http://www.heroicstories.com/ HeroicStories Issues. en-us Copyright 2003 HeroicStories 2880 Sat, 3 May 2008 20:40:21 GMT Reaching more than 40,000 subscribers in 118 countries, this is... ------------------------------------------------------------------------ HeroicStories #748: 03 May 2008 www.HeroicStories.com ------------------------------------------------------------------------ --+-- This Story Originally Ran as #511: 6 May 2004 --+-- Three Penny Momma Story Editor: by Don L. Creacy Joyce Schowalter Kentucky, USA The year was 1958 and I was seven years old when I first met my Momma. It's not important how we three children fell into the child-care system, nor how we came to live at that orphanage. Simply stated, the man our birth Mother had run off with didn't want to raise three hungry children after she was killed in a car accident. So there we were. I vividly remember holding each sister's hand through a chain link fence: separated on the boys' and girls' sides. It remains important that we three children stayed close. One day they got us all "fixed up" and took us to the courthouse to see the Judge. To insure good behavior, the social worker gave me three pennies for the gumball machine... "if we were good." When we arrived they walked us right past the gumball machine and, to our great joy, into a room with our biological Dad. The Judge told me, as the oldest, that if I wanted, we could go with our Dad and the new Momma he had for us. I looked her over, a large sweet-smelling, pillowy woman in a flowery dress. I reached into my pocket, pulled out those three pennies and asked her, "If I give you these three pennies will you take care of them?" Somehow she understood I meant a different kind of question. She replied, "Yes Honey, I will." I turned to the Judge and told him we would go with her. For the next twenty-five years she cooked and cleaned and slung hash at the Calico Kitchen all night long only to come to three more hungry mouths. She wasn't perfect, I don't know anyone who is, but she raised and reared us when necessary. Finally, we were all three out of the house and married and raising families of our own. Life was good. Then Dad chose to leave with another woman. We kids were devastated. I wanted to show Momma my support, love, and appreciation for all her gifts and sacrifices. I wrote her a letter and told her that no matter what happened or what anyone else in the world did, she would always be our Momma. To emphasize my point, I taped three shiny new pennies into a card and sent it to her. She called. "I don't need three pennies to remember you children. Besides, I still have the first three." That was fifteen years ago. Momma died this spring, we buried her on Good Friday, but because of her, we will never again be motherless children. As we sorted her things out, I opened her jewelry box drawer. There in tiny individual plastic bags, lay three pennies, dated 1957, 1957, and 1958. I have them in my pocket at this moment. No one will ever make a movie or write a book about her, but to me and my sisters, she is the world's best Three Penny Momma. ----------==========----------o----------==========---------- Come view our web site about Guadalcanal! Learn more about these heroic battles that changed history from a fascinating new book: "Morning of the Rising: The Heroic Story of the Battles for Guadalcanal" http://www.battlesforguadalcanal.com ----------==========----------o----------==========---------- Joyce writes: I'd like to apologize for the long delay before today's issue, and other delays in recent publication. There may be no adequate excuse, but there are reasons. For years I've been committed to an ideal that this HeroicStories Comments Section should not be "all about Joyce", but rather be readers conversing about the unsung heroes all around us. This will be the rare exception to that rule. In 2005, I decided to put my actions where my ideals were, and become a foster-to-adopt parent. My goal was to adopt two children from the Foster Care System, to help them heal from previous abuse, to help them become fully functioning members of both my family and our society. First steps included taking many hours of classes, modifying my home to meet rules and inspections, answering questionnaires, submitting essays, gathering referrals, and being interviewed extensively. For me this was creating a second family on purpose, to be of service to some of the hundreds of thousands of children longing for a safe home. (12,000 - 18,000 in my State alone in a given year, depending on which statistics accessed.) My criteria were "two boys, between age 2 and 5, at the same time". This choice should have allowed me to keep brothers from being separated needlessly in the system. Today's (rerun) story eloquently expresses the need to keep sibling groups together. After submitting my paperwork, I waited eight months to be licensed -- a "normal" delay in my area, if frustrating. I then waited a year and two months for a call on a prospective child. Nearly two years total, and yes, a "normal" wait for foster-to-adopt parents in my area. Yes, you worry about all the children who're not being helped while you wait. In June 2007 I received my first placement: one 3.5-year-old boy. I thought I might be 102 years old by the time I got a second call if I didn't say yes, (somewhat kidding) so I said yes to that single placement. I can't give details, as throughout the last 10 months, there has been no guarantee that the work I've put into helping him to stabilize and settle into being a calmer, happier, brighter, less aggressive and assaultive child... will result in him staying here. At first he wanted to leave, as he'd been able to exit his last *five* (5) placements. (Yes, 5 at age 3: he was afraid to even hope he could stay.) He had con-vinced ("conned") his last placement into giving up on him in two short weeks. I outsmarted him, as it were, "conning" him into wanting to live here, wanting to be loved by me, my family, and the circle of children and adult friends who surround us. There is still no guarantee that his now-strong desire to stay here will be honored -- although two professionals are strongly pulling for that to happen. I can and have handled the stress of coping with his needs and dysfunctions, which are, of course, more stressful than dealing with a "normal" child, which I've done before. What I didn't expect was how much time it would take to interface with the relevant authorities. The child's therapist wants you to call the child's advocate and report back as to what he said. You wonder why they couldn't talk to each other, saving you three intense conversations. Background checks need to be obtained for anyone you want to watch the child for an hour, so you can, for instance, work. Paperwork, forms, reams of documentation, court appearances (who will watch the child?), conversations, therapist and therapeutic day care, every provider creates a burden