The Cave

Posted on July 24, 2026 by hdh

The Story Spark was: Beach Party.  The Writing prompts I took were: Write a story where a character finds an unusual item in an underground cave at the beach, and Is there something in your life that reminds you of a way the tide comes in and out?

The Cave

The tide comes in, and the tide goes out. I love listening to the waves as they strike the shore. I’ve seen and heard that ebb and flow countless times. It’s so peaceful and relaxing.  However, this is the first time I have ever seen low tide this far out.  I didn’t even know that cave existed. From a distance, it was just a giant boulder as far as I could tell. 

What’s neat about low tide is that I can go out further into the water than at high tide and still be standing up. 

Curiosity got the best of me, and I walked, then waded out to the cave. As I got to the mouth of the cave, I could see it continued on and on, deeper and deeper. That was very odd, as I had never seen this boulder before. One interesting thing about this cave was that it was dimly lit inside. I’m not sure where the light was coming from. 

The path I took in the cave sloped up gradually. It wasn’t long before I realized that I was on dry ground. 

I looked back at the opening of the cave and realized my mistake. Since I arrived at the cave at low tide, water was rising behind me. I didn’t think I could make it back to the opening of the cave before it would be completely blocked by high-tide water. My only choice was to keep moving forward and up and hope that there was an exit at some point above the waterline. 

Surprisingly, though the light from the opening was now blocked by water, the light in the cave remained. That didn’t make any sense.

I could see no other opening to let light in. The walls of this cave were giving up some luminescence all on their own. 

The other confusing thing was that I could breathe normally. Obviously, there must be some source of air or oxygen in here. 

It was then that I heard the rumble. It started beneath my feet, and then I saw the walls of the cave vibrate. If I didn’t know any better, I would swear that this cave was moving. 

This time the light in the cave turned a deep, dark blue. 

I was afraid to move any further. Whatever was happening, I decided I would just sit in place and hope for the best. In my case, I was hoping to survive until the tide receded again and I could escape this trap.

That happened much faster than I expected. Within half an hour, all movement stopped, the water drained, and I was able to work my way back to the opening of the cave. 

I certainly never plan on making a foolish choice like that again. 

As I reached the opening of the cave. I became aware that I could hear no wave action outside. Something was definitely wrong.

I became even more confused and a bit unnerved as I stepped out of the cave, and there was no longer a beach or water, just a lot of trees, and the sun shining high in a sky covered in white clouds. Oh, and the sun was red.

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The Note in the Bottle

Posted on July 17, 2026 by hdh

The Story Spark was ‘In the Sea’. I took the writing prompt: A bottle with a piece of paper in it. 

The Note in the Bottle

It was a cold, misty morning. There I was walking along the beach, trying to release all the tension in my body from a poor night’s sleep.

My mind, as usual, was wandering all over the place, thinking of all the writing on my desk that had not been accomplished yet. I wish there were something positive that could distract me. Something to get me to focus on myself, my well-being, and not on work to be done.

It was then that I saw the bottle. It was not unusual to see a bottle on the beach. Careless people were always leaving their garbage there, thinking that it was not their responsibility to keep the environment clean.

What attracted me to the bottle was a piece of paper lodged in it. I grew up with tales of pirates, castaways, and people in trouble who would write a message, place it in a bottle, and toss it into the sea, hoping that someone would find it and rescue them. I decided to check out this bottle.

It took a while for me to get the paper out of the bottle, as it had a very narrow neck and the cap on the bottle was very tight, sealing off the water so the paper stayed intact. But eventually I got the paper out.

I unfurled it and was shocked at what I found. Instead of a plea for help, the message was a solution to what I was looking for.

The note read, “You know who you are. Your strength is the ability to adapt and invent. Create what you need from your imagination. It has yet to fail you. Have fun.”

What a brilliant thought. My writing groups have always fostered this. Yes, I have a lot of writing yet to do. But it was only work because I thought of it as work.

What if I looked at this as one of my writing groups would? What if I took each piece of unfinished writing as another prompt? The difference being that I don’t need to limit myself to 20 minutes to write it all. Let my muse and imagination guide me.

I took the paper and put it in my pocket and returned home to my writing desk. It looked a lot less formidable now.

As I sat down to write, I took the note from my pocket and pinned it on the bulletin board over my desk, next to some other notes I had written.

Why hadn’t I noticed this before? The note from the bottle was in my handwriting.

