Goodable

In Colorado, a passerby saw a bird caught on a fishing hook and struggling to swim.

So she rushed to a nearby fire station, where firefighters arrived to free the bird, giving it a second chance at life.                                                                                                                                                                                                                 
❤️🐦

In Colorado, a passerby saw a bird caught on a fishing hook and struggling to swim. So she rushed to a nearby fire station, where firefighters arrived to free the bird, giving it a second chance at life. ❤️🐦

These Firefighters Just Rescued a Bird Caught in a Fishing Hook Line

BBC News

A church in central London swapped solemn hymns for festive barks and tail wags this December, welcoming dogs into the pews for a one-of-a-kind carol service.

Held on December 11 at St. Botolph-without-Bishopsgate, Carols for the Animals brought together more than 100 people — and 25 of their four-legged companions — for a joyful evening of music, canine cameos, and Christmas cheer. The dogs came decked out for the occasion, sporting antlers, festive jumpers, and red-and-green neckerchiefs.

The event raised funds for International Animal Rescue (IAR) and featured a guest appearance by Downton Abbey actor and IAR patron Peter Egan. Live music was provided by string ensemble The Massive Violins, who led a spirited sing-along — or rather, howl-a-long — as both humans and dogs joined in the carols.

St. Botolph's has long been known as an animal-friendly church. The rector’s own black Labrador, Freddie, often helps greet visitors and was on hand again to sing (or howl) along.

“Everyone was welcome — especially the dogs,” said a church volunteer, laughing as one pooch tried to out-sing the choir during Silent Night.

IAR President Alan Knight praised the event for raising both money and awareness. “We're driven by a simple yet powerful goal — to rescue, rehabilitate, and protect animals in need while creating lasting change for wildlife and their habitats,” he said.

The event was equal parts heartwarming and hilarious, as carols were periodically interrupted by joyful barking or a shake of tinsel-covered ears. For pet lovers and their dogs, it was a chance to celebrate the season together — and maybe even make some new furry friends along the way.

Church Hosts Unique Carol Service Welcoming Pets and Owners

On a grey morning in Toronto, the Royal Conservatory of Music is full of sunshine — not outside, but inside a music room where toddlers and caregivers are clapping, singing, and gleefully tapping rhythm sticks under the guidance of instructor Michaela Tomiska.

Two-year-olds are tossing colourful balls, bouncing to gentle piano chords, and soaking it all in. For parents like Syd Healey, whose son Charlie takes part in the weekly class, this isn’t just play — it’s learning that sticks.

“He just soaks it up like a sponge,” Healey said. After trying other kids' programs like gymnastics and soccer, he found this class more engaging. “There’s a lot of different activities and it’s changing quickly — that works very well for him… He listens a lot better, and he’s starting to pick up on the rhythm.”

That intentional mix of fun and structure is part of Smart Start, a play-based music curriculum designed to build not only musical skills but also attention, memory, language development, and even early reading.

Developed by neuroscientist Sean Hutchins and a team at the Royal Conservatory, the program was built from research showing that early exposure to structured music can fire up developing brains. Music, it turns out, doesn’t just train musicians — it helps train listeners, thinkers, and learners.

“Music cannot only train musical development but also linguistic and cognitive development,” said Hutchins, who’s been working on Smart Start for the past decade. He’s also the Conservatory’s Director of Research.

The program adapts its approach to different age groups — from infants through kindergarten — because, as Hutchins puts it, “what a one-year-old needs out of music and can learn from music is very different from what a two-year-old can learn, which is different from what a four-year-old can learn.”

In other words, it's not just a singalong. There’s science behind every shaker, every change of key, every bounce of a ball.

Sheila Lee, a certified music therapist and Capilano University instructor, says music is one of the most natural ways young children explore their environment — and themselves. “It’s just a really natural and fun way for kids to be curious about the world,” she said. “They’re also using their cognitive skills: thinking, learning, remembering, processing, problem-solving.”

That kind of development doesn’t happen by accident, and Lee says it’s important that more educators are trained to teach music intentionally, using science-backed methods. That could mean knowing when to use movement or stillness, what different instruments offer, or how kids respond to major versus minor keys.

