The boundless love a parent has for their child is matched only by their capacity to embarrass them.
Always Put The Knives Away Before You Go To Bed
My mother had a fear of someone breaking into our home, seeing a knife on the kitchen counter, and doing whatever they had to do to rob us. She insisted all the knives were put away neatly in their drawers before we went to bed.
I remember the early morning cuddles, where Mum would creep into my room, and lie on the edge of the bed stroking my hair. I was six, maybe seven, and I was at that precious age in a girl’s childhood where the entire world revolves around her Mother. I wanted my straight red hair to hang in the same chocolate-coloured coils that framed her soft, round face. I wanted beautiful big brown eyes that a person could get lost in if they stared for too long; not the palest blue eyes that I looked out from.
Insanity Mom Journal
As a mother I tend to go TOO far and beyond my worries, I exaggerate my own personal worries so that they will listen. I love them too much at times, and yes, that is a thing.
Mama I’m Depressed!
ATTENTION!!!! All Black parents, guardians, and households, check on your Black child(ren). The topic of suicide, self harm, and mental health are taboo in the Black community. When the conversation is brought up you can feel the atmosphere shift, and people become uncomfortable. Black children don’t even think about opening up to their parents because they are hit with responses such as:
Nate's Stomach Knot
Nate walked into the large meeting room. Looking around, he could see that the room was much larger than he thought it would be. The walls were made from cinder blocks yet painted with bright primary colors and there were toys all over the room. In the center of the room was a very large table that had far fewer chairs at in then you would expect.
Daddy, Fuck you. Kindly.
BORN INTO THE WOLRD Born into a world full of sin, OR born into a world where you're not wanted. Which one is it? Now that I think about it...
Dear Mom… I really not sure where I would be in my life, if I didn’t have you as my mother! You labored to give birth to me.
Chapter 1. Part B - Di.
I moved to Prague when I was six years old. I was born in Kazakhstan in 1986, but my nationality and origin are Tatar. There are more than 130 nationalities in Kazakhstan, so it is quite common to see people from China, Korea, Ukraine, Russia, and other neighboring countries to be in the same class. During that period, my country was part of the Soviet Union, and speaking the Russian language was mandatory. My father only talked to me in Russian. Therefore it became my first language. When you picture me, you can imagine an Asian, looking Korean girl with an almond shape light blue eyes, pale skin, long brown wavy hair, thin nose, and look with a cunning sight.
Thank you and welcome to my first story. This is created to help Free Destinnie! Destinnie is my daughter she has been wrongly accused. As this is a ongoing case I am reluctant to say too much about this story except for the fact that my daughter civil rights are being violated and I feel like she is not being treated fairly. I am currently seeking help in the means of funding or even advice of someone who has any idea of how to get past this or to guide us with the proper information so that we can move forward. I am currently a film production student and as well as a mother, with back up against the wall. I stand by what is right no matter who it's about, in this case this is all wrong. So to anyone that can relate to the situation please feel free to contact me, drop a line or even donate. But for the most part it's mostly important that I speak with someone that can share the mutual disconnect of a flawed justice system.
Mom, wife, maid, chef, nurse, counselor.... You name it, we are it. But what about ME? When do I get to be me? When do any of us get to be just us? Whether we are chasing after little ones, putting load of laundry in the wash and cooking dinner, or we are at work during the day to then come home and chase after kids, pick up their toys and still cook dinner. We are consumed with all of these other titles. When do we get to just be us?
On the Road to Fatherhood
"My father didn't tell me how to live; he lived, and let me watch him do it." -Clarence Budington Kelland Fear doesn't begin to describe the feelings I was experiencing as our midwife rubbed a small amount of jelly on Rachels lower stomach. Being a person already prone to unchoreographed racing thoughts, I felt as though my head was about to burst like a red supergiant star. Four of my five senses shut down, and all of my energy funneled to my ears.
The Day I Found Power in Words
I remember in third grade I felt the magic of being a grown up. I was on a bathroom break with a friend of mine and we were talking about something that transpired in class. As he was talking I felt the urge to say the word shit after his comment. Then he looked at me as if I gave him a commendation and he kept talking. However, for me, it was like an “a-ha” moment. I was like, “Did I just say a bad word?” Then like a reflex, it came out of me again right on time after my friend finished his next statement. This time I said it with less meekness. He looked at me smiling as I was confirming what he was talking about. Truthfully, until this day, I have no clue about what he was saying. All I know was that I was tapping into an unknown power that made me feel strong, independent and grown. My friend’s tale became sheer background noise. I was wrapped up in the new ability I discovered. I started repeating my new “vocabulary word of the day” as if a magical lightning bolt was going to come from the heavens, striking me and turn me into Captain Cuss-a-Motherfucker-Out. There was no lightning bolt but I did belt my fifth and final cuss word with as much bass in my voice as a 10 year old can muster. I stood tall and affirming with my chest poked out, a broad smile in my superhero pose. My buddy thought my expletive riddled responses was my way of agreeing with everything that he had just told me, but in my head I was fascinated with the idea that I was now like my parents and understood the freedom of expression and sheer joy of cussing.