1 . When Roosevelt was a kid, his doctors claimed that he was too weak to live a normal life like most children of his age. They strongly recommended him to avoid participation in any physical activities, fearing that it could worsen his health condition and potentially lead to his death. Their opinions implied that he would face up to a life full of all kinds of limitations. Instead of permitting their limiting beliefs about what he could do and achieve, he chose to live a meaningful life.

Despite his doctors’ strong suggestions that he remain inactive, he didn’t want to be a carefree observer of the world as it passed him by. He was determined to force himself to be active. Roosevelt had daily adventures in the woods as a boy.

He continued to play sports when he got to college. In fact, he didn’t just play, but he excelled in both boxing and rowing, both of which require astonishing levels of strength and endurance. When Roosevelt graduated from college, his doctors were still not completely sure about his health condition. They still believed that he would be putting himself in serious danger, because his heart problems had not improved. They firmly believed that it would be best to find a desk job for him after completing a college degree. Once again, Roosevelt decided to challenge himself to his physical limits by living an extremely energetic adult life. In about every field he took part, he would aim to push his physical limits. Impressively, he was excellent as an explorer, a hunter, an author, a soldier and a politician.

Eventually, Roosevelt went beyond the mistaken limitation upon him and lived an amazing life.

2 . The scars that Pat Pribble carried through life were formed nearly 50 years ago, caused by fellow students, who picked on him because he was different.

Pat’s parents had held him back in the fourth grade, so he ended up in the same class as his younger brother, Leo. Forever the oldest kid in the class, Pat tried to fit in. But he was always just not good enough for this; just not smart enough for that. Pat Pribble was a target. Now 65, he lives in a studio apartment with his dog, getting by on Social Security. From a distance, with his long gray hair and beard, Pat appears tough, the kind of man you might cross the street to avoid.

Last November, as Carey, one of the classmates, planned for the 45th reunion-postponed a year because of the pandemic-he decided to personally invite Pat, who had never been there before. “Even after all these years,” Carey says, “the mind remembers a voice. It was Pat.” With a bit of research, he called Pat and learned that Pat had been putting money aside each week to buy a bus ticket to visit Leo since he had terminal brain cancer with only months to live.

“Never underestimate people,” said Leo in his last moment of life. “We’re all different now than when we were kids.” His former classmates have kept their promise that after he was gone, they wouldn’t lose track of Pat. And they just did. Every week, one or more of them call Pat to see how he’s doing and even send him some “walking around money”.

Healing wounds from the past has allowed Pat to look to the future. “I’ll be at the next reunion,” he says. “These guys . . .” He pauses, stifling tears. “Let’s just say that everyone needs people like these guys in their lives.”

A cold winter, four years ago, my mother’s birthday was approaching. She was turning fifty years old. My mom did not ask for much but she wanted to spend quality time with the family on her birthday. My dad on the other hand had another idea in mind. He decided to throw her a surprise birthday party, but my mother hated surprises. No one knew how this would turn out. The outcome could be great or a great fail.

My parents have six children, including me. Five of us were in America and one of my brothers was in Ghana. My dad thought that if all the children spoke at her party in our language which is called Ashanti (阿散蒂语) then that would make the party extraordinary. When my father first explained his idea, I realized that I would have to speak as well. At that time I was an extremely shy person, especially in front of crowds. My dad gave us the option to go up to the stage and speak. He mostly wanted me to speak, because I was the youngest and he thought it would be great.

The next day when my mother went to work, I pulled my dad aside to talk to him and tell him that I would love to speak at my mother’s party. I could tell that he was crazy about the decision I made. My father and I agreed that he would help me write my speech in Ashanti. I was excited and anxious at the same time, but I knew too much worry was not going to help. I knew I had no choice if I wanted to impress my mother. All I could think about was the smile my mom would have on her face when I spoke. We practiced hard daily to memorize the speech better. My dad and my brothers were out for a whole day, preparing for the recreational center, where the party would be held. We were a little tired but we thought it was worth doing so.

Finally the day of the party came.

My dad handed me the microphone first.

I never knew how important life was until I almost lost my little brother. It all started when my brother got sick. I was nine, and he was just nine months. At that time, he kept touching his ear. The first doctor my mother took him to told her that it was an ear disease.

