Childhood
Thank You Mom And Dad, Now I Get It
At the time, when I was just a child, it just sounded annoying, to hear the same things all over again. I always asked myself why are they constantly repeating the same stuff? Why do I have to make my bed if I’ll lay on it later? Why do I have to tidy the room if the maid is coming next? Why study Monday to Friday, if there is so much time left for the evaluation period?
By Isabel Noronha4 years ago in Confessions
A magic night
I am thinking about what Christmas was like in the sixties. Not everyone’s, mine. I lived in a nuclear family: father, mother, me. My brother hadn’t been planned yet. A provincial town in Tuscany, an apartment in a popular neighborhood, furnished in a functional and modern way, because we were a family in step with the times. My mother worked, drove the Bianchina and did the shopping at Smec, the first supermarket to set foot in the center. We lived the economic boom with hope, proud of the progress that would only bring civilization, proud of the refrigerator, the toaster, the blender, the carbonated water with the the Idrolitina, the bottled wine on the table.
By Patrizia Poli4 years ago in Confessions
Creating a Copacetic Collective with the CaNDY Principle
I remember being a little kid and deeply, personally understanding that feelings are never bad or wrong. I remember seeing the feelings getting stuck in people’s bodies and being so confused. I remember being consoled and told I didn't need to cry. I remember being sent to my room when I expressed anger. I remember watching my mom put on socks one time while my dad got dressed across the room and not understanding why it felt like everyone was swallowing knives.
By Kelsey O'Toole4 years ago in Confessions
The Byron Lane Forest Fire
I was about nine or ten when my friend and I, almost started a forest fire. Stupid kids, I know, but my friends were always getting me into all sorts of trouble. Did I get them into trouble as much as they got me into trouble? I think not. But, I was the outcast, the geek, the ultimate failure in my father's eyes. I was weak, feminie looking (I think so). I sported a bowl cut and wore velvet shirts and courderoy pants. Oh, they're comfortable for sure, but when everyone else is cool, I'm just drool. Hence, I was always looking for ways to be part of the gang.
By Kerry Williams4 years ago in Confessions
Attacked by the State Pesticide Helicopter
A normal Saturday morning Something that happened to me and my middle brother long ago would be considered a hate crime today. In 1968 we were simply two frightened children who suspected that race played a part in what took place but could not prove it. The incident is seared into my memory in great detail as if it happened yesterday instead of 5 decades in the past.
By Cheryl E Preston4 years ago in Confessions
My School Day love story
School journal School life romantic tale It is regarding those occasions when I used to review in class ninth. I was a drifter He used to wander to a great extent with companions the entire day and used to do drifters. There was no interest to review and never to go to class. It was a marvel of my dad who used to go to class here and there.
By vaibhav sharma 4 years ago in Confessions
Trapped In My Own World
My early childhood: I have spent my life never feeling like I am enough. I am not placing blame on any one person, because I know a lot of my feelings stem from some very deep-rooted internal issues; caused, admittedly, by many people, but to place the blame on one person would be a great injustice to the rest. I was born to parents who weren’t ready for such a title, a young woman who simply wanted to exist, and a young man who was only human. Just a few months after being born, my mother left my father in Colorado, to go home to her parents in Arkansas, and she took me with her. I grew up hearing stories of my mother leaving because she caught my father cheating on her with a woman who was in the same squadron as my Air-Force dad, a woman who had babysat me, gone to clubs with my mother, and seven years later, became my stepmother. My father, naturally, denies it, and claims my mom just wasn’t happy there anymore, and wanted to be back home. I don’t really believe either of them. I believe there’s elements of truth to both of their stories–my father became exclusive with my stepmother before the divorce was even finalized, and my mother has never liked to stay somewhere too long–but there was one thing that my father did not deny. He was noticeably happier when my mom and I had left.
By Abbigale Davis4 years ago in Confessions
I’ve contemplated suicide every day of my life since the age of eleven
I’ve contemplated suicide every day of my life, since the age of eleven. My ability to procrastinate knows no bounds. Eleven is when I first said out loud that I hated myself, that I shouldn’t have been born, and that I wanted to die.
By James Garside4 years ago in Confessions
Nam
Nam Summer of 1982, Jerseyville, Ontario. Prosser's Pond. My brother Jason and I, being the same age and all, had also been best friends from as far back as when we were only four years old. This meant too, that throughout school we shared the same friends and certainly the ones in Jerseyville, where we were ALL friends...for the most part. The core of Jerseyville friends was a solid one and there's nothing I STILL wouldn't do for ANY of my friends from the village... 'cept maybe one person. We did plenty of things, all of us together, but Jason and I also did things together as brothers. We fished together, hiked together, adventured together... We did a LOT of fishing together. Ever since we'd moved to Jerseyville from Burris street in Hamilton, we'd been steadily finding new places to try our luck. Our favorite 'go to', would have been 'Prosser's Pond'...'Prosser's Pond' was a Bass hole Deluxe. Full of Sunfish, Large mouth Bass and a handful of other fishy friends...the odd killer Catfish, a few Perch. The Bass in the pond were so greedy by midsummer, that Jason and I could pop a Dandelion head on our hook, flick it out 10ft and land a Largemouth almost every time...digging up a container of worms from the garden just made it silly. We had a riot, fishing at Prosser's, for many years. Prosser himself, was one John Prosser Robinson. A very old farmer who owned some fields in Jerseyville and brought produce down to Hamilton market. He grew lots of green beans, cucumbers, peas I think...He hired only girls from Jerseyville to work his fields . Just teenagers, "Stupid girls." He'd call them. Right to their face. I just remember some of these girls from the area, washing bushel after bushel full of green beans every summer evening, at the head of the tractor path back to the pond. They'd have metal tubs full of water, that they pumped from the hand well situated beside the low lying barn. Hand washing the sandy soil from the beans. That hand pump would pour with cold well water if you pumped it hard enough and long enough to flush the rust from it's pipes. One person would pump it, while the other leaned on the spout, drinking fresh, cold water directly from the flow.
By Jim E. Beer - Story writer of fact and fiction. 4 years ago in Confessions
