Dads Share the Sweetest, Most Heartwarming Father’s Day Gifts They’ve Ever Received

The stories on this list made us officially overrule our plan to get dad a tie he'll hardly wear.

Channel your inner fanboy

"My son loves Darth Vader (despite the fact that he's never seen any Star Wars' movies). Every week for a month when we would go grocery shopping, he would stop by the rack that had the key chains, whisper something to his younger brother and then nonchalantly ask, 'Dad, you like Star Wars, right?' It was obvious what I was getting for Father's Day. Unfortunately, I'm not a huge Star Wars' fan! Plus, there's nothing worse (for me at least) than a pocket full of bulging keys. For the past year, I haven't been able to put my keys in my pocket and everyone assumes I'm a Star Wars' nerd. But when I think of how proud my son was to give it to me, well, I'll always be sporting my Darth Vader key chain. I can only pray for a new key chain this Father's Day!" —Gerald Craft, Washington, father of two

Score special tickets to the big game

"This year, my twin sister and I are surprising our dad with tickets to an MLB All-Star game in Miami's Marlins Park when he comes to visit. (Our dad is a baseball-loving, retired Army veteran living in Panama.) He was here last on devastating terms, the sudden funeral of one of his closest friends, his brother. This return to Florida will be special for many reasons: a reunion, the game, Father's Day, and our dad's 60th birthday (also in July). Our dad is frugal and simple and rarely asks for anything; we knew we wanted to accomplish this dream for him." —Luisa Irene Yen, Florida

Outdo yourselves with food, music, and love

"For Father's Day, we have a tradition to visit new restaurants that play fun music. We've tried places that serve Russian, Argentinian, and Colombian food. Last year the family took me to a good ol' American cafe. We listened to country music on the way. I can't wait to see where we 'travel' this year and what new music we will listen to in the car." —Edward L. De La Loza, California, father of two

Start the day with "dad" pancakes. End it with a game.

"My favorite Father's Day celebration was two years ago. The day began with an amazing brunch with pancakes that spelled "DAD" and a picture frame from my daughter. Then we made a trip to Madison Square Garden to see a New York Liberty basketball game. My daughter and I were on the Dad Cam and we caught a free T-shirt and stepped onto the Garden floor." —Christopher Persley, co-organizer of NYC Dads Group, New York, one child

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Adorable Animal Friendships That Will Fill Your Heart with Happiness

We rounded up the most adorably fuzzy cute animal pics on the web that prove that trust is alive and well, even with animals.

Sometimes the cutest animals teach the youngest humans about trust

"Boxers love children," says dog owner Emily Marnell Stewart. "Our brindle boxer, Mason, is no exception. He is the most affectionate and gentle pup to my one-year-old daughter. He licks up her spilled milk, acts as a step-stool when she wants to get up on the couch, and gives endless cuddles and kisses." Check out the fun facts you never knew about dogs you didn't know.

What happens when a puppy and a duck walk into a bar?

It turns out these snuggle muffins share a meal like old pals, proving that nothing binds creatures quite like good grub. We wonder if this duck even minds the scent of wet dogs closer to his or her native habitat.

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My Husband and I Did Marriage Counseling for One Month—Here’s What Happened

Couples therapy may be an unconventional gift for a 10-year wedding anniversary—but it's exactly what this marriage needed.

It all started with a fight. A heated debate over something critically important–I’m sure of it! At least, it seemed important at that moment. But now, I admit I don’t even remember what the argument was about. Whatever it was, it made me reassess our relationship (as these sorts of blowups usually do), and I had a brilliant thought. Let’s try marriage counseling. Over the years, we’d been through our fair share of garbage—things like prolonged battles with mental and physical health issues, multiple moves, job losses, financial pressures, and the unwanted delay of starting a family. However, the most challenging of all the circumstances was when my husband, Tom, was unexpectedly thrust into the role of being my caregiver. In 2012, my health rapidly deteriorated, leaving me with a sprawling set of debilitating symptoms and no answers. Sadly, I became bedridden from weakness, and endured an inexpressible level of fatigue. I was intolerant to light and sound and had very little contact with friends or family. It was this marked physical decline that landed Tom the lead part as the caregiver in our marriage. It was a difficult job, but he soldiered through it like a champ. Eventually, the diagnosis came. “You have late-stage Lyme disease,” the doctor said with a sympathetic look in his eyes, “There’s no cure, but we’ll try to beat this thing into remission.” His face didn’t look too optimistic. Fast forward to the end of 2016. After multiple doctors, many rounds of harsh drugs and experimental treatments, I’ve made some progress. I’m not yet where I want to be, but I’ve experienced healing in areas that once looked bleak. Enter my idea for marriage counseling. Truthfully, I’ve never been much for counseling, but I could see the years of toiling for my health and struggling to survive had strained our relationship. As our 10-year wedding anniversary approached, I asked Tom if he’d be willing to go to marriage therapy with me as our gift to each other. While marriage counseling might seem like an unconventional present to mark our milestone, it was exactly what we needed to reconnect, deal with the negative patterns of behavior we’d established, and move toward another (hopefully healthier) 10 years. Thankfully, Tom agreed. “What brings you here today?” asked the counselor as we sat down on his pale, upholstered couch. I looked at Tom. Tom looked at me. And for a second, our reason for coming seemed silly. “Well, we had a fight last night, ” I confessed. “We’ve been through a lot in the 10-years we’ve been married, and we’ve dealt with some pretty heavy things. During the next phase of our life, we want to move forward in a more positive way.” In that first session, we discussed the argument. Then, like clockwork, our time was up. We booked a session for the following week, but I was doubtful anything would really come of our experience. Surprisingly, by week three, we experienced a breakthrough in the way we spoke and treated one another. By week four, we both realized we were seeking similar things in the relationship–respect, a listening ear, and some enthusiasm toward maintaining a thriving relationship. Bogged down by the weight of illness, we’d lost sight of the fact that even though there were obstacles in our path, we could still flourish if we worked together to conquer those problems. After just one month, marriage counseling had helped us create a shared vision for our future and a renewed sense of excitement. So, does marriage counseling work? In our case, the answer is yes. In fact, we’ve decided to continue our sessions a while longer. Who needs diamonds when you can have a robust, fulfilling, lasting relationship? Here’s what marriage counselors are secretly thinking during your sessions.

