Stories With Heart And Soul 
With a long pony tail high on her head, a pressed white cotton coat and a clipboard. This is how I imagined Emma the other day. She is standing in an exam room, a full-fledged physician’s assistant, which is the career she is working toward. In this no-way scenario, I can’t talk to her because
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I grew up in a city where I played inside or in a fenced park with close supervision. On the weekends, I stayed with my grandparents in the suburbs. My mom’s youngest sister Mimi was in charge. She felt like a sister with three years between us and a room to share. We roamed freely,
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Mr. Pierre’s Beauty Salon was the best toy. The centerpiece was the head of a woman with golden hair sprouting from a scalp. It came with styling tools, but all I ever did was chop it. In my memory there was an endless supply. While I loved my baby doll that peed and drank milk,
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One of the best things I’ve found in my 50’s is acceptance of my mom. Growing up, Rita challenged my sensibilities and sanity on a regular basis by being lawless and the most unconventional mom in my circle by light years. Appreciating her took a long time and a lot of compassion. Rita was a
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My son Matt was a wild boy. And in so many ways, he is my inspiration. I remember watching my two-year-old strip and jump in a park fountain. Matt lifted his head to the spray and stood in a state of pure joy as the water poured over his naked body. Next he was a
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The day we dropped our daughter Emma off at Rhodes College was a not a day orchestrated for reflection. There was a brisk schedule to keep and a well filled with angst and sadness in my heart. My baby was moving on. When Emma was settled in her dorm room, the last pillow arranged on
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Kay Math is a wonder and a beloved aunt. In addition to parenting her five children, she is a mom to many of her nieces and nephews, including me. She taught me how to bake, sew, iron, shuck corn, slice a tomato and churn butter. By example, she demonstrated how to be a gracious hostess
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