At the Gates of Hell and of Heaven by Karen Hunt
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I decided early on that the world was a terrible place. Oh yes, it was beautiful, marvelous and mysterious, but it was also terrible.
Residence by Katharine Harvey
Some of my Mom’s belongings migrated to the new place and as years passed, I discovered what she left behind.
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Mom's Trump Card by Rick Whitaker
I asked my mom why Butch despised me--was it just because I was gay? No, Mom said, there’s more to it than that
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Sock Monkeys and Dancing Hippos by Brandon Burke
Anyone alive in the 70s will remember stuffed monkeys made from tube socks
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Christmas, Elsewhere by Heather Gatley
It was 1963. A blizzard blew across the grass outside the married quarters where we lived in RAF St Athan.
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The Apartment Menagerie by James Bloom
The first among all their creatures to be acquired, and ever primus inter pares in his father’s affections, was Bird, the Burrowing Owl
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Aunt Jean by Tracy Kauffman Wood
Aunt Jean would read popular psychology books on the #50 trolley as it bounced down Fourth Street in fits and starts toward Passyunk Avenue.
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Homemade Halloween by Auriel Roe
We’d hollow out rock hard swedes with sharp knives. When we lit the stump of a candle inside them, the smell of singed swede was beguiling.
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Migrants by Sam Letourneau
In 1975, my family emigrated from England to Australia. I escaped from a cold, dank, inner-city London to the bright sunshine of Perth.
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Out of the Picture by Charles Hara
May 3rd, 1971. We're having a party. I’m six years old, and my parents still speak to one another.
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Houseproud by Ruth Badley
Mum’s strategy for keeping her domestic world in order involved a strict but predictable regime of household tasks that could not be altered
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When I was Famous by Neil Ferguson
The overcast sky and the wishy-washy-not-really-raining July weather is still considering its next step.
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The Miner by Milton Altschuler
It was the summer of 1938 in Lansford, Pennsylvania. The town’s only industry was a deep coal mine whose workers were primarily Polish
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The Curious Case Of The Grandmother And The Frozen Mackerel by Lawrence Morgan
By the age of ten I was an accomplished teller of untruths, especially when it came to excuses for not attending school.
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Ninety-One in Dog Years by Wilson Koewing
When I was seven, Mom and I took a drive. There was a peace to life then. Rural South Carolina was a slow place.
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God-fearing by Dorothy Neagle
The heat hums. Grasshoppers click from stem to stem. In a few days, a tractor will cut and bale hay in the distance...
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Girl in the Doorway by Christopher Parent
“I have a dream that one day … little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls
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Father by Liane U’Prichard
Tonight I rewatch a video my son posted some time ago, of him teaching his five year old to weave on a pretty complicated loom. The patient
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Methylation by Rod Madocks
My Dad gave me a photo of himself to take with me as I set off at the age of seven to my tough Rhodesian boarding school.
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The Name Puzzle by Linda Petrucelli
Mother liked to pretend that my name was a family decision. I was the third child born to Donato and Carmella Petruccelli of Davenport, Iowa
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