humanity
Humanity begins at home.
Why Paid Family Leave Is Needed In New York State
"Starting January 1, 2018, New York State's Paid Family Leave provides New Yorker's with job-protected, paid leave to bond with a new child, care for a loved one with a serious health condition or to help relieve family pressures when someone is called to active military service abroad."
By Millington Lockwood8 years ago in Families
Making Our Way Through the Muck
Tonight my middle child, my youngest daughter, made me cry. We were sitting around the supper table remembering when my youngest daughter and her brother first met my husband. We talked about their first reactions and we laughed about them. As we cleared the table my daughter said, “You know mum I remember that I wasn’t very nice to you (at that time). I feel bad about that and I am sorry how I treated you back then.” I gave her a hug and told her how she was but a young child then and she was going through a lot; her father and I had split up and he had been abusive to all of us. I told her that I bared a lot from all three of my children at that time, but I had big shoulders and took it because I knew they were hurting. We hugged and she said she was sorry and that she loved me. I am grateful for her apology.
By Janet Rhodes8 years ago in Families
The Envelope
Joe was a lonely, broken man, walking cold wet streets late one Christmas Eve. He wore, contrastingly, the jolliest of outfits, clad in the uniform of his latest job a mall Santa Claus. He was a poor imitation of St. Nick, sad, slumping, looking thin and depleted, despite a mound of stuffing around his middle. He oozed the odor of Jack Daniels, and walked as only a drunk could walk. He staggered down the street, thinking of family he never saw anymore. He was alone and angry. He hated Christmas. In fact, the only reason he kept his Santa job was because he felt it fitting to collect on this awful day any way he could.
By George Beighey8 years ago in Families
Life as a Daughter of Agent Orange, Pt. 1
I honestly do not know where to even begin telling my story. I remember growing up, at least to the age of 10, life was pretty normal and decent. Mom worked and Dad stayed home with my little sister and I. I recall my dad being strict, but that was nothing compared to what was about to start in late 1999.
By Elizabeth Kozlowski8 years ago in Families
The Gifts and Curses of Time
Fridays couldn’t come any quicker. The entire week, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday and so on are spent anticipating Friday. Typically, Friday evenings are spent at my friend Kaylin’s house, congregating around the TV for Full House reruns; 7:30 marathons couldn’t start any sooner! Amidst Stephanie Tanner’s “how rude” schpeal, the unknown number that has already called three times that day calls for the fourth. I excuse myself during the next commercial break, to deal with the “anonymous caller.” I hold the phone to my chest, allowing it to ring until I can answer it in the bathroom. A familiar voice states, “This is a prepaid call, you will not be charged for this call, this call is from…” I mouthed my father’s name and correctional facility. This is the second time I’ve spoken to my dad this week, on account of his “good conduct” with the other inmates. My excitement for the weekend, the TV marathons, and free time with my friends overshadowed my reality. Putting on a brave face and improvising excuse after excuse was already easy: “Just another guy prank calling me.” Today, my dad only had enough change to call for five minutes. Tomorrow, the next day, and so on, my friends and I will recall the joke for years to come. Today, my dad has five out of his ten years left.
By desiree nicole8 years ago in Families
Mortality's a Bitch
So, in a previous post, I said mortality's a bitch, talking about my best friend, Noe; a friendship that started in the 3rd grade to his death in ’91 and my brother’s, Joey, death in ‘00. Another friend commented about missing Noe and missing out on the end. It's not the first time I'd been asked. I'd only given the bare bones answers partly, because I didn’t know this friend and it hurt, and partly, because I didn’t know what exactly happened after the ambulance left his place. I do know now and it chills me to think he went through that alone…on purpose, so the rest of us wouldn’t have that as the last memories of him.
By Jason Rhode8 years ago in Families
The Effects of Growing Up With Bottled Emotions
July 26, 2017, attempted to end @3:58 AM. Sometimes I still fall victim to the hardness that I once knew. I catch myself being cold when I feel as if I’m witnessing weakness. It’s sad really, where that comes from. Just now I noticed that I had banned my dog from my bed and had been cross with her because she was shaking from fear of the occurring thunderstorm. Making jokes to myself, I said aloud, “I didn’t put a quarter in the bed” and, “I love you but I also love to sleep!”
By Jessica Bateman8 years ago in Families
Behind the Scenes
My mom walked toward me in a solicitous was as I was stretched out on my grandmother's apple green couch. I remember how much I hated those couches when I had first moved down to Greasy Hill Loop, they were always so damn uncomfortable. I grew to love them, up until they had became a self-proclaimed throne of mine. My mom smacked my leg as she asked for paper, more specifically graphed paper. I didn't have to answer her at all, she already knew I did. From the many years I spent doodling, and hoarding sketchbook after sketchbook, I had accumulated stacks of paper of many different varieties. I ran off to my side of my grandmother's bedroom and searched for graphed paper, tossing everything aside, I was anxious to know what she had needed it for. I took the papers into the kitchen, and placed them neatly on the dining table. Surrounding the oval dining table was the three women of the house, the fourth slowly made her way down the hall. My mom, Evelyn, sat at the end with a pencil handy, and the papers laid in front of her. My sister, Earla, sat adjacent to her, this was her usual spot at the table. To the side of her sat my grandmother, Evangeline, she was silent and gazed off into the distance. Their demeanor and silence had made me anxious and curious. I turned and stepped into the kitchen, just as my grandmother Floria had eased herself into her chair. I opened the fridge and glanced over at the table, they were all seated so still, and not one spoke a single word. The TV was the only noise filling the empty space between all of us. I grabbed the nearly-ancient pitcher of iced tea and headed for the counter. I stood there as I examined the pitcher, and wondered just how old it was. I reached upwards into the cabinet for a glass, I could not take the dead silence any longer. I spoke. "Why are you all so serious? It is freaking me out."
By Kyra Kallestewa8 years ago in Families
Kiss of Colors
Since I was forced from my mother's body (damaging her beyond repair she claims every year on my birthday), I had always loved colors. Every year my favorite colors will switch between greens, blues and purples. Even at the tender age of twenty plus years old, I still cannot decide what color is my favorite. Colors are not just little lights dancing in front of us. They are tools to help retain information, memories and emotions. Colors are not just about the rainbow, but in personality and in skin. Color means more than just lights. For years my journey in finding a favorite color has come to a standstill. My new goal is to find a color that I can call my own favorite like normal people.
By Savannah McCain8 years ago in Families
Halloween Cancelled at Public School Because of Liberal Beliefs
Halloween, All Hallow's Eve, is the wonderful Pagan holiday celebrated every October 31st where children are able to dress up in costumes and pretend to be anything they wish to be. The kids go door-to-door and knock saying, "Trick or treat?" and then are handed candy which they usually throw into a pillow case or Halloween decorated bucket and go on to the next house.
By Beth Gibbons8 years ago in Families
