It’s All Up To Us

Posted on February 21, 2025 by hdh

The Story Spark for this piece was – History. The prompt that I used was a quote by Nelson Mandela.

It’s Up to Us

Being born in 1950, I spent my teen years during the turbulent 60s. It was a time of independence. Dress codes changed.  Gone were the days of wearing a tie every day except during September and June in my public elementary school, including wearing the mandated white shirt and tie on assembly days. 

When I first walked into high school in 1965, the students won the right to wear jeans to school for the first time. This set the stage for other forms of protest. 

After registering for the draft,  in 1968, I started college. I still wasn’t allowed to vote; that would come when I turned 21 (the same year they changed the voting age to eighteen). However, not being able to vote did not stop us from protesting. That was when the real protests began. There was Vietnam, civil rights, and women’s rights, to mention a few. There were countless opportunities to stand up for human rights, dignity, respect, and have a voice. 

I didn’t partake in much of the protesting, though inside, I could understand what it was all about. I’m not sure whether I was shy, afraid, or just not a partaker.

As I got older, more of the rights of individuals and people did affect me. I was still not an avid protester, but I was willing to share and lend support to those groups that were doing the voicing. 

Unfortunately, we have reached a crossroads in our society today where there is no way not to be part of the voice. Nelson Mandela said, “To deny people their human rights is to challenge their very humanity.” That has been true throughout all our history and due to the process we are governed by, it is being tested as I write daily. 

We have given the power to those who do not stand by Mandela’s tenet. The fear that has become pervasive in this new regime is great. 

However, it is not a time to cower to their actions and threats. We must stick together and continue to protest. We must continue to voice our concerns and question actions. We must not give in. We must believe that we are capable of making that change in ourselves and the world and save our humanity. 

I’ll be there. I will write those letters and stories. I will make those calls. When possible, I will stand by those who want to live in a better world of trust, responsibility and empathy for those around us. As I hope you all will too. 

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The Spark Generator

Posted on February 12, 2025 by hdh

The Story Spark for this piece was – Spark

 

The Spark Generator

February 13, 2025

Dear Fellow writers,

As you may or may not know, I have been creating story sparks/prompts since December 2021. Over the years, I have had a lot of help creating and distributing those sparks from some of you so that there is something for everyone to choose from and share. 

But now, things are about to change. 

 

Some of you who have read the writing I shared in our writing groups might remember that I have written about meeting with my future self. 

In December 2021, I had a Zoom meeting with my future self, where my future self (he) shared with me several things that would happen to me in the future https://www.hdhstory.net/Storyblog/?p=2853. Unfortunately, I have discovered that some predicted things could not occur. And, there were some important heart things he could have shared that would have helped me if I had been warned. But, then again, with age comes some memory loss, and he was 20 years older than me at the time.

You should all know I have had contact with my future self again. This time, he decided to make amends for the mistakes he professed in our last encounter and it wasn’t on Zoom. It was through a package delivered by the intergalactic postal service. 

**

 

The package included a letter to me. He wrote:

Dear me,

I am so sorry for the errors in our last communication. I totally forgot about those unfortunate events in our lives and those of our family. I have enclosed a gift to compensate you for any problems that might have occurred. 

Sending you this is highly irregular and quite illegal. If you get caught with it, do not implicate me, as it might cause detrimental consequences to your/our future. 

The gift I give you is a Spark Generator. Just place it on your head and press the appropriate buttons to activate the spark you are looking for. 

Use it well, as you will create sparks for many more years. And do remember what I said about writing the 4th book *. 

Your future self,

Me (a.k.a. You)

 

So there you have it. I now have a Spark Generator. The problem is that none of the buttons, other than the power button, are labeled –  kind of like the Optimum Fiber Optic TV remote. It’s all guesswork. Here’s what it looks like:

**

You place the hat on your head, and you power it up. You then press one of the buttons to spark something. 

I’ve figured out that I can spark curiosity, relationships, conversations, memories (which is very helpful if I’m walking from one room to another for some unknown reason and have the hat on), and ideas (such as writing prompts).

I’ve also discovered that it works both internally and if I am in contact with someone else, externally. 

There are buttons to spark panic, regret, an argument, and all sorts of emotions. 

The biggest issue with using the hat is that the buttons keep moving around, and the colors are never the same, so I can’t predict which button I’m pressing at any given time. 

Needless to say, it should greatly assist me in making up our future writing prompts (which I plan to keep doing for a while), provided I can figure all this out. And also, if I can figure out how to keep it charged. 

TNWW (Till Next We Write). 

Your faithful prompter,

:{)

——————

 

*  refer to the link of our previous meeting on Zoom.

