It's after the birth of a child when the worries really begin

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I phoned her the other day to ask how her pregnancy is coming along.

"I'll be glad when it's over," she said in a weary voice. "I'm a nervous wreck. There are so many things that can go wrong. I can't wait for this baby to be born."

My friend is having her second child, but this is her third pregnancy. A year ago she miscarried, so all during the early weeks of this pregnancy the possibility that she might again miscarry kept her joy on hold.

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Higashi School: It means hope

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A child is born, a normal, healthy, beautiful child. He rolls over when he should, sits up like all babies his age, crawls, stands, walks, says "mama" and "dada," and when he smiles, he lights up a room.

But when he's about a year-and-a-half he stops using words, stops looking at people and doesn't reach out anymore. He doesn't smile. He frowns, screams, bites his hands, bangs his head on the floor and tears at his face and his hair. He repeats this behavior day after day.

What causes this? No one has an answer. Neither the cause nor the cure of autism is known.

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An anniversary of friendship

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I wish I could remember more about that Christmas Eve. I can recreate the room: We are at Caryn's parents' house, at their traditional after-church Christmas party, renowned for its homemade egg-nog. I can picture the punch bowl in the middle of the table, hear the clinking of glass and the laughter of the crowd, smell assorted colognes and the sweet scent of pine.

I can see Caryn's face, a child's face, no make-up, not even lipstick, freckles dotting her nose, a grin in her eyes. I can even make out what she's wearing: a plaid jumper, a white blouse. She is 19. She is a child.

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An anniversary of friendship

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I wish I could remember more about that Christmas Eve. I can recreate the room: We are at Caryn's parents' house, at their traditional after-church Christmas party, renowned for its homemade egg-nog. I can picture the punch bowl in the middle of the table, hear the clinking of glass and the laughter of the crowd, smell assorted colognes and the sweet scent of pine. I can see Caryn's face, a child's face, no make-up, not even lipstick, freckles dotting her nose, a grin in her eyes. I can even make out what she's wearing: a plaid jumper, a white blouse. She is 19. She is a child.

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Friends celebrate a life well lived

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They came to talk about their friend. Fifteen women drove from Dorchester to Braintree last Wednesday evening after a day of tending to their children, their homes and their jobs to sit in another friend's home and try to explain to a stranger how special Michelle Kennedy was.

"No matter what was going on in her life, she'd always say, "But what about you? How are you doing?"

"She was always there for me."

"She was my best friend."

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Taking time to live real life

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PROUT'S NECK, Maine - The DNA men are inside. It's 5:30 p.m. and they have been at it all day: trading information, speculating, extrapolating, talking nuclei and double helixes, trying to decipher the genetic code of life.

It is noble work they do. Their research will improve, even save people's lives.

But in the meantime, there's today, Oct. 3, a glorious, sunny, warm Indian summer day, set down in the middle of fall.

And they are oblivious to it.

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Ordinary people must end Haiti's extraordinary hell

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This isn't what you want to read on a Sunday morning, or on any morning. It's yet another horror story about suffering people thousands of miles away. We don't want to know about any more suffering people. We've got enough problems: not enough money to make ends meet; not enough jobs to go around.

Cities exploding. Hope imploding. Locked doors in the house, even when you're home. Locked doors in the car, even when you drive. No stopping to help anyone; no looking around. People weird, ready to attack. Trouble in the schools; trouble in the streets; homes aren't havens; church doors are locked; Cancer, AIDS, hurricanes. We don't need more problems!

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Looking for someone to blame

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t shouldn't have happened. This is an unarguable fact. Julie Tobin, of West Roxbury, should be alive, not dead.

She was killed on Sept. 6, 1987. The 17-year-old had spent the afternoon at a family reunion of a friend held at Norwood Country Club. Shortly after midnight, she left the reunion on foot and was standing in the breakdown lane of Route 1 talking to some friends in a van when she suddenly ran around the front of the van and onto the road. She was hit by a car and died the next day.

