Separated Dads Quotes

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I'm sorry to have to tell you this way, but your mother and I are separating." When I pressed my mouth together, he corrected, "Stepmother. We're just - We're going in different directions." "I don't know what to say, Dad. 'Hurray' just seems wrong.
Darynda Jones (Fifth Grave Past the Light (Charley Davidson, #5))
There is a separation between parents and children that shouldn't be breached when the children are young. The parents' adult follies are private. They're disturbing and hard to understand. But eventually the kids wise up, the follies start leaking out, and the parents are revealed in all their flawed humanity. Dad and I were about to cross that boundary for good.
Natalie Standiford (How to Say Goodbye in Robot)
and the Three Bears: No one ever questions why the Papa Bear and Mama Bear slept in separate beds. What was going on in that marriage? More backstory needed.
Jim Gaffigan (Dad Is Fat)
My dad is gone now and so is that Seattle, but walking in the places he walked, puffing up the same hills, turning the same corners, I feel him in the ridges and grooves of my city--we are close, superimposed, separated only by time, and what's that? This is the only religion that I can relate to.
Lindy West (The Witches Are Coming)
My parents stood still. It was like we were on two separate islands. Mom and Dad were on one, and I was on the other. And the ocean between us was the symbol of truth. The thing representing our truce.
Jenelle Jack Pierre (Before I Breathe)
Every moment of our lives we make choices. Most we don’t even know we’re making, they’re so dull or routine or automatic. Some are beyond explanation—like my mom choosing Wyatt’s memory over Dad and me.
Laura Anderson Kurk (Glass Girl (Glass Girl, #1))
Where is Frankie, anyway?" Dad asks. "It's almost noon. I'm surprised you two can stand the separation." I take a deep breath and gulp down some orange juice. Well, Dad, first Frankie lied to me about losing her virginity to the foreign exchange student on the soccer field, and how your first time can't be special and all that. Then we decided to have this twenty boy contest but we only met, like, half, and she lied again about sleeping with one of them when really they just kind of fooled around naked and broke up. Meanwhile, when I was casting off my virginity with boy number five (or was he six?), Frankie read my journal and found out that I was in love with Matt for a million years and by the way, right after you took that picture of us with all the cake and frosting, he kissed me and started this whole long thing that we weren't allowed to tell her about. Frankie was so mad that she threw my journal into the bottom of the ocean, where it was banished for all eternity with a lovesick mermaid who cries out pieces of sea glass. Are you going to eat that bacon? ... "I'll probably see her later," I say.
Sarah Ockler (Twenty Boy Summer)
We were no longer a whole, but three separate pieces. A mom. A dad. A kid sliced in half. Actually, that made us four pieces—’cause I have to be two people: Mom’s Izzy and Dad’s Isabella.
Sharon M. Draper (Blended)
Rationalizing him and the glass pipe, Dad smoked crack, but he was not a crackhead; it was just something he did. To do something didn't define you, I thought. I saw Dad through a dusty lens that distorted our relationship, as tarnished as his pipe. He was no longer just our father; he was his own person, with an identity and label and body separate from his relationship with us. He was someone who was judged outside of the lens of fatherhood, outside of our connection. When he was in the streets, he was not Dad. He was Charlie the crackhead.
Janet Mock (Redefining Realness: My Path to Womanhood, Identity, Love So Much More)
Dad's oil dehydrator was a contained electrostatic field, one electrode down the center, the other the container's inner wall. Principal problem was finding a dielectric to separate the two. Refuse oil poured in came out as oil of the highest grade, dry chemicals, and drinking water. Petroleum Rectifying Company successfully prohibited its use.
John Cage (M: Writings '67-'72)
Anyway, I'm afraid to ask about Reed, where he is, because I'm afraid I can't handle the answer. The way people come and go in your life, where they're present and alive one minute, and missing or dead the next, is an idea that's too big for me to grasp. Life just seems way too fragile all of a sudden, and everybody seems to take it so lightly, as if they think we're all made like army tanks, big and strong and able to roll over anything in our way. And it's not just our bodies that are fragile; our minds are even more so. I don't know what fine membrane separates sanity from insanity, but after watching my dad slip-sliding around on the border between the two all my life, I know how easy it is to cross, and this scares me. This scares me to death. I've just been wondering, what if I had had the switchblade in my hand? What if Reed had dared me and I was the one with the switchblade? Maybe I would have used it. Then I'd be the one missing. It could have been me. I could have been Reed. Reed is me and I am Reed is Dad is Reed is me.
Han Nolan (Crazy)
then headed off separately to face their days—as I supposed thousands of husbands and wives all over the city did every morning. I just turned and looked at my dad for an explanation. “Joey, it’s simple,” my dad told me. “They love each other.
Joe Biden (Promise Me, Dad: A Year of Hope, Hardship, and Purpose)
Cone looked at Dad with equal seriousness and responded: “A Christian is one who is striving for liberation.” James Cone’s working definition of a Christian described a Christianity of the enslaved, not the Christianity of the slaveholders. Receiving this definition was a revelatory moment in Dad’s life. Ma had her own similar revelation in her Black student union—that Christianity was about struggle and liberation. My parents now had, separately, arrived at a creed with which to shape their lives, to be the type of Christians that Jesus the revolutionary inspired them to be. This new definition of a word that they’d already chosen as their core identity naturally transformed them.
Ibram X. Kendi (How to Be an Antiracist)
My dad. I don’t really know where to begin other than to say he simply wasn’t a “dad.” He was this mythical creature. Part unicorn, part violent storm. And although he separated from my mom when she was pregnant, I somehow knew to forgive him. It’s as if I could grasp as a kid that this horse was so wild, he couldn’t be pinned down, and even if he could I am not sure you would want him around. This was the kind of man you saw in small doses. They were memorable. Sometimes dark, sometimes humorous, sometimes quotable.
Drew Barrymore (Wildflower)
In language that would have been unthinkable just a few years ago, a young Moroccan named Brother Rachid last year called out President Obama on YouTube for claiming that Islamic State was “not Islamic”: Mr President, I must tell you that you are wrong about ISIL. You said ISIL speaks for no religion. I am a former Muslim. My dad is an imam. I have spent more than 20 years studying Islam. . . . I can tell you with confidence that ISIL speaks for Islam. . . . ISIL’s 10,000 members are all Muslims. . . . They come from different countries and have one common denominator: Islam. They are following Islam’s Prophet Muhammad in every detail. . . . They have called for a caliphate, which is a central doctrine in Sunni Islam. I ask you, Mr. President, to stop being politically correct—to call things by their names. ISIL, Al-Qaeda, Boko Haram, Al-Shabaab in Somalia, the Taliban, and their sister brand names, are all made in Islam. Unless the Muslim world deals with Islam and separates religion from state, we will never end this cycle. . . . If Islam is not the problem, then why is it there are millions of Christians in the Middle East and yet none of them has ever blown up himself to become a martyr, even though they live under the same economic and political circumstances and even worse? . . . Mr. President, if you really want to fight terrorism, then fight it at the roots. How many Saudi sheikhs are preaching hatred? How many Islamic channels are indoctrinating people and teaching them violence from the Quran and the hadith? . . . How many Islamic schools are producing generations of teachers and students who believe in jihad and martyrdom and fighting the infidels?1
Ayaan Hirsi Ali (Heretic: Why Islam Needs a Reformation Now)
When Dad was in the middle of a description of the hotel’s laundry facility, I interrupted. “Why haven’t you told me today, like you do every day, that Mom’s going to be better soon?” He looked up then. His gaze locked with mine and held a promise that no matter what he said or didn’t say, he and I would ride this out together. “I haven’t told you that today, Meg, because I don’t know.
