Needless to say, the kid chose the pitching route and went on to win the game. When the game was over the kid followed me to my car. Fighting his hardest to keep back the tears, he apologized for his actions and thanked me for umpiring his game. He said he had learned a
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lesson that he would never forget.
I can't help but wonder . . . how many fine young men are missing their chance to develop into outstanding ballplayers because their parents encourage them to spend time umpiring, rather than working harder to play the game as it should be played.
The following morning, Donald Jenson died of a brain concussion.
Danny Warrick
Submitted by Michael J. Bolander
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Page 100
No Charge
Our little boy came up to his mother in the kitchen one evening while she was fixing supper, and he handed her a piece of paper that he had been writing on. After his mom dried her hands on an apron, she read it, and this is what it said:
For cutting the grass
$5.00
For cleaning up my room this week
$1.00
For going to the store for you
.50
Baby-sitting my kid brother while you went shopping
.25
Taking out the garbage
$1.00
For getting a good report card
$5.00
For cleaning up and raking the yard
$2.00
Total owed:
$14.75
Well I'll tell you, his mother looked at him standing there expectantly, and boy, could I see the memories flashing through her mind. So she picked up the pen, turned over the paper he'd written on, and this is what she wrote:
For the nine months I carried you while you were growing inside me, No Charge.
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For all the nights that I've sat up with you, doctored and prayed for you, No Charge.
For all the trying times, and all the tears that you've caused through the years, there's No Charge.
When you add it all up, the cost of my love is No Charge.
For all the nights that were filled with dread, and for the worries I knew were ahead, No Charge.
For the toys, food, clothes, and even wiping your nose, there's No Charge, Son.
And when you add it all up, the full cost of real love is No Charge.
Well, friends, when our son finished reading what his mother had written, there were great big old tears in his eyes, and he looked straight up at his mother and said, ''Mom, I sure do love you." And then he took the pen and in great big letters he wrote: "PAID IN FULL."
M. Adams
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Recognize Your Winners
Everyone needs recognition for his accomplishments, but few people make the need known quite as clearly as the little boy who said to his father: "Let's play darts. I'll throw and you say 'Wonderful!'"
The Best of Bits & Pieces
Fran Tarkenton, former Minnesota Vikings quarterback, once called a play that required him to block onrushing tacklers.
NFL quarterbacks almost never block. They're usually vastly outweighed by defenders, so blocking exposes them to the risk of severe injury.
But the team was behind, and a surprise play was needed. Tarkenton went in to block, and the runner scored a touchdown. The Vikings won the game.
Watching the game films with the team the next day, Tarkenton expected a big pat on the back for what he'd done.
It never came.
After the meeting, Tarkenton approached coach Bud Grant and asked, "You saw my block, didn't you, Coach? How come you didn't say anything about it?"
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Grant replied, "Sure, I saw the block. It was great. But you're always working hard out there, Fran. I figured I didn't have to tell you."
"Well," Tarkenton replied, "if you ever want me to block again, you do!"
Don Martin
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Courage of the Heart
I sit on the rickety auditorium chair with the camcorder on my shoulder and I can feel the tears well up in my eyes. My six-year-old daughter is on stage, calm, selfpossessed, centered and singing her heart out. I am nervous, jittery and emotional. ! try not to cry.
"Listen, can you hear the sound, hearts beating ail the world around?" she sings.
Her little round face turns up to the light, a little face so dear and familiar and yet so unlike my own thin features. Her eyeseyes so different from minelook out into the audience with total trust. She knows she is loved.
"Up in the valley, out on the plains, everywhere around the world, heartbeats sound the same."
The face of her birth mother looks out at me from the stage. The eyes of a young woman that once looked into mine with trust now gaze into the audience. These features my daughter inherited from her birth mothereyes that tilt up at the corners, and rosy, plump little cheeks that I can't stop kissing.
"Black or white, red or tan, it's the heart of the family of man . . . oh, oh beating away, oh, oh beating away," she finishes.
