Chicken Soup for the Soul at Work

by Jack Canfield

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  On November 9th, 1990, I received word that my National Guard unit was being activated for Operation Desert Shield. We would convoy to Fort Ben Harrison, Indiana, and then directly to Saudi Arabia. I had been in the Guard for 10 years and never dreamed that we would be activated for a war, even though I knew it was what we trained for. I went to my father and gave him the news. I could sense he was uneasy about me going. We never discussed it much more, and eight days later I was gone.

  I have several close relatives who have been in the military during war time. My father and uncle were in World War II, and two brothers and a sister served in Vietnam. While I was extremely uneasy about leaving my family to serve my country in a war zone, I knew it was what I had to do. I prayed that this would make my father proud of me. My father is very involved in the Veterans of Foreign Wars organization and has always been for a strong military. I was not eligible to join the Veterans of Foreign Wars because I had not been in a war zonea fact that always made me feel like I didn't measure up in my father's eyes. But now here I was, his youngest son, being shipped off to a foreign land 9,000 miles away, to fight a war in a country we had barely heard of before.

  On November 17, 1990, our convoy of military vehicles rolled out of rural Greenville, Michigan. The streets were filled with families and well-wishers to see us off. As we approached the edge of town, I looked out the window of my truck and saw my wife, Kim, my children, and Mom and Dad. They were all waving and crying, except for my father. He just stood there, almost like a stone statue. He looked incredibly old at that moment. I don't know why, he just did.

  I was gone for that Thanksgiving and missed our family's dinner. There was always a crowd, with two of my sisters, their husbands and children, plus my wife and our

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  family. It disturbed me greatly that I couldn't be there. A few days after Thanksgiving I was able to call my wife, and she told me something that has made me look at my father in a different way ever since.

  My wife knew how my father was about his emotions, and I could hear her voice quaver as she spoke to me. She told me that my father recited his usual Thanksgiving prayer. But this time he added one last sentence. As his voice started to crack and a tear ran down his cheek, he said, "Dear Lord, please watch over and guide my son, Rick, with your hand in his time of need as he serves his country, and bring him home to us safely." At that point he burst into tears. I had never seen my father cry, and when I heard this, I couldn't help but start to cry myself. My wife asked me what was wrong. After regaining my composure, I said, "I guess my father really does love me."

  Eight months later, when I returned home from the war, I ran over and hugged my wife and children in a flurry of tears. When I came to my father, I embraced him and gave him a huge hug. He whispered in my ear, "I'm very proud of you, Son, and I love you." I looked that man, my dad, straight in the eyes as I held his head between my hands and I said, "I love you too, Dad," and we embraced again. And then together, both of us cried.

  Ever since that day, my relationship with my father has never been the same. We have had many deep conversations. I learned that he's always been proud of me, and he's not afraid to say "I love you" anymore. Neither am I. I'm just sorry it took 29 years and a war to find it out.

  Rick Halvorsen

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  2

  ON CARING

  The power of love and caring can change the world.

  James Autry

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  A Lesson from My Father

  You make a living by what you get, but you make a life by what you give.

  Anonymous

  We come by business naturally in our family. Each of the seven children in our family worked in our father's store, "Our Own Hardware-Furniture Store," in Mott, North Dakota, a small town on the prairies. We started working by doing odd jobs like dusting, arranging shelves and wrapping, and later graduated to serving customers. As we worked and watched, we learned that work was about more than survival and making a sale.

  One lesson stands out in my mind. It was shortly before Christmas. I was in the eighth grade and was working evenings, straightening the toy section. A little boy, five or six years old, came in. He was wearing a brown tattered coat with dirty worn cuffs. His hair was straggly, except for a cowlick that stood straight up from the crown of his head. His shoes were scuffed and his one shoelace was torn. The little boy looked poor to metoo poor to afford

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  to buy anything. He looked around the toy section, picked up this item and that, and carefully put them back in their place.

  Dad came down the stairs and walked over to the boy. His steel blue eyes smiled and the dimple in his cheek stood out as he asked the boy what he could do for him. The boy said he was looking for a Christmas present to buy his brother. I was impressed that Dad treated him with the same respect as any adult. Dad told him to take his time and look around. He did.

  After about 20 minutes, the little boy carefully picked up a toy plane, walked up to my dad and said, "How much for this, Mister?"