Laura Anderson Kurk (Glass Girl (Glass Girl, #1))
an empathic and patient listener, coaxing each of us through the maze of our feelings, separating out our weapons from our wounds. He cautioned us when we got too lawyerly and posited careful questions intended to get us to think hard about why we felt the way we felt. Slowly, over hours of talking, the knot began to loosen. Each time Barack and I left his office, we felt a bit more connected. I began to see that there were ways I could be happier and that they didn’t necessarily need to come from Barack’s quitting politics in order to take some nine-to-six foundation job. (If anything, our counseling sessions had shown me that this was an unrealistic expectation.) I began to see how I’d been stoking the most negative parts of myself, caught up in the notion that everything was unfair and then assiduously, like a Harvard-trained lawyer, collecting evidence to feed that hypothesis. I now tried out a new hypothesis: It was possible that I was more in charge of my happiness than I was allowing myself to be. I was too busy resenting Barack for managing to fit workouts into his schedule, for example, to even begin figuring out how to exercise regularly myself. I spent so much energy stewing over whether or not he’d make it home for dinner that dinners, with or without him, were no longer fun. This was my pivot point, my moment of self-arrest. Like a climber about to slip off an icy peak, I drove my ax into the ground. That isn’t to say that Barack didn’t make his own adjustments—counseling helped him to see the gaps in how we communicated, and he worked to be better at it—but I made mine, and they helped me, which then helped us. For starters, I recommitted myself to being healthy. Barack and I belonged to the same gym, run by a jovial and motivating athletic trainer named Cornell McClellan. I’d worked out with Cornell for a couple of years, but having children had changed my regular routine. My fix for this came in the form of my ever-giving mother, who still worked full-time but volunteered to start coming over to our house at 4:45 in the morning several days a week so that I could run out to Cornell’s and join a girlfriend for a 5:00 a.m. workout and then be home by 6:30 to get the girls up and ready for their days. This new regimen changed everything: Calmness and strength, two things I feared I was losing, were now back. When it came to the home-for-dinner dilemma, I installed new boundaries, ones that worked better for me and the girls. We made our schedule and stuck to it. Dinner each night was at 6:30. Baths were at 7:00, followed by books, cuddling, and lights-out at 8:00 sharp. The routine was ironclad, which put the weight of responsibility on Barack to either make it on time or not. For me, this made so much more sense than holding off dinner or having the girls wait up sleepily for a hug. It went back to my wishes for them to grow up strong and centered and also unaccommodating to any form of old-school patriarchy: I didn’t want them ever to believe that life began when the man of the house arrived home. We didn’t wait for Dad. It was his job now to catch up with
Michelle Obama (Becoming)
But she knew it would never happen. She had no intention of visiting him there. Even if she were open to the idea, as Mom and Dad both hoped she would be, the mathematics of it seemed utterly impossible to her. What was she supposed to do, spend Christmas there and Easter here? See her dad every other holiday and one week during the summer, just enough to glimpse his new life in fragments, tiny slivers of a world she had no part in? And all the while missing out on those moments of her mom’s life—her mom, who’d done nothing to deserve to spend Christmas alone? That, it seemed to Hadley, was no way to live. Perhaps if there were more time, or if time were more malleable; if she could be both places at once, live parallel lives; or, simpler yet, if Dad would just come home. Because as far as she was concerned, there was no in-between: She wanted all or nothing, illogically, irrationally, even though something inside of her knew that nothing would be too hard, and all was impossible.
Jennifer E. Smith (The Statistical Probability of Love at First Sight)
We fold him into the house and Gabe shuts the door because I forget to in my sudden glee. Gabe tries to separate Sean from his jacket while Tommy says something about the weather, and it’s quite loud for no reason at all, because it’s only Gabe and Tommy and sometimes Finn speaking. Sean, as always, manages to get by on one word where everyone else needs five or six. In the middle of all this, as Sean slips out of his jacket, he looks over his shoulder at me and he smiles at me, just a glancing, faint thing before he turns back to Tommy. I’m quite happy for the smile, because Dad told me once you should be grateful for the gifts that are the rarest.
Maggie Stiefvater (The Scorpio Races)
Ten things you should always do when you form a group 1. Work with your friends 2. Find like-minded people 3. Have ultimate self-belief 4. Write great songs 5. Get a great manager 6. Live in Manchester 7. Support each other through thick and thin 8. Realise no one person is bigger than the group (thanks to Gene Simmons for that one) 9. Watch where the money goes 10. Always get separate legal advice for everything before you sign; failing that, ask your mam and dad
Peter Hook (Substance: Inside New Order)
My mom was sitting at the kitchen table. She’d set her coffee down, making a noise that made me look her way. I’d begun to notice her less and less often, like her colors were fading and blending in with walls. She was shrinking. Or maybe her sphere of influence in the family was shrinking. My dad glanced at her, too, and then wrote something on a napkin. He slid it across the counter to me—Don’t worry. Come home in one piece. Have fun and act like a sixteen-year-old for a change.
Laura Anderson Kurk (Glass Girl (Glass Girl, #1))
It’s funny, but when I talk about this business of my father and Valentina with my women friends, they’re absolutely appalled. They see a vulnerable old man who’s being exploited. Yet all the men I talk to—without any exception, Mike” (I wag my finger) “they respond with these wry knowing smiles, these little admiring chuckles. Oh, what a lad he is. What an achievement, pulling this much younger bird. Best of luck to him. Let him have his bit of fun.” “You must admit, it’s done him good.” “I don’t admit anything.” (It’s much less satisfying arguing with Mike than with Vera or Pappa. He’s always so irritatingly reasonable.) “Are you sure you’re not just being a bit puritanical?” “Of course I’m not!” (So what if I am?) “It’s because he’s my father—I just want him to be grown up.” “He is being grown up, in his way.” “No he’s not, he’s being a lad. An eighty-four-year-old lad. You’re all being lads together. Wink wink. Nudge nudge. What a great pair of knockers. For goodness’ sake!” My voice has risen to a shriek. “But you can see it’s doing him good, this new relationship. It’s breathed new life into him. Just goes to show that you’re never too old for love.” “You mean for sex.” “Well, maybe that as well. Your Dad is just hoping to fulfil every man’s dream—to lie in the arms of a beautiful younger woman.” “Every man’s dream?” That night Mike and I sleep in separate beds.
Marina Lewycka (A Short History of Tractors in Ukrainian)
Each time she fell out of love with him, he saw it happen and waited it out. He never stopped loving her, even those times when he felt deeply hurt and betrayed by her, even in that bad year when they talked about separating, he’d just gone along with it, waiting for her to come back to him, thanking God and his dad up above each time she did.
Liane Moriarty (Apples Never Fall)
have always been fascinated by relationships. I grew up in Britain, where my dad ran a pub, and I spent a lot of time watching people meeting, talking, drinking, brawling, dancing, flirting. But the focal point of my young life was my parents’ marriage. I watched helplessly as they destroyed their marriage and themselves. Still, I knew they loved each other deeply. In my father’s last days, he wept raw tears for my mother although they had been separated for more than twenty years. My response to my parents’ pain was to vow never to get married. Romantic love was, I decided, an illusion and a trap. I was better off on my own, free and unfettered. But then, of course, I fell in love and married. Love pulled me in even as I pushed it away. What was this mysterious and powerful emotion that defeated my parents, complicated my own life, and seemed to be the central source of joy and suffering for so many of us? Was there a way through the maze to enduring love? I followed my fascination with love and connection into counseling and psychology. As part of my training, I studied this drama as described by poets and scientists. I taught disturbed children who had been denied love. I counseled adults who struggled with the loss of love. I worked with families where family members loved each other, but could not come together and could not live apart. Love remained a mystery. Then, in the final phase of getting my doctorate in counseling psychology at the University of British Columbia in Vancouver, I started to work with couples. I was instantly mesmerized by the intensity of their struggles and the way they often spoke of their relationships in terms of life and death.
