Two months ago, my world turned upside down with a single phone call. My mom told me Grandpa Alvin had a heart attack and was in the hospital. I dropped everything and raced to the hospital, worried sick. Grandpa is my rock—my confidant, and, honestly, I might love him even more than Mom (shhh, don’t tell!).
After a tense wait, the doctor assured us Grandpa’s surgery was successful but he needed rest, a heart-healthy diet, and absolutely no stress. So, we hired a full-time nurse to help him at home, as he lived in another town.
Last weekend, I decided to visit Grandpa with Mom, bringing along a bouquet of his favorite sunflowers. When we arrived at his apartment complex, I noticed something that made my blood boil—someone had vandalized his car. Written on the rear windscreen, in what seemed to be fresh finger marks, was a hateful message: “YOU ARE A DIRTY PIG! CLEAN UP YOUR CAR OR GET OUT OF THE COMMUNITY. SHAME! SHAME! SHAME!”
I was furious. How could someone be so heartless to an elderly man who’s been too ill to even get out of bed? Mom urged me to stay calm for Grandpa’s sake, so I forced myself to focus on his visit.
