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Pop
I call my dad Pop. My brother does too. When I think about the word “pop,” it suits him perfectly. This is how. I was thirteen. You popped an idea at me.
By Jessica Amber Barnum (Jess)4 years ago in Families
My Silent Superhero with Eyes to Light the Sun. Runner-Up in Dads Are No Joke Challenge.
Loving you is still easy. Missing you is not. My Father. “Deddy…Where you going? Can I get a ride?” This story.
By The Dani Writer4 years ago in Families
The man who built wonders
For as long as I can remember, one of the dearest and most revelatory memories of my childhood was working on a school project tracing my origins to where I was from, Vietnam. I was only five years old at the time, so naturally, I enlisted my father’s help to tell me the story of how I came to be and how we came to Australia. I remember it quite vividly, he sat me down on the ground and grabbed an A3 piece of paper, and started drawing away a map of Vietnam and Australia. Then came the lines signifying his movements, it was one hell of a journey. His level of annotation was the first thing I noticed — the way he drew the outline of Australia, it’s not an easy thing to do as was exquisitely done by him. Even better was his storytelling, he was so eloquent, and thought so deeply. This was the first true father and son conversation or moment I recall having with him. This was the first time I had put together everything about him, that he was a soldier and that he originally came from the north of Vietnam. He even escaped execution and fled for a year or two in the jungles after the fall. There he uncharacteristically smoked and even ate gigantic jungle rats. He did all those things to survive while he was hiding from the Viet Cong. Fortunately, he escaped with the help of the Australian government and landed in Australia by plane. One could say he was lucky, but on some nights, I couldn't help but overhear and witness his night terrors, the tremors and paralysis telling a far more unfortunate story and journey - one unspoken, one that must be so painful that no soul could ever bear it. Sometimes, I wish he would just one day bare it all, so as to become less a mystery to me. You see, my father either talked a lot or very little. There’s no doubt he has always been a humble and quiet man, especially as a father. But to leave the story there would be a disservice to everything he had achieved, see he’s more than just my father, he was a man destined for great things, and to his credit — he forged the path himself despite all the adversity he had to endure.
By Vi Nguyen4 years ago in Families
Father's Day For Father Figures
My Father's name is Herman, as was his father before him. Herman Jr. he was called in Mississippi and Memphis and all points north and south of the Mason-Dixon Line. He is Herman the Second in business ventures, and Herman the Maestro to his buddies, even though he is shy to sing and tone-deaf. He got the nomenclature because of a born-too-soon- predilection towards picking the best music for any gathering, private, public or anything in between. He is Herman the Fat to his brothers and cousins even though in old age he is anything but.
By Herman Wilkins4 years ago in Families
Freedom, Repression and "Freedumb" in the Age of Covid
To say that my father’s life and the circumstances in which he grew up was “no joke” would be tantamount to stating that Putin’s war in Ukraine is no simple military exercise.
By Lea Waske 4 years ago in Families
Three, Three, Three
“What’s next, Zach?” Dad called from behind the crudely built blinds. “A two-by-two red brick. That one goes on the top, just four studs away from those pink plates,” I returned.
By Zachary R. Cowan4 years ago in Families
The Wellspring
A father is known to his children in many ways: his voice, his presence, the roughness of his face, the calluses on his hands. He is known to them by the routines of his comings and goings, by his work boots and his ties, by the smell of his cologne, by the way he clears his throat. He is known to them by the tone of his words, by his authority and his laughter, by the anecdotes and admonitions, by the sound of his prayers.
By Tony Galbier4 years ago in Families
Mortar and Stone
We are the product of all the stories we have heard and lived--and many that we have not heard. They shape how we see ourselves, the world, and our place in it.
By Sandra Alexander 4 years ago in Families
For he who once built me a throne of snow
FOR THE MAN with one foot in the world of spirits and one foot in ours, I call on the ghosts of his ancestors, my ancestors, whom I never knew, but who loved him and nurtured him and guided him when he was young. Before he turned so secret and inward, before he grew so closed and impenetrable. From my fingertips I send out threads of light and ask these spirits to wind them around his body to create a cocoon, to shield him, protect him and heal him now.
By S.B. Goncarova4 years ago in Families
The Cole Bros The Greatest Show on Earth
My family, the Renbargers, had always been cursed with bad memory. Almost to the point of feeling crazy, where me, my dad, or my grandpa would put something down and immediately look down and it wasn’t there. My grandpa said it used to happen to his dad and his grandpa. Dates, events, and facts would just completely vanish from memory. The men in the family were always faithful and kind to our significant others so the memory thing was tough for the ladies in the family but I guess bearable. Even my girlfriend gets upset at my terrible memory, and thinks me telling her that I’m cursed is dumb and that I just don’t want to take blame, which is understandable.
By Jeremy Renbarger4 years ago in Families
The Best Life Coach. Top Story - July 2022.
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 McInerny4 years ago in Families
How Overprotective Parents Cause Trauma in Their Children
Childhood trauma We all have experienced some form of trauma as children. Sometimes it came through an accident that nobody could have prevented. Or, it could be school bullying. In some cases, the trauma happened at home. It could be abuse, maltreatment or… overprotection. Even the best-willing parents can make mistakes that resonate in their children’s minds forever. Yes, many parents love their children and are willing to do anything to ensure their children’s well-being. Yet, at times, the parents make decisions from their own point of view without considering what effects that actually has on the child.
By Neurodivergent_ai4 years ago in Families