Sue Johnson (Hold Me Tight: Seven Conversations for a Lifetime of Love)
We decided that we should do Shabbos dinner here and we invited the family,” my dad said. “Please tell me you’re joking.” “Gabby, sweetie,” my mom said consolingly. “It’s best to get it over with quickly, trust me.” “Honey, I met them on my first date with your mother.” He looked at Braden. “I married her anyway.” I saw Braden try not to laugh. “It’s okay! You can laugh. We laugh a lot here. It keeps us sane and being sane is what separates us from the rest of Judy’s family.
N.M. Silber (The Law of Attraction (Lawyers in Love, #1))
But suppose my daughters had approached me as we often approach God. “Hey, Dad, glad you’re home. Here is what I want. More toys. More candy. And can we go to Disneyland this summer?” “Whoa,” I would have wanted to say. “I’m not a waiter, and this isn’t a restaurant. I’m your father, and this is our house. Why don’t you just climb up on Daddy’s lap and let me tell you how much I love you?” Ever thought God might want to do the same with you? Oh, he wouldn’t say that to me. He wouldn’t? Then to whom was he speaking when he said, “I have loved you with an everlasting love” (Jer. 31:3 NIV)? Was he playing games when he said, “Nothing . . . will ever be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ” (Rom. 8:39)? Buried in the seldom-quarried mines of the minor prophets is this jewel: The LORD your God is with you; the mighty One will save you. He will rejoice over you. You will rest in his love; he will sing and be joyful about you. (Zeph. 3:17) Don’t move too quickly through that verse. Read it again and prepare yourself for a surprise. The LORD your God is with you; the mighty One will save you. He will rejoice over you. You will rest in his love; he will sing and be joyful about you. (Zeph. 3:17) Note who is active and who is passive. Who is singing, and who is resting? Who is rejoicing over his loved one, and who is being rejoiced over? We tend to think we are the singers and God is the “singee.” Most certainly that is often the case. But apparently there are times when God wishes we would just be still and (what a stunning thought!) let him sing over us. I can see you squirming. You say you aren’t worthy of such affection? Neither was Judas, but Jesus washed his feet. Neither was Peter, but Jesus fixed him breakfast. Neither were the Emmaus-bound disciples, but Jesus took time to sit at their table. Besides, who are we to determine if we are worthy? Our job is simply to be still long enough to let him have us and let him love us.
Max Lucado (Just Like Jesus: A Heart Like His (The Bestseller Collection Book 2))
But then it became a place wehre I wasn't bound by my life outside. Inside the four walls of that shitty apartment, I got to be whoever I wanted. I wasn't poor or going deaf. Social services weren't beating down our door, nor were the cops looking for my dad. I was always met with a smile and a sense of belonging. It was YOU. We had an entirely separate life there. Together, we kept it clean. I made sure we always had power and you made sure I didn't starve. That twas a hell of a lot more than I got at home. You took care of me, and with what little I had, I took care of you.
Aly Martinez (Fighting Silence (On the Ropes, #1))
Is there some amazing rational thing you do when your mind's running in all different directions?" she managed. "My own approach is usually to identify the different desires, give them names, conceive of them as separate individuals, and let them argue it out inside my head. So far the main persistent ones are my Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, Gryffindor, and Slytherin sides, my Inner Critic, and my simulated copies of you, Neville, Draco, Professor McGonagall, Professor Flitwick, Professor Quirrell, Dad, Mum, Richard Feynman, and Douglas Hofstadter." Hermione considered trying this before her Common Sense warned that it might be a dangerous sort of thing to pretend. "There's a copy of me inside your head?" "Of course there is!" Harry said. The boy suddenly looked a bit more vulnerable. "You mean there isn't a copy of me living in your head?" There was, she realized; and not only that, it talked in Harry's exact voice. "It's rather unnerving now that I think about it," said Hermione. "I do have a copy of you living in my head. It's talking to me right now using your voice, arguing how this is perfectly normal." "Good," Harry said seriously. "I mean, I don't see how people could be friends without that.
Eliezer Yudkowsky
It's not easy, I suppose, but it's not all bad... I usen't to believe in marriage. My mum and dad separated when I was young, it was nasty and so I didn't have a good example of marriage, but a lot of my friends are getting married now mostly I do their hair. All brides are nervous for different reasons, whether they're sick or not. You just have to judge if they want to chat or not. Some don't. The main difference is my friends are panicking about the "for ever" part. They have to stay together for ever whereas Diane's worried because she knows that it can't be. When I get married I want to be like Diane and hope beyond hope that it can be for ever.
Cecelia Ahern (One Hundred Names)
Their dad said, “Heaven is beautiful like your mother was beautiful, but like it beauty is fleeting and once beheld for years, for decades, gold that seemed precious and unique no longer holds the significance it once held to the one who has possessed it and been possessed by it. And heaven resides in God’s breast, not the true god, for there is no true god, only many faces and many incarnations of want, of structure, of meaning. And his heart-tent is vast drawing to it those who swear allegiance to beauty and partial truth. Partial,” their father said, stroking Maggie’s arm, “because truth is independent of religion or creed or upbringing. It is a matter of the heart, separate from fact, without the limitations of doctrine. And what would heaven feel like? More of the same corrupt single-mindedness of a deity who abhors independence, who truly and fiercely fights the accumulation of knowledge in its worshipers. So the weak run to it, the road-weary, the undecided. Because God makes things easy, they do not have to make choices for themselves, they do not have to study the greater mysteries that echo like a clarion call in their souls and resonate in their hearts, seeds planted in the dark soil of their youth that are burned to chaff in the commonplace, never tilled or watered, hopeless due to acquiescence.
Lee Thompson (The Collected Songs of Sonnelion (Division, #3))
I needed something to distract me-anything far away from my parents’ drama-just for a second. And when I saw my chance I didn’t stop to think about how much I’d regret it later. An opportunity sat on the bar stool beside me, and I lunged at it. Literally. I kissed Wesley Rush. One second his hand lay on my shoulder, and his gray eyes rested, for once, on my face, and the next my mouth was on his. My lips were fierce with bottled emotion, and he seemed to tense, his body frozen in shock. That didn’t last very long. An instant later, he returned the aggression, his hands flying to my sides and pulling me toward him. It felt like a battle between our mouths. My hands clawed into his curly hair, tugging it way harder than necessary, and his fingertips dug into my waist. It worked better than punching someone would have. Not only did it help me release the agonizing pressure, but it definitely distracted me. I mean, it’s hard to think about your dad when you’re making out with somebody. And as disturbing as it sounds, Wesley was a really good kisser. He leaned into me, and I tugged at him so hard that he nearly fell off his bar stool. In that moment, we just couldn’t get close enough to each other. Our separate seats seemed like they were miles apart. All of my thoughts vanished, and I became a sort of physical being. Emotions disappeared. Nothing existed but our bodies, and our warring lips were at the center of everything. It was bliss! It was amazing not to think. Nothing! Nothing… until he screwed it up.