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My Mom Didn’t Just Collect Ornaments—She Collected Memories

My mother, Anna M. Fischer McQuaid, was a saver and a collector. She kept beloved ornaments from Christmas trees at Dad’s and her childhood homes, some of them with antique candleholders. After 1931, she added ornaments that she and Dad bought or their children and grandchildren made.

After our daughters were born in 1960 and 1970, I started buying special ornaments for them every year and putting them on our tree. I’d mark the year and the recipient on each ornament, forming a starter set for each daughter. Later, when they married and moved out, each received her own traditional ornament collection.

Just about that time, my mother started to sort through her prized collectibles to give to my siblings and me. I was blessed to receive more of them from one sibling who is not a saver.

Now each year, I choose a new selection of these fragile and beautiful ancestral ornaments to hang near the tiny white lights on my little tree. They give me such joy as I give thanks for my mother, the real collector of memories.

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Social Media Strangers Help Return Military Doll to Son of Deployed Soldier

Kim Lane was working behind the counter at a truck stop in Farina, Illinois, when a customer brought her a lost doll that had been left at one of the station’s gas pumps.
One look at the toy—a plush squeeze doll wearing camo and emblazoned with the photo of a soldier—was all it took for Kim to realize the forgotten doll was special.

“I just knew that it had something to do with military personnel,” Kim told local news channel KSDK. “I just wanted to find the person that lost it.”
When she squeezed the doll, her mission became even more inspired. “Hey buddy, it’s Dada. I miss you and I love you,” it said.
Many military parents create similar comforting keepsakes before deploying abroad. The personalized dolls often include an audio box with a recording of the soldier’s voice.
Re-invigorated in her search, Kim took to social media, posting a status about the doll and asking friends for information. The Internet responded accordingly.
“It was nonstop,” Kim says. “Every time I looked at my phone there were more shares, more likes more comments.” And finally, after more than 1,000 shares, a breakthrough. The grandmother of the little boy who owned the doll—a two-year-old named Grayson whose soldier father was deployed—sent Kim a message.
The doll went home—along with a few treats from the truck stop’s shelves.
“With everything going on in the world right now it feels great that so many people are standing behind my husband and military people in general because they don’t really personally know him,” Grayson’s mom, Ashley, told KSDK. “It’s amazing to see social media and the world come together for something seemingly so small.”

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This Special Ed Teacher Invited Students to Join Her Bridal Party. The Photos will Blow You Away.

They carried out their wedding duties with pride.

In her first year with a class of her own, Kinsey French, a special ed teacher in Louisville, Kentucky, developed a special bond with her students. That’s why when it came to her wedding day, she invited the class to join her bridal party as flower girls and ring bearers. “They were like family to me,” Kinsey told local news outlet WLKY of the students, ages seven to 11. “ They were my first class and they’ve been my only class, and so I knew I couldn’t have a special day without them.”

Kinsey, whose wedding took place on June 3, has taught children with Down syndrome for the past three years at the Christian Academy’s Providence School. Her now-husband, Josh, was involved too—in fact, he proposed to Kinsey in front of the class, knowing how much it would mean to her, writes CNN. The wedding went viral after photographer Lang Thomas Leichhart shared photos of Kinsey in her dress, surrounded by her students. “I was brought to tears many times during the day,” he told CNN. “You can tell how genuine she is to these kids.” And while the children loved carrying out their wedding responsibilities and partaking in photo opps, they told WLKY that their favorite part of the night was the dancing. For Kinsey, it was making memories that will last a lifetime. “It was so exciting,” she told WLKY. “It was really special for Josh and myself just to have them a part of the day, and have them come with us and celebrate with us.”

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A Husband’s Tragic Death Leaves His Wife With an Unforgettable Sign

Do you believe in signs? This wife's experience may just convince you.

My husband had passed tragically and unexpectedly the night before. I returned home the next morning with my sister-in-law, my emotional support. We sat in the upstairs loft, sharing stories about a man who’d left us too young. I glanced out the window and noticed a woodpecker on the roof. It appeared to be watching us.

A member of a species rarely seen here, the bird sat for almost 20 minutes as we reminisced. I affectionately named it after my late husband. It has been five years since he passed, and a woodpecker continues to appear at my weakest moments.

