“Join hands for prayers,” said Grandma Mercy. Little Thomas cringed. He hated saying prayers before meals, especially in public. Worse, the server had put the steaming pepperoni pizza with extra cheese right under his nose. How could anyone pray with… Continue Reading
Sissy had grown tired of going up and down the hill. Tired of looking at the green of the Appalachians. Tired of looking at Mr. Dixon across the street on his riding mower with his oh so flat and lovely… Continue Reading
“This used to be a pirate’s cove, you know.” The water lapped against the side of the boat as the old man lifted the oars out of the water, resting his arms. The boy looked up from the golden wrapped… Continue Reading
“You not can to eat Chicken a Sea tuna fish in a Friday,” I heard Nona say to my mother in the kitchen. Nona is the Italian word for grandmother. My Nona lived on the other side of our double… Continue Reading
I did not know my zayde was a writer until the day of my bat mitzvah in March 1989. Everyone was congratulating me on my bat mitzvah but also him on his newest book. For my bat mitzvah, he gave… Continue Reading
“If you can guess what I have in my pocket, you can have it.” I looked into the faded, cornflower blue eyes of my grandfather, as he sat across the table from me. Today they seemed remarkably clear as if… Continue Reading
“Grandmother?” Rossa reached for the weathered door. There was no answer from within, but Grandmother was old. She was often sleeping when Rossa brought her supplies. The rough wood slab swung inward at her touch, and she frowned. Grandmother lived… Continue Reading
My old man’s dad died just a month before I was born. I always wished I’d met him. He was, by all accounts, a real character I’d have enjoyed talking to. Ma’s dad was still with us, so to differentiate… Continue Reading
The butterflies were in Anna’s head, not in her stomach — a swarm of glorious, golden images she couldn’t seem to suppress, even when she told herself to count sheep, or recite nonsense rhymes, to try and lull herself to… Continue Reading
Grampa Don hated houseflies. To hear him talk you’d think there weren’t no flies in Chicago, but we visited once and there were flies a’plenty, I assure you. But when Grampa stayed with us he was forever complaining about flies… Continue Reading