 

** Fyi – for this piece, I googled “Intergalactic Postal Service” to get the image I used (Yes, there really is one). I also used MacChatGPT to generate the image of the Spark Generator.

 

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She

Posted on February 8, 2025 by hdh

The Story Spark for this piece was – Love.

I chose the writing prompt: Tell us about someone you (or a character) fell in love with.

She

He was only eighteen. He had never felt this way before. This feeling had been growing for some time. Waiting for her was unbearable. She needed to arrive so he could express the thoughts and feelings he had kept inside for what seemed a lifetime. He had to let her know.

It started in first grade when they first met. She didn’t introduce herself by name, but he could sense something about her that attracted him. Whatever it was, he felt confident around her. He felt strong. His mind grew with thoughts of things to do, things to share, things to create. 

He didn’t attribute it to her. He just knew that when she was around, he felt happy. 

As he grew older, she seemed always to be there when he needed her. It never dawned on him to find out who exactly she was. Did she have a name? What did she do when she was not with him? Why was it that no one else saw her? 

You can attribute her to being an imaginary creation when you’re young. Many a child growing up has those imaginary friends. But he was older now; he should know better. Imaginary means they are all in your head; they don’t exist. 

But she must, after all, he was now much older. Logic demands that imaginary friends go away as we age. But he knew she was still there. 

The love that had been growing in him was strong. It needed to be expressed to her. So where was she? She needed to appear again. But she didn’t come. At least not then. 

As time passed he continued to age, and she always returned when he needed a thought to be explored. Then came the groups and the places where it was important to expound upon words and prompts. She became more prominent. 

 

“Here is your writing prompt. You may begin,” the master directed. 

He sat, unsure, took his writing implement up, put it on the paper, and then wrote just one sentence. It was just an ordinary sentence. By now, though, he knew she would come, and she did. 

The rest is here. His muse had done what she had done all his life. 

He wrote. 

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Teachable Moments *

Posted on February 4, 2025 by hdh

The story spark was Life Lessons. The writing prompt I chose was “A decision I made,” and the quote: “Sometimes you win, sometimes you learn.” – John Maxwell

Teachable Moments *

It was March 15, 2001, and all students were off from school for Curriculum Development Conference Day for teachers. We all gathered in the high school auditorium for the keynote speaker, Dr. Steven Sobel,  a motivational speaker, educator, and humorist. During his speech, he said, “A lot of kids won’t tell you, but this is the day that you can reach me.” I was into writing down quotes back then, so I wrote down what he said. I don’t remember what Dr. Sobel talked about that day, but the quote has stuck with me for all my teaching/parenting since then. 

Every day, teachers, parents, and children go into the world with the hopes that they will be able to learn something new and share some of their knowledge so that others can also learn. 

As a teacher, when you have a class of students that are all over the place – socially, cognitively, and behaviorally, in addition to whatever baggage they are bringing to the day from home, you try to find a middle ground that you hope teaches everyone the skills you have in your plans. With Common Core, mandates, and testing pushing us to accomplish so much in so little time, it becomes an even harder task. There’s not as much time to find those teachable moments with individuals as you try to push everyone along at the same rate. 

Over my 50+ years as an educator, I have found this true. Challenges I faced with students required me to try all sorts of creative and different strategies to help guide them to be successful learners. Each challenge made me think about each individual who needed to be addressed to conquer their fears, overcome their handicaps, and feel proud of their achievements. I was lucky back then. I had more time and fewer restrictions.

In my early years of teaching, I teamed up with another teacher, and we both taught 4th and 5th-grade inter-age classrooms. That meant that each of our classes comprised a combination of  4th and 5th graders. We kept most students for 2 years (our 4th graders became our 5th graders). As fifth graders left our classes, a new set of 4th graders entered. It allowed us a lot of flexibility. We could split the classes such that one of us taught all the 4th graders social studies or science curriculum, while the other taught all the 5th graders the fifth-grade social studies or science. Or, we could combine both classes and divide the students into more homogeneous groups based on individual skill levels. We did that with math and reading. There were times when we kept our own classes for subjects such as writing.

This allowed us not to be restricted by grade level but to deal with the students on their cognitive level. You can’t do that today. Each year, we decided who would teach which groups so that we, as teachers, wouldn’t stagnate our teaching of the same thing all the time. 

What was nice about this system was that when one of us encountered a 4th grader struggling with a particular concept, such as math, we realized that that wasn’t the time to teach them that skill. So we could say, “Don’t worry about it. You’ll learn this concept with us next year.”

