by Amy Newmark
When we had been divided into groups of six, the steps became more complex. I struggled, but kept smiling.
Then we were asked to do a grand tour jeté en l’air, individually. Roughly speaking, that French term means to stand on one leg, kick the other one up and out as close to a split as possible, and then do a turn in the air as you fly across the room. Hopefully, you’d land on both feet. We each had to do this several times, flying diagonally through the room. It was not an easy step, even for accomplished dancers, much less me.
I was impressed by the quality of these dancers. Each did the tour jeté beautifully. When it was my turn, to say I was nervous was an understatement. I took the preparatory step, and with that never-ending smile, I leaped up into the air, turned in mid-air and landed flat on my rear end!
The smile never left my face. Once it was determined that only my ego was hurt, my friends broke out laughing. The piano player stopped playing, and soon the whole room was filled with laughter.
When everything settled down, my friends were instructed to go to the right. When I was told to go to the left, their faces told it all. They felt sorry for me. I had tried my best, but I had ended up on the losing side.
I never stopped smiling as I picked up my belongings and prepared to leave. That’s when the choreographer called out to me, “Where are you going? You’ve got the job if you want it.”
Did I want it? I certainly did. I thought I had been eliminated!
My friends on the other side did not make it.
There were no tour jetés in the show. I made my first appearance on national TV as one of six young girls dancing around Mr. Durante and chanting, “Happy birthday, Jimmy! Happy birthday!” as he sang, “It’s my nose’s birthday, not mine.”
I never stopped smiling, and I always landed on my feet.
In the words of Ed Sullivan, it was a really big SHOE.
Had I not believed I could do it, and had I not tried, I would have missed out on a thoroughly enjoyable experience.
It proved once again that a smile will get one further than a frown ever will.
— Eva Carter —
The Doctor Is In
All successful people have a goal. No one can get anywhere unless he knows where he wants to go and what he wants to be or do.
~Norman Vincent Peale
My grandma followed me into the living room to see what I was up to after I asked her for some double-sided tape. The day before, I had watched our new refrigerator being delivered, and now I was doing what any child would do with a huge cardboard box — turning it into something wonderful. In my case, it was Lucy’s psychiatric help stand from the Peanuts comic strip.
Grandma looked fretfully at the large pair of scissors I had taken from the kitchen drawer as my determined little hands struggled to cut through the thick cardboard. “I’m going to help people, Grandma, and give them advice to solve their problems.”
“Well, that’s a very good thing to do. Can I help you with the scissors?”
Over the next few weeks, I readily dispensed advice to unsuspecting family members and friends from my makeshift therapy stand. Our Poodles, Rascal and Smokey, along with my grandma, made up the majority of my patient consultations.
My cardboard psychiatric advice stand fell apart pretty quickly after that, but the dream remained, although it went into hibernation for a while. When I graduated from high school, I won some scholarships but I still couldn’t afford to go full-time to university. So I decided to work and take classes part-time instead.
Years passed, as did my grandma and my Poodles, but my dream didn’t. From time to time, Lucy would pop up in my mind, giving me her sage and practical advice. “Snap out of it! You’ve got to stop all this silly worrying!” she advised sternly. “Go home and eat a jelly-bread sandwich folded over,” she once quipped, reminding me not to over-dramatize a situation and just curl up with some comfort food until the storm was over. And once, when I was feeling particularly unsure of myself, there she was, advising, “If you really want to impress people, you need to show them you’re a winner.”
As I worked menial job after job, I always managed to set aside enough time and money to take college classes at night. Over time, the credits added up until I received my first college diploma.
Life continued, and so did my dream of becoming a psychologist. As my regular jobs improved, so did the amount of effort and funds I could spend on my university classes. Before I knew it, another college degree had been completed.
And so it went, taking class after class, enjoying each one along the way to a fuller, formal education.
After working at various universities for years and loving every aspect of education, my eighth and final degree was completed. I had realized my dream of becoming a psychologist.
Education is a lifelong process, and I managed to reach my goal over the years by taking one class at a time. My grandma would have been proud of the final result.
When I graduated, a friend — one of the few who knew of my inspiration from the comic strip — gave me a framed picture of Lucy hard at work in her makeshift office. I hung it on my office wall. Many people saw it and commented on how much they liked the iconic comic strip. But only Grandma and I knew the whole story.
— Donna L. Roberts —
Simple Courage
Success is not final, failure is not fatal: it is the courage to continue that counts.
~Winston Churchill
Chaperoning a group of teens at our state’s annual youth convention kept me busy, so I looked forward to free time one afternoon when we would all unwind by doing crafts. That’s where I first noticed Jenny checking out the available projects. It was hard not to notice her. As she walked about the room with other teens, her limbs jerked unpredictably. Even when she tried to stand still, muscle spasms seized an arm and threw it into the air or wrenched her head to the side. Kids would glance up in surprise and then look away quickly. My heart ached to see how cerebral palsy affected her life.
