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Always I watched you, though from afar. It might have seemed to you that I was impervious to your trials of going it alone, but I wasn't. I was coping with my own struggles of a growing family, and actualizing a dream I refused to let go of because it was so important to meit was my legacy to you children.
I prayed for you constantly. Know, dear daughter, that your strength and ability to forge ahead when all seemed against you was often the very thing that kept my own dreams alive and renewed my strength to forge ahead with my own trials and tribulationsand made them worth it. You see, it was you who was my hero, a model of strength, courage and audacity.
There were times when you were home on holidays that as we walked the farmstead and talked about so many things, I wanted to tell you so you wouldn't lose faith in me. I needed you to believe in me. But as I watched the boundless energy of your youth and arrogance and pride, and listened to your determination to complete your mission, I knew you would be all right. I knew that not only could you do it, but that you would. And so, today we both have a piece of paper symbolizing the completion of dreams, actualized because we have applied hard work toward noble goals. Bettie, I am so very proud of you today.
Author's note. (His actual signature!)
Bettie B. Youngs
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My Father When I Was . . .
4 years old:
My daddy can do anything.
5 years old: My daddy knows a whole lot.
6 years old: My dad is smarter than your dad.
8 years old: My dad doesn't know exactly everything.
10 years old: In the olden days when my dad grew up, things were sure different.
12 years old: Oh, well, naturally, Father doesn't know anything about that. He is too old to remember his childhood.
14 years old: Don't pay any attention to my father. He is so old-fashioned!
21 years old: Him? My Lord, he's hopelessly out-of-date.
25 years old: Dad knows a little bit about it, but then he should because he has been around so long.
30 years old: Maybe we should ask Dad what he thinks. After all, he's had a lot of experience.
35 years old: I'm not doing a single thing until I talk to Dad.
40 years old: I wonder how Dad would have handled it. He was so wise and had a world of experience.
50 years old: I'd give anything if Dad were here now so I could talk this over with him. Too bad I didn't appreciate how smart he was. I could have learned a lot from him.
Ann Landers
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The Spirit of Santa Doesn't Wear a Red Suit
I slouched down in the passenger seat of our old Pontiac 'cause it was the cool way to sit when one is in the fourth grade. My dad was driving downtown to shop and I was going along for the ride. At least that's what I had told himactually I had an important question to ask that had been on my mind for a couple of weeks and this was the first time I had been able to maneuver myself into his presence without being overt about it.
"Dad . . ." I started. And stopped.
"Yup?" he said.
"Some of the kids at school have been saying something and I know it's not true." I felt my lower lip quiver from the effort of trying to hold back the tears I felt threatening the inside corner of my right eyeit was always the one that wanted to cry first.
"What is it, Punkin?" I knew he was in a good mood when he used this endearment.
"The kids say there is no Santa Claus." Gulp. One tear escaped. "They say I'm dumb to believe in Santa anymore . . . it's only for little kids." My left eye started with a tear on the inside track.
"But I believe what you told me. That Santa is real. He is, isn't he, Dad?"
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Up to this point we had been cruising down Newell Avenue, which was in those days a two-lane road lined with oak trees. At my question, my dad glanced over at my face and body position. He pulled over to the side of the road and stopped the car. Dad turned off the engine and moved over closer to me, his still-little girl huddled in the corner.
"The kids at school are wrong, Patty. Santa Claus is real."
"I knew it!" I heaved a sigh of relief.
"But there is more I need to tell you about Santa. I think you are old enough now to understand what I am going to share with you. Are you ready?" My dad had a warm gleam in his eyes and a soft expression on his face. I knew something big was up and I was ready 'cause I trusted him completely. He would never lie to me.
"Once upon a time there was a real man who traveled the world and gave away presents to deserving children everywhere he went. You will find him in many lands with different names, but what he had in his heart was the same in every language. In America we call him Santa Claus. He is the spirit of unconditional love and the desire to share that love by giving presents from the heart. When you get to a certain age, you come to realize that the real Santa Claus is not the guy who comes down your chimney on Christmas Eve. The real life and spirit of this magical elf lives forever in your heart, my heart, Mom's heart and in the hearts and minds of all people who believe in the joy that giving to others brings. The real spirit of Santa becomes what you can give rather than what you get. Once you understand this and it becomes a part of you, Christmas becomes even more exciting and more magical because you come to realize the magic comes from you when Santa lives in your
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heart. Do you understand what I am trying to tell you?"