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Here

Posted on July 11, 2026 by hdh

The Story Spark for this piece was the word – Here. So “here” is what I wrote. We had 20 minutes to write.

Here

I could have been anywhere I chose. But no, I had to end up here. 

Here among the evil in thought and deed that pervades the land. Here among the filth and destruction that reek our planet. Here in a land beyond my wildest nightmares. Here.

Had I made a choice, I might have chosen a quiet, secluded island with beautiful trees and flowers. With seashores with crystal blue waters. With the sounds of birds and other animals meant to calm oneself and make one healthy and happy. 

But I didn’t make a choice. How could I? There are too many people that I care for. There are too many things that I know I can help improve. If only…

That’s the rub. If only there were a way for more people like me to collaborate and force the change? 

Not by violence, for that would add to the system that now engulfs us. But through thoughtful intervention and education. 

There is an old folktale about a man who was about to die and had three sons. He knew that when he died, they would fight amongst each other for control of the land they inherited. He decided to give each of his sons the task of finding a branch from a tree and for them to each break their branch in half. They did so; it was easy. They were then asked to bring back another branch each. When they did, he put all the branches together and, in turn, asked each of his sons to break the bundle of sticks in half. None could do it. The message he sent to them was that as individuals, it is easy for one to be broken, but when individuals group and work together, they are much stronger. His sons chose to respect their differences and work as one, together, after their father had passed.

That is a lesson that I wish all of us could understand. Yes, the here and now is in shambles. Yes, the here and now is run by the powerful, the rich, and the ignorant. But together, as a force of change for the better, we can make a difference.

So I couldn’t have been anywhere I chose. I had to end up here. But I did make a choice. The life you live is not a foregone entry in the annals of time. The life you live should be the choice to make the best life you can. 

Seek out those who wish to make the world a better place. Seek out those who want to cherish the earth, the animals, and each other.

Together, we are stronger than what exists. Let us make that change happen here – Now. 

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The Test

Posted on July 7, 2026 by hdh

The story spark was Tests. The writing prompt I took was “Your job/career depends on you passing a test. There is only one question on it.”

The Test

“Are you there? Testing 1,2,3. Please respond.”

“Who’s there?” I asked, waking up from a sleepless stupor.

“Ah, Good. You are there.”

“Yes, I am here,” I said. “Now, who in blazes are you, and what are you doing in my bedroom, and for that matter, where are you?  I don’t see anyone.”

“It was you who summoned me,” whoever it was said. “Don’t you remember last night, before retiring to bed? You specifically said, Is this how my life should be? If I were to take a test on my life, I surely would fail.”

“I do remember saying that,” was my comment, “however, I was making a disgruntled outburst on the state of the world and my life. It was only a rant, not an actual request. Besides, there is no such thing as a test on one’s life.”

“That’s not how it works,” replied the voice, “once suggested, your wish is recorded and then acted upon. You must now be ready to take a test on your life.”

“This is silly. Is this some joke being played by you-know-who? Has Apple or Google now created the next stage in AI? The Cloud obviously knows everything about me; there’s no need for a test. Just give me the grade.”

“I’m sorry. That is not how this works. First, this is not a product of the technology age; for the time being, none of your electronic voices can assist you. Secondly, I am very well-versed in your friend’s activities regarding your compulsion to continue acting on his ideas. Frankly, I agree with your parents and your writing group that you need to stop following him. I am not new technology, I am as old as old can be. I reside inside you. Meaning that you have all the answers, but without giving them out loud correctly, they are just hidden memories. If you want to pass the test of life, then you must uncover them from your knowledge base. If you can, you will pass the test. If you can’t, then you fail.”

I felt foolish saying this out loud, but I said, “Begin.”

“That’s more like it,” was what I heard. “There is only one question for this test. “What is it in life that makes you happy? Please be as detailed as you can.”

I thought about it for a while and then responded. 

“I’m happy when I’m with my loved ones, my wife, my child, those friends both online and off that are good to me and recognize me for who I am. 

I’m happy when I share stories, either in writing or by telling, and see or hear those positive responses, both verbal and visual, that show that I’m being heard, and receive some recognition for my efforts and thoughts. 

I’m happy when I experience the beauty of others and of other places in the world. 

I’m happy when I get lost in a good book and can become part of the adventure I am reading about. 

I’m happy when I can help others or guide them so that they can help themselves. 

