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TWO LITTLE WORDS
by Vance |
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On one July weekend in 1999, I was hawking tickets for my
Rotary Clubžs annual hot dog and sausage stand in the
foyer of a local supermarket in Lewiston, New York.
Actually, my Rotarian friends and I were not technically
selling tickets, but asking for $1.00 donations. For each
donation we would give the giver a ticket redeemable for
one $1.50 hot dog or sausage sandwich at our stand
during the following weekend -- a great investment return of
50% and one which I gladly pointed out.
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"Donate a dollar for Rotary youth programs (our Interact
Club, Polio Plus, world relief, leadership programs, senior
awards, and our project to help our adopted kindergarten in
Minsk, Belarus)!"
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"Donate a dollar for Rotary youth programs and receive a
stand ticket for a $1.50 hot dog!"
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Hundreds of people came through. Some donated a dollar
and received a ticket; others more. Some generous people
simply donated, sometimes even $5.00 or $10.00 and did
not want tickets. I was impressed.
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I continued, with my friends, our announcing unabated.
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Then a group of about 6 to 8 men in farm work clothes
entered the foyer. Living "in the country," I recognized them
as Hispanic farm workers. I knew they were poor by local
standards and might not even understand my "pitch." So, I
decided just to let them walk by me, with no pitch.
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But after they disappeared into the store for their family
necessities, I began to reconsider. I had seen these men
toiling in the fields under the blazing sun of an unusually
hot summer. I knew they needed every dollar. I also knew
that my Spanish needed a lot of work! But I realized that
these were men who deserved the same respect shown to
every local citizen, even if that meant putting up with me!
They deserved the chance to donate to a worthy cause,
even if they had little! But what to do? Unlike some
languages that I know fairly well, my Spanish is very weak,
and I must work on it. I could never explain in Spanish. But I
did know two little words.
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When part of their group emerged from their meager
shopping, I approached them with those two little words:
"por favor." (Please) Nothing more.
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Two of the men immediately turned around toward me, and
without speaking, each reached me a dollar -- a dollar that
they had earned picking vegetables under the hot sun. They
accepted the mysterious tickets (but never came to the
stand -- they were probably working in the fields).
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Upon reflection, how does each of their dollars compare to
our other donations? Based on Western economics -
simply two U.S. dollars. But based on the toil spent to earn
those two dollars, and on a greater, eternal order of things,
a substantial amount of money!
| | My lessons were simple but strong. Do not prejudge or
stereotype; rather, respect! And never doubt the power of
Two Little Words.
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| | Vance Agee
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BLESSED BY MY HEROES
by Anne |
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My first heroes are my parents. Mom and Dad raised four of
us. Not one of us did any drinking or drugging as teens (or
after). One of my friends asked about this in college (I was
called "the Nurse" by my friends because I would nurse
one drink through a whole evening!). I replied by explaining
that my parents bought a bottle of whiskey every few years.
Dad would add it to the Christmas eggnog, and then it
would sit in the kitchen cabinet to be used the next year.
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Mom is my first hero because of the sacrifices she made to
hold us together. She went without new shoes and new
clothes in order to clothe and shoe all four of us and to
make sure Dad had good clothes for work. The only times I
saw her wear her shoes was when we went somewhere
outside the home.
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Mom and Dad made a decision when she was pregnant
with me that she would be an at-home mother despite the
fact that she made more money than dad did. I never
realized we were poor until I graduated from college. We
weren't poor, really, not in the things that count.
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My brother and sister are heroes too. They have both
served in the Air Force as Russian language translators.
This was before the Berlin Wall came down, and my
brother has some grim photos of guard towers and mine
fields that were taken from his barracks window. My sister,
Beryl took on extra duty as a medic during the Gulf War, and
all of us chomped on our fingernails until she was
transferred stateside. Those who put their lives on the line
to protect our ideals and our country have always been
heroes to me.
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And these days, I have some students who are my heroes.
Some of them fight incredible battles every day just to get
from one classroom to another. Some struggle mightily
with fractions and decimals. Some can't write a paragraph
or spell. But they try. And we all celebrate the small and
large successes.
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I have one further hero. This man stood up with me when I
had to tackle a battle of my own. Even though the results
were not what we had hoped, this individual was in my
corner when it counted. And it's not just mine. He is a
teacher, like me, but he represents all of us as a union rep.
He takes a lot of heat, and he enjoys it. And he enjoys the
nickname I gave him this past fall. I call him "The Pit Bull."
He won't let go of an issue until it gets sorted out. He's kind
of like a white knight, not in Camelot, but here in the urban
jungle, where it really counts.
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My heroes aren't famous, but they are beloved. They are the
people who have been there for me all along I am fortunate
that each has blessed my life with their laughter, their
protection, and their love. What more could you ask for?
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Ann Hyde
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| | About our writer:
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Ann is a transplanted Pennsylvanian now freezing her
fingers and toes off in Anchorage, Alaska. Never one to
ignore a challenge, she decided to attend grad school for a
Special Education endorsement while being an at-home
mother of an infant and a three-year-old. Her children are
now almost 5 and almost 7, and Ann is facing challenges
in the classroom with teenagers (shriek!) who have
learning disabilities and behavior disorders. Despite living
in Alaska in the winter, teaching high school kids, and living
with 4 small children (2 belong to a roommate), 4 cats
(also the roommate's) Mollie, the Wonder Dog, and her
husband George, Ann retains her sanity by quilting,
reading, and remembering that the challenges she faces
are also blessings.
