and　kind　heart；

about　dreams　and　reality；　and　the　need　to　count　your　blessings。　And　she　made　me　cry　all

over　again　when　she　kissed　me　goodnight　and

whispered　that　of　all　her　many　blessings；　I　was　her　best　and　brightest。

I　felt　sorry　for　my　father。　I　felt　sorry　for　my　mother。　But　most　of　all　I　felt　lucky　for　me　that　they

were　mine。

And　in　the　morning；　as　I　rode　my　rusty　bike　out　the　driveway　to　school；　I　promised　myself　that

when　I　got　home；　I'd　tackle　the　yard。　Rented　or　not；

this　was　our　home；　and　I　was　going　to　help　make　living　here　better。

As　it　turns　out；　this　was　easier　thought　than　done。　First　it　took　me　half　an　hour　of　rummaging

through　the　garage　to　find　a　hammer　and　a　box　of

nails；　a　saw；　and　some　pruners。　Then　it　took　another　half　hour　of　standing　around　to　figure

out　just　where　to　start。　The　actual　yard　was　just　clumps　of

weeds；　but　what　about　the　bordering　shrubs？　Should　I　dig　them　up；　or　prune　them　way　back？

Were　they　shrubs；　or　just　overgrown　weeds？　And

what　about　the　fence？　Should　I　knock　it　down；　or　rebuild　it？　Maybe　I　should　take　out　the　front

end　entirely　and　use　the　wood　to　fix　up　the　sides。

The　longer　I　looked　around；　the　more　I　felt　like　forgetting　the　whole　thing。　Why　bother？　It

wasn't　our　property。　Mr。　Finnegan　should　be　the　one

making　repairs。

But　then　I　remembered　my　mother's　words　from　the　night　before。　Surely；　I