Tiny love stories: ‘He’s my mom’s type, not mine’

My mother said, “I want to date you with someone. I was immediately suspicious. “A friend’s son?” I ask. She paused, then said, “I did a terrible thing.” To my horror, she created a JDate account, impersonating me. “I just wanted to find you someone to run with,” she said. Curiosity won: The “me” record was worth it, but the runners wanting to meet “me” weren’t so bad either. After I confessed to my mother’s misconduct, we met. He’s my mom’s type, not mine. I have rewritten my profile. The next guy made me laugh. We have been running together since 2002. – Rebecca Robby

Whenever I visit my grandfather in Louisiana, a glimmer of innocent hope in me looks forward to seeing my grandmother again, who died when I was 14 years old. She died before I was transgender, not knowing that her only grandchild was actually her granddaughter. She has collected cats beckoning Japan. I found one recently and placed it snugly against the others on my grandparents’ fireplace. They will beckon her forever. However, my grandmother often came to me in my dreams, wearing a vest and smiling like she was in real life. In a recent dream, she called me by name: Vitoria. I woke up crying and believing she saw me. – Victoria Perez


My brother Will, who can fix anything, always carries a pocket knife. I’m four years older, but we share a bit of telepathy. He was a devoted uncle who was loved by many, even if he did not go to my children’s school or sporting events very often. Weeks after my marriage fell apart, I dragged myself to my son’s baseball game. With some social battle lines drawn, I sat alone, wilting inside. At the end of the first inning, someone surprised me by taking the adjacent chair. Will didn’t say a word. He just put his big strong arm around my shoulders. – Natalie Moore Brandt

Loving me seems crazy in my advanced age. Except being with Bernie makes me shiver with pleasure. His hobby is circus history. My first thought: “Strange.” Still, I descended the rickety steps of the basement to admire his miniature circus parade. The weeks passed happily, and I went with him to model for circus shows. Give him coffee. Chat with anyone who wants to talk about circus history. Even co-authored a book on historical works with him. Now my mind searches for memories. Bernie died unexpectedly. I think about the exciting time we shared, our unexpected love. Life is a circus. – Mary Bowman-Kruhm

https://www.nytimes.com/2022/02/22/style/tiny-modern-love-stories-he-was-my-mothers-type-not-mine.html Tiny love stories: ‘He’s my mom’s type, not mine’

Fry Electronics Team

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