Chicken Soup for the Soul

by Amy Newmark

  “I just tried to take what you did and help others with the same idea,” I replied, embarrassed at the praise.

  “Personally, I can’t wait until next April for ‘Make a Stranger’s Day Month.’ Let me know how I can help,” she said in closing. I put down my phone in awe of what had just happened. Not only did I get to meet the stranger who had lifted me up when I was so down, but I had made a new friend in the process. One stranger had lifted my spirits twice.

  A week ago, I sent my daughter to get a bag of rice. The gentleman in front of her paid for it. “You didn’t have to do that,” she said, showing him that she had money.

  “Ah, it’s nothing. Make a stranger’s day, right?” he replied as he walked away.

  In return, my daughter took the money I had given her and paid for the person’s milk behind her. The woman looked confused. “You’re welcome,” my daughter reassured her. “Just be sure that you take the time on occasion to make a stranger’s day.” I couldn’t have been prouder.

  — Jodi Renee Thomas —

  Warm from the Inside Out

  You will find as you look back upon your life that the moments when you have truly lived are the moments when you have done things in the spirit of love.

  ~Henry Drummond

  The wind and rain made it feel like a cold December day, and yet it was already spring. I sloshed through the puddles as I walked as fast as I could to the huge arena. Why am I doing this? I thought to myself. I am so tired, up too early, and I want to be huddled under the covers. This is crazy!

  When I got inside, it was still cold, and I was grateful that I had remembered to wear a toque, two pairs of gloves, and three layers of clothing, plus a vest and warm jacket.

  Then a cheery voice called out, “Hi, Fran.”

  “Hello, Lindy. Hi, Pippa. How are you, Diana?” I replied with a smile. It was so nice to see them, knowing that they too were braving the cold to fulfill their volunteer commitments. The vast arena buzzed with activity. The gentle nickering of a horse mingled with the sound of a child’s laughter. Volunteers led horses, while moms tended to their children with special needs, zipping up jackets, tightening riding helmets, securing gloves on tiny, wiggling fingers, preparing them for their riding lesson.

  I couldn’t help smiling. These beautiful children all faced daily mental and physical challenges, and their parents’ love was evident. Just the tiniest sign of improvement — a wide grin, a loud laugh, a child managing a simple exercise — was a major milestone for the instructor, parent and child.

  I knew now why I got up early to come to this place. It was for the children’s smiles and laughter, the devoted parents, the instructors patiently teaching, the volunteer staff, and the beautiful horses gently carrying their precious cargoes. Despite the inclement weather outside, I felt like I had found a piece of heaven.

  Few people realize the army of volunteers that it takes for one young child to have a half-hour riding lesson. I volunteer at Valley Therapeutic Equestrian Association in Aldergrove. B.C., close to the Washington State border. It takes a few paid staff and an army of volunteers — approximately eighty — to take care of a dozen horses and help with eighty or more children during the week. There is a large barn to clean, and hay nets and water buckets to scrub and fill. Specific feeds for each horse must be prepared twice daily. Paddocks and stalls need daily cleaning and new shavings brought in by wheelbarrow.

  The horses need daily grooming, plus their vetting and shoeing requirements attended to. There is the endless cleaning of tack and complex administrative work, funds to be raised, volunteer and riding schedules prepared, and ongoing property maintenance. The list is endless.

  To prepare a horse for a ride, someone has to bring it in from the pasture, at times sinking into inches of black, clinging mud during the winter months. Usually, two volunteers groom the horse and put on the special saddle and bridle. Then they lead the horse to the arena for the lesson. There, one volunteer leads the horse, and usually two walk alongside for safety, one on each side. Then the horse must be returned to the barn, unsaddled, groomed and fed.

  Yet so many people willingly give their time — because the children need us. Ranging in age from two upwards, the children have varying degrees of autism or mental disabilities. Some have severe physical handicaps. Riding strengthens their muscles and bones or helps to straighten spines, enabling them to enjoy a more fruitful life.

