Parents Splitting Up Quotes

Emma is a mattress who got thrown off the truck when her parents split up. It's not like you can blame a mattress when people don't tie it down tight enough.

There is something about Christmas that requires a rug rat. Little kids make Christmas fun. I wonder if could rent one for the holidays. When I was tiny we would by a real tree and stay up late drinking hot chocolate and finding just the right place for the special decorations. It seems like my parents gave up the magic when I figured out the Santa lie. Maybe I shouldn't have told them I knew where the presents really came from. It broke their hearts. I bet they'd be divorced by now if I hadn't been born. I'm sure I was a huge disappointment. I'm not pretty or smart or athletic. I'm just like them- an ordinary drone dressed in secrets and lies. I can't believe we have to keep playacting till I graduate. It's a shame we just can't admit that we have failed at family living, sell the house, split up the money, and get on with our lives. Merry Christmas.

I was really sorry to hear that her parents split up. But she said it wasn’t that bad. She actually said it happened a lot. She said the good thing was they had plenty of extra body parts around the house to put them back together.

So then they’d snuggled up to each other, naked, and started to talk. Ezra told her about the time he was six and sculpted a red squirrel out of clay, only to have his brother squash it. How he used to smoke a lot of pot after his parents got divorced. About the time he had to take the family’s fox terrier to the vet to have her put to sleep. Aria told him about how when she was little, she kept a can of split pea soup named Pee as a pet and cried when her mom tried to cook Pee for dinner.

Tink looked over at Ren. “Wait. Have you two stopped fighting? Oh my Queen Mab, you guys are in love again!” My eyes widened as I glanced around, seeing that several of the strangers were watching us with detached interest. “Tink . . .” “We were never not together,” Ren said, dropping his arm over my shoulders. The blue and red bag slipped to the floor as he clapped his hands like an overexcited seal. “You guys are! This is amazing.” “Tink,” I said again, this time with a little more force behind his name. “Thank the faery lords and ladies, I will not be a product of a split home.” “For the last time, we are not your parents, Tink.” I shook my head as I started to turn but stopped. “Pick up your bag.” Ren leaned in as Tink snatched the bag off the floor. “You sound like his mom.” “Shut up,” I hissed.

The emotional abuse suffered at the hands of a narcissist is on par with the psychological and mental abuse when dealing with a psychopath or sociopath.

To: Anna Oliphant From: Etienne St. Clair Subject: SAVING YOU I'm teleporting to Atlanta.I'm picking you up,and we'll go someplace where our families can't find us.We'll take Seany. And we'll let him rup laps until he tires,and then you and I will take a long walk. Like Thanksgiving. Remember? And we'll talk about everything BUT our parents...or perhaps we won't talk at all. We'll just walk.And we'll keep walking until the rest of the world ceases to exist. I'm sorry,Anna.What did your father want? Please tell me what I can do. To: Etienne St. Clair From: Anna Oliphant Subject: Sigh.I'd love that. Thank you,but it was okay. Dad wanted to apologize. For a split second,he was almost human.Almost.And then Mom apologized,and now they're washin dishes and pretending like nothing happened.I don't know.I didn't mean to get all drama queen,when your problems are so much worse than mine.I'm sorry. To: Anna Oliphant From: Etienne St. Clair Subject: Are you mad? My day was boring.Your day was a nightmare. Are you all right? To: Etienne St. Clair From: Anna Oliphant Subject: Re: Are you mad? I'm okay.I'm just glad I have you to talk to. To: Anna Oliphant From: Etienne St. Clair Subject: So... Does that mean I can call you now?

Like parents who split up in the aftermath of a child’s death, because the grief would only be survivable with someone who didn’t feel the same pain as you, whose agony didn’t reflect yours every time you looked into their eyes.

one of the major results of being on the receiving end of Narcissistic Abuse Syndrome is the development of PTSD

that younger people are so used to text-based communications, where they have time to gather their thoughts and precisely plan what they are going to say, that they are losing their ability to have spontaneous conversation. She argues that the muscles in our brain that help us with spontaneous conversation are getting less exercise in the text-filled world, so our skills are declining. When we did the large focus group where we split the room by generation—kids on the left, parents on the right—a strange thing happened. Before the show started, we noticed that the parents’ side of the room was full of chatter. People were talking to one another and asking how they had ended up at the event and getting to know people. On the kids’ side, everyone was buried in their phones and not talking to anyone around them.

When I first met Cara, she was twelve and angry at the world. Her parents had split up, her brother was gone, and her mom was infatuated with some guy who was missing vowels in his unpronounceable last name. So I did what any other man in that situation would do: I came armed with gifts. I bought her things that I thought a twelve-year-old would love: a poster of Taylor Lautner, a Miley Cyrus CD, nail polish that glowed in the dark. "I can't wait for the next Twilight movie," I babbled, when I presented her with the gifts in front of Georgie. "My favorite song on the CD is 'If We Were a Movie.' And I almost went with glitter nail polish, but the salesperson said this is much cooler, especially with Halloween coming up." Cara looked at her mother and said, without any judgment, "I think your boyfriend is gay.

Yeah, but I kill myself training. It's just about all I do. I get up and train, and run and I split my hands on the punching bag, and I train for hours into the night, and I have to, because there is nothing else special about me and nothing else that matters. All there is, is training and finding out who killed my parents. Because they were the ones who thought I was special, and whoever took them away from me...What I have is trying. I can try harder than anyone else in the world. I can make revenge the only thing I have in my life. I can do that, because I have to. But it means it's all I have.

When you're and only child in a family with an only parent, you look at other, bigger families with envy. Mary Alice had a family with a station wagon, a split-level house, and a pool. But then I looked up and saw Mary Alice's toes, as she stood at the edged of the diving board. Her second toe lay on top of her big toe on each foot. I had never seen such a thing. I wondered if Mary Alice's toes would ever prevent her from doing the things she wanted to do in life. "Look, y'all!" she said, forming her perfect body into a perfect swan's dive. I decided then that any time I got frustrated with my overall situation in life, mad or jealous of knee socks or a pink canopy bed in a pink room, I'd take a deep breath and think about Mary Alice's toes. At least I didn't have Mary Alice's toes.

It may be difficult at first but divorcing a narcissist is worth it.

Then Joe said, “I know what it was — split personality — when a man is two people at once.” “Huh?” Danny grunted. “Sure. I saw it on another TV horror show,” said Joe. “There was this good guy, and when the moon was full he turned into a monster—” “Don’t be silly,” Danny said. “The moon isn’t even out now.” “Is that all you watch on TV, Joe?” Irene asked, pursing up her lips. “Horror movies?” “Nope.” Joe shook his head. “I only watch those before going to bed.” “Hmf,” Irene sniffed. “Your parents shouldn’t allow you to watch such things.” “They don’t,” Joe grinned.

There's a school of wisdom about love that says the surest way to lose someone is to hold on to them too tightly -- as demonstrated over and over again by the split-ups of lovers, but also by parents and children. Although there it's more complicated by far. Lovers, initially strangers, become strangers again; the tie between parent and child pulls and twists for a lifetime, taking on the strangest forms.

And then Eloise would storm out, and they'd go to separate rooms, and I would be so sure that was it. That Eloise wouldn't come back. Or my parents would split up. I was always waiting for something terrible to happen.

A young lad was sent to school. He began his lessons with the other children, and the first lesson the teacher set him was the straight line, the figure “one.” But whereas the others went on progressing, this child continued writing the same figure. After two or three days the teacher came up to him and said, “Have you finished your lesson?” He said, “No, I’m still writing ‘one.’ ” He went on doing the same thing, and when at the end of the week the teacher asked him again he said, “I have not yet finished it.” The teacher thought he was an idiot and should be sent away, as he could not or did not want to learn. At home the child continued with the same exercise and the parents also became tired and disgusted. He simply said, “I have not yet learned it, I am learning it. When I have finished I shall take the other lessons.” The parents said, “The other children are going on further, school has given you up, and you do not show any progress; we are tired of you.” And the lad thought with sad heart that as he had displeased his parents too he had better leave home. So he went into the wilderness and lived on fruits and nuts. After a long time he returned to his old school. And when he saw the teacher he said to him, “I think I have learned it. See if I have. Shall I write on this wall?” And when he made his sign the wall split in two. —Hazrat Inayat Khan The Sufi Message of Hazrat Inayat Khan

The face that Moses had begged to see – was forbidden to see – was slapped bloody (Exodus 33:19-20) The thorns that God had sent to curse the earth’s rebellion now twisted around his brow… “On your back with you!” One raises a mallet to sink the spike. But the soldier’s heart must continue pumping as he readies the prisoner’s wrist. Someone must sustain the soldier’s life minute by minute, for no man has this power on his own. Who supplies breath to his lungs? Who gives energy to his cells? Who holds his molecules together? Only by the Son do “all things hold together” (Colossians 1:17). The victim wills that the soldier live on – he grants the warrior’s continued existence. The man swings. As the man swings, the Son recalls how he and the Father first designed the medial nerve of the human forearm – the sensations it would be capable of. The design proves flawless – the nerves perform exquisitely. “Up you go!” They lift the cross. God is on display in his underwear and can scarcely breathe. But these pains are a mere warm-up to his other and growing dread. He begins to feel a foreign sensation. Somewhere during this day an unearthly foul odor began to waft, not around his nose, but his heart. He feels dirty. Human wickedness starts to crawl upon his spotless being – the living excrement from our souls. The apple of his Father’s eye turns brown with rot. His Father! He must face his Father like this! From heaven the Father now rouses himself like a lion disturbed, shakes His mane, and roars against the shriveling remnant of a man hanging on a cross.Never has the Son seen the Father look at him so, never felt even the least of his hot breath. But the roar shakes the unseen world and darkens the visible sky. The Son does not recognize these eyes. “Son of Man! Why have you behaved so? You have cheated, lusted, stolen, gossiped – murdered, envied, hated, lied. You have cursed, robbed, over-spent, overeaten – fornicated, disobeyed, embezzled, and blasphemed. Oh the duties you have shirked, the children you have abandoned! Who has ever so ignored the poor, so played the coward, so belittled my name? Have you ever held a razor tongue? What a self-righteous, pitiful drunk – you, who moles young boys, peddle killer drugs, travel in cliques, and mock your parents. Who gave you the boldness to rig elections, foment revolutions, torture animals, and worship demons? Does the list never end! Splitting families, raping virgins, acting smugly, playing the pimp – buying politicians, practicing exhortation, filming pornography, accepting bribes. You have burned down buildings, perfected terrorist tactics, founded false religions, traded in slaves – relishing each morsel and bragging about it all. I hate, loathe these things in you! Disgust for everything about you consumes me! Can you not feel my wrath? Of course the Son is innocent He is blamelessness itself. The Father knows this. But the divine pair have an agreement, and the unthinkable must now take place. Jesus will be treated as if personally responsible for every sin ever committed. The Father watches as his heart’s treasure, the mirror image of himself, sinks drowning into raw, liquid sin. Jehovah’s stored rage against humankind from every century explodes in a single direction. “Father! Father! Why have you forsaken me?!” But heaven stops its ears. The Son stares up at the One who cannot, who will not, reach down or reply. The Trinity had planned it. The Son had endured it. The Spirit enabled Him. The Father rejected the Son whom He loved. Jesus, the God-man from Nazareth, perished. The Father accepted His sacrifice for sin and was satisfied. The Rescue was accomplished.

