Mr Grey worked in an educational institution. Mrs Grey was an artist. They lived in a small little house with their lovable daughters. They are not rich. Yet their house was filled with fun, laughter, guests, and music. Often times the house was dusty. I actually had to clear the sink and wash quite a few items to get myself a mug to make coffee in. But some how it was always a good experience visiting them. They were warm, they were loving. They encouraged me when I was sad. They brought out the best in me. It was in their house that I found myself an exciting and much sought after story teller. You see, without them, I probably would not be writing these tales for you to enjoy today.
An expensive house without love and laughter is not a home. A perfectly clean residence usually causes guests to feel ill at ease. All the luxury in this world could not buy a genuine good time.
Looking back, I recall the elder girl, Caroline, as the brainy one. Years later I heard that Caroline joined Yale, an ivy league college. The younger girl, Betsy, was probably having Attention Deficit problem. She had a fair bit of difficulty with spelling, too. It is not this that I remember most, it is how both Mr. and Mrs. Grey were equally accepting and encouraging to both their girls. With such exceptional parents, I am sure both children would have turned out well.
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