Most Commented Family Blogs (545)

i need someone to love me most? Is there anyone to love me?

I watched this video this morning and i thought i should share here. I am new on this site, have not made a single friend but i think it's a good place to be as there are the good, the bad and the ugly (if you know what i mean) on this network.

I realized what's on this video many years ago. I grew up in a home where i thought i was a house help, though i saw my mom and dad there but i was a punching bag to my siblings.

I grew up and became stubborn, i put a shield around myself because it was the only way to survive. I listen to nobody, not my father, not my mother, i mean no one.

One day, i started realizing my mistakes and i decided to make peace with my father, two weeks after, a man i thought was very strong and healthy, passed on. I was devastated, i was down, broken, frustrated, any word you know that means DEAD ALIVE.

Though i didn't cry, but i realized it was my turn to take over and pick up where my father left off. I never knew what was responsibilities, i couldn't even look at my mother and siblings screaming on the floor.

Anyways, enough of that, watch the video and i hope you learn something.




Ehi Daniel Ekhator

OK, Jarred 1!

The gig is up! I am commenting on your fantastic blog about "Respecting your Parents".

This is one of the best blogs ever! I am so fortunate and blessed that I have wonderful children and they NEVER disrespect me. But for those children that have no time for their parents then maybe this will wake them up.

And I am also fortunate and blessed that my parents were so wonderful, too. I am ashamed that I cannot say I wasn't a rascal with my Mother, though. But like the old man in the film she was patient and she NEVER held it in my face when I was sassy with her.

When she was 95 years old I was again fortunate and blessed to hold her in my arms and tell her how much I loved her. By this time her age clouded her memory and sometimes she would ask me who I was! Hee Hee! I was fortunate and blessed that God gave me this wonderful woman as a Mother!

When I would tell her who I was she would open her eyes wide and say. "Gee, Eddie! You sure are old". This darling comment Mother made has become a family traditional joke that we all get a good chuckle over.

Jarred, thanks for this. We all needed it!!

Sometimes we just that lucky to be blessed to have your son as your best friend and loved one ....just had to share this with the world because we all have it just need to see it ...have a awesome day all

I am not writting "Be a Hero for ourselves" as it means 'us' where there are other people around. It would be good enough if we could be a hero for ourself, one me, one you. I believe there are many ways to be a hero for ourself. For me, the easiest way is to be honest to myself, mean that I am brave enough to tell things like they are, to admit my own feeling.

When a question of why am I still here in dating site? In the beginning, 3 years ago when I just registered myself in cs, it was to find a matching man. The fact that I found him not in CS but from other group called Inter Nations, it doesn't then make me decide to leave CS. Why...? Cause I found something else in CS. I am not making a friendship in CS, if you see my friends list, I only have 2 people and even we don't exchange messages but for sure they have my supports in all ways and when they come to my country and to my city specifically, it is guaranteed that I would be their local guide. For those who always have good intention and attention to others -not only to me, you are noted in my mind and my heart and my doors are open for you.

I read blogs pretty much regular. There was a time when I had so much ideas to write and to share in a blogs room, even about my private things. But what I enjoy so much is to observe how people express themselves through their blogs (as much as I do). Through their blogs and comments we could indirectly recognize their characters. Some people are so open minded, some are narrrow minded. Some are very wise, some are not, some are very friendly and some are very sarcastic.

In any case, this is a virtual world where the freedom is guaranteed by God Himself. Prejudices and biases could be built easily without any references, simply they know us in person or just base on word that other people told them.

We we also notice, some people could not stand to receive complains and critics, they select and keep things that please them.

I don't hope you anything but be happy and be hero for yourself....

....sometimes on here, including me, both men and women can be a little insensitive and in some cases vicious, except me..im just to the point.

it's not until you hear their stories ,you wish you had not been to straight.


Never underestimate what the person you are being a vicious f**ker to is, or has been through some very tough times and still healing or suffering...

Remember..there is always someone that's had it harder than you....

