Families

Two years after “Rothaniel,” the comedian has committed another moving—and deeply entertaining—act of self-exposure.

Two days before Israel escalated attacks in the Gaza Strip, my family bought some bread. After we evacuated, I biked home to get it.

Establishments like Gus’s Chop House, in Brooklyn, go out of their way to make high-chair-bound early birds—and their parents—feel welcome.

Families are more anxious than ever to find out what happens in school. But there may be value in a measure of not-knowing and not-telling.

Twinship evokes deep anxieties about separation and selfhood. Marriage has a similar effect.

Sometimes, now as parents, we say things and only a while later realize that it was an echo of our parents, from decades before.

The true-crime miniseries paints a frightening picture of a familiar dynamic that it fails to fully explore.

The author discusses “Do You Love Me?,” her story from the latest issue of the magazine.

“Of course, Arlette understood, this was not a tragedy. Tragedy would be a broken neck or spine. Paralysis for life. A coma.”

The heart of “Connor’s Wedding,” as the most recent episode is titled, is a protracted phone call from airplane to yacht lounge.

A political agreement between Republicans and Democrats is at risk of unravelling as some G.O.P. members attack the exchange that freed the W.N.B.A. star Brittney Griner.

Daniel Robert Hope’s animated short “The Clearing” offers a playful take on marital psychodrama, which unfolds on a wilderness trip.

Mia Chung’s drama, by turns comedic, bitter, and ineffable, shows how racism soaks through an American family. 

A new work of memoiristic cultural criticism explores the author’s ambivalent relationship to the ubiquitous parenting tool.

My father was troubled, moody, and struggling with alcoholism. Making dinner for our family was what brought him back to us.

How a matriarch’s image was lost and found.

The so-called disso queen, whose former clients range from Kim Kardashian to Johnny Depp, reflects on the state of our unions.

“I could sense in my bones that the worst had happened, yet a road trip allowed time and space for disbelief. Disbelief is a kind of hope.”

My mother was a white woman. Until I was sixteen, I believed that, on my father’s side, I was descended from the enslaved people who had crossed the Atlantic in chains.

Our baby would be in good hands with his mother. The weak link was me.