Top Stories
Stories in Families that you’ll love, handpicked by our team.
Remembering Again
It has taken ten years for Poppop to remember my name again. We are sitting at a table outside under string lights and stars. He is wearing a blue sweater vest and his head is still bald. I cry as he marvels at my tattoos. He tells me he would like to get some. How outlandish! How hip! He doesn't ask me why I’m crying, and I don’t register the tears until I wake up.
Sone KramerPublished 2 years ago in FamiliesThe Dappy Dinky Doodler And Other Childhood Fantasies
There are many things in life that mold us and make us into the people we are. Every day, every moment, every person we connect with brings another form of change to who we are meant to be.
Kelli Sheckler-AmsdenPublished 2 years ago in FamiliesMorning Shave
The soft click of someone turning on a light switch stirred me from my twilight slumber, and I stretched my hands over my head, arched my back into a perfect stretch, held it for a second, then relaxed and laid still. I gently rubbed my eyes; then, looking towards the window, I could faintly see the beginnings of the dawning sunlight peeping between the window blind slats giving all indications that morning was on its way. I sat up, rubbed my six-year-old eyes, pulled on my pink terry robe, slid my tiny feet into my bunny slippers, and carefully eased out of bed so as not to make a sound. I looked towards my bedroom door, and I could see that it wasn't fully closed but stood just about three inches ajar, and through that space, I could make out the bright light streaming from the bathroom into the narrow hallway. I quietly crept into the hall and headed towards the open door. You didn't say a word as I quietly took my usual seat on the hall floor, crossing my legs and placing my hands in my lap. The year was 1965.
Sharon J. El MouhibPublished 2 years ago in FamiliesDon't Eat Chocolate Like it Was Bread
Foreword My father’s home was in Ingria, a little-known area in what is now within Russia’s borders, just east of the Gulf of Finland and Estonia. It had been fought over by Sweden and Russia for hundreds of years until it was ceded for the last time to Russia in the 1700's.
Lea SpringerPublished 2 years ago in FamiliesSit down.
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?
Spencer ReavesPublished 2 years ago in FamiliesThe Passing of Time
My grandfather was an honest man. He spun words into dreams and old watches into gold. He never did own much other than the stories that he told. Yet, stories to a young boy, were worth more than the time he sold.
Will KearvellPublished 2 years ago in FamiliesOne Word
I was asked recently what one word best describes my father, and I’ve been thinking about it ever since. My father passed away in 2015, exactly one week before my thirty seventh birthday. He always had a talent for things like that. Hospital visits on holidays, birthdays, and generally inconvenient times.
K. Robert hansonPublished 2 years ago in FamiliesThe Best Life Coach
I sat in the bleachers fuming. Being dragged to the Little League park to watch my brothers’ games was bad enough. But that summer the league was short of coaches so my dad stepped up to help out which for me meant sitting on the sidelines of yet another team. The sun was brutal. I slid down the bench seeking refuge in my mom's shadow but the baked boards slivered my bare legs.
Vivian R McInernyPublished 2 years ago in FamiliesHow Therapy Helped Me When I Went Back To Work
Growing up, I thought therapy was reserved for those with 'real problems' Asians stereotypically don't do therapy. We suffer in silence and let that shit brew until it becomes stomach cancer.
Katharine ChanPublished 2 years ago in FamiliesDon't quit
I don't remember exactly how old I was when my father first took me fishing. I think it was before I went to school, but I can't say for sure, though.
My Dad the Bear
The call came at 2:30am on June 30th, 2010. A call that jolts you from your sleep in the middle of the night is never a good call. I don’t remember the exact conversation, only phrases like "sepsis" and “massive heart attack” and “we did everything possible” and “we’re very sorry.”
Heather HagyPublished 2 years ago in FamiliesWith Love, There's Always a Place to Land
It all started with an email from my cousin Suzie’s daughter Raven. On a Sunday evening, I read: “My father (Dave) is very ill, and I am hoping if I get his old license plates to you with some small watch faces you could make two small birdhouses. I want them to look like my parents’ house, with the same bright green door. I know you’re busy. As long as one gets done for my parents, mine can wait. I’m hoping if it gets done my dad will come back as a type of bird to visit them.”
Catherine KenwellPublished 2 years ago in Families