Childhood
Shart Through the Heart
Every morning, growing up in hot, sunny Saudi Arabia; it was a constant sweaty tale of heaving, puffing, dressing up in a navy blue and white uniform, and being escorted by my nanny (referred to as a maid in the Middle East, the not-so-political term, have you) to the very bus stop that made my heart give out palpitations every time I approached it after the most cringe-worthy incident of my life.
By Sana Alibux5 years ago in Confessions
The Garden
The house was quiet. Too quiet, in fact. Like it had been for so many years since her husband had left her. The cat, rubbing against her legs, now offering the only companionship. Sometimes it was too much to bare, being reminded by the incessantly ticking clock above the kitchen sink of the moments to be spent in loneliness. But she endured, as she always had, by making her time in the garden out back.
By Brian M. Gelinas5 years ago in Confessions
Identity Crisis
Dig if you will. 1988. A young, confused, Black boy. Grew up in a predominantly white neighborhood. Only music he knew was Heavy Metal and some Pop songs but not much R&B or rap. Only shows he watched were the shows with a mainly white cast....except the Huxtables. He did this because all the Black kids made fun of him because he "talked white". He had a "white name". Because his clothes fit right on him. He was super skinny but had a huge head and a "bubble butt". Because he played baseball and not football or basketball. He was always scared to talk to the Black kids because of how he talked. Also, he had a stutter so that made the jokes that much more harsher.
By Ryan Henderson5 years ago in Confessions
Bladders Cannot Be Trusted
It’s not uncommon for kids to have accidents. Especially when you’re very little and have impossibly tricky over-all fastens, as I learned in kindergarten. I was never a bedwetter, but more than one occasion sleeping in my grandparent’s bed — waterbed — resulted in a rude awakening.
By Rii Pierce5 years ago in Confessions
The Un-Slippery Slope
Okay, before I tell this story you have to promise two things; 1. DON'T JUDGE ME! and 2. You won't hold me responsible if you pee your pants from laughing hysterically in disbelief. We good? Alright, cool beans. Just so we're clear, I regret NOTHING about this day. It was a learning experience and it made for a tear jerking, hysterical story to retell in my adult life.
By Tink5 years ago in Confessions
Between a Rock and a Hard Place, Indeed
Although I currently call the province of Alberta my home, I'm a Newfoundlander, born and bred - and I'll be one 'til I die. Growing up in the '90s, I was the living embodiment of a free-range child. I was adventurous, chaotic. Choosing to cannonball rather than dip my toes in to test the water. My friends and I would leave our respective homes in the morning, ready to seize the day. Our parents rarely saw us until the streetlights lit the night sky like beacons; barring the occasional bathroom breaks and scavenging for food like the feral house goblins we were. My hometown has always been a wonderful, quiet little place, where our neighbors knew everyone's business, and always kept a watchful eye. These types of small towns instill a certain level of trust. If our parents only knew half of what we were up to! We were resilient children, and were confident that nothing bad would ever happen to us - until it did.
By Megan Oliver5 years ago in Confessions
Attention Shoppers
Yea. Yea. Yea. I know, I was old enough to know better, but the fear I had for my step mother paralyzed my vocal cords. Ok so let's take it back to August 1998, I was 8 years old. The day started off as a regular day of errands and shopping but quickly shaped into a Saturday morning that I would never forget and a secret that I vowed to keep.
By Monique Peck5 years ago in Confessions