Finding a teachable moment and method sometimes gave us small victories. I’ve written about a few of those small victories in older blogs. You can read some of them by going to http://www.hdhstory.net/Storyblog/?p=271 and following the links at the bottom of the blog entry page to read more. 

We must be keenly aware of our audience and teachable moments when teaching and sharing experiences. Recognizing that “This is the day you can teach me” is crucial to being an effective teacher and parent, so keep a lookout for it.

* This is a revised version of a piece I wrote in April 2016

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Remote Control – a simple tool

Posted on January 28, 2025 by hdh

 

This is an updated version of a piece I shared in August of 2018

Remote Control – a simple tool

Why does everything we own that has any electronics in it come with a different remote control? Your TV, Blu-ray disk player, sound system, and cable box have their own remotes. With smartphones now, you can use as many apps that do the same things to control things. 

This always created a problem for me early on. I would watch a certain program and play sound through speakers, but the program was on the VCR, and the sound came from somewhere else (usually the TV). The Cable box had to be on to play the video I wanted, for it was channeled from the VCR to the Cable Box. Then, of course, the TV had to be on. And if you had to change to live TV, it required reconfiguring each remote.  Very frustrating. 

Then, someone created a multi-(Universal)-remote. This allowed you to program all your other remotes on this new remote so that now all you needed was one remote. Of course, a degree in engineering in remote design was needed to program each component of this new remote, but we managed. I should say – I managed. Others in my household just accepted that this new remote worked and pushed whatever button I said would do what they wanted it to do. 

 

Of course, eventually, a TV breaks, and you need a new TV. Now, you must find the multi-function remote and remember how you configured it the first time so it will work with this new TV. Yes, it was an endless process.

 

And what do you do with all of the other remotes? Keep them in a box and hope that someday, when you give away a device, you remember which remote went along with it. Pretty much that’s what we did. The picture at the start of this story shows all the remotes I owned at the time of the original writing of this piece in 2018.

 

My favorite remote was the TV remote my child, at a very early age, dropped and broke. Since I could no longer use it, I replaced it with a new multi-function one. The new one never did all the things that the original one did. But then again, the old one could not do anything now. 

 

Instead of throwing away the broken remote, I kept it. I was not planning on foisting it on any person we might give the 13” TV it was supposed to come with. I just felt that maybe someday I could either fix it or use the parts to fix something else.

It became a very important remote as my child grew older and had trouble sleeping, both fearing and having bad dreams. I gave them the remote, which

they had no memory of breaking, and told them it was to be used for sleeping problems. If they woke up having a bad dream, all they had to do was pick up the remote and change channels, and they would find a different, more pleasant dream to have. It must have worked because we had fewer sleep issues.

 

Even though my child is grown up and no longer living with us,  I still have the remote in case they need it. However, they are more likely to pull up a video game controller or whatever app is on their phone to reset whatever is troubling them.

 

Personally, I’m waiting for that magic remote myself. Wouldn’t we all like to change the channel of some of the bad dreams we all are living/having?

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The Missed Chance

Posted on January 24, 2025 by hdh

The writing prompt for this piece was – a tear.

The Missed Chance

The look on her face said it all. Closed eyes, head down, and a tear falling down into her lap. This was the day that she never thought would happen. 

She took the long path to get to where he was. She thought he would be there waiting, but she was too late. 

The emotions that had built up in her, the thoughts that continued in her mind, and all the words she had not gotten a chance to say were gone. He was gone. 

She should have been comforted. He was in a better place than he had been. He had reached the next plateau of spirit, wherever one goes after death. But she could not get beyond the fact that he left too soon, and she was too late. 

Memories of their time together flooded her mind. All the places that they’d been. All the friends that they made. All the love that they had shared. 

Of course, the things that did not go well were buried in those memories, too. The miscommunication. The relationships outside of their bond, both hers and his. The arguments.

She believed the breakup was a good thing. The departure was needed and would work. But it hadn’t. And here she was, saying goodbye to a ghost. It wasn’t fair. It should have been her.

Had she taken the shorter path, she might have been there early enough to stop him from giving up on her. If he had waited just a few minutes more, she would have been there in time. 

Fate is a cruel mistress. Did he leave in anger? Was it frustration at her being late? Was it another meeting he had to go to? She’ll never know. 

And what about the vehicle that hit him? Was it an accident or some spurned lover seeking revenge?

The look on her face said it all as the unending tears continued to fall.

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The Artifact

Posted on January 11, 2025 by hdh

The writing prompt for this piece was – One January morning, you awake and discover that you have become invisible. What happens?

