Stories related to family

As a child, my Daddy told me the brightly lit hillside was an ancient Indian burial ground. When I grew up, I found out it was a ski slope.

The door slammed, echoing down the long hall. Dad and I both gasped and quickly swept up the crumbs. The cookie monsters were home.

We hear the car door close outside. All of our contributors look at each other, excited and nervous. We gather in the kitchen. Dad’s home.

Her family gathered, but by then she could no longer speak; just gazed at them with hungry eyes. She died in the night with no one watching.

Tax day was a number. A day to call my Grandpa. Congratulate him on one more year closer to his goal. 100. This year it’s just April 15th.

My little sister played in woolly socks, her fuzzy bathrobe. She was a Truffala tree. I was pleased she’d chosen this over being a princess.