Tui xin một cái topic nhé....

FUNNY THINGS KIDS SAY
Rosemarie, the only girl in a family of boys, went fishing with her
dad. When they got back, Rosemarie proudly showed her grandma the fish she
got. "And now you have to clean them," her grandmother said. Rosemarie
responded, "No, Grandma, we don't have to clean them. They just came out
of the water!" -- Ruby Braun (grandmother of Rosemarie) of Wautoma,
Wisconsin
Carol was in church with her husband and two daughters. While waiting
for Sunday school to start, Carol heard Cassie, 5, quietly singing a song.
When they asked Cassie what she was singing she said the song was, "Joshua
Fought the Battle of Cherry Cola!" After a few minutes Carol realized it
was "Joshua Fought the Battle of Jericho!" -- Carol Clark of New Creek,
West Virginia
Betty's grandson James, 3, was expecting a baby sister. He had known
about it for a long time and was getting eager to see her. One day he
said, "Mommy, just put a zipper on your tummy. I'll only take a little
peek and you can zip her in again." -- Betty Jean Parker of Cheyenne,
Wyoming
Marissa, 9, was listening to an adult friend who had just returned
from Africa explain to her little brother how lions live in the wild. He
said that the female lion goes out to hunt for food and the male lion just
lies around and waits for her. Marissa said, "Hummm... sounds like an
American family to me!" -- Betty Baker (grandmother of Marissa) of Dodd
City, Texas
This story is in honor of the 100-year anniversary of Harley Davidson.
Mollie, who is almost one, is starting to have hair that is long enough
for tiny pigtails. Her brother Kyle, 4, asked, "Mom, why does Mollie look
like a motorcycle?" Kyle then took his hands and pretended that Mollie's
two pigtails were motorcycle handlebars and made a revving sound! -- Nancy
Groen (Nancy Cares Day Care) of Eagle, Wisconsin
Alex, 5, was showing his Aunt Krista where he keeps all of his
crayons on his desk. Most of the ones he has are from boxes he has gotten
at restaurants that give them to kids at the table. While marveling at how
many crayons he has, he said, "Boy, I sure am lucky we go out to eat a
lot!" -- Krista Bayer (Alex's aunt) of Sandston, Virginia
Cha Mẹ nuôi con như biển hồ lai láng .
Con nuôi Cha Mẹ sao tính tháng , tính ngày .

A FATHER'S LENS
by Karen C. Driscoll
I was eleven years old before my father finally acknowledged my
constant requests and allowed me to use his prized Canon AE-1 camera.
I will never forget that first thrill of a real camera in my hands.
Hardly believing my luck, I snapped away, sneaking up stealthily on my
subject matter, the elusive white-tailed deer. I promptly shot two entire
rolls of deer-in-the-underbrush.
When 72 exposures of non-descript grass and shrubs came back seemingly
devoid of subject matter, I was, to say the least, disappointed.
My father was annoyed. I'd wasted vacation film -- a cardinal sin. I
pointed out the microscopic specks in the photos defensively, "See dad,
they're deer, just look!" He seemed less than impressed. It was a while
before he let me use his camera again.
My next quarry was a hummingbird. One summer afternoon, it whirred
into our backyard for a fraction of a second and hovered near a clump of
scarlet flowers. I was so sure that my father would want photographic
documentation of this miraculous event that I "borrowed" his camera without
actually asking permission. I waited and waited for the bird to return,
but to no avail. I waited so long, in fact, that I totally forgot my quest
and went back inside.
I left the camera outside. Overnight. And, as luck would have it, it
rained!
When I realized what I'd done, I was mortified, and certain I would be
grounded until I was at least twenty. I knew I'd totally blown it.
Fortunately, the camera was not permanently damaged, but I knew it would be
a really long time until I had Dad's camera in my hands again.
In fact, it didn't happen again until I was sixteen when I had won a
trip to England in an essay/interview contest. I couldn't believe that I
was actually going to Europe. What I couldn't believe even more was that
Dad asked me if I'd like to take his camera with me. This being the
trip-of-a-lifetime, he thought I might want to get some good pictures of
it. I was fairly dumbstruck.
"You really mean it?" I asked in awe hardly daring to believe he did.
Looking back, I think the camera was his own kind of Dad safety charm.
It was an extension of him, a symbolic form of protection to ensure that I
came home in one piece.