“We’re not just randomly using songs,” she said.

Since piloting Smart Start in Toronto and Vancouver, the curriculum is slowly expanding. Educators in Regina and Calgary are now using it in daycares and music schools, and a recent $1 million donation from a Calgary-born RCM board member is helping bring the program to underserved communities across Western Canada.

“We're really excited to get it to be something that is available to everyone around the world,” Hutchins said. And it’s not just limited to music schools. He believes the same principles apply in primary schools, where music budgets are often the first to be cut.

Even without formal training, both Hutchins and Lee say parents and educators can make a big difference just by incorporating more music into everyday routines.

Lee encourages adults to sing — even casually, during a diaper change or getting dressed. And Hutchins says you don’t need to be an amazing singer to make an impact.

“The voice is such a powerful instrument,” he said. “The act of working with rhythmic structure, of bringing simple songs to children… even that can make a huge difference in development.”

Toronto grandparent Laurie Mitchell sees it first-hand with her granddaughter Clara, who takes part in the Smart Start program. Mitchell, a violinist herself, has noticed Clara starting to sing as she plays — and she hopes that will lead to a love of instruments down the line.

“She watches and she gets an idea of what’s going on… then she’ll do it,” Mitchell said. “It’s always fun to see them enjoying themselves in class, and then bringing it home.”

If Smart Start’s growing popularity is any indication, the next wave of music lovers might get their first taste not from scales or sheet music — but from balls, songs, and rhythm sticks in a cozy classroom.

Music Classes For Young Children Boost Brain Development, Experts Say

No one expected a film based on pixelated bricks and mining tools to become the cultural juggernaut of 2025. But A Minecraft Movie, powered by Jack Black’s volcanic energy and a chorus of screaming fans, ended up doing exactly that. It didn't just top the U.S. box office and rake in nearly $1 billion globally — it sparked a cinema-going phenomenon that may have changed the rules for what it means to watch a movie in public.

The film, directed by Jared Hess (Napoleon Dynamite), had every reason to flop. The source material isn’t exactly known for plot — Minecraft is an open-ended building game with no set storyline. Critics weren't kind, either. The movie scored just 48% on Rotten Tomatoes, with some reviewers calling it “garish” and “commercial propaganda.”

Audiences didn’t care.

On opening weekend in April, families flooded theaters, where the screenings quickly turned into something closer to a concert or a football match than a movie. Fueled by memes, trailers, and TikTok buzz, kids and teens weren’t just watching Minecraft — they were participating. They sang along. They yelled out favorite lines. They cheered. They hurled popcorn during key moments. And yes, in Utah, someone reportedly brought a live chicken to the cinema.

The moment that lit the fuse? A scene featuring a green zombie child riding a hen — a rare in-game occurrence known as a “chicken jockey.” Jack Black’s over-the-top delivery of the line sent crowds into chaos. At some screenings, police were called. At others, parents raved about the energy. British comedian Sam Avery told the BBC it was “honestly the most joyous cinema-going experience I’ve ever had.”

Hess, unsurprisingly, was on board. “People are sending me these really hilarious speeches that a lot of teenagers are giving right before the movie,” he told Entertainment Weekly. “It’s great, especially when people are climbing on their friends’ shoulders and standing up and cheering… I’m just glad people are making memories with their friends and families.”

And they weren’t just making memories — they were making content. TikTok videos of fans going wild in theaters gave the film massive free publicity. What took The Rocky Horror Picture Show years to achieve, A Minecraft Movie did in days: instant cult status, helped by smartphones and social media.

This kind of organic fandom isn’t new. In 2022, the “Gentleminions” trend saw teens dressing in suits and bananas to attend Minions: The Rise of Gru. Studios have started embracing the chaos, too. Wicked hosted singalong screenings with lyrics on screen and intros by the cast. By May, Warner Bros had rolled out official audience-participation screenings of A Minecraft Movie.

If it all sounds a bit loud for a trip to the movies, that’s the point. Theaters have struggled since COVID and the rise of streaming, but this new model — call it event cinema, chaotic cinema, or just interactive cinema — offers a way to make theaters feel like places worth going again.

