Excerpts

It’s not really about what happens in life—either good or bad—it’s perception which defines reality. Think about what you’re grateful for. How many things can you list right now? If you nurture it, this list will grow and grow every day until your notebook is full. And then it will be time to get a new notebook because gratitude will become a daily practice. When times get difficult, hug those notebooks to your chest and breathe in all the blessings in your life.

Growing up, we didn’t have the biggest house. Just one bathroom for a family of five. A tiny eat-in kitchen. A rusty, copper-colored van in the driveway. Not much money to spare. We were the last family on the street to own a color TV. Last to buy a boombox. Last to get an answering machine. But my two younger sisters and I didn’t really mind. Those novelties in the 1980s were nothing compared to singing our own songs on car trips or using our imaginations to make up our own games. We played house and school and story time. Being the eldest girl, I played the mom. I played the teacher. I played the storyteller. Unknowingly, these were the seeds which were planted for my future as a mom, a teacher, a storyteller.

I hadn’t realized at the time how hard my parents worked to keep our childhoods innocent and make each ordinary day magical. I remember Mom cooking meatloaf and baked potatoes or our favorite “Sloppy Joes” for dinner. It was nothing fancy, but she always prepared it with love. Then she would take us to Toys ‘R Us to pick out birthday gifts for our friends. But to prevent us from begging for everything in the store for ourselves, she helped us make our own wish lists for the next holiday to come. She knew how to turn disappointment into excitement.

I remember when Dad would get off the bus stop at the top of our street on his way home from work. My sisters and I would run to his open arms and welcome him home at the end of a long day. We would search his pockets to find some Life Savers hard candies he sometimes brought home for us to share. Then Dad would sit on the floor and let us play beauty parlor with his tight, curly hair. Or get on his hands and knees and pretend he was a horse, while all three of us excitedly climbed on his back and rode in circles around the family room. He knew how to turn nothing into something special.  

Looking back, we didn’t realize we lacked anything because, in our minds, we were the happiest, luckiest, richest kids in town.