of interfacing with the professionals. I had no idea how great would be the stress of being a part of "the system". Moreover, at times "the system" has made decisions about the child's life, which have caused him to regress: baby talking, becoming more assaultive, more needy, acting out more. Result? Four months of progress out the window, starting over again with an essentially 2-year-old child in a much larger body. It can be handled, but seems pointless, it's more stress. The stress *cannot* be directed at the child, or it would interrupt his healing -- and it has to be resolved daily. HeroicStories #744 "You Never Know Who" led us into reader discussion about extreme stress. It's still on our archives, as is the discussion in subsequent issues, here: http://www.heroicstories.com/archives.html . On-going high levels of stress take a toll, no matter what the origins of the stress. As stress has mounted, I've found that part of the day, certainly nightly, instead of working I need to do the equivalent of staring at a tree. That is, do nothing and seek a still, calm, place within. It may *seem* simple to create an issue of HeroicStories, but in fact it requires a cascading series of choices, editing, and correspondence. Further, the net result will be published worldwide, exposing the creator to scrutiny similar to acting or singing on stage. I have carried *guilt* over not publishing, but the guilt is its own form of stress, and doesn't help create the energized calm needed to be creative. The guilt in fact can snowball -- what about the people whose lives would be uplifted by HeroicStories, but aren't when it is silent? What about the people who believe in HeroicStories enough to contribute, aren't they wondering if they should not have given? Will our volunteers quit if I don't correspond with them in a motivational fashion? So for months, haltingly, I have carved out the time and mental space to create an issue of HeroicStories, on a sporadic schedule. Sporadic publishing is certainly not optimal; I and the inner circle of volunteers are aware of that. For now, until the stress lifts (adoption or removal), it's what I can manage. I believe that if *anyone* in the world is capable of being compassionate about this situation, it's HeroicStories readers and supporters. Until now, I haven't even been able to find the courage or words to share something so personal and emotional. There's a Chinese proverb: "Where there's Chaos, there's Opportunity." For anyone still awake and reading this far, I'll continue from here next issue. What *opportunity* is available to HeroicStories because of this current situation? I'd like to open up a dialog about what possible *benefit* HeroicStories would derive from more people being involved, taking it to another creative, wonderful level. If you're reading this and thinking, "I have the magic wand to resolve this, because my skill set exactly suits me to do Joyce's job" ...do let me know! That's how I got this job in 2001, by waving my hand over the Internet in correspondence with Randy. Of course, you'd have to also have time, desire, commitment, stick-to-itiveness, and a few more things. Please note my new "title" below, it's a hint as to the direction I believe HeroicStories should go from here, with your help and inspiration. ----------==========----------o----------==========---------- Now back to our regularly scheduled programming, the Comments Section as created by Sheila Crosby: Scott in Georgia sent an atypical comment in response to our last issue. He said, "I almost always check out the advertiser in HeroicStories and this time the ad sounded too good to pass up. I ordered his book, autographed. Thank you for a great newsletter and also for advertisers with great products." Thanks, Scott -- the same author is advertising his book again today for those of you who didn't notice it last week, so go peek at our ad. In last week's story, "A Class Act" (#747), a high school class adopted a needy family for Christmas, buying each person the perfect gift. For Cathy in Washington it brought back memories of being the giver. Cathy: "One Christmas about twenty years ago, a neighbor and his girlfriend had been strung out on drugs. Both had lost their jobs, so we knew that there wouldn't be much of a Christmas for their three kids. A friend and I put together a huge basket of food with gift-wrapped presents for each child. We put it on their doorstep Christmas Eve, rang the bell, and ran off before they could get to the door. They were so surprised and deeply touched, and asked around as to who had left the basket, but we never confessed. Some would say we should've tipped off the police about drug use, but we'd heard too many bad stories of what can happen to kids in foster care. These were happy kids, despite their impoverishment." In our previous story, "Lauren Listened" (#746), Harold remembered how "Just when I wanted to disappear out of hurt and embarrassment, someone helped me reach out to others." If you missed it, you can access that story here: http://www.HeroicStories.com/archives.html . Jane in Yorkshire replied, "I'm always puzzled when people say their teens were the happiest years of their life. Either their lives were very different from mine, or they have faulty memories. I remember my own adolescence as basically one long cringe. I'm deeply grateful for every word of encouragement I got back then. I'm not at all sure I'd have survived without it." And finally, Susie from New Hampshire has been "paying it forward". Susie: "I'd stopped for a snack at a fast food restaurant, going to the drive-up window to order. There were two lanes and I let a man cut in line in front of me, and he gestured his thanks. As I pulled up to pay for my meal, the attendant waved me through saying the guy I'd let in had paid for my food. I got to smile twice for my one simple act." Joyce Schowalter, Networker in Chief Sheila Crosby, Comments Editor Co-Conspirators to Make the World a Better Place COMMENTS about stories are always welcome -- please include your first name and location: [contact information] SUBSCRIPTIONS to HeroicStories are FREE. Just two seconds to sign up here: http://www.HeroicStories.com (to UNSUBSCRIBE, see the end of this message). TO SUBMIT A STORY, see our submission guidelines, tips and information at: http://www.HeroicStories.com/submit.html CONTRIBUTE to support HeroicStories: http://heroicstories.com/fund.html PUBLISHED BY HS & Son, Inc., PO Box 55213, Seattle, WA 98155, USA. HeroicStories is a trademark of HS & Son, Inc. Newspapers can get the stories as a regular feature column for FREE. For details, send your paper's editor to http://www.heroicstories.com/column.html Copyright 2008 http://www.HeroicStories.com -- All Rights Reserved. All broadcast, publication, or copying to the WWW, email lists, or any other medium, online or not, is prohibited without prior written permission from HeroicStories. However, permission is