At sixteen, I didn't know what it meant to be a parent. I didn't know
how difficult it is to worry, to set misgivings aside, to smile, and then
to let go. I was young enough to actually believe that it was harder for
him to let me take his camera on my trip, than it was for him to let me
travel abroad by myself.
The day I graduated from high school Dad pulled me into the kitchen.
"Karen," he said, "your graduation present is on the table in the
hall." He looked excited. "I hope you like it."
The only thing on the table was his camera. He walked into the hall
and stood behind me. He put his hands on my shoulders.
"I'd like for you to have my camera," he said by way of explanation.
For once in my teenage life, I was totally at a loss for words.
"I was going to buy you a new one, a better one, but I knew how much
you liked mine, and I thought this one would mean more to you. I thought a
new one might not be the same."
And he was right, because he had given me more than a just a camera --
even more than a cherished belonging of his own. He had just given me the
evidence of his trust, his benediction. He had given me a modern-day rite
of passage. No gift, no matter how new or how expensive, would have meant
more.
That was half my lifetime ago. Since that day, Dad's camera has been
with me on tops of mountains and volcanoes, in alpine meadows, at sunrises
and sunsets. It's been to family reunions, graduations, weddings, holiday
gatherings, and delivery rooms. It's seen my first car, and my first
boyfriend who later became my first (and only) husband. It saw my first
bad perm, and my first gray hair. It saw our first new home and our first
out-of-state move. It saw my first, second and third-born children on
their first day of life. Now it regularly records their firsts.
With so much new camera technology lately, sometimes I'm fleetingly
tempted to buy something flashier to replace Dad's Canon. But, whenever I
see the well-worn black leather case I think of my father and his gift. I
think of him when I press down the shutter button, and hear the familiar
click as the film advances on my life.
I think of my father's benediction and how it has become part of his
legacy -- a father's lens on a daughter's life. And then I know one thing.
Something my father himself taught me.
Newer might possibly be better, but it could never be the same.
-- Karen Driscoll <kmhbrdriscoll @ hotmail.com>
Cha Mẹ nuôi con như biển hồ lai láng .
Con nuôi Cha Mẹ sao tính tháng , tính ngày .

MY FATHER WAS MY HERO
My father was my hero, all throughout my life.
The father of eight children, he saw his share of strife.
When I was very little, he appeared to be so large.
In my eyes he could do anything, we all knew he was in charge.
He was a man of great strength both physically and in mind,
but in him there was a gentleness he found ways to be outgoing and kind.
Many days of childhood were greeted with a kiss,
and songs to me as I awoke, those days I surely miss.
He made me feel so special, "Miss America" he would sing.
I knew I had my father's love. It gave me courage to do most anything.
From him I learned to stand up tall, to be proud of who I am.
Strength and determination were the qualities of this fine man.
As the years of his life dwindled down, that strength kept him alive.
Plus the unfailing determination to help my ailing mother
have the care she needed *****rvive.
He loved her and his children, so much he gave up years of his life
caring for this woman, his soul-mate, his wife.
Day and night he struggled for years with her disease.
A lesser man would have been brought down to his knees.
With illnesses of his own, he still stood by her side
caring for her and loving her until the day she died.
Twenty days later his own time was at an end.
I lost my hero, my father, a man who was my friend.
A few years have passed, and life just isn't the same.
But as Father's Day approaches, I will celebrate his name.
With prayers to him and God above to stay by my side,
to watch over me and guide me, to look down on me with pride.
For I am my father's daughter, one day we will meet again.
But until then I will remember, and the love will never end.​

-- Karen Carroll <mndlvme @ msn.com>
Cha Mẹ nuôi con như biển hồ lai láng .
Con nuôi Cha Mẹ sao tính tháng , tính ngày .

HAVE DOG, WILL TRAVEL
by Janice Wenig
Why would you ever want to travel with your dog?
With a dog in tow, it's not that easy to just hop in your car and head
off for some unknown destination. It takes planning, research and a lot of
phone calls. Plus, you have to pack for the dog as well. You have to haul
dog food, water, bowls, poop bags, crates, blankets, towels, an extra
leash, grooming supplies, toys, treats and on and on.
So why bother?
When you own a dog, you unknowingly become a member of an elite and
loyal fraternity or sorority. When people see a dog, they smile, stoop to
pet them and start talking baby talk. Strangers talk to each other like
old friends about a common interest -- dogs.
