Life's Golden Ticket

  “But the rest of the world wasn’t so keen on the idea. When I started lifting heavier equipment at work, Tom said, ‘Mikey, you don’t have to push yourself. Be careful.’ When I started lifting weights in high school, Mom begged me to stop and was always telling me I was going to hurt myself. When I tried to join the wrestling team, the coach said, ‘Don’t get your hopes up, kid.’ Even after I made the team, he and other people would say, ‘You’re too weak to ever be good.’ The few friends I had—those like me, who always got beat up after school—started asking, ‘Who do you think you are?’ and ‘What are you trying to prove?’ It was like everyone had labeled me long ago as ‘the weak kid,’ and they just couldn’t accept that I might want to be more than that, or that I could be more than that.

  “Now, of course, many people were just trying to look out for me. Mom and Tom just didn’t want to see me get hurt. I’m sure some of my teachers and friends and coaches felt the same way. But what they didn’t know was that they were sending me messages that encouraged me to be weak. And of course, there were some people, like my old friends, who were just a little jealous that I was getting stronger than them. Over the next ten years, as I got stronger and stronger, I either won people’s support for trying to be the strongest and healthiest I could, or I had to cut some ties. I lost a few friends along the way because they couldn’t understand what I was trying to do. I even left my hometown so I could be around more people who wanted to live their life at the level I was trying to live mine at. But most people who cared about me came around to the idea that I was doing what was right for me. I just had to be patient with them and let them know that I loved them and that I wouldn’t outgrow them.

  “So here’s my lesson: We all get to a point where we decide to become stronger. When we start that process, a lot of people unknowingly stop our progress by trying to protect us or to keep us living according to the label they’ve created for us. If I had listened to my mom or my brother or my friends or my coaches, I would be a small, frail, weak kid who secretly despised himself for being that. Instead, I listened to those who encouraged me—like my dad—and I listened to my inner desires. I became who I wanted to be because I didn’t get trapped in other people’s ideas of who I should be. That is how I went from mouse to Strong Man Mike.”

  Henry and I sat in the front row for Mike’s performance. He juggled sixteen-pound bowling balls, lifted the front end of a car full of clowns off the ground, let an elephant step on his chest, and performed other feats of strength that blew the audience’s mind.

  During his last act, a forklift brought in an eight-foot tree trunk two feet thick and set it in front of him. Mike asked another audience member and me to try to lift it. We stood at either end and lifted with everything we had. It didn’t move.

  Then Mike reached down, scooped up the log, and hoisted it onto his shoulders with barely a grunt.

  The crowd oohed and aahed.

  For the first time since I had met him, Mike smiled.

  20

  THE CENTER RING

  A fter Strong Man Mike finished his show, the ringmaster asked all the evening’s performers to come to the center ring. As a stream of jugglers, clowns, trapeze artists, dancers, trainers, and others flowed from the performers’ area to the center ring, the ringmaster said, “Ladies and gentlemen, I would like to thank you for coming to our show this evening. I hope each and every one of you saw something tonight that reminded you of the wonder and possibility in this world. Now please join me in giving a hand to all of tonight’s performers, who, by showing us their talent and potential, always remind us of our own.”

  The audience rose to its feet and whistled and clapped joyously. Larry the Lion Tamer pulled Henry and me out of our seats and made us stand in the center ring as well. I felt awkward and out of place, so I looked to the other performers for what to do. They waved and blew kisses at the crowd. What the hell, I thought, and blew kisses too. The performers turned in circles to wave and bow to every section of the bleachers encircling the center ring, and I followed suit.

  Henry whispered in my ear, “Look at them all. Look at the expressions on the people’s faces.”

  Everyone in the audience was smiling and clapping excitedly.

  After a few moments the ringmaster said, “Thank you, everyone. Our performers will stay down here if you would like to meet them personally. Thank you all again for coming, and we hope to see you again soon. God bless, and good night!”

  After the last audience members waved their final farewell from the exit to all of us in the center ring and then disappeared through the tent flap, the performers broke out in celebration. They cheered and hugged and slapped one another on the back, then turned inward in the center ring and all embraced in a huge group hug. Then they all simultaneously turned around and faced the empty seats. Their cheers and glad chatter fell silent as they gazed into the bleachers with expressions of contentment—or maybe it was appreciation. A minute passed . . . then another.

  And another.

  I turned to Henry and whispered, “What’s going on?”

  He didn’t respond. He too just stared into the empty seats.

  Another minute passed, and then, in another simultaneous movement, all the performers stepped out of the center ring and suddenly vanished into thin air.

  I spun and looked around me. Only Henry and I stood in the center ring.

  “Where’d they go?” I asked.

  Henry smiled at me. “Their work is done.”

  “What work?”

  Henry didn’t answer. He just paced around the center ring, staring off into the empty seats. When he had walked the entire perimeter, he headed to the middle of the center ring.

  “You asked, what work?” Henry said quietly. “What work do you think everyone was doing in this ring tonight?”

  “Well, they’re all performers—they were entertaining.”

