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May 30, 2005

Honest to Goodness

My mum was looking through some of my old papers last week and reminded me of an envelope I received in the mail many years ago. Mention of the letter instantly took me back to a dirt road winding through the Drakensburg Mountains in Kwazulu- Natal in South Africa.

I was driving along and enjoying the spectacular view with my girlfriend Jean when I saw an old African man on a bicycle slowly pedaling toward us up the hill. I slowed to a crawl so as not to shower him with dust. The man looked to be in his sixties or seventies. I waved out of the window and greeted him in Zulu, “Sawubona (hello).” “Sawubona umugane (hello friend),” he replied, flashing me a wide toothless grin. He waved and wobbled unsteadily on his rickety old bicycle.

A few seconds later, I saw a pick-up truck approaching us rather quickly with swirls of dust and dirt spewing out from behind the fish-tailing vehicle.

As the truck passed I noticed it was full of rowdy teenage boys yelling as they went by. I watched them in my rear-view mirror and was horrified to see them aim directly for the old man on the bicycle. The driver swerved at the last minute, enveloping the man in a cloud of dust. I saw him teetering on the bike and finally falling into the brush alongside the road.

I turned my car around and went back to see if he was okay. He seemed to be fine, albeit a little shaken. His bike was not so lucky. The front wheel was totally bent and buckled.

The old man looked so sad. “Haai eh-eh,” he said, shaking his head. “What is wrong with those kids?”

I popped the man’s bicycle into the trunk of the car and we took him to the hotel where he worked. I asked if he wanted me to take him to a doctor and he said he was fine, just that his ‘happy place’ was bruised.

As we we’re leaving, I gave the man about eighty rand in cash that I had in my wallet and a few rand Jean had in her purse. (About fifty US dollars.) “It’s to fix your bike,” I said.

“I can’t take your money,” he said.

“Nah, it’s okay,” said Jean. “He would have spent it on beer anyway and that’s not good for that stomach of his.”

The old man chuckled and told me I had a wise girlfriend. “I must pay you back sometime,” he said.

“That’s okay,” I said.

“It’s what I want to do,” said the old man. So I gave him my address.

Jean and I continued on our trip and thoughts of the old man and his bike drifted toward the back of my mind and hung out with many other experiences that were hoping to be retold sometime in the future.

The battered and scuffed envelope arrived at my apartment exactly one month later. In the envelope was one very crumpled and often used one-rand note and twenty-five cents. It was from the old man.

Religiously, at the end of every month, an envelope arrived with a one-rand bill and twenty-five cents in it. No note, no return address, just the money the man was repaying.

An envelope arrived each and every month without fail.

Almost a year later I went back to the Drakensburg to shoot a television commercial.

The filming took place very close to where we had met the old man and I decided to look him up and thank him for being true to his word. I also wanted to tell him that it was really fine for him to stop sending me money every month.

I discovered that he had retired from the hotel and I was directed to his hut in a nearby contoured, thatch-roofed village that hugged the side of the hill near ‘Champagne Castle’.

I was sad to discover that the old man had passed away a number of months before. I also discovered that his wife, who was the sweetest old lady you could imagine, was still repaying her husband’s debt, and sending me one-rand twenty-five every month, even though he had died.

I told her not to worry, that the money was just a gift, and to please keep it for herself. She was very thankful. I gave her a little more money and got back into my car. As I drove away I gave thanks for having the good fortune of having met such humble, good people.

In my life I can only hope to have a fraction of the integrity, honesty, goodness and sincerety that the old man and his wife had.

Although they are long gone, and are merely grains of sand in the dust of time, I hope the echo of their absolute sinecerty and righteousness will travel from this site and reverberate through the ‘world-wide –web’ by virtue of their simple but powerful story.

“Iganekwane qhubeka funzelela phambili” – May their goodness survive and continue to inspire.

Posted by trevor at 05:00 PM | Comments (7)

May 29, 2005

The Last Time

May 30th is Memorial Day in the United States. With that in mind I am remembering my high school friend and fellow soldier ‘Howard Remington’ who was killed in combat on the South West Africa/Angola border in 1979.

Howard became one of my best friends in the seventh grade at King Edward the Seventh High School. We met outside the principal’s office where we were both awaiting a caning from the Headmaster Mr. Corbett (also known as ‘Mango’ for his bald head or 'Chrome Dome’ because it was rumored that he had a metal plate in his head from a war accident).