I’m happy when I’m with caring, compassionate, and empathetic people. 

I guess I’m also happy that I’m not perfect, which allows me to learn and grow to become a better person. 

I’m sure there’s more, but is that enough?”

The answer came quickly. “I’m sure when you think about all the troubles there are in this world, and in your life, you could come up with a list too. I guess that that list would not be as long as the one you just started when you answered my one question. It’s clear in your writing and the stories you choose that with all the things on your troubles list, you are not willing to give up on solving them.”

With a sigh, I said, “You’re right; deep down, I remain optimistic that positive change can be achieved.” 

“Then you’ve passed your test. Continue to live being the person that you are, and continue to follow your dreams and hopes for a better life. My task is done.”

The voice was gone, but the thoughts remained. What may have started as a sleepless stupor became a clearer direction. It was good to be alive. 

 

 

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Don’t Blame It On the Gods

Posted on June 30, 2026 by hdh

The writing prompt was – waiting. This took a little bit of research

Don’t Blame It On the Gods

What happened to all of the Gods of myth and lore? Did they just die off, from lack of belief and interest, or did they just choose not to be part of our world of conflict, bigotry, and lack of care for the world we live in? If they have disappeared, did they leave any of their offspring to take their places?

Based on my own experience, I believe at least one set of offspring still exists. These twins of the Gods have crossed the realms of time and space, and though not very powerful, still can create havoc in the everyday life we lead. The God’s name is Prosm?n?-Mor?ri (Greek and Latin meaning to continue waiting, to delay); the Goddess’s name is Bíða (Old Norse for to wait, endure). They are the offspring of the Roman God Janus, the Greek God Hermes, and the Norse Goddess Freya. They are the deities of Waiting.

And they are certainly part of our world as we know it.

Think of Hermes, the messenger of the Greek Gods (Mercury of the Romans). God of trade, border crossings, and trickery, known for his speed and ability to travel through the realms of the gods, living and dead. Who, you would think, had an impact on trade tariffs and Southern border crossings?

Janus, the Roman God of beginnings and ends, doorways, gates, time, and change. Two-faced, looking to the past and the future at the same time. Have you ever been on a long line that moves extremely slowly? Perhaps at a supermarket, a DMV line, or trying to get past the TSA checkpoint to make a connection. How about waiting on a phone call for a real person to pick up rather than listening to elevator music with periodic interruptions of please wait, all our operators are presently working with other people, we will answer when the next one becomes available.

Freya, Goddess whose traits include war, death, passion, and independence. Though wisdom is one of her strengths, how would she compete with the likes of Janus and Hermes? I guess war fits in with the other two.

Of course, none of those gods are actually doing anything at all. They have all departed. However, the mixture of their traits now belongs to their twin offspring.

I have no physical proof of their existence, but it all makes sense to me.

When you drive on a road, here on Long Island, you can see those who ignore the rules of the road. The speeders, their souped-up vehicles, their lack of acceptance of red lights, cars disobeying the speed limit, and not giving pedestrians the right of way, attempting to ram their vehicle into the trunk of your vehicle because they don’t care about the lives of others. The sign says Yield, not Merge! Clearly, there is a god or goddess of trickery and magic that has controlled their actions. A sane human being would not do such things.

And, what about waiting in line, like at a food or clothing store? Can’t you just wait patiently? Can’t the store manager see that there’s a long line waiting to pay for merchandise and open up more than one or two registers? Express lanes stating “less than 15 items only” doesn’t mean you can bring your month’s worth of food items in your cart to that lane. Sounds like a god of trickery. They know what the future and past bring to your line, yet they fail to share that with you.

And I’m sure both those deities know exactly what they are doing. They are just having fun, which youngsters (I’m guessing that in God’s age, that’s what they are) tend to do. They’ve even got AI trying to taunt you, with their “Your call is important to us.” or “Please listen carefully, for our options have changed.” A… NO!

What we need is for the traits of wisdom, passion, courage, and independence, inherited from Freya, to become more dominant. Either that, or we need to stop praying to the Gods for help and start taking the initiative to foster change. We need to stop waiting for the change to happen, but take charge of the change itself. Especially, when it comes to this politically divided country and world.

There is a better way if we choose to take it. Let the gods play their own games with each other. We don’t need them. We here on Earth should control our own destiny. As I’ve said before in numerous writings, we need thoughtfulness, compassion, empathy, respect, and love for those around us, including all living things, and the Earth we live on, which we rely on for our existence.