  Throughout my past life as an accountant, business author and speaker, I volunteered on many levels and in many organizations. However, a terrible motor-vehicle accident changed my life in a split second when my car was hit — as was my head — causing traumatic brain injury. The journey back has been painful. Now, fourteen years later, I am a different, more simplified person. It took a long time to accept this new “me” and her often-frustrating limitations.

  It took many years to discover that I needed to do something that I have a passion for.

  As many brain-injury and trauma survivors know, clinical depression can be a common, major side effect of life-changing damage. Many of us experience terrible, dark moments. Not left unscathed, I often face this demon. It took many years to discover that I needed to do something that I have a passion for. I’d loved horses from childhood, and working with them and with the children has helped turn my life around.

  That day, as I walked beside the horses and those beautiful, angelic children looked down at me from atop their steeds and smiled — or grunted or squealed in joy, as many cannot speak — my heart was filled to overflowing. I didn’t notice the cold, or the rain, or the mud. I was warm from the inside out.

  — Frances R. McGuckin —

  Leading the Fire Drill

  And though she be but little, she is fierce.

  ~William Shakespeare

  My six-year-old daughter came home from school and asked, “Why do boys get to do everything and girls don’t?” Fire drills were held at the school on a regular basis and they had just had one. Each room had a plastic fireman’s hat, and a boy was always picked to lead the class safely away from the building. “Why can’t a girl be the leader?” my little girl asked.

  Girls were not reared to be independent women when I grew up in the 1950s. At the age of eighteen, I married and went from my parents’ home to living with my husband. I had never spent the night alone. When my husband was drafted a short time later, my two younger brothers thought it was great fun to spend the night with me, make fudge and popcorn, watch TV, stay up late, and sleep on my sofa. But the fun soon wore off, and I was left alone for the first time in my life.

  I was alone when the electricity went off in the middle of the night, and I had no flashlight. I was alone when the water heater blew up, and water covered my kitchen floor. I was alone when the fuel line froze. I had no heat, and the temperature was below freezing. I was alone when the car wouldn’t start and I had no way to get to work. I was alone when a Peeping Tom was caught looking in my window, and when there was not enough money to pay the bills and only enough food to keep from starving. And I was alone during the first seven months of my pregnancy, through morning sickness and doctors’ visits.

  When my daughter was born, I resolved that she would not be like me. I would raise her to be a self-confident, independent woman. From the very beginning, I encouraged her potential, praised her efforts, and exposed her to ideas and dreams. I was determined that I would help her explore the possibilities that were available.

  She showed leadership in kindergarten. Her first-grade teacher said she was a born leader. A move shortly thereafter didn’t faze her. As we registered at the new school, I was told that my daughter could attend that day in the stylish little pantsuit that I had made for her, but that pants thereafter were inappropriate. She had to wear a dress or be sent home. The principal believed that children behaved better when they wore their Sunday clothes.

  The boys, however, did not have to wear suits, shirts and ties because they liked to hang upside down from
the monkey bars on the playground. I suggested that perhaps little girls might like to hang upside down as well without their underwear showing. “My daughter will wear Sunday dresses to school when the boys wear suits and ties,” I said. Within a week, every little girl at school was wearing pants.

  When my daughter mentioned that she might like to be a nurse when she grew up, I agreed that nursing was a wonderful profession. “But if you want to go into the medical field, you might also think about becoming a doctor,” I said.

  When she said she wanted to be a teacher, I praised her choice, but I suggested that if she wanted to go into education, she should think about administration, too. She could be the principal of an entire school or the head of a college or university.

  When she said she wanted to be a flight attendant and travel all over the world, I agreed that flying would be an exciting career. “But if you want to fly,” I said, “think about becoming the pilot. The pilot gets to fly the plane.”