Howard and I were being punished for what Mr. Corbett called ‘unacceptable lewd mischief’. (We were both caught sniggering while looking up Mrs. Lombard’s dress as she walked up the stairs to her classroom.)

Howard and I went through high school together and both played in the same rugby team. We both started our military training at the same time but were assigned to different units. Howard to the infantry and I was assigned to the artillery.

I saw Howard occasionally during my military service mostly on Sunday nights at the Johannesburg train station from where most soldiers would leave to go back to their units after weekend passes.

I was fortunate enough to see Howard one Sunday before I was due to leave for Counter Insurgency training in Derdepoort and he was off to what was known as the ‘’Operational Area’. (The border between what is now called Namibia and Angola where South Africa was fighting against SWAPO freedom fighters.)

Howard was telling me about how he could not wait to get out of the army. He told me that his dream was to go back to the border one day and find a way to build some schools for the kids in that area. “They really need help,” he said. “They are so poor and it breaks my heart to see the little buggers suffer like that. They have got nothing. I mean they don’t even have shoes most of them. If we can help them with an education they will have a better future. That’s for sure.”

I’ll never forget shaking Howard’s hand and wishing him a safe trip. In my mind I still have the image of him walking away from me in slow motion and then turning and flashing one of his warm and mischievous grins over his shoulder as he got onto the train.

As the coach passed I saw him through the window. He smiled again and winked. Then he was gone.

I never saw Howard again.

He was killed on the border a few days later.

I really miss my friend today.

Posted by trevor at 09:13 PM | Comments (2)

May 28, 2005

FYI

Posted by trevor at 12:42 PM | Comments (2)

May 27, 2005

More Hope

My friend Tylor who is fighting a losing battle with cancer simply refuses to give up. This kid is a poster child for the word hope. One of my earlier blogs was about the power of hope and I'd like to share it once more in honor of every child in the world who might be suffering and in need of hope at this moment.

I was in the hospital visiting with a nine-year-old young man named Victor. Victor was dying of bone cancer. We were talking about life in general when Victor turned to me and said, "What's going to happen when I die?" I was about to answer him when his mother jumped off the chair and rushed over to the bed.

"You are not going to die," she yelled. "We have spent three hundred and fifty thousand dollars, which we don't have, to keep you alive. You will not die!"

"Okay," replied Victor. "I will not die. If you say so."

Ten minutes later his mother left the room and I turned to Victor. "We're all going to die one day," I said. "I'm going to die, my mom's going to die, and you’re going to die."

"I know that," said Victor. "I'm not stupid."

“Then what do you mean?” I asked.

“I want to know what’s going to happen when I die?” he said, calmly.

“Well, I believe people go to heaven,” I said. “Different religions believe different things, but I believe we go to heaven.”

“Yeah, me too,” said Victor, thoughtfully.

"Well," I said. "I'll tell you what. If you die from this disease and you're still a kid, when you get to heaven, ask for my grandfather; his name is Ted."

Victor looked at me as if I were crazy.

"My grandfather died many years ago, "I said. "But he was the most amazing guy. Everybody loved him and he was one of those grandfathers you just want to hug. I'm sure he's up there doing wonderful things, especially helping kids. Kids loved him. Just ask for him when you get there. He’ll get you checked in and I’m sure he’ll get you a good room. He knows a lot of people."

"But how will I find him?" yelled Victor. "About a thousand people died in the war. That's a lot of people up there you know."

"How about 12 million people died in the war," I muttered.

"That's worse," He yelled. “I'll never find him!"

"Relax, It’s okay," I said, calming him down. I tore a piece of paper out of my journal and drew a picture of my grandfather. I gave him the picture and watched a smile spread across his face.

“That’s my grandfather Ted,” I said, pointing to the picture. “He’s really nice. Memorize this picture so you’ll be able to find him when you get up there.”

"Thanks," said Victor. "I'll tell him you said hi."

"Tell him to come down here and spook a few people who owe me money," I said.

"No way," said Victor. "I'm not asking him that."

Victor took the picture of my grandfather and stuck it on the corkboard above his bed where all his get-well cards were pinned.

As the Doctor of Mischief I teased Victor and drove him nuts. Each time I went into his hospital room and messed with him, he threatened to tell my grandfather when he saw him.