Here's a scene witnessed at an airport. Hundreds of people milling
around, not making eye contact, not smiling, not talking to anyone they
didn't know. But as soon as you bring a dog on the scene, smiles blossom
like wildflowers after a rain. A man standing next to a woman with a
crated dog immediately started talking "dog" while everyone else around
them maintained vacant stares into nothingness. In no time, strangers are
happily chatting away about their love of dogs.
Dogs are the world's best icebreakers!
If you're single or new to an area, never fear! With a canine
companion by your side, conversations are immediate! Also, did you know
that when you're traveling, the locals are far more willing to help you
find a good restaurant or a park or anything else you need because you're
in the company of a dog?
Dogs give you instant credibility and make you more approachable.
I recently took Nikita, Kiana and Alexei -- my three Siberian huskies
-- to an Indian Pow Wow. As I sat on the ground with my "girls" watching
the dancing and drumming, a steady stream of people came up, asked for
permission to pet the dogs and asked a barrage of questions about them.
Another gentleman flopped down on the grass with us and struck up a
conversation for about a half an hour. And I must have talked for over an
hour with a woman about everything from religion to politics to health and
nutrition. That's a more in-depth and longer conversation than I have with
my family! And this was a total stranger! In fact, I exchanged email
addresses and phone numbers with three people to trade information on
books, dog activities and dog training. I never would have met these
wonderful people if not for my dogs.
Our travels give me plenty of reasons to keep smiling all year long!
I'll find myself laughing in the middle of the day looking back on the time
we had a scrumptious brunch on a beautiful boat while the dogs had their
very own "Bow Wow Buffet" served on the upper deck. The salty dogs even
hammed it up for the camera in the captain's chair wearing a sailor's hat.
The looks on the dogs' faces were priceless! They had this wonderful mix
of joy and nonchalance that seemed to say, "Yea sure, we do this kind of
stuff all the time!"
Or the time we went to the medieval festival where Alexei and Kiana
literally pushed people out of their way so they could get a better look at
the jousting tournament. Members of the medieval cast would call out,
"Aye, what fine hunting beasts you have!"
Another benefit of traveling with dogs is that animals, like children,
possess a sheer joy in simple pleasures that's contagious. They make you
slow down and take note of the butterfly that just alighted on a delicate
wildflower, or listen to the songs of birds and even take delight in a
gentle spring rain. I would have missed the sight of deer, pheasant, wild
turkeys and many other animals if not for the sharp eyesight and keen sense
of smell of my canine companions.
Why travel with dogs? The more appropriate question is why would you
ever travel without them?
-- Janice Wenig <jwenig @ rovinwithrover.com>
Cha Mẹ nuôi con như biển hồ lai láng .
Con nuôi Cha Mẹ sao tính tháng , tính ngày .

IN A BIG WAY
By Debbie Helton
A couple of decades ago, my first husband and I moved from Tomball,
Texas to Hindsville, Arkansas and bought a 200 acre poultry/cattle ranch.
Now, I had been raised with cattle all my life so I pretty well knew
where our beef came from. But, I never had to grow my own vegetables. I
obtained them the easy way -- the local grocery.
Our new neighbors, of course, had lived in the Hindsville area for
years and did everything the "old country way." This included growing and
canning their own vegetables. So, to fit in, we decided to give gardening
a try.
If it could be planted, we put it in the ground. In retrospect I
don't think we really thought anything would grow. WRONG!
We set up the garden between our 100 year old farm house and the old
hay barn. We watched daily for any progress in our new enterprise and
tended the garden like a new child. As the garden started to take off, I
decided to make a trip home to Texas to visit my parents. When I spoke to
my husband on the phone and questioned him about the garden, he gave a
desultory answer and quickly changed the subject.
I was only gone a few weeks, but when I got home I noticed a sign at
our gate. "Free vegetables for the picking."
When I drove up to the house I could not believe my eyes. My husband
came out of the garden with a bemused expression on his face, looked at me
and said, "I can't keep up with it, it's out of control."
We had tomatoes growing with the three different types of squash, peas
and beans deciding to live together, cucumbers visiting the potato and
onion rows, corn taller than I could ever imagine, okra that looked like
chunking spears, watermelon and cantaloupe vines visiting the entire garden
habitat, and weeds EVERYWHERE! It truly looked like a jungle.
