“That Pesky Racism Again”
For Human Parts, the dazzling collection of essays curated by Stephanie Georgopulos on Medium, Djenab Conde writes about the complexities of eating at a Chinese restaurant with her Chinese mother…
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family
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OG Dad #21: The Head Bang, the Hole In The Wall, and the Happy Fart
My daughter likes to bang her head off the floor. It makes a point—an especially guilt-tinged one, given that we had to get rid of our carpets due to a mold infestation, so now there’s no cushion between baby cranium and wood.
This Man Is Not My Father
I’m sitting across from the man who looks exactly like my father would look if my father had lived to be fifty-seven. If my father hadn’t died sixteen years ago when I was thirteen. But he did.
Nuestra Señora de Las Nieves: Seeking a Saint in the Heart of a War Zone
I have so many questions for Cruz. Does she know the whole story about this painting? Did she attend catechism and Mass at Tía Zenaida’s house? Does she know why we took the painting from Las Nieves?
The Rumpus Interview with Mary Kay Zuravleff
Mary Kay Zuravleff talks about the DNA of the novel, how wordplay and math-thinking have influenced her writing, and the meaning behind "the art of family life is to not take it personally."
A Letter to Eric
What follows is a love letter to my twenty-six-year-old brother Eric, written shortly after he overdosed on heroin. He survived.
The Girls Do Cute Things
Her parents, in the past, tried to surrender her to the state, asking the state to force her to go to school. They didn’t want to be held responsible for her any more. Now, it’s Maya who wants to live somewhere else.
The Sunday Rumpus Essay: Ruptured
I think about that night a lot, how I knew the ambulance was coming for us. Call me Magic, if you want. I won’t object. Who doesn’t want to be called Magic? Was it magic or do we always know before we know?
Girls in the Grass
I tell Hairy Mary’s mom that I get $466.00 a month in social security and she can have the whole thing for food and lights and stuff, if she’ll let me stay.
The Game Could Wait
Having a child carves you out. Stories like this line the walls inside, and keep you up wondering why, how, what the fuck is exactly happening here?
The Pot Thrower: Notes on the Death of a Brother
If Charlie had finally lost his focus after all these years, well, no wonder. I’d have lost it after about fifteen minutes wrestling with CF. We had to help him find his resolve again and get back his health, not stand there crying.
The Wild Thing With People Feet Was My Favorite
The one with people feet, I thought, had once been human, but had changed. He grew wild. Everyone grew wild at times...