Mum screamed, “if in doubt, kill them!”. I killed her this morning, there was no doubt.
She had always thought of her father as an unreasonably harsh disciplinarian and had little if any recollection of his tenderness. Yet later on in life, her brother reminded her that when she had been very small and made what she considered to be a “gourmet” sandwich of ham, barbecue sauce, Fritos, and Tang sprinkled on top for good measure, their father had eaten it all and told her several times how good it was.
The day he received his rejection letter from Harvard, he buried his face in a towel and wept. He wasn’t sad for himself, but for his parents.
The kids you raise may one day choose your nursing home.
That is why I deserve an iPod for my birthday.
My parents got the long convoluted reasons why I quit my job.
My friends got the short version: the Swedish girl.
If your parents are crazy and bad then you are crazy and bad.
Something I used to believe.
Five trains, three hours, and a dozen busy signals sat behind him, as he collected his dignity and headed for the parking lot. “She wins again,” he muttered into a blackberry, canceling the week he’d planned for himself and his 9 yr old daughter.
“You’ve been a boy long enough; it’s time to grow up and face the world like a man,” the voice said sternly in my ear. There was a pause before he added: “Dad, are you listening?”