It’s not just blocky chickens and musical witches, either. Oppenheimer, the sober historical biopic that came out the same weekend as Barbie in 2023, was also part of this shift. The Barbenheimer craze turned a double feature into a themed day out. People dressed in pink and black, made memes, and turned it into a social event. Oppenheimer ended up grossing nearly $1 billion. The party atmosphere helped get it there.

The rise of horror fits the trend, too. Films like The Conjuring: Last Rites, Final Destination: Bloodlines, and Sinners all cracked the global top 20 this year. Sinners director Ryan Coogler compared the horror movie experience to a rock concert, saying, “It becomes a circular feedback thing… There is an interactivity to a movie that has those horror elements that’s really great.”

Put simply, it’s less about sitting in silence and more about experiencing something together. Theaters are becoming spaces for collective emotion — laughter, fear, chaos, catharsis — in a way that’s hard to replicate on a couch at home.

Of course, not everyone’s thrilled about the “chicken jockey chaos.” A column in The Guardian argued that rowdy screenings cross the line and called for adults to “lay down the law.” But looking at the ticket sales, a lot of those adults were laughing right along with their kids.

There’s no sign the trend is slowing. More game adaptations are already on the horizon — Mortal Kombat 2, Street Fighter, Super Mario Bros Galaxy. More singalong and fan-driven events are likely coming too. As the superhero genre fades from dominance, video games and fandom-fueled experiences are moving in.

Not every movie will go full Rocky Horror. You probably won’t see Cannes winners getting singalong screenings or TikTok chants. But if throwing popcorn at a pixelated zombie chicken helps theaters stay alive, then maybe it’s not such a bad thing after all.

A Minecraft Movie Took Over Theaters in 2025 — and Showed Us the Future of Cinema

People

It’s hard to imagine A Charlie Brown Christmas without its hauntingly beautiful opening theme, “Christmastime Is Here.” The soft waltz, sung by a children’s choir over Vince Guaraldi’s jazz chords, has become a holiday staple. But according to Jason Mendelson, the son of Peanuts producer Lee Mendelson, that iconic song nearly didn’t exist — and was written in a moment of panic on the back of an envelope.

Now 47, Jason is helping continue the Peanuts legacy through collectible vinyl reissues and music production. He says the story behind the only lyrical song in the 1965 Christmas special is “serendipity” in its purest form.

“The opening to the show, that waltz, Christmastime Is Here, was great, but it was a little slow,” Jason told PEOPLE. The team — Lee Mendelson, Vince Guaraldi, director Bill Melendez, and Peanuts creator Charles Schulz — realized it needed lyrics to give it more energy. So Lee picked up the phone and called around Los Angeles, hoping to find a lyricist. No one could do it. No one responded.

So he did it himself.

“On the back of an envelope, he wrote the rhymes,” Jason said. “‘Christmastime is here, happiness and cheer, fun for all, what the children call their favorite time of year.’ He wrote that out in five minutes.”

Guaraldi received the lyrics, found a local church choir, and quickly recorded the vocals. It was all done in a rush, with no plan — yet it became the lead song of the special and one of the most enduring holiday tunes of all time.

“It was done on a napkin in five minutes,” Jason said. “But it has lasted forever.”

Since then, “Christmastime Is Here” has been covered by artists ranging from Mariah Carey and John Legend to Tony Bennett and Trisha Yearwood. The song appears twice on Guaraldi’s A Charlie Brown Christmas soundtrack — once with lyrics, and once as an instrumental.

“How many albums have their song twice?” Jason noted. “There’s the instrumental version and then the lyrical version with the wonderful kids who did the singing.”

The Christmas special itself came together in much the same way. Jason says after CBS greenlit A Charlie Brown Christmas, his dad called Schulz — known to friends as Sparky — and told him the news.

“And Sparky said, ‘What’s that?’” Jason recalled. “And my father said, ‘Something you and Bill and I have to write this weekend.’”

With a tight deadline, the three men met and assembled the show quickly, relying on instinct rather than overthinking. That sense of creative urgency became part of the special’s charm — simple, sincere, and unpolished in the best way.

