Tearfully, my young son held up a small box he had carried home from school, saying, "Mom, we need to save them," a sentiment echoed by his brothers. Peering inside, I saw two smaller-than-my-thumb-bald blobs only recognizable as birds because of their teeny, tiny beaks. Though I thought it was hopeless, we nestled them in a basket lined with a soft towel and attempted, unsuccessfully, to feed them milk using an eye dropper.

Sadly, only one bird survived the night. After the boys went off to school, I called our vet who suggested I call Harvey Webster at the Natural History Museum. Cautioning me that the bird probably wouldn't live, Mr. Webster suggested feeding it canned dog food thinned with milk and served on a Popsicle stick gently pushed down the bird's throat. I was to call him again in two or three weeks, if the bird survived. Nervously, I tried a feeding and it worked! A few stickloads later, it was content. Throughout the day, whenever I came close to the basket, my bird baby opened his tiny beak wide for more food. After a few days, Birdie, as he was now known, developed a voice--soft cheeps at first when I came near, and then increasingly louder squawks accompanied by wing flapping until he was fed.

Time for another call to Mr. Webster. I learned that the squawking and flapping when I came near meant that Birdie thought I was his mom. Next step: teach him to find food on his own. The boys caught small bugs and let them crawl up the painted dining room wall. Birdie perched on my finger as I kept him eye level with each bug. After a few pecks and misses, he caught and ate an ant. A fast learner, he was soon eating his fill of wall bugs. Next, we moved outdoors where he sat on a tree branch and ate every bug that came close.

One Saturday, we had a must-attend family wedding. What to do with Birdie? Take him to Grandpa and Grandma's house, of course. He spent that day perched on the steering wheel of Grandpa's riding mower eating whatever crawled his way, including some small worms Grandpa dug up as he and Grandma planted flowers.

Finally, Birdie's feathers came in and he was a beautiful blue jay! We put his basket outside on a picnic table and he began venturing out on his own--hops at first and then short flights. He spent his days flying from tree to tree in the backyard, always returning to his basket at dusk. We knew it was only a matter of time before he flew off for good.

Another call to Mr. Webster to ask if we could have Birdie banded so that we could identify him if he stuck around the yard. The large amount of paperwork required made that impossible, but Mr. Webster suggested painting Birdie's toenails with bright red nail polish making it easy to spot him. I did so, despite my sons' worries that the other birds would make fun of him.

The evening soon came when Birdie didn't return to his basket. We saw him the next day flying with a flock of blue jays that didn't seem to mind his little red feet. Several days passed before I saw him again sitting in a pine tree in the yard. I was able to get close to him, but he wouldn't perch on my finger. We didn't see him for months and then, one bright early winter day, there he was at the back yard bird feeder with his blue jay friends, his little red feet easily visible against the white snow.

I can't say I would be eager to do it again, but what an amazing experience to raise a wild bird and then set him free.

Virginia Huml 
First Place, 2020 Write a DearReader Contest 

'Fifteen men on the dead man's chest... Yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum!'

I like to sing, but I don't sing for other people, and certainly not in my saltiest pirate voice. I hear my grandpa's gentle chuckle over the phone.

'Drink and the devil had done for the rest... Yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum!'

It's August 2020, and I'm sitting upstairs singing like a pirate to my grandpa. And I'm loving every minute of it. Of course, this wasn't where I saw myself this year. I had big plans. I was going to go on adventures. Go to museums, attend conventions, try new restaurants, and eat lots and lots of ice cream. But, since the pandemic began, I feel like I hardly leave my house.

The reading arrangement was my mom's idea. The library where I work was closed, so I had been stuck at home for about a month and a half. My grandpa's Independent Living facility was in lockdown. No one was allowed to come or go, and the library that had been sending him audiobooks had temporarily closed, too. He had been listening to the same story again and again. It was time for a change. And he had gotten a new book in the mail, but being legally blind, was not able to read it. So, I agreed to read it to him.

At this point, I should say that my grandpa and I did not have the strongest relationship. There was no bad blood, we just didn't talk much. So, I think we both approached this new arrangement with a bit of uncertainty. "You know," he said, before I even began to read, "If you want, you can just read the book and just tell me what each chapter was about when you're done."

