By Mort Harris
An obscure astronomer recently made a startling discovery. He found an area in outer space that was empty. He ran to his computer and calculated that the empty space was one and a half billion light years across. He published his findings and there was a scramble of searchers rushing to their telescopes to check. When interviewed the astronomer was asked, “How did you realize such an important discovery?”
He said, “When I found there was nothing there, I knew I found something.”
Other astronomers questioned each other. Had they seen the same thing? Some said that they have seen nothing out there. Then that must be it.
When asked the significance of his discovery he said, “if it’s true that there is nothing out there, we could be on the threshold of finding another nothing or possible countless nothings. Someday with this discovery, we may find there is nothing in future explorations.”
Some had trouble seeing the area discussed; they were told they couldn’t see nothing for the star. They were reminded if you can’t see it, that’s it stupid.
There were many photographs taken of the space “Nothing.” Time magazine had a picture of it on its cover. Under the Time caption was a complete cover of “Nothing.”
One artist was so inspired he painted the empty area. It was hung in the gallery. One little boy with his mother asked “what is that?” referring to the painting of nothing.
“What does it look like?” she asked him.
“It looks like nothing,” he replied.
“That’s right” she said, patting him lovingly on the head.
Congratulations came from all over the world to honor the man who contributed “Nothing” to science. It appears now that “Nothing” will be the new frontier. We will be rapidly moving from the Atomic Age into the great new era of “Nothing.”
The astronomer was given the Pulitzer Prize for discovering “Nothing.” He admitted that finding “Nothing” was something. Soon it will be common knowledge. Ask any school boy what he knows about outer space and he will surely reply “Nothing.

Mitchell Phillip’s PATH to HELL reviewed

Mitchell Phillip’s Path to Hell is short and simple. However, consider Rob Reiner’s comment about his revisionist fairy tale, Princess Bride: “A fine line separates just simple from great satire.” Mitch’s story is not a satire, but his tongue in cheek approach to an old and well-worn genre creates irony. Some literary critics might see any turd on a dusty road as an allegory; however, some turds are allegorical.
Mitch’s simple characters, twenty discounting the dead and unnamed ones, interact in a series of vignettes, not always sequential. Interaction between characters supersedes their actions in furthering the plot, often with trite, near child like, dialogue.
Mitch’s elegant prose contrasting that of his characters—some even speak in dialect—challenges the reader to find depth and the reward is irony built into each character’s self exposure and/or comeuppance from the good-cop-bad-cop to a naive psychiatrist, to racial themes, legal justice versus street justice, and deadly sins contrasted with altruism. The hero reigns in the end—I might have preferred an ironic twist—leaving behind a cast of characters appropriately shunned or rewarded. Intimate sexual scenes are blocked to the reader’s irritation. It is a tale to be experienced on various levels.

The Wedding Shower

The Wedding Shower
by Mort Harris

A friend of mine was getting married. I was invited to his wedding shower that was held at a Dude Ranch. The wedding shower was great but the day ended in disaster. That was the day I received a new suit, got blisters on my foot and tried to explain to a judge why I was picked-up for indecent exposure.
There I stood in front of the judge with no pants and looking like a drowned rat. The judge stared down at me.
“It says here you were found by the police wandering on the bridle path in your underwear and no shoes. Do you have anything to say?”
“Yes. For one thing, I was not just in my underwear, I had a shirt on and I had one shoe on. I lost the other one trying to get my pants off.”
“Can you explain why you’re tried to get your pants off?”
“Yes.” “I was at my friends shower.”
“You were showering with a friend?” asked the judge.
“No your honor, I was with a horse.”
“You were showering with a horse?”
“ I was at a Dude Ranch your honor.”
“Okay” she said, “we’ll work that out later. Continue.”
“Well, it suddenly began to rain heavily so we were washed out.”
“You or the horse?”
“The shower was rained out so, we reined in the horses.”
She stopped me, “you said the shower was rained out and the horses were reined in?” “Yes.”
“We’ll work that out later too” she said. “Go on.”

