Category: Memoir
-
Bring back “The Benton Bugle!”
My husband bemoans the lack of local newspaper reporting. There are still a couple of reporters, but our print news now comes mostly from the USA Today Network. As a former newspaper employee, going back to having a paper route when he was twelve, he despises reading the news online, even if it’s mostly the…
-
What I didn’t learn at church camp
Dark clouds stormed across the lake that evening, as we sat in the camp mess hall staring at mashed potatoes and meatloaf. Our table, usually filled with noisy fourth and fifth graders wrapped in towels and damp bathing suits, was silent. Inside the safety of the third floor of the Quaker Haven lodge, a few campers…
-
Out of the mouth of babes
I didn’t believe her. How could I? It was all so outlandish. Fish eyes! A tiny purse! And yet, she was such a precocious child, or so we were told, that I wondered. As new parents, we didn’t have other children for reference. Her first word was “Octi,” for the crocheted octopus she eventually carried…
-
The worst poem I ever wrote
Thirty-some years ago, finally divorced after months of marital and individual counseling and hours of agony trying to understand it all, I was settling in my hometown with three kids and a regular visitation schedule to their dad. Alone, every other weekend, I had nothing to do, except fret and wonder what was happening while…
-
Will I ever talk again?
How did I become so reluctant to talk to others in public? Having seen how the Myers-Briggs Personality Type impacts many students’ writing, I am fairly familiar with the types, and I know my own characteristics well. I happen to be an introvert, someone who regains energy by being alone. Lately, though, I’m reverting to…
-
When doing the right thing kicks your butt
Giving blood was always a thing for some of my family. My grandpa belonged to the hundred gallon club. My mom did, too. Okay, my brother says it couldn’t possibly be a “hundred gallons.” Ten gallons maybe? Every chance they had, they went to Ball Memorial Hospital in our hometown to give blood. Following suit,…
-
Keeping Score
“You can do anything” rang through my ears when I was growing up. It wasn’t true. I knew I’d never be a ballerina. But then… I never wanted to be. “You’re just like your mother and your grandmother,” my dad would exclaim in wonder. “Anything you try, you can do.” Maybe there was some truth …
-
Why I speak gibberish
What was your first word? Of course, you don’t remember, but maybe your mom does. Or your dad, especially if it was “Da Da.” My oldest child’s first word was “Ah-ee.” Luckily, I knew that this two-syllable utterance actually had a meaning. Otherwise, I might’ve missed this watershed baby book moment. She was referring to…
-
The Parts We Play
Her slim, veined hand rested in mine, as we sat on the generic floral couch in the wood-trimmed lounge. A piano nearby hinted that Uncle Bob or Aunt Becky might drop by unannounced for a Sunday afternoon visit in the parlor though only a perky nurse-in-training poked her head through the open doorway to be…
