humanity
Humanity begins at home.
The Count of Three
“Tom!” “What?” Tom yelled. “Tom!” “What is it?” he yelled again, then cursed under his breath. He ran to the window, hoping there was some other Tom around. Alas, his sister Lindsey was in the street, staring up at him. She waved, her normal way, so energetic — but she was not smiling. He waved back, slightly confused, but the ritual was the same as other times. She wanted him to get in the car.
By Trenton Anthony6 years ago in Families
The Last Divination
I. My grandfather, before he was hit by a truck, used to tell me stories about our ancestors in the mountains. For millennia, he claimed, they raised sheep in the same valleys, drank water from the same wells, and practiced the same traditions. It was, according to him, an unforgiving life: sometimes it rained until their huts were swept away, or their sheep were devoured by wolves. But as there was hardly anything to take from these poor shepherds and farmers—and because the mountains were considered to be impassable—they were rarely visited by armies.
By Willa Chernov6 years ago in Families
Hope Restored
Harvey was worried. Taking stock of his situation he was running out of food. He had four teenage boys, his brother and himself to feed, and as a single father there is only so much money to go around. Checking his bank account, he had approximately $25 to live on for the next few weeks and in order to get out to his customers in the remote places they sometimes lived (to service their receivers) he would need to fill his fuel tank before he got paid again (which would be after the holidays and the start of the new year.) To top it off, Harvey was not able to get his boys more than one gift each for Christmas this year. He had also missed out on signing up for the local program that ensures needy children get a better Christmas. He had heard about it too late and he was too busy taking care of things for his household and at work to be able to apply on time.
By G. R. Reed6 years ago in Families
How I got to Spend Christmas in the Snow in California
It was 1954, the war was over and people were finally starting to have fun again. I was only 6 and was unaware of the war time that my grandfather died in. I only saw him in pictures. He was a big strong man. Before the war he was a lumberJack. He built the house we lived in. My dad was his only child and my grandma died just a couple of years after him. Dad says she died the day the telegram arrived telling us that dad died. I never got to meet her either. My moms parents would come to visit every summer, when the weather was bearable, as grandpa would say. They lived in the lower 48, in the state of California. He always says he will take me to visit one day. But my mom said not until I was 16. That seemed like a lifetime at the time. We lived in a little town of Fairbanks Alaska. It was wild there. Dad would take me sometimes on the weekends to pan for gold. Once I found my own nugget. It was small, but still enough for me to open my own bank account. Got $36 in it too. I felt so rich, but dad said I could save it for when I go to California.
By Connie Sahlin6 years ago in Families
I Chose Not to Teach My Child to See Color
Children aren't born racist Children aren't born color-blind either. They can see color at a few months of age and soon start to develop the ability to categorize and group things. In a very natural way, they notice the difference in skin color among the people who interact with them.
By Lynda Coker6 years ago in Families
A Mother's Love
I remember as a child my mother was always writing away in one of those little notebooks, peering up every few minutes to ensure my limbs were free of bruises. She was comfortable anywhere; a park seat while I tossed my body across all the metal and wooden edges; home on the chair, watching out the kitchen window as I run in circles with our dog Mouse. Mother always told me I had two left feet and that I could sure use a helmet and bubble wrap, especially when playing outside. It was never surprising when I came through the door with scratches and scrapes and she always made sure there were band aids and Polysporin on hand.
By Hailey Thordarson6 years ago in Families
Small Acts of Kindness
I woke up the day before Christmas, ready to move myself from one room to the other, bedroom to office. My jaw dropped when I saw the gorgeous snow-covered backyard and soft snowflakes gently touching the window before they landed on the ground. Even though I was sure my friend wouldn’t be awake yet, I decided to text her anyway “It’s snowing, I’m awake, let’s go for a walk!” Fifteen minutes later, the doorbell rang. I gave her a big grin and quickly got dressed into my warmest outfit, grabbing a big scarf and a pair of soft gloves to cover my already nearly frozen hands. Together we walked to the moor that was only a five minute walk away, carefully watching every step we took so we wouldn’t go flat on our faces due to the ice on the streets and the slippery snowflakes that were still falling.
By Laura Rosierse6 years ago in Families