“Well, we all rode our horses back to the stable but on the way my horse stopped to eat apples on the ground. I kicked, I hit, I punched but the horse would not move. So there I am sitting on the horse and getting rained on. I thought, if I could get off the horse and pull him away from the apples but that is when my leg got caught in the reins.”
“Wait” said the judge “you say your leg was caught in the rain? Where was the rest of you?”
“Getting soaked!”
“How come only your leg got caught in the rain?”
“Because your honor, I let the reins drop.”
“I know sir, in what direction did the rains drop” she snapped. Continue.”
“Well, as I was trying to get my leg out of the reins the horse started to run and there I was with one leg in the reins and the other on the ground being dragged along. To get my leg out of the reins I had to strip off my pants and lost a shoe at the same time. That’s how I got out of the rain.”
“Why was it so important to just get your leg out of the rain?”
“You don’t understand!”
“Please” said the judge “I’m confused enough. You must be telling the truth because no one could make-up a ridiculous story like that. We now find your story at the stable. They said your horse came back with a pair of pants but no rider. I have two pieces of advice for you. See a doctor and stay out of the rain. Case dismissed.”
When I returned to the stable there was my horse looking at me and laughing, and I’m sure the rest of the horses were giggling too. That’s the last Dude Ranch you’ll se me at.

Gossip and Alpha Male

According to Yuval Noah Harari in his book SAPIENS, the key that set homo sapiens apart from the other animals about a million years ago can be found in the use of language. Most animals have speech related to specific needs: mating, danger, and pleasure. Some such as monkeys learned to deceive, a false alarm to clear the pack from a food source. Most sounds are memorized codes such as the alphabet soup of acronyms relating to our government, CIA, FBI, USDA, etc. Like the nouns in any language, the list could go on nearly forever.

Homo sapiens discovered relationships between these coded sounds, much like verbs, actions between them. On to higher forms of communication: abstractions (unseen forces in the universe) and hypothetical’s (if thens and what ifs.)

Abstract language coupled with a more basic interaction inherited from animals—rule of the alpha male over social groups, modern time extended to include alpha female—coupled with a basic human need for self identity. Who am I in relation to the other members of my social group. Gossip. These judgmental statements require abstract words—feelings, values, attitudes, appraisals, put-downs.

Social groups are still ruled by alpha males, but the lower hierarchy continually jostles for position, how do I fit in relation to those closest to me. Conspiracy theories—recently labeled fake news—add juice to the conversation.


by Mort Harris
Nineteen forty eight, the American West teemed with hostile Indians. As more settlers moved out West, Redskins attacked wagon trains and burned ranch houses, tarnishing the name of Washington’s famous football team. The President, in desperation called upon Stephen Gold, the Secretary of State. “We have a serious problem with terrorism in this country” said the President. “The Indians are attacking us indiscriminately. We have information that they are stealing herds of women and raping the cattle.”
“Sir” asked Gold, “Could that report be in error?”
“Never!” thundered the President. “Our intelligence is indisputable; worse than that, they have resorted to suicide knifing.”
Gold was shocked. “Suicide knifing?”
“Yes” said the President. “Terrorists are attacking saloons; they knife a few people and then stab themselves to death.”
Gold shook his head. “Insane fanatics.”
“What’s wrong with those Indians?” questioned the President. “Haven’t we been generous with them?”
Gold whispered, “Maybe they are a little upset about us being on their land and slaughtering their Buffalo.”
“Nonsense. It’s those wild extremists, the Redskin Supremacists.” He grabbed Gold by the shoulders, “Gold, you are an expert on the far West. I need you to go and check out the tribes. We have received reports that they are preparing for more attacks. More importantly, it is rumored that they are compiling arrows of mass destruction.”
Gold asked, “Have you intercepted any vital messages between the tribes?”
“Only one, when we broke their smoke signal code.”
“What did it say?”
“Yankee go home.” The President shook his head. “Those inconsiderate heathens.”
“Ungrateful savages.” echoed Gold.
The President slammed his fist against his desk. “We have got to have more rigid immigration laws. The Indians act as if it were their land.”
Gold grimaced but nodded.
“One more thing Gold, when you’re out West find out what we can do to lure more settlers out there. I’ll send a large army with you as a peace measure, of course.”
After his futile search for arrows of mass destruction, Gold wrote:
Dear Mr. President,
I picked up some pretty trinkets and got a great buy on a blanket. At our pow-wow, I learned the tribes were not open to our kind of democracy. However, they thanked you for the gifts of whiskey.
Stephen (One Braid) Gold
Toward the end of his trip, Gold found himself in Sutter’s Mill, California. Crossing the muddy main street, he was struck by a speeding stagecoach. People gathered around his injured body.
“Who is that?”
“That’s Gold.”
“What happened to him?”
“He was struck by a stagecoach.”
Word started spreading though the town. “They struck Gold.”
“Sutter’s Mill.”
The Pony Express carried the fake news all the way to Missouri. “They struck gold in California.”
The excitement spread by telegraph to Philadelphia, New York and Boston. Thousands of people stampeded out West to seek their fortune.
Swathed in bandages, splints on his arms and legs, Gold, leaning on a crutch, met the President in the Oval Office. The President nailed a medal into the cast that covered Gold’s chest. Gold attempted a salute but the cast on his arm locked at the half way point. The president heaped praises on his Secretary of State. “You have exceeded my expectations. You not only pacified the Indians with whiskey, but you discovered an ingenious way to get our people to migrate West.”
“Sir, the people of this nation are lucky to have a man such as you as President.”
“I know,” boasted the president. “I sent my best General and more troops to suppress the Indian uprising in the Dakota territory.”
Months later, General Custer stood proudly on a hill top waving the flag of the 27th Cavalry and shouted, “I will stop those Indians if it’s the last thing I do.”
Mort Harris is a comedy writer for Marty Allen.