granted to circulate this publication via manual forwarding by e-mail to friends providing that the text is forwarded IN ITS ENTIRETY, from the "Reaching more than" line on top through the end of this paragraph, and NO FEE is charged. We request that you forward no more than three copies to any one person -- after that, they should get their own subscription. -- Distribution sponsored by Lyris Technologies, Inc. <http://www.lyris.com> ]]> http://www.heroicstories.com/backissue1.html Sun, 13 Apr 2008 00:24:11 GMT Reaching more than 40,000 subscribers in 118 countries, this is... ------------------------------------------------------------------------ HeroicStories #747: 12 April 2008 www.HeroicStories.com ------------------------------------------------------------------------ A Class Act Story Editor: by Catherine Granger Glover Joyce Schowalter North Carolina, USA There were eight of us, for five years, back in the late 1980's and early 1990's. I had adopted three boys born of my ex-husband's first marriage. I also had my daughter, and my two nieces and nephew, staying while their mom left an abusive relationship, and me. We were a mixed family, but full of love and luck. For the holidays, I started picking up little things in February, so I'd have something for each child. Working four 10-hour days weekly gave me one weekday to shop while they were in school. Each year we carefully filled out "adopt a family" forms asking each child's age, height, weight, favorite color and sports team, and desires. Thanks to various giving organizations, I didn't have to budget money for holiday dinners. We often received very nice gifts for each child, however most were clothes or very generic items. The kids were always thankful to have new items. My 'big bucks went to finding a special gift for each (usually a thrift store, dollar store, or clearance item), which they would know was purchased just for them. In 1991, my daughter was 7 and wished for a baby doll more than anything in the world. She knew Santa would bring her a baby doll, carriage, and all the tools to care for her baby. I found an inexpensive umbrella stroller, a cheap doll, and even some clothes and a bottle, but feared they would break quickly. She was thrilled, as were all the kids with their 'big' presents. Then it came time to open the 'charity' gifts. There was more than one for each child, which confused us but was fun. Each child opened what it expected to be a piece of clothing, or generic dollar store toy. As the wrappings came off, whoops of pure joy resounded around the room, and I sat in stunned silence. Each child had received something just for them! My daughter received a wonderful baby doll with a full set of clothes, and everything to take care of it -- bottles, diapers, bibs, etc. The boys each received a regulation-size ball and a correctly sized team jersey for their favorite team. My nieces received 'real' versions of the items they had asked for. There was even a present for me, a small photo album to hold photographs. I don't remember the exact class that adopted us that year, only that it was from Springfield High School, Virginia. We didn't know how they raised the funds to buy the presents, or why they adopted a whole family rather than just contributing gifts to a drive. I only know that whenever Christmas comes around I send my thanks out once again for that wonderful year. 16 years later we still talk of the joy that class brought to our whole family. About the year that not only were our needs met, but a caring respect for us as individuals was added. ----------==========----------o----------==========---------- A new web site about Guadalcanal can now be viewed! Learn more about these heroic battles that changed history from a fascinating new book: "Morning of the Rising: The Heroic Story of the Battles for Guadalcanal" http://www.battlesforguadalcanal.com ----------==========----------o----------==========---------- Please note our advertiser this week! Our advertisers help bring HeroicStories to you... and who knows, whatever the advertiser is interested in might be of interest to you, also. Susan in Kansas replies to "Lauren Listened", which recounted a 15-year-old boy's experience in being comforted by friend after a traumatic, humiliating fall earlier in the day. Susan: "It's hard to imagine any of us getting through our childhoods without an incident like the one Harold describes. Being a teenager is filled with so many transitions, and we are so impressed by the opinions of others. Especially for a person who is naturally shy, having someone to listen to at crucial moments is incredibly important." David (location unknown) adds a comment about "Artist in Residence" (#745). (That story is in our Archives here: http://www.HeroicStories.com/archives.html .) David writes: "Ed in Montana commented on that story 'Stereotypes are just that; there is incredible talent to be found in the abilities of many blue collar workers.' As a college sociology professor, I echo his views. I teach about one of the greatest modern social thinkers, who wrote a book few have read although most know the title: 'The True Believer' (1951). He wrote eloquently about political and religious mass movements and believers in them. In addition, he wrote nine other books. All published, most well received by scholars, philosophers, and researchers. That social thinker's name was Eric Hoffer, he was completely self-educated, and worked on the docks as a longshoreman until he retired." Pastor Wade in South Carolina continues our conversation about PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder) from various sources. "I was just a seventeen-year-old kid when I joined the U.S. Navy during WW II. Three months later I was on an amphibious ship in the Southeast Pacific. Exploding bombs near us, Kamikaze planes diving into near-by ships, riding in landing boats with mortar falling all around -- all caused horrible nightmares for more than 20 years after I came home. I needed help and deprogramming, but none was available that I knew about." Rob from Florida responds, "To understand what combat stress is and what it does, I recommend reading 'On Combat' by Lt. Col. Dave Grossman. It is by far the finest work ever written on the subject." Nancy in Illinois adds: "Thank goodness I have no direct experience with the ghastly situations that create genuine, firsthand PTSD, but I feel I experienced a whiff of it, which was more than enough to make me pray I never encounter it any closer. Two years ago, a beloved friend of mine committed suicide with a gun. For weeks afterward (usually as I was trying to fall asleep), my grieving overactive imagination vividly reconstructed details. I certainly felt spooked, physically wounded, and emotionally unstable for months. In fact, two months to the day after my friend's suicide, I suffered a stroke, fortunately minor. I have since wondered if that itself was a symptom of post-traumatic