Before long, Jenny settled on a wood-burning project and began gathering her supplies. Since I was never good at artistic endeavors, it didn’t much matter which craft I chose, so I sat across from her. I picked up a thin plank of wood and penciled my last name on it with a little flower in the corner. That was the extent of my creative abilities. Meanwhile, Jenny sketched intently on her plaque. Soon, a handsome cardinal sat on a branch surrounded by dogwood blooms.
“Pretty,” I said.
She smiled.
I picked up the hot, wood-burning tool to begin. How would Jenny complete her project without burning herself? She didn’t. I winced each time her spastic movements elicited another “Ouch!” But under Jenny’s hands, a beautiful image took shape.
Dutifully searing my name into my piece of wood, I struck up a conversation. “What county are you from?”
“Pontotoc.” Even her voice quivered from the effects of her disorder.
“That’s not too far from us. What project area are you in?”
“Clothing.”
“Oh, do you sew?” I marveled that she could control her hands enough to do such intricate work.
Her bright eyes looked straight into mine. “I sew some, but I’m here to compete in the clothing selection contest. We coordinate outfits from clothes we buy at the store. I’ll model my outfit this evening at the general assembly.”
Model? The night before, some of the youth had made rude noises and hurled insults at talent contest participants. She was going in front of that group? They would eat her alive!
I gave her my best encouraging smile. “I’ll watch for you.”
Later that day, I entered the auditorium with trepidation, remembering Jenny. After everyone sat down, the lights dimmed and the clothing selection contestants lined up onstage. I could pick out Jenny even at that distance. She stood in a model’s pose just like all the other girls, but occasionally her head or arm twitched unbidden.
When it came time for Jenny
to walk the “runway,” I held my breath. The teens had clapped politely for the other contestants, but what would they do when Jenny lurched across the stage? A burned finger might be pleasant compared to this. I felt as nervous as if I were the one appearing in front of all those people with so little control over my body. Would I ever have found the courage to do it? I closed my eyes and prayed as my new friend took her first few steps in front of 600 kids.
For a moment, there was dead silence. Then the entire audience broke into thunderous applause. Tears streamed down my cheeks as I clapped, too.
Cerebral palsy may have controlled Jenny’s movements, but it didn’t control her life. With quiet courage, she demonstrated what she could accomplish with a positive attitude. Drawing, sewing, modeling? No problem. All she had to do was try. Whether her body cooperated or not, Jenny was determined to be happy doing the things she loved.
From that day on, I stopped thinking about what I couldn’t do and focused on what I could. Following Jenny’s example, I’ve walked a few runways I wouldn’t normally have attempted and found happiness waiting at the end.
Sometimes, courage is putting one foot in front of the other.
— Tracy Crump —
Can’t Is a Four-Letter Word
Never give up on what you really want to do. The person with big dreams is more powerful than the one with all the facts.
~H. Jackson Brown, Jr.
After twenty years of marriage, I suddenly found myself a divorced mother of two with a mortgage and a car payment. At the time, I was a waitress in a small, family-owned business. My husband had informed me that he’d never really wanted children, that they were my idea, and that he was leaving.
I had never dreamed that I would end up divorced. The biggest surprise after my divorce was the reaction of my church family. I had truly expected that the very people who had stood next to me singing, “I love you with the love of the Lord,” would stand by me. Unfortunately, they did not. To them, divorce was an unpardonable sin. When I had stated that no one hated divorce more than I did, I was told that if I’d truly hated it, I wouldn’t be getting divorced, as if I could somehow have stopped it. I’d never felt more alone in my life, but I forgave their ignorance.
I loved my children, and I did whatever it took to provide for them. I worked as many as three jobs, with little to no child support. One Easter week, I worked so many hours that I ended up in the hospital from exhaustion.
Not once did a bill go unpaid. Not once did my children go without anything they needed. The concept of failure was not in my vocabulary. To me, “can’t” was a four-letter word.
A regular breakfast customer at my restaurant suggested that I apply for a job at the post office. They were hiring temporary help. What did I have to lose? I went to the human-resources department at our local post office and asked to apply. She told me they weren’t hiring. When I told my friend the next day, he told me to go back, so I did. Again, I was told that they weren’t hiring. A week later, I went back again. This time, she took my application.
I was hired for a temporary position as a “Casual,” making $7.00 an hour and working an average of 59.5 hours a week. I was only allowed to work six months out of a calendar year in any given position. It seemed ridiculous to give up my waitress jobs for a temporary position, but I knew in my heart that it was the right thing to do. I worked harder than I’d ever worked in my life. I worked six months as a carrier in every kind of weather. Then I worked six months inside as a clerk. There was no promise of a career position, but I believed I would get one.
It was difficult managing work and the kids’ sports schedules. I hated missing soccer and volleyball games. The hardest thing was when I missed my son’s eighth-grade graduation. It was in the afternoon, and I couldn’t get off work. Believe me, I tried.
