Lisa was running late. Lisa, 25, had a lot to do at work, plus visitors on the way: her parents were coming for Thanksgiving rom her hometown. But as she hurried down the subway stairs, she started to feel uncomfortably warn. By the time she got to the platform. Lisa felt weak and tired—maybe it hadn't been a good idea to give blood the night before, she thought. She rested herself
Several yards away, Frank, 43, and his girlfriend, Jennifer, found a spot dose to
Bur when he heard the scream,
She was right to be alarmed. By the time Frank reached Lisa, he
It was hard to lift her. She was just out. But he managed to raise her the four feet to the platform
Lisa thought she
Police and fire officials soon arrived, and Frank told the story to an officer. Jennifer said her boyfriend was calm on their 40-minute train ride downtown—just as he had been seconds after the rescue,
Do We Miss Something in Life?
“In this life, what did you miss?” The wife asked the husband when she was 25. Sadly, the husband replied: ‘I missed a new job opportunity.’ When she was 35, the husband angrily told her that he had just missed the bus. At 45, the husband sadly said: ‘I missed the opportunity seeing my closest relative
In the busy city life, there are many people
They miss the opportunity to be with their children in their growing up. They neglect the
Over the past sixteen years of my life. I have grown to be
This belief has not been easy
When I was twelve years old. I had the experience of a lifetime. However. I would have missed out if it hadn’t been for my mom. She had been planning a trip to Turkey for work. offering to bring my sister and me along with her. When I first heard about this opportunity. I was terrified. Never had I been out of the country before. I thought to
Over the past sixteen years of my life, I have grown to be a very independent person.This can be both good and bad in the sense that I am able to do things
This belief has not been easy
When I was twelve years old, I had the experience of a lifetime.However, I would have missed out if it hadn’t been for my mom.She had been planning a trip to Turkey for work,
I served in the Coast Guard during World War 11. On an especially lonely day to be at sea — Thanksgiving Day — I began to give serious thought to a holiday that has become, for many Americans,
The texts of my letters began something like, “Here, this Thanksgiving at sea, I find my thoughts upon how much you have done for me,
For instance, something uppermost about my father was how he had impressed upon me from boyhood the love of books and reading. In fact, this graduated into a family habit of after-dinner quizzes at the table about books read most recently and new words learned. My love of books never diminished and later led me toward writing books myself. So many times I have felt a sadness when
I reminded the Reverend Nelson how each morning he would open our little country town's grammar school with a prayer over his assembled students. I told him that whatever positive things I had done since
In the letter to my grandmother, I reminded her of a dozen ways she used to teach me how to tell the truth, to share, and to be forgiving and considerate of others. I thanked her for the years of eating her good cooking, the equal of
One day, a mail ship brought me responses from Grandma, Dad, and the Reverend Nelson — and my reading of their letters left me not only astonished but more humbled than before.
Much later, retired from the Coast Guard and trying to make a living as a writer, I never forgot
I met Kumkum at a children’s home in Delhi. It is a home where children
Upon meeting, we took an instant liking to each other. Every Saturday I would visit Kumkum and play with her. She would love to sit on my lap. It was one such moment that the child felt like kissing me....and I suddenly remembered that she
Sharing the sweetness
On the 25th of December, my mother expects her children to be present, exchanging gifts and eating turkey. When she pulls on that holiday sweater, everybody better gets festive. Of course, I would be the first Jones sibling
No one took my new idea seriously. From the way my mother carried on, you would think I was divorcing the family. Still I held my ground and made plans for my winter adventure in New Hampshire. The MacoDowell Colony was
By Christmas Eve, I had been at the colony for more than a week. The novelty of snowy New England was wearing off, but I would never admit
Finally, I called home on the pay phone. My dad answered, but I
Despite a heavy snowstorm, a large package showed up near my door at the artist colony on Christmas morning. Tayari Jones was written in my mother’s beautiful handwriting. I rushed to that parcel
As I sliced the cake, everyone gathered around. Mother had sent a genuine homemade gift. It was a minor Christmas miracle that one cake managed to feed so many. We ate it from paper towels with our bare hands,
A few months ago as I wandered through my parents’ house, the same house I grew up in, I had a sudden, scary realization. When my parents bought the house, in 1982, they were only two years older than I am now. I tried to imagine
It seemed ridiculous. On a practical level, there’s no way I could afford to buy a house anytime soon. More importantly, I wouldn’t want to. I’m not sure
So this is probably the generation gap
My friends and I--“Generation Y”--still aren’t sure what we want to do with our lives.
This casual attitude toward responsibility has caused some critics to call my generation “arrogant”, “impatient”, and “overprotected”. Some of these complaints have a point. As children, we
Our parents looked to rise vertically--starting at the bottom of the ladder and slowly making their way to the top, on the same track, often for the same company. That doesn’t apply
Because of that, it
My father was born in a small town in the United States. He wasn’t sure
It’s easy to feel lonely when you’re on the road. As my mother said repeatedly, “We made lots of new friends on our trip, most of
It was her notion that boys my age needed "a good thrashing" when they misbehaved. These she administered with my belt, often for what seemed to me like small offenses
My failure to cry during her "thrashings" fueled my mother's anger, and I knew it. Tears
I knew that faking the tears would gratify her and end the punishment, but I refused. The injustice and humiliation of
In the end she was the one who always cried, and then, when she had thrown the belt aside and collapsed on a chair weeping quietly, the anger and hatred instantly drained out of me, and
