What possible argument could I muster against that? There was none. Did I eat the peas? You bet I did. I ate them that day and every other time they were served thereafter. The five dollars were quickly spent
organic search result. My grandmother passed away a few years later. But the legacy of the peas lived on, as it lives on to this day. If I so much as curl my lip when they are served (because, after all, I still hate the horrid little things), my mother repeats the dreaded words one more time: "You ate them for money," she says. "You can eat them for love."
If the Dream is Big EnoughI used to watch her from mykitchenwindow, she seemed so small as she 1)muscled her way throughthecrowd of boys on the playground. The school was across thestreetfrom our home and I would often watch the kids as theyplayedduring recess. A sea of children, and yet to me, she stoodout fromthem all.I remr the first day I saw her playing basketball.Iwatched in wonder as she ran circles around the other kids.Shemanaged to shoot jump shots just over their heads and into thenet.The boys always tried to stop her but no one could.I begantonotice her at other times , basketball in hand, playing alone.Shewould practice 2)dribbling and shooting over and overagain,sometimes until dark. One day I asked her why she practicedsomuch. She looked directly in my eyes and without a momentofhesitation she said, “I want to go to college. The only way Icango is if I get a scholarship. I like basketball. I decided thatifI were good enough, I would get a scholarship. I am going toplaycollege basketball. I want to be the best., the facts don’t count.” Then she smiledandran towards the court to 3)recap the routine I had seen overandover again.Well, I had to give it to her—she was determined.Iwatched her through those junior high years and into highschool.Every week, she led her 4)varsity team to victory.One day inhersenior year, I saw her sitting in the grass, head cradled inherarms. I walked across the street and sat down in the coolgrassbeside her. Quietly I asked what was wrong. “Oh, nothing,”came asoft reply. “I am just too short.” The coach told her that at5’5”she would probably never get to play for a top ranked team—muchless offered a scholarship—so she should stop dreamingaboutcollege.She was heartbroken and I felt my own throat tightenas Isensed her disappointment. I asked her if she had talked to herdadabout it yet.She lifted her head from her hands and told methather father said those coaches were wrong. They just didnotunderstand the power of a dream. He told her that if shereallywanted to play for a good college, if she truly wantedascholarship, that nothing could stop her except one thing — herownattitude. He told her again, “If the dream is big enough, thefactsdon’t count.”The next year, as she and her team went totheNorthern California Championship game, she was seen by acollege5)recruiter. She was indeed offered a scholarship, a fullride, toa Division I, 6)NCAA women’s basketball team. She was goingto getthe college education that she had dreamed of and workedtoward forall those years.It’s true: If the dream is big enough,the factsdon’t count.
There was once a guy who suffered from cancer, a cancer that can’t be cured. He was 18 years old and he could die anytime. All his life, he was stuck in his house being taken cared by his mother. He never went outside but he was sick of staying home and wanted to go out for once. So he asked his mother and she gave him permission.
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2015/10/28 13:20:38