Victor collected sports trading cards and I would pick up one of the cards and say, "Wow Victor, a Michael Jordan card. This guy is one heck of a soccer player."

He would get all red in the face and stammer, "He plays basketball. You're teasing me. I'm going to tell your grandfather when I see him, okay." And he'd point to the picture of my grandfather.

Every time I went into the room and teased him he would point to that picture of my grandfather.

Finally, when I walked into the room, he would point to that picture of my grandfather before I could even say a word.

I’m very sad to say Victor died 6 months later and his parents asked me to deliver the eulogy at his funeral.

I was honored to do so and planned to do a stand-up comedy style memorial 'celebrating' Victor's life instead of a eulogy mourning his death.

I was shocked when I got to the church because it was an open casket ceremony. I did not want to see Victor lying in his casket. I wanted to remember him pointing at the picture of my grandfather with his mischievous face.

I skirted around the coffin and went into the sanctuary.

The open coffin was wheeled in and placed alongside the pulpit. The priest delivered the sermon and asked me to deliver the eulogy.

I went up to the pulpit and eulogized my friend Victor, all the time trying not to look at him lying in the coffin alongside where I was standing.

I told the congregation about all the crazy things Victor had done during his battle with cancer, like putting a snake in the bedside table and scaring a nurse half to death.

I told them about the time Victor borrowed an idea from an Irma Bombeck book and put apple juice in his urine sample container. When the nurse came to collect the sample he said, "Look it's all milky" and he held up the bottle for the nurse to see.

"Sure is," she said, squinting at the container.

"Well I'd better pass it through again," he said, quickly opening the container and taking a sip.

The nurse screamed and Victor almost choked with laughter.

As I completed this story the congregation burst into uncontrollable giggles.

"Yup," I said. "Victor was one in a million. He changed the way I look at life and he changed the way I look at death."

Then without realizing it, I looked over at the coffin and I froze. In the coffin I saw Victor lying comfortably amongst a pile of satin pillows. He was dressed in a black tuxedo with a red bow tie. He looked so peaceful. He was lying with his hands resting on his chest and around him in his coffin were all his childhood toys.

His dad had polished up his baseball mitt, which lay on his stomach cradling a brand new baseball.

His collection of teddy bears sat along the edge of the coffin looking at him sadly.

His mom had ironed his softball outfit and it lay in the coffin clean and pressed.

I am so glad I glanced over at Victor because he looked so calm and comfortable. He did not appear sad or in pain.

Then suddenly my life changed, because Victor was lying in his coffin and in his hand he was holding the picture of my grandfather.

His mom came up to me after the funeral and told me I had done more for her son than three hundred and fifty thousand dollars because I had given him hope.

At that moment, I understood the power of hope. It also became plain and clear to me what a difference each and every one of us can make in someone else's life, often, without even realizing it.

Posted by trevor at 06:39 AM | Comments (7)

May 26, 2005

Not So Fast

So there I was being interviewed on national television last Tuesday morning. The interview was exciting and I felt like I was the king of the world. I was pumped. I mean, how often does one get to be on national television? I was picked up by a driver to come to the studio. I was pampered by a make-up artist. Hoo ha! I felt oh so important. (I forgot to mention that I was on the show for four whole minutes at six in the morning which made it five in the morning in Texas which made it three in the morning in California, which meant that maybe seventeen people actually even saw the show.)

Nevertheless I left the studios all important and ready to greet the throngs in New York City. I walked out of the building as the sun was rising. It had rained and steam rose lazily from the subway grates. The streets were empty except for a few garbage trucks and some yellow taxi cabs. There were no people around except for three homeless guys (who might not have been homeless but they looked like it) who were standing and watching the big screen television on the building behind me. The television was showing the program I had just been on. (There was no sound, just images.)

One of the men got up and shuffled quickly over to me. “Can I have your autograph?,” he said.

“Sure,” I said, signing the scrap of paper he gave me. Proud to give my first ever autograph in New York.

“Thank you,” he said.

“My pleasure,” I replied.

“By the way,” he said. “Who are you?”

Ah, the universe has such a wonderful way of humbling those who sometimes get a little too big for their boots.

