After three weeks of training, a period my classmates and I called Truck U., I had to pass two tests (written and driving) to earn a commercial driver’s license.
My First Trip Truckin’ by Chris Cox
Category: August 2012
Separate Ways by Susanna Donato
We’re going into fifth grade. We’ll be the bosses of the school: I’m trained as a crossing guard, and I’m one of a few responsible fifth-grade girls who will cover the phone while the school secretary has lunch…
Dirty Clothes by Roberta F. King
In the bottom drawer of a dresser in our bedroom I keep two Ziploc bags with some of Noah’s dirty clothes inside…
Mayfly by Georgia Kreiger
From the time I was born until his death when I was thirteen, my father and I exchanged probably no more than a few hundred words.
Bread on the Grass by Linda C. Wisniewski
“We don’t throw away bread,” my mother said. She took a few quick steps to the metal trashcan near the kitchen sink and fished out the crusts inside.
Auto Mechanics by Jessica Hamilton
I awoke to the tilting sensation you get when somebody sits on your bed. I rolled over and blinked until my vision worked through the darkness to my father, who sat there in his blue work shirt and jeans, grinning the soft grin he saved for his daughters.
Talking to Jacob on a Type 2 Day by Thomas Michael Duncan
Jacob had a brown mop of hair and a round figure. I figured him to be ten years old. He had that ten-year-old smell, like cheese crackers mixed with unbridled curiosity. And then something amazing happened. Jacob read my mind.
Review: Another Bullshit Night in Suck City
Set amid the dark, dingy streets of Boston where the homeless sleep on park benches or regroup in shelters to survive another day, Nick Flynn has one last opportunity to engage his father, a homeless, self-proclaimed novel writer.
Interview: Lacy M. Johnson, author of Trespasses: A Memoir
Whether you grew up in New Jersey as I did, or the rural Great Plains as did author Lacy M. Johnson, one’s childhood surroundings can’t help but seep into your pores and influence the way you view the world – even if you move many miles away.
The Writing Life: The Basis for Everything Else by William Henderson
At a playground near my apartment in Boston, my children on side-by-side swings, their mother, my ex-wife, pushing our daughter while our son pumps his legs until he is higher than he intended. He asks for help slowing down, then stopping. I catch his legs and hold him steady. He laughs. Let go, he tells…
