Top Stories
Stories in Families that you’ll love, handpicked by our team.
Return of the Stay-at-Home Dad
My daughter’s mother, my ex, died. The funeral was to happen in 48 hours. I scrambled to find the quickest way back to Minnesota from Bali, Indonesia. I told my daughter to do her best with the funeral arrangements until I arrived.
By Arlo Hennings2 years ago in Families
Natural and Normal: Not Gender Specific
I always knew this day would come, and I honestly always knew how I would react to this situation. My dad would be livid with me if he was still alive, but I surprisingly don't give a shit. The majority of my family members would reactively respond as well, and something small and unproblematic would be escalated to an insane and ridiculous level. However, I don't have a problem with it and I don't care. They could list off examples of what one small action is going to do to "damage" my child's psyche, but it won't happen.
By E.L. Martin2 years ago in Families
The Pearl Necklace
I remember back in the 80s, when I was a girl, my mother bought her first "real" pearl necklace. She was so excited. She was a homemaker for most of her life. She never had her own money, never had a job, never had a feeling of independence. She was always at home taking care of her children. When I turned 12, this all changed.
By Kristi Flowers2 years ago in Families
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.
By Sone Kramer2 years ago in Families
Morning 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.
By Sharon J. El Mouhib2 years ago in Families
One 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.
By K. Robert hanson2 years ago in Families
The 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.
By Vivian R McInerny2 years ago in Families