whitegirlmistakes

For Sure

I got ready to leave for college on a full Catholic ride obtained by the oblivious monsignor after his rectory housemate, the sly, crooked, shifty monsignor, our pastor, had assaulted me, a secret I kept as a service to the whole world so it wouldn’t blow up the way my mind had blown up. MomContinue reading “For Sure”

For Women’s History Month: My Hero Mother

My mother needed to stop Dad from tearing the house apart looking for the twenties, fives, and tens she’d gotten when the bank cashed her paycheck but wouldn’t let her open an account without her husband’s signature. It was the sixties, but in the Midwest, in the suburbs, it was still the fifties. I’d getContinue reading “For Women’s History Month: My Hero Mother”

Sideways

I started out as a nature poet, and one thing I like to do in January is make fun of the sun. Because, as the source of all life on this planet, it’s sideways. The beams are so angled that noon seems like twilight. At no hour does the sun actually make it all theContinue reading “Sideways”

Separation of church & state?

On Jan. 4, in Vermont, Lynda Bluestein somehow had the courage to swallow drugs that would kill her. The point was to die while she could still swallow and before the vagaries of cancer left her a morphine vegetable. She freely chose a quiet death, but word of her death, I hope, will be anythingContinue reading “Separation of church & state?”

Medical Aid in Dying

On Jan. 4, in Vermont, where it is legal, Lynda Bluestein somehow had the courage to swallow drugs that would kill her. The point was to die while she could still swallow and before the vagaries of cancer left her a morphine vegetable. She freely chose a quiet death, but word of her death, IContinue reading “Medical Aid in Dying”

Thanksgiving Praise/Prose

How nourished we are by old friends! A burst of laughter at the dinner table Echoes down the decades. Roast pork, smoked turkey, rice and beans, apple pie. M. remembering giving birth A few months before me. How our children invented long, fantastic role play, Gave us quizzical looks when we interrupted them, Saying itContinue reading “Thanksgiving Praise/Prose”

Immediately. Forever. In the Middle of the Night.

Tuesday was the anniversary of the 1969 assassination of Fred Hampton, the 21-year-old leader of the Chicago Black Panther Party. Fifty-four years ago, when I first saw the next morning’s Washington Post headline, I was instantly convinced that the Chicago police had done it, that they were lying about it and that they would getContinue reading “Immediately. Forever. In the Middle of the Night.”

The Fog of Grief

November 1969 Last Wednesday was the 54th anniversary of the largest political demonstration in American history. Organized by the National Mobilization against the War in Vietnam, commonly known as the MOBE, the protest drew half a million people to the nation’s capital. They marched from the White House (Nixon’s “secret plan to end the war”Continue reading “The Fog of Grief”

The Wrongness of Being Black

Photo by Ryoji Iwata on Unsplash Over glasses of wine at a summery party, a bright, friendly woman asked about my memoir, White Wife/Blue Baby. She knew I’d married across the color line — the phrase “white wife” doesn’t leave much room for doubt. But she was unfamiliar with the phrase I’d used in the title’s other half. I toldContinue reading “The Wrongness of Being Black”

On Her Own

Photo by Jacob Spence on Unsplash “Make it a double,” Dad said to his brother, walking up to the bar in my aunt and uncle’s harvest gold fifties family room. Uncle Hank hesitated ever so slightly, then gave one of his sharp, hearty laughs as he added another shot of bourbon to my father’s glass.Continue reading “On Her Own”