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Special Stories
Page 2
A New Puppy
One day an eight year old boy went to the pet store with his dad to buy a puppy. The store manager showed them to a pen where five little furry balls huddled together.
After a while, the boy noticed one of the litter all by itself in an adjacent pen. The boy asked, "Why is that puppy all alone?"
The manager explained, "That puppy was born with a bad leg and would be crippled for life, so we're going to have to put him to sleep."
"You're going to kill this little puppy?" the boy said sadly while patting it.
"You have to realize that this puppy would never be able to run and play with a boy like you."
After a short converation with his boy, the dad told the manager that they wanted to buy the puppy with the bad leg.
"For the same amount of money, you could have one of the healthy ones. Why do you want this one?"
To answer the manager's question, the boy bent over and pulled up the pants on his right leg, exposed the brace underneath and said, "Mister, I want this one because I understand what he's going through."
Rebecca
Rebecca is 7 years old today. For someone so young, she is so clever to be able to successfully live in two different worlds.
In the outside world, she is a pitiful little bitty thing in a wheelchair.
"Can she walk?" No, she cannot sit up or roll over either.
"Is she awake?" Actually this is about as alert as she gets.
Puzzled looks from strangers who walk up and talk to her and she doesn't respond. She doesn't hear you.
"Can she sign?" No, she's blind, too.
"You mean she can't hear or see?" Well, she sort of hears background sounds and sort of recognizes familiar voices but she doesn't understand words.
"Does she talk?" No.
"What is she doing?" That's a seizure. "Oh".
"What does she like to eat?" She's fed with a g-tube. "Oh".
"What is she going to do when she grows up?" The same as she is doing now.
"How come her head is so small?" That's her disability.
In her real world, she is the happiest kid in town. All it takes is a touch and you are rewarded with a huge smile. Spend some time snuggling and playing and the rewards are even greater.
Unlike her brothers and sister, she always likes my "cooking", happily wears whatever cute outfit I decide is right for the day, and never complains about my singing.
She does have opinions. She never crys to get attention but can holler up a storm - and may have a smile on her face while she is being her loudest. If she doesn't want to get into the swing that hangs from the doorway, she can draw up her little legs so you can't get her into it no matter what. It is okay if she falls asleep in the swing but she'd better not wake up there because, if you don't notice and get her moved while she is asleep, she'll awaken and stomp her feet and yell.
Oh, just because you think it's time for bed doesn't mean that Rebecca is tired, too. Might just as well leave her sitting in her chair in the dark because if you put her to bed, she'll roll onto her back and make noise until you give in - and grin at you when she wins.
She knows her favorite people and interacts with each of them differently. Big sister gets smiles if she plays "footsie" but gets hollered at if she tries to be a hair stylist. Babysitter has never gotten Becca into the swing because Becca likes to cuddle on her big warm bosom. Daddy (my boyfriend) is good for some rollicking games with lots of loud singing. She rarely falls asleep on my lap because she expects me to be physically active with her and she's ready for action.
She knows that shoes means she is going somewhere and that the bus means it's school. That's a great place because she has so much to do and so many friends. There will be wind on her face at recess and lots of noise in the cafeteria at lunch.
All of these evidences of awareness are her highest score on the most recent school evaluation - "emerging memory" - functioning at the 3 month level. Good thing we know her personally and not just from the reports.
Anywhere we go is exciting - even if she has no idea where we are, what we are doing, or why we are there. She knows it isn't home and it isn't school and it must be a good time. Her first day of each camping trip is spent wiggling and laughing at the adventure of it all. At home she can sleep in half the morning but camping means sleeping with Mom so she has to wake up early and play (ugh - so it's not ALL fun for me).
Unlike her brothers and sisters, she still fits on our laps and wants to be there. Grandpa particularly likes that she is still his little girl because I certainly am not anymore! Actually, holding Becca is a pretty good excuse for sitting in the recliner and looking at the messy house.
Special needs
If I have special needs, Remember.........
they are special, but I am not.
I am not a "special child", but a child with special needs.
Be sensitive, and make allowances.
But whenever possible,
treat me like all the rest.
Don't let those special needs be all you see of me.
Give me the dignity of living
with the same rules as others.
Not set apart or different, except where I must be.
Keep me and others from using handicaps!
Two Nickels and Five Pennies
When an ice cream sundae cost much less, a boy entered a coffee shop and sat at a table. A waitress put a glass of water in front of him. "How much is an ice cream sundae?" "Fifty cents," replied the waitress. The little boy pulled his hand out of his pocket and studied a number of coins in it. "How much is a dish of plain ice cream?" he inquired. Some people were now waiting for a table, and the waitress was impatient. "Thirty-five cents," she said angrily. The little boy again counted the coins. "I'll have the plain ice cream." The waitress brought the ice cream and walked away. The boy finished, paid the cashier, and departed. When the waitress came back, she swallowed hard at what she saw. There, placed neatly beside the empty dish, were two nickels and five pennies-her tip.