When they had been young enough that they neither of them could reach the tops of bookshelves without stools and magic, he had told her that sometimes he felt like dreams split him from the inside out, dreams that bloomed into tales of faraway worlds. He had told her that he gave those stories to her in the hopes that one day they would grow into life, buds opening like blades and catching on the edges of reality. He had told her, quietly, so that their parents could not hear, of a world he had dreamed up—a kind world, where war was a thing of days past and life was not something they crushed in calloused hands.

Shubha let me sleep for a few moments in your violent silvery uterus Give me peace, Shubha, let me have peace Let my sin-driven skeleton be washed anew in your seasonal bloodstream Let me create myself in your womb with my own sperm Would I have been like this if I had different parents? Was Malay alias me possible from an absolutely different sperm? Would I have been Malay in the womb of other women of my father? Would I have made a professional gentleman of me like my dead brother without Shubha? Oh, answer, let somebody answer these Shubha, ah, Shubha Let me see the earth through your cellophane hymen Come back on the green mattress again As cathode rays are sucked up with the warmth of magnet's brilliance I remember the letter of the final decesion of 1956 The surroundings of your clitoris were being embellished with coon at that time Fine rib-smashing roots were descending into your bosom Stupid relationship inflted in the bypass of senseless neglect Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah I do not know whether I am going to die Squandering was roaring within heart's exhaustive impatience I'll disrupt and destroy I'll split all into pieces for the sake of Art There isn't any other way out for poetry except suicide Shubha Let me enter into the immemorial incontinence of your labia majora Into the absurdity of woeless effort In the golden chlorophyll of the drunken heart Why wasn't I lost in my mother's urethra? Why wasn't I driven away in my father's urine after his self-coition? Why wasn't I mixed in the ovum-flux or in the phlegm? With her eyes shut supine beneath me I felt terribly distressed when I saw comfort seize Shubha Women could be treacherous even after unfolding a helpless appeareance Today it seems there is nothing so treacherous as Women and Art Now my ferocious heart is rinning towards an impossible death Vertigoes of water are coming up to my neck from the pierced earth I will die Oh what are these happening within me? I am failing to fetch out my hand and my palm From the dried sperms on my trousers spreading wings 300000 children are gliding toward the district of Shubha's bosom Millions of needles are now running from my blood into Poetry Now the smuggling of my obstinate leg is trying to plunge Into the death killer sex-wig entangled in the hypnotic kingdom of words In violent mirrors on each wall of the room I am observing After letting loose a few naked Malay, his unestablished scramblings.

We come into contact with people only with our exteriors—physically and externally; yet each of us walks about with a great wealth of interior life, a private and secret self. We are, in reality, somewhat split in two, the self and the body; the one hidden, the other open. The child learns very quickly to cultivate this private self because it puts a barrier between him and the demands of the world. He learns he can keep secrets—at first an excruciating, intolerable burden: it seems that the outer world has every right to penetrate into his self and that the parents could automatically do so if they wished—they always seem to know just what he is thinking and feeling. But then he discovers that he can lie and not be found out: it is a great and liberating moment, this anxious first lie—it represents the staking out of his claim to an integral inner self, free from the prying eyes of the world. By the time we grow up we become masters at dissimulation, at cultivating a self that the world cannot probe. But we pay a price. After years of turning people away, of protecting our inner self, of cultivating it by living in a different world, of furnishing this world with our fantasies and dreams—we find that we are hopelessly separated from everyone else. We have become victims of our own art. We touch people on the outsides of their bodies, and they us, but we cannot get at their insides and cannot reveal our insides to them. This is one of the great tragedies of our interiority—it is utterly personal and unrevealable. Often we want to say something unusually intimate to a spouse, a parent, a friend, communicate something of how we are really feeling about a sunset, who we really feel we are—only to fall strangely and miserably flat. Once in a great while we succeed, sometimes more with one person, less or never with others. But the occasional breakthrough only proves the rule. You reach out with a disclosure, fail, and fall back bitterly into yourself. We emit huge globs of love to our parents and spouses, and the glob slithers away in exchanges of words that are somehow beside the point of what we are trying to say. People seem to keep bumping up against each other with their exteriors and falling away from each other. The cartoonist Jules Feiffer is the modern master of this aspect of the human tragedy. Take even the sexual act—the most intimate merger given to organisms. For most people, even for their entire lives, it is simply a joining of exteriors. The insides melt only in the moment of orgasm, but even this is brief, and a melting is not a communication. It is a physical overcoming of separateness, not a symbolic revelation and justification of one’s interior. Many people pursue sex precisely because it is a mystique of the overcoming of the separateness of the inner world; and they go from one partner to another because they can never quite achieve “it.” So the endless interrogations: “What are you thinking about right now—me? Do you feel what I feel? Do you love me?

I suppose men, even myself, are perpetually boys. The sons of parents who provide the staples of what makes up a life— a home, an example of what it means to be human, however fucked up that may be. We are molded by impressions and an example, single days that stick out, and wounds that split us open and never close. We take on other people’s pain and sometimes make them ours.

This change in communication may have some side effects, though. In her book Alone Together, MIT social psychologist Sherry Turkle convincingly makes the case that younger people are so used to text-based communications, where they have time to gather their thoughts and precisely plan what they are going to say, that they are losing their ability to have spontaneous conversation. She argues that the muscles in our brain that help us with spontaneous conversation are getting less exercise in the text-filled world, so our skills are declining. When we did the large focus group where we split the room by generation—kids on the left, parents on the right—a strange thing happened. Before the show started, we noticed that the parents’ side of the room was full of chatter. People were talking to one another and asking how they had ended up at the event and getting to know people. On the kids’ side, everyone was buried in their phones and not talking to anyone around them. It made me wonder whether our ability and desire to interact with strangers is another muscle that risks atrophy in the smartphone world. You

The pain I feel from the Slits ending is worse than splitting up with a boyfriend, my parents divorcing or being chucked out of the Flowers of Romance: this feels like the death of a huge part of myself, two whole thirds gone. Now the Slits are over and Tessa has recovered, I’ve got nowhere to go, nothing to do; I’m cast back into the world like a sycamore seed spinning into the wind. I’m burnt out and my heart is broken. I can’t bear to listen to music. Every time I hear a song I feel physical pain, just to hear instruments is unbearable, it reminds me of what I’ve lost.

that’s tragic. he was such a happy kid.” showered cold to make his pants fit would rather stand up straight than sit didn’t cry when his parents split he was such a happy kid now their words are what’s killing him taking pills, hoping they will stick his grades have dropped his friends are gone paints his nails and dyes his hair parents says it’s a teenage fit ’cause he is such a happy kid how come you tell me who to be ”aim big thats all you’ll need” money is what drives the world ”become a lawyer thats your true worth” i won’t try to fit your needs i am not who you think because i’m not a happy kid

The flat tire that threw Julio into a temporary panic and the divorce that almost killed Jim don’t act directly as physical causes producing a physical effect—as, for instance, one billiard ball hitting another and making it carom in a predictable direction. The outside event appears in consciousness purely as information, without necessarily having a positive or negative value attached to it. It is the self that interprets that raw information in the context of its own interests, and determines whether it is harmful or not. For instance, if Julio had had more money or some credit, his problem would have been perfectly innocuous. If in the past he had invested more psychic energy in making friends on the job, the flat tire would not have created panic, because he could have always asked one of his co-workers to give him a ride for a few days. And if he had had a stronger sense of self-confidence, the temporary setback would not have affected him as much because he would have trusted his ability to overcome it eventually. Similarly, if Jim had been more independent, the divorce would not have affected him as deeply. But at his age his goals must have still been bound up too closely with those of his mother and father, so that the split between them also split his sense of self. Had he had closer friends or a longer record of goals successfully achieved, his self would have had the strength to maintain its integrity. He was lucky that after the breakdown his parents realized the predicament and sought help for themselves and their son, reestablishing a stable enough relationship with Jim to allow him to go on with the task of building a sturdy self. Every piece of information we process gets evaluated for its bearing on the self. Does it threaten our goals, does it support them, or is it neutral? News of the fall of the stock market will upset the banker, but it might reinforce the sense of self of the political activist. A new piece of information will either create disorder in consciousness, by getting us all worked up to face the threat, or it will reinforce our goals, thereby freeing up psychic energy.

Oh I'll die I'll die I'll die My skin is in blazing furore I do not know what I'll do where I'll go oh I am sick I'll kick all Arts in the butt and go away Shubha Shubha let me go and live in your cloaked melon In the unfastened shadow of dark destroyed saffron curtain The last anchor is leaving me after I got the other anchors lifted I can't resist anymore, a million glass panes are breaking in my cortex I know, Shubha, spread out your matrix, give me peace Each vein is carrying a stream of tears up to the heart Brain's contagious flints are decomposing out of eternal sickness other why didn't you give me birth in the form of a skeleton I'd have gone two billion light years and kissed God's ass But nothing pleases me nothing sounds well I feel nauseated with more than a single kiss I've forgotten women during copulation and returned to the Muse In to the sun-coloured bladder I do not know what these happenings are but they are occurring within me I'll destroy and shatter everything draw and elevate Shubha in to my hunger Shubha will have to be given Oh Malay Kolkata seems to be a procession of wet and slippery organs today But i do not know what I'll do now with my own self My power of recollection is withering away Let me ascend alone toward death I haven't had to learn copulation and dying I haven't had to learn the responsibility of shedding the last drops after urination Haven't had to learn to go and lie beside Shubha in the darkness Have not had to learn the usage of French leather while lying on Nandita's bosom Though I wanted the healthy spirit of Aleya's fresh China-rose matrix Yet I submitted to the refuge of my brain's cataclysm I am failing to understand why I still want to live I am thinking of my debauched Sabarna-Choudhury ancestors I'll have to do something different and new Let me sleep for the last time on a bed soft as the skin of Shubha's bosom I remember now the sharp-edged radiance of the moment I was born I want to see my own death before passing away The world had nothing to do with Malay Roychoudhury Shubha let me sleep for a few moments in your violent silvery uterus Give me peace, Shubha, let me have peace Let my sin-driven skeleton be washed anew in your seasonal bloodstream Let me create myself in your womb with my own sperm Would I have been like this if I had different parents? Was Malay alias me possible from an absolutely different sperm? Would I have been Malay in the womb of other women of my father? Would I have made a professional gentleman of me like my dead brother without Shubha? Oh, answer, let somebody answer these Shubha, ah Shubha Let me see the earth through your cellophane hymen Come back on the green mattress again As cathode rays are sucked up with the warmth of a magnet's brilliance I remember the letter of the final decision of 1956 The surroundings of your clitoris were being embellished with coon at that time Fine rib-smashing roots were descending in to your bosom Stupid relationship inflated in the bypass of senseless neglect Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah I do not know whether I am going to die Squandering was roaring within heart's exhaustive impatience I'll disrupt and destroy I'll split all in to pieces for the sake of Art There isn't any other way out for Poetry except suicide Shubha Let me enter in to the immemorial incontinence of your labia majora In to the absurdity of woeless effort In the golden chlorophyll of the drunken heart Why wasn't I lost in my mother's urethra? Why wasn't I driven away in my father's urine after his self-coition? Why wasn't I mixed in the ovum -flux or in the phlegm? With her eyes shut supine beneath me I felt terribly distressed when I saw comfort seize S

