The Privilege of Having Soft Hands
My parents’ hands were the remnants of great struggle. Mine somehow remained untouched.
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At the Grounds: On Fatherhood and Grief
“My father was still making plans, and little plans were one way he expressed his love of life.”
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My Grandfather Helps Me Find Myself, Even Though He's Gone
My family isn’t religious, but we have a saying that we do believe in my grandfather. And an essay he wrote about me reminds me to believe in myself.
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My connections to the country and its people, my family, didn’t require control or even words. Touch, color, and togetherness were enough.
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