Kody Keplinger (The DUFF: Designated Ugly Fat Friend (Hamilton High, #1))
This isn’t some libertarian mistrust of government policy, which is healthy in any democracy. This is deep skepticism of the very institutions of our society. And it’s becoming more and more mainstream. We can’t trust the evening news. We can’t trust our politicians. Our universities, the gateway to a better life, are rigged against us. We can’t get jobs. You can’t believe these things and participate meaningfully in society. Social psychologists have shown that group belief is a powerful motivator in performance. When groups perceive that it’s in their interest to work hard and achieve things, members of that group outperform other similarly situated individuals. It’s obvious why: If you believe that hard work pays off, then you work hard; if you think it’s hard to get ahead even when you try, then why try at all? Similarly, when people do fail, this mind-set allows them to look outward. I once ran into an old acquaintance at a Middletown bar who told me that he had recently quit his job because he was sick of waking up early. I later saw him complaining on Facebook about the “Obama economy” and how it had affected his life. I don’t doubt that the Obama economy has affected many, but this man is assuredly not among them. His status in life is directly attributable to the choices he’s made, and his life will improve only through better decisions. But for him to make better choices, he needs to live in an environment that forces him to ask tough questions about himself. There is a cultural movement in the white working class to blame problems on society or the government, and that movement gains adherents by the day. Here is where the rhetoric of modern conservatives (and I say this as one of them) fails to meet the real challenges of their biggest constituents. Instead of encouraging engagement, conservatives increasingly foment the kind of detachment that has sapped the ambition of so many of my peers. I have watched some friends blossom into successful adults and others fall victim to the worst of Middletown’s temptations—premature parenthood, drugs, incarceration. What separates the successful from the unsuccessful are the expectations that they had for their own lives. Yet the message of the right is increasingly: It’s not your fault that you’re a loser; it’s the government’s fault. My dad, for example, has never disparaged hard work, but he mistrusts some of the most obvious paths to upward mobility. When
J.D. Vance (Hillbilly Elegy: A Memoir of a Family and Culture in Crisis)
I now pronounce you husband and wife. I hadn’t considered the kiss. Not once. I suppose I’d assumed it would be the way a wedding kiss should be. Restrained. Appropriate. Mild. A nice peck. Save the real kisses for later, when you’re deliciously alone. Country club girls don’t make out in front of others. Like gum chewing, it should always be done in private, where no one else can see. But Marlboro Man wasn’t a country club boy. He’d missed the memo outlining the rules and regulations of proper ways to kiss in public. I found this out when the kiss began--when he wrapped his loving, protective arms around me and kissed me like he meant it right there in my Episcopal church. Right there in front of my family, and his, in front of Father Johnson and Ms. Altar Guild and our wedding party and the entire congregation, half of whom were meeting me for the first time that night. But Marlboro Man didn’t seem to care. He kissed me exactly the way he’d kissed me the night of our first date--the night my high-heeled boot had gotten wedged in a crack in my parents’ sidewalk and had caused me to stumble. The night he’d caught me with his lips. We were making out in church--there was no way around it. And I felt every bit as swept away as I had that first night. The kiss lasted hours, days, weeks…probably ten to twelve seconds in real time, which, in a wedding ceremony setting, is a pretty long kiss. And it might have been longer had the passionate moment not been interrupted by the sudden sound of a person clapping his hands. “Woohoo! All right!” the person shouted. “Yes!” It was Mike. The congregation broke out in laughter as Marlboro Man and I touched our foreheads together, cementing the moment forever in our memory. We were one; this was tangible to me now. It wasn’t just an empty word, a theological concept, wishful thinking. It was an official, you-and-me-against-the-world designation. We’d both left our separateness behind. From that moment forward, nothing either of us did or said or planned would be in a vacuum apart from the other. No holiday would involve our celebrating separately at our respective family homes. No last-minute trips to Mexico with friends, not that either of us was prone to last-minute trips to Mexico with friends. But still. The kiss had sealed the deal in so many ways. I walked proudly out of the church, the new wife of Marlboro Man. When we exited the same doors through which my dad and I had walked thirty minutes earlier, Marlboro Man’s arm wriggled loose from my grasp and instinctively wrapped around my waist, where it belonged. The other arm followed, and before I knew it we were locked in a sweet, solidifying embrace, relishing the instant of solitude before our wedding party--sisters, cousins, brothers, friends--followed closely behind. We were married. I drew a deep, life-giving breath and exhaled. The sweating had finally stopped. And the robust air-conditioning of the church had almost completely dried my lily-white Vera.
Ree Drummond (The Pioneer Woman: Black Heels to Tractor Wheels)
We humans think we exist like this." Dadi gestured to the powders in their individual bowls. "Apart. Single. Beautiful and vivid, but alone." … She upended the two bowls into the center of the larger container, and the powders came together. They were mixed somewhat, but still in their separate piles for the most part - "Then" Dad continued, " with each interaction with another soul, we begin to change." She put a finger into the pile of powders and began to stir gently. The powders mixed more the longer she stirred, red mingling with orange, losing its distinct form. "We take pieces of them, and they take pieces of us. It's not bad. It's not good. It just is." By now the powders were completely mixed together, indistinguishable from each other. "Our best friends, the ones we love the most, are the ones who can hurt us the most. Because look." She pointed down to the powders. "We have had so many interactions, that we cannot separate their pieces from ours. And if we try, we would only be getting rid of ourselves.
Sandhya Menon (From Twinkle, with Love)
Thirty-nine-year-old moderately successful Human Resources Director. Interests include regency romances, reality TV, and baking large novelty birthday cakes for other people’s children. Hobbies include drinking Tia Maria and eating Turkish delight in the bath and dining out with her mum and dad. Wanted to be a ballerina but didn’t end up with a ballerina body; however, has been told she is an impressive dirty dancer when drunk. Knows her wine, so please just hand the wine list over. Godmother to nine children, member of two book clubs, Social Club Manager for the Australian Payroll Officers’ Association. Suffers from a severe blushing problem but is not shy and will probably end up better friends with your friends than you, which you’ll find highly irritating after we break up. Has recently become so worried about meeting the love of her life and having children before she reaches menopause that she has cried piteously in the middle of the night. But otherwise is generally quite cheerful and has on at least three separate occasions that she knows of been described as ‘Charming’. Yep, that about summed it up. What a catch.
Liane Moriarty (The Last Anniversary)
I turned to Kitty Sue and surprised myself by answering honestly, "I'm fine. Lee's fine. Lee's more fine than me. I'm having troubles adjusting. Lee seems pretty sure of himself. Lee seems pretty sure of everything." This, I realized, was true about Lee always. I'd never met someone as confident in my life. Well, maybe Hank, but Hank's confidence was quiet and assured. And there was Lee's best friend, Eddie, of course. But Eddie was like Lee's twin, separated at birth, cut from the same cloth. Lee's confidence, and Eddie's, wasn't like Hank's. It was cocky and assertive. "And you aren't sure?" Kitty Sue asked. I looked at her and thought maybe I should have lied. It was too late now. "Nope. He scares me," I admitted. She nodded. "Yep, he's pretty dang scary." I stared. My God, the woman was talking about her son. "You agree?" She looked at Lee then back at me. "Honey, that boy drives me to distraction. It's like he's not of my loins. I don't even know where he came from. If Ally hadn't been the exact replica of Lee, personality-wise, except female I would have wondered if there was a mix up at the hospital." I kept staring. Kitty Sue kept talking. "Hank's just like his Dad. Smart, cautious, controlled, taking only calculated risks. I'm sure Lee calculates his risks, but I think he allows for a much larger margin for error and counts on ... I don't know what he counts on to get him out of whatever scrapes he gets into." I couldn't stop staring. She kept talking, and everything that came out of her mouth was like a verbal car accident. If she was trying to convince me to stick with her son, she should have tried a different tact. "He does ... you know?" Kitty Sue said. I realized she was asking me a question, so I shook my head that no, I didn't know. She explained, "He gets out of every scrape. Always did and always did it on his own. Though it'll take some kind of woman to live a life like that, knowing what he's like, knowing the risks he takes." Her hand went to my knee and she squeezed it before she went on. "Not anyone here would think less of you if you aren't that woman. I'm telling you because it's true. We all love you both and we'll always love you both, no matter what happens between you." She stopped, sighed and continued, "Anyway, I don't even know if that kind of woman exists. I'm his mother. I've lived with him surviving scrapes that would make your hair stand on end and I worry about him every day. He scares the hell out of me.