What we later found out was that we had put our garden on an old feed
lot and it was just about the most fertile ground in the State of Arkansas.
Needless to say, our neighbors never let us forget about our gardening
talents and of course we always told them that Texans have always done
things in a BIG way!
That was the first and last garden I have ever had the pleasure of
growing. I decided, after that year, to help support the produce staff at
the local grocery again.
-- Debbie Helton <debbie_helton @ anadarko.COM>
Cha Mẹ nuôi con như biển hồ lai láng .
Con nuôi Cha Mẹ sao tính tháng , tính ngày .

SIGNS OF A MAN
by Ron Gold
If my father were a girl, you'd call him Penny.
But his name was Murray. And he was a slave to a penny business, a
candy store during the depression -- America's penny generation.
Dad earned a penny on each newspaper he sold. Less than a penny on
candy and gum. A few pennies on a bottle of soda-pop, provided he returned
the empty glass bottle.
Dad communicated his penny values to my kid brother, Richy, and me.
If we asked for a dime, we knew Dad had to sell ten newspapers to earn that
dime, twenty-five newspapers to earn a quarter, one-hundred newspapers --
that's right 100 newspapers to earn a dollar.
Yet, he gave us everything we needed and most of what we wanted.
We lived in a tidy apartment over the store, located on the bottom of
"hospital hill" in Stamford, Connecticut. The front door of the store was
crowned with a large bulb-lit sign that spelled "HUBER'S ICE CREAM"
correctly in large letters but misspelled "Murry" Gold in smaller letters.
But Dad didn't mind the typo. It wasn't important. What was
important was that he was working when so many people couldn't -- that he
was always able to feed, clothe, shelter and care for Richy and me, whom he
loved -- and for Mom, whom he adored.
Dad offered cre*** to good neighbors who were struggling through
perpetual poverty. He made sure his chubby, red-nosed friend, Larry, a
housepainter and fisherman, took home a daily newspaper, and that he had
pipe tobacco, even shots of Dad's good Canadian whiskey.
Larry reciprocated by stuffing our kitchen sink with flapping
flounders or plump, fleshy clams.
At night, Dad relived stories of his voyage from Russia to New York
City, and how he supported his family by singing with the distinguished
cantor, Josef Rosenblatt, and with the Metropolitan Opera's children's
chorus before he was 13! His small moustache climbed closer to his soft
blue eyes as he recalled Enrico Caruso pinching the ladies of the chorus,
and Geraldine Ferrar bringing candy for the children.
Dad also helped my brother and me escape the depression by reading to
us. His clear tenor guided us to Treasure Island, and to the wild west,
and to Ali Baba's ****.
But these stirring stories never equaled Dad's true new world yarns.
Or our very favorite story about the airplane he and Mom won the day before
their wedding.
Dad bought a raffle ticket and wrote Mom's name on it for good luck.
And, for the first time, they finally saved dollars.
A photo recorded their good fortune.
Dad wore his knickerbockers and Mom wore a long dress as they posed in
the biplane that became their nest egg. The picture's caption was painted
on the plane's fuselage. This very important sign said, "The Spirit of
Stamford".
And not one word was misspelled.
-- Ron Gold <Outthinkresumes @ aol.com>
FATHER'S DAY GAME DELAY
by James "PoppyK" Kisner
He sat and watched the baseball game like every Father's Day,
His kids were grown and all moved out and lived so far away.
He knew one at a time would call and they would always say,
"Hi Dad... I just called to wish you Happy Father's Day."
His wife had passed some years ago, now he lived all alone,
So now the highlight of this day was waiting by the phone.
The game would start at 1pm when he would hear "Play ball."
And he knew by the last inning that all of them would call.
When they would call it would be short and few words would be spoken,
He wondered if on Father's Day their calls were just a token.
He loved his children and he knew that they all loved him too,
But it seemed that they had drifted as kids often do.
They get so caught up in their lives, so busy all the time,
And don't give him a second thought because they know he's fine.
He sees them maybe twice a year around the holidays,
It's hard to get together as they've all gone separate ways.
At least they do remember him if just a little call,
And remember that he's here just watching his baseball.
So as he sits and waits for them, the game is growing long.
It is the seventh inning and no calls; there's something wrong.
Deep in thought of what had happened with no way to tell,
He was jolted from his thoughts by sounds of his doorbell.
