2026 LISTEN TO A LIFE CONTEST

CONGRATULATIONS TO THE
GRAND PRIZE TIMELESS WINNER…

Stacy Lima Gomes, 14
and her grandfriend Lynn Racz, 56

Stacy is a grade 9 student at Conard High School in West Hartford, CT.

She entered the Listen to a Life Contest as an assignment from her Reading Seminar teacher, Mrs. Taylor-Jackson. She chose to interview her French/Spanish teacher Ms. Racz because she always talks about being disconnected from technology. Stacy never knew why until she did the interview, and learned that it isn't as much about not liking technology but about wanting more real human connections.

Stacy enjoys playing volleyball for a club team. She's interested in interior design, and enjoys doing make-up and hair.

Here's the winning entry Stacy submitted, in the voice of Lynn Racz…

If I could hop in a time machine to go anywhere, I would go straight back to my junior year of college because that was the absolute peak of my life. I got to move all the way to France and study abroad. It was a total dream come true.

I lived in this tiny, cozy studio apartment. It was actually the first time I ever lived completely by myself. It felt so grown up to officially have my own keys, my own space, in a whole different country. However, the coolest part, that I think I miss the most, is the fact that we lived with zero electronics.

There were no phones buzzing in our pockets and no laptops to distract us from the world. It was so refreshing to be away from screens and actually look at what was in front of me.

People today always ask, "If you didn't have Google maps, how did you get around without getting lost?" Honestly, we just had to use our brains, paper maps, and talk to people. We had nothing but real life, and when I would walk down a street it felt like a huge adventure without being glued to a phone. I actually paid attention to the smells in bakeries and the sounds around the city.

That trip is also where I met my best friend Grace. We got super close while we were exploring France together. She's still my best friend on the Earth to this day. It's wild that being disconnected from technology actually helped me connect so much more with people around me. Having nothing but my own apartment and a great friend made it a time I'd give anything to experience once more.

7 LEGACY AWARDS

The summer was warm that year. It was 1963, I was seventeen, and the only student from our mountain village who'd made it to the county school. The only thing I remember from that day was how nicely dressed everyone was compared to my worn, patchy shirt.

That morning, I'd biked for hours just to get here. My stomach wrenched. I had only eaten sweet potatoes for three days, saving the rice for my family. A banner, in bright red characters, hung over the gymnasium: The National College Examination.

"Begin," the proctor announced. I tensed, gripping my pencil tightly. Thinking back on it, I was a stubborn boy. Though, that day, my stubbornness was unusually strong: I had found the conviction to prove that a village boy could amount to something. Regardless of my background, I was going to make it.

Question by question, I worked through physics, mathematics, and chemistry.

"Time."

I didn't listen. I just needed to finish this last problem.

"You need to leave," the proctor said.

"Please. One more minute."

He glanced at my worn shoes. "You're the village boy."

A couple weeks later, the postman came to me while I was hauling water from the well."You scored highest in the province."

The bucket slipped.

"Beijing Technical Institute accepted you. The state will fund your education." He pulled out an envelope, handing it to me before walking away.

In the grand scheme of things, that paper didn't really mean that much. But back then, when I had nothing, it was worth more than everything I now own. That warm, wet day with water pooling at my feet, I was holding my future.

You come from unbendable stone, grandson. Don't forget it.


Vivienne Gilliar-Smith, 16
and grandmother Rebecca Rosenblatt Gilliar, 82, New York

VISITING THE WORLD IN AN EIGHT-HOUR SHIFT

My grandmother moved to New York City at the age of 22, with no prior experience of living outside of Pennsylvania where she grew up. She moved to the Lower East Side, to an apartment she couldn't quite afford, and worked odd jobs to pay the rent. She was young and defied the stereotype of someone from a small town being quiet or uncertain.

The first job she got was as a taxi driver. She walked into the business and asked what she needed to know. My grandmother took a test on the five boroughs of the city and was given the job, driving a taxi cab – without being tested on her driving abilities.

A woman taxi driver in the 1960s wasn't commonplace. Feminism existed, but societal norms still overshadowed it. So a woman, working, especially for a taxi company, was unexpected to the people who hailed her cab. Her customers probably thought that either her family was struggling financially, and she needed to help them, or that she was doing it on a lark. Either way, she reaped the benefits, and was tipped generously. A true marker of the time, her customers would ask for rides to parties, then invite her to park the car and join them.

My grandmother took driving a cab as a chance to learn about the people and the places in a strange city. She learned not only that she could survive, but also that your outlook is everything. Through new people each hour, she was able to hear about their lives and experiences outside of a fifteen-minute taxi ride. She felt as though she was visiting the world in an eight-hour shift.


Ella Malek, 10
and grandfather Mehdi Charkhchi, 68, Texas

I was living a normal childhood in Tehran, Iran. Life was peaceful, tranquil – until it wasn't.

It happened all at once: strikes, protests, deadly bullets everywhere! Chaos, curfew, and everyone with their own opinion. I could hear the terrorizing bullets piercing the air with a "BOOM!"

One thing led to another. There was a revolution in the making. I was just a teenager.

Right after the revolution, I remember one day we all gathered at the only house in the neighborhood that had a television. There it was, the announcement that Iraq had bombed the main airport in Tehran. That marked the beginning of an eight-year war.

War is no joke. Bombs bring so much fear. Hospitals were full of injured, innocent kids. Most men were sent to mandatory military service. We had just gotten married, and we found out we were going to have our first child.

Somehow, we survived and, luckily, I was able to stay home. I'll always remember the moment a bomb fell in our neighbors' backyard on a Sunday afternoon when all the kids were gathered in front of the TV. Shards of glass were falling everywhere! My first instinct was to wrap my arms around my children and protect them from the glass.

