A safari is about more than snapping photos of big cats and roaming seemingly untouched land, at least according to Jennifer New and her depiction of one TCK turned activist.
My earliest childhood memory is a jumbled concoction of airport images. Rough landings on rocky tarmac and the irritatingly redundant voices over the loudspeaker announcing gate changes. Delayed departure times. Layovers, turbulence and sleeping on leather benches — the arm-rest sharply stabbing me in the ribs. Duty-free perfume samples. Metal detectors. Overweight luggage. Airsick bags. Passport control — my eyes heavy and legs shaky, as I slowly waddle forward in the crowd, waiting for my turn. A deep grumbling in my stomach lets me know I’m either hungry or nauseated.
There’s an old adage that says, “Love comes when you least expect it.” Cara and Brandon Kelley, and now their son Sidney, are living proof that there’s truth to that proverb. Growing up a world apart, they had no clue that a chance encounter on social media would end in the creation of a happy family. For anyone who hears the story, it seems like destiny.
When I decided to travel to Kenya, I centered my documentary for Global Storytelling for Global Development around understanding the beauty of the Maasai culture. I couldn’t have been more excited about spending time with the people and learning about their traditions, rituals and daily life.
Jimmy Chin and Elizabeth Chai Vasarhelyi take home the Outstanding Directing Emmy for their documentary, “Free Solo.”
Explore this city’s history and culture As the English writer Samuel Johnson once said: “Why, Sir, you find no man,…
In the all-too-swift arc that is the story of our lives, we touch thousands, change many, and are ourselves changed — often for the better. If we’re fortunate, our children become our friends, and they are there to honor the work we’ve done in the world when it’s our time to leave it. Such is the story of Edna Motley and her daughter Sonja.
All the boys in his family have unique names — including titles. “Master Sedrique Lynn Von Olison,” he laughs. It’s an effortless, full-bodied diaphragmatic roar perfect for his towering six-foot-five frame, caramel skin and dazzling pearly whites. With a laugh as contagious as his personality, I found myself sunk, engulfed, all-in. And that’s Olison’s advice to you, as well.
An estimated five percent of the U.S. population grew up in a military family, but there is not one television show dedicated to its subculture. There are no academic studies or museums focusing solely on military children. There is no military brat or TCK section in your local library.
I attended journalism school and used my free time to write articles. I got one column, and later, a second one. Today, I’m amazed I didn’t quit sooner, but at 23, I was convinced I was on the right track. I won prizes and became newcomer of the year, so I ignored the fact that I wasn’t really happy. I didn’t have time to think about it, either.