I am the first girl of my family to get to go to the college. Getting the scholarship was not as hard as convincing my family that I should go. My friend applied for me because I was too scared that my family would be angry, or my brother would never talk with me again, or worse, when I got the call for the interview, I told my mother she was not exactly supportive, but she discussed with my father when the scholarship award letter came, my brother opened it while I was out.

Grandpa Doug died a few weeks ago. He wasn’t my grandpa. He was my neighborhood’s grandpa. Always at the local elementary school being a handyman or there with his camera documenting the talent shows, the art exhibits, whatever was going on . . . even in the classes that his granddaughter wasn’t in.

I’ve been so excited about the good work being done through the All Together Now workshops across the country. Thinking back, I can’t really say I’ve had an opportunity ­– or I haven’t seen it ­– to take a stand, and to engage in the necessary civil disobedience required to go against the American grain. Even if it’s “only” telling our stories. If telling our stories is subversive to an ultimately damaging master narrative, then let our voices be like a march, and let them be heard by as many people as possible.

Since its inception, the English colony, which later becomes the United States, was a place of the haves and have nots.

Mostly the have nots working for one to 2% of the population that control the majority of the new country's wealth,

very much like it is today at Hampton and places like it during the 1700s European indentured servants and enslaved Africans worked side by side. White and black bodies were whipped, ate the same lousy food, wore the same crappy clothing, some cases even escaping together because it was not about your black I'm white. It was more about we are both being oppressed.

City of Dolls is a digital storytelling about women and girls who make handmade dolls in

Tajmir (a small village in Iran). This digital storytelling created by Marjan Foroughi and

"Shahrzad Creative digital storytelling Center. (Shahrzadcdsc).

It was February in Wyoming, and the data gathering started early, so the sky was still dark when I pulled on my staff t shirt, then I slipped my medicine bag over my head. Everyone that day needed healing, including me.

I live out in the country. For the last couple of months, my husband and I have been out in nature, gardening and clearing our woods. The isolation has almost been positive for us.

I live out in the country. For the last couple of months, my husband and I have been out in nature, gardening and clearing our woods. The isolation has almost been positive for us.

I take my mother to church. She is 91. I know how important it is that I go with her-- imperative is a better word. Church has been the comfort of her life, and also her cudgel. My mother doesn’t wash her hands before she eats, but she always prays.

People around our neighborhood started becoming fussy around the doctor. We were worried not only about him, but about his grandmother. Slowly people started losing their minds. There were threats written on the wall of his house.

People take it for granted, when they’ve always had it, but I spent my whole childhood without electricity.

I like to challenge myself. I'm a poor chess player, but I appreciate the skills you learn from it. We all know, chess is a game of strategy, of predicting your opponent's next move and planning for the inevitable future. Kevin was about my height, but skinnier.

Their voices were indistinct, and my vision collapsed into a tunnel of fuzziness. I became aware only of the heat and overbearing suffocation in the room, and my skin prickled with a noose. My mom was listening, seated alongside me, the MRI is suspicious for cancer.

I inherited the sork, my grandmother, mother, sister and now me. I avoided the sork. I didn't want it a heavy weight to carry, and I cry far too easily. I inherited this work, love and strength, pain and trauma.

Cars rush past overhead, but as loud as the sounds are above, the flow of water dominates. Water has been an endless source of inspiration and amazement for me, just waiting to be explored downstream, the creek rages with the rise of a heavy spring rainstorm, ash trees and reed canary grass hug the banks.

I like to enjoy a cup of coffee as I read the news in the morning. The only problem is that I need to leave my house and hope it's not raining or snowing. I put on a jacket and shoes, walk five feet to my daughter's house, unlock the door, go into her kitchen, get my coffee and return to my house.

We would beat the sunrise and be at the farm to irrigate, pull weeds and plant seeds in the soil, all before it got too hot. I have grown corn, melons, squash and leafy greens for most of my life.

Sometimes we don't get the chance to say goodbye. How funny is it that we're usually left with the last memory we have of someone, and it's so insignificant compared to the experience of knowing them, yet it's still the last memory we have.

A skirt, a jumper, a pair of pants lay before me alongside my white polo, but I don't feel comfortable in the jumper. I feel even less secure in the skirt. I choose the pants because they fit me best. I grew up going to Baptist church gatherings on the weekends with class and mass on the weekdays.

We would beat the sunrise and be at the farm to irrigate, pull weeds and plant seeds in the soil, all before it got too hot. I have grown corn, melons, squash and leafy greens for most of my life.