stress." Finally, John in Rhode Island writes, "I've read HeroicStories for several years and it's made me a better person. Like many of you, I believe the 'grand gesture doesn't come often. It's the small things, as in your story 'Take a Moment,' (#743) letting people into traffic or putting their gas cap back on. Now I bring a shopping cart from the parking lot into the store. I fly a lot alone, so I give up my window seat so a couple or family can sit together. I even pick up trash, especially if there's a trash can around. It doesn't only make other people feel good. It makes me feel good. Thank you for the wonderful work you do!" Joyce Schowalter, Publisher Co-Conspirators to Make the World a Better Place COMMENTS about stories are always welcome -- please include your first name and location: [contact information] SUBSCRIPTIONS to HeroicStories are FREE. Just two seconds to sign up here: http://www.HeroicStories.com (to UNSUBSCRIBE, see the end of this message). TO SUBMIT A STORY, see our submission guidelines, tips and information at: http://www.HeroicStories.com/submit.html CONTRIBUTE to support HeroicStories: http://heroicstories.com/fund.html PUBLISHED BY HS & Son, Inc., PO Box 55213, Seattle, WA 98155, USA. HeroicStories is a trademark of HS & Son, Inc. Newspapers can get the stories as a regular feature column for FREE. For details, send your paper's editor to http://www.heroicstories.com/column.html Copyright 2008 http://www.HeroicStories.com -- All Rights Reserved. All broadcast, publication, or copying to the WWW, email lists, or any other medium, online or not, is prohibited without prior written permission from HeroicStories. However, permission is granted to circulate this publication via manual forwarding by e-mail to friends providing that the text is forwarded IN ITS ENTIRETY, from the "Reaching more than" line on top through the end of this paragraph, and NO FEE is charged. We request that you forward no more than three copies to any one person -- after that, they should get their own subscription. -- Distribution sponsored by Lyris Technologies, Inc. <http://www.lyris.com> ]]> http://www.heroicstories.com/backissue2.html Wed, 2 Apr 2008 22:59:13 GMT Reaching more than 40,000 subscribers in 118 countries, this is... ------------------------------------------------------------------------ HeroicStories #746: 2 April 2008 www.HeroicStories.com ------------------------------------------------------------------------ --+-- This Story Originally Ran as #677: 2 November 2006 --+-- Lauren Listened Story Editor: by Harold Spriggs Clayton Bennett Illinois, USA My life was transformed in 2004, when I was 15 years old on a mission trip with my church youth group. We were in Kansas City, Missouri, building the foundation of a house for Habitat for Humanity. I was very shy then. Halfway through the week and halfway through one day, I was tired. We were working in hot sun, loading rebar from a warehouse into our pickup truck for our worksite. After the truck was loaded, I jumped up into the rear with my friends. At the building site, I was about to leap from the back of the truck when our pastor began to back up. I lost my balance and fell hard on the blacktop. For a moment, I wondered if I'd died. When I got up, a man nearby on his front porch laughed at me. That was hard to hear; my self-esteem fell, too. The rest of the day I worked with my head a little lower than usual and didn't say much. After work, we returned to the church where we were staying for dinner. Then the girls in our group showed us a bag system for leaving encouraging notes to each other. That night I stayed up late in the kitchen, working on notes to my friends. Lauren, whom I'd known for a year, sat next to me and asked how I was doing. I could tell she really cared, and began saying more about my feelings than I expected. I was discouraged about falling earlier that day, and remembered my aunt Marion, who had died a year earlier after falling down her basement stairs. With Lauren keeping me company, I cried. Once I calmed down, Lauren told me some things I'd longed to hear. She said, "Don't worry about tomorrow, for that is in the future. Worry about this minute, what is going on now. It's OK to let your guard down every now and then to open up to me and the rest of our group. You'd feel a lot better if you would. It's not going to be easy to say goodbye to you at the end of this week, but I know our friendship will last. You're a great kid, Harold. You just have to find yourself, and accept yourself the way you are." That Friday night, our last in Kansas City, I took Lauren's advice. I told the group about my Aunt, and how much I missed her. For the first time, I felt better, like everything would be OK. I was really thinking about running away that Friday night. I didn't think anyone wanted me around, so I was going to run. I look back now, and know I would have regretted it all my life, and may have ended up worse off, possibly in jail. Just when I wanted to disappear out of hurt and embarrassment, someone helped me reach out to others. Thank you, Lauren, your lesson has stayed with me ever since. ----------==========----------o----------==========---------- If a child or nearly-grown child near you needs someone to listen to them, You be the one: Listen. Then be Lauren: comfort that growing child. ----------==========----------o----------==========---------- In our last story, "Artist in Residence" (#745), David remembered how his tea breaks on a very tough job in Scotland were enlivened by a co-worker who painted seascapes -- on a canvas held by engineering clamps, using a piece of scrap metal for a palette. Ed in Montana was impressed with the story: "I've worked blue collar jobs most of my life. David's story of finding a man with extraordinary talent hidden under his coveralls is not as unusual as some would think. There are a lot of 'diamonds in the rough' in blue collar jobs. Some men are geniuses and understand complicated math, some create, for instance, incredibly crafted decorative knives out of metal from the scrap bin, some are incredibly kind and understanding with other people. Stereotypes are just that; there is incredible talent to be found in the abilities of many blue collar workers." Bonnie in Minnesota agreed, "Thank goodness for the people who can make something good out of a bad situation and thank goodness for those who 'get it' when they see it, like the author." "You Never Know Who" (#744), our previous story, told of a chance meeting of two Vietnam Veteran US Marines in a VA hospital waiting room. (If you missed it, it's here: http://www.HeroicStories.com/archives.html . We requested comments from readers about PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder) in all its forms. Frank (location unknown) responds, "My brother-in-law spent his tour in Viet Nam as a Navy medic. My sister told me he had night terrors, but refused to talk about his experiences and