The Artifact

 

The alarm went off. It was time to awaken. I stretched my arms above my head and slowly got out of bed. The previous late-night’s workload at the lab had taken its toll. 

I am a scientist at NASA’s Alien Technology Analysis Department. That new artifact that had been brought to Area 51 was a puzzle. It took hours for me to take it apart. Inside, I found countless connections to trace, buttons to push, and liquids held within to break down and analyze. And still, I had no idea what its purpose was.

As I passed a mirror in the hallway, I was taken by the image reflected there. Or should I say the lack of image? What was wrong with the mirror? Everything behind me seemed to be reflected except for me. 

I looked down at myself and could see all of me. I went back to the bedroom, and I woke up my wife. She opened her eyes, bewildered. 

“Do you see anything different about me today?” I asked. 

“Where are you?” she screamed. “And why did you wake me up? I don’t have to go to work.”

“I’m right here,” I responded. 

“Oh, sure you are. Stupid joke; Now go away wherever you are and let me sleep!”

This made it even more confusing for me. 

I dressed, went downstairs, and had breakfast. Every mirror in the house reflected the same lack of me.

I got into my car and drove to the lab. The drivers I passed stared at me. Could they not see me, either? If so, I was lucky not to have been stopped by police as a rogue, runaway, driverless car.

My destination was the security entrance gate to the Area 51 compound. How was I to get in, if they couldn’t see me? Unfortunately, or fortunately, as it happened, it never came to that. 

The being that showed up in the road ahead of me made me stop the car. It pointed to me and made a signal that I should step out of the vehicle. 

I was a bit unnerved by this, but being a scientist and curious, I chose to do as instructed. 

“You have something that belongs to us,” was spoken to me in perfect English.

“You can see me,” I asked, “Who are you, and where do you come from?”

“I repeat,” it replied, “You have something that belongs to us. We wish for its return.”

“What are you talking about?” I stammered, “I have nothing, and as a matter of fact, I am nothing at the moment. Did you do this to me?”

The alien, for that is what it must be, spoke, “So many questions, inquisitive one. Return the device you have been playing with, and all will be well.”

“Do you mean the device I took apart yesterday?”

“Again, with the questions – Yes. Return it now.” the being demanded. 

Don’t ask me what happened next. I found myself back in the lab at my workstation. All the pieces in front of me made more sense, and I managed to put them all back together. No one in the lab even noticed what I was doing. 

Next, I found myself back on the road with that alien thing, who promptly took the device from me and disappeared before my eyes. 

I returned to my car, glanced up at the rearview mirror, and saw my own reflection. 

As I continued to the lab, I wondered; how I was ever going to explain the missing artifact. 

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You Have a Holy What?

Posted on January 8, 2025 by hdh

The writing prompt for this was – “Hole”

You Have a Holy –  What?

As a kid, I always dreamed I had a hole in my hand. This was not visible to the outside world, but I could access it. The idea probably originated from my reading of Green Lantern and Flash comics. When superheroes needed their super suits to rescue someone in distress, they just popped open a ring or some small object, and their miniaturized little suit would appear and immediately grow to its regular size.

So, I wanted something just like that. I didn’t like rings and the like, so I wanted a hole in my hand. From this hole, I could pull out any object I wanted that I might need. Sure, I wanted to be a superhero, and with this hole storage area, I managed to pull out weapons and other necessary items in my fight against crime.  However, that wasn’t its only purpose. Anything I wanted could be miniaturized and stored in my endless storage compartment in my hand. 

If I needed an extra table and chairs for an event. They were in my hand. If I needed a casserole dish to prepare a meal (which I didn’t do much of as a kid); the hand had it. 

I just needed to think of something I wanted; it might have been something I never heard of before that day, and it was there for the taking in my hand. When I was done using whatever I created. It would shrink back and go right into storage again. 

For most of my childhood, this belief continued in my mind. I even envisioned it in my waking hours. 

Don’t you all wish that you could have that capability? Think of the money you’d save.

 

Now, for the hole in my head, which I’ve been told numerous times that I must have, that is a (w)hole other story. Maybe I’ll write about that sometime…if the idea doesn’t escape my head. 

 

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The Torch has been Passed

Posted on December 30, 2024 by hdh

The Torch Has Been Passed

There he stands, the old man. I’ve seen pictures of my ancestors’ final days. They are old men, too, leaning on their scythe with a spent hourglass in hand. You can see the aged wrinkles on their faces, white beards hanging down to their waists, a tired expression with a glimpse of happiness on their face, knowing that they’ve left a wish of prosperity to their descendants. But this is not the man I see before me.