The four men remained close collaborators until their deaths. Guaraldi passed away in 1976 at age 47. Schulz died in 2000, Melendez in 2008, and Lee Mendelson on Christmas Day in 2019. He was 86.

Jason says his father’s favorite word was “serendipity,” and that it found him on the morning of Lee’s death. The family had planned to gather for Christmas dinner. On the way to his father’s house, Jason turned on the radio.

“They were playing Christmastime Is Here as I drove to be there for the last time,” he said. “And I thought, ‘Well, this is horrible, but it's also wonderful to have this legacy and this association that's happening regardless, and will continue to carry on.’”

For Jason and his brother Sean, preserving that legacy has become a calling. They now produce new Peanuts records, including vinyl pressings of Guaraldi’s A Charlie Brown Christmas.

“We've tried to steward that and keep up the integrity of that to the extent we can,” Jason said. “And then also celebrate for that next generation.”

And when he hears that delicate melody on the radio?

“I hear my father’s voice again.”

Son of Legendary Peanuts Producer Shares How His Father Penned 'Christmastime Is Here' In Five Minutes

CTV News

Melanin Bee starts with a stretch, her spine arching like a cat’s, and then lets out a burst of exaggerated, high-speed giggles: “oh, hoo hoo hoo, eeh, ha ha ha.” At first, it’s pure performance. Then something shifts — and she’s actually laughing, kicking her feet in joy.

This is Laughasté, a laughter-meets-yoga routine the Los Angeles comedian and speaker created. It borrows from the laughter clubs that began in India in the 1990s, where people intentionally laughed in groups to relieve stress. The awkwardness is part of the process.

“It’s about allowing yourself to be OK with being awkward,” Bee said. “Then you’re going to find some form of silliness within that is going to allow you to laugh involuntarily.”

Intentional or not, the health benefits of laughter are no joke.

Dr. Michael Miller, a cardiologist and professor at the University of Pennsylvania, compares laughter to a workout. “Like we say, exercise at least three to five days a week,” he said. “Belly laugh at least two to five days a week.”

Laughter therapy has come a long way since its early days. Stanford psychologist William F. Fry, a pioneer in the field, began studying laughter in the 1960s. He drew blood from himself while watching Laurel and Hardy films, and found laughter boosted his immune system.

Three decades later, Mumbai physician Dr. Madan Kataria was editing a magazine article on stress when he decided to try laughter as therapy. In 1995, he launched the world’s first daily laughter club in a local park. The group grew from a few people to over 150 within weeks.

When they ran out of jokes, Kataria invented exercises to keep people laughing — breathing routines, silly gestures, and movement games designed to activate the diaphragm and prompt laughter.

“We were faking in the beginning and within seconds, everybody was in stitches,” he said.

Now there are laughter yoga classes and laughter clubs around the world, including dozens of free online sessions every week.

Beyond mood-boosting, there’s strong physiological evidence that laughter can lower blood pressure, reduce inflammation, and even protect your heart. Dr. Miller’s studies found that laughing triggers endorphins in the brain and increases nitric oxide in the blood, which helps vessels relax.

“It’s like you’ve taken pain medication,” he said. “When you’ve had a really good laugh, you feel very relaxed and light.”

And it turns out that “forced” laughter may be just as powerful — maybe even more so — than the real thing.

Jenny Rosendhal, a senior researcher in medical psychology at Jena University in Germany, found that laughter-based therapies led to lower stress hormones, less chronic pain, better mobility, and overall improved mood in her meta-analysis of 45 studies.

“The well-being comes through the back door,” she said. “You start with an exercise, and then the spontaneous laughter comes later because it’s funny to see people laughing.”

That makes laughter yoga especially helpful for people dealing with depression or illness, where humor might feel out of reach. But laughter doesn’t have to come from a joke to be real — the body responds either way.

Kataria recommends starting small. One easy exercise: look someone in the eye and say “ha” for a full minute. Or inhale with your hands at your chest, hold your breath, and then exhale in laughter as you push your hands outward.

