Family
The Coloring Book. Top Story - July 2022.
My dad is a rowdy teenager in a middle aged man’s body. I’m not joking. He likes to party with his friends, chain smoke, rides a Harley and lives in screen prints and tennis shoes. He only dresses up for weddings and funerals, that is, if you call darker jeans and a button up shirt dressing up, and has in more than one stage of his life proudly sported a mullet. There’s no filter in his brain and he’ll say things that will embarrass everyone in hearing range. As a storyteller and entertainer by his very nature he’ll tell you the same story over and over again. I can guarantee you’ll laugh every time.
By Leigh Ann Tuttle4 years ago in Confessions
They See Him Rolling
Imagine this... It's the mid-1970s, my dad was the youngest out of him and my uncle; the two being around 4 years apart in age. My dad was 9 at the time, and my uncle was around 13 respectively. Now, with the nature of where my dad and uncle grew up - a field across the street, woods behind their house, and cows to the left - you could say there wasn't much to do growing up on a backroad in Ohio. And yet it was two boys in the 1970s, they're bound to find something.
By Nicole Fenn4 years ago in Confessions
Lack Of A Father
About three years ago my dad was diagnosed with an incurable lung condition. Two months later, in a sneaky way, I packed my bags and left home. I am not welcome at home anymore and have not seen my dad since. Neither parent of mine accepted the fact that I have mental illness. They both treated like I was just badly behaved. I think about my dad every day and imagine the man I would be if he had not seen me like a failed lab experiment.
By Sid Aaron Hirji4 years ago in Confessions
Subtle
Daddy. I used to barely sleep when you would let me go with you to the woods. All night I was afraid you would leave without me if I fell asleep. I would be up by 5 am and ready. A six-year-old girl with a sloppy ponytail brushed up with young, uncoordinated fingers. My jeans were the ratty old ones. I knew if I wore my new ones, you would make me change. And maybe then you would leave while I changed. I hated the old jeans. They were ugly, ill-fitting. Too short and too long in the crotch. And you made fun of them. You made fun of me regularly. I used to think it was funny when you did. But, still, even in your mockery, I wanted to go with you to wander through the woods to collect firewood. I was excited. I posted on the couch, waiting for you.
By Sarah DuPerron4 years ago in Confessions
My Appa, He called me Sunshine
One night in 2009 my Appa picked up a pistol and clicked it against his chin hoping it would end it all. I was young enough to have no idea what that meant but old enough to remember the cry of my mother and the sight of the gurney bringing him out the front door. I remember the team of surgeons at the hospital rushing to save his life and his clear eyes when he looked at me in the ICU. But this is not my Appas legacy, he was far far more to me.
By Emi 4 years ago in Confessions
For my father
Father, I've wanted to do this challenge, but the words I wish to speak cannot come to my mind. I grew up admiring you, but you were never home, and mother would play the game, "Wait till your father gets home!". That would pin fear into my brother and me to the point that we wanted to cry.
By The Clarkbar844 years ago in Confessions
Guess What? I Love You.
When I was about 9 years old, I made my way through a school gym toward a DJ. The plethora of colored lines that were melded into the rubbery flooring, usually so prominent for sporting events and gym classes, had faded in the dimmer lighting and shadows that accompany a school dance.
By Abigail Penhallegon4 years ago in Confessions
Papa's Song. Top Story - June 2022.
"What was he like, Ma?" It wasn't often that I found the right opportunity to ask her about him. But whenever I did, I was always hesitant. "He... was a musician." My mother always kept her answers short. It hurt her to remember. But she should have known, that it hurt me not to know at all.
By Ann Garcia4 years ago in Confessions