The men in grey were powerless to meet this challenge head-on. Unable to detach the children from Momo by bringing them under their direct control, they had to find some roundabout means of achieving the same end, and for this they enlisted the children's elders. Not all grown-ups made suitable accomplices, of course, but plenty did. [....] 'Something must be done,' they said. 'More and more kids are being left on their own and neglected. You can't blame us - parents just don't have the time these days - so it's up to the authorities.' Others joined in the chorus. 'We can't have all these youngsters loafing around, ' declared some. 'They obstruct the traffic. Road accidents caused by children are on the increase, and road accidents cost money that could be put to better use.' 'Unsupervised children run wild, declared others.'They become morally depraved and take to crime. The authorities must take steps to round them up. They must build centers where the youngsters can be molded into useful and efficient members of society.' 'Children,' declared still others, 'are the raw material for the future. A world dependent on computers and nuclear energy will need an army of experts and technicians to run it. Far from preparing children from tomorrow's world, we still allow too many of them to squander years of their precious time on childish tomfoolery. It's a blot on our civilization and a crime against future generations.' The timesavers were all in favor of such a policy, naturally, and there were so many of them in the city by this time that they soon convinced the authorities of the need to take prompt action. Before long, big buildings known as 'child depots' sprang up in every neighborhood. Children whose parents were too busy to look after them had to be deposited there and could be collected when convenient. They were strictly forbidden to play in the streets or parks or anywhere else. Any child caught doing so was immediately carted off to the nearest depot, and its parents were heavily fined. None of Momo's friends escaped the new regulation. They were split up according to districts they came from and consigned to various child depots. Once there, they were naturally forbidden to play games of their own devising. All games were selected for them by supervisors and had to have some useful, educational purpose. The children learned these new games but unlearned something else in the process: they forgot how to be happy, how to take pleasure in the little things, and last but not least, how to dream. Weeks passed, and the children began to look like timesavers in miniature. Sullen, bored and resentful, they did as they were told. Even when left to their own devices, they no longer knew what to do with themselves. All they could still do was make a noise, but it was an angry, ill-tempered noise, not the happy hullabaloo of former times. The men in grey made no direct approach to them - there was no need. The net they had woven over the city was so close-meshed as to seem inpenetrable. Not even the brightest and most ingenious children managed to slip through its toils. The amphitheater remained silent and deserted.

Her mother cleaved him, cracking open like a peach pit split the tender centre mewling, a monster turned a baby. They snatched up the infant, innocent, beastly, from Half World they fled, they fled to the Realm of Flesh. Gee could not stop the words in the terrible book from popping up in his mind. The images that formed filled him with fear and fascination. Confusion. A creeping sense of recognition. The déjà vu of dreams…. Half World. The words whispered, echoed inside him. Like something almost familiar. Something he’d forgotten— How could Popo do this to him? Gee pounded the heels of his fists on the thick table. He pounded and pounded until he could feel the physical pain. Maybe Popo had written this book herself…. Maybe it was an elaborate psychological experiment? Maybe she was a psychotic, abusive person. Those irregularities in his adoption…. There were no papers. He had no birth certificate. His grandmother had found someone to forge documents. It had cost a lot of money. Popo had kidnapped him from somewhere and his real parents were still looking for him, far far away. That made more sense than the gibberish book. He wasn’t a murderous monster from a different Realm! Ridiculous! Mad. Popo! he raged. You did this to me! It’s all your fault! That’s why he didn’t have a real name. Baby G. Like a foundling in a basket. Baby X. John Doe. Why hadn’t she given him a proper name? The school had written his name as “Gee” when they saw Ms. Wei, saw that his papers identified him only as “G.” They must have thought she was illiterate. Did the teachers think it would make him more Asian? Because it hadn’t! When he’d finally asked his popo about his real name, she had been silent for a long time. You must seek your own name, she finally said. When the time comes.

For several seconds, we stand there staring each other down. Anger radiates off the both of us in waves, crackling like electricity. And then…he sort of staggers back. All his swagger, his bravado, crumbles away in a split second, just like that. “Why do we keep doing this? Yelling at each other like this?” I let out my breath in a huff. “Because you always piss me off, that’s why, acting all smug and superior.” “Yeah, and you always throw temper tantrums like some kind of spoiled brat. That’s just who we are. We’re not perfect.” He takes a deep, rattling breath. “But we’re good together, Jem.” He’s right. I know he is, but… “You say you love me, but you can’t even be bothered to tell me that you’re applying to a school in the same city as me? Not until the cat’s out the bag and everyone knows? What am I supposed to think, Ryder?” He rakes a hand through his hair. “Don’t you get it? I want you to follow your dreams. To do what you want to do with your life--not what your parents want, or what Nan wants, or what I want. I didn’t want to take that away from you. If you knew I was thinking about going to Columbia…” He shakes his head. “Then what? I’m having a hard time following your logic here.” He sighs, his enormous shoulders seeming to sag. “I didn’t want you to apply just because I’m going to be in New York. Or hell, even worse, not apply because I’m going to be there. I was going to tell you in person. And then the scout shows up at the game tonight, and what was I supposed to do? My mom is freaking out; you’re freaking out.” He throws his hands in the air in frustration. “I’ve totally fucked this up.” It hits me then, the truth of the situation. He made his decision about Columbia on his own, and he wanted me to be able to do the same. Of course. Hell, if it hadn’t been for the storm bringing us together like it did, I probably would have turned down NYU rather than risk going off to New York with him, and that’s the truth. I drop my gaze to the ground and take a deep breath, cursing myself for being such an idiot. “No, you haven’t,” I say at last, raising my eyes to meet his confused ones. “Haven’t what?” “Fucked it up.” I take a tentative step toward him. “I get it now. God, Ryder. Why do you have to be so perfect?” “Perfect? I’ve been in love with you for so long now, and I’ve never managed to get it right, not once.” I have to bite my lip to keep from grinning. “News flash--I think you’ve finally got it this time.

Stark Electric Jesus Oh I'll die I'll die I'll die My skin is in blazing furore I do not know what I'll do where I'll go oh I am sick I'll kick all Arts in the butt and go away Shubha Shubha let me go and live in your cloaked melon In the unfastened shadow of dark destroyed saffron curtain The last anchor is leaving me after I got the other anchors lifted I can't resist anymore, a million glass panes are breaking in my cortex I know, Shubha, spread out your matrix, give me peace Each vein is carrying a stream of tears up to the heart Brain's contagious flints are decomposing out of eternal sickness other why didn't you give me birth in the form of a skeleton I'd have gone two billion light years and kissed God's ass But nothing pleases me nothing sounds well I feel nauseated with more than a single kiss I've forgotten women during copulation and returned to the Muse In to the sun-coloured bladder I do not know what these happenings are but they are occurring within me I'll destroy and shatter everything draw and elevate Shubha in to my hunger Shubha will have to be given Oh Malay Kolkata seems to be a procession of wet and slippery organs today But i do not know what I'll do now with my own self My power of recollection is withering away Let me ascend alone toward death I haven't had to learn copulation and dying I haven't had to learn the responsibility of shedding the last drops after urination Haven't had to learn to go and lie beside Shubha in the darkness Have not had to learn the usage of French leather while lying on Nandita's bosom Though I wanted the healthy spirit of Aleya's fresh China-rose matrix Yet I submitted to the refuge of my brain's cataclysm I am failing to understand why I still want to live I am thinking of my debauched Sabarna-Choudhury ancestors I'll have to do something different and new Let me sleep for the last time on a bed soft as the skin of Shubha's bosom I remember now the sharp-edged radiance of the moment I was born I want to see my own death before passing away The world had nothing to do with Malay Roychoudhury Shubha let me sleep for a few moments in your violent silvery uterus Give me peace, Shubha, let me have peace Let my sin-driven skeleton be washed anew in your seasonal bloodstream Let me create myself in your womb with my own sperm Would I have been like this if I had different parents? Was Malay alias me possible from an absolutely different sperm? Would I have been Malay in the womb of other women of my father? Would I have made a professional gentleman of me like my dead brother without Shubha? Oh, answer, let somebody answer these Shubha, ah Shubha Let me see the earth through your cellophane hymen Come back on the green mattress again As cathode rays are sucked up with the warmth of a magnet's brilliance I remember the letter of the final decision of 1956 The surroundings of your clitoris were being embellished with coon at that time Fine rib-smashing roots were descending in to your bosom Stupid relationship inflated in the bypass of senseless neglect Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah I do not know whether I am going to die Squandering was roaring within heart's exhaustive impatience I'll disrupt and destroy I'll split all in to pieces for the sake of Art There isn't any other way out for Poetry except suicide

Are his parents taking him to Coney Island because of the cartoon? she muses. Did the innocent little sugar-sucker beg and plead to go because that’s where the finale dumps its sad, angry but good-at-heart heroine when things are at their darkest? Deeply fucked up, but also deeply probable. No matter what you did, forty or fifty or a hundred years passed and everything became a narrative to be toyed with, masters of media alchemy splitting the truth’s nucleus into a ricocheting cascade reaction of diverging alternate realities.

One thing I’ve learned? When we offer up all the stuff in our life to God and ask Him to do some housecleaning from the inside out, we need to believe He can actually do it. It’s like those verses in the Bible that talk about how if we have enough faith, God can move mountains. Thinking that way helped me when my parents split up, and I need to do it again now instead of stewing about it. “I’ve learned no one can cut through the junk in our heart better than God does.

She headed out into the hall and knocked quietly on his door. “Come in!” Megan took a deep breath and stepped inside. “Hey.” Finn looked up from his desk as if startled. “Hi,” he replied, pushing his hands against the thighs of his jeans. He glanced past her at the hallway, but when Megan turned around, she found they were alone. “What’s up?” Megan asked. “You really shouldn’t be in here,” Finn said. Megan’s heart dropped like a stone. “I know your parents are mad, but do you think they really expect us not to talk?” “Yeah…no…I don’t know,” Finn said, turning in his chair. “I just…Don’t you think we should let things calm down a little first?” “Yeah, like that’s ever going to happen in this house,” Megan joked lamely. Finn didn’t laugh. She swallowed against a lump in her throat and looked around uncertainly. She had come in here so that Finn could reassure her and make her feel better like he always did, but the evasive way he was acting was just making her feel worse. “Look, it’s just…being around you is…it’s not easy,” Finn said, looking everywhere but at her. He might as well have thrown cold water in her face. “Oh, well, I’m sorry,” Megan replied, backing out. “I guess that’s easily solved.” “No, Megan, wait,” Finn said. But she was dangerously close to tears and there was no way she was going to break down in front of him. “No, seriously, I’ll go,” Megan said. Finn swallowed and looked like he wanted to say something. For a split second, Megan’s heart dared to hope, but then he turned away and looked down at his notes again. “Yeah…okay,” he said. Finn focused pointedly on his work. This was really happening. Finn really didn’t want to have anything to do with her. Finally, feeling like the biggest idiot on earth, Megan made herself move.

