Angie

Wind pulled at the sandy hair of the girl in front of me, pulling her toward the next bit of dirt that she might dance in with those bare feet, or get on her pale-yellow dress. But she had time to smile, the 8th of 13. Yelling could be heard behind her, her brothers falling on each other in fits. She gives me a hug before running to break them up. Six years wearing the authority of a mother.

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It's not 3 paragraphs, but I knew Angie. She was the only bright spot amongst the people who lived behind me while I lived in Alabama. Her parents... I don't know what happened to them, or why she came to live with the already burdened family of two adults to twelve kids. The adults wandered the house looking stoned, hair destroyed by stress and cigarettes. The oldest three held the authority of tyrants. But only while present. Angie could make the kids twice her age whince, afraid of disapproval.
When I talked to her, it was brief. She was there to help everyone, but they liked me most amongst neighbors, maybe because she liked me. She'd say "hi" and ask me what I was doing, or if I could help move a railroad tie they used to border their yard or twist the swingset back into place. The dirt on her wasn't because she was messy... dirty. It was because she worked. I didn't know it, but she had every bit of respect I could give.

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That's 3 paragraphs. I think.

On a personal note, my kids had a bit of interaction I thought was fun. My youngest has reached the "no!" phase, while the middle child has become contradictory. This afternoon the middle child (henceforth "M.C.") did something minor to his brother, and this resulted:

Me: "Could you please be nice to your brother?"
Toddler: "No!"
M.C: "Can!"
Toddler:"No!"
M.C:"Can!"
(Irony ensues)

Thought I'd share.