He quickly got up from his chair it caught him by surprise,
And when he opened up the door could not believe his eyes.
A man was standing at the door and smiled and called his name,
And he replied "Why, yes, that's me. I am one and the same."
Then, "Happy Father's Day to you, now I am on my way."
And then he handed him a huge and beautiful bouquet.
He just stood and stared at them while standing at the door,
No one had ever sent him flowers in his life before.
He thought someone had made an error on delivery,
He took the flowers in and opened up the card to see.
He opened up the little card to see what it would say,
And as he read the first line it said "Happy Father's Day!"
"It's from the kids," he softly said, "now this is a surprise."
And as he read the little card the tears filled up his eyes.
Dad you know we always call you on this special day,
But it's so hard for all of us to find the words to say,
To tell you Dad how much we love you just for being you,
So this year we all got the idea to try something new.
Flowers are the ultimate expression to show love,
Flowers are the special gift when you are thinking of,
Someone who is precious and means all the world to you,
Nothing else says "I love you" the way that flowers do.
So place them somewhere you can see and smell the sweet bouquet,
Because the flowers represent what we all want to say.
We love you Dad with all our hearts and this is just our way,
To tell you this and hope you have the greatest Father's Day.
He put the little card aside and smiled and wiped his eyes,
The tears were running down his cheeks because of his surprise.
His heart was overflowing with the love behind their plan,
Flowers say "I love you" even when sent to a man.
-- James A. Kisner <PoppyK1 @ aol.com>
Cha Mẹ nuôi con như biển hồ lai láng .
Con nuôi Cha Mẹ sao tính tháng , tính ngày .

LITTLE HEALERS
by Shashoni Warner
I have had dogs by my side my whole life and have always known a
special bond with them and all animals. I have always known that they can
bring so much to your life, but I never realized that their unexpected
gifts could turn into so much more...
Eight years ago, I developed an anxiety disorder called agoraphobia.
It became impossible for me to leave my home. I could get to the door but
not out of it. I should also mention that I frequently am unable to walk
due to a con***ion in my back that prevents me from being upright.
I live with four dogs -- Gypsy, an English Springer Spaniel, along
with three Chihuahuas, Gia, Renny and Nenya.
Now, I'm sure you've heard of therapy dogs who are trained to help a
disabled person become more independent by helping them do normal
day-to-day things. But in my instance, my friends had no formal training.
They decided to help me on their own!
So there I was sitting in the doorway of my room which lets out into
our fenced backyard, unable to go any further.
What happened next was amazing.
Gypsy, Gia and Renny came to me and with Gypsy on my right, Gia on my
left and Renny slightly behind me, they each slid under one of my hands.
Ren put his tiny feet on my lap and with gentle encouragement on their
faces, and with a slow movement forward, they urged me out onto the step.
Never moving quickly and never far enough for my touch to leave them, they
helped me out into the yard.
That first time was only for a few brief moments and they stayed right
with me until I was safely back inside. But, with their help, I am now
able to go out into my yard and sit in the sun and throw a ball for Gypsy
or play with Gia, Ren and Nenya.
Gia, the little mother, always comes back to check on me periodically
while we are outside. She gives tiny licks of encouragement. Renny often
puts his little paws on my lap just to keep contact and reassure me. Gypsy
comes back often and puts her front feet on my lap while her big eyes
search my face.
They always seem to know when it's enough and get me inside safely
each time.
So tonight, when you go home from work and look into the eyes of love,
remember that one day, those eyes looking back at you may also be the eyes
and heart of a healer.
To Gypsy, Gia, Renny and baby Nenya -- my profound gratitude for
giving me back a bit of the world.
-- Shashoni Warner <ravensong @ sbcglobal.net>
Cha Mẹ nuôi con như biển hồ lai láng .
Con nuôi Cha Mẹ sao tính tháng , tính ngày .

AN OLD SHOE BOX
by Linda Smith
In 1979, my father's father passed away at the age of 98.
A few short weeks after the funeral, my father told me that he was
going back to San Jose, California, where Granddad's home was, to be of
assistance with the disposal of the contents of the house. He asked me if
there was anything from Granddad's home that I would like to have, by way
of a keepsake.
I thought of all the wonderful smells and treasures in all the rooms
of the home, that I had visited so often through the years, and everything
brought back memories of family gatherings with aunts, uncles, cousins, and
the adventures of hide-n'-seek.