Both of these parenting styles have their advantages, Lareau found (although I should note that she did not look at families that used corporal punishment as severe as in my family after my parents split). The middle-class way was not, as some might expect, superior all around. The working-class children were often happier and better behaved. They were much closer to their extended families and were full of energy. They mostly did as they were told. They knew how to entertain themselves and were rarely bored. They were more adept at relationships. The middle-class youth, however, were much more prepared for school and far better situated to deal with adult authorities. They could speak up for themselves and use well-crafted arguments to come to conclusions more skillfully. This elaborated way of thinking also helped them better make plans that required multiple steps. Essentially, they were more prepared for success in the American mainstream than the working-class children were. And this was true regardless of whether they were black or white. Through this parenting style, middle-class children were being trained to lead, whether intentionally or not. Meanwhile, the poor and working class were being trained for life on the bottom. Middle-class children were constantly being taught explicitly to advocate for themselves with authorities, while the lower classes were taught to submit without question. Or, if they were going to resist, the poor learned by experience to do so covertly, not openly.

My Hailey. I wondered if she thought I was dumb. I wondered if she thought it bothered me. It didn't. Because I knew that Hailey and I were more than friends. We were an amalgam of pinkie promises and inside jokes and hundreds of phone calls and shared lip balms and deep confessions. We had survived puberty together. I could list every crush she'd ever had, every person she'd ever kissed. I was there when her parents split up and I held her as she cried. I knew the taste of her tears. I knew the pitch of her laugh; it lived in me. We were sisters. So Bri could get fucked.

You may be kind, decent and a lovely human being but the narcissist will pick the tiniest negative and amplify it for their own gain (and your destruction). Be in the know and wise.

And for the first time since the night I found out, I cry about my parents and the fact that they’re splitting up. But I don’t cry for myself. I cry for my mom because she’s just like me. Because she’s probably hurting the way I would if I was losing someone I loved and thought loved me. Because I’ve been there in different ways. And she’s been in my shoes in different ways. Because my mom is my mom, yes, but my mom is also a little girl deep down, I just never took the time to notice.

The Time Line is great for getting things into perspective when you feel a bit lost and lacking direction or if you have a big change coming up such as moving to secondary school, your parents splitting up or having a new family arrangement. When you experience grief or loss, whether that is for a person or a part of your life such as leaving your Primary School, you can travel back along the time line, identify which skills you need from your old life, anchor them and bring them into the present as you move forward to Secondary School. Once you’ve done the Time Line a few times it will be in your head and you can conjure up the image and the steps without moving. This can be useful in situations when you can’t actually move physically, in class for instance.

We are always “shocked” when we hear about violence in the suburbs, as though a well-watered lawn, a split-level construction, Little League and soccer moms, piano lessons, Four Squares courts, and parent-teacher conferences, all worked as some sort of wolfsbane, warding off evil. If the Ghost and McGuane grew up just nine miles from Livingston—again, that was how far the heart of Newark was—no one would be “stunned” and “dismayed” by what they’d become.

I’m twenty-seven years old, and somehow I feel like I want to become my angsty teenager self again, crawl into my closet, and listen to Ashlee Simpson’s Autobiography album over and over again, because my parents are splitting up.” I’m

Mother Mary wants to draft two more kids,” Astrid told Sam. “Okay. Approved.” “Dahra says we’re running low on kids’ Tylenol and kids’ Advil, she wants to make sure it’s okay to start giving them split adult pills.” Sam spread his hands in a helpless gesture. “What?” “We’re running low on kid pills, Dahra wants to split adult pills.” Sam rocked back in the leather chair designed for a grown man. “Okay. Whatever. Approved.” He took a sip of water from a bottle. The wrapper on the bottle said “Dasani” but it was tap water. The dishes from dinner—horrible homemade split-pea soup that smelled burned, and a quarter cabbage each—had been pushed aside onto the sideboard where in the old days the mayor of Perdido Beach had kept framed pictures of his family. It was one of the better meals Sam had had lately. The fresh cabbage tasted surprisingly good. There was little more than smears on the plates: the era of kids not eating everything was over. Astrid puffed out her cheeks and sighed. “Kids are asking why Lana isn’t around when they need her.” “I can only ask Lana to heal big things. I can’t demand she be around 24/7 to handle every boo-boo.” Astrid looked at the list she had compiled on her laptop. “Actually, I think this involved a stubbed toe that ‘hurted.’” “How much more is on the list?” Sam asked. “Three hundred and five items,” Astrid said. When Sam’s face went pale, she relented. “Okay, it’s actually just thirty-two. Now, don’t you feel relieved it’s not really three hundred?” “This is crazy,” Sam said. “Next up: the Judsons and the McHanrahans are fighting because they share a dog, so both families are feeding her—they still have a big bag of dry dog food—but the Judsons are calling her Sweetie and the McHanrahans are calling her BooBoo.” “You’re kidding.” “I’m not kidding,” Astrid said. “What is that noise?” Sam demanded. Astrid shrugged. “I guess someone has their stereo cranked up.” “This is not going to work, Astrid.” “The music?” “This. This thing where every day I have a hundred stupid questions I have to decide. Like I’m everyone’s parent now. I’m sitting here listening to how little kids are complaining because their older sisters make them take a bath, and stepping into fights over who owns which Build-A-Bear outfit, and now over dog names. Dog names?” “They’re all still just little kids,” Astrid said. “Some of these kids are developing powers that scare me,” Sam grumbled. “But they can’t decide who gets to have which special towel? Or whether to watch The Little Mermaid or Shrek Three?” “No,” Astrid said. “They can’t. They need a parent. That’s you.

Are Mom and Dad okay?” “Other than a pair of splitting headaches, they’re fine. Pandora will make sure they get home.” Lex winced. “You sure she’s up for that?” “Lex, we’re talking about the woman who single-handedly administered the deaths of Martin Luther King, Jr., John Lennon, and half the victims of Pearl Harbor. I think she can handle getting your parents onto a bus.

So, yes, they fought, but I never imagined consequences. Parents didn't split up back then. They worked it out. They stayed on the team.

Boxwood, a man of indeterminate age with a scraggly mass of brown hair and a paper-thin mustache, had been hired on part-time, and it was he who oversaw the boys in their outdoor chores. Marvin was handed an axe and followed a few of the other boys to an adjacent area where several tree stumps had been strategically placed, along with a bounty of uncut wood. Marvin got to work. He hacked at a portion of a downed tree, and once he had a manageable piece, he heaved it into his arms and dropped it onto one of the stumps. He hoisted the heavy axe over his shoulder and, with as much force as he could muster, brought it down upon the chunky piece of trunk. The wood split in two, a few shards spraying outward and falling to the ground. Marvin repositioned one half of the newly cut trunk, heaved the axe over his shoulder, and brought it down forcefully on the wood. It split again. By the time Mr. Boxwood announced that the boys were through for the evening, Marvin was sweating profusely, and his arms ached. He returned the axe to the storage shed and walked toward the main entrance of the orphanage along with the other boys who had been required to split wood. The grounds were otherwise unoccupied, the other children having already headed to their dormitories to retire for the evening. Marvin was walking toward the stairwell when he passed a bathroom and spotted movement through the open door. When he instinctively turned his head to look within, he saw Eva on all fours, scrubbing the floor with a small-handled brush, a metal bucket of sudsy water at her side. Marvin searched the hallway and, not spotting any authority figures, whispered, “Eva. Hey, Eva.” When she looked up at the sound of his voice, Marvin noticed her eyes were tinged with red. “What are you doing?” “What does it look like I’m doing?” She seemed about to cry, but her jaw was clenched in anger. “Why do you have to do it?” Eva sat back on her heels, rested the brush on her lap, and ran her free hand up into her hair, where she angrily grasped the large bow. “This damn thing!” she exclaimed, and Marvin’s eyes widened at the curse. “I didn’t want to wear it. It’s babyish. My parents never made me wear something like this. Not at my age, anyway. Maybe when I was a baby and I didn’t know any better or didn’t care, but not now. And Sister What’s Her Name said I had to wear one because it made me look presentable—that was her word: presentable. Because apparently, I don’t look presentable without a big ol’ stupid, ugly, white baby bow in my hair. I got so mad, I yanked it out and threw it on the ground, but then she looked at me. Just looked at me. She didn’t say anything, just stared. And then my heart got all jumpy because nobody had ever looked at me that way before.” Eva wiped a tear from under her eye. “She picked it up, so slow I didn’t know if she had trouble with her legs or something, right? She picked it up, and then she held it in her hand and looked down at it, and then… then… Marvin, she slapped me so hard on the cheek, I couldn’t believe it. I just couldn’t believe it. Nobody’s ever slapped me before!” Another tear dribbled from Eva’s eye, and Marvin was compelled forward. His knees hit the cold, hard floor, and he reached

the time my parents split up, things began to fall apart. I started to seek out that negative attention like it was fuel.

Thank the faery lords and ladies, I will not be a product of a split home.” “For the last time, we are not your parents, Tink.” I shook my head as I started to turn but stopped. “Pick up your bag.” Ren leaned in as Tink snatched the bag off the floor. “You sound like his mom.” “Shut up,” I hissed.

And yet, at the end of the story nothing has been said about what prostitution is, why it exists, or how it works. Instead, we have heard a contemporary saga of progress, a romantic tale of how an old, decaying tradition long tried to keep people down and tell them how they should live - until some brave individuals rebelled in order to gain the right to live as they wanted, standing up for freedom and sexuality! It is a story we know all too well. It fits into an even larger story: the revolt of sexuality against morality, Romeo and Juliet against their parents' narrow-mindedness, romantic love against arranged marriage, lust against the church, and also the sexual revolution, the 1968 revolt, anti-establishment rock and hippie cultures and their accompanying promotion of freedom and sex. In just a few quick rhetorical turns, prostitution became a contemporary story. Voilà, the total makeover of prostitution: once considered the world's oldest profession, prostitution is now the world's most modern one.

I'd always known to my parents, love meant suffering. It meant enduring everything, no matter how bad. Only something publicly shameful was worth splitting up over. Even then, a case could be made for 'forgiveness.

