humanity
Humanity begins at home.
Dump Trucks and Lucky Ducks
The couch nearly swallowed my little eight-year-old body in the firehouse on Boylston Street. My sister gazed out the window beside me watching colorful dots scurry around below, her homework resting blank in her lap. I leaned forward to assess the lucky ducks that sat on the center table. They were little rubber toys that my parents bought me for little accomplishments. One for my dance recital. One for the A on my math test. It was only the most elite of my collection since Mom said I couldn’t bring them all: complete with the princess one and police and three dogs. They were deep in secret spy discussion, very exclusive, oblivious to the human commotion around them.
By Margot Sonia6 years ago in Families
Ruby Rare
There is no one more inspirational to me than my mother. She is a rare breed. And when I say rare, I mean ruby rare. The kind of ruby rare that you think you’ll never find. Not in this lifetime. Not in the next. She is special. She is my ruby rare. I usually call her mama instead of mom or mommy, because for me, mama sounds so much more comforting. Comfort, along with love, care, and sacrifice, is what my mother represents. She raised four children, two boys and two girls. And she made it look effortless. Even in times of struggle, she never let us kids see that times were hard. She made the best effort to give us the kind of life she felt we deserved.
By Cassandra Henry6 years ago in Families
My mother, my true hero.
As a child, I witnessed my father beating my mother. My siblings and I would run away when he got in one of his moods. On these nights, we waited outside and kept watch for the lights to go out. That was our signal that it was safe to return. It would take hours some nights. When the lights went out, we knew our father had fallen asleep. We would tiptoe back inside and continue sleeping. So many times, like me, she cried for mercy when no longer able to bear the pain. My mother wore sunglasses to work the following day to cover up the bruises. The more I thought about my mother, the more I realized would end up just like her if I did nothing.
By Grace James Kumkee6 years ago in Families
My Mini Bio
Have you ever wondered how your time in this world is measured? Is it by the amount of friends you have, how long you have stayed in one job, what your career is, if your married, single, have kids, don't have kids, live by yourself or with someone or if you still live with your parents, is it measured by how close you are with your family or is it measured by what you bring to the table.
By Abby Bromage6 years ago in Families
My Mixed Daughter and Battling Prejudice in the South
I live in the Mississippi, a Southern state. I moved here just about two years ago and it was here I fell in love with my now husband. 5 months ago we had a beautiful baby girl who happens to be mixed. Unfortunately in the South, the color of her skin is the only clear thing about her to most people.
By Madeline Keys6 years ago in Families