\Special Occasions
My brother-in-law opened the bottom drawer of my sister's bureau and lifted out a tissue-wrapped package. "This," he said, "is not a slip. This is lingerie." He discarded the tissue and handed me the slip. It was exquisite; silk,
handmade and trimmed with a cobweb of lace. The price tag with an astronomical figure on it was still attached. "Jan bought this the first time we went to New York, at least 8 or 9 years ago. She never wore it. She was saving it for a special occasion".
Barney
A four-year-old was at the pediatrician for a check up.
As the doctor looked down her ears with an otoscope,
he asked, "Do you think I'll find Big Bird in here?"
The little girl stayed silent. Next, the doctor took a
tongue depressor and looked down her throat. He asked,
"Do you think I'll find the Cookie Monster down there?"
Again, the little girl was silent. Then the doctor put a
stethoscope to her chest. As he listened to her heartbeat,
he asked, "Do you think I'll hear Barney in there?" "Oh,
no!" the little girl replied. "Jesus is in my heart.
Barney's on my underpants."
The Gold Box
Some time ago a friend of mine punished his 3-year-old daughter for wasting a roll of gold wrapping paper. Money was tight, and he became infuriated when the child tried to decorate a box to put it under their Christmas tree.
Nevertheless, the little girl brought the gift to her father the next morning and said, "This is for you daddy." He was embarrassed by his earlier overreaction, but his anger flared again when he found that the box was empty.
He yelled at her, "Don't you know that when you give someone a present, there's supposed to be something inside of it?"
The little girl looked up at him with tears in her eyes and said, "Oh daddy, it's not empty. I blew kisses into the box. All for you Daddy."
The father was crushed. He put his arms around his little girl, and again begged her forgiveness.
My friend told me that he kept that gold box by his bed for years. Whenever he was discouraged, he would take out an imaginary kiss and remember the love of the child who had put it there.
In a very real sense, each of us as parents has been given a gold container filled with unconditional love and kisses from our children. No more precious possession could anyone hold...
You are Worthy
Do not undermine your worth
by comparing yourself with others.
It Worked!
Charles Plumb, a US Navy Academy graduate, was a jet fighter pilot in Vietnam. After 75 combat missions, his plane was destroyed by a surface-to-air missile.
Plumb ejected and parachuted into enemy hands. He was captured and spent the next six years in a Communist prison.
He survived that ordeal and now lectures about lessons learned from that experience.
One day, when he and his wife were sitting in a restaurant, and man at another table came up and said, "You're Plumb! You flew jet fighters in Nam from the carrier, Kitty Hawk. You were shot down!"
"How in the world did you know that?" asked Plumb.
"Oh, I was the one who packed your parachute," the man replied.
Plumb gasped in surprise and gratitude. The man smiled and said, "Yep, I guess it worked!"
Plumb assured him, "It sure did work -- if your chute hadn't worked, I wouldn't be here today."
Plumb couldn't sleep that night, thinking about the man who had packed his parachute. Plumb kept wondering what the man might have looked like in a Navy uniform. "I wondered how many times I might have passed him on the Kitty Hawk. I wondered how many times I might have seen him and not even said good morning, how are you or anything, because you see, I was a fighter pilot and he was just a sailor."
Plumb thought of the many hours the sailor had spent on a long wooden table in the bowels of the ship carefully weaving the shrouds and folding the silks of each chute, holding in his hands the fate of someone he didn't know.
Now Plumb asks his audiences, "Who's packing your chute?" Everyone has someone who provides what they need to make it through the day.
Plumb also points out that we all need many kinds of parachutes. We need mental, emotional and spiritual parachutes as well.
While a prisoner of war, Plumb called on all of these supports before reaching safety. His experience reminds us all to prepare ourselves to weather whatever storms lie ahead - and to recognize and appreciate all of those people who pack our parachutes everyday, for they are the ones who truly deserve the credit for our survival.
Liza
Many years ago, when I worked as a volunteer at Stanford Hospital, I got to know a little girl named Liza who was suffering from a disease and needed a blood transfusion from her five-year-old brother, who had miraculously survived the same disease and had developed the antibodies needed to combat the illness. The doctor explained the situation to her little brother and asked the boy if he would be willing to give his blood to his sister.