In that respect, may it be so. Amen!

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Contrasts

Posted on June 25, 2026 by hdh

The Story Spark was Summer Soundscape. I chose the prompt – Booming fireworks, eclipsing the moon in color. We had 20 minutes to write.

Contrasts

A flash of colors with sparks of yellow

A booming sound that breaks the silence

The air is filled with oohs and ahhs

As wonders make the world of light

 

The flashing sounds of speeding objects

The booming sounds too close to miss

We watch as all our buildings crumble

Amid the hate that here exists

 

Let’s honor with those shades of wonder

Remember times that please our heart

Forefathers that declared our freedom

Be proud, enjoy, we celebrate

 

There is no end, they do not care

Their power’s all that fills the air

The smoke-filled sky is naught but darkness

Does anyone know that we are here

 

The fireworks end, the night is calm

It’s time for home to sleep quite sound

This yearly celebration’s over

Till we meet again on this well-paved ground

 

We scream for quiet, for peace, for ends

Of daily bombings which no rest lends

Itself to comfort, for land that’s safe

To live with others in peace not hate

 

Fireworks can be a wonderous thing

Of colorful displays and songs to sing

But beauty’s eye can be deceiving

Depends on what the colors bring.

 

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The Radio

Posted on June 22, 2026 by hdh

This is an edited and revised story that I originally wrote in a 1979 writing workshop. It had no title. 

The Radio

      Here I am, stuck in my room for something that I didn’t do. I was accused of taking food without permission from the downstairs ice box. But how do I prove something that I didn’t do with no witnesses? I was about to leave my room to seek proof, when… 

      I heard it once, and I could hardly believe my ears.  I was stunned for a moment. As I attempted to go, I heard it again, “To all listeners, beware of evils in the night.”

      I reached the door and heard it a third time.  The voice said, “Do not leave the room!”

      I’m shakin’ down to my knees.  If I hadn’t pulled the plug on the radio, I would have thought it was Caleb pulling my leg.  He’s been known for pulling practical jokes, like the time he made a subscription to Widow’s Journal under Sister Becky’s name.  I was the only one who knew about that one. It was funny at the time.  If this were a joke, then someone really went overboard.

      I didn’t know whether or not to leave the room.  Pa was just down the hall, but crossing this ghost or whatever it was didn’t seem like the right thing to do.

      “KRM, KRM,” the voice sounded again.  It sure did sound like it came from the radio, but I didn’t see how.  I was prepared for another message.

      “Greater men than you have been warned of the danger of crowding airways with all these radio waves,” the voice bellowed.

      “Why are you talking to me?” I said.  I felt like a fool talking out loud, knowing that no one was there.   I couldn’t help but feel some presence there, even though my eyes couldn’t see anyone.

      “You are but one cog in a wheel.”

      I couldn’t make out what this ghost or whatever was saying. “I’m who?”

      “You are but one of many,” it replied. “I give you both a warning and a choice.”

      I couldn’t quite understand how getting in trouble for raiding the ice box and giving me a choice were related.  I nervously asked, “Did you take the food? Why?”

      “To show I can be both physical and spiritual,” was its response.

      The clock struck twelve-thirty, and I looked up and saw the radio set unplugged and my hand on the door. I knew it couldn’t be a dream. I still couldn’t help but wonder, “Why Me?”

      “Radio waves will crush the earth.  People must be warned,” the voice said.

      “How?” It amused me to think I was someone who had to warn the world. Who did he think I was?

      I waited for an answer, but none came.  How was I to act, think, and respond to what I had heard?  What was it?  Pa would never believe me.

——–

      Thinking back on that time right now seems rather strange.  Twenty years have passed.  The world hasn’t been crushed; however, there sure is a lot of junk going over the airwaves.  We never get to hear any programs anymore. All stations interfere with each other, and rarely can you zero in on anything.

      My remembrance of that time brings things to mind that still chill me to the bone.  Was it real? Was I chosen for a reason? Who was it?

      I thought I’d never have to think about it again.  That was until my son, Jeb, who is only 8, came up to me this morning after leaving my study and asked, “What does KRM mean? I just heard it on your radio.”

      My radio hasn’t worked since my son was born.  Why me?