Participants in his classes might greet each other like aliens, crawl like animals, or tap their foreheads and shout “Aha! ha ha ha!” They might even laugh at things that usually aren’t funny — like a credit card bill. Kataria mimics it with a wide-eyed gasp and a roaring laugh.

“Really, it’s not about forcing yourself to laugh,” he said. “It’s like activating your laughter muscles, getting rid of your mental inhibitions and shyness.”

That childlike, uninhibited laughter, he says, is where the magic happens.

And if it feels weird at first? That’s kind of the point.

No Joke: Forced Laughter Can Lower Stress, Pain, and Blood Pressure

Sunny Skyz

John Nimmo doesn’t remember much about the day his heart stopped while driving through Roswell, Georgia. But he’s never going to forget the man who helped bring him back.

Nine days after suffering a heart attack behind the wheel, Nimmo had an emotional reunion with Dr. Kehinde Idowu — the doctor who witnessed the crash and rushed to perform CPR while waiting for first responders to arrive.

“I counted down the days,” Nimmo said, moments before meeting the man he credits with saving his life. “We communicated back and forth a few times, but I couldn’t wait to finally meet him.”

The two embraced, a quiet moment full of gratitude and relief. For Dr. Idowu, a physician who often doesn’t get to see what happens after an emergency, it was a rare and meaningful experience.

“It’s not always that we get to see outcomes like this,” he said. “To be able to see him, to share this joy with him and his family — it’s overwhelming.”

The crash happened more than a week earlier, on a busy road in Roswell. Nimmo lost control of his car after going into cardiac arrest, and it was sheer luck that Dr. Idowu happened to be nearby.

After helping stabilize him, Idowu later listened to Nimmo’s heartbeat himself — a powerful reminder of how close the call really was.

Nimmo said the experience has changed everything for him, especially heading into the holidays.

“This Thanksgiving feels like a bonus,” he said. “Every Thanksgiving, every Christmas — they’ll all be because of you.”

Dr. Idowu, though, was quick to shift the spotlight away from himself. He praised the efforts of everyone who helped that day — bystanders, police with a defibrillator, EMS crews, and hospital staff. And he emphasized his faith throughout it all.

“All of it came together in his favor,” Idowu said. “God really is the one who gets the glory.”

Georgia Man Reunites With Doctor Who Saved His Life After Heart Attack Behind the Wheel

GoodGoodGood

A team of Smithsonian scientists wants to send the DNA of Earth’s most vulnerable animals to the moon — and they’re taking cues from both the Voyager Golden Records and the Svalbard Global Seed Vault to make it happen.

The project, called a lunar biorepository, would store cryopreserved animal cells in a secure, radiation-shielded facility on the moon’s surface, acting as a backup for life on Earth.

"Initially, a lunar biorepository would target the most at-risk species on Earth today," said Mary Hagedorn, a cryobiologist at the Smithsonian’s National Zoo and Conservation Biology Institute. “But our ultimate goal would be to cryopreserve most species on Earth.”

Hagedorn is part of an 11-member scientific team that’s spent decades shaping the idea. Their latest findings were published in BioScience in August. The vision is ambitious, but its premise is simple: climate change, extinction, and ecological disasters are accelerating, and Earth needs a global, off-site safeguard for the planet’s biodiversity.

It's a concept that echoes two major scientific efforts from the last century. In 1977, NASA launched the Golden Records aboard Voyager 1 and 2 — phonograph discs filled with music, greetings, and sounds from Earth. Five years later, in 1984, conservationists began freezing seed samples in the Arctic Circle on Norway’s Spitsbergen island. That facility, now known as the Svalbard Global Seed Vault, houses over 1.3 million seed samples from every country on Earth.

Now, the Smithsonian group hopes to do the same for animals — but in space.

To start, the team has been cryopreserving skin samples from a marine reef fish called the Starry Goby. Those samples are now stored at the National Museum of Natural History. But the moon, Hagedorn said, presents an entirely different set of challenges.

Temperatures swing dramatically between day and night on the lunar surface, and samples would need heavy-duty protection from radiation, micrometeorites, and potential mechanical failure. The team says packaging, temperature control, and transport protocols for astronauts or robotic missions would all need to be engineered with extreme care.

