First Person Essays
BLOG: Birth of a baby, and a Blog [The Parent Diaries]
by Hope Katz Gibbs
The Parent Diaries: How to help your child succeed in school — without going insane
March 2008
SHE WAS NEARLY PASSED OUT WHEN I FOUND HER.
Anna was two days from turning five months old on that freezing February morning in 1996. She was so cute, so sweet, smelled so good, and my husband Mike and I couldn’t take our eyes off our little wonder.
But on that day, I decided to go down into the basement with two hands free and do the laundry all by myself. In my best sing-songy voice I told her mommy-would-be-riiiiigght-back, strapped her into her bouncy seat with a toy to swat at, and grabbed the basket of dirty baby clothes.
Prince of Darkness [Tropic magazine, The Miami Herald]
by Hope Katz Gibbs
Tropic magazine, The Miami Herald
September 13, 1992
HE PROPOSED ON VALENTINE’S DAY. After a candlelit dinner, he gave me a homemade valentine with a map of our apartment hidden inside. He kissed me very softly on the lips before sending me off to look for the treasure.
I found it inside a pink velvet box tucked under one of his neatly folded navy blue socks. A shiny round diamond mounted on a thin gold band sparkled up at me. From the moment he slipped it on my finger, I sparkled, too.
My little girl dream of discovering the prince who would carry me off to the altar became my reality. I could feel the band on the palm of my hand, and it felt so very real. Our love would last forever.
It was on a sunny July Saturday, a week after my bridal shower, that the fairy tale started to melt.
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Daddy's Girl [Tropic magazine, The Miami Herald]
by Hope Katz Gibbs
Tropic magazine, The Miami Herald
March 27, 1988
I HAVE FINALLY FINISHED TRYING to write a letter to my father. I could only think of four things to say—three of them had to do with the weather. And the worst part: I couldn’t sign it, “I love you.”
Of course I love my father. I tell him that all the time when he calls, mostly because we have nothing else to say. We each make sure that the other is “fine,” that our respective jobs are “fine” and that the last time we spoke to members of our family they were all “fine,” too.
Now I am trying to remember when “fine” took the place of really talking to my dad.
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