I was gazing out the front window with all my concentration at a tree in front of us. I was afraid to look at my dadthe person who had told me all of my life that Santa was a real being. I wanted to believe like I believed last yearthat Santa was a big fat elf in a red suit. I did not want to swallow the grow-up pill and see anything different.
"Patty, look at me." My dad waited. I turned my head and looked at him.
Dad had tears in his eyes, tootears of joy. His face shone with the light of a thousand galaxies and I saw in his eyes the eyes of Santa Claus. The real Santa Claus. The one who spent time choosing special things I had wanted for all the Christmases past since the time I had come to live on this planet. The Santa who ate my carefully decorated cookies and drank the warm milk. The Santa who probably ate the carrot I left for Rudolf. The Santa whodespite his utter lack of mechanical skillsput together bicycles, wagons and other miscellaneous items during the wee hours of Christmas mornings.
I got it. I got the joy, the sharing, the love. My dad pulled me to him in a warm embrace and just held me for what seemed like the longest time. We both cried.
"Now you belong to a special group of people," Dad continued. "You will share in the joy of Christmas from now on, every day of the year, not only on a special day. For now, Santa Claus lives in your heart just like he lives in mine. It is your responsibility to fulfill the spirit of giving as your part of Santa living inside of you. This is one of the most important things that can happen to you in your whole life, because now you know that Santa Claus cannot exist without people
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like you and me to keep him alive. Do you think you can handle it?"
My heart swelled with pride and I'm sure my eyes were shining with excitement. "Of course, Dad. I want him to be in my heart, just like he's in yours. I love you, Daddy. You're the best Santa there ever was in the whole world."
When it comes time in my life to explain the reality of Santa Claus to my children, I pray to the spirit of Christmas that I will be as eloquent and loving as my dad was the day I learned that the spirit of Santa Claus doesn't wear a red suit. And I hope they will be as receptive as I was that day. I trust them totally and I think they will.
Patty Hansen
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The Little Lady Who Changed My Life
She was four years old when I first met her. She was carrying a bowl of soup. She had very, very fine golden hair and a little pink shawl around her shoulders. I was 29 at the time and suff
ering from the flu. Little did I realize that this little lady was going to change my life.
Her mom and I had been friends for many years. Eventually that friendship grew into care, from care into love, to marriage, and marriage brought the three of us together as a family. At first I was awkward because in the back of my mind, I thought I would be stuck with the dreaded label of "stepfather." And stepfathers were somehow mythically, or in a real sense, ogres as well as an emotional wedge in the special relationship between the child and the biological father.
Early on I tried hard to make a natural transition from bachelorhood to fatherhood. A year and a half before we married, I took an apartment a few blocks away from their home. When it became evident that we would marry, I tried to spend time to enable a smooth changeover from friend to father figure. I tried not to become a wall between my future daughter and her natural father. Still, I longed to be something special in her life.
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Over the years, my appreciation for her grew. Her honesty, sincerity and directness were mature beyond her years. I knew that within this child lived a very giving and compassionate adult. Still, I lived in the fear that some day, when I had to step in and be a disciplinarian, I might have it thrown in my face that I wasn't her ''real" father. If I wasn't real, why would she have to listen to me? My actions became measured. I was probably more lenient than I wanted to be. I acted in that way in order to be liked, all the time living out a role I felt I had to livethinking I wasn't good enough or worthy enough on my own terms.
During the turbulent teenage years, we seemed to drift apart emotionally. I seemed to lose control (or at least the parental illusion of control). She was searching for her identity and so was I. I found it increasingly hard to communicate with her. I felt a sense of loss and sadness because I was getting further from the feeling of oneness we had shared so easily in the beginning.
Because she went to a parochial school, there was an annual retreat for all seniors. Evidently the students thought that going on retreat was like a week at Club Med. They boarded the bus with their guitars and racquetball gear. Little did they realize that this was going to be an emotional encounter that could have a lasting impression on them. As parents of the participants, we were asked to individually write a letter to our child, being open and honest and to write only positive things about our relationship. I wrote a letter about the little golden-haired girl who had brought me a bowl of soup when I needed care. During the course of the week, the students delved deeper into their real beings. They had an opportunity to read the letters we parents had prepared for them.