trauma. I watched him recede into himself and become unable to work. Now he can can only sit and watch TV. The point is to listen, and encourage these individuals to talk so that maybe they can get this horror outside of themselves. Maybe then it won't be so terrifying, and they can live with themselves. My heart goes out to the hidden heroes that suffer this un-seen trauma." Of course war isn't the only cause of PTSD. "Gyppo" in the UK relates, "Many years ago I was blown across the room in a gas explosion. It gave me nightmares for years. But that pales into insignificance compared to when my baby son died of unexplained cot death. At the time, I just had to get on with life. But... That was over 20 years ago and sometimes the least little trigger lets the memories out of the 'locked room' where I tucked them away. I want to physically assault people who are cruel to children and don't appreciate the precious little lives they treat so casually. Fortunately, it never lasts long, but it's a rough ride whilst it does." Good for you for holding on during your "rough ride", Gyppo. Irene in Greece remembers, "I was a 6-year-old in Athens when WWII started, and the air-raids were frequent. Almost 70 years later, whenever I hear a siren I still freeze! I know what these soldiers are talking about when they say what loud noises do to them. I can't believe we're still having such horrific wars all around the world... have we learned nothing yet?" Arlene from California sent an example of secondary PTSD. Arlene: "I was an extremely thin child in the late 40's early 50's, so many of our neighbours assumed that I was a fellow concentration camp survivor. So I heard many stories that generally were not told to those who hadn't been in the camps. As a result, I was so traumatized by the whole holocaust experience that even 50 years later, a story in TV or in the movies had me sobbing hysterically. In my older age, I can tolerate some story telling, but not much, and a recent trip to Yad Vashem (the holocaust memorial) in Israel, reduced me to a completely wrung out rag." To come full circle to today's story, we have someone simply listening to a young man who'd just had an experience traumatic enough he "wondered if I had died". Lauren listened, allowed him to process his traumatic humiliation and general sadness via crying, and then comforted our author with positive words. As HeroicStories readers, let's be present for those around us when they need to process tough experiences, and comfort them in the simple ways available to all of us. Sheila Crosby, Comments Editor Joyce Schowalter, Publisher Co-Conspirators to Make the World a Better Place COMMENTS about stories are always welcome -- please include your first name and location: [contact information] SUBSCRIPTIONS to HeroicStories are FREE. Just two seconds to sign up here: http://www.HeroicStories.com (to UNSUBSCRIBE, see the end of this message). TO SUBMIT A STORY, see our submission guidelines, tips and information at: http://www.HeroicStories.com/submit.html CONTRIBUTE to support HeroicStories: http://heroicstories.com/fund.html PUBLISHED BY HS & Son, Inc., PO Box 55213, Seattle, WA 98155, USA. HeroicStories is a trademark of HS & Son, Inc. Newspapers can get the stories as a regular feature column for FREE. For details, send your paper's editor to http://www.heroicstories.com/column.html Copyright 2008 http://www.HeroicStories.com -- All Rights Reserved. All broadcast, publication, or copying to the WWW, email lists, or any other medium, online or not, is prohibited without prior written permission from HeroicStories. However, permission is granted to circulate this publication via manual forwarding by e-mail to friends providing that the text is forwarded IN ITS ENTIRETY, from the "Reaching more than" line on top through the end of this paragraph, and NO FEE is charged. We request that you forward no more than three copies to any one person -- after that, they should get their own subscription. -- Distribution sponsored by Lyris Technologies, Inc. <http://www.lyris.com> ]]> http://www.heroicstories.com/backissue3.html Sun, 9 Mar 2008 01:14:46 GMT Reaching more than 40,000 subscribers in 118 countries, this is... ------------------------------------------------------------------------ HeroicStories #745: 7 March 2008 www.HeroicStories.com ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Artist in Residence Story Editor: by David McLaughlan Joyce Schowalter Ayrshire, Scotland Once upon another life I worked on the building of an oil rig. Three steel tanks, each three hundred foot tall and fifty feet wide, would be joined by a latticework of pipes. The living accommodation platform would go on top and the tanks would eventually be sunk in the icy waters of the North Sea. For most of the year the sun rose and set while I was at work. We worked twelve-hour shifts in a bleak industrial landscape. The work was hard, the men were harder. Often coming home at the end of the day it was a struggle to find myself again, to remember I was a young husband and a new father. The job paid the bills, but it fairly scoured the soul. I was part of a team of four junior engineers. Mostly we were gophers and holders for the big boys. As part of our tool kits we had magnetic clamps (two square magnets on an aluminium strip handle, like big brackets) and paint pens (like giant tooth paste tubes full of paint, with a ball-point on the end so you could write technical data on the metal). When we weren't needed for anything, or when the weather was too foul, we retired to our "office". One of my workmates, Wullie, would come into the porta-cabin we inhabited on his tea break. He would open the door of his metal locker and pull a battered plastic chair behind it. Still in his waterproofs and wearing his safety helmet and boots Wullie would take out a piece of canvas. Using the magnetic clamps he would fix his canvas to inside of his locker door. Until they got used to him folk would give Wullie some strange looks and make less than charitable comments. Wullie's response was always a smile and a kind word. Using a piece of scrap iron as a palate Wullie would start mixing the paint from the different coloured paint pens. Then, for the ten minutes he had left, he would take paint brushes from his locker, and lose himself in his painting. While his workmates boasted about their sexual conquests or how much they'd drank at the weekend, Wullie created works of art. As we were on the Atlantic coast, with the Western Isles nearby, he painted seascapes. Why do I remember this? Because I envied Wullie and, in a way he got me through the whole experience. I never saw him again after the rig was built, but twenty-some years later I still think of him with admiration. He taught me there was beauty everywhere. There never was a bleaker place than that construction site, but Wullie managed to find beauty in it. He found it by making it. The author's web site is: