Childhood memory, 64 years later
Indiana, summer of 1959: It was my first season of organized baseball. The same thing happened with JR. I was a black kid who lived in the center of the city; he was a white kid from the suburbs. The youngest members of the team, we as 8 year olds were relegated to the bench. With each game, the physical distance between us shortened. One day we sat so close that our little fingers brushed against each other. In the late 1950s, homosexual relationships, especially between black and white children, were prohibited and very dangerous. We smile briefly but continue to look straight ahead. At the end of the game, our hands were clasped. — to thousands
reality suspension
We started dating casually with sporadic trips to London, Paris, Los Angeles. Both fearful of commitment, we joked that we weren’t girlfriends. When the world went into lockdown due to Covid, we moved in together. We built our own little bubble. I lived in the moment. she argued her. She screamed. Loved. I thought we could die high on pot brownies. I have a puppy. But after the world reopened, our four years together came to an end. We consciously disengage at the top of the Standard Hotel. We parted with tears in our eyes, a long hug and a soft smile. — Isabel Castillo Guijarro
What my father meant
From a very young age, I remember asking Dad, “What is the meaning of life?” His responses revolved around working hard, enjoying your loved ones, and being kind. He seemed too simple when he was young. My father, an immigrant from India, loved his family, his engineering career, and tennis. Not in that order necessarily. When Alzheimer’s stole her mind and voice, I could no longer ask her questions. However, when he cradled his second grandchild, his eyes spoke volumes. This Father’s Day marks the first without him here, but I’ve finally grasped the simple wisdom from him: the meaning of life is to love. — Amy Tan Funky
saved by a wave
We got “married” in 2011 before it was legal in Seattle. Kyle and I love the water, so a crew club at Lake Union was a perfect fit. With almost 50 people, the dock was low in the water. We wrote our vows at 1 am As I read mine, I had to pause: Tears threatened to engulf me. At that moment, a boat passed by, its passengers cheering and greeting us, its displaced water surging through the dock planks. Saved by the wave, we got to have our tears of joy, later, in private. — Drew Miller
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