Kristen Ashley (Rock Chick (Rock Chick, #1))
The farther back the bed, the older the child looked. The last few didn’t even look like children anymore, but petite senior citizens. Their faces were wrinkled and their hair was gray. “These must be the missing children!” Red gasped. “What’s happening to them?” Tootles asked. Red noticed that the walls were lined with empty coffins. She covered her mouth, and her eyes filled with tears. “Morina is draining their youth and beauty to make potions!” Red said. “She’s a monster!” Red and the Lost Boys stared around at the cursed children in disbelief. They wanted to free them from whatever enchantment was draining their life force, but they didn’t know how. They were too afraid to touch any of them. “Why are there empty beds?” Nibs asked. “Because they died,” said a voice that didn’t belong to Red or the Lost Boys. They looked around the basement to see where it was coming from. Propped up in the corner of the basement was a tall mirror with a silver frame, and to Red’s horror, Froggy was standing inside of it. “Charlie!” Red yelled, and ran to it. She placed both of her hands on the glass and Froggy put his webbed hands against hers. “Our dad’s a giant frog?” Nibs asked. “Hooray, our dad’s a frog!” “Red, who are these children?” Froggy asked. “And why are they calling me Dad?” “These are the Lost Boys of Neverland. I’ve adopted them for the time being—it’s a long story,” Red said. “Charlie, what are you doing inside a mirror?” “Morina put me in here so I would have to watch the children,” Froggy said sadly. “So how do we get you out?” Red asked. Froggy shook his head. “Magic mirrors are irreversible, my darling” he said. “I’m trapped just like the Evil Queen’s lover, but since the wishing spell doesn’t exist anymore, I’ll most likely be in here… forever.” Red fell to her knees and shook her head. She thought her heart was broken before, but it had shattered into so many pieces now, it might never heal again. “No…,” she whispered. “No, no, no…” Froggy became emotional at the sight of her. “I am so sorry, my love,” he cried. “You must take these children and leave before Morina gets back.” “I can’t leave you…,” Red cried. “There’s nothing we can do.” Froggy wept. “Morina wanted to separate us, and I’m afraid she has for good. The
Chris Colfer (Beyond the Kingdoms (The Land of Stories, #4))
Nowadays, people often ask me what it’s like hunting with my dad. We’ve actually had offers of tens of thousands of dollars from people who want to spend a day in Phil’s blind. It always amazes us because when we were growing up, duck hunting was our everyday life. When we were kids, we were always in the blind with Dad. I don’t remember my first hunt or the first duck I killed, like other young hunters. It was a different time and Phil wasn’t exactly a traditional dad. He didn’t take pictures of our first duck. It wasn’t sentimental; it was just life. We hunted and fished because we wouldn’t eat if we didn’t. Phil’s number one concern was always safety. If you were careless with a loaded gun, you would not come back to the blind. You’d be stuck at home with Mom the next time. Also, you had to be prepared because Phil wasn’t gonna baby you out there. If you didn’t wear the proper clothes, you were gonna freeze your butt off. And I did many times! You had to get your stuff together as well: shells, guns, and whatever you needed. I will never forget a time when I was about ten and we were all going on a dove hunt. It was opening day, and we were all excited. I was shooting a .410 shotgun, but I could only find one shell. Since we were leaving early in the morning, Phil let me know we wouldn’t be able to stop at a store because none of them would be open that early in the morning. “You better make that shot count,” Phil told me. So I shadowed Phil during the entire hunt, watching him drop ‘em. I rant to fetch the birds for Phil, and if any were still alive, he would pinch their heads. With one flick of Phil’s wrist, the dove’s head separated from its body. I was fascinated and yet a little freaked out. You can’t be sensitive when you’re hunting with Phil. I kept throwing my shotgun up to shoot, but I knew I had only one shot. Finally, about eleven o’clock in the morning, I saw my opportunity. I told Phil I was gonna take my shot. He was supportive and told me to make it count. Boom! Wouldn’t you know I smoked the dove? I couldn’t believe it. I went one-for-one with only one shell. As I turned to look at my dad with the biggest smile ever, I noticed he was putting his gun down. He’d shot at the exact same time. He wanted to make sure my shot counted. “Good shot, Willie boy, put your safety back on,” Phil told me. I didn’t know why the safety mattered since I only had one shell, but he wanted to instill the practice in my brain. We’ll never know who hit that bird, but believe me, I told Jase that I got it for sure.
Willie Robertson (The Duck Commander Family)
It takes a huge push, much self-doubt, and some degree of separation for people to find their own soul and their own destiny apart from what Mom and Dad always wanted them to be and do. To move beyond family-of-origin stuff, local church stuff, cultural stuff, flag-and-country stuff is a path that few of us follow positively and with integrity. The pull is just too great, and the loyal soldier fills us with appropriate guilt, shame, and self-doubt, which, as we said earlier, feels like the very voice of God.
Richard Rohr (Falling Upward: A Spirituality for the Two Halves of Life)
It takes a huge push, much self-doubt, and some degree of separation for people to find their own soul and their own destiny apart from what Mom and Dad always wanted them to be and do.
Richard Rohr (AARP Falling Upward: A Spirituality for the Two Halves of Life)
Well, keep that attitude and you’ll learn nothing. Keep the attitude that I’m the problem and what choices do you have?” “Well, if you don’t pay me more or show me more respect and teach me, I’ll quit.” “Well put,” rich dad said. “And that’s exactly what most people do. They quit and go looking for another job, a better opportunity, and higher pay, actually thinking that this will solve the problem. In most cases, it won’t.” “So what should I do?” I asked. “Just take this measly 10 cents an hour and smile?” Rich dad smiled. “That’s what the other people do. But that’s all they do, waiting for a raise thinking that more money will solve their problems. Most just accept it, and some take a second job working harder, but again accepting a small paycheck.” I sat staring at the floor, beginning to understand the lesson rich dad was presenting. I could sense it was a taste of life. Finally, I looked up and asked, “So what will solve the problem?” “This,” he said, leaning forward in his chair and tapping me gently on the head. “This stuff between your ears.” It was at that moment that rich dad shared the pivotal point of view that separated him from his employees and my poor dad—and led him to eventually become one of the richest men in Hawaii, while my highly educated but poor dad struggled financially all his life. It was a singular point of view that made all the difference over a lifetime.
Robert T. Kiyosaki (Rich Dad Poor Dad: What the Rich Teach Their Kids About Money That the Poor and Middle Class Do Not!)
There you are!” Kendra says as they pull to a halt in front of me. They both look flustered and cross. “We were totally freaking out,” she says angrily. “Where were you?” And then Luca rises up from the window seat, and their expressions change so fast it would be comical if I didn’t know that I’ll pay for this later. “Ohh,” Kelly says, clattering to a halt a few feet away, a world of understanding in her voice, and Luca, looking amused at my obvious embarrassment, flourishes her a little bow and holds out his hand. “I am Luca di Vesperi,” he says, taking hers with a debonair smile. I expect Kelly to crumble under this charm onslaught, but I underestimated her; she’s made of tougher stuff. “Of course you are,” she says dryly, looking up at him. “I heard about you. What were doing, showing Violet the family paintings? From your lap?” “Kelly!” I plead desperately as Kendra muffles a giggle. “I do not understand everything you say,” Luca says to Kelly, his blue eyes gleaming, “but I think you are funny.” “Oh.” This does disarm her. She coughs gruffly. “Well, thank you. We should be getting back. Your mum and Catia are doing their nut.” “Their nut?” Luca looks over at Kendra, who shrugs, an elegant rise and fall of her smooth shoulders. “Don’t ask me,” she says. “It’s like my dad said, the UK and the States are two countries separated by the same language.
