I’m sixteen, and I’ve learned that money can buy attention—but not dignity. Mom works at the city library, shelving books she’s too tired to read. Dad’s been gone since I was eight. It’s just me, Mom, and Grandma Martha—who cleans my high school. She knows every creaky tile and still wakes early on Saturdays to make me pancakes with extra chocolate chips. Kids whispered when they found out. “Your grandma’s the janitor?” they’d say, pretending it wasn’t cruel.
But Grandma always told me, “People who mock honest work are just showing their own emptiness.” Last week was the Scottsville Talent Show—sequins, diamonds, and too much perfume. That night, Grandma was mopping when a woman in fur and designer boots stopped and said loudly, “Be careful—these cost more than you make in a year.” Laughter followed. Grandma just kept mopping.....
