The dog days of summer in Central Texas are hot and damp. It was a pity that our home didn’t have air conditioning. Momma and I were just trying to get through this August afternoon the best we could. Reading helped take our minds off the heat. Momma was stretched across the sofa, a pillow (枕头) under her head, reading. I sat on the floor, leaning (倚靠) back against the sofa, a curious nine-year-old in shorts sharing a fan’s flow. My book rested on the floor.

I looked at the thin hardcover my mom was reading, Ed Nichols Rode a Horse. There was a cowboy riding his horse on the front cover, but otherwise the book appeared plain and unimpressive. Before I settled, I asked, “Momma, what’s your book about?”

“It’s a story about a man, his horse and the hardships he encountered in Texas. Some of it takes place in Bosque County,” she answered.

With that, my mom returned to her story. I knew Bosque County was near where Momma had grown up. And I also knew it was best if I didn’t ask any more questions. My mom took her reading seriously.

We’d been reading for the better part of an hour-the only sounds were those that came from the fan and an occasional turn of a page — when I heard something unfamiliar. The sniffling (抽鼻子) back of tears.

I turned in her direction and saw something I’d never seen before: my mom crying. Something big — really big must have happened. My mom did not cry.

“Momma, what’s wrong?” I got up on my knees, staring directly into her face. “Are you all right?” “Jennifer, I’m fine.” Momma sat up and wiped (擦) her eyes. “You don’t need to be concerned.”

I wasn’t buying it. This was not normal behavior. “Why were you crying?” I asked in a whisper. She looked at me hard. “The book made me cry,” she replied.

I was trying to figure out how that plain-looking book could make my mostly no-nonsense momma cry when she said the most amazing thing. “The story made me sad when the horse got hurt.”

That’s when I learned the truth that stories affect us.

I read Ed Nichols Rode a Horse from cover to cover with a big plan forming in my mind.

When I was young, I always dreamed of playing the piano and giving performances to a large audience in a concert hall. However, I struggled to understand the musical notes and the theory. Despite my parents’ encouragement and offer of piano lessons, I pretended not to be interested, too afraid to try.

Many years passed until one day, at 25 years old, I heard that a new piano studio had opened in my neighborhood. The teacher was recruiting (招收) new students. My childhood dream came flooding back.

I remembered I had initially feared becoming a teacher after graduation. However, I overcame those doubts. I refused to let fear hold me back any longer, so I walked into the studio.

The teacher, Deb, welcomed me warmly. I was relieved to find we were contemporaries (同时代的人) and expressed my desire to play the works of Bach and Beethoven if I could overcome my fear. Deb understood and seemed sincere, so I signed up for 3 months of classes. Still doubtful about my commitment, I bought a small, tabletop electric organ to practice with at home. It wasn’t the same as a real piano, but enabled me to learn some basics.

Week by week, I attended lessons in Deb’s studio. I often passed young students on their way out from their lessons before mine. One day, noticing the textbooks in my bag, a child stopped me and asked, “Where’s your boy?” After some hesitation, I finally answered I was the student. The children then welcomed me and I sat in the studio and listened to a piece a child was working on.

Soon, I gained confidence and upgraded to a full-size piano at home for daily practice. After three rewarding years of lessons with Deb, she announced it was time for me and other students to prepare for a recital (钢琴演奏会) on stage. I was thrilled at the chance to finally fulfill my childhood dream, yet also anxious at the thought of performing before the audience. But Deb believed in me. “Look how far you’ve come,” she encouraged. “It’s time to share your gift with others.”

I shook my head and told her, “No, thanks.”

When I finally finished my performance, I faced the audience and bowed.

In 2018, 17-year-old Hemesh spent a life-changing summer with his grandmother Anne, who had been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s disease. Witnessing the impact of the disease firsthand, Hemesh was awakened to the seriousness of the situation.

One night, Hemesh walked into the kitchen only to discover that his grandmother had left the gas stove (炉) on after making tea. Shocked by the dangerous consequences Alzheimer’s disease could bring about, he couldn’t help but wonder what might have happened if he hadn’t been there.

Hemesh’s worries increased as he observed his grandmother’s behavior. She would wake up in the early hours of the morning, believing she was on a train, and wander outside aimlessly. This wandering tendency could potentially lead her to get lost or put herself in risky situations.

Determined to make a difference, Hemesh engaged himself in extensive research about Alzheimer’s disease and its symptomatic (症状的) progression. Through his studies, he discovered that wandering was a common problem among dementia patients, especially those with Alzheimer’s disease.

Inspired by his newfound knowledge and fueled by his desire to help, Hemesh told his family, “I can’t just stand by and watch this happen. I need to do something to keep Grandma safe. I think I have an idea that might help not just her, but others in similar situations.”

With firm determination, he developed an inventive answer to the wandering dilemma, a device he called the Guardian Companion. It was a wearable device, similar to a smartwatch, specifically designed for Alzheimer’s patients. It integrated advanced GPS technology and a panic button to assist those who tended to wander, ensuring their safety and well-being. After the device got its official approval, Hemesh happily went to try it on for his grandmother.

As Anne put on the Guardian Companion, Hemesh explained how it worked.

