Chicken Soup for the Soul

[biggie9385]

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A Guy Named Bill
By Rebecca Manley Pippert

His name was Bill. He had wild hair, wore a T-shirt with holes in it, blue jeans and no shoes. In the entire time I knew him I never once saw Bill wear a pair of shoes. Rain, sleet or snow, Bill was barefoot. This was literally his wardrobe for his whole four years of college.

He was brilliant and looked like he was always pondering the esoteric. He became a Christian while attending college. Across the street from the campus was a church full of well-dressed, middle-class people. They wanted to develop a ministry to the college students, but they were not sure how to go about it.

One day, Bill decided to worship there. He walked into the church, complete with wild hair, T-shirt, blue jeans and bare feet. The church was completely packed, and the service had already begun. Bill started down the aisle to find a place to sit. By now the people were looking a bit uncomfortable, but no one said anything.

As Bill moved closer and closer to the pulpit, he realized there were no empty seats. So he squatted and sat down on the carpet right up front. (Although such behavior would have been perfectly acceptable at a college fellowship, this was a scenario this particular congregation had never witnessed before!) By now, the people seemed uptight, and the tension in the air was thickening.

Right about the time Bill took his “seat,” a deacon began slowly making his way down the aisle from the back of the sanctuary. The deacon was in his eighties, had silver-gray hair, a three-piece suit and a pocket watch. He was a godly man - very elegant, dignified and courtly. He walked with a cane and, as he neared the boy, the church members thought, “You can't blame him for what he's going to do. How can you expect a man of his age and background to understand some college kid on the floor?”

It took a long time for the man to reach the boy. The church was utterly silent except for the clicking of his cane. You couldn't even hear anyone breathing. All eyes were on the deacon.

But then they saw the elderly man drop his cane on the floor. With great difficulty, he sat down on the floor next to Bill and worshipped with him. Everyone in the congregation choked up with emotion. When the minister gained control, he told the people, “What I am about to preach, you will never remember. What you've just seen, you will never forget.”

[biggie9385]

The Mercedes
by Ken Swarner

There's nothing like a new car in the neighborhood to bring the guys together.

“Nice car, Wayne,” I said.

Mike crossed over from his house: “Hey Wayne, new or used?”

“Used.”

John was two steps behind Mike. “Six or eight cylinders?”

“Four.”

Jim peeked over the fence: “CD or Cassette?”

“Neither.”

We were all impressed. Then, the new neighbor appeared out of nowhere and stole Wayne's moment.

“Wow, look at that!”

We stared, our mouths dropped open, as Bob Henderson parked his new Mercedes in his driveway. We watched him walk inside.

“No kids, you know,” Mike said breaking the silence.

“Probably waiting until they've gone through their selfish stage.”

“Yeah,” we chimed. We had enough kids amongst us to field our own little league team - batboy included.

Jim pointed to the Mercedes. “Imagine owning a beautiful car like that with no one kicking the back of your seat.”

“Ever notice how baby formula cuts through new car smell faster than a toddler passes salsa.”

“Yeah,” we said.

“I saw his wife and him going out again last night. All dressed up.”

“Must be nice not paying for a babysitter.”

“We received a lovely card the other day from our sitter thanking us for the 401K and profit sharing plan.”

“He leaves early and comes home late from work any time he wants.”

“Wives only want us around for crowd control.”

“Yeah,” we chanted.

“I bet his watch doesn't get buried in the backyard like treasure.”

“I doubt he's ever worked all day oblivious to a Barbie sticker on his butt.”

“He can eat his dinner while it's hot.”

“And not standing up.”

“Yeah,” we said standing there shaking our heads.

Wayne's wife brought out a tray of lemonade. “What are you guys staring at?”

Wayne gestured across the street: “The neighbor's new car, we were just saying if they had kids it...”

“They can't have children, you know,” she announced.

The five of us looked at each other.

“They're infertile.” She passed out the lemonade and returned to the house. Except for the tinkling of ice against the glasses, it was quiet for a long time.

“It's a nice car, Wayne.”

“I think I'll go see what my kids are doing.”

“Yeah.”

