We use cookies to improve our services and remember your choices for future visits. For more information see our Privacy Policy and Terms of Use.
We use cookies to improve our services and remember your choices for future visits. For more information see our Privacy Policy and Terms of Use.
A niece’s realization, a mother’s uncontrollable urge, a father’s double life
By Our ReadersJanuary 1994My mother was content to be a housewife; I — computer literate, liberal-to-left, educated — celebrate the achievements women have made during my lifetime and believe in the flexibility and potential of feminist politics. In my mother’s eyes, however, feminism has, at best, abandoned her; at worst, it has actively hunted her down.
By Clare LakeDecember 1993She squints into the afternoon sun to avoid the cop’s eyes as he leans against the open screen door. “All right, Maria,” he says, squaring his shoulders and digging into his pockets like all the cops she’s seen on TV.
By Brenda DeMartiniDecember 1993A puddle of antifreeze, a porcelain doll, an extension cord
By Our ReadersNovember 1993You knew a boy who died of suicide. It was a mountain and he was playing chicken with friends, but he wanted to fall, he wanted to be the dead one. His parents said. You weren’t there.
By Eaton HamiltonNovember 1993You were ready to don the handcuffs, leg chains, and orange, ill-fitting jumpsuit required of all prisoners in transit. But you didn’t really want to go to your dad’s funeral. That’s what you’d told the man a few weeks before his bone cancer finally killed him.
By Jackson StahlkuppeOctober 1993Chopping a door into slivers; sitting two seats back, one row over to his right; being swept up by an undertow
By Our ReadersOctober 1993Personal, political, provocative writing delivered to your doorstep every month—without a single ad.
Subscribe Today