Wisdom Over Youth

Humorous, inspirational take on growing up and growing older

Teresa Weaver

Weather Teasers

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Mom says it’s raining cats and dogs.
I think she means “a lot”.

And if the sidewalk fries an egg,
then you can bet it’s hot!

A cloud with silver lining,
means that good can come from bad.

To shoot the breeze you need no gun,
just friends who love to gab.

You won’t need an umbrella,
if it rains on your parade.

Just change your plans and you will be,
once more – made in the shade.

What’s left to do but join the fun?
And so, come rain or shine,

You’ll find me chasing rainbows,
while floating on cloud nine!

Influence from the Quiet Corners by Lee Weaver

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I am an independent consultant teaching leadership to companies with the ultimate goal that when an employee is improved, the company is improved.

My last assignment was with Certified Fire Protection and Security. As you might imagine, the employees were a combination of pipe fitters, alarm installers, inspectors and a few accountants. This group was tattered not just by their clothing but by their life styles that had become their pattern. I was aware that many previous employees had been fired for persistent drug abuse while on the job… this was a rough crowd that looked even worse. To be fair, I must also confess that my world consisted of teaching at the university or managing programs for the State Office of Education. I love academia. My position is also complicated by the fact that I am now retired (being that I am 75 years old). All this is exacerbated by the fact that I carry certain prejudices of what a leader should look like. In short, I didn’t expect much– the error was mine.

I want to write about Dustin. He didn’t say much in class and could have gone unnoticed except for the fact that he had multiple tattoos on his arms. His hair and beard were long and appeared to be sculptured into some kind of a shape I didn’t recognize but it was his earrings that caught my attention, they looked like pipes extending in a U shape. I had never seen anything like it before. He had the persona of someone you wouldn’t want to see in the dark. I didn’t engage with him and that was my mistake.

I noticed that he always looked attentive when I taught and in time began to participate in the discussion and problem solving activities I gave the class. Although he had economy of verbiage I noticed his responses were well thought out and demonstrated insight. He was a manager over the service department which required a soft approach to deal with frustrated customers. Certified Fire is well known in the city for its customer service and I began to realize this reputation grew in a large part from Dustin’s quiet steady approach on behalf of the customers. The employees are frequently required to work extended hours to meet deadlines and to mitigate emergencies. This leads to employee exhaustion and stress. Dustin’s stable disposition enabled his team to be more resilient and cooperative.

One day my lecture centered on the fact that good leaders don’t center their efforts on managing people but to build each employee into something better than when they were hired. I frequently asserted that if an employee was not stronger, happier, and more capable for having worked at Certified Fire then the manager was not a leader at all. Dustin expressed that this was his philosophy as well and that he implemented it by not solving his team’s problems when they asked. He made them evaluate and come up with their own solutions. He provided the encouragement as they learned to think and evaluate.

One day I taught a unit on listening and asked the class to present a situation which would require listening skills from their audience. Dustin chose to talk about his years of drug abuse and the efforts he made to remove himself from that culture. Everyone was captivated. We recognized the facts, his hard work, his design for an improved life but we also became aware of the required courage and the strength of character he demonstrated. Dustin can not only tell a story, he can make people want learn from him. He has the most desired talent for a leader, the ability to help others to change for the better and to do it in an unobtrusive way.

My previous erroneous perceptions changed. I could clearly see that he was gifted with quiet nobility. Getting to know Dustin has been an important life lesson for me.

Certified Fire is lucky to have Dustin as a valued employee but Dustin does not have the arrogance to place this in his belief system. Instead he made the personal decision to write to the owners and to thank them for providing the kinds of experiences that help employees find their strengths and use them more effectively. He expressed that he was proud to be an employee of such a fine company and he assured them of his loyalty.

I may have been the teacher but in truth I became a student learning from the greatest example of leadership I have seen in a long time.

I have been reminded to not judge people by what they look like but by how they live their lives. Understanding comes when we look for the right things. Yes, this takes more effort but we have much to learn from each other. I have been influenced and for that I have a strong respect for Dustin.

To you I say, don’t forget to look in the corners.

Traditions

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My family has traditions I look forward to each year.
A late night party New Year’s Eve and Valentines that cheer.
Summer swimming, fireworks, an autumn pumpkin patch,
Christmas visits to the lonely, goodies made from scratch.

My family has traditions I look forward to each week.
Family night’s my favorite night, especially the treat!
And Sunday when we go to church we learn of Jesus Christ.
How we can live with Him again through His great sacrifice.