http://www.myspace.com/WayfarersTales ==========----------o----------========== ----------==========----------o----------==========---------- Please let your friends know we're here -- we grow through your "word of mouse" efforts. Send folks here to subscribe: http://www.HeroicStories.com ----------==========----------o----------==========---------- David in the United Kingdom replied to our last story about a recent encounter between two Marines who served in the Vietnam War at the same time. David: "Wow! This story made the hairs on my head stand up. And I'm bald so that took some doing! These guys are heroes -- and so might the drunk sitting next to you be. Point taken. Thanks for that." Rick in the USA adds: "The story about the Navy Corpsman and the Marine at the VA Hospital set up a firestorm of emotions in me. I too was a Navy Corpsman at Danang and worked Receiving I in 1967-1968, through the Tet offensive early in 1968. I can tell you that the acknowledgement of the medical services the author tried to provide to other human beings in distress means a great deal. A simple, and heartfelt, 'Thank you' can make a month, not just a day. Too often people assume that medical personnel do not suffer from after effects of combat, especially if they serve in a hospital. That is not true. Of course not all who serve suffer equally, but it is well documented that medical personnel have a very high incidence of PTSD as a result of what they must see and do every day." Indeed, Rick, and moreover, many people presume that you have to be in a war or disaster to acquire PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder). It's true that war creates a lot of PTSD, as evidenced by the statistics that as many as 30 percent of returning veterans from the Iraq and Afghanistan wars have active PTSD on return. In addition, the latest research suggests that those who live with, or work with, adults or children who have PTSD acquire a type of "secondary" or "tertiary" PTSD. In other words, those other individuals also find their stress levels rising to a point that they "tip" into a state of having actual PTSD. We as a society are barely beginning to grapple with the realities of PTSD, and what, exactly, living with the aftermath of trauma truly is for those around us. If you have thoughts or experience with PTSD, let us know, via the Comments address below. Mary in Michigan: "Wow. Many HeroicStories issues bring tears and some bring something deeper and more profound. This was one of the most profound I've read. That Marine accepted the loss of his eye. Then he notes that often people who have given everything they have can be found anywhere; often a place that highlights how little they have left. These Marines illustrate that the giving done by service men and women goes on long after the giving is visible. Our culture does a very poor job of letting service people know how much we appreciate their giving. Thanks to this writer for letting us see a touch of the quiet dignity and acceptance military people live with." John in Maryland replied to another reader's comment on, "Take A Moment" (#743) (on our archives, here: http://www.HeroicStories.com/archives.html ). John: "The comment of Bonnie in Minnesota brings to mind one of my father's comments on driving. Dad was an outside salesman who drove five or six hundred miles a week. He said, 'Always let a reasonable number of people in line ahead of you. Everybody's work matters.'" Manuela in South Africa replied to "Rainstorm" (#741), which included a family who had their worldly belongings in the back of a pickup truck. Manuela: "I absolutely love all the stories, but today's really touched my heart. It brought back memories of my own experiences. I am from Mozambique, where I lived till a couple of months after the country's independence (1975), at which time I had to flee. Alone with my son, my worldly goods being reduced to what I could put in the car, I drove to South Africa where I was given all the help I needed to start a new life." Congratulations on your brave move, to start over for the sake of your son, Manuela. Joyce Schowalter, Publisher Co-Conspirator to Make the World a Better Place COMMENTS about stories are always welcome -- please include your first name and location: [contact information] SUBSCRIPTIONS to HeroicStories are FREE. Just two seconds to sign up here: http://www.HeroicStories.com (to UNSUBSCRIBE, see the end of this message). TO SUBMIT A STORY, see our submission guidelines, tips and information at: http://www.HeroicStories.com/submit.html CONTRIBUTE to support HeroicStories: http://heroicstories.com/fund.html PUBLISHED BY HS & Son, Inc., PO Box 55213, Seattle, WA 98155, USA. HeroicStories is a trademark of HS & Son, Inc. Newspapers can get the stories as a regular feature column for free. For details, send your paper's editor to http://www.heroicstories.com/column.html Copyright 2008 http://www.HeroicStories.com -- All Rights Reserved. All broadcast, publication, or copying to the WWW, email lists, or any other medium, online or not, is prohibited without prior written permission from HeroicStories. However, permission is granted to circulate this publication via manual forwarding by e-mail to friends providing that the text is forwarded IN ITS ENTIRETY, from the "Reaching more than" line on top through the end of this paragraph, and NO FEE is charged. We request that you forward no more than three copies to any one person -- after that, they should get their own subscription. -- Distribution sponsored by Lyris Technologies, Inc. <http://www.lyris.com> ]]> http://www.heroicstories.com/backissue4.html Fri, 29 Feb 2008 19:58:20 GMT Reaching more than 40,000 subscribers in 118 countries, this is... ------------------------------------------------------------------------ HeroicStories #744: 29 February 2008 www.HeroicStories.com ------------------------------------------------------------------------ You Never Know Who Story Editor: by Chuck Keller Joyce Schowalter Missouri, USA We'd moved to St. Louis, but the Veteran's Administration (VA) said if I wanted to stay in queue, I'd better get myself to the appointment I'd made at the VA medical facility in Marion, Indiana. So after working Wednesday, May 30, 2007, I drove the five hours to Marion. While I sat in the waiting room another man sat down beside me. We started talking. He said he was a Marine. He still looked strong at about 60, had sandy brown hair which was graying, and a quiet voice. His right eye was gone and the face and skull around it were deformed because of an obviously horrible injury. I didn't ask how or what happened because some of us don't like to talk about or remember some things. What I did ask was if he was in Vietnam. He said he was. I asked when. He said 18 months in 1967 and 1968. That's when I was there so we began to talk about places and things. He was in recon, which is tough and dangerous work. We talked about the troops in Iraq and