Posted by trevor at 06:26 PM | Comments (7)

May 25, 2005

Storm and the Flower

Posted by trevor at 10:59 AM | Comments (5)

May 23, 2005

The One-Legged Maniac Returns

Posted by trevor at 10:29 AM | Comments (6)

May 22, 2005

De Pree

Last Thursday a friend of ours was having surgery. We went to the hospital to support both her and her husband during the operation.

As most people know, a hospital waiting room can be one of the most physically and mentally uncomfortable places in the world. It’s heartbreaking to see all the families huddled in corners waiting for news of their loved ones who are in surgery. The room always seems cold. The television is always too loud and the front desk is always empty. (Because the nurse who normally sits there is hiding in the back avoiding people who are going to ask her the same old questions she cannot answer.)

Thursday was no different. Until De Pree Jefferson arrived that is. The front desk was empty. The television was too loud. The room was filled with people slumped in chairs waiting. Hoping. Worrying. Including us. Our friend had been in surgery for quite a long time and I was a little concerned. Then De Pree walked into the room. His presence was like the sun rising on cold and damp morning.

De Pree carried a sheet of paper with him. He walked over to an elderly couple and put his hand on the old lady’s shoulder.

“Hello young lady. You daughter is doing fine,” he said. “I know that for a fact because she winked at me.” De Pree threw his head back and gave a hearty laugh. “She’s going to be just fine.” You could see the tension draining from the couple as he spoke.

He moved on to the next group.

“Your father still in surgery and the doctor gave me the thumbs up to pass on to you.” He said, consulting his sheet. The family sighed audibly. Their spirits were immediately lifted.

He patted the trembling hand of a fearful young wife and looked her directly in the eye. “You don’t have to wait any longer,” he said. “Your man is back in his room and he’s asking for you. I’ll take you back there in just a minute.”

Du Pree Jackson moved from family to family giving all of us updates. His radiant smile, reassuring words, warmth and compassion turned what I expected to be an anxious, fearful and long hospital visit into a truly comforting experience.

I can only imagine what a wonderful place this world would be if we all had but a fraction of this man’s ability to care for others.

Du Pree came out as his shift was ending to offer us some coffee from the fresh pot he had just brewed and to introduce us to Miss Maggie, who was taking over from him. How decent. How nice. How thoughtful. How extraordinary.

(There is obviously only one De Pree Jefferson, but every hospital in the world should offer a simple, comforting service for waiting families.)

I told De Pree how much his kindness meant to us and thanked him for what he does every day.

“Well, I worked in this hospital for 26 years,” he said. “Then I got the bone cancer. I’m okay now but I can’t do the job I did. So they let me do this job. I volunteered at first and they decided to pay me. It’s not a hard. It’s just a matter of being nice and carin’ a little for someone other than my own self. Most people are worried when someone they love has surgery. Some people are scared and some are really upset. They just want to know how it’s going. That’s all.”

Thank you De Pree Jefferson for being like a warm blanket on a miserable winter’s day.

“The majority of us lead quiet, unheralded lives as we pass through this world. There will most likely be no ticker-tape parades for us, no monuments created in our honor. But that does not lessen our possible impact, for there are scores of people waiting for someone just like us to come along; people who will appreciate our compassion, our unique talents. Someone who will live a happier life merely because we took the time to share what we had to give. It's overwhelming to consider how many opportunities there are for us to make a difference.” - Leo Buscaglia

Posted by trevor at 05:21 AM | Comments (6)

May 21, 2005

Notice

I will be in New York for the next few days to do some national media appearances for our video series and to have dinner with Danny Gregory and his wife Patti. (Danny wrote and illustrated an amazing book called Everyday Matters. Everyone should have a copy of this book on their shelves. Check out www.dannygregory.com. (Patti is going to change the world and has recruited me to help her.)

(I will be posting blog entries while I'm in the Big Apple but I will not be able to post your responding comments until I get back on Wednesday. If you feel like leaving a comment please do. I really appreciate comments as they help to keep me humble and connected to all of you. I will post comments as soon as I return to the Romain Domain midweek.)

Posted by trevor at 05:40 PM | Comments (2)

Follow Up

After my last blog entry I received dozens of e-mails asking me if I knew what happened to the little boy I wrote about. I do not. My unit was doing counter insurgency training at the time and we were moved back to my base in Potchefstroom shortly after that. As far as I can gather, the kids were taken back to their homes on the Angolan border after treatment. There was a civil war raging in Angola at the time, which made the country unsafe for travel until just recently.