My family has traditions I look forward to each day.
A peaceful feeling fills my heart each time we kneel to pray.
And though I do not always understand the words we read,
I know that faithful scripture study helps me to succeed.

My family has traditions — I look forward to each one.
They bless our lives; they strengthen ties and make our family fun!
One day I’ll have a family. It won’t be very long.
Creating good traditions will help keep us safe and strong.

 

This post originally posted here

Growing

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Sunshine
Soil
Water
Seeds
God has given me all I need

to grow
a flower
a bush
a tree
With time and effort I’ll succeed.

Lots of
love
and faith
and hope
are gifts my Father has bestowed.

So like
a plant,
I too
can grow,
repent and learn while here below.

I’ll go
to church
and serve
and pray.
I want to grow like Him each day.

So in
His presence
I
can stay.
The Master Gardener show the way.

 

New Old Friend

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New Old Friend

 

The hollow feeling in my stomach slowly spread through my chest, and my throat tightened until I could no longer speak. The early winter drizzle even made the sky seem to weep as Amanda crept toward the car, her steps painful and faltering.

“I’ll get that,” I blurted, my mind jolted from numbness by her fumbling with the door handle. I opened the car door and watched in embarrassed silence as she maneuvered her body into the car. I shut the door after making sure her brace was completely inside. She looked at me through the rain-spattered window. “Thanks, Sara,” she mouthed. I nodded my reply and got in the other side.

My thoughts drifted back to another day. Summer sunlight had washed over the neighborhood that morning, soaking its warmth into our shoulders and the tops of our heads as Amanda and I rode our horses to the shopping center by our apartment. Well, they weren’t real horses. At least, they weren’t alive and you couldn’t see them. But they were real to us, and we rode them everywhere, always careful to tie them up before going inside. If we rode in a car, we tied them to the bumper and they followed behind. We even named them after our favorite ice-cream dishes at Gabby’s Ice-Cream Parlor: Starlight and Anastasia.

Amanda’s dad had picked us up later that afternoon in his car and dropped me off at home. It was the next morning before I learned that they had been in an accident and that Amanda had been severely burned.

The car jostled as it turned into the parking lot of Gabby’s Ice-Cream Parlor, bringing me back to the present. I had promised Amanda while she was still in the hospital that we would go to Gabby’s to celebrate her recovery. Now I wondered if I’d made the right decision.

Mom let us out in front of the plate-glass window that framed a row of booths. Amanda emerged from the car slowly. There were still some bandages on her arms, and one leg was encased in a metal brace. The spattering of freckles I had been jealous of was gone. In its place was whitish skin that stretched and pulled, as if there wasn’t enough to cover her face.

Heads turned and peered around the huge yellow and blue letters painted on the window. One little girl pointed at us. Her mouth moved in silent conversation. The woman beside her looked embarrassed and moved her away from the window. I squared my shoulders and returned their stares for Amanda’s sake. Defiance turned to surprise as I saw that their sad-eyed looks were directed at me too. I walked a few steps ahead of Amanda, my arms and legs swinging in exaggerated rhythm. Can’t you see there’s nothing wrong with me, I thought, my surprise turning to anger.

Finally we were inside and seated at a table. I studied the menu intently, as if it were directions to unearthing a million dollars in gold. I just about had everything memorized by the time our waitress got there. “I’ll have the Starlight Sundae,” I said, without looking up.

“I’ll have the Anastasia,” Amanda said quietly.

The waitress collected the menus. I counted the flowers in the pink flocked wallpaper and traced the marbled pattern in the tabletop with my finger until the sundaes arrived.

I usually lingered over every bite, enjoying the contrast of the smooth mint ice cream against the sharp bits of chocolate on my tongue. But today I only wanted to finish as quickly as possible. As soon as Amanda had taken her last bite, I wadded up my paper napkin and tossed it on the table.

“We’d better go,” I announced and added lamely, “I’m sure Mom’s outside by now.” Amanda offered no resistance.

I walked ahead to get the door. Amanda shuffled through, but instead of turning to the left, where Mom was waiting, she turned to the right and raised her burned hand slightly. I heard the familiar soft clicking noise that we used to call our horses.

“Come on, Anastasia,” she said softly. “Let’s go, girl”—her whisper was punctuated by a great, deep sob—“far away from here.” Her shoulders shook; her breath came in gasps. Tears dropped from her nose and chin onto the scarred hands she clasped tightly in front of her.

The hollow feeling in my stomach returned, and my throat tightened again. I felt helpless. I wanted to make people stop staring. I wanted to smooth her lumpy skin and give her back her freckles. I wanted to go back and change what happened that summer day and erase her pain.