After a week, he was still touching his ear continually. My mother took him to a different doctor. The doctor ran blood tests on him and thought he should be in the hospital as soon as possible. At first, the doctors did not know what was wrong with him. A couple of days later, they found out he had a type of bone marrow (骨髓) cancer.

The doctors tried one round of treatment. It helped, but my brother lost his hair. Then he needed a bone marrow transplant (移植). They needed to find a bone marrow donor (捐赠者), so the doctors tested my family first.

I was so afraid to get a shot. My sisters and I were all crying. We got it over with quickly, and it did not hurt as much as I thought it would. A couple of weeks later, we found out that one of my sisters and I were both matches. My parents had to choose which one of us should be the donor. After thinking about it for a long time, they made their decision one Sunday.

That day, after having our lunch, my parents put me on the sofa. With tears filling their eyes, they told me that they wanted me to be the bone marrow donor because I was older. They asked me whether I’d like to be the donor. Hearing it, I was excited and nervous.

I wondered whether to agree it or not.

About 45 days later, my brother’s health improved a lot.

Jared was a boy who was raised by his single father, Steve, and his grandfather Michael. Although he didn’t have much in life, Jared was grateful for what he had. He enjoyed living a simple life with his dad and grandfather.

After school, Jared would often go into his grandfather’s garage and they would repair his car together. Jared was a skilled mechanic and it was all thanks to his grandfather’s patient teaching. And Jared wished one day he would open a car repair shop using his grandfather’s garage. Michael supported it.

Unfortunately, Michael died when Jared was 14. Jared continued to look after his grandfather’s car. One day, his dad entered his room and handed him the key to his grandfather’s car. “Your grandpa wanted me to give this to you on your eighteenth birthday. He said you could decide what to do with the car—either sell it or keep it,” his dad said.

Jared smiled. He was thankful that he now had a car. And he was happy it was a special car that he and his grandfather maintained together. “I’ll keep it! I don’t have to take the bus to school anymore. I can just drive!” Jared replied excitedly.

Then Steve returned to his own room. He hoped Jared would not sell the car. And he hoped someday Jared would find the envelope Michael had secretly left for him. The envelope was put under the driver’s seat of the car. In the envelope, Michael left Jared $15,000. And he had left a note. It read, “I knew you wouldn’t sell my car. Thank you, Jared! I hope the money can help you. Be a good man!”

The following day, when Jared arrived at school, many students saw his car. They didn’t think highly of it because it was old and noisy. But Jared valued it. Later that day, after school, he couldn’t start the car. There appeared to be a problem with it.

Jared decided to repair the car himself.

Confused, Jared quickly opened the envelope.

10 . With 48 impressionism works exhibited in his solo show in Yangon recently, Bhone Myat San, a 13-year-old boy, has stepped into a professional career in Myanmar.

When his mother was transferred to Dawei in 2020, he accompanied her and later joined a portrait painting class taught by senior artists at the campus of Dawei University. Bhone Myat San says he has been studying painting through online courses while staying at home during the pandemic. He also joined a five-month online class about oil painting conducted by an artist in Myanmar last year.

“I envy impressionists like Monet,” says Bhone Myat San, a seventh grader, while putting finishing touches on an oil painting titled Bagan’s Tharabar Gate.

When his works were checked for exhibition, Khey Mar Shin, the owner of the Artist Gallery Cafe who’s an artist herself, noticed that he is talented. “He is the youngest artist to have hosted a solo show in my gallery. The event was successful,” the 42-year-old artist says, adding that she also saw that the 13-year-old boy’s passion for arts was higher than his peers and even stronger than some senior artists.

Ma Pale, 38, says she brought her two children to the art show so that her children can get inspiration from him.

Aung Hein Tun, 25, an art enthusiast who visited the event, says the young artist’s paintings are lively, and his painting skill as a 13-year-old is admirable. “I had no intention to collect paintings, but I bought one after enjoying his arts,” Aung Hein Tun says.

“Consistency is the key to success,” the young artist says. “I want to attend a foreign language university in Myanmar because I have a dream of studying arts abroad,” he adds.