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This 26-Year-Old Woman’s App Helps Soup Kitchens Feed Thousands Every Day

After Komal Ahmad gave a homeless veteran a meal, she was inspired to do something about food waste in her community.

When she was 18, Komal Ahmad had her future figured out: “I was going to study integrative biology in college, I would fall in love while I was there, I’d get engaged one year after graduation, and then I was going to medical school.” In reality, “nothing worked according to my plan,” Ahmad, now 26, says with a laugh. “Except I did fall in love, but it wasn’t with a person. It was with an idea.”

Ahmad is the founder and CEO of Copia, which she describes as “match.com meets Uber for food recovery.” Companies use the Copia app to report when they have leftover food, what kind, and how much. When recipients such as shelters, soup kitchens, and agencies first register with Copia, they indicate how many people they need to feed, on what days, and what kind of food they’ll take. The app uses an algorithm to place the excess food, which is delivered by trained food handlers. The San Francisco–based Copia makes a profit from the fees that companies pay to remove excess food; the companies—Ahmad works with entities like the 49ers, Stanford Hospital, hotels, and catering companies—receive a tax write-off for their food donations.

How did Ahmad create Copia? As a senior at UC Berkeley, she was walking near campus one day when she saw a young man begging for food. She invited him to sit down for a meal. He told her his name was John and he had recently returned from a second tour in Iraq, but he hadn’t eaten for three days because his VA benefits hadn’t kicked in.

Ahmad had an aha moment then: While homeless people like John were starving in Berkeley, across the street the university dining halls were tossing out still-edible food. After she did some research, she says, “I realized that this was emblematic of a much larger problem.”

Nearly 50 million Americans are at risk of going hungry every day, while more than 133 billion pounds of edible food are discarded each year. Ahmad started a student group that recovered food from campus venues and distributed it to local nonprofits.

As rewarding as this was, the inefficiencies bothered her. One day, she got a call from the dining hall manager, who had 500 gourmet sandwiches left over from an event. If Ahmad wanted them, she needed to pick them up ASAP, before they spoiled. She rented a car, loaded it with the food, and called nonprofits. She found takers for only 25 sandwiches and ended up giving out the rest at a nearby park.

“I remember thinking how cool it would be if people who had food could say, ‘Hey, we have stuff,’ and people who needed it could speak up, and then we could connect the two.”

After she graduated, Ahmad worked with software developers and a tech incubator to launch Copia earlier this year. It operates in 40 cities in Northern California and has served over 700,000 people. Its biggest triumph—and challenge—to date was this past Super Bowl: Copia recovered more than 14 tons of food, which fed more than 23,000 people.

Despite her busy schedule, Ahmad tries to do one food pickup a week. “When you get to the shelter,” she says, “someone opens the door, sees all the food, and says, ‘If you hadn’t come today, 270 women wouldn’t have eaten.’ And that’s when I’m like, ‘This is why I do what I do.’”

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This Restaurant Seats Customers in a Dumpster to Raise Awareness About Food Waste

At the Salvage Supperclub, ingredients include imperfect produce, and an entire six-course meal takes place in a Dumpster.

At most New York City restaurants, you’d be hard-pressed to find a menu advertising wilted basil, past-prime tomato, and bruised beets as ingredients. But at the Salvage Supperclub, you’ll get just that. Oh, and the entire six-course meal takes place in a Dumpster.

Founder Josh Treuhaft, 32, launched the club in 2014 as a way to inform people about food waste and how they can squander less. “We use foods that ordinarily would have been thrown away,” he says. In a country that discards about 40 percent of its food supply, it’s a worthy effort. It’s estimated that the average family of four wastes up to $2,275 a year on food they end up tossing.

Treuhaft and his team keep this in mind when they plan their menu. One favorite recipe was a banana cream tart made of leftover chocolate-chip cookies Treuhaft rescued from a work event and blackened bananas bought at a reduced price from a local grocer.

And then there’s that Dumpster. It’s parked outside one of the dinnergoer’s homes, where it’s cleaned and disinfected. To add a touch of elegance, Treuhaft hangs tea lights and sets the table with matching place settings.

The dinner’s polished aesthetic shows that even imperfect foods can be used to create a special experience. “Getting people excited around waste is hard,” Treuhaft says. “It’s icky and makes you feel kind of guilty.” But each dinner has a similar effect on diners: “Attitudes change and minds shift,” he says. “There’s a conversation that has a ripple effect beyond the people in the Dumpster.”

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Welcome to “Bomb Dog U,” Where Pooches Are Trained to Thwart Terrorism

When I first meet a young Labrador named Merry, she is clearing her nostrils with nine or ten sharp snorts before she snuffles along a row of luggage pieces, all different makes and models. They’re lined up against the wall of a large hangar on a country road outside Hartford, Connecticut. This is where MSA Security trains what are known in the security trade as explosive detection canines, or EDCs. Most people call them bomb dogs.

The luggage pieces joined shrink-wrapped pallets, car-shaped cutouts, and concrete blocks on the campus of MSA’s “Bomb Dog U.” Dogs don’t need to be taught how to smell, of course, but they do need to be taught where to smell—along the seams of a suitcase, say, or underneath a pallet, where the vapors that are heavier than air settle.

In the shrouded world of bomb-dog education, MSA is an elite academy. Its teams deploy mostly to the country’s big cities, and each dog works with one specific handler, usually for eight or nine years. MSA also furnishes dogs for what it describes only as “a government agency referred to by three initials for use in Middle East conflict zones.”

