Loretta Gaither
3.8.2012
Young Senior – Our Writing Class Teacher
Today at the beginning of class, when we were all chatting, I said to Benita, our teacher, “Guess what? You are a young senior! Our class loves you and you are just like one of us.” Everybody cheered and said that was a perfect thing to say. Benita jumped out of her chair and screamed, “Yay!”. She said it’s the highest honor. I am happy I made her feel so good.
Love from our whole class, including each classmate, to Benita.
Joan Bunting
4.12.2012
Aging
Why do most people fear aging? As they draw closer to the age of forty, they seem to panic. They start dying their hair and do other things to make them look younger. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to look good and most of all presentable. Also, there’s nothing wrong with applying a little lipstick, getting a new hairstyle, etc. Why do they almost panic when they see one or two gray hairs?
I find getting older interesting and sometimes a bit funny. Interesting because it seems like almost every day there’s a new pain in a different part of your body. It’s funny because personally, I laugh and I say “Where did this pain come from?”
You know God made us all exactly the way He wanted us to look. White hair symbolizes wisdom. Whatever age you are, thank God that He allowed you to make it thus far.
I saw my first 2 white hairs at age 25, but I never considered once to dye it, as they began to come in rapidly.
Patricia Williams
3.15.2012
This Morning
Yesterday I grasped earth’s bosom, bare
Cold, shivering, withstanding
The elements of that season
This morning my branches give
New green birth
A wren perched on my limb
Sings joyfully
Tulips caress my base
A new dawn, another season
Missouri Grier
5.3.2012
Playing Tricks on Dad
My mother told me to go OUTSIDE and sit on the front steps. I was told not to get off the steps. Sitting there with nothing to do, I was thinking of what to do. Something to do while sitting there.
My father was asleep on the living room floor. The only thing I could do was play tricks on him, so I went into the house, got my jump rope, tied one end to the sofa, the other to his foot, went outside, rang the bell.
He tried to get up and could not. It was funny to me but not to him. He was angry but I did not get punished. My mother stepped in—and SAVED me.
Helen H. Lahr
3.22.2012
Moots
My daughter and I were just sitting around last Saturday, talking and reminiscing about past experiences, when I recalled something that happened when I was a child.
A neighbor had given my sister and I a puppy. Immediately, we decided to name him “Moots”. Moots became our pride and joy!
Well, one day something unexpected happened! My mother washed and hung the clothes outside, as usual. “Moots” went out in the yard and was running around having fun, when he suddenly headed for the sleeve of my father’s shirt and tugged and tugged as it tore off!
We were petrified. What was Daddy going to do? To surprise and delight, my father looked and just said, “Next time, watch him.”
Transportation
Mo McCooper
4.26.2012
Our high school was in West Philadelphia. If we were late getting there we had to stay after school. It was called “Detention”.
The first day of 9th grade, Louie and I took a bus to Philadelphia where we got on a trolley to Lancaster Avenue (one of the first highways in America) where we changed to another trolley to 47th street. It took a very long time. We were late. Detention was boring and strict. The teacher in charge would leave the room off and on for a period of time.
When the teacher came back he would burst through the door and point at the kids talking or out of their chairs and send them to the back of the room where they were told to give their names and were assigned to work for the janitor or spend an additional week in detention.
The second day we went to our town’s railroad station to take the train to West Philadelphia and then walk down hundreds of steps to Lancaster Avenue where we took a trolley to the school. We were late again. We went to detention again.