by Geri Bedrosian, President Summerlin Writers Workshop

Calpurnius loved his horses. It might be said Calpurnius loved his horses more
than his sons, more than his daughters, more than Potitus, his father, more than his
wife, Conchessa, more than his life. True the horses and the cavalry command
brought him wealth and prestige. The horses in the cavalry and his Decurion, (10
Roman-Briton cavalry horse warriors), needed him-they were welfare, income, life
style, life’s blood. Every day he and the men and his sons tended to the horses
every need. The exercising to create muscles of steel, quick responses and
maneuvers in the face of battling foe, feed, brushing down, rubbing down, finding
mares and sires to continue to breed the finest cavalry horses in Cumbria. He
demanded utmost allegiance from his men, his ten and his sons that these horses
and men became as one in the face of battling for life, limb, family, tribe, religion,
country and king.
Depending on the season, bone cold, chilling wet or hot soaking steamy work life,
little rest from training, maintaining, managing – it consumed all their lives for it
was their livelihood. They slept and woke with the horses every day. This was the
life of Calpurnius’ son Maewum Siccat, born 387 to Calpernius and
Conchessa. He grew to be a strong, wiry fair-haired lad and could know the best
and worst of a horse, could out ride his tribe and siblings, could know the very
dreams and ideas behind those most beautiful largest eyes in kingdom come.

That is why it surprised Calpernius that his elder son did not want to serve the
Calvary or the Curia, the senate seat of Cumbria’s decision-making government as
was written by law. Maewum wanted adventure and not servitude to the Cumbrian
citizenry. He knew horses and he knew he was a warrior. Be careful what you
wish for. And, as fate would have it, Maewum got his wish. A marauding tribe of
Irish pirates overtook Cumbria and kidnapped most of the women and children,
leaving many Cumbrian men dead. Maewum was on board a ship to Ireland with
some of his townspeople, a slave to a ruthless Pelagian tribe who believed original
sin was not passed on to mankind, born in innocence with a nature that is pure as
Adam first was. This was not Maewum’s tribal religion. He was in servitude until
he was 16 having mastered the Irish language and culture and worked as beast
master, tending all manner of animals. He was abused and psychologically
brainwashed to believe the Pelagian ways or die. This he did until his
He escaped all right-right into the hands of the French in Tours where he learned
French monasticism. He escaped and returned to Ireland where he converted
pagan warriors, wealthy royal, noble women, the unfree and the poor to vow to his
monastic charity overthrowing pagan idols, converting pagans in Ireland to true
Christianity, that humankind is born in sin and must spend eternity and good works
to escape it. Churches were built on royal lands but Maewum refused Kingly gifts,
their kinship which made him outside their protection. He was charged with
financial impropriety having received gifts from his converts, wealthy women,
who later became nuns. He was beaten, robbed, chained, imprisoned, awaited
execution. He returned the gifts and made restitution and was set free to continue
his life’s work. It is true he used the parable of the shamrock to teach the trinity of
3 persons in one God: the Father, the Son, the Holy Spirit but never a snake
slithered in Ireland’s cold and salt sands. The Druids wrote this poem about
“Across the sea will come adze head, crazed in the head, his cloakwill hole
for the head, his stick bent in the head, he will chant impieties from a table in the
front of his house and all his people will answer: so be it, so be it.”
By now Maewum Siccat was being called holy
Magnus (famous), Succetus (god of war), Patricius (father of citizens),
and Cothirtiacus, which in Old Irish is Cathraige and Celtic Latin
is Patricius (servant to the Four Druid Houses). This last name is the name
Maewum became: Patricius (Patrick) warrior/priest, father to followers, slayer of
Pagans for conversion to true Christianity. He made a name for himself but about
that color green….


