Stroke of Love - Bill, Kevin M.
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The sun rose as it always has, slowly erasing the shadows of the night. On this morning, no clouds covered the bright blue Vermont sky. The brightness of the sun's rays penetrated the Seed Maple that spread out over our front lawn. As if the sun had purposely aimed them, its rays shot through the edges of the drawn shades into the bedroom where I slept peacefully dreaming. They pierced my eyes like spears abruptly waking me. This rude awakening occurred on a Saturday morning when most people have a chance to sleep in. However, I couldn't. It was my job to prepare myself for a full day's work.…mehr

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The sun rose as it always has, slowly erasing the shadows of the night. On this morning, no clouds covered the bright blue Vermont sky. The brightness of the sun's rays penetrated the Seed Maple that spread out over our front lawn. As if the sun had purposely aimed them, its rays shot through the edges of the drawn shades into the bedroom where I slept peacefully dreaming. They pierced my eyes like spears abruptly waking me. This rude awakening occurred on a Saturday morning when most people have a chance to sleep in. However, I couldn't. It was my job to prepare myself for a full day's work. We moved to Windsor when my father left our family six years ago. My mother worked at the Goodyear rubber plant, so she moved the five of us to this beautiful small town in the Connecticut River Valley. Not having a dad to support us, and being the oldest, I became responsible to bring in extra money for our family to survive. Three years ago, just after I turned 13, a neighborhood hardware store hired me as a stock boy. That job taught me responsibility preparing me for what was to come. I went down and the first order for any morning was to make coffee. After that, I prepared breakfast for everyone. The first thing I did was hand my mother a cup of hot coffee. "Thank you, Michael, I needed that. Everyone please sit down. "My bright and cheery sisters ran to their places. My brother slowly made it to his chair and laid his head on his arm. "Come on Jim, sit up and fill your bowl." My mother never had to speak twice. The oatmeal pot empty quickly, so we prayed and everyone grabbed a piece of toast and we dug into our hot oatmeal without saying another word. Suddenly, the ear-piercing screech of a siren blasted through the house and interrupted the clanging spoons. We rushed to the living room window and pushed the curtain aside. The flashing lights nearly blinded us as an ambulance sped to the end of the street. The families in our neighborhood have known each other since we moved in six years ago. We help each other whenever the occasion presented itself. I was very close to most of them. I babysat their children, mowed their lawns, helped them plant their gardens in the spring, and shoveled their snow in the winter. That ambulance meant that one of them was in trouble. I ran out the front door, off the porch and down our dead end street ahead of my family.
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