fathers
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Sound Takes: Here the Blue River & Rumpus Video Premiere
She takes a simple story and turns it into something the listener can hold in the palm of their hand.
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The Sunday Rumpus Essay: Through the Vitrine
It has been fifteen years, but I can still remember every moment of that year. It is cased in a vitrine, and the things I see through the wavy plexiglass are indistinct and as odd as that car going the…
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The Rumpus Interview with Asali Solomon
Asali Solomon discusses her debut novel, Disgruntled, narrative structure, the mythology of memory and place, and returning to Philadelphia after years away.
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The Saturday Rumpus Essay: The Kill Shot
1964, a month prior to the anniversary of JFK’s assassination, a different home movie shot. Infant toss. Up-down. Plummeting. I’m ten months of age—picking up speed.
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D & K’s Fried Fish
In the yard of the single-wide trailer that will haunt you for the rest of your life, watch as your father pulls fish from the cooler, one by one.
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A Letter to My Father That He Will Never Read
What would I even say if I was to answer that long-awaited phone call? Would the light of forgiveness carry me fearlessly into tomorrow?
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Deep Conditioning with Wilson Phillips
“Don’t become a professor,” he said. “I’d rather you become a garbage man. They get paid more and have better benefits.”
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Albums of Our Lives: The Mountain Goats’s The Sunset Tree
I knew if I could make it out of town, make it to college, I would survive. But I wasn’t sure I would.
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The Sunday Rumpus Essay: Blood-Red Bougainvillea
And maybe that’s the part I shouldn’t tell you: As often as I tried to lock it out, I invited male violence into our home.
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The Saturday Rumpus Essay: Accidental Curators
He staggers; he loses his standoff with gravity. It was never a fair fight.
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The Sunday Rumpus Essay: Admission of Guilt
Last summer, I nearly killed my son. It was an accident, but the guilt I live with belongs to those whose malicious deeds are intentional.
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An Oral History of Myself #15: Neil Elliott
This is probably one of those interviews where I should keep my mouth shut but you’re my son.