"How about we try a chapter together and see how you feel after that?" I offered instead. I love to read out loud, and was too excited about this prospect to pass it up. By the time I had finished the first chapter, completely out of breath and desperate for a drink of water, we were both hooked. "That was great," he said, the surprise very apparent in his voice. "Will you call me again tomorrow?"

I had such big plans for this year. I was going to get my introvert butt outside and be social. Maybe join a book club. The Telephone Book Club has been a roaring success. We meet five times a week. Sometimes, more when I have time off. We started in May and have already completed 11 books. And we've read a little bit of everything...biography, true crime, mystery, adventure, pulps, and classics. The discussion is great, because we can talk about everything while it's still fresh in our minds.

Some days, after we read, he has stories to share with me, too. About his childhood or trips he's taken, famous people he's met, dating my grandma. He's lived such a full life, done so many amazing things. I love these moments, because now it's my turn to listen.

Ever since I was young, I wanted to be an actress. But, since I was a shy kid, I rarely auditioned for plays; and even when I did, I usually wasn't cast. Now, I perform five days a week. I've been Sherlock Holmes and Watson, Ellery Queen, The Shadow, and Fr. Brown. I've been Doc Savage, Hercule Poirot, and Frankie Yankovic. And now, I'm Jim Hawkins and Long John Silver; Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn.

This was supposed to be a summer of adventures. And I've been on more adventures than I can count. I've solved murders and sailed oceans, fought pirates, Russian revolutionaries and Chinese gangs. And although it was not what either of us had originally planned, I could not have asked for a better travelling companion.

Erin Manning 
Second Place, 2020 Write a DearReader Contest 

Isn't it a bit curious how some of the most important lessons we learned in school did not really have anything to do with the subject matter? One of the mantras I often tell myself (and have passed to my son as well), came from my High School Chemistry teacher: "Don't be too upset about your wrong answers. Those are usually the ones you learn the most from." In one of my Junior High classes, a teacher had a banner on her wall with the Plato quote "wise men speak because they have something to say; fools because they have to say something." When I find myself wrapped up in meaningless conversation, I can picture that banner.

Arguably the most valuable lesson I learned came from my High School American Studies teacher. It was a sneaky lesson that did not appear to be one. He announced that he was going to give us an extra credit opportunity. He had a container of pennies that he would pass around. In secret, we would each take pennies to correspond to an extra grade that he would mark down in his book. If you took 4 pennies, you would get an A. Three pennies for a B, 2 for a C, and one penny for a D. There was just one small catch. There were only enough pennies for every student in the class to take two pennies each. Well, instantly my super competitive side went into overdrive. I convinced myself that I deserved to get an A. I studied hard, I usually got A's anyway, and I was obsessed about my overall GPA and graduating near the top of my class. I could not take a lower grade. And nobody was going to know about it, right? I NEEDED that A. So I took 4 pennies.

After all students had a chance to take the number they wanted, the teacher announced that there were still a few pennies left if anybody wanted more. Everyone laughed but nobody took him up on that offer. Next, he collected slips of paper that simply stated our name and the grade we chose. And then the true terror of what came next. This strange, experimental lesson would not be completely in secret. He kept our names anonymous, but he began to tally on the blackboard. One B, one C, B, a D (to which everyone laughed), C, C, B, A...

With that mention of A, everyone laughed and began to speculate on which student gave themself an A. I sat in panic during the rest of his tally that I would be the only selfish one to have selected an A. He continued. More C's, more B's, maybe another D or two. Not one more A.

I was so completely ashamed of myself and the greed that consumed me in that moment. I imagined that I would go back to the teacher at the end of the day and convince him to give me a D and upgrade another student's grade instead. However, I was too embarrassed to speak to him. But that lesson has stuck with me, and I have often considered that it was a lesson that only I am likely to have remembered, because it was one that I needed. That day I thought the lesson was solely about my greed. In the 20 plus years since then, I have realized it was about greed at the expense of others. It was about sharing the wealth. It was about looking out for your neighbors, your colleagues, your peers. When I think about that lesson today, I ask myself if I have taken too much; have I given enough?

Reader, I ask you to ask yourself: have you taken too many pennies today?

Chassidy Coon 
Third Place, 2020 Write a DearReader Contest