The kitchen and breakfast room were marvelous! The stove was an old,
vintage gas stove, with a fancy little storage cubby for matches. Over the
sink was a small "window" to the breakfast room, where we enjoyed so many
delicious early morning meals of orange juice, flap jacks with homemade
maple syrup, or eggs and biscuits with gravy.
On the back porch was an old ringer washer. My grandmother used it
until she passed away when I was 7, but Granddad bought a new automatic
washer when he remarried a few years later. I missed the old ringer!
There was the main floor bedroom where my grandmother spent so many
months in bed before she left us, with her dresserful of treasures, and the
room that always seemed to be saved for when my aunt was visiting.
Upstairs were more bedrooms, each with their special smells and memories.
But, in the dining room there was a narrow shelf that ran around the
whole room, high above the reach of small children. On this shelf was a
collection of teacups and saucers from my grandmother's travels. One in
particular had caught my eye when I was very young. It was white,
decorated with an embossed gray dragon that had a glittering turquoise
jewel for an eye. This was the only thing in the house that I wanted.
"It's yours!" my father told me.
When he arrived, much of the work was already done. My aunt and her
daughters had claimed nearly all the furniture, after having spent so many
years caring for Granddad and his home. That was, well, ... OK. But when
my father asked about the teacup, his sister told him, "Oh, one of my girls
already has that and will not give it up."
Disappointed, Dad walked around the house wondering what he could
salvage from what was left to bring to me, that would be a remembrance of
my grandparents. He ended up in the attic, which had already been emptied
of antiques, such as the old cylinder record player and treadle sewing
machine. All that was left were a few old shoe and boot boxes in the
corners.
Dad began looking, found one he thought worth his time, tucked it
under his arm and walked out of the house, while asking if anyone was
interested in any of the old shoe boxes from the attic.
I am now in possession of the contents of that box.
My cousins can have all the furniture and dishes, scarves and jewelry.
I have the family!
Contained in the old shoe box were photos of my ancestors dating back
through the Civil War, with letters, journals, records with dates and
places, post cards, and much in the way of personal histories. I was able
to make a picture pedigree, which extends for 7 generations beginning with
my children.
In looking at all the pictures, I can see the resemblance I have to
them. My 3rd great-grandmother's jaw-line is evident in every generation
right to my picture. I don't particularly look like her, but she is part
of me.
I remember the teacup with its sparkling turquoise gem and all the
memories that surround it. It is as bright in my mind today as the day I
first saw it. But I no longer imagine who my ancestors are. They are
real, and preserved in a beautifully arranged scrapbook (courtesy of my
daughter, Rebecca) and I can now visit each of them every day.
Thanks Dad!
-- Linda Smith <lsmith @ gwmail.clc.mnscu.edu>
Cha Mẹ nuôi con như biển hồ lai láng .
Con nuôi Cha Mẹ sao tính tháng , tính ngày .

FUNNY THINGS KIDS SAY
Eliza was doing a puzzle one night with two of her three daughters.
The puzzle had a picture of God on it hugging someone. The 5-year-old
said, "We're going to see God someday, right Mom?" Then the 2-year-old
said, "I think I'm going to stay home, OK Mom?" -- Eliza Johnson of Center
Conway, New Hampshire
On a warm evening Lindsay, 7, was sitting outside in front of a
crackling fire with her mother and father. The black sky was filled with
stars. Lindsay was quietly looking up, at the sky. "Whatcha doing?" her
dad asked. "I'm just counting the stars," Lindsay replied. "Lindsay, it
might take you forever to count the stars," her mother said. "You might be
an old woman by the time you are done," her dad added. Lindsay looked at
her mom and then her dad and said, "No, it won't (take forever). I'm just
counting the ones right around here." -- K. Anne (mother of three
daughters) of Minnesota
Valerie, a co-worker of Helen's, always told her little girl to never
talk to strangers. Like most proud mothers, Valerie always has the latest
pictures of her daughter on display so that her co-workers all know what
her daughter looks like. When Valerie's daughter was 3, a co-worker saw
her at the grocery store. Thinking he would have some fun with her, Len
went up to the little girl and said, "Hi, Kenesha. I know your name but I
bet you don't know mine." Her response was, "Yes, I do. Your name is
Stranger, and my Momma told me to not talk to you!" -- Helen A. Weeks of
Bella Vista, Arkansas
Letitia sat down at her computer to check her e-mail. As it came up,
you could hear the computer say, "You've got mail." Letitia's son Kimani,
4, walked out of the room. He was gone a few minutes. He came back
holding the house keys with a look of confusion. "Mom, the 'puter lied,"
he said. "You don't have any mail." -- Letitia Epps of Schaumburg,
Illinois
Didi discovered her daughter Michal, 7, had lice so they went to get
shampoo. While her hair was being washed and combed, Michal asked, "Mom
why do bugs have to come and live in my hair?" Didi said they are what is
called a parasite. Then Didi added, "Did you know we have bugs living all
over our body and they don't do us any harm?" "Oh," Michal replied, "like
the butterflies living in my stomach?" -- Didi Streak of Johannesburg,
South Africa
Cha Mẹ nuôi con như biển hồ lai láng .
