What would you do?….you make the choice. Don’t look for a punch line, there isn’t one. Read it anyway. My question is: Would you have made the same choice?
At a fundraising dinner for a school that serves children with learning disabilities, the father of one of the students delivered a speech that would never be forgotten by all who attended. After extolling the school and its Dedicated staff, he offered a question: ‘When not interfered with by outside influences, everything nature does, is done with perfection. Yet my son, Shay, cannot learn things as other children do.?? He cannot understand things as other children do.Where is the natural order of things in my son?’ The audience was stilled by the query. The father continued. ‘I believe that when a child like Shay, who was mentally and physically disabled comes into the world, an opportunity to realize true human nature presents itself, and it comes in the way other people treat that child.’ Then he told the following story: Shay and I had walked past a park where some boys Shay knew were playing baseball. Shay asked, ‘d o you think they’ll let me play?’ I knew that most of the boys would not want someone like Shay on their team, but as a fatherIalso understood that if my son were allowed to play, it would give him a much-needed sense of belonging, and some confidence to be accepted by others in spite of his handicaps. I approached one of the boys on the field and asked (not expecting much) if Shay could play. The boy looked around for guidance and said, ‘We’re losing by six runs and the game is in the eighth inning. I guess he can be on our team and we’ll try to put him in to bat in the ninth inning. ‘Shay struggled over to the team’s bench and, with a broad smile, put on a team shirt. I watched with a small tear in my eye and warmth in my heart. The boys saw my joy at my son being accepted. In the bottom of the eighth inning, Shay’s team scored a few runs but was still behind by three. In the top of the ninth inning, Shay put on a glove and played in the right field. Even though no hits came his way, he was obviously ecstatic just to be in the game and on the field, grinning from ear to ear as I waved to him from the stands In the bottom of the ninth inning, Shay’s team scored again. Now, with two outs and the bases loaded, the potential winning run was on base and Shay was scheduled to be next at bat.At this juncture, do they let Shay bat and give away their chance to win the game? Surprisingly, Shay was given the bat. Everyone knew that a hit was all but impossible because Shay didn’t even know how to hold the bat properly, much less connect with the ball.However, as Shay stepped up to theplate, the pitcher, recognizing that the other team was putting winning aside for this moment in Shay’s life, moved in a few steps to lob the ball in softly so Shay could at least make contact.The first pitch came and Shay swung clumsily and missed. The pitcher again took a few steps forward to toss the ball softly towards Shay.As the pitch came in, Shay swung at the ball and hit a slow ground ball right back to the pitcher. The game would now be over. The pitcher picked up the soft grounder and could have easily thrown the ball to the first baseman.Shay would have been out and that would have been the end of the game. Instead, the pitcher threw the ball right over the first baseman’s head, out of reach of all team mates. Everyone from the stands and both teams started yelling, ‘Shay, run to first! Run to first!’ Never in his life had Shay ever run that far, but he made it to first base.He scampered down the baseline, wide-eyed and startled. Everyone yelled, ‘Run to second, run to second!’ Catching his breath, Shay awkwardly ran towards second, gleaming and struggling to make it to the base. By the time Shay rounded towards second base, the right fielder had the ball. The smallest guy on their team who now had his first chance to be the hero for his team. He could have thrown the ball to the second-baseman for the tag, but he understood the pitcher’s intentions so he, too, intentionally threw the ball high and far over the third-baseman’s head. Shay ran toward third base deliriously as the runners ahead of him circled the bases toward home. All were screaming, ‘Shay, Shay, Shay, all the Way Shay’. Shay reached third base because the opposing shortstop ran to help him by turning him in the direction of third base, and shouted, ‘Run to third!Shay, run to third!’ As Shay rounded third, the boys from both teams, and the spectators, were on their feet screaming, ‘Shay, run home! Run home!’ Shay ran to home, stepped on the plate, and was cheered as the hero who hit the grand slam and won the game for his team. ‘That day’, said the father softly with tears now rolling down his face, ‘the boys from both teams helped bring a piece of true love and humanity into this world’. Shay didn’t make it to another summer. He died that winter, having never forgotten being the hero and making me so happy, and coming home and seeing his Mother tearfully embrace her little hero of the day! AND NOW A LITTLE FOOT NOTE TO THIS STORY: We all send thousands of jokes through the e-mail without a second thought, but when it comes to sending messages about life choices, people hesitate. The crude, vulgar, and often obscene pass freely through cyberspace, but public discussion about decency is too often suppressed in our schools and workplaces. If you’re thinking about forwarding this message, chances are that you’re probably sorting out the people in your address book who aren’t the ‘appropriate’ ones to receive this type of message. Well, the person who sent you this believes that we all can make a difference. We all have thousands of opportunities every single day to help realize the ‘natural order of things.’ So many seemingly trivial interactions between two people present us with a choice: Do we pass along a little spark of love and humanity, or do we pass up those opportunities and leave the world a little bit colder in the process? A wise man once said ‘Every society is judged by how it treats it’s least fortunate amongst them. ‘ You now have two choices. May your day, be a Shay Day.
No one has been able to answer why there is such a big fuss over Ukraine. This article answers it all. If Russia is allowed to take over, this impressive list of wealth becomes theirs. This is not a case of Robin Hood (Russia) robbing the rich (Ukraine) to give to the poor. It is just plain highway robbery by Russia to enrich itself and to use the resources for more aggression.