I saw him hesitate for only a moment before taking a deep breath and saying "Yes, I'll do it if it will save Liza."
As the transfusion progressed, he lay in the bed next to his sister and smiled, as we all did, seeing the color returning to her cheeks.
Then his face grew pale and his smile faded. He looked up at the doctor and asked with a trembling voice, "Will I start to die right away?"
Being young, the boy had misunderstood the doctor, he thought he was going to have to give Liz all of his blood.
Dorothy
During my second month of nursing school, our professor gave us a pop quiz.
I was a conscientious student and had breezed through the questions, until I read the last one: "What is the first name of the woman who cleans the school?"
Surely this was some kind of joke! I had seen the cleaning woman several times. She was tall, dark-haired and in her 50's, but how would I know her Name? I handed in my paper, leaving the last question blank.
Before class ended, one student asked if the last question would count toward our quiz grade.
"Absolutely," said the professor, "In your careers you will meet many people. All are significant and they deserve your attention and care, even if all you do is smile and say 'Hello.'"
I've never forgotten that lesson. I also learned her name was Dorothy.
Jeremiah
I was taking my usual morning walk and was deep in thought about how I would handle a troubling situation when a garbage truck pulled up beside me. I thought the driver was going to ask for directions when he rolled down the window. Instead, he showed me a picture of a cute little five-year-old boy. "This is my grandson, Jeremiah." he said. "He's on a life-support system in a Phoenix hospital."
Thinking he would next ask for a contribution toward his hospital bills, I reached for my wallet. But he shook his head.
"I'm asking everybody I can to say a prayer for him. Would you say one for him, please?"
I did. And my problems didn't seem very important that day.
The Story of Little Bear
Once upon a time, my dear, there was a little bear whose name was Ted. He was a very special little bear, for his was the best boy in the whole world... well, at least in the Before time. Today, you see, he was a sad little bear. He sat at the side of the road and looked as though a tear would drown him. He was the scruftiest, muftiest little bear you ever did see and just by looking at him you would never know how special he was. It just so happened that Nana Bear was walking down the street on her way to town when she saw Little Ted looking ever so sad and stopped to talk to him.
"Why are you so sad, Little Ted?" said Nana Bear kindly. "You used to be the happiest little bear in the land." "That was in the Before times," answered Little Ted, sad-as-sad could be, "I don't have my boy any more. I've lost him, I'm never going to find him again and I am so unhappy."
"Well," said Nana Bear. "Suppose you tell me all about it." And she sat down on the tree stump by the side of the road, settling herself in quite comfortably and waited for Ted to tell her his story. But he didn't say a word.
A big tear started to roll down his face and straight away he stopped it and was Very Very Brave.
"Why, Little Ted, whatever are you doing?" asked Nana Bear, very puzzled, seeing the tear stop rolling on an instant
THE MOST BEAUTIFUL FLOWER
The park bench was deserted as I sat down to read
Beneath the long, straggly branches of an old willow tree.
Disillusioned by life with good reason to frown,
For the world was intent on dragging me down.
And if that weren't enough to ruin my day,
A young boy out of breath approached me, all tired from play.
He stood right before me with his head tilted down
And said with great excitement, "Look what I found!"
In his hand was a flower, and what a pitiful sight,
With its petals all worn - not enough rain, or too little light.
Wanting him to take his dead flower and go off to play,
I faked a small smile and then shifted away.
But instead of retreating he sat next to my side
And placed the flower to his nose
And declared with overacted surprise,
"It sure smells pretty and it's beautiful, too.
That's why I picked it; here, it's for you."
The weed before me was dying or dead.
Not vibrant of colors: orange, yellow or red.
But I knew I must take it, or he might never leave.
So I reached for the flower, and replied, "Just what I need."
But instead of him placing the flower in my hand,
He held it mid-air without reason or plan.
It was then that I noticed for the very first time
That weed-toting boy could not see: he was blind.
I heard my voice quiver; tears shone in the sun
As I thanked him for picking the very best one.
You're welcome," he smiled, and then ran off to play,
Unaware of the impact he'd had on my day.
I sat there and wondered how he managed to see
A self-pitying woman beneath an old willow tree.
How did he know of my self-indulged plight?
Perhaps from his heart, he'd been blessed with true sight.
Through the eyes of a blind child, at last I could see
The problem was not with the world; the problem was me.
And for all of those times I myself had been blind,
I vowed to see the beauty in life,
And appreciate every second that's mine.
And then I held that wilted flower up to my nose
And breathed in the fragrance of a beautiful rose
And smiled as I watched that young boy,
Another weed in his hand,
About to change the life of an unsuspecting old man.
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This page updated April 2002
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