immediate family
Blood makes you related, loyalty makes you family.
You Kept Your Promise. Runner-Up in Dads Are No Joke Challenge.
It’s 1991, and the yellow sun is shining through the dusty windows of our 900-square-foot bungalow. I’m three years old and sporting a strawberry blond bob paired with a fuzzy blue housecoat. It’s funny to see a toddler in a housecoat. As if to suggest they might have an important morning routine to accomplish before they begin their day.
By Stephanie Graham 4 years ago in Families
You are my Mr. Rock.
The only way to plausibly imagine telling the story of my dad is by telling you a story about my dad. Just one. In this single story, you’ll know everything there is to know about this man. I can start by saying he’s a real stand up guy with a firm handshake and a loving heart. But that collateral is better suited for when I design Mahogany Hallmark card greetings.
By Ariel Celeste4 years ago in Families
Surrender Convention and Get Down on the Floor. Runner-Up in Dads Are No Joke Challenge.
“We have to get on the floor.” I said, “When this song comes on, we have to stop what we’re doing and get on the floor.” It was Funkadelic’s Maggot Brain. I can’t listen to it standing up. I have to lay down and let the floor hold all of my body. I laid down on the rug.
By Jen Parkhill “JP”4 years ago in Families
How My Dad Courted (and Married) Mom
Allow me to introduce my parents to you all. My father, Thomas "Tom" Brant Kauffman, and my mother, Virginia "Ginger" Ann Fosket Kauffman, were not exactly able to guess that they would marry each other initially, not without spending the time to get to know each other. In fact, they didn't know each other at all back then. If it weren't for the interference of my dad's little sister, who was my mom's best friend at the time, then maybe they would not have met.
By Samuel Kauffman4 years ago in Families
Dear Dad ...
Dear Dad, aka “Papa”. When I first found out I was pregnant at 18, I was not scared to tell the world. I was scared to tell only one person. That person was you. You were the only one I was scared to disappoint. You were the only one I worried about.
By Caitlin Fladager4 years ago in Families
Cycle Breaker Magic
My father was five years old when he first came to America as a refugee during the Vietnam war. The trauma this man has overcome is astounding. Even though our family doesn’t have an enchanted house with magic doors or super powers, I wholeheartedly believe that he is a cycle breaker that is just built differently.
By Rebeka Nguyen4 years ago in Families
What A Melon
Watermelon signifies one of my favorite summer memories - spending time with my dad in a wide array of different conversations. The juicy bites of a watermelon remind me of each juicy detail I was willing to share with the person I trusted most in the world, as well as the juicy bits of wisdom and humor he was willing to share with me.
By Kristy K Boone4 years ago in Families
How to S'more
Carlo sat at the campfire smoking his cigar. The blunt, brown roll of paper and tobacco complemented his bald head, bushy mustache, and tanned, weathered skin perfectly. It was his brown leathery skin that told you in a glance of the long lifetime of hard work and outdoor experiences behind him. I watched him from across the fire where I sat beside my husband, a man nearly half his age but still in his late thirties. Carlo’s boisterous voice paid homage to his Italian roots as he called out.
By Laura Elizabeth4 years ago in Families
Sunday Afternoon in Hyde Park. Top Story - June 2022.
In 1975, my father took a Sunday stroll along the stone pathways of Hyde Park in London. A crisp fall day, Speaker’s Corner was in full swing. People shouted from soapboxes. Gathering crowds heckled back. Children ran through the open fields with pinwheels. The grass was so green that my father believed he had stepped into a picture from a traveling book. A young man in his early twenties fresh out of college and looking to make a name for himself as a singer/songwriter in London, the experience was so moving that he penned a song that changed the trajectory of his life. Forty some odd years later, I walk the same pathways to find the places my father sang about to understand how I am like him.
By W. Tyler Paterson4 years ago in Families
Dad's Playlist
There are no seatbelts in dad’s old Fiat, and in this memory, I am hanging over the back seat as we sing together. The tune is from the 1930s, Jeepers Creepers, where’d you get those Peepers, but somehow it is so much fun in a 1960s drive with Dad. Music made him happy and when he was happy, I was happy too.
By Michèle Nardelli4 years ago in Families