The e-mails and the blog entry itself stirred up a lot of emotions about that time and got me thinking. (As you can see.)

I am now toying with the idea of taking a documentary film crew and trying to locate the young boy who would now be close to thirty years old. A mammoth task. I’ll keep you posted.

Posted by trevor at 08:38 AM | Comments (0)

May 19, 2005

This Is Why...

Many people have asked me what motivates and inspires me to do what I do. I wrote about it in one of my early blogs and because it’s buried way back there I thought I’d bring it out, dust it off, up-date it and re-write it as my answer:

It happened when I was in the army in South Africa. I was walking through a field hospital filled with kids from small rural villages who had been brought to a clinic for treatment from the army medical corps. The conditions were abysmal. There were almost six kids per bed, it was nauseatingly hot and there were flies everywhere, especially around the corners of the children’s eyes and mouths.

As I was walked down the center aisle I caught sight of a little boy who was about five years old sitting on the edge of one of the hospital beds. I looked into his huge brown eyes as I walked by and then noticed with shock that he had no legs. Instead I saw dirty bandages wrapped around two stumps. The boy had lost his legs in a landmine accident on the Angolan border.

As I walked by, the little boy put up his hands and said “Sir, can you please hold me.”

I will never forget the haunting look of sadness in his eyes. Huge tears rolled slowly down his cheeks and dropped to the floor, their significance lost in the dust and grime of war.

The Sergeant Major, who was walking alongside me, grabbed my arm and pulled me away from the child.

“Romain,” he grunted. “Leave him alone. Don’t get emotionally involved. We’re here for security, not child-care.”

As the Sergeant Major pulled me away the little boy, in a broken chocked-up whisper, spoke again. His voice tugged at me from behind.

“Sir, please, please can you just hold me?”

Something happened to me that moment that I will never forget. My life changed instantly. It felt like a hand came out of the sky, reached inside me, and flipped a switch that turned on my soul.

I pushed the Sergeant Major’s hand away, turned, walked back and picked up the little boy. I have never been held so tightly in my life. His trembling little body clung to me for all it was worth.

He put his head against my chest and he began to cry. His tears ran down my neck and inside my shirt. I held that little boy with my arms, my heart and my soul and every ounce of compassion in my being. I never wanted to let him go, ever.

I never have.

>From that second onwards I have dedicated my life to helping children. I have written over thirty books for kids, developed an animated self-help video series and given talks to thousands of children in many places in the United States and around the world.

Each and every time I feel overwhelmed, despondent or simply just want to give up, I hear the little boy’s voice echoing in my mind. “Sir, please, please can you just hold me?” When I hear that voice, and I remember holding the little boy’s trembling body, I am reminded that my mission in life is to reach out my hand to children who might need a little extra love and support as they deal with the challenges they face on a daily basis.

Posted by trevor at 07:10 PM | Comments (17)

May 18, 2005

One Man Show

Last year I was hounded and hounded and talked into giving weekly art lessons to a young ten year-old named Ashlin. His parents knew that I was dyslexic and heard me giving a talk at the dyslexic school here in Austin.

Five seconds after meeting Ashlin I said, “Okay I’ll do it.”

The kid is great. He has a cleft palate and gone through 12 surgeries so far. He is also dyslexic and attention span challenged like I am. But he SHINES! His enthusiasm and energy explode from the kid like a Super Nova in the night sky.

At first I was reluctant to give Ashlin art lessons. Mainly because I am a new artist myself and have never trained as an art teacher and I don’t know a bloody thing about teaching art. Besides, I am currently writing three books, working on a video series based on my books, and drinking loads of tea.

I shared my concerns with his parents and they said, “That’s okay. Just show him what you do.”

Well, we’ve been creating art for a year and Ashlin has taught me more about life and overcoming obstacles than I’ve taught him about art.

I must say his art has improved and blossomed. Mainly because I put on the music and tell him to paint what he feels. (All i really do is show him how NOT to splatter my ceiling and the nice hard-wood floor.)

