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The heat isn’t working in the clinic waiting room. A bronze bust of Margaret Sanger, patron saint of birth control, scrutinizes me from a plaster podium, and a slide show, Ways to Show Affection without Intercourse, is projected half on a pull-down screen and half on the cottage-cheese ceiling.
By Virginia EliotMay 2006After I graduated from college, I worked as a prep aide at a large hospital. The prep aide was the person who went around each night and shaved patients for their surgery in the morning.
By Sybil SmithNovember 2005Recently samples of baby products — diapers, formula, wipes — have begun showing up in my mail. Packets of coupons with smiling infants on them arrive in envelopes that say, “Congratulations!” in big red letters.
By Thea SullivanOctober 2005Facing a flock of cowards wearing sheets, caring for a parent, making a new friend
By Our ReadersSeptember 2005“Son, will you come downstairs, please.” He has pulled a chair up to the couch in the living room. We never use this room. The Christmas tree is placed in here each year. I would read in here as a child. That’s it. I sit on the couch and sink down. He sits straight up in the chair, his graying black hair combed back. His eyes soften. Like the sails on a boat, they offer a telltale sign of which way the wind is blowing and how strong. This afternoon, in the fading light of day, they tell me he is tired.
By McCabe CoolidgeDecember 2003I have been photographing my family for more than thirty years. The pictures here are of my mother, Rose, and my younger brother, Dennis. My father, Sal, died in 1991.
By John MilisendaMay 2001Girlie slid out like a hot buttered noodle on that Indian-summer night in October — her father’s birthday, in fact.
By Dulcie LeimbachNovember 2000Personal, political, provocative writing delivered to your doorstep every month—without a single ad.
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