In the next few weeks, the device made a difference to Anne and her family.

Bill McDonnell, who was a soldier when young, was a 92-year-old now, still healthy and strong. He loved hunting very much. On December 15, Bill decided to go hunting in Shenandoah Mountain the next day as the deer season had begun. His wife Joanna McDonnell intended to let their son Bill McDonnell Jr. accompany him, but Bill Jr. had a football game that day. Bill McDonnell said he could manage all by himself. Joanna then required Bill to be out of the woods by 2 pm and home by 3 pm, plenty of time before sunset. She added, “ Do take some necessities like a flashlight, just in case.”

The next morning, Bill woke up at four, grabbed his muzzleloader (前装枪), and steered his Jeep toward Shenandoah Mountain. At the end of the old Laurel Run logging road, he began to walk. It was about 7:30 am and 25 degrees when the sun peeked through the trees.

Not long into the hike, he came upon a path he didn't remember. Maybe this was a secret route to the king of all bucks (雄鹿). He took it. Then, around 11 am, he came into a clearing (林中空地) along a ridge line (山脊线). He had walked farther than he had expected. It seemed that his path up the mountain had meandered quite a bit. “Where am I now?” he muttered. Bill figured he could drop into the valley, hunt a bit and then go back home. But when he snaked down through the forest, he found there was no path at all. The forest was thick. It was hard to tell the direction now.

By around 2 pm, Bill stopped at somewhere in the valley, exhausted. “I’ll get it figured out,” he said to himself. He took out his phone to call his wife, but the phone had died. He dug into his pants for the GPS device he always brought in case of emergency and pushed the “on” button. Nothing. He had forgotten to charge it the night before.

“No, I’m not lost,” he told himself. His eyes caught a stand of tall trees. He remembered admiring the line of fantastic oaks and pines earlier. Reach them and the car wouldn’t be that far off. It meant he would have to cover some ground.

He was moving slower and slower, Joanna‘s 3 pm deadline having passed.

It was about 9:45 pm when Bill heard the whoop-whoop-whoop of a helicopter.

One click of my wooden stick, and the buffaloes (水牛) moved forward. I guided them along the road’s edge, through the heart of the village. We walked past mud homes and villagers bent over tending to their crops. We eyed the green fields, where the buffaloes could eat growing grass. This was my life in a small village in Sindh, Pakistan. We had little, but I had a big dream.

Up ahead laughter attracted my attention. A group of students came into view, their uniforms a contrast to my faded trousers and worn-out shoes. Fingers wrapped tight around my stick, I stepped forward and said sincerely, “Dear students, could you please show me your books?” The students looked from my face to my stick, to their books. They quickly opened their bags and showed me their books. Illustrations of people and places caught my imagination.

“Someday, I’ll go to school too,” I declared, returning their books. Actually, I was desperate to go to school so that I could broaden my horizons.

Months passed. Every day I rose to my chores and buffaloes. Until, one day I got my chance. My uncle came to visit. He and Father sat, drinking tea outside. “Brother, you must send Rasool Bux to school. Herding the buffaloes is not in his future,” Uncle convinced my father. that all children should go to school. The following week, I was studying in primary school. Now, armed with my own books, I set out to learn everything. I read textbooks, asked questions, and even read newspapers for my father and his companions.

By the end of the year, I proved to be one of the best students in the school. I resolved to study at college or university in Karachi, a big city over 150 kilometers away. Unfortunately, I suffered from a skin condition that left white spots on my skin. The constant loss of skin color was stressful, making me feel bad about myself and even drawing attention away from my studies.

The thought of not being able to finish school made me feel extremely depressed.

I visited my uncle after I did make it to university in Karachi.

Rikki’s mom was preparing baked beans and mixing up potato salad to go with Saturday night barbecue when Rikki stormed in the front door and marched to her room. She glanced out the window and saw their neighbor Lexi walking back to her house across the road. Mother’s intuition told herself this situation might need some direction.

“Rikki, come in here. I need some help with dinner.” Rikki came out with an obstinate look on her face — the kind that kids have when they know they are wrong but have convinced themselves they are right.

“I noticed that Lexi came over but didn’t stay long. She is your age and in your class at school. Why doesn’t she stay longer?” Mom watched Rikki out of the corner of her eye as she continued to prepare food. “I don’t like her,” Rikki whined. “I wish she would stop coming over here all the time. She dresses terrible, and sometimes she doesn’t smell good. Her nose is always runny, and her hair is tangled. None of us like her.” Mom knew that “none of us” meant the popular crowd Rikki ran with.

“That’s not her fault, Rikki. I don’t know what her family is like, but maybe she doesn’t have anyone to help her. Some kids don’t have the extra things that you and your friends have. That doesn’t make them any less worthy than you.” Rikki replied that she knew that, and those things were not the real issue. “I just don’t like to play with her, Momma. She doesn’t like to do the same things that I do.”

Mom told Rikki to go on outside and play. What she didn’t know, however, was that Rikki’s dad had been watching while he was grilling. He didn’t like the fact that Rikki had ignored Lexi, so he decided to intervene. He wanted to know why Lexi was leaving with her head down and looking so sad.