What Money Can’t Buy

I had just returned from six months of rehab. Sober for the first time, I wanted to make the holidays special. My children wanted one thing: a Christmas card like those they had received from friends and family during my drunken years. Out of work and broke, I had to be creative. We went to TJ Maxx and picked out festive outfits that I couldn’t afford. We tried them on in the dressing room just long enough to snap our Christmas photo. My children’s smiles are proof enough that money doesn’t buy happiness. But, for us, sobriety sure does. — Suzanne Hayes

Good Job, Josie

Hoping to meet the right woman, I adopted a Labrador named Josie. I soon learned that dogs attract more attention from men than women. Online dating was equally unsuccessful. (In my profile, I decided to be brutally honest: My car reeks of wet dog; I have hair in places I can’t reach to shave; I have an irrational fear of sharks, even in swimming pools.) Giving up all hope, I went to the beach. Josie hopped out of my car and then sprinted away, eventually resting her backside on the bare foot of the woman I now call my wife. — Jason Luban

My Grandmother’s Goodbye

My grandmother lived in the same house for over 30 years. Her desk was cluttered with school pictures of her 20 grandchildren and photos of people she could no longer recognize. Her walls were decorated with years-old Chinese calendars. Her closet was filled with rusted mooncake boxes and tattered clothing. My grandmother struggled to part with things, but, when it mattered, she learned to let go: A week before her death, as she lay on her bed surrounded by family, she gently patted her chest and said, “I am so happy,” as if to bid us farewell. — Shawn Tran

‘When I First Knew’

In fifth grade, I was shy around you and no other girls. In recess, we wrestled once. You landed on top of me; I saw the kindness in your blue-gray eyes, inhaled your sweet breath and felt an electric zing. When you knocked on my front door in sixth grade, I hid frozen behind my curtain until you walked away. In high school, your hand touched mine. When we kissed in my car, my body erupted. Years later, when my wife asks when I first knew I was gay, I remember, smile and tell the story of you. — Sara Orozco

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