humanity
Humanity begins at home.
Fatherhood
Eighteen years it’s been. A long time ago in the grand scheme of my life; long enough that I struggle to remember what he looked like. He was not my father—although I would have no regrets if he were. He was my grandfather; my father’s father. His name was Papa; or so it seemed. Everyone called him that, but I only came to realize a few years after his death that it was just a title. Much the same way as “mummy” is used for mothers and “mama” for grandmothers. But I could not care less. He was, is, and would continue to be Papa to me; such was the influence he had on me in such a short time. In fact, it only lasted a little over two weeks; the time I spent with him just before his death. My parents would later tell me that it was in fact longer than that. They had also taken us—I and my two brothers—to our hometown when I was about three to see him. They said that his eyes lit up when he set his sights on me for the first time, in a way that they did not for my two older brothers. They said that he spontaneously took a liking to me that they had never seen for anyone else bar his wife; my grandmother.
By Sarah Elisha4 years ago in Families
Sit down.. Top Story - July 2022.
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
With Papi, It's Complicated
Father’s Day didn’t always engender wholesome, pure thoughts and feelings, imbued with nothing but loving-kindness when I think of my childhood. None of the nurturing understanding I have aspired to offer my two children used to come up. My own complicated relationship with my dead father loomed so large in my heart that it used to feels as if I was always in a battle royale with him through the years, wrestling over every instance in which I can or should be a better father than he was, complicated by those instances when I wish I could offer my own children what he offered me.
By Lucas Díaz-Medina4 years ago in Families
Surviving Foster Care
I am not in the business of fooling myself. For years I have always been the “misfit friend” of the bunch. That is if I was even in a bunch. Friends did not come easy for me. Heck, family did not come easy for me. So, the people that I chose to be around were just that, chosen. I don’t think that any of them realized how much stock I put into that relationship with them. But I knew and that is all that mattered.
By #KristinaWrites4 years ago in Families
"A LETTER TO MY FATHER"
On May 3, 1978, on a Wednesday I'm aware of how your life was altered, and I'm very grateful that you're my father. A girl—a pretty girl, if I do say so myself. I have to tell jokes you know, I figured I'd start with one! Since you usually have something funny to say, and you always have me cracking up! We have to deal with every issue in life, including the serious ones from time to time. Daddy, me, and you our ideas of humor the reason I adore you so much. Acting like Richard Pryor, and Eddie Murphy I'm able to tell you anything that's on my mind. And every situation in life sometimes, has to be humorous!
By Ms.Love'Nia Renee4 years ago in Families
Fish, Jackfruit And Ice Apple (Nungu)
Summer holidays remind me of the hot sun beating down on my head while I played outside when the rest of the world would be taking shelter from the heat. I would wake up without having to be prodded, take a bath, and escape before my parents assigned me tasks. And then I would be out of their sight until it was time for dinner or a quick bite for lunch.
By Anu Sundaram4 years ago in Families