Con nuôi Cha Mẹ sao tính tháng , tính ngày .

THE SHORE
by Kelly A. Mieszek
"Hey guys, wanna go to the beach tomorrow?"
Before the words had faded from the air, my 8 and 6 year olds returned
with their boogie boards and swim suits. Next came the cooler and a bag of
snacks. The two year old toddled out, dragging beach towels and heading
for the door.
The next day we'd spend a few hours riding the waves and looking for
unique sea shells to stuff into the beach bag. There's never really a bad
day at the beach in Florida.
Now, when I was a kid in Jersey, there were bad days at the beach, or
at least on the way to it.
First, it's not the beach, it's the shore, which is pronounced like
you meant to say "sure", but it got stuck somewhere around in your gums
before dribbling out. It's called the shore because that's where my
grandmother made me stay. "No further than your knees, kids," which was
fine with me since my lips were trembling from cold, even in July or
August.
What a sight I was splashing in the knee-high water with a flower
covered bathing cap, a shoestring tied across my back to keep my bathing
suit straps from falling off my shoulders, and blue lips. Five minutes in
the water was plenty of time for any of us and we, my sister, aunt (who was
my mom's younger sister and the same age as my own sister), and cousins,
became expert sand castle builders on the shores the likes of Atlantic City
(before casinos), Sea Side Heights, and Cape May.
What a sight our merry band made those summers with my grandmother.
Anyone watching had to get a chuckle watching her trying to deal with all
of us in the sand and buying ice cream cones on the boardwalk. They would
have truly had a belly laugh though, had they seen us in transport to and
from our weekly fun filled day.
We'd all pile in with her, squirming worms burrowing into the back
cabin. We couldn't wait to get there and, for the first few minutes, asked
every ten seconds if we were there yet.
Nan always drove old station wagons with windows down and air
con***ioning that didn't work right. We'd be lined up in the far back,
facing each other, knees laced together.
Grandma was a heavy smoker, and her habit came along in the car. On
the dash of every vehicle she drove there always sat a bean bag bottom
ashtray. Next to it, stuck on with duct tape, was a small dog with a
spring for a neck. Even before the the key was in the ignition, Nan had
lit up and set her cigarette in that ashtray.
As the engine chugged to life, the head of the dog started to bounce
around. The back window was always down, and fumes from the exhaust
immediately came into our tiny cabin. The faster we went the less we
smelled it, but it returned each time we came to a stop.
And there we sat, knees smacking each other as the car chugged
forward, smoke wafting back from the cigarettes, and dog head bobbing.
Puff, puff, bob around with each bump, come to a stop and smack go the
knees against each other. Up come the fumes from the back window. Lurch
forward, smack knees, bob, bob, drag on the cigarette.
The squirming stopped, and our heads began to bob around as well.
Please, Nan, are we there yet? We were too sick to ask, and she was too
busy singing with Elvis to notice if we had. Sometimes I think she took
the long way home just to have a little peace.
I don't smoke, but when I come to a stop in my aircon***ioned van, I
sometimes think of my Nan and the shore, and I bob my head around and laugh
at myself.
Hey kids, don't forget to pack the water proof sunscreen. Tomorrow I
plan to go in the water above my knees.
-- Kelly A. Mieszek <kelster63 @ edcomember.net>

Cha Mẹ nuôi con như biển hồ lai láng .
Con nuôi Cha Mẹ sao tính tháng , tính ngày .
Được gio_mua_dong sửa chữa / chuyển vào 15:47 ngày 25/06/2003