Do you still have grandparents? Mine have all passed away many years ago. I miss them. They were great for giving advice, learning new things, visiting, having a conversation with and sharing secrets.

It was my grandmother on my father's side of the family who taught me to crochet at an early age. She also allowed me to play her electric organ even though I didn't know how.

My grandfather would take me to his garden just outside the kitchen door in the back yard and we would pick some tomatoes. Then we brought them inside and sprinkled salt on them and ate them just the way nature intended. They also had a mulberry tree in the front yard and those berries were better than the blackberries that you find growing wild or in the stores nowadays.

My grandparents knew how to square dance and would go on the weekends every chance they could. They wore country western outfits and I thought how different they looked dressed in those clothes compared to what they usually wore.

My grandmother was a beautician. She had a beauty shop built on the side of their house just off the bedroom. I loved to visit her while she worked. She would always introduce me to her customers and talk about what I had been doing, my grades, etc. I loved to spin around in those chairs and raise the lift up and down. There was always the smell of chemicals in the air, but I got used to it after awhile.

At Christmas time, I could always count on getting some rose scented lotion or hand cream, some perfume, and socks or other clothes from her. It seemed old-fashioned at the time, but I loved it because she gave it to me.

One of my favorite things to look at was her salt & pepper collection. She had two barrister bookcases with glass in the front, and she kept all of her shakers in those two cabinets in the living room. The salt & pepper shakers were teeny tiny ceramic things usually in the shape of animals or little people.

A fascinating thing about their house was a mural that had been painted on the wall from the bottom of the stairs extending all the way up to the top of the steps. I couldn't tell you what it looked like because it was so long ago and when you're a child, you don't pay attention to those things.

My grandparents lived long enough to celebrate their golden anniversary and a few years past that. They were my best friends and I loved them dearly. Their sage advice was comforting and helpful. The knowledge that they possessed is a treasure truly missed.

THE NIGHT my father died in England, me and my brothers were ripped from sleep in that same room at a disorienting, early hour. I still remember the lightbulb’s harsh flare.

My brothers were summoned to the kitchen. I was left wee and cold among the thrown-back blankets, straining to catch snatches of the low agonised talk that had invaded the house. I heard “massive heart attack”, “bringing him home”, “coffin closed”.

They said I was too small to be at the funeral.

The house soured after that. My mother fell into a dark eclipse that let out neither brightness nor warmth. Thick shadows seemed to gradually fill the rooms, forcing expulsions. Seeing too much, saying too little, I endured a long, growing up wait until escape.

I administer two legacies now. A house that sits boarded up, awaiting sale, empty save for one back room, filled to bursting with oddments. I can never get around to its clearing.

And I have memories that have blended with imagination to take on, in their frequent revisiting, the surreal quality of recurrent dream.

In one such journey, I see myself creeping with coin in hand, moving clumsily in the dark around shrouded furniture to disinter my moneybox once more.

But when I press my penny down, up out of the black cloak comes a man’s face unsettlingly familiar and not unlike my own, and a grip I cannot resist seizes the hand that holds my offering and pulls me downwards into a deep and whispering dark.

My granny was right: “Sure, that oul’ thing’ll only scar’ the child.”

Long weekend for all, so taking the twins up the road to New Brunswick. Reversing Falls in St. Johns, St. Stevens chocolate factory. Last time here they were infants---now at university, and boy are they noticing the interesting little differences betweeen home and our nearest neighboring country. Street signage, time zone, money, accents, and so on. Among the sweetest everyday people you'd meet anywhere as well. But clash of technology in the car, where I've been roundly ridiculed for having a car radio with BOTH CD and casette players, but none of the more modern junk, like MP3 whatever. Until, that is, when I popped in a 120 minute audio casette of the best cuts from half a dozen CD's of an early '90's Grunge band that I recorded this week. "Hey, we know that cool music---it's Kurt Cobain and Nirvana. How'd you get that stuff to play in the car, Dad?" But they like my vinyl set up at home. Aa.