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Children are dying of moral neglect

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The juxtaposition is what struck me. On the front page of The Patriot Ledger last week was a photograph of two women comforting a crying child. The child, 5 years old, had been in a Texas elementary school when a student's father, allegedly upset over his son's grades, burst into the school and began shooting.

Next to this photo was a local story headlined "Schools get tough, suspend more kids." The gist of the article was that public schools are failing kids by suspending them from class. Discipline, state officials said, is getting in the way of learning.

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Who steals their smiles?

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In pictures they're smiling. Check out the magazines. Notice the ads. Look at the pretty girl with the good-looking guy - no worry on her face, only a smile.

On TV it's the same, and in movies. Smiles, smiles everywhere. Everyone is grinning. Everyone is cheerful. Everyone is having a good time. This is what we are supposed to be doing - smiling, connecting, enjoying life.

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20th Century's greatest figure is still up for debate, vote

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It began with a sign - not a spiritual one, but a billboard. At least that's how I think it began. The billboard was at Disney World, and it asked visitors to consider who they believe had made the greatest contribution to the 20th Century.

Maybe the wording was different. Maybe it was vote for the man of the century. I don't remember. But I found myself mulling over the question, then posing it to everyone I knew.

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Kindness can be all around

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Fall River papers didn't cover it, though it happened in their backyard.

It wasn't news. News is about people hurting one another - robbing, lying, beating, killing. News is a health care worker mistreating patients; a doctor overprescribing drugs; a psychiatrist abusing clients. News is about the evil that men do.

But life brims with good, too, and the good far surpasses the evil. If it didn't, people wouldn't have partners, children, friends, pets. No one would nurse, doctor, teach, parent, rescue, feed, guide, inspire, love. No one would lift a finger for others.

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Chamber phone user-hostile

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Thursday morning, shortly before noon I dial the Greater Boston Chamber of Commerce. The phone rings once. A recording answers: "Thank you for calling the Greater Boston Chamber of Commerce and the Artery Business Committee. For tourist information, dial 617-536-4100. If you know your party's extension dial it now. If you wish to reach your party by last name, enter pound, star, two."

I enter pound, star, two.

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`You don't count. Sit down'

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I never thought I would love her. I never dreamed I could even like her. I answered the phone and heard her voice, unrecognizable after 32 years. When she identified herself and asked me to come and see her, I said yes, out of duty and curiosity and perhaps even old-fashioned respect.

That's what I told myself. That's what I wanted to believe. But I went for more selfish reasons than these. I went to see if she were as mean I remembered; to show her she was wrong; to once and for all open the door on a moment that has colored my life, then slam it shut and lock it forever.

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At 81, a New Life at the Gym

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We call her Grambo now. Not that she looks like Sylvester Stallone. He's tall, dark, and gruff. She's short, fair, and sweet. He talks like a gangster. She speaks like a queen. He scowls. She beams.

Grambo, previously known as Grandma, had quadruple bypass surgery two summers ago. Doctors cut her up, replaced veins in her 79-year-old heart with veins from her leg, sewed her back together, and sent her home. She was given…

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Lewis: beyond pity or fear

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Pity gets in the way. You know people don't want pity, so you stay away.

Discomfort is a problem, too. Yours. Theirs. Should you go up and say hello? Would a hello be mistaken for pity? What would you say after hello? What would you talk about?

Someone is in a wheelchair and you'd like to ask, "How come you're in a wheelchair? What happened?" Only those sound like the wrong words and because you don't know the right ones, you say nothing.

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`Rabbit' means `Don't leave'

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Today is rabbit day.

"Rabbit," I say to my husband before getting out of bed.

"Rabbit," he answers automatically.

"Rabbit," I whisper to my 15-year-old before I go downstairs.

"Rabbit," she mumbles, and returns to sleep.

"Rabbit," I repeat to the 20-year-old asleep on the family room couch. She groans, mutters "rabbit," and puts a pillow over her head.

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