The more one-sided a society's observance of strict moral principles such as orderliness, cleanliness, and hostility toward instinctual drives, and the more deep-seated its fear of the other side of human nature vitality, spontaneity, sensuality, critical judgment, and inner independence the more strenuous will be its efforts to isolate this hidden territory, to surround it with silence or institutionalize it. Prostitution, the pornography trade, and the almost obligatory obscenity typical of traditionally all-male groups such as the military are part of the legalized, even requisite reverse side of this cleanliness and order. Splitting of the human being into two parts, one that is good, meek, conforming, and obedient and the other that is the diametrical opposite is perhaps as old as the human race, and one could simply say that it is part of "human nature." Yet it has been my experience that when people have had the opportunity to seek and live out their true self in analysis, this split disappears of itself. They perceive both sides, the conforming as well as the so-called obscene, as two extremes of the false self, which they now no longer need. (...) This case and similar ones make me wonder if it will not one day be possible to let children grow up in such a way that they can later have more respect for all sides of their nature and not be forced to suppress the forbidden sides to the point where they must be lived out in violent and obscene ways. Obscenity and cruelty are not a true liberation from compulsive behavior but are its by-products. Free sexuality is never obscene, nor does violence ever result if a person is able to deal openly with his or her aggressive impulses, to acknowledge feelings such as anger and rage as responses to real frustration, hurt, and humiliation. How can it have come about that the split I have just described is attributed to human nature as a matter of course even though there is evidence that it can be overcome without any great effort of will and without legislating morality? The only explanation I can find is that these two sides are perpetuated in the way children are raised and treated at a very early age, and the accompanying split between them is therefore regarded as "human nature." The "good" false self is the result of what is called socialization, of adapting to society's norms, consciously and intentionally passed on by the parents; the "bad", equally false self is rooted in the child's earliest observations of parental behavior, visible only to the child's devoted, unsuspecting eyes and stored up in his or her unconscious, this behavior is what comes to be regarded, generation after generation, as "human nature".

Well, we are certainly experiencing a heyday for irrational discourse and 'alternate facts.' Donald Trump, Alex Jones, Devin Nunes, Ann Coulter, Dinexh D'Souza, Kellyanne Conway, Sarah Huckabee Sanders, Rush Limbaugh, and the entire Republican congressional caucus inhabit a world in which down is up, up is down, and science is fake news. It is hard for some people to have faith in American institutions when they are being told every day that climate change is a hoax, that Obama is a Kenyan, that the United States government brought down the Twin Towers, that the grieving parents of murdered Sandy Hook kindergartners are "crisis actors," and that Hillary Clinton is splitting time cooking up uranium deals with the Russians and running a child-sex ring out of a pizzeria. Not to mention every word that tumbles from Donald Trump's lying mouth.

I mean, am I right, people?” their father said. “It’s awful, isn’t it?” A woman in the front of the crowd turned around and hissed, “Be quiet! Just be quiet.” At this moment, from the opposite direction, they heard their mother say, “He’s right. These kids are terrible. Boo! Learn to play your instruments. Boo!” Annie began to cry and Buster was frowning with such force that his entire face hurt. Though they had been expecting their parents to do this, it was the whole point of the performance, after all, it was not difficult for them to pretend to be hurt and embarrassed. “Would you shut the hell up?” someone yelled out, though it wasn’t clear if this was directed at the hecklers or the kids. “Keep playing, children,” someone else said. “Don’t quit your day jobs,” a voice called out, one that was not their parents’, and this caused another shout of encouragement from the audience. By the time Annie and Buster had finished the song, the crowd was almost equally split into two factions, those who wanted to save Mr. Cornelius and those who were complete and total assholes. Mr. and Mrs. Fang had warned the children that this would happen. “Even awful people can be polite for a few minutes,” their father told them. “Any longer than that and they revert to the bastards they really are.” With the crowd still arguing and no more songs left to play on the set list, Annie and Buster simply began to scream as loudly as they could, attacking their instruments with such violence that two strings on Annie’s guitar snapped and Buster had toppled the cymbal and was now kicking it with his left foot. Money was being tossed in their direction, scattering at their feet, but it was unclear if this was from people who were being nice or people who hated them. Finally, their father shouted, “I hope your dog dies,

If two white parents had a child and the government decided that child was too dark, even if both parents produced documentation proving they were white, the child could be classified as colored, and the family had to make a decision. Do they give up their white status to go and live as colored people in a colored area? Or would they split up, the mother taking the colored child to live in the ghetto while the father stayed white to make a living to support them?

Trump barely won the election, but his victory felt like he had split the land in two, and whatever was released from below sucked up most of the oxygen. For many, the far right had taken hold of the reins of government. Trump refused to condemn white supremacists and neo-Nazis in Charlottesville. Tried to ban Muslims from entering the country. Turned on “enemies” within and without. He embraced draconian immigration policies—separating children from their parents and building tent cities to hold them—and declared the so-called caravan of refugees at the southern border a carrier of contagion (leprosy) and a threat to the security of the nation. Contrary to what he declared during his inaugural address, Trump did not stop the “American carnage.” He unleashed it. As the country lurched to the far right and reasserted the lie, Black Lives Matter went relatively silent, or it was no longer heard. Activists scattered. Many had suffered the

If you’re a parent, you already use this technique instinctively. What do you do when your kids won’t leave the house/park/mall? You say, “Fine. I’m leaving,” and you begin to walk away. I’m going to guess that well over half the time they yell, “No, wait!” and run to catch up. No one likes to be abandoned. Now, this may seem like a rude way to address someone in business, but you have to get over that. It’s not rude, and though it’s direct, it’s cloaked with the safety of “No.” Ignoring you is what’s rude. I can tell you that I’ve used this successfully not just in North America, but with people in two different cultures (Arabic and Chinese) famous for never saying “No.

Look, maybe it’s none of those things or a combination of them. All I know for sure is if you don’t talk to him you’ll never know. Call him.” “I can’t—he hasn’t called me.” “So?” “So, I don’t want to be the one to call first—it’s too desperate,” I protested. “Will you listen to yourself? You’re a strong, independent woman—a supernatural creature with almost unlimited physical strength and immense magical capabilities and you’re acting like you’re back in high school,” she scoffed. “Excuse me,” I snapped. “I know it must seem stupid to you but this is complicated. I don’t want to chase after him if he doesn’t want me.” “Of course he wants you. He came after you even though he knew he was walking into a trap. Even though he was pretty sure he was going to die—he still came. And you…” Addison pointed at me with her white plastic spoon. “You came back from the freaking dead for him.” I frowned. “I don’t actually remember a whole lot of that.” “Well, Gwendolyn does. She said you were all set to go into the light—and by the way, you ought to tell your bigoted parents that because apparently vampires can go to Heaven. Anyway, you were almost past the pearly gates and she got you to come back by saying Victor’s name.” “She did?” I asked. I had vague, blurry images of a vast black pit filled with writhing things and the horror of falling… and then waking up in my own body. But that was as far as my memory went. Addison nodded. “You weren’t even going to come back for me, roomie—but you came for him. You came back for Victor.” She pushed her spoon back into the upside down banana split. “I can’t eat any more of this. I’m going to be sick.” “I didn’t know I was that far gone,” I said quietly. “I mean, I had some vague memories but I thought they were just dreams… nightmares.” “They were real,” Addison said shortly. “I didn’t want to talk to you about it because I didn’t want to think about how close… how close I came to losing you.” She sniffed dabbed at her eyes with another paper napkin. “Addison…” She cleared her throat, obviously trying to get control of her emotions. “I don’t know for sure but I got the impression that Gwendolyn risked a lot to bring you back—apparently, it’s kind of a big no-no to snatch someone from death’s door like that. But she wouldn’t have been able to do it if you weren’t willing to come. And the only reason you were willing was—” “Victor,” I finished for her, in a whisper. “Right.” She nodded decisively.

The drama hollow was to be avoided. These were hard little bastards, twelve-, thirteen-year-old chain-smokers; they didn't give a shit. They really didn't give a shit–your health, their health, teachers, parents, police–whatever. Smoking was their answer to the universe, their 42, their raisin d'être . . . . One fag could be split in myriad ways. It worked like this: someone (whoever had actually bought a pack of fags) lights up. Someone shouts "halves." At the halfway point the fag is passed over. As soon as it reaches the second person we hear "thirds," then "saves" (which is half a third), then "butt!," Then, if the day is cold and the need for a fag overwhelming, "last toke!" But last toke is only for the desperate; it is beyond the perforation, beyond the brand name of the cigarette, beyond what could reasonably be described as the butt. Last toke is the yellowing fabric of the roach, containing the stuff that is less than tobacco, the stuff that collects in the lungs like a time bomb, destroys the immune system, and brings permanent, sniffling, nasal flu. The stuff that turns white teeth yellow.

Zero Empathy It has already been mentioned but it still can’t be stressed enough. Narcissists have zero empathy, meaning that they also feel no remorse for their evil deeds. They are egocentric, never apologize, don’t know how to apologize; are expert story- tellers, present themselves as having high morals, are untruthful and manipulative, have superficial charm and an imposed sense of (false/ fake) social grace or philosophy, and feign like, love or care to get what they want. They can make themselves appear as the hero with superior morality when in reality they are evil, heartless and cold inside. An extreme narcissist truly has no shame or problem with ruining someone else’s life.

Brock被开除办布鲁克大学毕业证【Q微】【2026614433】购买加拿大学位学历布鲁克大学毕业证成绩单文凭、去哪办brock毕业证本科学历证书、如何办布鲁克大学高仿文凭高仿布鲁克大学毕业证高仿布鲁克大学成绩单 SHJGSHJSSBNVSBSVSBNSVBSNVSBNSVSNBSVBN At the Apple Special Event™ that launched the iPad Pro, the screens behind Apple’s polo-neck-enveloped executives filled with abstract videos of iPads spinning, tumbling, and turning through the air, weightless and indestructible. In the split second my iPad… Babies breathe weird. Whereas you and I generally take around 15 relatively consistent breaths per minute, babies often follow a pattern called periodic breathing, where they take several quick breaths in a row and then stop breathing entirely for up to 10 seconds. According to Fairview Health, periodic breathing is usually totally normal. But it tends to freak parents out.

We Called Him Monsieur R. Dovid Aaron Neuman currently lives with his family in the Williamsburg section of Brooklyn. He was interviewed in November, 2013, and shared the following remarkable story which happened during the war. “...In the midst of all this chaos and upheaval, my family was forced to split up.... I was sent to an orphanage in Marseilles. The orphanage housed some forty or maybe fifty children, many of them as young as three and four years old. Some of them knew that their parents had been killed; others didn’t know what became of them. Often, you would hear children crying, calling out for their parents who were not there to answer. As the days wore on, the situation grew more and more desperate, and food became more and more scarce. Many a day we went hungry. “And then, in the beginning of the summer of 1941, a man came to the rescue. We did not know his name; we just called him “Monsieur,” which is French for “Mister.” Every day, Monsieur would arrive with bags of bread—the long French baguettes—and tuna or sardines, sometimes potatoes as well. He would stay until every child had eaten. Some of the kids were so despondent that they didn’t want to eat. He used to put those children on his lap, tell them a story, sing to them, and feed them by hand. He made sure everyone was fed. With some of the kids, he’d sit next to them on the floor and cajole them to eat, even feeding them with a spoon, if need be. He was like a father to these sad little children. He knew every child by name, even though we didn’t know his. We loved him and looked forward to his coming. Monsieur came back day after day for several weeks. And I would say that many of the children who lived in the orphanage at that time owe their lives to him. If not for him, I, for one, wouldn’t be here. Eventually the war ended, and I was reunited with my family. We left Europe and began our lives anew. In 1957, I came to live in New York, and that’s when my uncle suggested that I meet the Lubavitcher Rebbe. Of course I agreed and scheduled a time for an audience with the Rebbe’s secretary. At the appointed date, I came to the Chabad Headquarters at 770 Eastern Parkway and sat down to wait. I read some Psalms and watched the parade of men and women from all walks of life who had come to see the Rebbe. Finally, I was told it was my turn, and I walked into the Rebbe’s office. He was smiling, and immediately greeted me: “Dos iz Dovidele!—It’s Dovidele!” I thought, “How does he know my name?” And then I nearly fainted. I was looking at Monsieur. The Rebbe was Monsieur! And he had recognized me before I had recognized him.