  “Entertaining?” Henry asked doubtfully. “So would you describe what Larry the Lion Tamer and Strong Man Mike and the Zanzinni family did for you tonight as just entertaining?”

  “Well, no . . . no, I wouldn’t. . . . They did much more than that.”

  “What did they do?”

  “I guess they . . . I don’t know how to describe it. The Zanzinnis pushed me to be bold. Larry scared me and made me stand up to my fears. Mike inspired me to remain strong.”

  “And does that sound like the work of entertaining to you?”

  “No, it doesn’t.”

  “Well, what kind of work does it sound like?”

  I thought for a long moment. “I would have to say, the work of . . . just making a difference.”

  “Ahh,” Henry said approvingly. “I like that, the work of making a difference. Indeed, that is what these people do. Each of them stands in the center ring, not to be under the spotlight or to feel the adoration of the audience, but to make a difference. Their work is not about themselves; each one knows full well that he or she is but one soul in the middle of a thousand others. No, these people do their work for no other reason than to make others smile. They do their work so that others can have a break from their day and feel, even if for but a moment, a sense of magic and hope. They do it to remind others of the possibilities in this world: that maybe they too can juggle all of life’s hassles successfully; that maybe they too can tame their fears; that maybe they too have more strength within them than anyone could ever have imagined. Every performer here tonight gave all they could give, for no other reason than to make a difference. That, to me, makes them miracle workers.”

  “But where did they all go?” I asked.

  “Oh,” Henry said, smiling at me, “who’s to say? You can’t wonder where miracles go or where they come from—you just have to be thankful for them when they arrive, and thankful for them after they have departed.”

  Henry coughed violently again. This time he bent over in pain. When his fit stopped, he looked up at me apologetically. He glanced around the Big Tent a
nd nodded, as if hearing someone’s voice. “And now, my friend, I believe it is time for me to leave too. It’s time for my last lesson to you.”

  I looked at Henry in confusion and shook my head. “What? Leave? You can’t leave. I . . . I still need you. I haven’t gotten any answers yet.”

  Henry smiled at me. “Oh, I’m sure you’ve gotten plenty of answers on this journey.”

  I shook my head again. “Yes, I have. But no. I mean, yes, I’ve found many answers . . . but not all the ones I’ve been looking for. I don’t know what happened to Mary. I don’t know the significance of the envelope. I don’t know why you’ve been helping me. I don’t know why all this has—”

  Henry raised his hand. “Hush,” he said. “Patience. Like I said, I have one last lesson for you. Maybe that lesson will give you a few answers.”

  He smiled and paced around me. “Let me return to what I was saying about the performers. I believe they have something to teach us. You see, many of us live our lives desperately seeking to draw attention to ourselves. We live our lives to be noticed, accepted, and adored. We live our lives as if we were in the center ring, as if the world should sit around applauding our every move. But there are a small number of people in this world who live their lives to make others smile, to remind others of the magic and hope in the world, to help them discover the possibilities that live within them. Whenever people like this end up in the spotlight, they use their moment to help others through the dark. These people are the miracle workers. These are the people who embody the last lesson I will now give you.”

  Henry looked upward, and all the lights in the Big Tent went out. Then a soft spotlight beam lit the area where we stood in the middle of the center ring. A second later, two similar lights lit the smaller rings intersecting the center ring on the left and right.

  “Pretend with me for a moment that the ring we now stand in is the present. The small ring to our left is the past; the small ring to our right is the future. I believe that the brightness of your life experience at any one time will always be based upon how you look at these three rings. Let me tell you how most people live their lives. They look to the ring on the left and say, ‘Look what happened to me in the past. Why did it all happen? What did I get out of it?’ They look to the center ring and say, ‘What’s happening to me right now? Why is it all happening, and what am I getting out of it?’ They look to the ring on the right and say, ‘What will happen to me in the future? How will I end up? What will I get?’”

  As Henry spoke, the spotlight beam above us dimmed. He smiled to me and pointed toward the left ring. I glanced back over to it and froze.

  Inside the ring stood nearly everyone who had ever been important in my life. My dad, mom, grandpa, and grandma were there. My close friends from high school and college were there. My former co-workers, girlfriends, teachers, and mentors were there. They all stared at me without expression.

  Henry motioned toward them all. “You see those people? Most of your life you have looked at them and the events you endured with them, and asked yourself, ‘Why did I have to go through all that? What’s the meaning of it all? What did I get out of my experiences with all those people?’”

  He walked in front of me. “Would you agree that at some level you asked questions like those?”

  I looked to the ring of people and saw that they were looking back at me expectantly.

  “Yes.”

  Henry nodded. “Now, let me ask you this. Did you ever ask yourself, ‘What did I make happen for those people? What did I give?’”

  I knew the answer, but didn’t want to say it.

  Henry grabbed my arm and walked me to the edge of the ring. “Look at their faces,” he commanded sternly. “Did you ever ask, ‘What did I give?’”

  I looked to the ring again. My family continued to look at me expectantly. My friends cocked an eyebrow and waited. My former girlfriends crossed their arms.

