(My father’s friend is hosting a Christmas dinner at their place. As the adults start drinking in the dining room, most of the kids all run up to the TV, but I decide to accompany our host’s younger son, who is around nine. He takes me to his room and wants to play.)

Son: “Let’s fight!”

(He takes out a drawer filled with toy weapons.)

Me: “Sure, but I’ll just use this.”

(I pull out my younger brother’s toy lightsaber.)

Son: “Okay, but you’re gonna lose.”

(He equips a Nerf gun and his own toy lightsaber. We stand at opposite sides of the room.)

Son: “Go!”

(He then fires his Nerf gun at me, but I block the bullet with my lightsaber, stride forward, and knock both of his weapons aside with the lightsaber before tapping him lightly on the neck)

Me: “You’ve been decapitated.”

Son: “What? How did you do that?

Me: “The people in my fencing class can stab faster than a Nerf bullet.”

Son: “Cool! You’re a Jedi!”

Me: *deepens voice* “May the Force be with you, youngling.”

(I was telling the truth; my fencing classmates are fast. But I was actually watching the barrel of his gun and angling my lightsaber to be directly in front of it. Don’t tell him that, though. I have the reputation of a Jedi to maintain.)

At fifteen, I am socially anxious and do not really get along with most of my classmates. We have a math lesson; everyone has to solve an equation in front of the class and then name the person to come and solve the next one. I am good at math and have no problem solving mine; however, as the equations are fairly difficult and the teacher is known for being stern, I hesitate to name the next classmate in fear that they might get upset.

Suddenly, a boy who sits near me yells, “Pick me!”

He has no clue how to solve the equation and earns some strong words from the teacher. 

However, twenty years later I am still grateful that he possibly saved me from at least some hostility and bullying.

I’m sixteen. This year, I found out that my mom was cheating on my dad and they were going to get divorced. I didn’t know what to do.

A lady at my church starting doing “Car Chronicles” with me, where we meet once a week and get food and sit in her car in a parking lot. She lets me pour out my heart about everything and she gives me awesome advice.

Ever since the virus started, we haven’t been able to have “Car Chronicles” because of “social distancing,” and I have been devastated because I always look forward to being able to work through what’s going on in my family. 

Today, she texted to tell me that we are going to start FaceTiming and taking walks to talk in place of our weekly “Car Chronicles.” Her courage and willingness to continue meeting with me despite the circumstances we are all facing brighten my day.

When I was fourteen, my Ma, Sis, and stepdad Jim — nicknamed Jimbo Bimbo Spam by my sis and I — and he had a cool little powerboat. 

One evening my ma, sis, and I were at the lake with the boat. There was a park near the spot where you back your boat into the water. While I waited for my turn, I happened to talk to a lovely couple. 

I’ve always remembered these things about them: they were in their mid-seventies, had been together for fifty years, and they had never officially married. 

After a bit of talking, my ma and sis popped up and joined in the conversation. My ma offered a ride and they gave each other a look, talking in their own little way without words but looks. They took the offer. My ma took the woman out for a bit and when they came back I got my turn with the gentleman and we took off.

We were going for a bit and this fellow was enjoying it with a smile and the wind whipping through his hair. This boat was good with catching the waves from other boats if you could whip the boat itself just right. I went in with a bit too much juice and caught a wave, the boat tilting a good bit.

I looked over in time to see this man in his seventies fall into the water. Now, I almost panic, hoping this man can swim and expecting a good earful if he can. I got the boat turned back around and saw his head pop up. When I came up to him, I reached out and helped him up. He got onto his seat and, after wiping at his face, he waved his hands and said with excitement in his voice, “That was crazy, mannnnnn!” and I swear I saw the youth in his face.

We started laughing for a good few minutes. We rode only for a little bit longer with him being soaked. I pulled up and we got off the boat, and before he left, the man gave me a good hug for a few seconds, along with back pats and a thanks for a good time. My ma and sis got on for a turn and I watched them ride off.

At one point, I saw the cutest thing: the man with his arm over the woman’s shoulder and her arm around his waist. She pulled him tight against herself, even with him soaked. It was a moment of genuine love.

(I’m a physical therapist. My next patient is reportedly frail; she’s wheelchair-bound and doesn’t leave her bed.)

Patient: “Can you teach me to do a wheelie?”

(I couldn’t help but laugh. She ended up being a fairly healthy girl, albeit with less muscle tone due to her condition. The reason she hadn’t left her bed? The nurses had put a bed alarm on her — standard procedure for someone like her — and she hated moving with an IV.

I wasn’t allowed to teach her how to do a wheelie, but I was able to teach the basic concept. Get a friend to pull you back, practice balancing for a while, and then try it on your own. Shove the wheels, hard, and have someone catch you when you fly backward. I think she’ll be just fine.)