BY Roger Storkamp

The leprechaun slipped out of his secret hiding place as
the sun set in the west.
From afar he heard the music of an Irish Jig and began
to swirl and dance.
A cloud appeared above his head and swiftly travel to the
young lass.
To bring unto her young life a feeling of a wonderous
No, no said the people, we do not believe in love and
It’s for us to decide who shall drive the bridal carriage.
Young people do not have the wisdom and knowledge to
make such an important decision,
it’s the elders to decide each and every mission.
Ah, but the leprechaun wanted to cause havoc and
disruption, for he knew true love was the best of a
romantic discussion.
So, he cast a spell upon a priest to secretly to find and
marry, those of whom that loves comes from the sprinkle
of the love fairy.
He goes by the name of Patrick and the world owes him
great affection, because he turned the world around in a
new direction.
This annoying little leprechaun spell made the Priest owe
so famous.
A holiday was name after him that brought true love to
the surface.
First comes St. Patrick’s Day – when the Irish celebrate
the Wearing of the Green. Then comes April 15th – when
the government observes the Sharing of the Green.
St. Patrick’s Day is such a wonderful occasion. It gives
Irishmen that same feeling of omnipotence that Texans
have all year round.
Like Clancy told his wife the other day: “You gotta look
on the bright side of things, honey. Remember all the
gold jewelry I gave you for Christmas? Be thankful it
turned green in time for St. Patrick’s Day.”
I know a Jewish fella who celebrates St. Patrick’s Day.
The way he reads it, it’s: Aaron – Bo Ruagh!
Leprechaun fair warning “Never iron a four-leaf Clover.
You don’t want to press your luck.”
Murphy told Quinn that his wife was driving him to drink.
Quinn thinks he’s very lucky because his own wife makes
him walk.
Reilly went to trial for armed robbery. The jury foreman
came out and announced, “Not guilty.” That’s grand!
shouted Reilly. “Does that mean I can keep the money?”
Billy stops Paddy in Dublin and asks for the quickest way
to Cork. Paddy says, “Are you on foot or in the car?” Billy
says, “In the car.” Paddy says, “That’s the quickest way.”
On St. Patrick’s Day O’Reilly was going to take his final
solo flying lesson. His engines cuts out and he
immediately gets on the radio yelling, “Easter –
Christmas – Armistice – April fools – New Years. The
radio operator on the end says very comely, “Do you
mean mayday?”
“Did you see the paper?” Gallagher asked. “They say I
died!” “Yes, I saw it!” Finney replied. “Where are you
callin’ from?”
Leprechaun words of wisdom: In life, there are only two
things to worry about. Whether you’ll live or you’ll die.
If you live, there is nothing to worry about. If you die,
there are two things to worry about: whether you’ll go to
Heaven or Hell. If you go to Heaven, there is nothing to
worry about. If you go to Hell, you’ll be shaking hands
with so many friends you won’t have time to worry.


Joyce is an active member of the Summerlin’s Writers’ and Poets’ Workshop.

