Category: Non-Fiction

Of all the games I played as a child, I loved none more than one we played the first summer my family lived in a development of new houses that all looked alike. Our street had attracted families, with plenty of kids to gather...

I don’t know what prompted me to turn my head and look behind me, but it is not unusual for me to peruse a theater before a performance begins. “Hello.” the woman said. As if she had come out of a Fairy tale, her silk satin cape...

It was the summer of 1962, and I had just finished my junior year of high school. A few weeks earlier, my parents and I had moved from Chicago, where I was born and had lived all my life, to Hollywood, Florida. None of us has...

It was an honor to be asked to read to my friend’s third-grade class on National Reading Day. I remembered how wonderful it was to have my boring, phonics-filled mornings interrupted by guest speakers when I went to elementary...

When I was 14, a young man in a red sports car wasn’t looking where he was driving and crashed into the station wagon in front of him. When the policeman asked him to describe the accident, the fellow said, “Sorry, officer, did...

The package arrives. Thrown onto the sloping staircase. The Halloween kids mocked. Their steps were right-angled, ours nearly a slide. Laughter rang out. An adult hushed them, we might feel ashamed. Softly to the child. Feels...

I once was so afraid of death. The first time I attended a funeral, I became hysterical seeing the corpse openly displayed and hearing the moans and sobs of the dearly beloved. My mom was so embarrassed that she rushed me out...

Remember how we played together as children? What fun we had twisting your features and communicating without words. My personal favorite was your pout, a combination of petulance and innocence. Particularly useful for avoiding...

“Mon-te-rey,” I stretched each syllable out slowly; “The aquarium. Seals. Watching waves crash against the rocks. What better way to recharge for the new year? And it’s only an hour and a half from our home.” “Zachary hasn’t...

I grasp the tool of my trade. The scalpel is always the first step. My breast is filled with anticipation, not fear. I am part of a tradition that began when man first walked the earth. Perhaps on the plains of Mesopotamia, an...