Never did I dare to fantasize that in my lifetime a sitting U.S. president would be shaking hands with Cuban officials at the airport my family used to escape Fidel Castro.
Judy Bolton-Fasman lives and writes in Newton, Mass. She is at work on a memoir entitled “1735 Asylum Avenue,” her childhood address.
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Today, as ever, Barbie reminds us that women will always find something wrong with their bodies.
My mother wants the doors to open to the Cuba she once knew, not the country she sees as grotesquely frozen in time.
I finally learned the truth about my father, but not in time to know him.
Fifty years ago, 14,000 Cuban children got a shot at better lives in America. Why the children fleeing Latin American countries today deserve that chance, too.
I’ve always felt that gay rights was the civil rights issue of my generation. Now it’s become deeply personal. Every victory is mine to savor. Every setback is mine to mourn.