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Inspirational
Stories
I
Love You, Son
Thoughts while driving my son to school: Morning, Kid. You
look pretty sharp in your Cub Scout gear, not as fat as your
old man when he was a Cub. I don't think my hair was ever
as long until I went away to college, but I think I'd recognize
you any way by what you are: a little shaggy around the ears,
scuffed around the toes, wrinkles in the knees...We get used
to one another...
Now that you're eight I notice I don't see a whole lot of
you anymore. On Columbus Day you left a nine in the morning.
I saw you for 42 seconds at lunch and you reappeared for supper
at five. I miss you, but I know you've got serious business
to take care of. Certainly as serious as, if not more important
than, the things the other commuters on the road are doing.
You've got to grow up and out and that's more important than
clipping coupons, arranging stock options or selling people
short. You've got to learn what you are able to do and what
you aren't - and you've got to learn how to deal with that.
You've got to learn about people and how they behave when
they don't feel good about themselves - like the bullies who
hang out at the bike rack and hassle the smaller kids. Yeah,
you'll even have to learn how to pretend that name-calling
doesn't hurt. It'll always hurt, but you'll have to put up
a front or they'll call you worse names next time. I only
hope you
remember how it feels - in case you ever decide to rank a
kid who's smaller than you.
When was the last time I told you I was proud of you? I guess
if I can't remember, I've got work to do. I remember the last
time I yelled at you - told you we'd be late if you didn't
hurry - but, on balance, as Nixon used to say, I haven't given
you as many pats as yells. For the record, in case you read
this, I am proud of you. I especially like your independence,
the way you take care of yourself even when it frightens me
just a little bit. You've never been much of a whiner and
that makes you a superior kid in my book.
Why is it that fathers are so slow to realize that eight-year-olds
need as many hugs as four-year-olds? If I don't watch out,
pretty soon I'll be punching you on the arm and saying, "Whaddaya
say, kid?" instead of hugging you and telling you I love
you. Life is too short to hide affection. Why is it that eight-year-olds
are so slow to realize that 36-year-olds need as many hugs
as four-year-olds?
Did I forget to tell you that I'm proud you went back to a
box lunch after one week's worth of that indigestible hot
lunch? I'm glad you value your body.
I wish the drive weren't so short...I want to talk about last
night...when your younger brother was asleep and we let you
stay up and watch the Yankees game. Those times are so special.
There's no way you can plan them. Every time we try to plan
something together, it's not as good or rich or warm. For
a few all-too short minutes it was as if you'd already grown
up and we sat and talked without any words about "How
are you doing in school, son?" I'd already checked your
math homework the only way I could - with a calculator. You're
better with numbers than I'll ever be. So, we talked about
the game and you knew more about the players than I did and
I learned from you. And we were both happy when the Yankees
won.
Well, there's the crossing guard. He'll probably outlive all
of us. I wish you didn't have to go to school today. There
are so many things I want to say.
Your exit from my car is so quick. I want to savor the moment
and you've already spotted a couple of your friends.
I just
wanted to say "I love you, son..."
- Victor
B. Miller
Sparky
For Sparky,
school was all but impossible. He failed every subject in
the eighth grade.
He flunked physics in high school, getting a grade of zero.
Sparky also flunked Latin, algebra and English. He didn’t
do much better in sports. Although he did manage to make the
school’s golf team, he promptly lost the only important
match of the season. There was a consolation match; he lost
that, too.
Throughout his youth Sparky was awkward socially. He was not
actually disliked by the other students; no one cared that
much. He was astonished if a classmate ever said hello to
him outside of school hours. There’s no way to tell
how he might have done at dating. Sparky never once asked
a girl to go out in high school. He was too afraid of being
turned down.
Sparky was a loser. He, his classmates...everyone knew it.
So he rolled with it. Sparky had made up his mind early in
life that if things were meant to work out, they would. Otherwise
he would content himself with what appeared to be his inevitable
mediocrity.
However, one thing was important to Sparky - drawing. He was
proud of his artwork. Of course, no one else appreciated it.
In his senior year of high school, he submitted some cartoons
to the editors of the yearbook. The cartoons were turned down.
Despite this particular rejection, Sparky was so convinced
of his ability that he decided to become a professional artist.
After completing high school, he wrote a letter to Walt Disney
Studios. He was told to send some samples of his artwork,
and the subject for a cartoon was suggested. Sparky drew the
proposed cartoon. He spent a great deal of time on it and
on all the other drawings he submitted. Finally, the reply
came from Disney Studios. He had been rejected once again.
Another loss for the loser.
So Sparky decided to write his own autobiography in cartoons.
He described his childhood self - a little boy loser and chronic
underachiever. The cartoon character would soon become famous
worldwide. For Sparky, the boy who had such a lack of success
in school and whose work was rejected again and again, was
Charles Schultz.
He created the "Peanuts" comic strip and the little
cartoon character whose kite would never fly and who never
succeeded in kicking a football, Charlie Brown.
- From
Bits & Pieces |
Cosmos
of Happiness
