Yevet Tenney

Many years ago, I traveled to Chicago. I had been living in a city where the traffic was routed away from the residential area and the noise level was the occasional dull roar of passing cars and the laughter of children playing along the streets.

Recently, the White Mountains in Arizona were in a severe drought. The grass had long since turned brown, and the trees were losing their drooping leaves, even though they were watered by the garden hose almost daily.

The sultry August day my grandfather passed away, I walked up the path under the willow trees. I noticed the group gathered around my grandfather’s lawn chair. I knew he was there. Tears stung my eyes. I couldn’t join the group.

Pain: What a terrible curse. Men under the threat of pain have revealed national secrets and abandoned family, country and religion. The cupboards of many Americans are filled with painkillers, and pharmacies do a booming pain-relieving business.

Recently, I have been recording family histories, and I found three stories I heard as a child that I thought my readers would like. Looking back to the past, there are stories that reveal the character and desires of our ancestors and shed light our own traditions and desires.

I had a conversation with a fellow student when we were in college, back in the Dark Ages. He said, “How are we different from the caveman? Do you know how to make a computer? Do you know how to do build a car?”