Strictly speaking, the dog doesn’t smell the bomb. It deconstructs an odor into its components, picking out the culprit chemicals it has been trained to detect. Zane Roberts, MSA’s former lead canine trainer and current program manager, uses a cooking analogy: “When you walk into a kitchen where someone is making spaghetti sauce, your nose says, Aha, spaghetti sauce. A dog’s nose doesn’t say that. Instinctively, it says tomatoes, garlic, rosemary, onion, oregano.” It’s the handler who says spaghetti sauce or, in this case, bomb.

MSA’s dogs arrive at headquarters when they are between a year and a year and a half old. They begin building their vocabulary of suspicious odors by working with rows of more than 100 identical cans laid out in a grid. Ingredients from the basic chemical families of explosives are placed in random cans.

Merry works eagerly down the row, wagging her tail briskly and pulling slightly on the leash. This is a bomb dog’s idea of a good time. Snort, snort, sniff, snort, snort, sniff, snort, snort, sniff. Suddenly, Merry sits down. All bomb dogs are schooled to respond this way when they’ve found what they’re looking for. No one wants a dog pawing and scratching at something that could explode.

“Good dog,” says Roberts. He reaches into a pouch on his belt for the kibble that is the working dog’s wage.

It would be tough to conceive of a better smelling machine than a dog. Thirty-five percent of a dog’s brain is assigned to smell-related operations, whereas a human brain lends only 5 percent of its cellular resources to the task. In her book Inside of a Dog, Alexandra Horowitz, a psychologist at Barnard College, notes that while a human might smell a teaspoon of sugar in a cup of coffee, a dog could detect a teaspoon in a million gallons of water—nearly enough to fill two Olympic-size swimming pools.

Where bomb dogs have really proved their mettle is on the battlefield. Before joining MSA as vice president of operations, Joe Atherall commanded Company C of the Marines 2nd Light Armored Reconnaissance Battalion in Iraq’s Al Anbar province. The unit had three dog teams attached to it.

“One day, intel directed us to a school, but we didn’t find a lot. Then we brought in the dogs,” recalls Atherall. “There were French drains around the outside of the school, and the dogs started hitting on them. When we opened them up, we found an extensive IED cache, small arms weapons, and mortar rounds, along with det cord and other explosive material.” Detonation cord is the dog whistle of odors, with nearly unsmellable vapor pressure.

“I loved those dogs,” says Atherall. “They were lifesavers.”

It is hard to imagine a more high-hearted warrior than a dog. The canines work for love, they work for praise, they work for food, but mostly they work for the fun of it. “It’s all just a big game to them,” says Mike Wynn, MSA’s director of canine training. “The best bomb dogs are the dogs that really like to play.”

This doesn’t mean that war is a lark for dogs. In 2007, Army veterinarians started seeing dogs that showed signs of canine post-traumatic stress disorder.

“We’re seeing dogs that are over-responsive to sights and sounds or that become hypervigilant—like humans that are shaken up after a car accident,” says Walter Burghardt, of the Daniel E. Holland Military Working Dog Hospital at Lackland Air Force Base in Texas. Caught early enough, says Burghardt, half the affected dogs can be treated and returned to active duty. “The other half just have to find something else to do for a living.”

Because of the emotional wear on the dogs, scientists have been trying to build a machine that can out-smell the animals. At Pacific Northwest National Laboratory, scientists are working on ionization technology to “see” vapors the way a dog does—the same basic technology used by security officers at an airport but far more sensitive.

On the other hand, says Robert Ewing, a senior research scientist, dogs have been doing this job for years. “I don’t know that you could ever replace them.”

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This Woman Picking Up Garbage on a Country Road Will Inspire You to Protect Your Corner of the Earth

I thought she had stopped on the side of the road because of mechanical problems. The real reason was so much more inspiring.

Recently when the air turned warm and summery, I went for a drive through the local countryside. I had no destination in mind, but the sun was shining and the animals were out foraging in the forest. It was a glorious day to be alive.

Suddenly, I came upon a car on the side of the road. I watched as an older woman got out of her car and walked down to the ditch.

I wondered if she might be lost or confused? Maybe she had some mechanical problems or a medical situation. I became concerned and decided to top my car to see if I could be of any assistance. First I identified myself, and then I asked if she was all right.

She informed me that she had just stopped to pick up trash that some thoughtless traveler had tossed out the window. She invited me to look inside her car and see how much trash she had already collected.

I told her that I write articles for the local paper and asked her if I could use her name. “Oh heavens no,” she said without hesitation. “I’m not doing this for recognition. We live in some beautiful country, and I try to do my little part to help keep it that way.”

So the next time you go out for a drive, be thankful that there are people out there who choose to be good stewards of the earth. And consider taking some time to keep your little stretch of the roadside clean. You’ll get some exercise, fresh air and a good feeling knowing that you have contributed to help keep our country beautiful.

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A High School Student Attempted to Commit Suicide. You Won’t Believe What Her English Teacher Did Next.

Brittni Darras knows that letters can help save lives.

Brittni Darras, an English teacher at Rampart High School in Colorado Springs, Colorado, never expected to cry at a parent-teacher conference. That was before this past March, when one mother came to talk to Darras about why her daughter had missed so much class: Darras’ student had attempted to commit suicide, and had been hospitalized since the incident.

