Childhood
The Bathroom Terror
Like most people, I have a slew of embarrassing moments that haunt my every step, as I make my way into the world of adulthood. But, one of the most embarrassing times for me was when I was a child because unlike most children whose biggest fears were monsters under their beds; mine was going number 2.
By Allison Schafer 5 years ago in Confessions
Little Black Rambo
Our early memories are often defined by a quirky combination of vagueness and distinction. We remember the crux of a context, the emotions that were elicited, but seldom do we recall every specific detail — perhaps because the feelings and the gist is just enough!
By Oscar Richard5 years ago in Confessions
The Toronto Incident. Second Place in (No) Regrets Challenge.
Memory is a funny thing. It defines so much of our lives. We can remember exactly where we were during historic events like September 11th. Little things, like when we forgot our lines in the third grade play, are also locked away forever in our minds.
By MATTHEW FLICK5 years ago in Confessions
Dear self, you are resilient
Dear self, At just twenty two years of living I deemed you the toughest woman I have ever come across not only for your ability to forgive but your will to choose life. You have been through so much from class bullies to not loving that beautiful smile of yours. From mental & physical abuse to sexual abuse at the hands of a step parent. From those horrible suicidal thoughts to the attempts all the way to experiencing miscarriage at only sixteen years of age and the list could go on. You have been through enough trauma to last one a lifetime but you never let your bright light dim & I commend you for that. It amazes me to watch you walk into each day with your head held the highest while hearing all the negative thoughts going through your head and seeing the realest fake smile on your face. You're resilient and the true queen of overcoming any obstacle in your way. Tayla, other than being tougher than a bull with sharp horns I don’t know how you do it. I don’t know how you could overlook your ptsd, your constant anxiety, depression and your “F the world“ attitude and still manage
By Tayla Fitzpatrick 5 years ago in Confessions
PEE, PEE Time
When I was younger, I moved to a village called Windham. We moved there when I was around 9 or 10 years old. My family was the first out of my extended family to move there. It only took a few months, and almost the whole Sommers side of my family moved to Windham too.
By Laura mclean5 years ago in Confessions
Little Girls Growing Up Too Fast
We were among the lucky children growing up in Bay Ridge, Brooklyn, New York. Having New York City for a hometown could be very daunting it was not just your typical hometown with a simple Main Street. Children who grew up in small towns, in my eyes, were the lucky ones where everyone knew each other, and you could have a real sense of belonging.
By Rasma Raisters5 years ago in Confessions
The Truth of Being Adopted
I keep a bunny in a bag in my desk drawer. There is a bunny in a bag inside a square little drawer, a childhood memory tucked away like a textbook that has been forgotten to be used. She sits there like a memento from a time when I believed in the person that gave her to me.
By Becca Volk5 years ago in Confessions
SHIT IN THE NAME OF LOVE
I was 8, maybe 9 and HE, the object of my affection, was 16 years old. Watching him glide through the neighborhood, I would sometimes inhale the air as if I could smell his cologne. It is definite that a teenage boy, caramel colored skin and dark wavy hair, wearing tight designer jeans and the latest sneakers, smelled really good like my father's aftershave. He walked with confidence, was friendly and had the whitest, straightest teeth... and I loved him. My first love was everything to me, except my age. Oh well, a girl can dream, and I did after falling asleep after a quick pillow make out session. I thought my dream was coming true, when my mother took me and my 2 sisters into the ice cream parlor and there he was, working behind the counter, ready to serve us ice cream. Captivated by his beauty, I stared visualizing neon lights surrounded him and he stared back , smiling at me with those alabaster denticles. Reality set in when I heard him bellow, in an annoyed tone, asking about WHAT kind of ice cream I wanted. I said the first thing that came to my mind, PISTACHIO MILKSHAKE. He hurriedly made it, and filled my sisters' order, my mother paid and we left the store, almost as quickly as we entered. My mother would sometimes treat us to ice cream and let us play in the park, while she went to the betting parlor.
By Antonia Webber5 years ago in Confessions
I Removed the Shoulder Pads From My Mom's Jackets - But Blamed It On My Sister
Shoulder pads were invented in the 1930's and I grew up in the 1990's. But my mom was a really petite woman. She was less than 5 feet tall and naturally had a very thin figure. She also never spent money on herself, especially clothes, so she was still rocking the 80's style of beefed up shoulder pads on all of her work suits and even on her casual t-shirts. I was just a kid and I thought they looked pretty goofy.
By Grace Tyler5 years ago in Confessions
