“Don’t be such a girl.” I hear the boys taunt each other at the playground near my house. “Don’t be such a girl.” Nothing could be worse. Most men agree. Sitting on the couch with the remote in one hand and a bag of chips in the other, my husband stares at some effeminate reporter. “Give me a break,” my husband sneers. “He’s such a girl.”
Ask any man you know if he’d like to be a woman, you get an automatic “No.” Too messy. Too emotional. Too hard. Most men can’t imagine going through their lives as anything but male.
By Leslie Ryland, May 16, 2002 | Read full article
Lovers on love.
Cameron and Elena Renfro have been married for three years. They live in Chula Vista near where they both work, at EastLake Christian Fellowship. Cameron, 24, is a technical director, and Elena, 21, is an executive assistant.
“I was visiting a friend in Florida,” says Cameron. “It was supposed to be for ten days but ended up being for ten months. I met her the second day I was there. We started out as friends and became best friends over time, and it progressed to where we just knew we were supposed to get married.
By Robert Kumpel, Feb. 13, 2003 | Read full article
They Think They’re in Love
A brief survey of today’s teen romance.
Abbie and Diana are 17-year-olds who say they are seniors at University of San Diego High School. (I later learn that this school closed several years ago.) The two are walking around Mission Valley Mall for an afternoon of shopping.
They both hold multiple brand-name shopping bags in one hand and closed cell phones in the other.
“A kiss is not that big of a deal,” Abbie says, between chews of gum.
“It’s like a hug, nowadays,” Diana agrees.
Abbie adds that she was 11 years old when she started kissing boys for real. Fifth grade.
By Geoff Bouvier, Sept. 3, 2008 | Read full article
Passion by the gigabyte.
BOB | Age: 35
Q How did you meet your Internet date?
A I met her when she responded to the ad that I placed on [email protected] She’s the only girl who responded to me. She responded to me because under the religion section in my profile I put something like “pagan Buddhist.” And she’s into sort of witchcraft…Wiccan. She wrote back to me and said, “Gee, you look really cool.”
Q Did she send you a photograph?
A Oh no, she did not send a photograph. And under the category where it says “body type” she put “normal.” The choices are normal, a little chubby, or gargantuan. She posted herself as normal.
By Doug DuBrul, Nov. 1, 2001 | Read full article
York Mitchell is my father. The word carries Victorian associations of formality and patriarchy; "Father" is an ancient oak tree offering shelter against an uncertain world. For me, "mother" is a word with more active associations. It is the wind passing among the oak's deciduous leaves, a river of green air that combs life through that tree's stolid presence. A father is only a little less special than mom. (Our first word, after all, is usually a cry meant for her.) Peggy.Mitchell is my mother. My brothers and I have always called her "Murr," a child's slurring of "mother" that is pronounced like "purr."
By Jangchup Phelgyal, Feb. 15, 2001 | Read full article
Drugs and the extraordinary child.
I’m in the middle of an internal debate over whether or not to greet one of the mothers I recognize from BB’s school when BB runs over to me from the Wolfgang Puck display and says, “Mom, I want to pretend I’m being born again.”
“I want to pretend I’m being born again. You can be the mom. Maya can be the baby. The baby me.”
I look at him carefully. His round brown eyes are fixed on mine and he’s waiting for an answer.
By Debra Ginsberg, July 26, 2001 | Read full article