Joyce Rice is an inspiring and enthusiastic performer, author, and motivational speaker who
connects to audiences of all ages through her genuine and generous spirit.
Featured nationally on ABC, CBS, and NBC, as well as numerous international television
programs, Joyce has lectured on the “Art of Innovation” for such influential and forward thinking corporations as General Dynamics, Rockwell International, and ITT.
Her self-developed strategies for success and happiness originated on her family’s sixth generation farm in Iowa and have been cultivated over a lifetime.
At age 17—after years of practice, determination and staying true to her potential—she was
judged the best baton twirler in the world, defeating some 20,000 other young women for the
World Champion title.
But that was just the beginning. She has also excelled in the field of entertainment with more
than 40 years of experience on stage.
Her talent with the baton took her across the US and Europe, performing at professional football
games, festivals, and world fairs and as the opening act for the Harlem Globetrotters.
She parlayed that talent into a long-running act as America’s Favorite Cowgirl, demonstrating
her prowess with whip-cracking, lariat-spinning, juggling, and comedy at venues around the
She also co-founded and developed the “Thank A Farmer” educational program, adding magic
tricks to her repertoire to promote agriculture and the critical role of farmers and ranchers.
Joyce’s numerous successes allow her to share with audiences how an Iowa farm girl with a
dream became a successful innovator in show business—and one of today’s most unique and
outstanding speakers.
Her journey inspires her to engage with audiences and light a spark that will put people on the
path of accomplishing their own dreams.
She’s been called a “master of visual and verbal communication” and uses those skills to make
points indelible and delight audiences by demonstrating innovation in action.
By sharing her life lessons and proven strategies, Joyce inspires and empowers others to
maximize their talents, rise to the top, and live their full potential.
Joyce strives to help others remember they are capable, responsible, and in control of achieving
their goals and dreams.


by Rena Winters

One morning I awakened at dawn and realized that a door had closed in my life. I know
that each of you have had a door close in your life at some time. I lingered by that closed door,
then, as in previous losses, I walked alone.
The wet grass beneath my feet healed my body, the trees overhead fed my spirit, and I
kept hearing, or thought I heard, live it now, you cannot live tomorrow unless you live today,
this moment, then I became aware of the great process of time, we hold nothing. All things go. I
became a part of that great stream of time when the ancient life forms started. I could see
those life forms as though in progression, vivid as a chart on a museum wall. Yet the ancient
hieroglyphics speak only of today, an unbelievable optimism overflowed me. The life force
moves. It continues to grow and change. It re-creates from decaying hearts new grasses –
perhaps in a different form, and there is an expanding consciousness to perceive the wonder of
this movement of life, suddenly I knew my part in this, it was not to war with progress, not to
spend my force grieving because the buffalo are gone and the whale may be leaving, not
grasping for some utopian future, but from my thought and feeling, first in mind and heart and
then in words tell what it is, just what it is, this day.
So this wonderful spring day I saw a blossom in a tree, it bloomed high above the
branches bursting forth with brilliant color. I saw the arched head of a deer, the gentle grace of
a doe in movement; I saw a cottontail, standing as a statue. For a while I walked in the tracks of
a raccoon. I sat on a moss-covered stump and wondered what myth am I living? Promptly the
answer came, it is the miracle of God at work and the words came rushing in my head clearly,
“The Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not want, he maketh me to lie down in green pastures; he
leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul; he leadeth me in the paths of
righteousness for his name’s sake, yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of
death, I will fear no evil; for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me, thou
preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies; thou annointest my head with
oil; my cup runneth over, surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life; and
I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.
I departed the woods and went to the beach, through cracks in the pier, I two swallows
with golden lined beaks closed in their carefully feathered nest. They sleep the deep sleep of
infant’s sleep, their elders sat on the dock rail, chatting together before starting the day of
feeding their young. I heard the call of a heron and the splash of the dive of a gull. I listened to
all the birds and the wonderful sounds of the ocean.
On this day I walked in the good earth, the dirt and the sand. I smelled the clean fresh
air of the mountains and the cool salt air of the sea. I saw a blossom high in a tree and it healed
me. I heard myself saying “let the past go, let the future be, it is enough to feel, and see, and be
in this instant in time.”
I understand that the door was not really closed, all the life and love I had known
walked with me beneath the trees, life flows in an endless stream, being a part of life, we flow
with it.
Spring has many faces, like a beautiful woman whose features fragment in the ripples of a
stream; there are two faces of spring that I hold very dear although they are at opposite sides
of nature’s spectrum.
Have you ever spent a springtime afternoon in San Francisco … that Bagdad by the bay,
you will see lovely girls in bright spring dresses … handsome, tanned men, and the orange paint
of that famous bridge silhouetted against the sky and on the hills the skyscrapers, towers and
cathedrals, awe inspiring canyons of steel that give testimony to man’s great creative genius?
All of this is just the window dressing for God’s wonder that is spring. The winds of
March drive frothy white caps across the bay and in the bright blue sky the soft white clouds
skid and speed over the heavens to the final rendezvous with the golden sunset. Another face
of spring can be seen in the hill country. You know spring comes in many ways to many places
but she must love the mountains the best because it is here the first buds appear on the trees
while the winter snow still clings to the ground below. It is here a riot of wildflowers first comes
to bloom and the roaring river seems to sing an anthem to the coming of spring…. the rebirth of
the land. This is the prelude to the lush dark green of summer, the age-old promise given at the
beginning of time, God’s spring, blossoms, soft breezes, and butterflies, the all-enveloping
peace and serenity this is springtime in the mountain.
Springtime is a wonderful time to renew and rejuvenate our lives and our thinking. Just
as all of nature’s creations began life in the springtime. It’s time to begin life anew, to stretch
and broaden and widen our horizons and our thinking. To burst forth with flowers of love to all
those around us, to everyone and everything we touch.