[biggie9385]

Try Something Different
by Price Pritchett

I'm sitting in a quiet room at the Milcroft Inn, a peaceful little place hidden back among the pine trees about an hour out of Toronto. It's just past noon, late July, and I'm listening to the desperate sounds of a life-or-death struggle going on a few feet away.

There's a small fly burning out the last of its short life's energies in a futile attempt to fly through the glass of the windowpane. The whining wings tell the poignant story of the fly's strategy: Try harder.

But it's not working.

The frenzied effort offers no hope for survival. Ironically, the struggle is part of the trap. It is impossible for the fly to try hard enough to succeed at breaking through the glass. Nevertheless, this little insect has staked its life on reaching its goal through raw effort and determination.

This fly is doomed. It will die there on the windowsill.

Across the room, ten steps away, the door is open. Ten seconds of flying time and this small creature could reach the outside world it seeks. With only a fraction of the effort now being wasted, it could be free of this self-imposed trap. The breakthrough possibility is there. It would be so easy.

Why doesn't the fly try another approach, something dramatically different? How did it get so locked in on the idea that this particular route and determined effort offer the most promise for success? What logic is there in continuing until death to seek a breakthrough with more of the same?

No doubt this approach makes sense to the fly. Regrettably, it's an idea that will kill.
Trying harder isn't necessarily the solution to achieving more. It may not offer any real promise for getting what you want out of life. Sometimes, in fact, it's a big part of the problem.

If you stake your hopes for a breakthrough on trying harder than ever, you may kill your chances for success.

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Be Yourself
by Author unknown, submitted by Scott Shuman

Ever since I was a little kid, I didn't want to be me. I wanted to be like Billy Widdledon, and Billy Widdledon didn't even like me. I walked like he walked; I talked like he talked; and I signed up for the high school he signed up for.

Which was why Billy Widdledon changed. He began to hang around Herby Vandeman; he walked like Herby Vandeman; he talked like Herby Vandeman. He mixed me up! I began to walk and talk like Billy Widdledon, who was walking and talking like Herby Vandeman.

And then it dawned on me that Herby Vandeman walked and talked like Joey Haverlin. And Joey Haverlin walked and talked like Corky Sabinson.

So here I am walking and talking like Billy Widdledon's imitation of Herby Vandeman's version of Joey Haverlin, trying to walk and talk like Corky Sabinson. And who do you think Corky Sabinson is always walking and talking like? Of all people, Dopey Wellington - that little pest who walks and talks like me!

[biggie9385]

Breakdown of Family Traced to Psych. 1 Student
by Beth Mullally

There is no joy like a visit from your college kid after he's taken half a semester of Psychology 1.

Nosirree.

Suddenly you're living with Little Freud, and he's got your number. With all this education, he now knows that a) your habit of washing the dishes after each meal is obsessive-compulsive, b) you smoke because you're orally fixated, and c) you're making terrible mistakes raising his younger brother.

No behavior escapes Little Freud's scrutiny. The simplest conversations take on profound and incomprehensible meaning.

Getting Little Freud out of bed in the morning, for example, suddenly becomes a control issue:

“It's past noon,” says the simple-minded mother. “Why don't you get up?”

“Mom,” says Little Freud in a voice fraught with meaningful implication, “You're obsessing. You shouldn't disempower me this way. Why allow my behavior to affect your own sense of self? Besides, I have to stay in bed for a while to experience the consciousness of my being when my being is in nothingness.”

“That's easy for you to say,” says the simple-minded mother. “But I say you're sleeping. Now get up and help rake the leaves.”

“Class transference,” says Little Freud in such a way that the simple-minded mother can only conclude she must have a psychic ailment as repulsive as fungus.

Little Freud also knows now that nothing is as simple as it might seem. Calling him to dinner can set off an analysis of your childhood:

“Dinner's ready,” says Simple Mind.

“Don't you think it's time you stopped taking your Oedipal rage out on me?” asks Little Freud. “Just because you could never lure your father away from your mother is no reason to resent me.”

“What are you talking about?” asks Simple Mind. “I said it's time to eat. What does that have to do with Oedipus?”

“In your unconscious, you associate food with pre-Oedipal gratification, which sets off a chain of associative thoughts leading straight to your rage, which you cannot acknowledge and, therefore, you transfer your hostility to me.”

