My father picked me up from the bus. I was too busy talking about semester finals and problems with my landlord to notice his silence. When we pulled up to the house, I knew something was wrong. No wreath on the door. No electrically lit candles in the windows. Inside there was nothing to show Christmas was… Continue reading The Gift
Tag: Memoir
Visited
My son and a friend went to Canada for a week-end workshop to contact aliens. Before he left, Nathan asked me to not tell Grandpa Nesbit. I promised, but he didn’t have to ask. I would never tell my father, but I had my own reasons. Nathan and I agree it is more logical to believe there are… Continue reading Visited
Assumptions
My mother was a housewife. She claimed it without pride or apology. She spent hours cleaning and cooking and received nothing in return, except for the annual Hallmark Mother’s Day card claiming we appreciated everything she did. Once, and only once, she demanded acknowledgement. Every week she vacuumed the venetian blinds, but once a year… Continue reading Assumptions
My Father’s Names
I called him “Daddy” when he taught me to ride a bike, and baited my fishing hook because I heard the worm scream, and whisker-scratched me good night. I still called him Daddy when he talked about his college track days and set up the high jump in the yard. I have my mother’s short legs instead of his long ones.… Continue reading My Father’s Names
Sharon Nesbit-Davis 