After a couple of years, I began to ask how I could get a permanent position. I was told who to talk to at the main office, and I made an appointment. I sat in his office explaining why I was there, and he listened politely. When I was finished, he laughed and said, “I’m sorry, but Casuals don’t get hired for career positions.” Something happened to me at that point. I became more determined than ever to prove him wrong.
Shortly after my visit to the main office, it was announced in the local paper that tests were going to be given in our city for career positions at the post office. This was my chance to get a real job. I went to a bookstore and ordered the practice test manual for clerk/ carrier positions. For the next six weeks, I took timed practice tests every spare second I had. I even took a memorization class offered at a local venue. I wasn’t about to give up.
The day finally came for the tests, and hundreds of people showed up to take them. It was now or never. After the tests, we had to wait for what felt like an eternity to learn our score. When mine came in the mail, I was afraid to open it. I’d gotten a 91.5… success.
After I’d gotten my uniforms and completed my ninety-day probationary period, the man who told me I’d never get a career position came into our office. When he saw me casing mail, he stopped and said, “Well, I’ll be. You actually did it.”
I just smiled and said, “ ‘Can’t’ isn’t in my vocabulary. Never tell a woman she can’t do something.”
Last year, I retired from the postal service after a twenty-two-year career as a letter carrier. My children are both married, and I have five beautiful grandsons. My children saw me refuse to give up and I believe it made them who they are today. And the friend who suggested I apply at the post office? We’re married and enjoying retired life together. Nothing can stop us when we refuse to give up on ourselves.
— Brenda Beattie —
Yes, I Will
Spirit has fifty times the strength and staying power of brawn and muscle.
~Mark Twain
I stared up at the ascent from the trailhead. I had a lot riding on this hike. Just one year before, I had vowed to hike to the summit of Heart Mountain after my husband and father declared that I’d “never make it.”
What they said hadn’t come from a place of discouragement, but from concern for my safety. I had become sedentary and gained a lot of weight. I was sad and angry at myself for letting my life become so narrow.
I had always enjoyed hiking and being in the mountains, so I was determined not to let anything, mentally or physically, stop me from hiking to the top of a mountain I had admired since I was a kid. I wanted to get back a piece of myself I had lost.
Now I was with a large group, all family, and I was determined to make it to the top. My cousin and her kids started off at a rapid pace. My husband and I lagged behind a bit, with my father and uncle behind us.
“You don’t have to stick with me,” I told my husband.
“Are you sure?” he asked. He knew how much this hike meant to me, and I had made him promise not to let me quit.
I nodded. “I need to go at my own pace, and right now I’m trying to keep up with you. Dad is still behind me. I’m not alone.”
I knew my husband would treat the hike like he did every goal. He would plow through until it was finished. My legs felt strong, but I couldn’t keep up with him.
He gave me another unsure look. “I said I would help you.”
“Well,” I paused to catch my breath, “I think it will help me more to know I’m not holding you back.”
I could tell he was torn, but he honored my wishes and continued at his own pace, soon catching up with my cousin and her kids.
The foothills were harder than I thought they’d be. With the lack of trees, it was hot, even though it was early in the morning. I found myself getting dizzy.
You’re about to have heatstroke, and you haven’t even made it to the tree line. You better quit now, my brain said. You’ll never make it to the top.
I stopped, drank some water, splashed my face and then started walking again. Yes, I will, said my heart.
I could no longer see my husband, cousin, and her two kids,
but I told myself to take more breaks. As strong as my legs felt, I was still feeling the altitude and becoming breathless.
If you keep resting every five steps, you’ll never make it, my brain snapped.
Yes, I will, my heart said back, continuing up the trail.
Soon, my father and uncle caught up with me. My dad looked at me and smiled. “Tough hike, huh?”
I nodded. “Yeah, but I got this.”
His smile grew. “I know you do.”
I continued to hike with my father and uncle, thankful for the frequent stops my uncle made to take pictures. Even so, I found myself falling behind.
“Please, go at your own pace,” I encouraged them. “I’ll be all right.”
“This pace is working just fine for us,” they countered.
They’re afraid you’re going to hurt yourself. You will. You’re never going to make it to the top.
“Yes, I will,” I whispered as I trudged forward.
We continued to hike up the foothills, and I let out a sigh of relief when we made it to the tree line. We rested in the shade for a moment, taking pictures with the “Heart Mountain Trail” sign and then continued up the trail. I was feeling much better now that we were walking in the shade, and my confidence grew.
We reached the information kiosk and studied it, trying to see how much farther we had to hike. I took out my phone to snap some pictures and was surprised to see a text from my husband. “We aren’t even at the top, and the view is insane. Keep going.”
I smiled and texted him back, letting him know we were at the kiosk.
“I think we have just over a mile to go,” said my father. “But it’s going to be all uphill, so it’ll feel like more.”
You barely made it up the foothills. Turn back now, my brain pleaded.
I pulled on my backpack. “Let’s get started then.”
My dad wasn’t lying. I had thought the foothills were steep, but they paled in comparison to the switchbacks we were now facing.