Books allow me to transcend my own experience of the world. In reading, I can assume the skin of people, places, times, and events that I'll never otherwise inhabit. They make me feel more part of the world and more human. How has reading shaped you? Blogger/teacher/parent Pernille Ripp why she believes children should be… Continue reading On Boy Books and Girl Books by Pernille Ripp→
A lovely cousin recently gave me a copy of this photo of my grandmother, Julia Vaccaro who was an Italian-Argentine of Buenos Aires -- ringing in 1919 with family and friends! Like the United States and so many other places, Argentina is a country of immigrants. It fascinates me to see such an old photo where everyone… Continue reading Happy 2019 New Year from 1919 by da-AL→
Holidays and New Year celebrations are when messages about what family should and shouldn’t make me want to gag. They generalize everyone into one big homogenous lump.
That’s when I step back and take stock of the people I know. It does my heart good to see that we’re individuals — and that includes our families, the ones we make, or our lack thereof.
Being adopted has shaped the way I view who is family and who is not. When I found out I was adopted over thirty years ago, I saw the people around me in a different light. I saw them as strangers, yet I still accepted them as family because they had taught me to do so. I instantly realized that any combination of people could make a family.
In this way, I accepted my mother and father as my family unit. These were the people who’d decided to raise me from infancy as their own. They loved me, and I them. But when my mother died and my father gave up his parental rights, I began to question the definition. Was my adopted father not my father anymore simply because the Court said he wasn’t? I mean the Court deemed him my father in 1974, and so he was. Was…
"Flamenco & the Sitting Cat" is the title of the first of my soon-to-be self-published novels. The 'Sitting Cat' part of the title refers to the geographical shape of Iran... I grew up with only classical music -- and flamenco music and dance. My father, who left Barcelona in his mid-20s, wanted it that way.… Continue reading Flamenco Fusion→
This tragic story, retold by blogger Kally, is all the sadder because the young woman to whom it happened blames herself for what isn’t her fault. To heal, she bravely recounts it to us so that the same thing doesn’t happen to others…
I love your column Whisper and I hope by sharing my story, perhaps some young girl out there will learn from my mistakes and maybe save herself from evil.
In this way, I accepted my mother and father as my family unit. These were the people who’d decided to raise me from infancy as their own. They loved me, and I them. But when my mother died and my father gave up his parental rights, I began to question the definition. Was my adopted father not my father anymore simply because the Court said he wasn’t? I mean the Court deemed him my father in 1974, and so he was. Was…