The audience goes wild. I do, too. Thunderous applause fills the room. We rise as one to let Melanie know we loved it. She smiles; she already knew. Now I am crying. I feel so
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blessed to be her mom. She fills me with so much joy that my heart actually hurts.
The heart of the family of man . . . the heart of courage that shows us the path to take when we are lost . . . the heart that makes strangers one with each other for a common purpose: this is the heart Melanie's birth mother showed to me. From deep inside the safest part of herself, Melanie heard her birth mother. This heart of courage belonged to a 16-year-old girl, a girl who became a woman because of her commitment to unconditional love. She was a woman who embraced the concept that she could give her child something no one else ever could: a better life than she had.
Melanie's heart beats close to mine as I hold her and tell her how great she performed. She wiggles in my arms and looks up at me. "Why are you crying, Mommy?"
I answer her, "Because I am so happy for you and you did so well all by yourself? I can feel myself reach out and hold her with more than just my arms. I hold her with love for not only myself, but for the beautiful and courageous woman who chose to give birth to my daughter, and then chose again to give her to me. I carry the love from both of us . . . the birth mother with the courage to share, and the woman whose empty arms were filled with love . . . for the heartbeat that we share is one.
Patty Hansen
Song lyrics are taken from "Listen" by Red and Kathy Grammer. ©1986 Smilin'Atcha Music. Used by permission of Smilin' Atcha Music.
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Legacy of an Adopted Child
Once there were two women who never knew each other.
One you do not remember, the other you call Mother.
Two different lives shaped to make you one.
One became your guiding star. The other became your
sun.
The first one gave you life, and the second taught you to
live it.
The first gave you a need for love, the second was there to give it.
One gave you a nationality, the other gave you a name.
One gave you a talent, the other gave you aim.
One gave you emotions, the other calmed your fears.
One saw your first sweet smile, the other dried your tears.
One sought for you a home that she could not provide,
The other prayed for a child and her hope was not denied.
And now you ask me through your tears
The age-old question, unanswered through the years.
Heredity or environment. Which are you a product of?
Neither, my darling. Neither. Just two different kinds of
love.
Author Unknown
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What it means to be Adopted
T
eacher Debbie Moon's first-graders were discussing a picture of a family. One little boy in the picture had different color hair than the other family members.
One child suggested that he was adopted, and a little girl named Jocelynn Jay said, "I know all about adoptions because I'm adopted."
"What does it mean to be adopted?" asked another child.
"It means," said Jocelynn, "that you grew in your mother's heart instead of her tummy."
George Dolan
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Class Reunion
I was minding my own business a few weeks ago when I got "the call'that dreaded, shrill ringing of my telephone bearing news just short of a death in the family. It was a former high school classmate asking my assistance in our 20-year class reunion.
Could it be 20 years already? I shuddered. Cold chills went up and down my spine as tiny beads of sweat popped out on my forehead. What had I done with my life the past 20 years? My mother told me I'd have to deal with this some day, but I had laughed it off, just like I laughed off those embarrassing pink plastic curlers she used to wear in her hair. (I picked up a set at a garage sale just last week. Got a great deal on them, too!)
It's amazing how a brief phone call can totally turn one's life upside down. Suddenly, I began hearing those 1970s songs (now known as "oldies") in a different arrangement, realizing that Mick Jagger was over 50, "Smoke on the Water" never did make any sense at all, and my ''Seasons in the Sun" had literally faded into oblivion. Had the sun set on me already?
I glanced in the mirror. (Okay, I stared in the damned mirror.) I examined every tiny little crevice and pore, starting with my hairline, down past those patronizing "smile lines" to the base of my neck. No double chin yet, I thought.
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The next few weeks were pure hell. Each day began with a grueling training programa 6:30 A.M. run in a futile attempt to bounce off that unsightly baggage that had somehow accumulated on my thighs overnight. I went shopping for the perfect dressyou know, the one that would make me look 20 years younger. I found out that they stopped selling them around 1975. Three dresses later, I came to my senses. There was only one logical explanation: I was having a mid-life crisis.