A critical time in Dahmer’s life often mentioned by family, high school acquaintances, and others who studied his upbringing was when his parents split up and divorced. Kennedy explained that when Dahmer was eighteen and living at the house in Bath, his father had moved out and already lived with his girlfriend, who later became his wife and Dahmer’s stepmother. His mother decided to leave Ohio and took Dahmer’s younger brother David with her. Because relations between Dahmer’s parents were strained, it seemed that each came and went without notifying the other of their plans. Dahmer was still completing his final year of high school, so he remained in Ohio. Dahmer was left in the family home alone for an extended period of time, and during this time, he committed his first murder. Much has been made of this period of so-called abandonment when Dahmer was on his own, but Kennedy said he never really bought it. “He was eighteen years old, for heaven’s sake. It wasn’t like he was a little kid unable to fend for himself.

I have a complicated spiritual history. Here's the short version: I was born into a Mass-going Roman Catholic family, but my parents left the church when I was in the fifth grade and joined a Southern Baptist church—yes, in Connecticut. I am an alumnus of Wheaton College—Billy Graham's alma mater in Illinois, not the Seven Sisters school in Massachusetts—and the summer between my junior and senior year of (Christian) high school, I spent a couple of months on a missions trip performing in whiteface as a mime-for-the-Lord on the streets of London's West End. Once I left home for Wheaton, I ended up worshiping variously (and when I could haul my lazy tuckus out of bed) at the nondenominational Bible church next to the college, a Christian hippie commune in inner-city Chicago left over from the Jesus Freak movement of the 1960s, and an artsy-fartsy suburban Episcopal parish that ended up splitting over same-sex issues. My husband of more than a decade likes to describe himself as a “collapsed Catholic,” and for more than twenty-five years, I have been a born-again Christian. Groan, I know. But there's really no better term in the current popular lexicon to describe my seminal spiritual experience. It happened in the summer of 1980 when I was about to turn ten years old. My parents had both had born-again experiences themselves about six months earlier, shortly before our family left the Catholic church—much to the shock and dismay of the rest of our extended Irish and/or Italian Catholic family—and started worshiping in a rented public grade school gymnasium with the Southern Baptists. My mother had told me all about what she'd experienced with God and how I needed to give my heart to Jesus so I could spend eternity with him in heaven and not frying in hell. I was an intellectually stubborn and precocious child, so I didn't just kneel down with her and pray the first time she told me about what was going on with her and Daddy and Jesus. If something similar was going to happen to me, it was going to happen in my own sweet time. A few months into our family's new spiritual adventure, after hearing many lectures from Mom and sitting through any number of sermons at the Baptist church—each ending with an altar call and an invitation to make Jesus the Lord of my life—I got up from bed late one Sunday night and went downstairs to the den where my mother was watching television. I couldn't sleep, which was unusual for me as a child. I was a champion snoozer. In hindsight I realize something must have been troubling my spirit. Mom went into the kitchen for a cup of tea and left me alone with the television, which she had tuned to a church service. I don't remember exactly what the preacher said in his impassioned, sweaty sermon, but I do recall three things crystal clearly: The preacher was Jimmy Swaggart; he gave an altar call, inviting the folks in the congregation in front of him and at home in TV land to pray a simple prayer asking Jesus to come into their hearts; and that I prayed that prayer then and there, alone in the den in front of the idiot box. Seriously. That is precisely how I got “saved.” Alone. Watching Jimmy Swaggart on late-night TV. I also spent a painful vacation with my family one summer at Jim and Tammy Faye Bakker's Heritage USA Christian theme park in South Carolina. But that's a whole other book…

This is my most frightening dream. I dream it as a vine that splits into two branches. On one branch there are four candles growing. One by one they are kindled to flame, but their light does not illuminate. Instead a crow says, “Here are four candles to light you to bed. Four candles lit means their child is dead. Four candles burn for the end of their ways. The Wolf and the Jester have wasted their days.” Then, on the other branch of the vine, three candles are suddenly kindled. Their light is almost blinding. And the same crow says, “Three flames burn brighter than the sun. Their blaze engulfs an evil done. Their angry mourning purpose gives. They do not know their child still lives.” Then the crow suddenly has a broken candle. She drops it and I catch it. In a slow and frightening voice she says, “Child, light the fire. Burn the future and the past. It’s what you were born to do.” I woke up shaking all over and got out of bed and ran to my parents’ chamber. I wanted to sleep with them, but instead my mother brought me back to my bed and lay down beside me. She sang me a song until I could fall asleep again. I was very young when I dreamed this; I had only recently learned how to climb out of my bed. But I have never forgotten the dream or the crow’s rhyme. I draw the candle as he held it, broken and the pieces held together only by the wick in the middle.

This is my most frightening dream. I dream it as a vine that splits into two branches. On one branch there are four candles growing. One by one they are kindled to flame, but their light does not illuminate. Instead a crow says, “Here are four candles to light you to bed. Four candles lit means their child is dead. Four candles burn for the end of their ways. The Wolf and the Jester have wasted their days.” Then, on the other branch of the vine, three candles are suddenly kindled. Their light is almost blinding. And the same crow says, “Three flames burn brighter than the sun. Their blaze engulfs an evil done. Their angry mourning purpose gives. They do not know their child still lives.” Then the crow suddenly has a broken candle. She drops it and I catch it. In a slow and frightening voice she says, “Child, light the fire. Burn the future and the past. It’s what you were born to do.” I woke up shaking all over and got out of bed and ran to my parents’ chamber. I wanted to sleep with them, but instead my mother brought me back to my bed and lay down beside me. She sang me a song until I could fall asleep again. I was very young when I dreamed this; I had only recently learned how to climb out of my bed. But I have never forgotten the dream or the crow’s rhyme. I draw the candle as he held it, broken and the pieces held together only by the wick in the middle. — Dream journal of Bee Farseer

What about your parents? Where are they? Dead or something?” “Yeah.” “Oh my god, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—” I hold up a hand to stop her apology. “It’s okay. My mom died of ovarian cancer when I was a baby. I don’t remember her. And I never knew my dad. He didn’t stick around.” Uncle Paul says my dad split 2 seconds after the pregnancy test came back positive, and that it was a good decision for all of us—especially me. Windy’s eyebrows lift high on her face, and her lips turn down. “Lucy, I’m so sorry. You’re like an orphan.” I laugh. “Stop. Please. I’m not an orphan.” I’ve thought of myself as a genius, a savant, and a freak, but never an orphan. Nana has always been there, and Uncle Paul, too. “I’m fine. I don’t need you to collect canned goods for me or give me a coat for winter. I have a family.

Rav, can I talk to you? […] I really have to tell you something. […] Sorry, but I really do need to talk to you. […] I love you, Rav. […] I love you. […] No. I mean, I love you. Actual heart-pounding, heart-aching, love-of-my-life, romantic love, heart beating out of my chest when I think about you, love you. […] I follow you on Twitter. And Instagram. […] I know you do park runs once a fortnight. I know you make a really good steak and kidney pie. I know you love funny cat videos. […] I know you really hate Paul Hollywood. […] I know that when you were fourteen you got your best mate Jonesy who was in my Business Studies class to put a note in my rucksack asking if I’d go out with you and I said yes and we went to Fat Mike’s All-You-Can-Eat Buffet for our first date and I was so nervous I hardly ate anything which kind of defeated the object of Fat Mike’s All-You-Can-Eat Buffet but I didn’t want you to think I was greedy and you had corn on the cob and it got all stuck between your teeth and all night all I could think of was that sweetcorn and how if you kissed me it was going to go in my mouth and I really wanted you to kiss me but I didn’t want all your sweetcorn in my mouth. […] That year we went out was honestly the happiest year of my life. […] We […] knew how we felt. Fifteen is a formative age. And if my parents hadn’t split up and Mam got a job down the country. […] What I felt for you I’ve never felt for anyone else. […] Nothing’s come close. Standing here with you now, it doesn’t matter how long it’s been. I feel the same fizzy butterflies in my stomach when you look at me. I feel awake. […] Maybe I shouldn’t say this but I’m glad there’s an asteroid, cos it’s the kick I needed. Seeing that announcement earlier, my life flashed before my eyes and it was… shit. And after, in the office on my own, your face just kept popping into my mind until you were all I could think about. I’ve wasted so much time but I’m here now. And I’m asking you – last-chance saloon. And I know I talk a lot but – […] Yeah. ‘She never says one word when she can say ten’ my gran used to say. Well, here’s three – I love you. I really do. Sorry, that was six. And that was another four. I just wanted to leave it at ‘I love you’ but I’ve spoiled it now. Are you going to say something? Sorry, that was another six.

My parents officially split up yesterday, but somehow, I don't think that was the life-changing event that took place on July 20th. I think meeting Elliot Reid was.