There’s also the problem of gravity — or rather, the lack of it. "Microgravity testing was performed on cryopreserved cardiac cells for only months on Earth,” Hagedorn said. “When these cryopreserved cells were launched into space and cultured on the ISS, they lived and expanded. Still, the long-term effect of microgravity on cryopreserved samples is not known.”

Logistics aside, the plan will also require international cooperation. The scientists say that acquiring and sending samples from around the globe can't happen without broad political agreement, funding, and a neutral governance structure. That’s where the Svalbard Vault comes in again — not as a technical model, but as a diplomatic one.

“For the lunar biorepository, we recommend a governance process that mirrors Svalbard's,” Hagedorn said. “The establishment of a collaborative planning process involving key stakeholders who will include public and private funders, scientific partners, countries, others providing samples, and public representatives.”

It’s not a moonshot aimed at repopulating another planet. It’s a biological insurance policy for Earth.

Hagedorn and her team are quick to clarify that this isn't a science fiction escape plan or a stunt to reach alien civilizations. Instead, it's a backup archive, a lunar safety net designed to preserve Earth’s genetic diversity in the face of mounting threats.

“Life is precious and, as far as we know, rare in the universe,” she said. “This biorepository provides another, parallel approach to conserving Earth’s precious biodiversity.”

The project remains in early stages, but the Smithsonian team hopes that by sharing their roadmap, they can draw more collaborators into the effort. The goal is not only scientific — it’s also deeply cooperative. A modern-day ark, not for a single nation, but for everyone.

Smithsonian Scientists Plan Lunar "Noah's Ark" To Preserve Earth's Biodiversity

The first baby in the world to receive a personalized gene-editing treatment is now making history again — this time with his first steps.

KJ Muldoon, now one year old, is walking at home just in time for the holidays, a milestone that seemed nearly impossible a year ago. In December 2024, he was spending Christmas in a hospital bed at the Children’s Hospital of Philadelphia (CHOP), diagnosed with a life-threatening condition called CPS1 deficiency shortly after birth.

“It’s all been a miracle,” his father, Kyle Muldoon, told Good Morning America. “It’s the only way to describe it.”

KJ was born in August 2024 and spent the first 10 months of his life in hospital care. Doctors diagnosed him with severe carbamoyl phosphate synthetase 1 deficiency, a rare metabolic disorder that affects just 1 in 1.3 million babies. The disease prevents the body from removing nitrogen properly, leading to symptoms such as vomiting, fatigue, refusal to eat, and, in many cases, coma. Without intervention, about half of babies with CPS1 die within the first week of life.

KJ’s parents, Kyle and Nicole, were connected early on with Dr. Rebecca Ahrens-Nicklas, director of CHOP’s Gene Therapy for Inherited Metabolic Disorders program, and Dr. Kiran Musunuru, a gene-editing expert at the University of Pennsylvania. The two had been collaborating since 2023 to develop personalized gene-editing therapies for ultra-rare diseases.

Using CRISPR technology, the team built a custom treatment for KJ in just six months. He received three doses in early 2025, with no serious side effects reported. By June, he had grown strong enough to go home — a milestone CHOP described at the time as “incredibly encouraging.”

Nicole Muldoon remembered how quickly things improved after treatment. “By the next day he was up laughing, looking around, playing with his toys like nothing ever happened,” she told GMA.

KJ’s story was published in the New England Journal of Medicine in May, becoming the first documented case of an infant being treated with an individualized gene-editing therapy.

“While KJ is just one patient, we hope he is the first of many to benefit from a methodology that can be scaled to fit an individual patient’s needs,” Ahrens-Nicklas said in a CHOP news release at the time.

His case is also sparking a broader discussion about how regulatory systems might adapt to allow more patients with rare diseases to access custom therapies.

“We want each and every patient to have the potential to experience the same results we saw in this first patient,” said Musunuru. “The promise of gene therapy that we’ve heard about for decades is coming to fruition, and it’s going to utterly transform the way we approach medicine.”