Today, I. and I took a short hike in Messenger Woods Nature Preserve in Homer Glen, IL. In my short lifetime I have visited almost every nature hiking path in the area, but Messenger escaped me. We figured the snow would be too deep to walk, but took a chance on it being a well used trail. we parked in a loop and stopped to read the message board, and to view the map. I determined the trail head to be about two to three hundred meters away. There were no tracks leading to it. My Lovely shook her head and balked at the prospect of lifting legs ten inches high with every step. We returned to the car, and I decided that as long as I was there I would continue to the end of the drive to see where it leads. The drive was short and sure enough there was the official trial head for the short .5 mile loop. The second choice was a 1.3 mile loop which we decided to do at another time. The short loop was well trodden and the path was lumpy but walkable. The lumps made it a bit treacherous, but what the hell let’s do it.
The sun was at it’s peak and the sky was as blue as a sky can be. The brightness required us to wear sunglasses. The temperature was a balmy 26 degrees Fahrenheit. The walking was slow because of the lumps, and the hills. Walking up a hill was easier than walking down. During the downside our shoes tended to ski out from under us and we would up flailing arms and twisting our bodies to keep from falling. We took it slow, and even slower on the downsides. The singing birds were the only noise in the forest. The trees at Messenger are huge and old. It wasn’t obvious how huge until we passed a downed tree, and saw the trunk horizontal and stretched out. Being a Nature Center they are not allowed to remove the fallen trees, but they are allowed to clear a path if a downed one crosses the trail. Many of the fallen seniors were easily sixty feet in length, and two feet or more in diameter.
We didn’t see a single deer during our walk but the forest floor was riddled with foot prints of many different kinds of animals. Deer tracks were the most common. I have yet to learn where deer stay in the day time. One would think that on a sunny day like today they would be easily spotted, but they weren’t.
While walking I had a recollection of a camping trip I took with friends to Yellowstone Park in Wyoming. Five of us, two engineers and three school teachers, stuffed our bikes, gear, and selves into a GM mini van and drove to Jackson Hole in July. The goal was to bicycle around the Yellowstone Park loop, and camp between segments. Before we reached Jackson Hole, one of the teachers who was an experienced camper, skier, and hiker asked if he could stop at a small town maybe Pinedale, forty miles south of Jackson Hole. There was a super sports equipment store there where one could buy neat camping, hiking, fishing, and hunting gear of any kind. During that stop, I bought a pair of polyester wind-pants to wear over my legs on chilly Yellowstone nights. This morning I was trying to remember what year it was that we took that trip so I could peg the age of these pants. Since that trip x-x years ago this is the first year I have worn the wind pants, and I have worn them more than any other time. Talk about being emotionally connected to something like a pair of pants, this is a prime example. Now, I am thinking of all the other stuff I have hidden in drawers, closets, and shelves that are there because the items are too good to throw away, and I might use it again. The easiest way to quantify all that stuff is to call it a house full.
For the last three years I have tried in vain to sell my Honda snow blower at our yearly neighborhood garage sale. I did all but say take it away free. No one is interested in a snow blower in July. As luck would have it, I had to use the damn thing each year. This week was a great workout for me and the machine. During moments of an intense use of expletives during the job, I decided to write a little story about Mr. Honda and his machine.
I inherited the machine from my son when he moved to Texas. Up to that time I used a fairly reliable Toro machine. When the Honda became available I jumped at the chance to own it. By then the machine was clearly four or five years old, but it was a Honda, who can argue that it wasn’t the smart thing to do.
I have owned the thing since Mike left which is now ten years, add to that the five years he owned it and the machine has a few hours on it. Some years it stays idle because the snow is easier to shovel than to blow. This machine is bigger, wider, heavier, and has more horsepower than the Toro. Because it is heavier it is harder to handle. The engine is superb, starting on one or two pulls at the most. I have had to use the electric start feature only a few times over the years mostly because I left the gas in the tank over the summer and it gunked up the spark plug. Otherwise the engine is fine, it runs like a champ, and has power to spare. So why am I writing an article about what I don’t like about it. Because as a snow thrower it stinks for several reasons:
1.) The throat of the spout plugs easily because of the shitty transition between the impeller and the exhaust chute. When it plugs and is no longer throwing the snow, I am pushing it in front of the impeller. Pushing a huge wad of snow is a workout I can do with out, and would rather push that same wad with a simple shovel thus saving the world from global warming by reducing my carbon footprint. To clear the plug I must bounce the machine by moving the handle up and down vigorously thus further causing the frame to bend and the scraper to wear.
2. The frame supporting the impeller is flimsy and has twisted out of place from repeated impacts against frozen water to clear snow. The twisted frame has caused the plastic scraper that meets the concrete to wear prematurely thus causing two problems:
A.) The machine is harder than hell to push because the scraper is mis-aligned and dragging hard against the pavement. One should not have to “push” a snow blower, it should propel itself.
B.) That mis-alignment causes the scraper to wear unevenly, and in short time the steel frame has worn away on one side. Steel on concrete causes it to be harder to push. Over the years the worn edge holding the scraper has also worn down to the point where I can’t replace the plastic scraper anymore.
This all sounds too complicated even to me to be worth writing so many words about when shitty design is just as good way to describe the situation.
Honda would have been much better served by saving it’s fine engine for use in a scooter or some other vehicle rather than in this shit pile of steel and plastic it calls a snow blower. The problem is that at this stage in life I don’t want to waste my fixed income on a new snow blower, and it make sense to keep it. I am asking that the damn thing be parked along side my casket with a sign saying “free.” If no one takes it then I ask that it be dumped on top of my casket before they pile the dirt on.