  Neil Armstrong walked on the moon. When my little girl took exaggerated steps like she saw him do on television, she said she wanted to be an astronaut. I told her that she could be the first woman to walk on the moon if that was what she wanted.

  Of course, little girls change their minds often, but whatever she thought she wanted to be at any given time, I supported and then challenged her to dream even bigger and to think outside traditional gender roles.

  After my daughter asked why a girl couldn’t lead the fire drill, I spoke to the teacher. She said, “It’s never been done by a girl, but I suppose if she really wants to…” My daughter wore the red plastic firefighter’s hat and led the class safely away from the building during the next fire drill.

  The school my six-year-old attended was innovative in encouraging the children to work independently at their own speed. Assignments were given, and as each child finished, she or he could go to various stations around the room for stimulating activities. There were puzzles to work, books to read, and games to play.

  At one station, a tape recorder held a tape of Casey at the Bat. My little daughter saw the excitement of her male classmates as they donned headphones and listened to the classic baseball tale. They were having fun. She finished her work and made a beeline for the vacant play station, only to be directed by the teacher to an activity she deemed more suited for girls. My daughter came home and asked me why she could not hear the story of Casey at the Bat.

  After I made another trip to the school, the teacher agreed there was no reason why the stations should be designated by gender. She never thought that little girls might want to hear about baseball or play with building materials or that little boys might want to put on a boa and read Cinderella or string necklaces from fruit-flavored cereal and macaroni. When my daughter finished her assignment the next day, she headed straight for the play station, put on the headphones and heard Casey at the Bat for the first time.

  Times were changing. Each time I went to school, I wanted equal opportunity for my daughter — nothing more and nothing less. I never confronted a teacher in front of anyone else. I handled each situation pleasantly. I was never critical or angry.

  I simply wanted my child to be exposed to possibilities and opportunities. She could then decide what she liked or did not like. I wanted her to study academics based on interests and not gender, to have dreams and a non-traditional career if she chose one.

  And I wanted her and the other girls to lead the fire drill just as often as the boys.

  — Judy Lee Green —

  90,000 Doughnuts

  We cannot live only for ourselves. A thousand fibers connect us with our fellow men.

  ~Herman Melville

  It was a day just like any other in our small country town. My youngest, Tyler, and I stopped by our corner store to grab a drink and snack after school. A few police cars caught Tyler’s attention, and when we walked inside, we saw the police officers were having lunch in the back corner. “Mom, you know cops’ favorite drink is coffee, and their favorite food is doughnuts, right?” I laughed and agreed. “Can I use my allowance money and buy them some mini doughnuts to say ‘thank you’?”

  “Of course!” I said.

  As I watched Tyler thank them and witnessed their gratitude, I felt pride and reassurance that I was fulfilling my purpose to raise my children to be kind and compassionate.

  After a few minutes, we left the store, and I thought to myself, What a beautiful moment. But then Tyler asked a question that would change our lives and the lives of countless others forever.

  “Why were the police so happy about that snack?”

  I went on to explain that some people judge a whole by a few. Consequently, they are not always kind to police officers and have even hurt them. Tyler was very sad to hear this, and instead of shrugging it off, he exclaimed that he was going to thank every cop in America and buy them each a doughnut!

  I was quite shocked by his response, but it never occurred to me to say “no.” In fact, I thought it was a fabulous — but unachievable — idea. I suggested many other options, such as doing a local thank-you event for police, but nothing I said was enough for this young, passionate child on a newfound mission.

  He was going to thank every cop in America and buy them each a doughnut!

  I had no idea how to put all of this passion into action, but I knew one thing… Tyler had found his purpose, and it was my duty as his parent to help him fulfill it. I sent an e-mail to our local sheriffs’ office and asked if Tyler could host a thank you event for them. They were delighted. At the event, the sheriff introduced Tyler as “The Donut Boy,” a name that has become known throughout the nation.

