly focusing on the familial element of Judaism and growing up in New Jersey, I imagined the whole world was favorable towards this seemingly peaceful religion. So when I found out my grandma is a Holocaust survivor and suffered through such a hatred, I had many questions.
By Emily Bright6 years ago in Families
Answer The Phone!
This article isn't for the people over 50 like myself that remember what it was like before there were cellphones. This is for the moms, dads, kids, friends, and everyone in-between that grew up in the cellphone generation. You know, those of you that go on Facebook and post pictures of your kids and your meals and have at least 100 friends. The people who live an active lifestyle and know how to post a selfie.
By Tracy Branstetter6 years ago in Families
My natural home birth wasn't lucky, I planned it that way.
When I mention that I had a natural uncomplicated home birth with my daughter people tell me I am "really lucky" to have had that experience. The more I've heard this the more irritating I've found it! I wasn't "lucky" I planned my birth and I researched everything I possibly could to ensure I was prepared. I knew what my body was doing and why it was doing it. I had a birth plan that was over three pages long, most of it was about the fact I wanted to be left alone as much as possible to do my thing and concentrate on the job at hand because I had complete faith in my body and my baby to do what needed to be done without intervention.
By Lisa Sherratt6 years ago in Families
Growing up Biracial
When I was little, I had no idea I was different. I didn't see race or question what I was as a child. I was just me. I was surrounded by my brothers or sisters everyday. Some of us were light, medium tone or what I would call Caramel or Mocha, and others were dark. All of us came out looking different but we knew that we were siblings. I didn't question it. I didn't question my Dad nor my Mom.
By Anatonia Garcia6 years ago in Families
We Didn't Know It Mattered
Here we go again. I'm sitting under the dining room table that my dad put in the basement for just this type of thing. I'm hiding from the war going on in my neighborhood. It's a literal war. I'm trying to just write and block out the noise. It's constant, the screaming and gunshots and more screaming. I don't understand why. I don't understand why it has to be like this. It wasn't like this last month. Last month, we had a big street party in our neighborhood. Last month, we all ate together. Last month our parents talked to each other. Last month I had friends. Last month I didn't know I was different. Last month, I was just a kid like any other kid. This month, I'm a kid with a black mom and a white dad.
By Phoenixx Fyre Dean6 years ago in Families
Just for fun
Lem Turner was born at the old family homestead just east of Capper Road, Jacksonville, FL. He was the son of Florida pioneers, Jesse Turner (1795-1867)and Sarah Ann Blount (1796-died after the 1860 census). He was the grandson of Edward Turner and Sarah Elmore, and Redding Blount and one of his wives, probably Chloe Blansom. We have not been able to locate the burials of his parents or grandparents, but we do know where some of his brothers and sisters are buried - see additional info below the biography. Lem and his wife, Sarah, were eventually moved to Edgewood Cemetery, Jacksonville, but these old monuments still stand a Pickett Cemetery.
By Brandy Koch6 years ago in Families
