I work in a library. A woman with a toddler comes up to the help desk.

Patron: “Sorry, but I’ve been all over this place and I can’t find your daycare.”

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am, but we don’t have a daycare.”

Patron: “What?! Of course you do. My child is there every weekend.”

Me: “Maybe you’re thinking of another library, ma’am? We have a children’s book section, but no daycare.”

Patron: “But my husband brings my child here every weekend. Isn’t that right, [Child]?”

Child: “Yes, Mommy. I stay and look at the books for ages and ages.”

Me: “Ma’am, and I do say this as delicately as possible, but I don’t think your husband has been leaving your child in a daycare.”

She contemplates what I have just said, and I swear I see a steely cold resolve manifest on her face. She actually looks at her wedding ring and then removes it.

Patron: “Thank you. This is the kind of thing the lawyers were looking for.”

And with that, she casually walked out of the library. My coworkers and I took a mental snapshot of the child so that if we ever see them alone in the library in the future we will know it was Dad’s day to look after them.

When I went to pick my daughter up from her first day of preschool, the director wanted to speak to me. Apparently, she stood in front of the class and announced:

Daughter: “My name is [Daughter], I’m a cross-addicted alcoholic, and I’m grateful to be here.”

I then had to explain that her father sometimes brings the kids to his Alcoholics Anonymous meetings.

I went home and told my husband, and we laughed and laughed. He didn’t bring the kids to his meetings anymore after that.

Back when I was still going to college, over a decade ago, I was visiting my family during winter break and had been traveling somewhere with my father when he asked me if we could stop by the American Legion — a bar/restaurant for American veterans where my father volunteered — on our way back home.

My father originally left me at the bar so he could do some work, but between my not liking the bar scene and everyone there being fifty or older, I grew bored quite fast and eventually went to investigate what was taking so long.

I found my father in front of a computer modifying some sort of document, and it was painful to watch. He was hunting and pecking at the keyboard at a painstakingly slow rate, and after watching a little, I realized he was retyping the same few sentences over and over again with only minor differences.

Me: “You know, you could just copy and paste that.”

Father: “Huh?”

Me: “You know, Control-C and Control-V?”

My father just looked at me like I was speaking in tongues. So, rather than explain, I asked if I could have his mouse. He was in the way of the keyboard, so rather than using the usual hotkeys, I highlighted the section he wanted to copy and then clicked and dragged the highlighted section down, which also copy and pasted the section where I dropped it.

Father: “Oh, wow! I didn’t know you could do that!”

I went on to show him such amazing concepts as the fact that he could double-click on a word and then start typing to automatically delete the word and replace it with what he was typing.

My father finished his chore of modifying the document a little while later and I rejoiced at finally leaving the Legion. However, I still remember his last comment as we were leaving.

Father: “I never knew you were so good with computers.”

I’d been telling everyone I planned to be a programmer since before I was seven. I set up and maintained the computers at our home for years before leaving for college, I’d created — and shown my father — multiple web pages and programs already, I’d already been promised an internship with one of the largest tech companies, and I would be building my own operating system from scratch for a class the next semester. But more impressive than all of that, at least according to my father, was that I knew how to copy and paste!

I drive a taxi. In the mid- to late 2000s, I picked up a man and his five- or six-year-old son late one Saturday evening. Back then, we had small screens mounted behind the front seats. They showed news and commercials to those sitting in the back seat.

The boy asked:

Boy: “Dad, what is on those screens?”

Dad: “News.”

Boy: “That’s boring. What is it about?”

Dad: “About some people in jail.”

Boy: “Who are they?”

Dad: “Some people in Iraq.”

I then recognised the story, which was about some 24,000 Iraqis who, at that point in time, were imprisoned by the Americans. This made the last comment rather funny.

Boy: “What are their names?”

This story was told to me by my mother. I’m an itty-bitty first-grader at the local public library with her. Even though I’ve only recently started reading with any kind of ease and my library card is brand new, I LOVE books. My only previous library experience is with my school library, which has a checkout limit of two books per child.

Me: “How many can I check out?”

Mom: “Why don’t you ask the librarian over there?”

Satisfied with being given a route to an answer, I go chase after the librarian, who has just decided to move to a nearby section. My mom stays put, wanting to give me a little independence and knowing I won’t go far.

When I return, the librarian trails behind me to make sure I get back to my mother. She, however, is focused on me — more specifically, my vaguely diabolical ear-to-ear grin.

Mom: “What did the librarian say?”

Me: *Still beaming* “She said I could check out AS MANY AS I COULD HANDLE.”

Thus began many years of checking out twenty books at a time — enough that carrying them was a test of my strength and my book bag wept for mercy — and finishing them all in a week. My mom still laughs at the thought of that giant grin on my face as I realized the power of a library card.

This story is part of the Readers’-Favorite-Stories Of-2022 roundup!

Read the next Readers’-Favorite-Stories Of-2022 roundup story!

Read the Readers’-Favorite-Stories Of-2022 roundup!