  "How much you got?" Dad asked.

  The little boy held out his hand and opened it. His hand was creased with wet lines of dirt from clutching his money. In his hand lay two dimes, a nickel and two pennies27 cents. The price on the toy plane he'd picked out was $3.98.

  "That'll just about do it," Dad said as he closed the sale. Dad's reply still rings in my ears. I thought about what I'd seen as I wrapped the present. When the little boy walked out of the store, I didn't notice the dirty, worn coat, the straggly hair, or the single torn shoelace. What I saw was a radiant child with a treasure.

  LaVonn Steiner

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  Bringing Your Heart to Work

  You can handle people more successfully by enlisting their feelings than by convincing their reason.

  Paul P. Parker

  A corporate client subcontracted with me to train the major telemarketing firm she worked for. While training the telemarketing staff in sales, I noticed agitation among them. They were learning a new sales technology that combines trust, integrity and collaboration in supporting a prospect's buying decisions. They worked hard and were excited about learning, but it was obvious they were holding back their full commitment. By the end of the first day, I knew I couldn't continue without a full understanding of what was going on with the team.

  ''Is there a problem with you learning this technology?" I asked. They sat silently. I waited for an answer. Finally, someone spoke.

  "It would be great if we could really use this stuff. I mean, I can see where it would really work, and I wouldn't

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  have to feel like I'm being so abusive to the people I'm calling. But I don't really think the company will let us use it. They don't care about people. They treat us like subhumans, use abusive selling tactics for prospects and only care about the bottom line. If they found out we were using this type of approach they'd put a stop to it."

  I told the group I'd think about the problem and made a commitment to assist them in finding a way to integrate the new skills. They seemed to be happy to try, but unconvinced that I could make a difference.

  Following the program, I went to the telephone bank where the salespeople worked and watched while the company's senior vice-president came over to speak with one of the representatives. He interrupted her in the middle of a conversation. He then walked over to another person who was on a sales call and asked him why he had a personal photo on his desk, since none were allowed. At the desk where I was sitting was a memo from the same man, telling people they had to wear suits the following day and keep their suit jackets on between 11:00 A.M. and noon because prospective clients would be coming through the office.

  I waited until the senior vice-president went back to his office and knocked on his door. Since I teach collaboration, I decided to assume we were in a win-win situation. He smiled and invited me to speak. "I've got a problem th
at I'm hoping you can solve. I've been hired to teach this new sales technology that really supports trust and collaboration. However, the participants are afraid to bring it back to their desks."

  He was a big man and an ex-Marine. He sat way back in his chair and rocked, smiling at me over a well-fed stomach. He replied, "If it makes money, why should they be afraid?"

  I took a good look at the man. He seemed gentle, although his actions didn't indicate that. "Do you mind if

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  I ask you a really personal question that may have nothing to do with anything?" I asked. His smile broadened and he nodded as he rocked. I felt his acceptance of me.

  "How do you function at work each day when you leave your heart at home?"

  The man continued to rock gently, never changing his expression. I watched while his eyes narrowed. He responded, "What else do you know about me?"

  "It's confusing for me," I ventured. "You seem to be a gentle person, yet your actions don't seem to take people into account. You're putting task before relationship, but somehow I think you know the difference."

  He looked at his watch and asked, "Are you free for dinner? Come on, it's on me."

  Our dinner lasted three hours. He graphically recounted his Vietnam experiences as an officer who had to do bad things to good people. He cried, I cried. His shame had kept him silent, and he had never discussed the experiences with anyone before. He spent his life believing that his goodness could hurt people, so he decided years before not to let his heart get in the way of his job. It was a pain he carried daily. His sharing gave me the permission to talk about one of my own pains in my life that I rarely shared. Together we sat with cold food, warm beers and tears.

  The next morning he called me into his office. "Could you sit with me while I do something?" he asked. Then he called in the woman who had hired me, and apologized for not supporting her and for being disrespectful to her in front of others. She was shocked and grateful. He then turned to me and asked, "Is there anything else you think I should do?"

  I thought for a moment and replied, "You may want to consider apologizing to the entire team."

  Without hesitation, he picked up the phone and asked his secretary to call in the team for a quick meeting. There,

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  he apologized to the client in front of the team, apologized to the team for being disrespectful to them, and offered to make whatever changes they needed, so that they would want to come in to work each day. He also wanted to learn my technology and offer it to his entire sales staff.