I decided a few months ago that all great artists deserve an opportunity to show their work to the public. Ashlin’s work needed to be exhibited. So I arranged for his first One Man Show. This took place in my studio/gallery last weekend. I cleared out all of my work and hung Ashlin’s canvases. I then framed his smaller pieces and hung them on a side wall. His mother sent out invitations to friends and family inviting them to Ashlin’s show. His mum brought snacks and drinks and we turned the space into a “real” gallery.

The opening was brilliant. More than thirty people came to the event. Ashlin sold over $270 worth of art. (Mostly to his grandma. I hope she appreciates the bargain she got.)

It was heartwarming to see a kid (who hid behind his mop of curly hair and year ago) stand proudly in front of his art and explain the philosophy behind his work. Gone was his fear of people staring and whispering about his cleft palate and scars under his nose. (The pain and ridiculing he sometimes got at his last school now just a distant echo in the back of his mind.) His inhibitions and social fears were replaced with a beaming albeit crooked smile as he proudly displayed his colorful expressive work which, in essence, represents his outlook on life.

(I honestly believe being creative can add so much value to one’s life. From crafts to scrap-booking, quilting to sketching, woodworking to model-making, creativity touches a part of the soul that cannot be reached any other way.)

Ashlin said to me during his show, “This must be the best I’ve ever felt in my life. It’s so good to feel worthwhile. I feel valuable.” (I think he meant to say valued.)

I’m looking forward to my next session with Dr. Ashlin the Art Therapist. I can’t wait to see what I’m going to learn about life this week.

Posted by trevor at 02:19 PM | Comments (7)

May 16, 2005

Sad Girl

I was out having a cup of tea today and I noticed a sad girl sitting at the table next to me. On my way out I heard one of the employees of the coffee shop mention the girl and how miserable she was. “I’d hate to be her,” said the employee. “She is so damn grumpy. She needs more than caffeine. Just look at her. The girl needs some damn happy pills or something.”

An acquaintance of mine was also having coffee at the time. I saw her later and mentioned how I couldn’t shake the image of the sad girl from my mind.

“Yeah,” said my friend. “The poor girl is having a real hard time. Her brother was injured in Iraq. He lost his arm and I think he might have been blinded in one eye. Apparently he swam for Texas Tech. He’s being treated in Germany I believe and he’ll be back in the US in a couple of weeks.”

To the sad girl in the coffee shop, I hope and pray that your brother will have a speedy recovery. I’m sorry you are going through such a painful time. You and your family are in my prayers. (A few of us wanted to come over and see if you were okay, but you seemed to need your own space and we respect that. I hope you felt the group-hug we silently sent you.)

To the employee in the coffee shop, I hope and pray that the next gift you receive in your life is the gift of kindness and compassion.

Posted by trevor at 10:43 PM | Comments (7)

May 15, 2005

Another Light

Last Thursday my friend Tylor had two brain tumors removed. This is his 43rd surgery. Over 14 tumors have been removed from his brain alone. Unfortunately this time they were not able to remove a part of a malignant mass which has become entangled in the lining of his brain. The prognosis is not good at all.

Tylor is having excruciating pain in the stump of his amputated leg which might mean further amputation. He is also being put on a final last straw chemotherapy protocol next week whose side effects I won’t even mention, because a bright and happy 14 year old should not have to suffer like this poor kid is.

With all that is going on Tylor is still his usual positive, enthusiastic self. He called me a few minutes ago from his hospital room. This THREE days after brain surgery:

“Hey Trevor, guess what?”

“What buddy?”

“I made it. I didn’t die during my brain surgery.”

“I’m really happy about that.”

“You’re happy? We’ll I’m happier.”

“You’re my hero Tylor. I don’t know how you are able to stay so positive and upbeat. I mean dude, three days ago you had some guy messing around inside your brain like an auto mechanic under the hood of a car and you’re back to your old happy self.”

“Well being sad is boring. Feeling sad for myself makes me just want to give up. And I’m not going to give up until the end.”

“I don’t blame you.”

“Yep, I’ll only give up when I die.”

“Wow, Tylor, you’re a bloody philosopher, dude.”

“What’s a philosopher?”

“Actually I’m not one hundred-percent sure. But I think it a person who tries to understand the nature of life, or something like that.”

“I’m not one of them, I’m just one of me.”

“Well, whatever you are, you are one of a kind, Tylor.”

“You too.”

“Me?”

“Yeah. There is only one St. Doofus.”

“Who?”