I looked long into Amanda’s eyes for the first time since her accident. They shared the pain her physical body had endured. But there was more. Behind the pain were the eyes of the friend I had always known. Burned and scarred skin may have changed the outside, but Amanda would always be Amanda on the inside.

I put my arm around her shoulder. The rain had stopped. Despite the chilly air, the sunshine warmed the tops of our heads and our shoulders as we walked side by side to the car, oblivious to anyone else. Things would be different—and yet the same. I held on to Amanda’s hands and gently helped her onto the car seat. Then I picked up her leg by the steel bars that supported it and helped her position it in the car.

A smile appeared through her tears. “Thanks,” she said.

Our eyes met again, and I returned her smile. “Sure,” I replied. Then I added quietly so that only Amanda could hear, “I’ll tie the horses to the bumper so we can ride them when we get home.”

 

Originally published here

New Record

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New record

“You need glasses! You wouldn’t know a foul if it knocked you over!” Melvin sputtered at the referee.

“That’s it! You’re out,” the referee yelled back.

Melvin stomped off the court. He dropped onto the bench and glared at the floor.

The coach sat down beside him. “Do you know what this means?”

Melvin nodded without looking up. “I set a new record.”

“More than that,” the coach said. “It worked again.”

Melvin knew what was coming. He’d heard it before—how the other team knew that if they could get him angry enough, he’d lose his temper and get thrown out of the game. But he couldn’t help himself. He got so mad that if he didn’t do something, he’d explode.

“You’re the best player I have,” the coach said. “You just have to keep your cool!”

The final buzzer sounded. The coach yelled something about next Friday’s championship game as Melvin stalked off the court. “Fourteen times!” he muttered, pounding his fist into his hand. He had just broken the school basketball record for technical fouls on one player. It wasn’t an achievement he was proud of.

Who needs refs anyway! Melvin thought, suddenly glad he had invited his buddies over for a friendly game of baseball.

They were already gathering in his backyard by the time he arrived. Soon they were laughing and playing ball together in the small park down the street.

In the first inning, an opposing batter hit a towering shot to deep left field. As he rounded third base and headed for home, Melvin screamed, “Throw me the ball!”

There was a satisfying thump as ball connected with glove, and Melvin tagged the runner. “You’re out!” he proclaimed triumphantly.

“Safe!” the runner yelled back.

“Uh-uh, I tagged you.”

Everyone started yelling at once.

“He slid under your mitt!”

“He’s safe—I was standing right there!”

“He touched the base before you touched him!”

Finally Melvin jumped atop a bench and yelled, “I got him out! You guys are as blind as bats. If you can’t play baseball right, then maybe …” His voice trailed off. The boys were picking up their gloves and leaving.

Melvin dragged home and slumped onto the stump of a tree cut down several years before. He picked at the dirt that filled the holes in the dry wood.

Suddenly his older brother, Mike, sat down beside him. “Short game, huh?”

“Yeah,” Melvin said quietly. “Every time I open my mouth, something bad happens.”

“How about just every time you open your mouth in anger?”

Melvin shrugged.

“I bet you don’t know how all those holes got in that stump,” his brother challenged.

Melvin shook his head.

“I put them there.” Getting up, Mike went to the garage and returned with a bucket of rusty nails and a hammer. “Who do you think set the previous record for technical fouls at your school?”

Melvin’s eyes widened. “You?”

His brother chuckled. “It would’ve been a lot higher if Dad hadn’t shown me how he learned to control his temper.” He pulled a nail out of the bucket. “These have been pounded in and pulled out of this old stump at least a hundred times each.”

“Will it keep me from getting angry?” Melvin asked.

“No. I wish it were that easy. You’ll probably still feel angry—at least for a while. But what you do with that anger … Well, after a little practice, you can begin to control that.”

Melvin took the hammer. With an easy swing, he drove the nail deep into the old stump. Then he pounded another, and another.

By dinnertime Melvin had pounded more than fifty nails, and the anger had melted away.

Over the next week, Melvin visited the stump almost every day. Sometimes he went before he lost his temper and started yelling or throwing things. Other times he went afterward and worked out the rest of the anger.

The day of the championship game arrived. The school gym was filled with students. Melvin checked his shoelaces one final time. The buzzer sounded, starting the game.

Feet pounded up and down the court. Back and forth the ball changed hands. Melvin snatched the ball from an opponent and raced toward the basket.

Wham!

Melvin tumbled to the floor. He rolled over in time to see the grinning face of the boy who had just knocked him down.