Doctors say KJ will need to be monitored for life, but so far, he’s developing normally. He recently celebrated his first birthday at home and has been hitting key milestones, including standing, laughing, and now, walking.

He’s also joined the rest of the family in cheering for their favorite football team.

“The day he was born, I ordered a Jalen Hurts jersey,” Kyle said. “I just didn’t know if he was ever gonna wear it.”

Now, as KJ toddles around in that jersey, his parents are watching what once felt impossible unfold in front of them.

“Just to see him do these things that we never thought were possible has been inspiring,” Kyle said.

Baby Who Received First Gene-Editing Treatment Takes His First Steps Just in Time for Christmas

When the Kanneh-Mason kids were little, their parents signed them up for everything — karate, gymnastics, soccer, tennis, even cricket. But it was music that stuck.

Today, all seven siblings from Nottingham, England, have become one of classical music’s most celebrated families. They’ve performed around the world, won prestigious awards, and played everywhere from the Royal Albert Hall to Carnegie Hall. Their rise is remarkable not just because of their talent, but because of how they got there — with no famous teachers, no elite private schooling, and no family fortune behind them.

Their parents, Kadiatu (Kadie) Kanneh and Stuart Mason, had some musical background from school, but no professional training. When it became clear their children had real talent, they knew they had to support it — even if it meant financial stress and marathon schedules.

“They told us this is what they wanted to do,” Kadie said. “So then, we had to be honest to say, ‘Well, if this is what you want to do, then you have to work hard.’ Because the reality is, if you want to be successful at anything, you have to go for it.”

They did go for it. Isata, the eldest at 29, started piano lessons at age six. Her younger siblings quickly followed suit: Braimah, now 28, chose the violin; Sheku, now 26, picked up the cello — partly, he joked, because it was “a bigger instrument” than Braimah’s.

“It helps [that] it’s objectively a better instrument,” Sheku quipped.

“I think the violin is more popular,” Braimah shot back. “There’s more repertoire.”

Each child practiced for hours every day while attending public school. On Saturdays, all seven made a two-hour trek to the Royal Academy of Music’s junior program in London. Any spare money the family had went toward instruments and lessons. At times, they nearly defaulted on their mortgage.

At home, they created their own version of music school. They held weekly “Sunday Concerts” in the living room, where each child performed for the others and received feedback.

“You have to get used to putting yourself under that pressure,” Isata said. “It’s so easy to just crumble under the nerves.”

Their musical environment was key, said Jeneba, now 23. “Because our environment was so intensely musical and loving and supportive, it was kind of bound to happen in one way or another.”

The Kanneh-Mason kids have never chased fame for its own sake. In 2015, they agreed to appear on “Britain’s Got Talent,” but only on one condition: they would perform classical music, not a pop medley. That same year, Sheku won the BBC Young Musician competition, becoming a household name. In 2018, he performed at the royal wedding of Prince Harry and Meghan Markle.

He went on to become the first cellist to break into the U.K. Top 10 album chart and continues to play to sold-out concert halls around the world. This spring, he will serve as artist in residence at the New York Philharmonic.

Still, fame hasn’t fractured the family. The siblings say they deliberately keep competition out of their careers.

“We draw the line at music,” Jeneba said. “Because our instruments are such, like, an integral part of ourselves. And it would be like deeply attacking the other person.”

Their bond is obvious in performance. Jeneba calls it “unspoken communication” — a kind of musical shorthand that only siblings could pull off.

Not all of them are pursuing music full-time. Konya, 25, now focuses on writing fiction. Aminata, 20, took a brief detour into acting school but returned to conservatory. Mariatu, 16, is still in training. But four of the siblings are now professional musicians, recording and touring around the world.

And while they made their public debut as a group, they’re now developing as individuals.

“I think it’s something that probably gets easier as you get older,” said Isata. “Because you start to just get more confidence and more knowledge about what kind of things you want to be doing.”

The Kanneh-Masons haven’t lost their sense of unity — but they’ve proved that even in a family of prodigies, there’s still room for individual voices to shine.