“Be quiet and eat your dinner before it gets cold,” says Simple Mind.

“Aha!” says Little Freud, triumphant. “You see? Classic regression.”

Little Freud is also a skilled marriage counselor now that he's done so much studying:

“I think it's time you two confronted your feelings,” Little Freud tells his parents, who are simple-mindedly enjoying a bottle of wine in front of the fireplace.

“We can't. We're playing cards,” says Mr. Simple Mind. “Your mother and I have a policy against confronting our feelings and playing cards at the same time.”

“Classic avoidance,” declares Little Freud.

Little Freud is at his most eloquent, though, when he points out how wrong his simple-minded parents are about their method of raising kids:

“You're not parenting him properly,” says Little Freud of his younger brother. “You're too permissive, probably because you're projecting your desire to be free of the shackles of your own stifled childhood.”

“What are you talking about?” says the simple-minded mother, who is getting pretty tired of asking Little Freud what he's talking about.

“And he also seems to have a lot of rage,” says Little Freud, plunging on. “His id has taken over, and his super-ego has collapsed. He seems to be entertaining some classic primordial fixations. In fact, I think he wants to kill me.”

“He doesn't really want to kill you, dear,” says Simple Mind. “I've hired him to do it for me.”

“Classic projection,” says Little Freud, disgustedly.

[biggie9385]

I Passed the Test
by Paula Lopez-Crespin

I was just eighteen years old when I entered nursing school, easily the youngest member of my class. Consequently, I was the subject of a great deal of teasing and good-natured ribbing from my classmates, many of whom were single mothers and older women returning to school for a second career.

Unfortunately, I became ill one week and missed a crucial test on the subject of mental health. This was particularly important to me since I planned to enter the mental-health field once I became a full-fledged nurse. Being a serious student, I immediately scheduled a time to re-test and began cramming for this exam. My fellow classmates knew how important this exam was to me and encouraged me as much as possible.

On the day of my test, as scheduled, I came to the classroom an hour early where one of my instructors administered the test. It was indeed a difficult exam, with more than one hundred questions pertaining to brain development and the latest trends in mental health. My intense study sessions served me well and, in less than forty minutes, I passed the test with flying colors.

Anxious to share my test results with my fellow students, I ran to the hospital coffee shop where we students spent our free time with members of the hospital support staff. As soon as I entered the coffee shop, I cried out in a loud voice, “I passed my mental retardation test!”

As I looked around the busy coffee shop, I could not find any of my classmates. Instead, a group of maintenance men, with confused looks on their faces, rose to give me a standing ovation.

[biggie9385]

An Afternoon in the Park
By Julie A. Manhan

There once was a little boy who wanted to meet God. He knew it was long trip to where God lived, so he packed his suitcase with Twinkies and a six-pack of root beer and he started his journey.

When he had gone about three blocks, he met an old woman. She was sitting in the park just staring at some pigeons. The boy sat down next to her and opened his suitcase. He was about to take a drink from his root beer when he noticed that the old lady looked hungry, so he offered a Twinkie. She gratefully accepted it and smiled at him. Her smile was so pretty that the boy wanted to see it again, so he offered a root beer. Once again she smiled at him. The boy was delighted!

They sat there all afternoon eating and smiling, but they never said a word.

As it grew dark, the boy realized how tired he was and he got up to leave, but before he had gone more than a few steps, he turned around, ran back to the old woman and gave her a hug. She gave him her biggest smile ever.

When the boy opened the door to his own house a short time later, his mother was surprised by the look of joy on his face.

She asked him, “What did you do today that made you so happy?”

He replied, “I had lunch with God.” But before his mother could respond, he added, “You know what? She's got the most beautiful smile I've ever seen!”

Meanwhile, the old woman, also radiant with joy, returned to her home.

Her son was stunned by the look of peace on her face and he asked, “Mother, what did you do today that made you so happy?”

She replied, “I ate Twinkies in the park with God.” But before her son responded, she added, “You know, he's much younger than I expected.”

[biggie9385]

Banking at Its Best
by Sharon Borjesson

When my son was a young teenager, he and his friend set out on a bus across town to purchase skateboard axles. They each had $20. When they arrived downtown, they discovered they needed more money to cover bus fare and sales tax. They were short $3.75.