I realized that the funny, crunching noise I heard each night as I climbed the stairs was really my knees. I had seriously considered adding potty training to my resume as one of my greatest accomplishments. Bran flakes had become a part of my daily routineand not because they were my favorite cereal. I held Tupperware parties just so I could count how many friends I had.
Life just hadn't turned out the way I'd planned. Sure, I was happy. I had a wonderful husband and two great kids in the center of my life. But somehow, working part-time as a secretary and mom hardly fit my definition of someone my classmates had voted as "most likely to succeed." Had I really wasted 20 years?
Just about the time I was ready to throw in the towel and my invitation, my seven-year-old tapped me on the shoulder. "I love you, Mom. Give me a kiss."
You know, I'm actually looking forward to the next 20 years.
Lynne C. Gaul
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The Gift
It was a warm summer day when the gods placed it in her hands. She trembled with emotion as she saw how fragile it appeared. This was a very special gift the gods were entrusting to her. A gift that would one day belong to the world. Until then, they instructed her, she was to be its guardian and protector. The woman said she understood and reverently took it home, determined to live up to the faith the gods had placed in her.
At first she barely let it out of her sight, protecting it from anything she perceived to be harmful to its wellbeing; watching with fear in her heart when it was exposed to the environment outside of the sheltered cocoon she had formed around it. But the woman began to realize that she could not shelter it forever. It needed to learn to survive the harsh elements in order to grow strong. So with gentle care she gave it more space to grow, enough to allow it to expand into its own unique shape but not so much for it to grow wild and untamed.
Sometimes she would lie in bed at night, feelings of inadequacy overwhelming her. She wondered if she was capable of handling the awesome responsibility placed on her. Then she would hear the quiet whispers of the gods reassuring her that they knew she was doing her best. And she would fall asleep feeling comforted.
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The woman grew more at ease with her responsibility as the years passed. The gift had enriched her life in so many ways by its very presence that she could no longer remember what her life had been like before receiving it, nor imagine what life would be like without it. She had all but forgotten her agreement with the gods.
One day she became aware of how much the gift had changed. It no longer had a look of vulnerability about it. Now it seemed to glow with strength and steadiness, almost as if it were developing a power within. Month after month she watched as it became stronger and more powerful, and the woman remembered her promise. She knew deep within her heart that her time with the gift was nearing an end.
The inevitable day arrived when the gods came to take the gift and present it to the world. The woman felt a deep sadness, for she would miss its constant presence in her life. With heartfelt gratitude, she thanked the gods for allowing her the privilege of watching over the precious gift for so many years. Straightening her shoulders, she stood proud, knowing that it was, indeed, a very special gift. One that would add to the beauty and essence of the world around it. And the mother let her child go.
Renee R. Vroman
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3
ON TEACHING AND LEARNING
Teachers are those who use themselves as bridges, over which they invite their students to cross; then having facilitated their crossing, joyfully collapse, encouraging them to create bridges of their own.
Nikos Kazantzakis
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To Beth's First-Grade Teacher
I didn't know the man in front of me that morning. But I did notice that we both walked a little straighter, a little more proudly, as our daughters held our hands. We were proud but apprehensive on that important day. Our girls were beginning first grade. We were about to give them up, for a while at least, to the institution we call school. As we entered the building, he looked at me. Our eyes met just for a minute, but that was enough. Our love for our daughters, our hopes for their future, our concern for their well-being welled up in our eyes.
You, their teacher, met us at the door. You introduced yourself and showed the girls to their seats. We gave them each a good-bye kiss and then we walked out the door. We didn't talk to each other on the way back to the parking lot and on to our respective jobs. We were too involved thinking about you.
There were so many things we wanted to tell you, Teacher. Too many things were left unsaid. So I'm writing to you. I'd like to tell you the things we didn't have time for that first morning.
I hope you noticed Beth's dress. She looked beautiful in it. Now I know you might think that's a father's prejudice, but she thinks she looks beautiful in it, and that's what's really important. Did you know we spent a full week searching the