Yes, he is old, but the scars and baggage he has accumulated in 2024 are greater than those that preceded him. His back bent low, his expression not one of hope for the future he must pass on. He looks at me with foreboding and sadness. He hesitates as he passes his burdens on me and slowly hobbles away to join his brethren. 

‘Tis the next day. It is 2025. I stand here alone. It is said that the age of puberty has grown shorter and shorter over the years. I am a case in point. I should be a baby. I should be slowly taking in the information left by my father and age throughout the 365+ days of my life at a normal pace until I reach the time to pass on at the end of December. Puberty, for me, should not occur until at least May. The cold months of January through March are meant for me to learn about the past and create building blocks for the future. April through June are when I grow the seeds of my knowledge, blossom, and learn more about who I am. July through September is when I bear the fruit of all my endeavors. Leaving me from October to December to forge the pathway for my future child and the role he must take the following year when he takes my place. 

But here I sit, the day after. My sash claiming I am the newborn 2025 is already tattered. I need to be the adult I am not yet, for there is so much to deal with that was left to me that cannot wait. If my father looked the way he did when he passed, what am I to become when I have so much to fix before I’ve even started?

I call to the friends and supporters of my ancestors. I reach out to Hope, Compassion, Acceptance, Empathy, Respect, Love, and Trust. I plead to Intelligence, Understanding, Truth, and Community to take a stronger role in my tasks. 

I am more than a compiler of data, a collector of records, an observer of what passes. I am an active participant in this world. My appearance and demeanor represent all that is happening—the joys, the sorrows, the ups and downs, the rights and the wrongs.

Can I age out before my time is up? I don’t know. It has never been tested, and I do not wish to find out. I want to live a full life. I want to age gracefully, not in shame, as my father did. I want to be remembered as someone to emulate. I do not want to leave to my offspring what was left to me. 

Therein lies my tale. It is but the day after my father entrusted me with my task. I believe a better future is in store for me and the world. How it ends, time will tell.

 

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The Forgotten Journey

Posted on December 19, 2024 by hdh

Today’s writing prompt was – Light. I chose to write about light in the darkness.

The Forgotten Journey

It was a dark and stormy night. Oh wait, I’ve done that line before. Well, it was darkish, at least, though it was during the day. The storm and night came much later.

I found myself in the middle of the Forgotten Woods. For those of you who have never heard of the Forgotten Woods, I should describe it to you. I was going to say something here, but I forgot what it was. 

Anyway, here I stand in the middle of this wooded area. Around me, there are lots of trees. It must be some sort of forest or woods or something. I have no idea how I got here or how to get out of here. This is a problem; I’m sure I should be somewhere else. 

It’s good that I have my writing notebook to write down what is happening should I be asked to write about this experience someday. 

Drawing a map might be a good idea to track where I have been. As I take out my pencil to begin drawing, I’m astounded at the beauty of all these trees. They all reach high into the sky and diffuse the sunlight so that shadows surround me. If I had my phone, I would have taken a picture of them. But I must have forgotten it at home.

There is a winding path in front of me that I choose to take. Hopefully, that will get me to where I am going. 

I can hear the sounds of different kinds of birds chirping and squawking all around me. I bet they’re having a good laugh at my predicament. 

I notice that I’m carrying my writer’s notebook. I should write all this down in case someone asks me to write about this experience someday. 

Someone must have been in this forest before. I see remnants of pages torn from someone’s notebook along the way, with scribbles that resemble my writing. Either someone is copying my writing style, or I left them there on a previous trip. I should remember that, shouldn’t I?

You know, it’s not a bad idea to leave clues; I might pass this way again. As  I go to tear out a page from my writer’s notebook, I discover some pages in my book have been torn out and are missing. I wonder who did that. I would never treat my writer’s notebook like that.

The sun is going down, and my tree area is getting darker. I decide to go toward the sunset, hoping that will get me somewhere I recognize. The path I’m walking on is headed in that direction anyway. 

It’s not long before I see a break in the trees. Could this be the end of my journey?

As I leave the Forgotten Woods, some memories begin to return. I remember that I was challenged to go into the woods alone by some friends of mine. I sort of remember starting my journey, but the next thing I recall is coming out of the woods.

Being much wiser now, I circumnavigate the woods to return to my starting point, thus averting any more forgetting. 

When I was confronted by my friends who challenged me about my experience, I looked down at my notebook with its torn pages. My response to them was simple. “I’m not going to tell you. I left clues for you all in the forest. It’s up to you to find them and get the answers to your questions. Good Luck.” That was my challenge, or maybe it was payback.

I turned away from them and headed back home. The last I heard, of the five that went in, at least three were still looking for clues. 

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