Kanneh-Mason Siblings Keep Music In The Family With Violins, Pianos And Cellos

At just 18 years old, Nima Rinji Sherpa stood atop Annapurna, completing a record that took the previous title-holder nearly a decade: summiting all 14 of the world’s highest mountains. And he did it in a little over two years.

It’s a staggering feat for anyone, let alone someone barely out of high school. But Nima is far from a typical teenager. He’s the latest in a long line of Sherpa climbers pushing the limits of what's possible at the top of the world — and trying to redefine what it means to be a Sherpa.

Sherpa is a lot of things. It’s an ethnic group, a last name, and a job description. For decades, Sherpas have risked their lives to help foreign climbers reach Himalayan summits. Nima’s family has been at the center of that legacy. His father once became the youngest person to summit Everest without supplemental oxygen. His uncles were the first brothers to climb all 14 of the world’s highest peaks. One of them, Mingma Sherpa, started out as a yak farmer before carrying 90-kilogram loads for $1 a day as a porter. Eventually, Mingma rose through the ranks to become a lead guide — a job he calls a matter of life and death.

“Every step is do or die,” he said. “Every step is maybe we are alive or not alive.”

Together, Mingma and his brothers built Seven Summit Treks, a Nepalese mountaineering company now responsible for about a third of all Everest expeditions.

They see Nima as the next step in a longer mission: to prove that Sherpas aren’t just support crew for Western climbers, but stars in their own right.

That goal has deep roots. As a child, Nima was inspired by the story of Tenzing Norgay, the Sherpa who climbed Everest in 1953 with Sir Edmund Hillary. Hillary’s name became legend. Norgay’s didn’t — at least outside Nepal. “I think it was because of him who made the Sherpa a brand today,” Nima said. “For me, he was always a very big motivation.”

Nima’s own journey started in 2022, when he summited Mount Manaslu at age 16. While other teens were sitting in classrooms, he was entering the death zone — a stretch above 8,000 meters where oxygen is scarce and the body starts to shut down. He battled muscle cramps, lung pain, even chest pain, but something kept him climbing.

“I knew I belong in this industry,” he said. “Everyone has their own reason. And the reason has to be really big so that you don’t give up.”

His record-breaking ascent of all 14 peaks wasn’t without risk. He’s witnessed avalanches. He’s seen climbers die. “You have to be more careful when you’re in the mountains,” he said. “Every time you go, you are so energized… then when you see someone pass away, you feel like, ‘OK, this is real.’”

In fact, Sherpas make up about one-third of all deaths on Everest. Many bodies are never recovered due to the dangers of retrieving them. In 2023 alone, 18 people died on the mountain.

Yet the spotlight still tends to fall on Western climbers — the ones planting flags and posting photos. Conrad Anker, a veteran American mountaineer and one of Nima’s mentors, has seen the imbalance firsthand.

“It’s the value of what they do,” Anker said. “A Western climber dies, and the community rallies up. There’s fundraising. Yet for the Nepali climber, it’s not recognized in that same sense.”

Anker founded the Khumbu Climbing Center in 2003 to help shift that dynamic, providing technical training to Sherpas to improve safety and recognition. Nima trained there and graduated top of his class.

Still, the disparities remain. Nima is hoping for major endorsements but knows they take time. “I don’t want to rush,” he said. “But I know my time is going to come.”

In the meantime, Nima and others are embracing innovation to improve safety on Everest. Drones are now being used to transport gear and supplies — ladders, ropes, even trash — to high-altitude camps.

“They’re helping the icefall doctors,” Nima said, referring to the elite Sherpas who build and maintain the treacherous route through the Khumbu Icefall. “The job has not gone away. It’s just making the job easier, and safer, and faster.”

A porter might take hours to carry a load from Base Camp to Camp One. A drone can do it in minutes. That shift could help prevent some of the deaths and injuries that have long plagued high-altitude expeditions.

But recognition — and equality — still feel a long way off.

“There’s an invisible community with an invisible center helping invisible people,” Nima’s words echo from a different conversation, but they apply just as well to the Sherpa experience in mountaineering.

He may be the youngest to summit the world's tallest peaks, but Nima Rinji Sherpa is climbing for something bigger: to make sure the people who got him there finally get the credit they deserve.

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