the PTSD they will face. We talked about how loud noises still make us jump after 40 years. Recently in a store someone dropped an empty pallet behind me that hit the concrete floor with a very loud bang. My heart stopped -- as it always does when I hear sounds like that. He nodded agreement. We discussed a woman's son, back from Iraq for July 4th, 2006. He formerly enjoyed fireworks immensely, but couldn't stand them now. That will be a sad -- and profound -- fact of life for many people returning after service in this war. I asked if he made it to Danang. He said that's where they took him when he was hit and lost his eye. That was the third time he was wounded so it finally sent him home. I told him I might've carried him off the chopper and taken care of him before his surgery. I was a Navy Corpsman at Danang hospital, in the Receiving Unit. We ran out to the choppers, took the wounded into our Quonset hut, and tried to save their lives. We stopped bleeding, started IV's, stabilized them enough to give them a chance to live, and prepared them for surgery. When it was my time to see the doctor, I told him Semper Fi and walked away. After seeing the doctor I came out and the Marine and I happened to walk along side by side for a minute. He said, "Doc, if you ARE the one who carried me and saved my life... thanks." I just nodded and our paths parted. I hadn't felt better than that in a long time. That former Marine said something else very profound during our conversation. "You never know who the drunk sitting at the bar might be, or the homeless guy on the corner. He might have saved your life once." He was right. ----------==========----------o----------==========---------- Why Not Try It? Please try our Amazon link to buy any book you like! Doing your Amazon shopping from there supports HeroicStories. At the foot of the page here: http://heroicstories.com ----------==========----------o----------==========---------- In "Take a Moment" (#743), as Christine waited to exit a gas station she presumed the young driver behind her was honking to get by -- until he jumped out, took her gas cap off her trunk lid and put it back in place. Will New Jersey wondered: " ...whether the author of this story is related to the HS story editor since both have the same last name." No, it's pure coincidence. Christine Schowalter (our last story's author), and Joyce Schowalter (the story's editor) aren't related, although both are originally from the Midwest. Another Joyce, in Texas, said, "For safety's sake, why not make the right turn, and drive till you can make a safe u-turn in a drive way, parking lot, or whatever?" Bonnie in Minnesota said, "When I drove a one-ton truck I could see everything because of the height. One day a nearby freeway closure backed up the streets. The driver behind me stayed close to my bumper so no one could squeeze in, so, at the next intersection I let four cars in ahead of me. The man behind was really angry, but more people behind him let cars in. Now when I see a rude driver not giving other drivers a chance, I always let multiple cars in. The few minutes make no difference in my day, but may make a big difference to someone else." In our previous story, "Rainstorm" (#742), Janet saw an old lady provide a plastic cover to save a family's belongings from getting soaked in a downpour as they moved house. (Full story here: http://www.HeroicStories.com/archives.html .) We have responses to Norman's question from last week, "When was the narrator going to do something other than watch? Heroism is not a spectator sport." Deryl in Connecticut replies: "Sometimes we need an example of how simple it can be to help. Sometimes I hesitate, thinking, 'I can't do that big job'. HeroicStories shows us that we don't need to do 'that big job', just do what we can. Besides, the author implies that the little old lady saw the need earlier than the author and had more time to react. Maybe given more time, the author would have done the same thing. Finally, I think the author is also a hero for providing the story. After all, in the original story only one family benefited, but because the author shared this experience, how many other people might benefit?" Lois in New York adds, "I don't know why some readers have to nitpick. I think they should look at the positive aspects of the story and if there's something a little off kilter, just let it go. The people who write the stories are either the doer or the recipient of unsung good deeds and that should be what matters." Sheila Crosby, Comments Editor Joyce Schowalter, Publisher Co-Conspirators to Make the World a Better Place COMMENTS about stories are always welcome -- please include your first name and location: [contact information] SUBSCRIPTIONS to HeroicStories are FREE. Just two seconds to sign up here: http://www.HeroicStories.com (to UNSUBSCRIBE, see the end of this message). TO SUBMIT A STORY, see our submission guidelines, tips and information at: http://www.HeroicStories.com/submit.html CONTRIBUTE to support HeroicStories: http://heroicstories.com/fund.html PUBLISHED BY HS & Son, Inc., PO Box 55213, Seattle, WA 98155, USA. HeroicStories is a trademark of HS & Son, Inc. Newspapers can get the stories as a regular feature column for FREE. For details, send your paper's editor to http://www.heroicstories.com/column.html Copyright 2008 http://www.HeroicStories.com -- All Rights Reserved. All broadcast, publication, or copying to the WWW, email lists, or any other medium, online or not, is prohibited without prior written permission from HeroicStories. However, permission is granted to circulate this publication via manual forwarding by e-mail to friends providing that the text is forwarded IN ITS ENTIRETY, from the "Reaching more than" line on top through the end of this paragraph, and NO FEE is charged. We request that you forward no more than three copies to any one person -- after that, they should get their own subscription. -- Distribution sponsored by Lyris Technologies, Inc. <http://www.lyris.com> ]]> http://www.heroicstories.com/backissue5.html Thu, 28 Feb 2008 00:28:08 GMT Reaching more than 40,000 subscribers in 118 countries, this is... ------------------------------------------------------------------------ HeroicStories #743: 27 February 2008 www.HeroicStories.com ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Take a Moment Story Editor: by Christine Schowalter Joyce Schowalter California, USA They say the average work commute in the USA is 24 miles daily. Well, try commuting in Metro Los Angeles with 15 million other people, where every mile feels like ten. Too much sitting in traffic wears your patience thin, and after eight years, cutting people off had become reflexive for me. Driving home from work during rush hour in spring 2006, I was running on fumes from sitting on the freeway. I stopped to fill up at the cheapest nearby gas station, which is difficult to drive out of. You have to cross a right-turn-only