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.
Writer Ann Schlott Hillers shares the experience that led to a lifelong quest to seek adventure abroad.
My father grew up in Athens, Ohio with no indoor plumbing until he was six. At 21 he hitchhiked east to Baltimore for a med school interview at Johns Hopkins University. It was the first time he had ever left Trumball County, which was next door to Howland County, my mother’s birthplace. He was accepted into med school, and when he graduated, the hospital offered him a job. He worked at Johns Hopkins for more than 50 years and has lived on the same Baltimore street just as long. Read More →
When a college kid gets stuck on the wrong airport shuttle van, writer Janet Fricke Gilbert’s inner mom surges forth.
He wore his baseball cap backwards, and he kept his earbuds in while he shouted up to the driver. He might have even yelled “Hey, you! Driver!” which sounded rude, but was really a reflection of his panic at discovering he was on the airport shuttle heading deeper into the landscape of “The Wire” instead of Washington, D.C., where he was a student at American University. Read More →
Most Comments This Week
"I dream about Langermanns shrimp and grits; they're the absolute best!
"Eglute, this is so moving. You are a brave and wonderful woman and mother... you are...
"Our millionaires are almost the worst in the league!
"Glen bURINE--that's a little harsh isn't it?
"Bookmaker salad from Sabatinos