As the father of two teenagers, ages 15 and 14, I never thought I’d say this, but one of the greatest joys of fatherhood has been washing their laundry. Before you call your local child services agency, let me explain. Let’s rewind about 10 years. Read More →
The summer reading she did not get to, on bedside stand and desk, whispered the bones of an essay: A Writer’s Diary, Moments of Being, The Archetypal Symbolism of Animals, A Story Like the Wind. For that matter, it had been a summer of titles, disembodied heads, essays never executed. Read More →
I was born first and consequently saddled with the typical traits of the firstborn: rule-following, approval-hungry, and hugely self-critical. At age three, soon after my little sister’s arrival, I realized I had been cast as the smart sister and she the cute and funny one. My sister was a cute and funny baby, then a cute and funny toddler—especially when she held a strip of cotton under her nose like a mustache and went around ho-ho-ho-ing like Santa. After she broke her collarbone, she was cute and funny even in a bulky, figure-eight cast, wearing my old green sweater and posing as the Incredible Hulk. Read More →
University of Baltimore MFA student and super mom Austrie Martinez tells the magical story of how she and her family met and befriended Adam Jones–it reads like the stuff of legend, and it’s 100 percent true.
My wife, Denise, was strapping on her duty belt for work as I watched the Orioles postgame interviews. She worked night security at a psych hospital and often missed the end of the game. As she tuned in via radio, we’d text each other throughout the nine innings. Read More →
University of Baltimore MFA grad Sue Loweree remembers her ice-skating contest/identity crisis. It’s such a cathartic read, especially in the Baltimore summertime, you’ll likely shiver.
The Omaha Convention Center is a big, cold building with ceilings as high as our new two-story house. I follow Mom and Miss Darby, the skating coach down the hall listening to them talk about Thursday night lessons. Read More →
I met Mary Patelli when I was five. Our mothers were ICU nurses together, both divorced, both in co-dependency meetings. Our families lived around the corner from each other in the suburbs of Baltimore. I saw her nearly every day; we vacationed together in the summer. We shared mothers. Read More →
Writer Muffy Fenwick discovers summer camp is a learning experience for moms, too.
My little boy suffers from “frequent and debilitating” migraine headaches. These are the words I choose for the countless forms I complete for his school, his sports teams, his camps. They started when he was barely two years old. We were at a family dinner and I watched as his chubby, freckled face drained of color and his usually twinkling blue eyes became vacant. I carried his listless body to the car and tried to coax him as he stared blankly out the window, barely responsive to the passing trees and darting cars. I slept on his floor that night, scared by his unresponsiveness. At some point in the night, he became restless and whiny, finally vomiting all over his crumpled airplane sheets. He then plunged into a deep, immovable sleep. Read More →
“A riot is the language of the unheard.” Martin Luther King, Jr.
From my bedroom in my big house at the top of a hill, I can hear many things: the rush of the highway like a river, concerts at the racetrack down the hill, the marching band and cheers at high school football games. Bird song in spring, insect orchestra in autumn.
And this spring, sirens. Sirens that seemed to go on and on through the day and the night. Read More →
University of Baltimore MFA student Tracy Gold considers the recent riots in light of her comfortable Towson upbringing.
I’m white, and I live in a neighborhood of yuppies near the water in Baltimore City. So, I can’t speak to what it’s like for the folks affected by police brutality.
But I can speak to what it’s like to deal with police when you’re a stupid, white teenager. I believe these kinds of stories are important to tell right now; they highlight how unfair our current system is. Sure, life’s not fair. But criminal justice should be.
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