Lauren Henderson (Flirting in Italian (Flirting in Italian #1))
And then his lips curved into the mischievous smile I so loved. “I have one more thing for you.” From the depths of his pockets, he withdrew a pile of napkins neatly enclosed in a clean plastic bag. “Your own stash, Trouble Magnet.” I laughed so hard I snorted. I couldn’t help it, but the napkins were so silly, so perfect. The bathroom inside the restaurant hadn’t had either toilet or toilet paper, and I suspected there would be a few more of those primitive latrines in my future. I was still laughing when I tucked both the napkins and the GPS safely inside my messenger bag, and when I looked up, Jacob was staring at me as if he wanted to tuck me away safely, keep me with him. There must be a few times in life when you stand at a precipice of a decision. When you know there will forever be a Before and an After. Mom’s life was twice marked: Before Dad, After Dad. Before her sister’s death and After. I knew there would be no turning back if I designated this moment as my own Prime Meridian from which everything else would be measured. Mom’s urging to be fair to Jacob, Karin’s warning about losing the security of a miracle boyfriend, the image of Erik’s easygoing grin itself — all those conspired now, convincing me to stay in the Before. And then there was Jacob, who stepped closer to me and then waited, letting me decide whether I would take that next step. Balanced there in indecision, it was as if the Twisted Sisters were before me, shaking their pom-poms, asking: But what is fair about staying with a guy who is ashamed to be seen with you? What was so miraculous about a relationship that was based more on my gratitude than mutual respect? I wanted more. I wanted better. I wanted Jacob. Even knowing that what I was doing was wrong, I jumped off my Before and reached for my After. I traveled that short, short distance separating Jacob from me and stepped into his waiting arms. My face tilted up, my lips parted, so ready for Jacob’s kiss. Unexpectedly, he let go of me, and my breath caught, painfully, deep in my chest. Had I so misread this map leading me to him? Then slowly, so slowly, Jacob cupped my face in his hands, his thumbs brushing gently across my cheeks, the good side and the bad.
Justina Chen
Neither John Wayne nor Walter Brennan grew up in the cowboy West, and though Brennan became a rancher, he did not pretend to be his characters the way Wayne sometimes did. Walter’s son Andy remembered a story about a downpour that hit the Red River location shoot just as the cast and crew were sitting down to lunch: “Duke was seated next to Walter and, as everyone scurried for shelter, Wayne calmly went on eating, saying to Walter, ‘This will separate the men from the boys.’ Dad spooned up his rain-soaked lunch for a few minutes more, then getting up he said, ‘Which way did the boys go?’” Walter had a dry wit that could be quite unlike the sensibilities of the characters he played. Andy remembered another time when a driver gave his father the finger. Walter leaned out of his car window and extended a full five fingers, saying “Take some home to the whole family.
Carl Rollyson (A Real American Character: The Life of Walter Brennan (Hollywood Legends Series))
They dated," Frank says, with just a little too much relish. "For two years. They were the shiniest golden couple of our class. What a match, you know? Both gorgeous. She's super smart--does student government, debate, choir, all that business. He does the sports and volunteers with his dad's church, has those puppy eyes that make you want to buy him a boat--" "Do they?" "Yes, gaze deeply into his eyes next time--you'll feel it." He takes a long draw from his drink and then continues. "Anyway, they were the kind of couple where it's like, separate--they're great. But together, it's . . . star magic." "Star magic?" "From the universe. Celestial bodies aligning and shit. That kind of magic.
Emma Mills (This Adventure Ends)
This summer she realized something about her Dad she had never known before. Up until then she had never thought about him as being a real separate person. A lot of times he would call her. She would go in the front room where he worked and stand by him a couple of minutes—but when she listened to him her mind was never on the things he said to her. Then one night she suddenly realized about her Dad. Nothing unusual happened that night and she didn’t know what it was that made her understand. Afterward she felt older and as though she knew him as good as she could know any person.
Carson McCullers (The Heart Is a Lonely Hunter)
Discarding possessions in his wake, Tim just drifts along happily through life. My dad calls him deciduous, and Laura's take on it is that he keeps losing things because he feels he had lost his father.
Jessica Dettmann (How to Be Second Best)
He had his workshop out back in a separate two-car garage, and spent more time in there than in the house, if you didn’t count sleeping. He was a relentless putterer, always looking for something to fix or tear down and do all over again. A door or cupboard hinge never had a chance to squeak twice. Dad practically carried a can of WD-40 with him at all times. A stuck window, a dripping tap, a running toilet, a jiggly doorknob—none of them stood a chance in our house. Dad always knew exactly what tool he needed, and could have strolled into his garage blindfolded to lay his hands on it.
Linwood Barclay (Never Look Away)
With family you tend to take for granted the fact that they’ll always be there and that you’ll figure out how to get along somehow. At least, that’s what I always believed and I never questioned what was to me such an obvious assumption. What’s ironic is that my father and I both believed in this unspoken truth. We never bothered to talk to each other, to ask how the other was feeling or what he was thinking about. But it doesn’t work that way. You don’t have a family. You make a family. I used to think that my dad and I were two separate beings who just happened to be related by blood, and because we’d accepted this and didn’t do anything about the distance that had grown between us for so long, eventually the last thread that be had connecting us broke.
Genki Kawamura
We had moved there, three years earlier, leaving behind our family home which was situated in the township of another state, over a thousand miles away. It could have been on another planet, the distance was so great. Once again, it was Dad’s job that had forced us to be uprooted from everything that was familiar. I recalled the vivid memory of being told I had to be separated from everything I knew and loved; my home, my school, my friends. And it was my two best friends, Millie and Blake, who I had found it hardest to say goodbye to. I remembered how distraught I had been at the thought of not being able to see them each day. Millie was my closest friend ever and Blake… he was my one true love.
Katrina Kahler (Falling Apart (Julia Jones: The Teenage Years #1))
London was really cool. We stayed there last night, with friends of Kendra’s mom. My mom and dad thought we should have a rest before we came over to the mainland.” Kelly has lain down on her tummy on the lounger, face on her arms, but now she lifts her head, squinting in the sun, and stares incredulously at Paige. “When you came over to the mainland?” she asks. “You do know that the United Kingdom is a completely different country from Italy, right?” Paige’s blond eyebrows knit in confusion. “But it’s all part of Europe?” she says, looking at Kendra for help. “I mean, England’s like an island, off the mainland of Europe.” “We’re a separate country,” Kelly says coldly. “It would be like saying that Greenland’s an island off the mainland of the United States.” “Isn’t it?” Paige says, giggling helplessly. “I was never very good at geography.” “Kelly’s right,” Kendra drawls. “Some of us Americans do have half an idea where other countries in the world are located.” “Are you two friends?” I ask, because I can see that Kelly’s still seething. “Our parents know each other from the country club,” Paige says, not a whit upset by being effectively called an idiot by Kendra. “Our moms play tennis together on Saturdays.” “And our dads golf together,” Kendra says self-mockingly now. “It’s all super-cozy. I wanted to come to Italy for the summer, and I found this course online--” “But her mom didn’t want her to go on her own, and she told my mom, and my mom thought it would be a great learning experience for me--” Paige bursts in enthusiastically. “And teach you where some other flipping countries are besides your own,” Kelly mutters sotto voce.