lane onto a major road. During green lights, people rush by over 35 miles per hour. At red lights, people pack in behind the light, effectively blocking any chance to infiltrate the throng. The only way across was to gun it while turning into your lane, crossing the right-turn lane in the process. And I was heading home after a doctor appointment at the worst possible time to drive, especially near five colleges with students in the midst of finals. After filling up I was poised to make my sudden dash for the northbound lane, when the guy behind me started honking insistently. I glanced back in my side mirror and saw an unshaven, bushy-haired 20-something driving an ancient Toyota -- a college kid car. I couldn't discern what color the paint had been; the rear windshield was covered with rock band stickers. No doubt he wanted to turn right and I was in his way, so I thought, "He'll just have to wait." Though not yet 30, I didn't want to move for this scruffy kid in a beat-up car. Imagine my surprise when I saw the kid, complete with torn up jeans and rock band T-shirt, jump out of his car, jog up to my rear end, grab the gas cap sitting on my trunk lid, twist it in place, close the gas flap, and jog back to his car. It only took a moment. I was floored, and ashamed. I got a goofy grin and started waving to him energetically, but I don't know if he saw, because he was turning right. Even better, people in the northbound and right-turn lanes, whose attention had been grabbed by the honking, paused in their scramble and let me out. For a year since, whenever I'm at that gas station pulling out, I think about that guy. Was he on his way to final exams? Did he make it in time? He could've just handed me the cap. It seemed so much to do for an ungrateful stranger. I now make a conscious effort to let people into traffic, and I've seen those people let other people in -- all thanks to that thoughtful college kid. That's one person's small, conscious act of kindness spreading geometrically -- making busy, preoccupied people take a moment, wake up, and think beyond themselves. A little bit sure does go a long way! ----------==========----------o----------==========---------- WOW! Please support our Book Resources Pages (Links to books we think you'll like) And our Amazon link to buy any book you like! Please do your Amazon shopping from there to support HeroicStories. http://www.heroicstories.com/bookresources1.html ----------==========----------o----------==========---------- Our last story, "Rainstorm" (#742), was a rerun of the first HeroicStories ever, first appearing 1 May 1999. In it, Janet Hounsell described watching an old lady provide a plastic cover to save a family's belongings from getting wet in a downpour as they moved house. Following the story, we asked people if their reaction to the story had changed after all this time. One aside before beginning reader replies to our stories: Victoria in the United Kingdom asks, "Am I going mad, or have there been two HS #741 -- 'So Many Wonderful People' and 'Rainstorm' both seem to be #741!" Oopsie, you're both sane and correct, Victoria, and we've numbered this issue #743 to get back on track. Meri in Washington said, "I loved the 'Rainstorm' story, it so typifies what HeroicStories is all about: helping when one can, and expecting nothing in return. I like to think that each of us can make the world a better place, one smile at a time. So... thanks for all the smiles!" Norman from New York speaks for several readers who felt differently. Norman: "I was overcome with a niggling tension. When was the narrator going to do something other than watch? Heroism is not a spectator sport." Lynne in Oregon agreed but added, "Perhaps there is more to the story that we don't know." The previous week's story, "So Many Wonderful People" (also #741) was about Jaqi, who had no transport when her ex-fiance changed his mind about letting her share his car. Four separate sets of people helped until she could get her own car. (Full story available here: http://www.HeroicStories.com/archives.html . Last week Annette commented that since the situation started when Jaqi didn't pick her ex-fiance up from work, "I question her story a little and how responsible a person she is." Nick in Washington had a similar reaction, adding, "That was one of my first thoughts too. But the author gave no indication of why she didn't pick her ex-fiance up. Perhaps she couldn't get away from work in time, or there was an emergency. Perhaps she told him in advance that she wouldn't be there, and he forgot or was just angry about it. I decided to give the author the benefit of the doubt, for lack of more evidence." Helen in California added, "Even if she was a less than supremely responsible person, HeroicStories is about humans, fallible creatures though we are, helping other humans." Ian from Selangor, Malaysia: "Well, I guess the point of the story is that those people who pitched in to help were the heroes, not Jaqi. She was the beneficiary." And finally, the kind of note that makes it all worthwhile from Jean in Washington: "I love HeroicStories! It gives me such a warm feeling to read about the kindness of others. I've been the recipient of kindness, and know what a lift it gave me. I also love to do things for others, because it gives me such a wonderfully warm feeling inside. I'm very happy when I can help someone else." Sheila Crosby, Comments Editor Joyce Schowalter, Publisher Co-Conspirators to Make the World a Better Place COMMENTS about stories are always welcome -- please include your first name and location: [contact information] SUBSCRIPTIONS to HeroicStories are FREE. Just two seconds to sign up here: http://www.HeroicStories.com (to UNSUBSCRIBE, see the end of this message). TO SUBMIT A STORY, see our submission guidelines, tips and information at: http://www.HeroicStories.com/submit.html CONTRIBUTE to support HeroicStories: http://heroicstories.com/fund.html PUBLISHED BY HS & Son, Inc., PO Box 55213, Seattle, WA 98155, USA. HeroicStories is a trademark of HS & Son, Inc. Newspapers can get the stories as a regular feature column for FREE. For details, send your paper's editor to http://www.heroicstories.com/column.html Copyright 2008 http://www.HeroicStories.com -- All Rights Reserved. All broadcast, publication, or copying to the WWW, email lists, or any other medium, online or not, is prohibited without prior written permission from HeroicStories. However, permission is granted to circulate this publication via manual forwarding by e-mail to friends providing that the text is forwarded IN ITS ENTIRETY, from the "Reaching more than" line on top through the end of this paragraph, and NO FEE is charged. We request that you forward no more than three copies to any one person -- after that, they should get their own subscription. -- Distribution sponsored by Lyris Technologies, Inc. <http://www.lyris.com> ]]> http://www.heroicstories.com/backissue6.html