Listen to "Dreams"
Mothers With Angels
STORIES Page 7
The Brick
An awesome story for those of us living too fast!
About ten years ago, a young and very successful
executive named Josh was traveling
down a Chicago neighborhood street.
He was going a bit too fast
in his sleek, black, 12 cylinder Jaguar XKE,
which was only two months old.
He was watching for kids darting out from
between parked cars and slowed down
when he thought he saw something.
As his car passed, no child darted out,
but a brick sailed out and-WHUMP! --
it smashed into the Jag's shiny black side door!
SCREECH...!!!! Brakes slammed!
Gears ground into reverse, and tires madly
spun the Jaguar back to the spot from
where the brick had been thrown.
Josh jumped out of the car, grabbed the kid
and pushed him up against a parked car.
He shouted at the kid,
"What was that all about and who are you?
Just what the heck are you doing?"
Building up a head of steam, he went on.
"That's my new Jag,
that brick you threw is gonna cost
you a lot of money. Why did you throw it?"
"Please, mister, please...I'm sorry!
I didn't know what else to do!",
pleaded the youngster.
"I threw the brick because
no one else would stop!"
Tears were dripping down the boy's chin
as he pointed around the parked car.
"It's my brother, mister," he said.
"He rolled off the curb and fell
out of his wheelchair
and I can't lift him up."
Sobbing, the boy asked the executive,
"Would you please help me
get him back into his wheelchair?
He's hurt and he's too heavy for me."
Moved beyond words,
the young executive tried desperately to
swallow the rapidly swelling lump in his throat.
Straining, he lifted the young man
back into the wheelchair
and took out his handkerchief
and wiped the scrapes and cuts,
checking to see that everything was going to be OK.
He then watched the younger brother push him
down the sidewalk toward their home.
It was a long walk back to
the sleek, black, shining,
12 cylinder Jaguar XKE -
a long and slow walk.
Josh never did fix the side door of his Jaguar.
He kept the dent to remind him
not to go through life so fast
that someone has to throw a brick
at him to get his attention...
Some bricks are softer than others.
Feel for the bricks of life coming at you.
A Mom's Story
A conversation between friends, about being a mom:
We are sitting at lunch when my friend
casually mentions that she and her husband
are thinking of "starting a family".
We're taking a survey," she says, half-joking.
"Do you think I should have a baby?"
"It will change your life," I say,
carefully keeping my tone neutral.
"I know," she says,
"no more sleeping in on weekends,
no more spontaneous vacations...."
But that is not what I meant at all.
I look at my friend,
trying to decide what to tell her.
I want her to know what she will
never learn in childbirth classes.
I want to tell her that the
physical wounds of child bearing will heal,
but that becoming a mother will leave her
with an emotional wound so raw
that she will forever be vulnerable.
I consider warning her that she will
never again read a newspaper without asking
"What if that had been MY child?"
That every plane crash,
every house fire will haunt her.
That when she sees pictures of
starving children, she will wonder
if anything could be worse
than watching you’re own child die.
I look at her carefully manicured nails
and stylish suit and think that no matter
how sophisticated she is,
becoming a mother will reduce her
to the primitive level of a bear
protecting her cub.
That an urgent call of "Mom!"
will cause her to drop a soufflé or her
best crystal without a moment's hesitation.
I feel I should warn her that no matter
how many years she has invested in her career,
she will be professionally
derailed by motherhood.
She might arrange for childcare,
but one day she will be going into an
important business meeting and she will think
of her baby's sweet smell.
She will have to use every ounce of
her discipline to keep from running home,
just to make sure her baby is all right.
I want my friend to know that everyday
decisions will no longer be routine.
That a five year old boy's desire to go to
the men's room rather than the women's
at McDonald's will become a major dilemma
right there, in the midst of clattering trays
and screaming children,
issues of independence and gender identity
will be weighed against the prospect
that a child molester may be
lurking in that restroom.
However decisive she may be at the office,
she will second-guess herself constantly
as a mother.
Looking at my attractive friend,
I want to assure her that eventually
she will shed the pounds of pregnancy,
but she will never feel the same about herself.
That her life, now so important,
will be of less value to her
once she has a child.
That she would give it up in a moment
to save her offspring,
but will also begin to hope for more years -
not to accomplish her own dreams,
but to watch her child accomplish theirs.
I want her to know that a cesarean scar or
shiny stretch marks will become
badges of honor.
My friend's relationship with her husband
will change, but not in the way she thinks.
I wish she could understand how much more
you can love a man who is so careful
to powder the baby or who never hesitates
to play with his child.
I think she should know that she would
fall in love with him again for reasons
she would now find very unromantic.
I wish my friend could sense the bond
she will feel with women throughout history
who have tried to stop war,
prejudice and drunk driving.
I hope she will understand why
I can think rationally about most issues,
but become temporarily insane when I discuss
the threat of nuclear war
to my children's future.
I want to describe to my friend the
exhilaration of seeing your child
learn to ride a bike.
I want to capture for her the belly laugh
of a baby who is touching the soft fur
of a dog or a cat for the first time.
I want her to taste the joy
that is so real it actually hurts.
My friend's quizzical look makes me realize
that tears have formed in my eyes.
"You'll never regret it," I finally say.
Then I reach across the table,
squeeze my friend's hand and offer a
silent prayer for her, and for me,
and for all of the mere mortal women who
stumble their way into this
most wonderful of callings.
The blessed gift of God is
that of being a Mother.
(Author Unknown)
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