Lauren Henderson (Flirting in Italian (Flirting in Italian #1))
Sometimes I think I’m too proud, too self-protective, but then I see other girls making idiots of themselves over boys and I change my mind. I’d rather be too proud than make a laughingstock of myself. I think of how my mum acted when my dad left her for the awful Sif: no matter how upset Mum was, she never threw scenes, never begged him to stay. Maybe she lavished too much attention on me after he went, kept me a little too close, but I really admired how she behaved through the separation and divorce. Dad admired her too, I know. I’ve never been prouder of her. And I want to be like her. I won’t chase after a man; I won’t seem desperate or needy. I’ll be as cool as my mum.
Lauren Henderson (Flirting in Italian (Flirting in Italian #1))
The tattooed face of a cat, blue and grinning, covered his right hand; on one shoulder a blue rose blossomed. More markings, self-designed and self-executed, ornamented his arms and torso: the head of a dragon with a human skull between its open jaws; bosomy nudes; a gremlin brandishing a pitchfork; the word PEACE accompanied by a cross radiating, in the form of crude strokes, rays of holy light; and two sentimental concoctions—one a bouquet of flowers dedicated to MOTHER-DAD, the other a heart that celebrated the romance of DICK and CAROL, the girl whom he had married when he was nineteen, and from whom he had separated six years later in order to “do the right thing” by another young lady, the mother of his youngest child. (“I have three boys who
Truman Capote (In Cold Blood)
It’s almost Thanksgiving,” she said. “You’re sure you want to stay here?” He shrugged. “Mel and Jack can’t leave—she has babies coming. Preacher and Paige are here—that’s family. If you want to go to Sam’s, I’ll do that with you. But I don’t want to go to L.A. yet.” “You aren’t keeping me a secret from the Valenzuelas, are you?” “God, no, I’ve told them all, every one of them. I even told them to look out—you’re bilingual and tricky. But I’m not ready to share you. In my mother’s Catholic household, it would be separate bedrooms because we’re not married. Even though I’m thirty-seven and she knows we’re living together—it’s her Catholic home. We could stay in a hotel, but I think we’ll visit later. Just give me a little more time. I’ve never been this happy in my life and all day long I look forward to when we’re finally alone together.” He played with the hair that fell to her shoulder. “I’m greedy. This is the best my life has ever been.” “What about Christmas?” she asked him. “What about it?” “Will your family be upset it we go to Dad’s for Christmas? Because my whole family plus Mel’s sister, brother-in-law and the kids will be there—and I want to be with them.” “Then that’s where we’ll be. We can join the Valenzuelas another time. You have to remember, mija—my family is so large that my parents don’t expect to have all the kids together with their own families every year. We’ll do Christmas with them another year.” Thanksgiving
Robyn Carr (Whispering Rock (Virgin River, #3))
I just don’t want your family to think we’re in a serious relationship.” “Aren’t we?” he asked her. “Aren’t you?” “You know there’s no one else in my life,” she said. “I’m completely monogamous. I just need time… You know…” “Man,” he said, laughing. “This figures.” “What?” “All those years I made sure the woman I was seeing at the time knew I couldn’t be tied down… There are women out there, Mel, who would think I’m getting just what I deserve right now.” “You know what I mean. It’s just my issues…” “I’m waiting out the issues. And I’m serious about that.” “You’re very patient with me, Jack. And I appreciate it. I just don’t want them to get the wrong idea. And we will sleep in separate bedrooms at your dad’s.” “No,” he said firmly. “I’m over forty years old. I sleep with you every night. I told my dad that one bedroom would be just fine.” She sighed heavily. Nervously. “Okay then. But we’re not doing it at your dad’s.” And he laughed at her. *
Robyn Carr (Virgin River (Virgin River, #1))
The Interview The next afternoon, as support for Dad and Hana, Mom and I went to the studio to watch Oscar’s interview. Jason drove there with us. Two separate crowds had also gathered outside the studio. One was the anti-android crowd. The other was the pro-love and change crowd. They had competing signs and chants. The police guarded the entrance to the building and kept the two groups separated. ​Signs for the anti-Hana group read… ​LOVE = HUMAN ​NO! NO! NO! ​NATURE > TECHNOLOGY ​STOP THIS NOW! ​WHAT’S NEXT…TOASTER LOVE? ​THIS IS SICK! ​#NOANDROIDS ​☹ ​There was one, in particular, that kind of hit home. ​Was my dad the modern version of Doctor Frankenstein? Yikes! The pro-Hana and Dad group had signs that read… ​LOVE KNOWS NO BOUNDS ​LET THERE BE LOVE! ​#LOVE4ALL ​HANA FOR PRESIDENT! ​There was even one man hoping for a Hanna android for himself… ​The anti-Hana and Dad crowd kept chanting: ​“Love cannot be made! Love can NOT be made!  Love can NOT be MADE!” ​The pro-Hana and Dad crowd which wasn’t nearly as large a group, chanted even more loudly: ​“LOVE IS WHAT IT IS!” ​“DON’T LIMIT LOVE!
Katrina Kahler (Diary of a SUPER GIRL - Books 7 - 9: Books for Girls 9 - 12)
REACHING GAMES To encourage your baby to reach and to expand her horizons, try holding attractive toys just out of her reach: above her head, in front of her, to the sides. See how close you have to get the toy before she makes her move. Remember, the object here is not to tease or torture the baby, it’s to have fun. You can add another layer of complexity by putting the out-of-reach object on a blanket or towel. Then slowly pull the blanket and show her how it gets closer. Will she try that herself? TOUCHING GAMES Try this: let your baby play with a small toy without letting her see it (you could do this in the dark or with her hands in a paper bag). Then put that toy together with several other toys she’s never played with. Many babies this age will pick up the familiar toy. Although this may sound fairly easy, it isn’t. You’re asking your baby to use two senses—touch and vision—at the same time, and to recognize by sight something she’s touched but not seen. If your baby isn’t ready for this one, don’t worry. Just try it again in a few weeks. It’s a concept that can take a while to develop. IF … THEN … GAMES There are thousands of things you can do to reinforce cause-and-effect thinking. Rattles, banging games, rolling a ball back and forth, and splashing in the pool are excellent. So is blowing up your cheeks and having the baby “pop” them with her hands. Baby gyms—especially the kind that make a lot of noise when smacked—are also good, but be sure to pack them up the moment your baby starts trying to use the gym to pull herself up; they’re meant to be used while sitting or lying down and aren’t sturdy enough to support much weight. OBJECT PERMANENCE GAMES When your baby is about six or seven months old, the all-important idea that objects can exist even when they’re out of sight finally starts sinking in. • Object permanence develops in stages. If you’re interested in seeing how, try this: Show your baby a toy. Then, while she’s watching, “hide” it under a pillow. If you ask her where the toy is, she’ll probably push the pillow out of the way and “find” it. But if you quickly move the toy to another hiding place when she’s not looking, she’ll continue to look for it in the first hiding place. • Peek-a-boo and other games that involve hiding and finding things are great for developing object permanence. Peek-a-boo in particular teaches your baby an excellent lesson: when you go away, you always come back. This doesn’t sound like much, but making this connection now lets her know she can count on you to be there when she needs you and will help her better cope with separation anxiety (see page 222).