“Her daughter—a friendly, intelligent, beautiful, driven, young woman—not only planned to commit suicide, but was in the act of doing so when the police got a Safe 2 Tell report, broke in, and stopped her,” Darras recalls in a Facebook post. The student had even written goodbye letters and deleted her social media accounts.

Darras felt helpless and devastated by the news, so she asked the mother if she would deliver a handwritten note to her student at the hospital. Darras’ letter praised her student for her academic accomplishments and glowing personality, and told her how much she was missed in class.

“My student got the letter; her mom said that her daughter cried, turned to her mom and said, ‘How could somebody say such nice things about me? I didn’t think anybody would miss me if I was gone,’” Darras shares on Facebook.

In light of previous suicide attempts throughout the district, Darras realized the impact that one small act can have on a person’s life. She knew this type of personal encouragement was particularly essential for her students; According to the CDC, suicide is the third-leading cause of death for people ages 10 to 14 and the second-leading cause of death for those between 15 and 34. Darras sees these alarming statistics as “a direct result of the pressure we put on these kids.”

“We need to remember that each human being is unique… Instead of trying to change it, we need to embrace it.”

So over the course of the two months that followed, Darras began crafting personalized notes for each of her 130 9th and 10th grade English students at Rampart High School to remind them how important they are.

Darras gave her students the handwritten letters after their finals, each envelope marked with the student’s name and a smiley face. The letters contained personalized heartfelt messages such as “you inspire me to be a better person each day,” and “you’re a student I’ll never forget.”

“We need to remember that each human being is unique, and that is what makes them special,” Darras says. “Instead of trying to change it, we need to embrace it, because together, we can make a difference, and we can save lives!”

Darras’ story has since gone viral; her post has thousands of likes, comments, and shares. Other teachers expressed plans to write similar letters in their own classrooms, and Darras’ students and their parents came out in support of her efforts. “I’m happy to be a part of Rampart because of you Ms. Darras,” wrote Rachael Katz, one of her students. “It’s not every day that a teacher would take the time to sit down a think about every single student they have, let alone tell them how much they love them. You have made a huge difference in suicide awareness. Thank you.”

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This Grandson’s Eulogy for His Grandmother Will Touch Your Heart and Make You Long for Yours

"It didn’t take much to make her happy—a phone call, a card, a visit, or a kiss before saying good night. She lived to make our lives better and was proud of us."

Mary Foote of Harrison, Ohio, shared this heartfelt eulogy, which was delivered at the funeral of Vivian Rippy by Christopher Eckes, Mary’s nephew and one of Viv­ian’s grandsons. We include it here as a tribute to loving grandmothers everywhere.

It’s the little things that seem to stand out the most—her rolled up Kleenexes, her colorful muumuus, her iced tea and fried chicken, the aroma of her kitchen or a “yoo-hoo” from the other side of the door letting you know it was all right to come in.

I’ll remember her tapping her foot to Lawrence Welk or cheering for Johnny Bench (her favorite ball player). There are so many things that I can see and feel as if they had just happened.

I’m sure everyone here has memories much like mine. They are good memories, something we’ll always have to cherish. It isn’t often in our lives that we come across someone so special that that person stays with you forever. Grandma was that kind of person.

The only way to get hurt in this life is to care. Grandma cared more than most, loved more than most and was made to suffer more than most because of just how much she cared.

But no matter how many times she was knocked down or made to endure things that no one should, she just kept coming back; caring more and loving more—opening herself up to even more pain. Yet there were never any complaints or bitterness—it was the only way she knew how to live.

The kind of love Grandma felt for us was a love without condition. She may not have approved of everything we did, may not have liked some of the decisions we made, but she didn’t lecture, she didn’t judge. She just kept loving us, letting us know that she was there and if we ever needed her, we could count on her to listen, to comfort, to help.

She lived a simple life. It didn’t take much to make her happy—a phone call, a card, a visit or a kiss before saying good night. We were the most important people in the world to her. She lived to make our lives better and was proud of us.

To think that someone like her felt that way about us should make us all feel more than just a little good. We can never forget that there is a part of her in each of us, something that she gave to us and asked nothing for in return.

Money can be squandered and property ruined, but what we inherited from her cannot be damaged, destroyed or lost. It is permanent, and it keeps her from becoming just a wonderful memory. It allows her in so many ways to remain just as alive as always—alive through us.

There have been and will be times in our lives when situations arise where we’ll want so much to talk to her, be with her or ask her just what we should do. I hope that, when those times come, we can begin to look to each other and find that part of her that she gave to each of us.

Maybe we can learn to lean on each other and rely on each other the way we always knew that we could with her. Maybe then she won’t seem quite so far away.

So, for your wisdom, your humor, tenderness and compassion, your understanding, your patience and your love; thank you, Grandma. After you, Grandma, the mold was indeed broken. Thank you so much. I love you.

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The Utterly Brave Way a 9-Year-Old Student with Autism Saved His Teacher’s Life

A little boy who adores superheroes had an opportunity to become one.

An average school day at Oak Grove Elementary in Poplar Bluff, Missouri, took a deadly spin last April when fourth-grade teacher Madonna Kenser suffered a near-fatal allergic reaction to a dry-erase marker. Kenser inhaled the fumes while teaching the class using an overhead projector, when suddenly her throat began to close.