The parents also got together one night during that week to think about and send good thoughts to our
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children. While she was away, I noticed something come out of me that I knew was there all along, but which I hadn't faced. It was that in order to be fully appreciated I had to plainly be me. I didn't have to act like anyone else. I wouldn't be overlooked if I was true to myself. I just had to be the best me I could be. It may not sound like much to anyone else, but it was one of the biggest revelations of my life.
The night arrived when they came home from their retreat experience. The parents and friends who had come to pick them up were asked to arrive early, and then invited into a large room where the lights were turned down low. Only the lights in the front of the room were shining brightly.
The students marched joyously in, all dirty-faced as though they had just come back from summer camp. They filed in arm-in-arm, singing a song they had designated as their theme for the week. Through their smudgy faces, they radiated a new sense of belonging and love and self-confidence.
When the lights were turned on, the kids realized that their parents and friends, who had come to collect them and share their joy, were also in the room. The students were allowed to make a few statements about their perceptions of the prior week. At first they reluctantly got up and said things like, "It was cool," and "Awesome week," but after a few moments you could begin to see a real vitality in the students' eyes. They began to reveal things that underscored the importance of this rite of passage. Soon they were straining to get to the microphone. I noticed my daughter was anxious to say something. I was equally anxious to hear what she had to say.
I could see my daughter determinedly inching her way up to the microphone. Finally she got to the front of the line. She said something like, "I had a great time,
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and I learned a lot about myself." She continued, "I want to say there are people and things we sometimes take for granted that we shouldn't, and I just want to say . . . I love you, Tony."
At that moment my knees got weak. I had no expectations, no anticipation she would say anything so heartfelt. Immediately people around me started hugging me, and patting me on the back as though they also understood the depth of that remarkable statement. For a teenage girl to say openly in front of a room full of people, "I love you," took a great deal of courage. If there were something greater than being overwhelmed, I was experiencing it.
Since then the magnitude of our relationship has increased. I have come to understand and appreciate that I didn't need to have any fear about being a stepfather. I only have to concern myself with being the real person who can exchange honest love with the same little girl I met so many years beforecarrying a bowl full of what turned out to be kindness.
Tony Luna
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10th Row Center
A man came up and introduced himself to me after one of my seminars in Detroit, Michigan. He said, "Mr. Rohn, you got me tonight. I've decided to change my whole life."
I said, "Fantastic!"
He said, "You will hear about it someday."
I said, "I don't doubt that."
Sure enough, a few months later I was back in Detroit for another lecture and the same man walked up and said, "Mr. Rohn, do you remember me?"
I said, "I do. You are the man who said he was going to change his life." "That's me," he said. "I've got to tell you a story. After the last seminar, I started thinking about ways to begin changing my life and I decided to start with my family. I have two lovely daughtersthe best kids anyone could ask for. They never give me any trouble. However, I've always given them a hard timeespecially as teenagers. One of the things they dearly love to do is go to rock-and-roll concerts to see their favorite performers. Now, I've always given them a hard time on this subject. They would ask to go and I would always say, 'No, the music is too loud, you'll ruin your hearing and it's the wrong kind of crowd to be in.'
"Then, they would beg, 'Please Daddy, we want to
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go. We don't give you any trouble. We're good girls. Please let us go.'
"Well, after they had begged long enough, I would reluctantly throw them the money and say, 'Okay, if you have to go that bad.' So that's where I decided to make some changes in my life." Then he said, "Here's what I did. Not long ago I saw this advertisement that one of their favorite performers was coming to town. Guess what I did? I went down to the concert hall and bought the tickets myself. Later that day, when I saw my girls, I handed them the envelope and said, 'Daughters of mine, you may not believe thisbut inside this envelope are your tickets to the concert that's coming to town.' They could not believe it. Then I told them one more thing. I said, 'Your begging days are over.' Now my girls really couldn't believe it. Finally, I made them promise not to open the envelope until they got to the concert, and they agreed. Now comes concert time. When the girls arrived, they opened the envelope and handed the tickets to the usher who said, 'Follow me.' As he guided them toward the front, the girls said, ' Wait a minute. Something must be wrong.' The usher then looked at the tickets, and said, 'There's nothing wrong. Follow me.' Finally they get down to 10th row center. The girls were astonished. I stayed up a little late that night, and sure enough around midnight my daughters came bursting through the front door. One of them landed in my lap. The other one had h
er arms around my neck. And they both said, 'Dad, you've got to be one of the world's all-time great fathers!'"
A 2nd Helping of Chicken Soup for the Soul Page 11