Blog

Of Morgan Freeman, gods and monsters: Men are human, not either saintly or irredeemable

I’m proud to share my first byline for the New York Daily News! While I’m really proud of the piece and where it landed, my joy is lacking some of its oomph. I recently realized it’s because I can’t share this win with my grandma, who passed away last October. I’ll have to imagine her tears of joy instead of calling her up to hear them.

**********

“Morgan Freeman recently found himself on the #MeToo list, accused of sexual misconduct. As expected, responses generally landed in two categories: horrified belief and staunch disbelief. While puns abound when we decry public figures for bad behavior, the most popular in reference to Freeman speaks to the danger of binary thinking when it comes to toxic masculinity; if Freeman can play God, can he be a devil?”

Read the full article here.

Blog

My New York Times Essay

I’ve been meaning to post this for what seems like forever! On March 10, I got an article published in the New York Times, called “My Grandmother’s Story Is Ending as Mine Begins.”

My grandmother knew she’d succumb to dementia long before she began to lose her memory, as her two older sisters had shared the same fate before they died. She fought against time to write her life story, but she will never see her dream realized.

Read the rest here.

While you’re here, I recently got another article published, this time in Ravishly, called “‘This Is Us’ Mirrors Watching My Absent Black Father Die of Cancer.”

I have a penchant for multigenerational family dramas. Brothers and Sisters, Parenthood, Six Feet Under — they all make me feel connected to my own family, which is more like Full House than The Brady Bunch. Aunts, uncles, cousins, and a strong matriarch make up the fabric of my day-to-day life. So when This Is Us debuted, I was all in. What I didn’t expect is that it would touch my heartstrings in a way I hadn’t prepared for.

Read the rest here.

Life is heartbreaking, but also beautiful.

That’s all for now, folks!

Uncategorized

I Grew Up in Alateen and Al-Anon

My latest article for The Fix:

Four people describe their experiences as children in the rooms of Alateen and Al-Anon and whether it helped them cope with their family member’s addiction.

My mother has attended Al-Anon religiously for as along as I can remember. She left my dad when I was three after a particularly bad physical fight, in which he slapped her around while intoxicated. We spent that night at my grandmother’s house, and the next day my mom decided we were done for good.

Read the rest here.

Uncategorized

On Reconciliation With an Alcoholic Parent

Dear Readers,

I’ve gotten behind in posting my latest articles to my blog! Without further ado, here is a researched piece from last month. I interviewed four women about their experiences with an alcoholic parent, if the parent was able to get sober, and if they were able to reconcile with their parent. This article was inspired by feedback I got from a father in recovery who wanted to know how he could reconcile with his daughter the way my father and I weren’t able to.

On Reconciliation With an Alcoholic Parent

For many parents who struggle with addiction, getting sober is only half the battle. Children often become “young soldiers” in an effort to protect themselves and those they love, including the parent. As the child gets older, forgiveness and reconciliation can become more difficult, even long after the parent has stopped using. My father never stopped using. My mother read an article recently in which I discussed the “demons” my dad saw as he was dying of lung cancer. “He was probably going through withdrawals,” she said. In the fifteen years since his death, I had never made that connection.

Read the rest here.

Blog, Uncategorized

Aged 24, I Flew to Sacramento to Care for My Dying Alcoholic Father. This Is What I Learned.

My latest article, published on The Influence, April 19,2016

When I was a little girl, I looked up to my dad the way most little girls look up to their fathers. I liked watching the way he’d cross his legs while he smoked his pipe in contemplation. I liked lifting my dumbbell while he lifted his barbell. I liked telling people that my ex-prison father could beat them up at a moment’s notice.

My parents split up when I was three, but I still saw my dad fairly regularly—until he moved three hours away when I was seven. It was when my dad moved back to our area at the start of middle school that he started to fall from his pedestal.

Read the rest here.