 

 

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The Test

Posted on June 19, 2026 by hdh

The Story Spark was – Fathers. The writing prompt I chose was – A father and son or daughter sit down for a serious talk. (We had 25 minutes to write)

The Test

It was time for that talk. You know the one, where your father sits you down and has that heart-to-heart talk with you about life, liberty, and the pursuit of money, I mean happiness.

The problem was that his son had no interest in hearing any of it. 

It might have been because the father waited until his son was about to turn 18, and his son didn’t trust him. I mean, why should he?

His son was a product of the digital age and had already felt fully educated by his friends, the TV, and the Internet. What could he possibly learn from his father?

The father knew his son thought that way, so he had a plan. 

He explained that his son was going to do something that could be done quickly or take a long time, depending on how he responded to it. 

The son took the obvious answer. “I choose to do the quick one.”

“You mistake the choice options,” he said. “You don’t get to choose, it’s what you do with the situation you’re given as to whether or not it takes a long time or a short time.”

The son did not understand but said, Go ahead. What’s the situation?

The father was quick to respond. “You are restricted to this house until you can prove to your mom and me that you are trustworthy, productive, self-sufficient, and that you can survive safely on your own.

“That shouldn’t be too hard,” his son replied.

“Good,” the father said, “You should also know that you will not have access to any electronic devices, nor TVs. There’ll be no computer, no phone, except our wall phone, which will be monitored so that it is not used, except for an emergency, no iPad, or smart watch. The clocks will remain as they are, mostly analog, but your clock radio will be digital, and you will be able to set alarms and listen to music. You can seek information and assistance from anyone in the household should you need to know how to do or make something, or want someone to talk to.”

His son’s whole body sagged as he took into account all that was being asked of him. 

“But how am I supposed to do that?” he asked. This is my spring break. What about my friends?”

“Not to worry,” his father answered. “We’ve discussed this with the parents of all your friends. They liked the idea so much that they are going to do it with their children at the same time. 

“You can’t do that! That’s child abuse! That’s illegal!”

“Do you forget that I’m a lawyer. I’m not doing anything against you that‘s harmful. In fact, as I said, this can be done really quickly. Just prove to us that you know how to be an adult and can make your way in life, should we not be around.

His son thought about it for a while, not that he had a choice. “When does this seclusion begin? Do I have time to prepare for it?”

“No,” the father said. “It begins now.”

“But,” was what came out of the son’s mouth.

“Your mom and I trust you, as I’m sure others in our house do. We’ll all be here if you need us. We’re not abandoning you. My only advice is to be thoughtful in your choices and enjoy the experience. You will know when you succeed or fail.”

His son knew there was no point in arguing. He’ll just take that challenge. He’ll show them what he can do. The question was, what should he do first?

And so the test began.

 

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Tales by the Fire

Posted on June 12, 2026 by hdh

The Story Prompt was Campfire Tales. I chose a different character’s point of view

Tales by the Fire

Hi. The name’s Scorch. To you humans, I’m known by different names. You, who are entomologists, call me melanophila acuminata. The rest call me by my familiar name, Black Fire Beetle, the reason being that I love fire. I can sense freshly burned wood from miles away. 

You don’t get many forest fires, so you would think that feeding and breeding sites would be hard to find. However, I’m one of the lucky ones. I live in this forest that has lots of campsites. And what do people do when they are camping out? They make campfires all year round. 

When you hang around campfires all the time, you hear things. People love sharing their tales of woe, of joy, of mishaps, and especially of things that should not be shared with those with weak hearts. 

Well, why don’t I let you decide for yourself…

It was a dark and foggy night. There weren’t many stars visible in the sky when the three of them, one old man, one middle-aged woman, and a teenager, came to sit by the campsite. 

The teenager was the know-it-all; he knew exactly how to start the fire. That was music to my ears. 

It didn’t take long before the fire was roaring, calling out to me. I hoped their stories would be short, that they would put out the flame, and I could take over. That was not to be the case. The old man started up the first tale, and this is what he shared: 

——-

“Did I ever tell you about the time my best buddy and I came up in these woods and what happened to us?”

The others just shook their heads no. 

“Well, it was a night just like this,” he started. “Me and Ron came up here just to spend the night. We didn’t have much experience camping, but Ron reassured me: “What could possibly go wrong?” was what he said.

What we didn’t plan on was that, though we had cans of food, we brought no implements to open them. We did, however, have a jar of peanut butter, which ended up being all we ate. Peanut butter makes it hard to talk; it gets stuck everywhere, making it hard to share stories.

