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Stories & Examples
Out of the Mouths of Babes
The desk teetered from age, a hundred scratches and dents in its wooden legs from dozens of school janitors cleaning up after class. The old blotter was stained and nearly worn through from hundreds of books and children’s papers, one part more discolored and thinning where past teachers’ right elbows had rested on the green covering. I could see them sitting where I was, red pencils clicking against their teeth, watching the last fall leaves blowing outside the windows after the kids had left for home.
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Death of Common Sense
Today we mourn the passing of an old friend by the name of Common Sense. No one really knows how old he was, since his birth records were long ago lost in bureaucratic red tape. He selflessly devoted his life to service in schools, hospitals, homes, factories and offices, helping folks get jobs done without fanfare and foolishness. For decades, petty rules, silly laws and frivolous lawsuits held no power over Common Sense. He was credited with cultivating such valued lessons as: to know when to come in out of the rain, the early bird gets the worm, and life isn’t always fair.
Actions Are Truly Louder Than Words
One day, when I was a freshman in high school, I saw a kid from my class was walking home from school.
His name was Kyle. It looked like he was carrying all of his books. I thought to myself, "Why would anyone bring home all his books on a Friday? He must really be a nerd." I had quite a weekend planned (parties and a football game with my friends tomorrow afternoon), so I shrugged my shoulders and went on.
As I was walking, I saw a bunch of kids running toward him. They ran at him, knocking all his books out of his arms and tripping him so he landed in the dirt. His glasses went flying, and I saw them land in the grass about ten feet from him. He looked up and I saw this terrible sadness in his eyes. My heart went out to him. So, I jogged over to him and as he crawled around looking for his glasses, and I saw a tear in his eye. As I handed him his glasses, I said, "Those guys are jerks. They really should get lives. " He looked at me and said, "Hey thanks!" There was a big smile on his face. It was one of those smiles that showed real gratitude. I helped him pick up his books, and asked him where he lived.
His name was Kyle. It looked like he was carrying all of his books. I thought to myself, "Why would anyone bring home all his books on a Friday? He must really be a nerd." I had quite a weekend planned (parties and a football game with my friends tomorrow afternoon), so I shrugged my shoulders and went on.
As I was walking, I saw a bunch of kids running toward him. They ran at him, knocking all his books out of his arms and tripping him so he landed in the dirt. His glasses went flying, and I saw them land in the grass about ten feet from him. He looked up and I saw this terrible sadness in his eyes. My heart went out to him. So, I jogged over to him and as he crawled around looking for his glasses, and I saw a tear in his eye. As I handed him his glasses, I said, "Those guys are jerks. They really should get lives. " He looked at me and said, "Hey thanks!" There was a big smile on his face. It was one of those smiles that showed real gratitude. I helped him pick up his books, and asked him where he lived.
A Soldiers Story - "Why Are You Here?"
The thick Israeli accent made his English sound rigid and brittle. I appreciated his effort, though. We'd been working together for more than two months before this first hot September week of 1981, and I wasn't making much progress in his language. I was as much of a puzzle to him as Hebrew was to me, and the question had come up in the past weeks. Why, indeed. I hadn't a coherent answer before.