“I was having an asthma attack,” Kenser told KFVS12.com. “The students were watching and I knew I had to get to my desk [where my inhaler was].”

As the classroom of terrified nine-year-olds looked on, Kenser stumbled across the room but fainted before she could reach the device.

The class was stunned. Thankfully, one youngster, Brendon Garman, knew what to do. He jumped from his desk and darted toward the purse his teacher had been reaching for. Finding her inhaler, he then gave a woozy Kenser her first life-saving gasps.

It was a fearful moment, but Brendon credits his quick thinking to a scene he remembered from the movie Are We There Yet. In the scene, one of the main characters has an asthma attack and collapses. Another character rushes to his aid with an inhaler and is able to revive him.

“If I didn’t see that movie, I wouldn’t know what to do,” says Brendon.

After the rescue, he said, “You know Mrs. Kenser, TV’s not so bad, huh?,” Kenser told the news station.

Although she praises the entire class for their calm reaction, Brendon’s is the one she’ll likely remember most. Brendon has autism, a disability that can limit communication and social skills. She and Brendon’s family hope this experience will send the message that children with autism are gifted and hold the potential to do extraordinary things.

After all, Brendon’s actions saved Kenser’s life.

“I went to the doctor and he said 5,000 people die from the things that happened that day,” Kenser told KFVS12.com. “[If it weren’t for Brendon], there’s a good chance I wouldn’t be here.”

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Warning: You Will Want to Adopt an Orphaned Baby Squirrel After Reading This

Our children learned to cherish life, no matter how small, by caring for an orphan baby squirrel.

My husband, Shawn, and I enjoy seeing life through the eyes of our five children. It’s amazing to watch as they discover their world.

While we were outdoors last summer enjoying the sunshine, our oldest daughter, Kaytlin, called me to the porch. Beneath the steps was a baby red squirrel.

We watched it from a distance, not wanting to disturb it or scare off its mother. But after a long wait—and looking all around our property for traces of a nest or a mother—we realized the tiny squirrel was likely an orphan.

Shaking terribly, he was frail, thin, and hungry. We tried to find an expert to help, but the Inland Fisheries and Wildlife website showed that there were no wildlife rehabilitators in our county. After some quick research, we concluded that the best way to give the squirrel a fighting chance was to care for him ourselves. So a trip to the local Tractor Supply store for puppy formula and supplies was in order.

More extensive research taught us how much to feed him, how to estimate his age, how and when to wean him, and that we should release him as soon as he could survive on his own.

Our daughters and I shared rotations of feeding “Squirt.” Kaytlin took on the most responsibility. She taught him to eat from a syringe, and she woke in the night for his feeds.

To our relief, Squirt soon began to thrive. Within a few weeks he became more alert and active. He would chatter for his next meal, playfully crawl around on the girls, and curl up on them for a nap. It wasn’t long before he was weaned onto solid food and reintroduced to the wild.

His first few visits to the great outdoors were comical. Just like a child, he would play in the grass some and then run back to Kaytlin for safety. Soon she had him climbing trees and finding nest material.

One day in the trees, he met up with a family of gray squirrels that was none too happy about his visit. They scolded and swatted at him, and he quickly learned some social skills. For several days he played all day in the trees surrounding our house but came down at bedtime.

And then one night, he didn’t. The rain pounded hard, and our girls fretted. But when the sun rose, there was Squirt, begging for a bite to eat. And that remained the pattern for a few weeks.

Squirt became well known in our neighborhood, and visitors knew to be on the lookout when they stopped by. But mostly he played in the trees, chattering away to anyone who happened to cross his path and occasionally swiping snacks from our toddler boys.

The experience was entertaining and heartwarming for our family. In the wild and somewhat silly moments of raising an orphaned baby squirrel, our children learned to value and appreciate life.

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My Father Was Dying in the Hospital. Then Another Patient Changed Everything.

When it came time to take my dad off of life support, I felt completely helpless. Then a perfect stranger made a heartbreaking situation slightly more bearable.

I got a call from my sister that my dad had taken a turn for the worse, and I needed to get home right away. I wasn’t ready for that. When I got to the hospital, he had already slipped into a coma. I had missed all the dramatic goodbyes that were said because everyone knew he was not gonna make it. So that was upsetting.

He was in a coma for a while. It was that weird place where everybody is connected by this thing and it’s killing us. After two weeks, I brought up the idea that maybe we should pull the plug. I don’t know where that saying comes from, ’cause nobody pulls a plug. Everybody stays plugged in.

But it was time. We all knew. I thought it would happen like on Days of Our Lives. I thought you would pull the plug, and there’d be a lot of crying for ten to 15 minutes, and then the person would pass, and you would be sad, but it would be over.

Instead, we waited for four, then five, hours. And you wanted to scream, ’cause it’s crazy. Right in the middle of this, they wheel another woman into our room, a woman who had just had heart surgery. I remember thinking, That’s not a good idea. My dad is dying. Why are you bringing in a woman who’s had heart surgery? That doesn’t make any sense. It’s bad management.

The woman was on a lot of medication and saying crazy things. She’s 80 and naked and kicking her covers off. I’m on this side of the room, with a curtain that is not very soundproof, sitting by my dad, saying, “I love you, Dad. I’m really going to miss you.”

From the other side, we hear, “Cinnamon.”