A branch of our bank was nearby, so they decided to go in and take out a loan. The teller told them that was not possible, but that they could get a cash advance on their parents' credit card. So they called home, but got no answer. They tried the teller again to see if anything more could be done. She referred them to the desk of the vice president. When he asked why the bank should give them a loan, they answered, “Because we're Boy Scouts and good students, and very trustworthy.” He said that since they had no collateral, they would have to write out and sign an IOU. They did, and he in turn gave them the money they needed to complete their mission.

We found out later that this wonderful man lent the boys his own money. (My husband called him the next day asking for the same terms on a home loan!) In talking with the man, we learned that he had made many such loans, including a large one to a Navy wife whose allotment was delayed. He said he's been repaid almost 100 percent of the time, and that the opportunity to help others in this way was one of the most rewarding parts of his job.

My son and his friend hopped on the bus the very next morning. They paid off their loan and received their IOU signed by the vice president. It was banking at its best.

[biggie9385]

A Journey of Friendship
by Steven B. Wiley

Curt and I have the kind of friendship that I wish everyone would be able to experience. It embodies the true meaning of partnership - trust, caring, risk-taking and all else that friendship could embrace in our hurried and harried lives.

Our friendship began many years ago. We met while attending different high schools, through competitive sports, and we had a mutual respect for each other's athletic abilities. As the years progressed, we became the best of friends. Curt was best man in my wedding, and I was his a few years later when he married my sister's roommate. He is also the godfather of my son, Nicholas. And yet the event that most exemplifies our partnership and solidified our friendship happened over 25 years ago, when we were young and in our carefree 20s.

Curt and I were attending a pool party at the local Swim and Racquet Club. He had just won the door prize, a beautiful new watch. We were walking to the car, joking about the party, and Curt turned to me and said, “Steve, you've had a few cocktails, buddy - maybe I should drive.” At first I thought he was joking, but since Curt is definitely the wiser of us, I respected his sober judgment.

“Good idea,” I said, and handed him the keys.

Once I was settled in the passenger seat and Curt behind the wheel, he said, “I'm going to need your help because I'm not sure how to get to your house from here.”

“No problem,” I responded.

Curt started the car and we were off - not without the usual first-time shifting jerks and stalls, stops and starts. The next 10 miles seemed like a hundred as I prompted Curt with directions - left now, slow down, right pretty soon, speed up and so on. The important thing is that we got home safely that night.

Ten years later at my wedding, Curt brought tears to the eyes of 400 guests as he told the story of our partnership and how we drove home together that night. Why such a remarkable story? We've all, I hope, offered our keys when we knew we shouldn't drive. But you see, my friend Curt is blind. He has been since birth and never sat behind the wheel of a car before that night.

Today, Curt is one of the top executives at General Motors in New York, and I travel around the country inspiring salespeople to form long-lasting partnerships and friendships with their clients. Our willingness to take risks and trust in each other continues to bring meaning and joy to the journey of friendship.

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“Your Work Is Recognized!”
by Gary Hruska

It all began in Everett, Washington, where my project team was in the process of implementing one of our business systems. One morning, as I walked through the parking lot with one of my employees, I found a penny and picked it up. Playfully, I presented the penny to the employee and said, “This is a discretionary award for your efforts.” He put the penny in his pocket. “Thank you,” he said.

About six months later, I was walking with the same employee, this time in Los Alamitos, California, when I again found a penny and gave it to him.

Later, I had an occasion to go into his office and there, taped on a piece of paper, were the two pennies. He said he was displaying them as his recognition for a job well done.

Other employees noticed the pennies proudly displayed and began asking why they hadn't received any. So I started handing out pennies, explaining that they were for recognition, not for reward. Soon, so many people wanted them that I designed a penny holder. The front features a place for a penny and beside it the phrase, “Your work is recognized!” The back has slots for 30 more pennies and the phrase, “Your achievements count!”

One time, I spotted an employee doing something right and wanted to recognize her, but I didn't have a penny, so I gave her a quarter. Later that same day she stopped by and returned 24 cents.

That's how the “Prestigious Penny Award” was born. It's become a significant source of recognition in our organization.