Embraced by Haiti
A man with a charming accent was fixing my uncharming TV. “Where do you come from?” I have asked. “Haiti.” “Oh! Without your country I wouldn’t be here!” He paused for a moment, then said, “I’ve never met either of you, but we learned about you in high school.” An almost invisible footnote to history: During the 1930s, Haiti issued passports to Jews escaping the Nazis. My father was one of the recipients. To my surprise, this charming man started crying. “Can I hug you?” I asked shyly. He nodded. It felt like a whole country was hugging me. — Kathryn Talalay
A relationship like this
When Mariah and I shower together, we laugh a lot. We summarize our days, complain about work and plan our weekends. I lather her soap. She counts the freckles on my collarbone, which makes me feel beautiful. I used to hate showering with other people. Then I met Mariah, someone I never want space from. Showering with her is like loving her: safe, comfortable, refreshing, happy. It’s strange to feel safe, comfortable, and refreshed in a relationship like this, a relationship that I’ve always been told is wrong. Gay daughter. Religious education. This is how it goes.- Megan Muller
Double match
Tod was Rip Van Winkle in the 8th grade play. I, second oboe in the orchestra, noticed. We dated our senior year. The final breakup – so erratic, so sad. Ten years later, the edges smoothed out and we met for walks overlooking Manhattan. I introduced Tod to Jill, from my dance class in Brooklyn, and read a poem at their wedding. Three years later Tod gave birth to his tennis friend Peter. Jill wondered if Peter, a polite gentleman from the South, had enough of an edge for me, an outspoken New Yorker. Line call. Peter did that, and still does. Game, set, double match. — Gail Esterman
Striped blue onesie
My 20-month-old daughter, Siya, was screaming and fussy after a long day at daycare. When it was time to change her dirty clothes, she kept insisting, “Blue shirt! Blue shirt!” I pulled out three different blue onesies which she threw away wildly, almost in disgust. Siya kept pointing at me. Finally it dawned on me: I was wearing a striped blue shirt. “Can we wear this?” I asked, as I held up her striped blue onesie. “Yes, yes!” she screamed. She wanted to fit in with her father. Alok Morarka