Then, of course, there were the bears. It seems that bears in this neck of the woods aren’t particular about what food they get to eat. Even still, it seemed that peanut butter was at the top of their favorite list. 

We sealed ourselves in the tent that we had brought along to protect ourselves when it began to rain. Do you know what happens inside a tent when it’s raining outside and you touch the inside top of the tent?

The teenager was quick to answer. “Doesn’t the water leak through?”

“You betcha’, son. There wasn’t a dry spot left in the tent for us by the time the rain finally stopped. Everything was sopping wet.”

The old man continued his story until he came to the end, where they were picked up by Ron’s father. 

———

 

Scorch continued with the woman’s tale – I remember the woman called out just as the old man ended his story.

 “That’s nothing,” she called. “Did I ever tell what happened to my second husband?”

“The boy nodded his head no. The old man just smirked and muttered, “He got what he deserved.”

“That may be true,” the woman said, “But I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.”

Scorch continued the woman’s story: 

 

 “It had to do with this very same campsite. It seemed that the second husband of this woman and she did not get along with each other very well. From what I could gather from the story, her husband had been cheating on her, but he denied it. She was the one who suggested going on this camping trip to work things out. Well, one thing led to another, and they both went to their separate sleeping bags that night. Somehow, a poisonous snake found its way into her husband’s sleeping bag that night, and by morning, he was found dead. The woman had been distraught. 

It was determined to be death by accident. The woman said that she was lucky to have had the support of her husband’s best friend after the death. 

Again, the old man smirked. “Is that why you married your husband’s best friend, a month later?”

“You mean my dad?” said the teenager.

“Yes,” said the woman. “I thought you knew.”

“I’m not sure I knew the whole story,” was her son’s reply.

Scorch went on, “And then there was the kid’s story.”

———

“I’m sure you’d love to hear about that. It had to do with fire, which should have been something I liked; however, it also had to do with dead bugs, which I certainly did not like. There was a girl involved; the two of them were where they weren’t supposed to be, things got out of hand, a fire started, and forest rangers got involved, there were helicopters, and lots of people searching the woods for something. You’ll have to use your own imagination to figure that one out. Right now, I’m smelling another campfire about to go out, so I have to go. As to yours, it looks like it might be getting a little too big. You might want to attend to it. I’m sure you know how to handle it. What could possibly go wrong?”

 

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A Father’s Gift

Posted on June 7, 2026 by hdh

The writing prompt was Fathers. We had 20 minutes to write.

A Father’s Gift

Father’s Day was coming up, and Henry had no idea what to give him. What do you give to a man who has nothing?

Henry’s father grew up at a time when there was plenty. All around him were people with money to spare, little care in whatever job they did, knowing that if they found themselves lacking, someone would just fill in the void with gifts, or money, or things that were needed. 

That was the long ago. That was a time of overabundance of material. That was a period of time defined as the Affluenzy Era. A time when people had to have everything. Every new invention, every new gadget that made life easier, every convenience that required no work or effort at all. 

Then came the cataclysmic economic shutdown. 

Everything stopped. The costs became prohibitive. Things began to wear out. Those appliances and vehicles one used to be able to buy, back in the day, that lasted for decades, were appliances and vehicles that lasted less than a year, before having to be renewed or discarded. And they were very costly. 

Only a few survived this disaster, and those who did were the only ones making any money at all. And, they hoarded their riches. 

Henry’s father faltered early in the debacle.

When Henry was born, his father had already lost most of his money and possessions. 

Henry knew not of what was, only of what is. He did have what his father’s generation never grew up with. He had parents who cared. 

Having grown up with lots of things, Henry’s father did what most kids did. He only thought of himself and his possessions. As those things disappeared, Henry’s father began to think more about the people he saw – those who were destitute and who lacked support. Henry’s father began to think about his own family and what it meant to be part of a supportive and loving unit. 

He began to learn compassion and empathy. Characteristics that were unheard of in his time. 

So as Henry grew older, he learned these skills too. Henry began to see the world differently than others older than him saw it. 

 

So what do you give to someone who has nothing?

The first thing to realize is that as long as a person cares for and loves others, then they don’t have nothing.

 What Henry had was the ability to love back. The ability to support his father. The ability to do things that made his father happy. He didn’t need a material or monetary object. 

Henry gave his father himself.

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