That's when I knew war is not just a word. There are thousands of lives ruined by war in millions of ways. Now, as I sit here in Toronto, Canada as an Iranian in the diaspora, I think of all these events in my life. I still have a full heart for my country that has been through so much. Looking back at all the resilience and survival gives me hope for my country.


Tianni Gong, 13
and grandfather Chicco Hsu, 77, California

My throat bursts with the sound of a scream, though at that moment I can't tell if that scream is my own or my friend's.

I stumble forward, hand outstretched. The sight I see isn't something a 12-year-old schoolboy is meant to forget.

My friend's body was jerking and convulsing uncontrollably, his eyes wild, and his mouth open in a soundless scream. Electrocuted, his fingers were burning as he couldn't physically let go of the high-voltage fence he had gotten tangled up in. His desperate eyes rolled towards me, making my whole body shiver.

With Herculean effort, he mouthed the words, "Please."

Mind twisting and turning, I grabbed the nearest thing I could get: a measly wooden broomstick. It was all I could find.

Racing back, I mercilessly raised the broomstick so high the sky cursed as I hit it, and swung it down to the metal fence, imitating the sound of bones breaking.

Miraculously, the fence snapped. Before I could express my surprise, my friend collapsed in a bundle of raw flesh, weak limbs, and trauma.

For 66 years after that day, all I could think about when I closed my eyes was how I had given my friend another chance to see a sunrise and how strong I suddenly became. No one breaks metal with wood that easily, especially for a 12-year-old skinny, poor boy.

Now at 78 years, I know that the sudden rush of manly strength I felt wasn't physical strength. It was the undying loyalty to my friend that came out in the form of short pumps of adrenaline.

I've loved and lost in my life. But the one thing that's stayed with me, and will forever, is my best friend and the man I saved, Chen Yun Fei.


Zongkun Jin, 11
and grandmother Nailing Zhou, 72, California

UNDER THE AFTERNOON SUN

Under Zhengzhou's afternoon sun, the road was bustling with activity. Buses blurred the streets as pedestrians filled the pathways, talking while they walked.

In a crowded bus station, a white-haired old woman in her seventies stood frozen in her thoughts. Although she held a paper with her address, she couldn't find the right bus. A passing pedestrian directed her towards a bus, but she hesitated at the curb, her eyes darting from the paper to the bus. I noticed her standing, holding the paper in her hand.

I approached her, took her hand, and said, "Sister, I will help you home."

My place was in the south, far from hers, which was three kilometers from the Provincial Hospital Family Compound. Instead of going home, I opted to guide the stranger, asking others the way. We took a bus for five stops before finally arriving at the Provincial Hospital.

I then asked the security guard for directions to the family compound. During the journey, with the fading light of the setting sun enveloping us, I used my umbrella to shield her from the strong solar rays. I would pause to ask directions from passersby, as my flowered shirt grew damp with sweat and small beads of sweat shone on my forehead.

When the woman apologized for the trouble, I smiled and said, "It's a pleasant detour. It's my pleasure to accompany you on the walk."

Having walked for an hour, I took good care of her as if she were my own mother. Only after ensuring that she had arrived with her family did I go home.

As the setting sun cast a golden glow over the streets, this story exemplifies kindness in everyday life.


Wyatt Sandoval, 18
and grandfather Ben Dayoan, 75, Wisconsin

This is a hard topic for me, but it matters.

The thing I will never forget is the heat. It was like a suffocating blanket that wrapped around you so tight that you couldn't breathe. It was like a thick, green hell that I felt I would never get out of.

Bullets ripping through the trees is a sound I will never forget. It still haunts me to this day. I feared for my life, but I had no other choice – I was drafted. My physical time in Vietnam was limited, but it is forever instilled in my mind. It always lingers in the back of my mind no matter where I am, or what I'm doing.

Going back to regular life was the hardest thing for me, adapting and going to daily family life. My mind was stuck in a different country. Some days at the dinner table, or even sitting on the couch, my heart starts beating and my mind immediately take me back to that place, that treacherous place.

But then I look around and see my grandkids running around the house, and realize what truly matters in life. Having a family to take care of really helped me mentally and gave me some stability. Family is the biggest thing in life and, after everything I have been through and lost in my life, family is the only thing that has brought me to peace. The war altered me in unimaginable ways. But the life that my family brings me is the most healing thing I've ever found.


Cullen McAdam, 18
and grandfather John Daley, 71, Wisconsin

You sit across from me, and I can see that you're listening. But I know you don't fully get it yet and that's okay, because at your age I didn't either.

You have one life, one shot to experience everything that this world has to offer. It moves incredibly fast, so be diligent. Before you know it, you'll be like me looking back at where all that endless time you thought you had went.

Living fully doesn't mean having everything all figured out. It means taking those chances you're on the fence about, saying yes even when you may be unsure, and refusing to let fear dictate the way you live your life. Fear feels safe in a way, but it quietly keeps you from the moments that matter the most. The opportunities that make you uncomfortable are the ones that shape your life and make life worth living. You'll regret the chances you didn't take far more than the ones you may have tried and failed at. One of the things I regret was not trying football in high school even though I had wanted to.

Remember what actually matters: it's not money or things, but the people and memories you make with them. Laugh with friends and family, and share the moments with those who matter the most. Take that trip to Alaska you have always dreamed of, try the things you're scared of, and tell the people you love that you love them before it's too late.

I'm telling you this because I want you to live a life you'll look back on with pride and not regret. Every choice and every "yes" shapes the life you'll have. You only get one life and one chance, so make it count.