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The Sun Magazine

The Sun Interview

On Racism And Nonviolence

An Interview With Arun Gandhi

The first time I interviewed Arun Gandhi, the grandson of Mohandas K. Gandhi, in his makeshift office on the University of Mississippi campus, our conversation was twice interrupted by the fire alarm. “Undergraduate pranks,” he said with a shrug.

The last time I interviewed him, by telephone, he had to put me on hold to talk to a technician who was repairing his computer’s hard drive. “I may have lost the past year’s writing,” he said quietly.

Essays, Memoirs, & True Stories

Daughters Lost

The validity of recovered memories, a debate once of interest to few outside the psychological professions, is now a central issue in the lives of many, as grown children deal with newly discovered memories of past abuses, and parents deal with their children’s allegations and estrangement. Those who support the reality of such memories point to the fact that incest is far more prevalent than was once thought. Recovered-memory skeptics assert there is little scientific evidence that these memories are based on reality and not just created in therapy. In the middle are the families that are shattered, whether by abuse or by false accusations.

Leaving The Reservation

Hannah Two Shoes was six feet tall and all bones except for the hard, high bulge of her pregnant stomach. Her thin, black hair was pulled back from her forehead in a skimpy braid, and she wore black-rimmed men’s glasses. Her clothes were men’s clothes, safety-pinned together over her pregnancy; once, her pants fell down after the evening tale-telling around the fire.

The Stranger

Last Thanksgiving, one month shy of my fiftieth birthday, I was raking leaves in my front yard, my baldness hidden under a navy watch cap, my 120-pound body bundled up in a black canvas baseball jacket, when I glimpsed a man on a bicycle approaching slowly on the street. He paused at the corner of my lot as though he were going to speak to me. I turned to look at him, a stranger in jeans, black shoes, and black leather jacket, his face shadowed by a black baseball cap. Not recognizing him, I resumed my raking. He continued riding down the hill in front of my house, wobbled a bit, then lost his balance and fell head first over the handlebars onto the asphalt, the bike toppling and twisting behind him.


Annie's Hair

Daddy cut Annie’s hair. He said no one had the time or the money to go to the beauty parlor like Mommy had promised. So while Mommy was at her after-work meeting, he put a bowl on top of Annie’s head and snipped around its edge.


For weeks, I had dreams of Robert, sometimes pleading with me, sometimes shouting, but always standing just far enough away that I couldn’t reach him. When I woke, all I could think of was my refusal to let him touch me for months before we broke up, of how I’d felt myself flickering like a dying candle with him providing the gentle yet killing wind.

Readers Write

Standing Tall

That fall I’d reached a low point in self-esteem. I’d recently broken my engagement to be married, work was taking its toll on body and soul, and the commute across Chicago’s potholed streets not only infuriated me but threatened the suspension in my old Toyota.

Personal Stories By Our Readers ▸
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