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A TALL TALE |
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| | Erica, 4, was sitting next to her Grampa on the couch. She
kept glancing sideways at his enormous pot belly. "You
know, Grampa," Erica said, "you have a big belly."
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Grampa, amused by the comment, played along. "Yes," he
said, "that's because before I came over here to visit, I ate a
watermelon."
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Erica very seriously answered, "Next time you should cut it
first."
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| | That story is from Erica's mother, Audrey of Taunton, Mass.
Thanks to Grace Witwer Housholder for permission to
publish this.
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POTATOES
by Shawn |
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When I was a graduate student, my assistant and I were
surveying some prehispanic sites on the Carabamba
Plateau in northern Peru. We had to hike about four miles
from the nearest road to our survey area so we were
camping and had carried all our food with us. Once, we had
set up camp near the south end of the plateau and were
preparing to begin our dayžs work. Before we started,
however, a farmer approached us and expressed concern
that the flimsy tent material would be insufficient to keep us
from freezing up in his mountains. Although we had been
living in the tent off and on for several months and told him
so, he refused to listen. He said that his wife would never
forgive him if two foreigners suffered because they (he and
his wife) did not help them. Put that way, we had no choice
but to accept his invitation to sleep at his farm. Had I known
how much more that invitation included, I would have found
a way to refuse.
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At 12,000 feet above sea level, the growing season is very
short and all that can be successfully grown is potatoes
(first domesticated in Peru a few thousand years ago).
Generally, the people of the Carabamba Plateau subsist on
potatoes and little else and since the farmer we were
staying with insisted on feeding us as well, thatžs what we
ate. For three days, we had potato soup for breakfast,
boiled potatoes for lunch and boiled potatoes with a bit of
hot chili peppers for supper.
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On the fourth day, my assistant and I were fed up with
potatoes and decided to skip lunch rather than eat another
potato. Imagine our dismay and embarrassment when we
returned to the farm around four in the afternoon to discover
that the entire family (farmer, wife, and four children) had
waited for us for lunch. All afternoon, they had fasted,
waiting for their guests to return so everyone could eat. I
was mortified and what made it worse was that the family
simply welcomed us home and served us lunch without a
trace of rancor or recrimination. Needless to say, we were
prompt for every other meal.
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On the sixth day, we had to return to the coast and I
searched for a way to repay the farmer for his generosity.
He and his family had shared all they had with us. I could
not offer money even though by their standards I had a lot
with me. That would have been an insult so instead, I
asked the farmer if he would do us a favor. I explained that
since they had fed us so well, I had several pounds of, to
them exotic, foods such as tuna, tomatoes, bread, rice and
ham that I did not want to have to carry the four miles back
to our jeep. Would he be so kind as to take that food off our
hands? He readily agreed as I knew he would since any
favor requested cannot be denied according to the code of
the mountain folks. The food I gave him did not repay his
generosity but it was something. At least they would get to
try some foods from the distant coast.
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As we prepared to leave, the farmer and his wife came to
say goodbye and to give us a parting gift. They presented
us with a huge bag of potatoes to take home with us. We
dutifully carried that gift, weighing much more than the food
we had given them, the whole way back. Ižd like to say that
we did so because we wanted to but I canžt. You see, we
had positioned the jeep in such a way that even at four
miles we could keep an eye on it. As a result, we could not
ease the burden of the potatoes and scatter them across
the land. Our every move could be seen by the farmer and
his wife who stood on their hill and watched us until we had
safely reached our vehicle. I have to admit that several
weeks went by before I was able to face another potato.
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| | Shawn Haley
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ANGEL IN DISGUISE
by Bev |
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I was visiting with my son and taking care of my
granddaughter. Her mommy was in the hospital. The days
started out very early and the game plan was for me to drop
off my son at work and then return home and get my
granddaughter ready for school.
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The early morning hour definitely was not agreeing with my
granddaughter who decided to have a small tantrum
instead of getting dressed. She screamed and kicked and I
couldn't get all her clothes on. Her pants were supposed to
be in her bag and they seemed to be missing! I was so
upset that I went on to the school.
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I missed the correct street and was on the next one over. I
stopped at a home where a lady was out in the yard and
asked her where the school was. She said to follow the
lady in front of me. She too was taking her children to that
school.
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When we got there, my grand daughter was still screaming.
By this time I was so frustrated and upset that I had this
momentary inclination to just put her out with out her pants
on.
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Suddenly, a wonderful woman appeared at the car. She
offered to help and looked in the bag for the missing pants.
They were there! My grand daughter sat still not making a
noise and this caring, sweet lady dressed her. Then she
told me that she worked at the school and she would be
happy to take my grand daughter in for me. Before they
went in I told the lady that she was my angel that day! She
told me that she usually went another way and always got
to school earlier but that day she just happened to arrive
later.
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I am so grateful that she showed up at a time when
everything seemed so stressful. She was so special, like
an angel in disguise. I don't even know her name but I am
so grateful to her for thoughtfulness.
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| | Bev
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MY PLEDGE |
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Lisa DelVecchio of Brewster, N.Y. says that when Nicholas
was attending kindergarten, Jayme, 2, was anxious to
repeat anything he came home with. So it was no surprise
when Nicholas was learning "The Pledge of Allegiance,"
Jayme was determined to learn it also. One day she got to
the end and with a very bold voice and her hand on her
heart, she stated, "with liberty and breakfast for all!"
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Thanks to Grace Witwer Housholder for permission to publish this.
TO RECEIVE the delightful weekly "Funny Kids" e-mail
column, send a blank message to: funnykids-subscribe@onelist.com
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