  Within a couple of weeks, we had our second event scheduled and then an unexpected phone call — the Liz and Reilly radio show from Eugene, Oregon. This call led to a trip to Oregon to thank the police.

  I will never forget the plane ride. Tyler had never flown before and he was so nervous, yet so excited to meet more of his heroes. We had just taken off and were ascending when he looked over at me with the most serious of faces and proclaimed, “See Mom, I told you I could go across America.”

  By the time we left Oregon, Tyler’s mission had been discovered by Inside Edition and then Steve Harvey. We kept planning thank you events and before we knew it we were on a plane to Chicago to meet Steve in person.

  The mission was in full swing and Tyler was working hard to fulfill his dream of giving every officer in America a thank you and an oh so delicious “Power Ring.” In May 2017, we headed off to Washington, D.C. for National Police Week, having no idea what to expect. To say this was the most humbling experience of our lives is an understatement; there were 40,000-plus police officers from across the country, all in one city to honor their fallen brothers and sisters. Tyler spent three incredible days thanking these brave men and women and hearing their stories of sacrifice, bravery, loss and passion for their job. By the time we left, our original two-week summer road trip to thank the police had evolved into a six-week delivery mission.

  The years that have followed have been incredible. Tyler has spent nights in cars, hotels, campgrounds and even a covered wagon. He has turned his mission into an official nonprofit “I DONUT Need a Reason to THANK a Cop, Inc.” and he has worked hard to purchase needed equipment for agencies that are underfunded.

  As a mother, it has been an honor to watch Tyler grow and mature and gain an even better understanding of the struggles and rewards of a police officer’s duties. I find the utmost joy in watching him sit down with an officer and ask a million questions as he is eager to learn everything about the job that he also hopes to do someday. This program has shaped Tyler into the young man he now is and will continue to shape him into the man he will become, the officer he will be someday, and the husband and father he will be.

  Fast-forward to July 2019. It’s been three years since a simple act of kindness sparked a wonderful idea in an eight-year-old boy, and it has been one amazing ride. As Tyler i
s gearing up to complete a smaller goal of his mission — to thank police in every state at least once — I have taken time to reflect on these past years and the impact this one small person has had on the lives of thousands. There have been many happy tears, many hugs, many thank-yous back to Tyler, and many laughs and wonderful memories. We have documented this entire journey on Facebook @idonutneedareasontothankacop and cannot wait to see what the future holds for Tyler and his mission.

  In forty-eight states, more than 90,000 doughnuts have been delivered so far, with no end in sight. We have made memories that will last a lifetime, have stories that are almost unbelievable, have laughed and cried, but most importantly, we have served those who serve us daily and made our mark on this world. This is Tyler’s legacy.

  — Sheena Carach —

  A Place to Call Home

  Take the first step in faith. You don’t have to see the whole staircase, just take the first step.

  ~Martin Luther King, Jr.

  When Joyce saw the little trailer, she said, “I can’t do this. There is no way I could live here.”

  Admittedly, it didn’t look promising. Sitting empty in a dusty storage yard for several years, the tiny trailer desperately needed a good cleaning and a lot of freshening up. The stale smell that greeted us as we stepped inside was disheartening enough, but the years of neglect seemed overwhelming.

  Grime covered the walls. The floor creaked and sagged beneath our feet. The dirt and accumulated pet hair in the tiny bedroom were at least half an inch thick. The toilet in the bathroom was filled with dead flies. And all of this I was presenting to Joyce as a possible home for her and her young son. I couldn’t blame her for despairing.

  But Joyce needed someplace to live, and this was being offered to her for free. Joyce and her son Robbie had been living with a relative, but it had been a strained arrangement, and change was needed desperately. A neighbor had offered Joyce this trailer, but it needed, in the neighbor’s words, “a little bit of cleaning.” Joyce and I had driven to the storage yard to take a look and were seeing with our own eyes that it certainly needed cleaning… more than just a little.