Sticking Up for Someone

by Marcia Gewelber

I was borne a feminist. In my own home I experienced many
inequities. My father always spoke of and encouraged equal rights for men
and women. Since he died when I was 10, I alone carried the Flag of
My mother, for example, always believed my brother was more equal
than I. It reminded me of the book, Animal Farm, in which the “Pigs were
more equal” than any other animals. It was she I had to fight to go to
college. Since my brother was 7 years older than I, I watched as he went to
college, joined a fraternity, while my mother bought him a used car so he
didn’t have to travel by subway.
She had already told me when it came to my turn to enter college; she
would not give me a “red cent” to quote her. In the year 1959 she told me,
“It’s not necessary for girls to attend college. You can work as a secretary,
like other girls your age.”
Well, for those of you who know me, I applied for scholarships and won
one which paid for school as well as my books. At that time, I majored in
Business. To turn a phrase, I “burned my bra” well before Betty Friedan
made it a cry to rally women.
After I graduated valedictorian, I took many types of jobs until I could
save enough money to go back to college and major in Writing. It was at
that point that I was hired by a Psychiatric Group of doctors to transcribe
tapes of cases of child abuse that would be entered into court records.
At that time, the group had just hired their first female Psychiatrist. I’ll
call her Dr. Smith. I had a chance to talk with her on breaks, getting to
know her background and the woman herself. She was a strong woman,
extremely bright, especially being the first female Psychiatrist among men in
the same field at medical school. I learned she felt she had to be better just
to survive. And survive she did.
I worked in that office where the male Psychiatrists would talk to each
other in front of me as if I didn’t exist. That’s when I learned that Dr. Smith
was hired at half their salaries without the “golden” lists of benefits that the
men had in their contracts. They would talk down about her, putting her in a
position of second-class citizen in their eyes—only because she was a
I kept notes of what they said, knowing instinctively they were
breaking the law, my law. At last I felt I had enough ammunition to speak
with Dr. Smith. It happened I was able to get her alone in the cubicle in
which I worked.
I began by telling her how much I admired her, and how I felt about
female equality. And, I pulled out my notes and began to list all the gossip I
overheard, beginning with the salary difference. She became agitated
immediately. That’s when I explained that I did not want her to use my
name; that I needed this job in order to return to college.
After about 15 minutes, she promised me she would not use my name
and thanked me profusely for informing her about all the discrepancies
included in her contact. She hugged me and said she would confront them
What I did not know was after our talk she hired an attorney, and was
going to sue the Group. I never saw her again.
Shortly after that, I was fired for a cause they manufactured. I felt hurt
and betrayed. After all, she had promised to keep my name out of it.
I quickly found another job and earned enough to go back to college.
My hurt feelings disappeared because I had a new direction in life, and I
knew I would finally be working as a writer. I graduated as “Writer of the
Year” and have enjoyed my career from then to now.
Today, I look back and see that I wasn’t a snitch, I was a hero in the
sense that Dr. Smith was now on equal footing no matter where she landed,
and I helped getting her foot up, so to speak. I realize how much courage it
took for me to let her know about the disparities she was facing.
And, today, I still wear no bra, knowing I am a true-life feminist!