Different Like Me
My name is Thomas and I’m different you see,
But a whole lot of others are different like me.
There are kids different colors, and kids different sizes,
Kids who win contests, and kids who get prizes.
Kids good at math, science, spelling or reading,
Kids good with drawing, at games, or at beading.
There are kids who catch baseballs, and kids not so fast,
Kids scared of nighttime, or dreams from their past.
There are kids who feel squashed when their pants are too tight,
And kids who feel itchy when a tag isn’t right.
There are kids who will wiggle, both sons and daughters,
There are kids who are thinkers, designers and plotters.
There are kids who spin round, or jiggle their hands,
And kids who have crowded teeth in bands.
There are kids who dance, and kids who sing,
Kids who learn about most everything.
Some are in wheelchairs, and some kids get sick,
That’s just how we are- We don’t get to pick.
Some kids remember, and some kids forget,
Some kids are glued to their TV set.
Some kids read maps, and some don’t, I bet.
That’s how we were made, and you get what you get.
Some kids pretend, and some like things real,
But really it isn’t that big of a deal.
My name is Thomas and I’m different they say,
My friends are all too, and I like it that way.
Children of Revolution ~
Looking into the sack from Pierre’s wife, René smiled. “Dried fish and five little barley loaves.” He chuckled. “What do you think of that, Jacques? Same as the little boy in the Bible shared with the crowd of people. You remember? Jesus took the loaves and broke them. Then He looked to Heaven and gave thanks for them. They fed thousands of people, my little one. A small boy, the food, and God were all those thousands needed.” A sob shook his chest. “And that is exactly what I have here. I think Pierre’s wife was giving us a message.”
Samples and Thoughts
and Other Such Things
Finding Hope in Hard Times
The Hobo and the Swan
Closing my eyes until they was all squinty, I stared at the tree through my eyelashes. It stretched and blurred into a big green smudge. My lungs filled gummy-thick with the tang of pine until they could barely stand the power of it. Like liniment, it healed aches I forgot I had. “I wish it could stay the whole year round.”
No One Would Know
“The Boston Globe—Saturday, September 13, 1902.”
The picture, a stone bridge, pulled Rose in. She knew it, had crossed it hundreds of times. Light and lyrical even as they told of tragic death, the words took her a moment to comprehend. “A young woman was found dead in Scarboro pond last evening, having escaped Scarboro Farm, the lunatic asylum, the previous morning.”
A name jumped out at her, a name she knew almost as well as her own. The paper slipped from her fingers to the table. Her breath stiffened in her lungs. She shook her head, trying to deny the words in front of her. “Emily … drowned.”
The Happily Ever After Company
“You might want to work on how judgmental you are. Some people might feel that you’re dissing them.”
She jumped. The car did a swerve toward the inside lane. Straightening it out, she licked her lips.“Dissing?”
“Dis-respecting, dis-regarding, dis-trusting. You know, all the disses.”
“I just don’t like the rebellion and lack of … care in your appearance.”
He didn’t look offended. He turned to her and smiled. “Why’s that?”
He caught her off guard and she glanced at him. “I guess I like people to be neat and orderly. I like things to be neat and orderly.”
“But they aren’t are they? Even when we look ‘orderly’ on the outside, we can still be a mess on the inside, can’t we? That’s how people are. We’re messes.” He reached up and ruffled his hair.
~ Love when you get a chance to critique a phenomenal novel. Kathleen Freeman, I can't wait to see this one in print. Fabulous! Truly fabulous! Jennifer Slattery