Nonfiction

“In Defense of the Virtuous Sports Fan,” John S. Walters

Mar 13th, 2019 | By

I’m reading a polemic so revolting that I scarcely can choke back the urge to belch. The misguided author attempts to exonerate the craven exercise of clambering aboard any bandwagon carrying a winning sports franchise. Wherever courage and integrity are aspired to and revered—wherever persevering stalwarts steadfastly refuse to abandon their lovable losers– this nauseating practice is righteously denounced, worthy of all the opprobrium that honorable people heap upon it.



“So, You Wanna Unravel A Whole Roll of Toilet Paper?: The Joys of Potty Training,” by J. Lynn M. McFadden

Feb 20th, 2019 | By

I imagine potty training a toddler is super fun for all of us, but I must say, it’s especially enjoyable for mamas like me, whose children are mommy’s girls to the fullest extent of the definition, girls who have unwaveringly decided that daddies are unfit to accompany them to the john for a front row seat of these festivities, the most sacred of moments, which in my experience, go something like this: “Potty! Potty!”



“Catholic School Days: Heads up and on a Swivel,” John S. Walters

Jan 23rd, 2019 | By

I was born attached to the Catholic Church, with no avenue of escape and little chance of loosening its stranglehold, for my mother was no ordinary woman; she was a Polish woman; neither was she an ordinary Catholic; she was Polish Catholic. As surely as corn dogs harden the arteries, Polish Catholicism, as manifest in women of my mother’s generation,hardens the brain until it becomes impervious to reason.



“Weird Santa,” by Liyou Mesfin Libsekal

Dec 25th, 2018 | By

In my early twenties, I had a Franco-American boyfriend who, despite what his background might suggest, knew very little about the world. Once, he found a childhood picture of me sitting on a black Santa’s lap and almost gave himself an aneurism. I watched him convulse, all thirty two of his little brown teeth exposed, the vein on his temple threatening to pop over a man in a bad wig. A black Santa, the hilarity! I, of course, didn’t think it was weird at all. But then again, no one had a weirder Santa than my family. Our Weird Santa came year round, and he took cramped commercial flights instead of the usual herd of reindeer.



“The Lamb of God,” by Ali Kashkouli

Nov 28th, 2018 | By

Every child grows up and slowly acquires the knowledge of social norms within the particular society in which they are being raised. The immigrant child, however, faces the specific problem of trying to merge two conceptions of normalcy: that of their parents, and that of their peers. With these dichotomous views one can’t help but feel a little different. Much of this otherness stems from a variance in religion and the cultural rituals that sprout from it. And when it came to “otherness,” even at an early age I was well on my way to cornering the market. My personal exposure to basic Christian beliefs was so limited during my childhood that there was a time when I just thought “Christ” was a surname. I imagined the village mixers in Nazareth during his infancy…