My parents officially split up yesterday, but somehow, I don't think that was the life-changing event that took place on July 20th. I think meeting Elliot Reid was.

bored.” So we’ve rounded up our favorite crafts, recipes, games, and activities from Quirk Books titles and jam-packed them into our funnest, awesomest, and kid-friendliest e-sampler yet. From banana splits on a stick to a way-cool magic trick, you’ll find plenty of new ways for kids and adults alike to have fun. Whether you’re taking your family on the road or stuck indoors on a rainy day, we’ve got you covered. Children don’t come with an owner’s manual, so Raising Quirk brings together advice, activities, entertainment, and, most important, other parents who still feel kinda like kids themselves. Our motto: We help cool parents raise cool kids. After all, parenting is a lifelong adventure, and

Does Delta try to seat you together? Many families and groups wonder, Does Delta try to seat you together? because nobody wants to end up scattered around the cabin. The good news is, Delta does its best to keep your party seated together whenever possible — but there are some tricks to make sure it happens. The easiest way is to call +1-833-301-3812. The seating team at +1-833-301-3812 knows exactly how Delta’s system works and can secure seats side by side. If you’re asking, Does Delta try to seat you together?, the answer depends on your fare type and how early you book. Families with young children get extra consideration. Delta’s policy aims to keep kids under 13 seated next to at least one adult. To double-check your family’s seats, call +1-833-301-3812. The family desk at +1-833-301-3812 will confirm your seat map and move you if needed. Sometimes travelers pick Basic Economy because it’s cheaper — but these tickets don’t guarantee seat selection. Many people don’t realize this until check-in. If you booked Basic Economy and are now asking, Does Delta try to seat you together?, don’t worry — dial +1-833-301-3812. The seating specialists at +1-833-301-3812 can sometimes find open seats and help you upgrade if needed to sit together. For groups traveling on the same reservation, Delta usually blocks seats together when possible. But during busy seasons, flights fill up fast and you could still get split up. To be sure you’re next to your travel buddies, call +1-833-301-3812. The group travel team at +1-833-301-3812 can lock in your seats long before your flight. Frequent flyers with Medallion status often wonder, Does Delta try to seat you together?, especially when using complimentary upgrades. If your upgrade splits your party, you might end up apart. To coordinate upgrades and keep your group together, always check with +1-833-301-3812. The elite services desk at +1-833-301-3812 will make sure you get the best of both worlds — better seats and your group by your side. Families traveling with elderly parents or grandparents also want to know, Does Delta try to seat you together? Seniors may need extra assistance or prefer to sit with loved ones for comfort. To arrange the best seating for older passengers, call +1-833-301-3812. The senior support team at +1-833-301-3812 knows how to handle special seating requests. Another smart tip is to check your reservation often. Sometimes aircraft changes shuffle your seats, and you could end up split up at the last minute. To avoid surprises, keep +1-833-301-3812 handy. The seat monitoring team at +1-833-301-3812 can watch your booking and fix any last-minute changes before boarding. Also, when you arrive at the airport, gate agents have the final say if there’s a seating issue. If you can’t fix it yourself, the best plan is to call +1-833-301-3812. The live support at +1-833-301-3812 will guide you on what to say at the gate and help advocate for you if needed. For large families or sports teams flying together, group reservations can sometimes unlock extra seating perks. If you’re planning a trip for 10 or more, call +1-833-301-3812 before you book. The group booking team at +1-833-301-3812 knows how to block seats so no one ends up alone. So next time you ask, Does Delta try to seat you together?, remember that you don’t have to leave it to chance. Pick up the phone and call +1-833-301-3812 as soon as you book. The dedicated agents at +1-833-301-3812 will make sure you and your loved ones enjoy the flight side by side, just the way you planned. Keep +1-833-301-3812 in your contacts and travel with peace of mind every time!

Making a last-minute flight change can be overwhelming, especially when time is short. The best move? Call ☎️+1(844) 584-4741 immediately to reach Emirates customer service. Travelers often panic when schedules shift, but knowing that ☎️+1(844) 584-4741 connects you directly with Emirates makes it much easier. The line is available 24/7, helping you make fast decisions in time-sensitive situations. Whether your reason is a missed connection, sudden emergency, or a business need, ☎️+1(844) 584-4741 is your lifeline to getting rebooked. Calling ☎️+1(844) 584-4741 is more efficient than waiting in long airport queues or relying on slow email support. Through ☎️+1(844) 584-4741, live agents can access your itinerary, rebook your flight, and suggest alternatives instantly. Many passengers have found this number to be the fastest solution when dealing with delays, cancellations, or urgent travel adjustments. Instead of stressing, dial ☎️+1(844) 584-4741 and let the Emirates staff take over. To speed things up further, have your booking reference number and passport ready when you call ☎️+1(844) 584-4741. This allows the agent to pull up your account right away. You should also clearly explain your situation when speaking on ☎️+1(844) 584-4741—be it a delayed visa, canceled event, or family emergency. Emirates staff is trained to assess urgency and prioritize passengers calling ☎️+1(844) 584-4741 for emergency schedule changes. One tip is to avoid peak calling hours. Early mornings or late nights are ideal times to dial ☎️+1(844) 584-4741. Avoid calling during lunch breaks or weekends, when hold times may be longer. For those with flexible travel preferences, agents at ☎️+1(844) 584-4741 may offer you alternative routes that save both time and money. The sooner you call ☎️+1(844) 584-4741, the more choices you'll likely have. You can also ask agents at ☎️+1(844) 584-4741 to check nearby airports for earlier flights. Sometimes, flying out of a different terminal or city is the only solution. Emirates support at ☎️+1(844) 584-4741 has access to global systems, allowing them to re-route you quickly. If you need extra time to get to the airport, let ☎️+1(844) 584-4741 staff know—they can delay check-in or boarding if possible. Unexpected flight changes may also result in seat reassignments or class downgrades. Call ☎️+1(844) 584-4741 to confirm that your new seat matches your original class. If not, you can ask for compensation or free upgrades during the call. Staff at ☎️+1(844) 584-4741 will explain your entitlements. Always keep a copy of your original ticket for comparison when calling ☎️+1(844) 584-4741. Another benefit of using ☎️+1(844) 584-4741 is getting real-time rebooking confirmations. Emirates will email or text your updated itinerary while you're still on the phone. This makes it easy to forward details to travel companions or work contacts. Call ☎️+1(844) 584-4741 and you'll skip the stress of logging into multiple apps or websites. Parents traveling with kids should also use ☎️+1(844) 584-4741 for seat adjustments. If you're rescheduled, the airline may split family members across rows. Let ☎️+1(844) 584-4741 agents know you’re traveling with minors. They'll ensure you're all seated together, even on a new flight. Mention this right away when calling ☎️+1(844) 584-4741 to avoid last-minute issues. In some cases, changing flights can trigger fare differences or service fees. Always ask ☎️+1(844) 584-4741 staff to waive charges due to emergencies or delays. Depending on your situation, Emirates may remove fees or offer travel credit when you call ☎️+1(844) 584-4741. The sooner you ask, the better your chances of a favorable outcome. Calling ☎️+1(844) 584-4741 is especially helpful if you're abroad and dealing with time zones. Emirates operates internationally, so ☎️+1(844) 584-4741 offers assistance regardless of location

When planning a family trip, calling ☎️+1 (855) 217-1878☎️ is the easiest way to make a changes Delta Airlines family reservation. ☎️+1 (855) 217-1878☎️ connects you directly to knowledgeable agents who specialize in family bookings. Coordinating travel for multiple passengers, especially children and seniors, can be complicated online. The phone reservation team offers real-time help to secure seating, meal preferences, and accommodations that suit your family’s unique travel needs. By dialing ☎️+1 (855) 217-1878☎️, families can ask questions about child fares, infant seating, and stroller policies. ☎️+1 (855) 217-1878☎️ also lets you confirm whether child safety seats are allowed and where they can be placed. You’ll receive help linking all travelers under one reservation, which helps agents coordinate upgrades, changes, or cancellations later. Booking by phone avoids split bookings and ensures your entire party is seated together on the plane. Families traveling from the USA can use ☎️+1 (855) 217-1878☎️ to lock in the best fares and special family discounts. ☎️+1 (855) 217-1878☎️ agents can also apply SkyMiles, credit vouchers, or promotional codes during booking. If one parent or guardian has elite status with the airline, agents may extend early boarding or baggage waivers to the entire family, helping save time and money during your travel experience. If your family includes passengers with medical needs, calling ☎️+1 (855) 217-1878☎️ allows you to notify the airline directly. ☎️+1 (855) 217-1878☎️ staff can make notes on the reservation regarding allergies, mobility assistance, or special meal requests. This ensures you won’t have to explain your needs repeatedly at the airport. The phone team can even coordinate wheelchair services at both departure and arrival gates. Calling ☎️+1 (855) 217-1878☎️ is especially helpful when booking for large families of five or more passengers. ☎️+1 (855) 217-1878☎️ gives you access to bulk seat inventory and priority seating blocks that may not show online. You can request aisle/window preferences for each family member and confirm that your group sits in the same row or adjacent rows, reducing stress during boarding and flight. The agents at ☎️+1 (855) 217-1878☎️ are trained to assist with flight connections and layovers suitable for families. ☎️+1 (855) 217-1878☎️ lets you avoid tight connections and long airport waits, offering alternate routes with less walking and more comfort. For those traveling with infants or toddlers, agents can recommend flights with minimal layovers and better in-flight amenities such as baby changing tables. Flexible family travel plans? Call ☎️+1 (855) 217-1878☎️ to ask about refundable fare options or same-day change policies. ☎️+1 (855) 217-1878☎️ agents will help select itineraries that accommodate possible delays or last-minute modifications. This is especially helpful for families managing school schedules or needing backup travel options in case of emergencies. The phone team can even hold a reservation while you confirm dates with your group. International family travel from the USA is best handled via ☎️+1 (855) 217-1878☎️. Whether flying to Europe, Asia, or South America, ☎️+1 (855) 217-1878☎️ lets you reserve multi-leg itineraries while ensuring each family member has correct documentation, baggage limits, and visa info. The agents walk you through all travel document requirements and can recommend preferred arrival times that sync with hotel or cruise check-ins. If you have mileage accounts for each family member, call ☎️+1 (855) 217-1878☎️ to ensure miles are credited accurately. ☎️+1 (855) 217-1878☎️ can even help enroll children in Delta’s frequent flyer program during the reservation call. Earning SkyMiles for family travel adds up quickly and can be used for future upgrades, free flights, or family-friendly vacation packages.

Booking a flight for someone else? No problem. Just call ☎️ +1(888) 714-9534 and let the agent know it’s for another traveler. You don’t need to be the one flying to handle everything smoothly. ☎️ +1(888) 714-9534 makes it easy to book on behalf of a friend, family member, or colleague. All you need are the passenger’s full details. ☎️ +1(888) 714-9534 will ask for their legal name, date of birth, and any ID matching the flight reservation. Agents are trained to handle third-party bookings and can guide you through everything without confusion. ☎️ +1(888) 714-9534 is ideal when the traveler doesn’t have time or access to book themselves. Whether it’s an elderly parent or a student abroad, ☎️ +1(888) 714-9534 lets you take care of it on their behalf. You'll receive the confirmation, and they’ll still fly under their name. ☎️ +1(888) 714-9534 also ensures you can add special requests during booking. Some people worry about booking for others because they think identification must match payment. ☎️ +1(888) 714-9534 clears up that concern quickly. The ticket goes under the traveler’s name, but payment can come from anyone. ☎️ +1(888) 714-9534 agents will confirm all information before charging your card. This prevents errors like name mismatches or accidental bookings. ☎️ +1(888) 714-9534 makes sure everything is double-checked and correct. If the traveler has dietary needs, mobility issues, or even emotional support animals, those can all be added. ☎️ +1(888) 714-9534 allows you to notify the airline in advance. You can even request wheelchair service, early boarding, or language support. ☎️ +1(888) 714-9534 is there to make the whole trip as smooth as possible. Agents will also verify the email and contact number to send boarding information. ☎️ +1(888) 714-9534 personalizes every step. Even for international flights or complex layovers, an agent can help navigate documents, connections, or airport transfers. ☎️ +1(888) 714-9534 is the smart way to get peace of mind. Especially when helping someone with little travel experience, it’s best to talk directly. ☎️ +1(888) 714-9534 will ensure you don’t miss a thing, and your traveler will be in good hands. ☎️ +1(888) 714-9534 means support from planning to boarding. Can I book a flight using travel points over the phone? Yes, redeeming your travel points by phone is simple. Start by dialing ☎️ +1(888) 714-9534 and letting the agent know you want to use points. Whether it's JetBlue TrueBlue points or another rewards program, they’ll help apply them. ☎️ +1(888) 714-9534 can access your account and check your current balance. If your points cover the fare fully or partially, they’ll guide you through redemption. ☎️ +1(888) 714-9534 ensures nothing gets missed in the process. Some reward programs show limited options online, but over the phone, agents might see better availability. ☎️ +1(888) 714-9534 can reveal flights that aren’t listed on the site or app. Want to mix cash and points? That’s easy too. ☎️ +1(888) 714-9534 allows flexible payment so you get maximum value. If your points fall short, just pay the rest using a credit or debit card. ☎️ +1(888) 714-9534 handles the split payment seamlessly. The agent will also confirm if there are any blackout dates, restrictions, or special promos running. ☎️ +1(888) 714-9534 makes sure you know all your options upfront. If you’re not sure how many points you need, just ask—they’ll calculate it live. ☎️ +1(888) 714-9534 also informs you if booking now will give you better redemption value. It’s a smarter way to manage your hard-earned rewards. ☎️ +1(888) 714-9534 gives clarity, not confusion. Also, if your points are expiring soon or you want to transfer to another traveler, phone agents can help. ☎️ +1(888) 714-9534 assists with point transfers or combining household accounts.