“You were such a great dad to me.”

“Cinnamon.”

“Dad, you were wonderful—”

“Cinnamon.”

Finally, you can’t help laughing, because your life is exploding in front of your eyes, and it’s that moment where you’re crying and laughing. Then my husband says, “Thirty ccs of cinnamon, stat!” It killed me, and we all stopped crying for a moment and laughed really hard.

Four hours later, the nurse says, “It’s probably time. His heart rate is lowering.” We are holding his hand, and she says, “Maybe if you tell him it’s OK to go, he’ll go.”

So we all say, “Daddy, it’s OK” and “We love you,” and my mom says, “John, you were such a great dad, and I love you, and it’s OK, I’ll take care of the girls.” And across the room from the old lady in the bed, we hear, “Don’t go, John.”

Yeah.

And I remember thinking, That’s what I feel. That was what was inside me. I think I gave that woman my words: “Don’t go, John. Don’t go.”

But he did. I had my hand on his chest and his heart stopped.

Later, we found out Cinnamon Lady—that’s what I call her, Cinnamon Lady—didn’t have anyone in her life named John. I thought, Wow, that’s crazy. But we also learned she was a baker. So we understood the cinnamon part.

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Overscheduled? Science-Backed Rules to Make the Most of Your Free Time

Keep it off your calendar

Scheduling every moment of your free time could make it less enjoyable. Picking a specific date and time for a fun activity can decrease the anticipation beforehand and enjoyment in the moment, probably because it starts to feel like an obligation, a Washington University study found. Tossing your calendar to the wayside probably isn’t realistic, but the researchers suggest picking a rough time to see friends—say, “in the afternoon” instead of “2 p.m.”—to keep the meet up flexible instead of feeling like a chore.

Put down your phone

People who use their phones more than 10 hours a day feel more uptight and anxious during free time than those who use their phones about three hours daily, found a Kent State University study. The researchers say people who are on their phones a lot tend to feel obligated to stay connected to them, which can cause stress even when they’re trying to have fun.

Take a photo

You don’t want to live life through a screen, but snapping a photo could boost your enjoyment. In a study published in the Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, volunteers participated in an activity like eating in a food court or going on a bus, and some were told to take photos. Almost across the board, those who’d snapped pictures said they enjoyed the activities more than those who hadn’t. The exception? Hands-on activities like making an art project, which is why researchers think the extra engagement you get from photo-taking is what brings pleasure. Whip out your phone’s camera when you’re at a museum or the mall to get more in-the-moment fun and some amusing snapshots to look at later. Check out these genius ways to use your phone's camera.

Watch a tearjerker

A comedy will probably bring a smile to your face, but a sad movie could make you happier too. The key is to think of your loved ones, rather than your own life, while you watch. In an Ohio State University study, volunteers who watched a tragic movie and thought about their loved ones increased their happiness when the film was over. But those who had self-centered thoughts like “My life isn’t as bad as the characters in this movie” didn’t have the same happiness boost.

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‘Sesame Street’ Nearly Killed Our Son With Autism

A parent recounts a harrowing tale about raising a child with an obsessive mind.

Our oldest son, Sam, has autism and Tourette’s, with powerful obsessions and compulsions. Some were episodic, one-time things that he had to do and had to do now, like go over the barrier at the zoo’s gorilla enclosure. Climb over the fence on the edge of a 200-foot fall into Lake Superior. Wander off at sunset in the Porcupine Mountains.

Others were more periodic, things he had to do every single day for a period of six months, a year, a year and a half. Some were harmless, like the year he wore a Band-Aid on his face every single day. And some were a little more frightening, like the stretch when he had to run out and touch the yellow line in the road with his finger to a count of four.

You couldn’t stop him. He could take off while I was cooking dinner or we were all asleep. The best you could do was to try to protect him. His obsessions and compulsions were like an itch that, if he didn’t scratch it, just grew and grew. We’d survived each episode with no casualties. But when he was about eight years old, there was one that I misunderstood.

Sammy was compulsively removing the wire ties that connected our chain link fence to the upright supports and top bar. He was using his little fingers to wiggle the ties back and forth to get them loose. It was taking him forever, but he was working his way down the fence. I’d go out at night regularly with my pliers, and I’d put them all back on.

Sam is not our only child. Over the years, my wife and I have raised 17 children. At the time, we had five other children, so I’d fallen behind. One day, I looked out the back window, and I saw the fence between our house and the neighbor’s house lying flat in the grass. Over by the power lines was Sammy with a wobbling 20-foot-long pole.

We’ve learned over the years that you can’t panic, you can’t yell. That only makes a bad situation worse. So I said, “Sammy, let me have the pole. Give Papa the pole, Sammy.”

Before I could get ahold of it, he swings it. Wham! Wham! You know that gray cylindrical box attached to a utility pole where the power line goes in? He hits it hard, and as he hits it, he yells, “Oscar! Come outta you can! Come outta you garbage can, Oscar!”

He thought the transformer was Oscar’s garbage can from Sesame Street. I had thought his compulsion was bending those wires, but no—it had a singular purpose.

I said, “Sammy, Oscar doesn’t live up there. Oscar lives on the ground.”

“He live on the ground?”

“Yes, he lives on the ground.” Then I said, “If you hit that, you could die.”

“I could die?”

“You could die.”

“I could die?”

