BeaglePuppy

My guess is that the will’s in the secret room. I really want them to check it already. If not there, then probably the photo album. Guess I’ll find out in a couple days.

This is a really (sadly) sweet chapter, and I can’t believe the story is almost done. It seems like there’s so much left to explore! And I am really sorry, but I’m going to be “that guy” in the comments—balloon releases are environmental disasters. Not only does it increase the plastic pollution and deplete our rapidly-dwindling supply of helium, but it is deadly to animal life—domesticated and wild. Animals get caught and tangled in the string and plastic fragments, and will also mistake the foil and/or latex as a food source. These ingested balloons are often deadly. It is especially devastating to marine life. I feel like an entitled brat with this comment, but I had to bring it up. Presenting that ceremony as a beautiful thing just didn’t sit well with me. I understand the sentiment and the ideas behind it, but the reality doesn’t quite match up to the veneer of beauty. I normally wouldn’t say anything, but because the themes of this story are of waking up to the inequalities of society and pursuing justice, it seemed ironic to be unaware of the avoidable environmental damage caused by the ceremony. I do want to stress that I greatly enjoy this story and think you are a very talented author. Your stories are some of my favorites on this site, and I find myself re-reading them year after year. This story updating has been the highlight of my Mondays for a while.

Tinker v. Des Moines intensifies…

I live in a small town in rural Michigan surrounded by smaller, more rural towns…there are almost no black people. When I was little I thought discrimination didn’t happen here because there was no one to discriminate against. It wasn’t until I got a little older that I started to think about why there weren’t any black families in the first place. I remember once we had a black family move in across the street, which was really unusual. My poor, introverted mother had no idea what to do. “Should I go welcome them to the neighborhood? Is that creepy? I don’t talk to any of my other neighbors!” I think she settled on complimenting their gardening skills when she caught them outside and sent over a loaf of really really good bread. (I also like your story, and I really think it captures the well-meaning complacency of a large portion of the white community in a way that other works struggle to.)