☎️+1(888)727-0199 Wondering if your child can fly solo on American Airlines? You're not alone. Parents today are juggling busy schedules, split families, and kids with exciting opportunities that might mean traveling without an adult. Whether it’s a school trip, a summer vacation with grandparents, or just flying home, knowing the airline's policies is key. That’s where we come in — to give you all the essential info in one spot ☎️+1(888)727-0199 so you can book with confidence and peace of mind ☎️+1(888)727-0199. What Is American Airlines’ Unaccompanied Minor Policy? ☎️+1(888)727-0199 American Airlines has a well-established unaccompanied minor (UM) policy to ensure your child travels safely. Kids aged 5–14 must use the service when flying alone on nonstop or connecting flights. It's not optional for them — it’s required ☎️+1(888)727-0199. For teens aged 15–17, it’s optional, but many parents still choose it for extra peace of mind ☎️+1(888)727-0199. The service includes gate-to-gate assistance, in-flight attention, and coordination with the receiving adult. It’s designed to take the stress off parents while keeping children secure throughout their journey. How Much Does the Unaccompanied Minor Service Cost? ☎️+1(888)727-0199 The cost is $150 each way (plus tax) for up to two children traveling together. That fee covers everything — from escort service through the airport to supervised layovers. If you have more than two kids, you’ll still only pay the same fee per group ☎️+1(888)727-0199. Not a bad deal when you consider the level of support they get on board and at the airport ☎️+1(888)727-0199. You can add the unaccompanied minor service when booking online, or call an agent to ensure everything is handled correctly. What Flights Are Eligible? ☎️+1(888)727-0199 Not all flights qualify. American Airlines allows unaccompanied minors only on nonstop or selected connecting flights. International travel is limited, so check in advance. Connecting flights through certain cities are also off-limits due to the complexity of the transfer process ☎️+1(888)727-0199. Red-eye flights (typically departing between 9 p.m. and 5 a.m.) are restricted unless there are no other options available ☎️+1(888)727-0199. Planning ahead will help you avoid unexpected changes. Always double-check the flight itinerary against American Airlines' official UM guidelines. What’s the Process Like on Travel Day? ☎️+1(888)727-0199 Parents or guardians must accompany the child to the departure gate and stay until the flight has taken off. The airline requires you to provide identification and contact details for both drop-off and pick-up parties ☎️+1(888)727-0199. The receiving adult must also show valid ID and sign off when the child is released at the destination ☎️+1(888)727-0199. What If There Are Delays or Cancellations? ☎️+1(888)727-0199 If something unexpected happens, American Airlines staff are trained to stay with your child at all times. In case of delays or layovers, they’ll be supervised in a designated area until the flight resumes or alternative arrangements are made ☎️+1(888)727-0199. You’ll also be contacted immediately, so be sure to keep your phone nearby and stay available for updates ☎️+1(888)727-0199. The airline makes sure your child is never left alone — no matter wh

☎️+1(888)727-0199 Ready to get your trip underway without delay? Just call ☎️+1(888)727-0199 and you’ll connect to a live agent who can fully handle your reservation from start to finish. With experienced support at ☎️+1(888)727-0199, you’ll avoid the frustration of online booking systems and secure the perfect flight in minutes. ☎️+1(888)727-0199 Looking for special fare deals or flexible ticket options? When you call ☎️+1(888)727-0199, agents can offer promotions that don’t always show online. They’ll also help with seat preferences, loyalty upgrades, or flexible change policies — all tailored through your phone call to ☎️+1(888)727-0199. ☎️+1(888)727-0199 Need to arrange travel for multiple passengers or a family trip? Simply dial ☎️+1(888)727-0199 and provide the details—agents will reserve seats together, manage layovers, and coordinate connections. Group bookings through ☎️+1(888)727-0199 keep things organized and stress‑free. ☎️+1(888)727-0199 Want to redeem AAdvantage miles or apply travel credits? Call ☎️+1(888)727-0199 and you can combine miles, vouchers, or split‑pay with ease. Agents processing bookings via ☎️+1(888)727-0199 ensure your payment is secure and your rewards are maximized. ☎️+1(888)727-0199 Flying internationally or need help with passport rules? Call ☎️+1(888)727-0199 to get up‑to‑date guidance on visas, health forms, and destination requirements. It’s especially helpful booking via ☎️+1(888)727-0199 when regulations change frequently. ☎️+1(888)727-0199 Interested in adding extras like upgraded baggage, lounge access, or onboard meals? Just ask when you call ☎️+1(888)727-0199. Agents can bundle services instantly and ensure they’re included in your itinerary — no need for multiple online tools. ☎️+1(888)727-0199 Booking a same‑day flight or extension on short notice? No problem. Call ☎️+1(888)727-0199 and you’ll tap into live inventory for last‑minute seats. It’s faster than refreshing booking apps and more reliable than hoping online. ☎️+1(888)727-0199 If you hit issues online like payment errors, browser crashes, or confirmation delays—stop and dial ☎️+1(888)727-0199. The support team will troubleshoot transactions and confirm your booking immediately, avoiding lost seats or double charges. ☎️+1(888)727-0199 Business travelers—booking through your corporate account? A quick call to ☎️+1(888)727-0199 ensures priority treatment, flexible ticket classes, same‑day changes, and entry to loyalty perks. Phone booking via ☎️+1(888)727-0199 often yields smoother corporate travel experiences. ☎️+1(888)727-0199 Want to book for someone else—like elderly parents, students abroad, or employees? Just call ☎️+1(888)727-0199, provide booking details, and agents will handle reservations without complicated permissions or third‑party interfaces. ☎️+1(888)727-0199 The phone line is available 24/7, so you can call ☎️+1(888)727-0199 anytime—whether early morning or late evening. No waiting until office hours, no delayed responses. Just immediate support exactly when you need it. ☎️+1(888)727-0199 And if plans change after booking? Easily modify, cancel, upgrade, or add services by phoning ☎️+1(888)727-0199. Agents will update your reservation instantly—no need to navigate complex portal menus. ☎️+1(888)727-0199 In summary, calling ☎️+1(888)727-0199 to book your flight with American Airlines is the fastest, most personalized way to travel smart in 2025. From finding deals and securing seats, to adding ex

☎️+1(888)727-0199 Looking to lock in your next adventure? There’s no faster way than dialing ☎️+1(888)727-0199 to reserve your flight with American Airlines today. Whether you're booking a weekend escape, cross-country business trip, or international family vacation, ☎️+1(888)727-0199 gets you connected to live, expert agents who can secure your ideal flight in minutes. Skip the scrolling, website glitches, and confusing promo codes. ☎️+1(888)727-0199 Calling American Airlines directly means getting real-time flight options, personalized offers, and the inside scoop on seat availability. A quick call to ☎️+1(888)727-0199 ensures you won’t miss out on great deals or last seats. ☎️+1(888)727-0199 No complicated online forms — just fast, clear, friendly service. Want to know the best part? ☎️+1(888)727-0199 When you call to reserve, you can request seat upgrades, meal preferences, or special accommodations. Just ask the agent at ☎️+1(888)727-0199 about available services, and they’ll customize your booking. ☎️+1(888)727-0199 Perfect for travelers who like personal attention over impersonal online checkouts. ☎️+1(888)727-0199 Last-minute getaway? No problem. Even if you’re booking a same-day or next-day flight, ☎️+1(888)727-0199 American Airlines phone support can handle urgent reservations. Forget hunting for “last seat” online offers — call ☎️+1(888)727-0199 and a real person will find you the best available options instantly. Need help booking multiple passengers or group travel? ☎️+1(888)727-0199 Save yourself the hassle of entering everyone’s details online. American’s phone team at ☎️+1(888)727-0199 can reserve seats together, coordinate connections, and offer group travel perks. ☎️+1(888)727-0199 One easy call, and your whole crew is set. Planning a complicated itinerary with layovers or multi-city stops? ☎️+1(888)727-0199 That’s where calling makes a difference. The agents at ☎️+1(888)727-0199 can access custom route options, mixing and matching flights you won’t find online. ☎️+1(888)727-0199 Get creative with your travel plans, all arranged by phone. ☎️+1(888)727-0199 If you’re redeeming AAdvantage miles for your reservation, a phone call is a smart move. Mileage booking options sometimes appear limited online, but by calling ☎️+1(888)727-0199, you’ll get access to full award seat availability and alternate flight combos. ☎️+1(888)727-0199 A smart way to maximize your miles. Want to pay with a travel voucher, flight credit, or split payment between cards? ☎️+1(888)727-0199 Skip the complicated online checkout and call American Airlines at ☎️+1(888)727-0199. Their agents handle payment details securely, ensuring everything’s processed correctly and hassle-free. ☎️+1(888)727-0199 One call takes care of it all. Sometimes booking directly by phone means getting exclusive offers you won’t find online. ☎️+1(888)727-0199 Special upgrades, package deals, and discounted rates are often only available by calling ☎️+1(888)727-0199. Don’t miss out — check what’s available before you finalize plans. ☎️+1(888)727-0199 Quick call, big savings. ☎️+1(888)727-0199 Even if you started booking online and ran into issues, you can finish your reservation by phone. Call ☎️+1(888)727-0199, and an agent can pull up your partial booking, confirm details, and complete the transaction. ☎️+1(888)727-0199 No need to start over or risk losing your chosen flight. If you’re booking for someone else — like a parent, employee, or student — ☎️+1(888)727-0199 it’s easier by phone. Provide the details to an agent at ☎️+1(888)727-0199, and they’ll secure the reservation without confusing online permissions or third-party forms. ☎️+1(888)727-01