The sun streamed through the kitchen window, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. I sat at the table, sipping my tea, when the doorbell chimed. A wave of excitement washed over me. It was Lizzie, my granddaughter, a whirlwind of energy and sunshine.
But today, her smile seemed a little forced, her eyes downcast. “Hi Grandma,” she mumbled, her voice barely a whisper.
My heart sank. I knew something was wrong. Lizzie, usually a chatterbox, was unusually quiet. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?” I asked, pulling her onto my lap.
She shrugged, her shoulders drooping. “Nothing.”
“Come on, darling,” I coaxed. “You can tell me anything.”
After a long pause, she finally admitted, “The kids at school are teasing me again.”
My blood ran cold. “Teasing you about what?”
Lizzie looked down at her feet, her voice barely audible. “My braces… and now my glasses.”
My heart ached. I remembered the cruel taunts I had endured as a child, the feeling of being different, of not fitting in. I couldn’t bear to see my granddaughter go through the same thing.
“Lizzie,” I said, my voice firm, “those kids are just mean. They’re jealous. You are beautiful, inside and out, with or without braces or glasses.”
She looked at me doubtfully. “But everyone else is wearing contacts.”
A mischievous glint entered my eye. “Really? Well, then I guess I need to get some contacts too!”
Lizzie’s eyes widened. “But Grandma, you don’t need glasses!”
I chuckled. “Oh, but I do, darling. I’ve been needing glasses for a while now, but I’ve been too stubborn to admit it.”
And with that, I went to my room and emerged a few minutes later, sporting a pair of stylish, oversized glasses. Lizzie stared at me, her mouth agape.
“Grandma!” she exclaimed, her eyes sparkling. “We look like twins!”
She threw her arms around me, hugging me tightly. “Thank you, Grandma,” she whispered, her voice choked with emotion. “You’re the best grandma ever. I love you!”
My heart melted. I had never expected this reaction. I had simply wanted to comfort her, to show her that she wasn’t alone. But seeing her smile, her eyes shining with admiration, filled me with a joy I hadn’t felt in years.
From that day on, Lizzie embraced her glasses. She even started experimenting with different frames, choosing colors and styles that expressed her individuality. The teasing continued, of course, but it no longer had the power to dim her light.
And I, her unlikely accomplice, watched with pride as she blossomed into a confident, beautiful young woman, her glasses becoming a part of her unique identity. I had learned a valuable lesson that day: sometimes, the best way to combat negativity is with a little bit of humor and a whole lot of love.
Denzel Washington tells it like it is, he doesn’t hold back
Denzel Washington tells it like it is. Though not a conservative by any stretch of the imagination, he lacks the arrogance, vapidity, and radicaI leftism peculiar to Hollywood personalities.
Instead, he tends to speak the truth as he sees it in a reasonable, rational way that’s quite unlike what’s normally associated with Hollywood.
Such was the case back in 2016 when actors were patting themselves on the back and saying that making a movie was like going to a w ar zone…yes, really.
Well, Denzel demolished that Iie during an interview with the Hollywood Reporter, saying People say ‘the difficulty of making a movie.’ Well, send your son to Iraq. That’s difficult.
It’s just a movie, relax. I don’t play that precious nonsense. Your son got shot in the face? That’s difficuIt. Making a movie is a luxury. It’s a gift. But don’t get it twisted, it’s just a movie.
Denzel’s comments might have been a response to Tom Cruise, who had been somewhat misleadingly quoted in 2013 as saying that filming a movie was brutaI like a tour of duty in Afgha nistan.
The Hollywood Reporter was involved in that story too, reporting:
Don’t underestimate the work that Cruise does. As far as he’s concerned, acting is like competing in the Olympics, and sometimes like fighting in Afgha nistan. I train, you know, I’ve studied, you know, professional athletes, Olympians, in order to, you know, a sprinter for the Olympics, they only have to run two races a day, Cruise explains. When I’m shooting, I couId potentially have to run 30, 40 races a day, day after day
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