Melvin jumped to his feet, his heart racing. Jaw clenched and blood vessels bulging, he stalked over to his opponent. Part of him wanted to shove the boy back and yell at the referee, “Are you blind? Aren’t you going to call a foul?” Part of him wished he was home at the backyard stump so that he could pound out his anger before he lost his temper.

Suddenly Melvin had an idea. He balled up the fist of his right hand and opened flat his left hand. Thwack! Thwack! Thwack! Over and over he pounded as if his fist were the hammer and his palm the stump, until he felt himself gain control. Then he turned and walked away from his bewildered opponent.

Early in the second half, Melvin faked his man out of position and drove to the basket. At the last second, the other team’s tall center stepped into his path. Wham! They both went spinning to the floor as the ref’s whistle blew. “Charging!” the ref shouted, pointing at Melvin.

Melvin jumped to his feet. Charging? he was screaming inside his head. He didn’t have position, you idiot! But outwardly he merely pounded his palm as hard as he could. The ref looked him over, fingered his whistle, then turned and gave the ball to the center to throw inbounds.

The game continued. Late in the second half, with the score tied, Melvin sprinted downcourt, leading a fast break. He caught a full-court pass on the run, dribbled once, and gathered himself for an easy lay-up.

Whack! Melvin was pushed hard from behind and went sprawling into a row of spectators behind the basket, barely missing the basket support. A whistle sounded. Without even looking to see who had pushed him, Melvin began pounding his fist. But this time it sounded louder. Melvin opened his eyes to see the other students smacking their fists in rhythm with each other. With each supporting thwack of the students’ hands, Melvin became more determined to finish the game without losing control.

When the final buzzer sounded, Melvin jumped about and high-fived the rest of the team—and not only because they were the champions. He had won a much more important victory: He had kept his cool. He had finished a whole game without a technical foul! It was a new record—one that he was not ashamed of. He looked into the crowd and found Mike giving him the thumbs-up sign.

Previously posted here

The More in Less

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Born the fifth of eight children with a stay-at-home Mom meant we rarely ate out. But once in a while, the local burger chain ran a .15 cent hamburger special. On those nights we loaded up the red Volkswagon bus for dinner out on the town.

Bright fluorescent lights reflected off the checkerboard of red and white tiles that wrapped around the front of the burger joint. Dad and at least one child stood in the winding line, the sounds and smells of sizzling beef patties wafting around them. Finally, he gave his order to the harried teenager scribbling on a scratch pad and hollering out numbers over her shoulder. Sodas were out of the question when water was perfectly fine and free. French fries were never on special at the same time so we had to share….

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Handprints

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Clap-slap, clap-slap. The rhythm of hands slapping against my newly polished picture windows grated on my nerves. It hadn’t been too bad when my two teenage daughters had perfected their moves on the kitchen table. There it was only noise. But multiple hand prints on windows that had taken considerable effort to get clean was annoying.

When my glare didn’t dissuade their enthusiasm I handed them window cleaner and rags with instructions to “make it as clean as it was,” knowing it would likely be full of streaks afterwards.

As I walked away, my mind drifted back to another hand print on another glass surface. This one by the elder teenager now pounding on the windows. Except she was three years old….

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Love Begins Anew

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It is the calm before the storm. White roses, hydrangeas and calla lilies crowd a tabletop awaiting final transport and placement. One hundred and fifty stacked place settings serve as a sober reminder there is a lot of work yet to come. Tomorrow, a thousand details will flow together in nuptial pomp and ceremony, dreamed about for years and executed to exhaustion.

There is an aura of anticipation riffling through family members who have gathered to share in the pot-luck meal, catch up on each other’s lives and review tomorrow’s details.

Woven into the hum of voices, and nap-deprived babies, come the mishmash notes of alto and baritone saxophones warming up. Grandfather and Cousin are practicing for tomorrow’s first dance between the bride and groom. Almost imperceptibly the disjointed notes align into the beginning of a melody….

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First Words

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There are hundreds of sweet moments after ushering a newborn into the world. Most of them deal with firsts; the first heart-melting smile, the first luxurious sleep through the night, the first shaky step. Sweet indeed. But none of those can compare to the first words.

Not the babblings from a cooing baby – as precious as they are. These coveted first words come down the road.

Way down the road.

It was an ordinary day when I experienced those extraordinary FIRST WORDS. My recently engaged daughter called after a particularly frustrating day making life-after-marriage plans with her fiancée. Her three words made every hard choice that had left me second guessing my parenting skills worth it….

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