“Yes, you could die.”

So 45 minutes later, I’ve persuaded him to come inside and see the Sesame Street video and show him that Oscar does indeed live on the ground.

But I’m not foolish enough to think I’ve talked him out of his compulsion. So I run to the fencing store and buy three big bundles of those wire ties.

Navigating Sammy’s diagnoses over the past 20-some years has taught my family to appreciate the little things.

My wife summed it up beautifully on one of our family camping trips. We were sitting around the fire having a well-deserved nightcap in our little tin cups. She looked up at me and said, “Honey, it was a good day. No fatalities.”

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I Thought a Stranger Was Going to Rob Us on Vacation. What He Did Next Changed My Heart.

Never judge someone by their appearance.

Six years ago, my wife, Liz, and I celebrated our 50th wedding anniversary. It was a lovely event hosted by our four sons and their families. Many wonderful friends from the past surprised us with best wishes and congratulations.

Our gift to each other was an extended driving trip out west. We drove from Ontario through Manitoba, Saskatchewan and into Alberta, then southward into Glacier National Park in Montana. We continued to Red Lodge, which is the gateway to Yellowstone National Park. It was late spring, and the esteemed Beartooth Highway had opened for the season just weeks before.

There was a great amount of snow remaining alongside the road. The scenery was so impressive that we made numerous stops to record memories with my camera. At roughly the highest point of the highway, we stopped at a lookout so I could capture the amazing vistas, with my wife in the center of my camera lens.

Occasionally vehicles passed by, and at one point we heard a motorcycle in the distance. The driver parked behind our vehicle. As he strode toward us, his only words were, “Give me your camera and get over there with your wife.”

I must sheepishly admit I felt nervous that we might be robbed. He took a picture of us, handed back my camera and rode off amid my awkward mumblings of gratitude. The photo he took is one of the most cherished and prized of our trip.

There is a Bible verse that says man judges by outward appearance, but God judges us by our heart. Should the wonderful gentleman who gave us this memory recognize the circumstances, we would again like to say a heartfelt thank you.

And I’ve learned my lesson not to judge others on their appearances.

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The Best Love Letter I Ever Got Came From a Near-Deaf Crime Reporter

In this true tale from the Moth, America's premier storytelling group, a woman recalls a humorous story from her early days as a journalist.

My first real job at the Miami Herald was the graveyard shift on the police beat. I was a chubby, overprotected Cuban girl from Kendall who had managed to Forrest Gump her way into a really cool job, and I spent the whole first year feeling I was on shaky ground.

They sat me next to two veteran crime reporters at the newspaper. On one side was Elaine de Valle, brash and bold. She was often screaming into her phone in Spanish, as if she were being burned at the stake by Fidel Castro. She had passion!

On the other side was Arnold Markowitz, Arnie, or Witz, if he really, really liked you. He was wild, with a shock of white hair and this white beard that he would claw in frustration if someone was being especially dumb or stupid. I was frequently both.

Because Arnie was hard of hearing, he rigged up his desk phone to a bright white light, like the kind of thing a tugboat would need to navigate foggy conditions. So every time the phone would ring, the light would flash and Arnie would pick up the phone and scream, “Markowitz! What you got?” It was terrifying, but he was a legend: unstoppable, un-scoopable. Every criminal and cop knew him, and I was determined to impress him.

That first summer, Arnie gets a call, a tip that there was a break in a cold case he had covered years ago. There was a guy who had disappeared on the way to a casino at the edge of the Everglades. Arnie gets a tip that they found his car at the bottom of a canal.

He sends me to the crime scene to see if they pulled any remains from the submerged car. I drive out to Homestead in the middle of the night, in the middle of a thunderstorm.

Somehow, I manage to talk my way onto the crime scene. I’m standing there, ankle deep in mud, and they’re winching up this old sedan, and one of the cops opens the door, and sure enough, it’s a tangle of bones and muck and weeds. Did I mention the bones?

So I scribble in my notebook and get the heck out of there because by now it’s ten minutes to deadline, and I have to call Arnie to file my feed.

Only my phone is dead, of course. So I’m driving in a blind panic in the rain, completely unhinged, praying for a pay phone. Then I see a Denny’s, like Valhalla in the distance, a Denny’s with a pay phone in front of it!

I screech like a maniac. I jump out of the car and run for the pay phone, and I notice, out of the corner of my eye, a group of potheads just kind of hanging out outside the Denny’s like potheads do. But I don’t even pay attention to them. I throw my coins in the phone and call Arnie.

He picks up. “Markowitz! What you got?” And I tell him everything: the car, the canal, the bones. And because Arnie’s hard of hearing, I have to yell all this at the top of my lungs.

So if you happened to be one of those potheads at that Denny’s on that dark and stormy night, this is what you would have seen: a chubby Cuban girl from Kendall, her legs caked in mud, her eyes streaked with rain and tears and mascara, wailing into a pay phone, “They found his bones but not a skull! His bones! In the car. They found the bones!”

I like to think that years later, those guys in the parking lot still talk about me:

“Bro, remember that girl at Denny’s?”

“Yeah, bro. She totally murdered someone. Right?”

The next day at work, I get to my desk, and there’s a note on the keyboard that says, simply, “Figueras, welcome to the craft,” signed, “Witz.”

Apologies to my husband in the back, but it was the best love letter a man has ever written me.

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