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FATHERS & SONS
When my twin brother died at 27 of an accidental overdose, my stoic father cried. The sound he made was nothing like I had ever heard. It was an animal cry, primal in its pain, and I will never forget it. CONTINUE READING
Stories Never Told
This is what I see when I imagine her: An old farmhouse at the head of a mountain holler. It’s just before dawn. Inside, a woman stirs under heavy quilts. She dresses quietly, careful not to wake her children in the two other beds in the room. CONTINUE READING
POCKET CHANGE
I am a naive boy of eight or nine from a remote coal town in the Appalachian mountains when I first see the little monkey. My family is on vacation at Myrtle Beach, South Carolina. When the mines shut down for two weeks every summer — always the last week of June and first week of July — we always come here the first week and spend the second week working around the house. CONTINUE READING