Armin A. Brott (The New Father: A Dad's Guide to the First Year (New Father Series))
Sweet as, eh.” “Do you mean where you wrap your wrists?” Hannah wondered. “Do you write things on there, then?” “Most of the boys do. Especially the ones with families,” Hemi explained. “Got the names of their partners, their kids on there. Reminds them who they’re playing for.” “You play for your kids and your wife?” Hannah asked. “What does that mean, exactly?” “Hannah’s dad died when she was young,” Drew told Hemi. “These sorts of things are a bit of a mystery to her.” “My wife and my kids give me the incentive to go out and play well. They’re my inspiration,” Hemi said, taking Reka’s hand. “Not sure it works that way with women.” “I’ve been working for a long time,” Hannah mused. “But even though I had some responsibility for my brother and sister,” she said, ignoring Drew’s snort at her description, “I never thought of myself as working for them. It was separate. If anything, I have to admit, it felt more like a conflict. Almost a burden, trying to think about them and also about everything else I had to do. Trying to juggle everything. It doesn’t feel that way for you? Like extra weight? The responsibility?” Hemi shook his head firmly. “Maybe men need something beyond themselves to remind us that it’s not all about us. Reckon we’re more selfish. We need somebody to work for. In my case, somebody to play for. When we’re busting a gut, trying to grind out a win, and I’m feeling ready to chuck it in, I look down at my kids’ names, at Reka’s name. And it reminds me, this is why I’m doing this. Gives me strength.” “Wow,” Hannah said quietly. “I never knew that.
Rosalind James (Just This Once (Escape to New Zealand, #1))
Women may be afraid of strangers, but it's a husband, a lover, a boyfriend, or someone they know who is most likely to hurt them and they are at the highest risk of suffering violence or murder when they are divorcing or separating from
Sylvia Perrini (Killer Families: True Crime: Murder By Dads, Moms, Kids & Spouses)
When your daughter pulls back from you, she’s not being cruel. Her reaction is natural, age appropriate, and healthy. In fact, if your daughter doesn’t recoil but instead tries to accommodate your need for her, she may sacrifice her own healthy development. She may be more attuned to your needs than her own, and such accommodation has a price. Acting as emotional caretaker for a parent requires sacrifice from a teen girl, who should be developing a sense of herself as separate from Mom or Dad. Although this can be a father-daughter dynamic, it is more common between mothers and daughters.
Lucie Hemmen (Parenting a Teen Girl: A Crash Course on Conflict, Communication and Connection with Your Teenage Daughter)
back?” said Norm’s dad. Gordon flipping Bennett. thought
Jonathan Meres (Must Be Washed Separately (The World of Norm #7))
Governor Fielding Wright’s radio address to the “Negroes of Mississippi.” His speech was aired eighteen months after the shooting in Anguilla. He was a Sharkey County native and a lawyer, who might have represented my father. But the reason this article jumped out of the library files and into my hands was the fact that Dad was then the editor of the Deer Creek Pilot, and he was a press agent for Governor Wright, who said: This morning I am speaking primarily to the negro citizens of Mississippi … We are living in troublous times and it is vital and essential that we maintain and preserve the harmonious and traditional relationship which has existed in this state between the white and colored races. It is a matter of common knowledge to all of you who have taken an interest in public affairs that in my inaugural address as governor some four months ago, I took specific issue with certain legislative proposals then being made by President Truman … These proposals of President Truman are concerned with the enactment of certain laws embraced within the popular term of “Civil Rights.” … [O]ur opposition to such legislation is that it is a definite, deliberate and outright invasion of the rights of the states to control their own affairs and meet their own duties and responsibilities. This same radical group pressing this particular proposal is also seeking to abolish separate schools in the South, separate cars on trains, separate seats in the picture shows, and every other form of physical separation between races. Another recommendation made by the President, and one of the main objectives of the many associations claiming to represent the negroes of this nation, is the abolition of segregation. White people of Mississippi and the Southland will not tolerate such a step. The good negro does not want it. The wise of both races recognize the absolute necessity of segregation. With all of this in mind, and with all frankness, as governor of your state, I must tell you that regardless of any recommendation of President Truman, despite any law passed by Congress, and no matter what is said to you by the many associations claiming to represent you, there will continue to be segregation between the races in Mississippi. If any of you have become so deluded as to want to enter our white schools, patronize our hotels and cafes, enjoy social equality with the whites, then true kindness and true sympathy requires me to advise you to make your homes in some state other than Mississippi.
Molly Walling (Death in the Delta: Uncovering a Mississippi Family Secret (Willie Morris Books in Memoir and Biography))
Mothers are artists, in their way, wouldn’t you say? They’re like symphony conductors of entire lives. They’re painters or sculptors. And not only is it really hard to shape clay into something really good, but that piece of clay is changing dramatically, all the time, even if you never touch it. A painting won’t get painted if you just leave the canvas alone but a child will still develop into something even if you neglect it. Each mom and each dad has to adapt to what they’re trying to make, hoping to make, and Mom and Dad also have to let that child turn into the creation he or she wants to be. Oh, and then lots and lots of moms and dads have to do this with two or three separate creations, simultaneously. Or, in the case of you, Ora Zella, with eleven creations. How is that not way more impressive than anything a great painter does? Picasso, Shmicasso.
Louie Anderson (Hey Mom: Stories for My Mother, But You Can Read Them Too)
The spread of ISIL’s bloody rule changed the political calculus for all three factions in Baghdad, forcing them to think like the old American revolutionary Ben Franklin. “We must all hang together,” Franklin had famously said, at the signing of the Declaration of Independence, “or assuredly, we shall all hang separately.
Joe Biden (Promise Me, Dad: A Year of Hope, Hardship, and Purpose)
INTRODUCTION 0 to 3 MONTHS 1. Make the most of your hospital stay 2. Take care of your postpartum body 3. Take baby to the pediatrician . . . several times 4. Take newborn photos 5. Figure out breastfeeding 6. Get some sleep! 7. Manage Mom and Dad 8. Celebrate baby’s first milestones 9. Survive baby witching hour 10. Watch out for the blues 11. Get back in the sack 12. Get out of the house 13. Think about babywearing 3 to 6 MONTHS 14. Find your village 15. Prepare to go back to work, or not 16. Start some routines 17. Tame teething 18. Think about sleep training, or not 19. Teach baby sign language 20. Create a photo book 21. Reconnect with your partner 22. Don’t obsess over percentiles 23. Survive baby’s first illness 24. Make “me time” a priority 25. Interview sitters 26. Ready, Set, Eat: Start solid foods 6 to 9 MONTHS 27. Time to babyproof 28. Deal with separation anxiety 29. Work on those motor skills 30. Get back to your workouts 31. Plan a getaway 32. Start brushing teeth 33. Make mom friends 34. Start traditions 9 to 12 MONTHS 35. Get an adjustment 36. Ask for help 37. Think about discipline 38. Think about weaning, or not 39. Sign up for a mommy-and-me (or daddy-and-me) class 40. Take care of your diet 41. Capture your memories 42. Reignite your style 43. Embrace your new body 44. Trust your instincts 45. Book a couple’s getaway 46. Get your affairs in order 47. Do a cake smash photo shoot 48. Find a hobby 49. Learn to save money 50. Celebrate baby’s first birthday
Amanda Rodriguez (50 Things to Do in Baby's First Year: The First-Time Mom's Guide for Your Baby, Yourself, and Your Sanity (First Time Moms))
only way I could live with it was to have certain times all by myself. I still find great comfort in privacy. I spend a lot of time inside myself, in a private world.” After their fathers died, most of the women in our study got the message that feelings were best reserved for private times. The extended hiding of emotions came to create a feeling of separateness from other family members, and continues,
Elyce Wakerman (Father Loss: Daughters Discuss Life, Love, and Why Losing a Dad Means So Much)
Every time she fell out of love with him, he saw it happen and waited it out. He never stopped loving her, even those times when he felt deeply hurt and betrayed by her, even in that bad year when they talked about separating, he'd just gone along with it, waiting for her to come back to him, thanking God and his dad up above each time she did.
Liane Moriarty (Apples Never Fall)