“Sandra, come here. Look at that!”
Nonie’s granddaughter came over to peek out the lace curtains. She searched the alleyway below. Some garbage cans, a tabby cat. Nothing unusual.
“I don’t see anything Nonie. Want me to fix you something to eat?” Sandy’s job was to look after her grandma every day after school. Sandy’s mom said everyone has to pitch in and help.
Mike turned his head and leaned into the open car window. He could barely hear anything over the traffic.
“Don’t forget to ask Tom … you know.” Mike’s wife Pamela moved her eyes over to their son Skip who sat next to her, carefully peeling foil off a Hershey’s candy bar.
“Are you sure this is ripe?” Marian holds the melon in her hand. Her white hair looks blue under the fluorescent light.
“Well, why don’t you smell it.” Sarah pulls on her earring.
Marian doesn’t look at her daughter. She knows her expression of annoyance by heart.
The ability to help others first occurred to me when I was 12. Some friends urged me to please talk to their parents as a way of influencing them to give permission for a party. It worked, but not how my classmates imagined. In order to know what to say, I had to listen carefully for clues from each parent. As they spoke, patterns emerged in my mind and somehow I knew which words were needed, including the tone of voice required.