  That was the first of several meetings between the senior vice-president, my client and the team. People who were looking for new jobs stopped looking. People began to trust that being at work wouldn't be harmful and might even be fun. The team supported the new collaborative sales approach. The senior vice-president began to use his new skills with other teams. And I got a new friend.

  Sharon Drew Morgen

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  A Pebble in the Water

  We are confronted with insurmountable opportunities.

  Walt Kelly, "Pogo"

  The events leading up to the proudest moment in my 28-year teaching career began on Monday, December 9, 1990. Our troops were engaged in Desert Storm in Saudi Arabia. I was in an after-school faculty meeting in the high school cafeteria. The computer coordinator told us about Project Desert Shield, created by former Chicago Bears football great, Walter Payton.

  She explained that he had chartered a plane for Sunday to fly to the Persian Gulf to personally deliver gifts and donated items from the Chicago metropolitan area. We were asked to invite our students to sign Christmas cards, and to write pen pal letters to cheer up our soldiers during the holidays.

  As I was driving to school that Tuesday, I remembered spending Christmas in the Philippine Islands when I was in the Peace Corps in the 1960s. I had received cookies

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  from home. What a difference they made! I had felt loved and cared for. I started thinking that if each student contributed 50 cents, we would have $60 to buy cookies to send on the plane on Sunday.

  When I asked each of my five classes that Tuesday about contributing 50 cents, I got total support. As the day progressed and word spread about our cookie project, the National Honor Society volunteered to contribute paperbacks. Then the work program coordinator said her class would fill up Christmas stockings with candy.

  On Wednesday morning, I went to the main office and told the principal's secretary about my students raising money for cookies, and what the other classes were doing. I asked her if the administration would make a donation. The principal agreed. I was so delighted that I then asked her if she would call the district office and see if the central administration would also contribute. They, too, agreed to support our project.

  When I gave my class a running total of what we had collected, we decided that we were going to have over $150 to spend, so we could purchase more than cookies. We compiled a list of items that family members were encouraged to send overseas, and three students from each class volunteered to form a shopping committee.

  On Thursday, I went to the faculty lounge for lunch and enthusiastically shared the news of the school's involvement in Project Desert Shield. One listener said that sand insects were getting into packages sent overseas and suggested I call a popcorn company to see if it would donate empty metal containers.

  In addition to empty containers, the popcorn company offered to donate several cases of popcorn. When I gave my daily report to the classes and told them the response from the popcorn company, my students

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  started brainstorming about other ways they could help through their parents' workplaces.

  By the end of the school day on Thursday, we had collected $260. Armed with an official letter telling about the school's involvement in Project Desert Shield, our shopping committee members left to make their purchases.

  When I got to my classroom on Friday morning, I was surprised to find the custodians unloading flats of boxes. The 15 committee members came in, one by one, with their purchases. They were very excited. They told me that they had difficulty paying for anything because the merchants wanted to make donations. We were so overwhelmed with boxes and cases, we couldn't fit them all into the school van. The principal had to call central administration and request a truck. We filled that truck with over $2,000 in products. Then we all gathered at the back of the truck for a picture with a banner that read, "Elk Grove Cares ... Merry Christmas!"

  I went back to my empty classroom, where a few hours before the room had been filled with animated and purposeful students. I thought how fulfilling this project had been and how much support and encouragement I had received. I remember sitting there in the silence, thinking, Okay, God, I get it. I know now why I'm in the classroom.

  The following Monday, I asked each of my students to write a paragraph on Project Desert Shield. Some wrote that they would get involved in the community when they grew up. A few mentioned how one person can make a difference, and one said it was like the ripples that form when you throw a pebble in the water.

  But the response that touched me the most was the one by the student who wrote, "Mrs. O'Brien, I was ready to kill myself this week. Then I got on the committee and saw I was accepted by the others, and ... thank you."

  Sally K. O'Brien

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  I Just Can't Believe It

  Our lives will always be full if our hearts are always giving.

  Anonymous

  After 30 years of service with American Airlines, I retired after my 50th birthday. At this point, I finally began what God had intended for me to do with the last half of my life: to inspire, to motivate and to create special moments.