  I half laughed, half coughed. “I did my best to . . .”

  Taking me by the shoulders, Henry peered at me intently. “Did you ever ask the question?”

  I shook my head. “No.”

  The lights above the left ring went out. The people disappeared.

  I looked to Henry. “What is this, a guilt trip?”

  Henry looked at me flatly. “I didn’t ask you to feel guilty. I asked if you ever asked yourself what you gave.”

  Henry circled me, and the lights in the Big Tent went out once more.

  When they came back on, I stood in a crowd of people all facing toward the middle of the center ring. I pushed through the crowd to see what they were looking at. I didn’t recognize any of the people—until I got to the middle. There I saw myself sitting at a desk. Henry stood to one side, watching me at the desk.

  “And that guy—do you think he’s asking himself, ‘What’s happening to me right now? Why is it all happening, and what am I getting out of it?’”

  I nodded.

  Henry pointed to the people surrounding the desk. Suddenly I saw co-workers and friends. Mary and her family stood on the other side of me.

  Henry then pointed to me at the desk once more. “And do you think that guy is asking himself, ‘What am I making happen in my life? What am I giving right now?’”

  I shook my head.

  The Big Tent went dark.

  “You see where I’m going with this?” Henry said, standing somewhere in front of me.

  “Yeah, but . . . who were all those people?” I asked.

  A dim spotlight illumined the center ring once more. Henry and I stood alone.

  “Those were people you interact with practically every day or so. Some were the people who work at your local grocery store, library, coffee stop, and gas station. Others were people you pass on the street on a regular basis. Others were people in your community who have asked for your help. All were people that you barely ever notice or thank or make smile. They were people who somehow give to you but who have never received a thing back from you, not even a thank-you.”

  “Henry, that’s not exactly fair,” I said. “I can’t make a difference in the life of every single person I meet or happen to walk by!”

  Henry shook his head. “You’re right. I’m sorry. Would you mind, then, telling me just one single person you do that for?”

  I opened my mouth to defend myself, then stopped. He was right.

  The light above us dimmed lower.

  Henry pointed to the ring on the right. “You know where this is going?”

  I nodded. “The future. I’ve always worried what would happen to me, what I’d end up with or get tomorrow, not what I would make happen or give to others.” I let out a deep breath and shook my head. “That’s what you’re saying. That’s the truth, isn’t it?”

  Henry looked at me sadly, and then the lights went out.

  After a few moments of darkness and silence, Henry spoke. “You see, most people, maybe including you, have lived life as if they were at the whim of circumstance and as if they were supposed to get something from the world. The miracle makers in this world, though, are the people who live by choice and live to contribute. They ask what they’re making happen, and they ask what they’re giving. I think that you’ve probably learned a lot about living by choice in your time here at the park. My final lesson to you, then, is about contribution, and it says simply this: if you want your life experience to be bright, choose to contribute.”

  Suddenly, the spotlight above the center ring came on once again, this time with full intensity.

  Henry was standing at the intersection of the center ring and the ring to its left. He waved at me to join him.

  As I neared him he said, “I don’t speak of that lesson halfheartedly; I hope you’ve sensed that. I’ve tried to contribute to your life. I’ve tried to make a difference. I hope that I have.”

  “You have, Henry. Of course you have.”

  He smiled. “Good. I’m happy I could help. I think you are—”

/>   “But why did you help, Henry? From what everyone has told me, it was some kind of big deal.”

  Henry shifted his stance. “Well, you know, helping is always a big deal. Sometimes you have to sacrifice your time and energy. You’ve got to . . .”

  “No, Henry, no more lessons. Why did you help me? What did you sacrifice?”

  Henry reached out and squeezed my arm. “Well, look who is suddenly strong and in command of the conversation! That lion taming got into your heart, didn’t it?”

  I nodded, then raised my eyebrows expectantly.

  “Okay, okay,” Henry said, recognizing that I wasn’t going to let it go. “I helped you because I knew I could. Simple as that. I’ve been here at this park a long time. When I saw that envelope, I knew something had gone wrong, and I knew I could figure it out. I knew I had to figure it out—for your sake and for the sake of the thousands of others who will come here after you.”

  “And what did that decision cost you? If so many people come here, why is it such a big deal for you to help me?”

  Henry paused and held back a cough. “Because . . . because even miracles have their beginnings and ends. Like I said, I’ve been here a long time. No miracle is intended to last forever, and I knew my time was up—so did everyone else. I knew I had one more miracle in me, and then . . .”

  Henry looked out toward the bleachers and kicked the soft dirt beneath his shoes.

  “Then what?” I asked.

  “Then . . . well, I don’t know. None of us know what happens to us when our time is done. All we know here at the park is that when someone’s time is done, they walk out of this ring and disappear forever. The performers you saw tonight will come back again tomorrow because they have more miracles within them. Me? Well, when I walk out of this ring tonight, that’s it.”

  Henry looked at me thoughtfully. “I chose you to be my last miracle.”