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My Thing
I’m a firm believer that teens do better if they have a “thing.” Preferably not heroin. Ideally, the thing might be football, chess, sewing, soccer–some activity that helps navigate the journey toward self-definition. When we’re young and don’t yet know what we are or who we’ll be, having a “thing” can clarify. For me, the thing that buoyed me…
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Miss Gastrocnemius
I walked down the empty corridor, the modest heels of my pumps clicking satisfyingly on the tiles. After a three-hour night class, I couldn’t wait to get home for dinner and an icy drink, so the clicks echoed quickly, pertly. As I passed one of the the Auto Body classrooms, I caught sight of my…
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Clicking Along
I walked down the empty corridor, the heels of my pumps clicking satisfyingly on the tiles. After a three-hour night class, I was eager to get home for dinner and an icy drink, so the clicks echoed quickly, pertly. As I walked, I considered the joy this class was bringing me. Last year, I had…
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Seizing It
We stood in the kitchen, eating Sunday morning biscuits and working out a quick schedule of the day–as families do–figuring out who would drive downtown to take two boys to the matinee who would drive up the hill to help the fourteen-year-old pick out black dress pants for her band photo if anyone had moved the…
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Holding a Balloon
I first became aware of Caitlin Moran a couple years ago, when her book How to Be a Woman was creating a splash. In search of a read that was smart but didn’t make my tired brain hurt, I grabbed a copy. Almost immediately, I wished it was 1985 and that I was back in…
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Hitting the Motherlode at Mamalode
I’ve been writing this blog since 2006 and, before that, pouring words into wild Christmas letters that took so long to read my friends were still working through them come New Year’s. All this fun writing is great. But recently, I decided to start submitting essays to a few publications, just to see what that…
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Being Able to Climb a Princess’ Hair Is Pretty Ludicrous, Too
Once upon a time, two white, middle-class Midwesterners decided to invite all the townspeople to a feast called Potluck. Listen, not all fairy tales begin with mentally-unstable witches making mischief. Sometimes they begin with swans hatched into the wrong family; hungry wolves; vain emperors; magic shoes; and, yes, middle-class white people who like to eat.…
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No Dull Boys, Not Even You, Jack
It’s not for lack of trying. Ever since they were old enough to kick a ball, turn a somersault, and weave a multi-colored tote bag on a floor loom, we’ve signed our kids up for activities. Partly, we did this because it helped to pass some of the long hours that make parents look at the…
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Waning
The poor boy inherited his mother’s bad throat. A crummy night’s sleep, an overtaxing day, a demanding week, and there they go: the tonsils. Swelling, scratching, kissing, and aching–tender tonsils manifest the stress. My life has been peppered by throat ailments. They must have become more persistent in adulthood, as having my tonsils removed was never…
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Why You Not Date Me?
I desperately wanted a boyfriend. Starting in about fifth grade and then picking up momentum in sixth, seventh, eighth grades, it was all the rage to “go steady” with someone. No one ever asked me to go steady, save one brave boy (a foot shorter than I) who whispered his request across the aisle during…