“My family calls you St. Doofus. You’re a doofus and funny and you are kind to people.”

“Wow, I’ve been called a little devil before, but I’ve never been called a saint.”

“Well, my mom says you are.”

“A devil?”

“No a saint, doofus.”

“Why does she say that? “

“Because you don’t mind helping a kid who is falling apart.”

(That’s when I fell apart and continued the conversation with silent, streaming tears, my heart breaking for this incredible human being.)

Many people have asked me why I choose to work with kids who stand a good chance of dying. Why I open myself to the pain, anguish and sadness that goes with the territory. My conversation with Tylor today says it all. Kids who have suffered like Tylor, TJ, Audrey, Vicki, Dana, Alex and Victor have positively changed my world and they continue to change it every day. They have altered the way I look at life. They have altered the way I look at death. These kids realize the importance of every wasted minute. They abide by a simple but effective philosophy: "If you're going through hell, don't stop!”

I have noticed that all of these kids have one thing in common. They all seem to seize life, magnify it and enjoy it for all it is worth. I have heard them laugh. I have felt them cry. I have seen them die. They continue to renew my faith in the Founder and the sheer power and strength of the human spirit.

Soldier on Tylor!

Posted by trevor at 01:18 PM | Comments (4)

May 14, 2005

A Moment In Time

I came across one of my journals today filled with entries written the weeks after 9/11. I was in such shock I don’t even remember most of what I had written at the time. I sat and read the entire journal from cover to cover. I’d like to share one particular entry because I believe we can always find a ‘yes’ in every mess.

22/11: A Matter of Moments

The old watch-repair store was empty except for a customer, a petty thief and the storekeeper. The storekeeper happily served his customer while a thief, who was browsing, got ready to serve himself.

A loud uncomfortable rumble in the distance raised the thief's head. Within seconds, the rumble erupted into a terrifying roar that engulfed the store and shook it like a dog might shake its toy.

The building bucked against the eruption. Fine crystal ornaments, once caressed and massaged by curious fingers, suddenly toppled from the shelves and shattered into a million shards of unfriendly glass upon the concrete floor.

Outside, New York City writhed in pain, crippled by a gaping hole in her side. The city howled so loudly, people clear across the planet could hear her.

Propelled by sheer terror, the storekeeper and the customer rushed outside. The thief, always an opportunist, hesitated and grabbed the gold pocket-watch the customer had placed on the counter for repair. Then he too, ran from the store.

Outside, the thief was greeted with a breaking wave of dust and debris from the collapsing Twin Towers. The force knocked him off his feet. He scrambled under a car for safety. He waited for an eternity for the dust to settle.

It still hasn’t.

Finally, he crawled out from under the car. What he saw made him cover his face in horror. He thought his eyes were deceiving him. He rubbed them in disbelief. Nothing was moving. The world seemed to have stopped in its tracks. He heard no sound except for an erie wind.

Panicking, he looked around. Hundreds of dust-covered, horrified people running toward him were frozen in time. They had expressions of sheer terror on their faces. They were in mid-stride, motionless. He yelled for help, but his cries fell upon statue-like ears.

Fear forced the thief to run. He ran past a bewildered mother who was now a crouching sculpture protecting her baby from the blast.

A firefighter, fearlessly rushing toward the danger was now a memorial to his fallen brothers.

The thief ran until he could run no more. He collapsed outside his apartment and crawled past the stone-still doorman who was not going to give him any trouble today.

He sat in his apartment and cried. He cried until he had no tears left. Then he heard it. The ticking of the watch.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the stolen timepiece. He watched it tick. He watched it for hours. It was the only thing other than his beating heart that moved in the entire city.

He stared endlessly at the watch. For some reason he thought about the words the judge had said to him before his last incarceration.

"After speaking with your family I have come to understand that you're an intelligent human being," said the Judge. "A philosopher and a poet. You can roll your eyes as much as you like, son, but it won't stop me from trying to understand your constant need to destroy a perfectly good life by stealing, abusing, violating and obliterating everything in your path. My God! There are dying people out there who would cherish the life you are throwing away. They would crawl across the floor and gather up your wasted time like starving beggars looking for scraps under a banquet table. Across the world there are people who pray every day for a few extra moments so they may live a little longer. They would do anything to have the precious sands of time you carelessly allow to fall through your fingers.”

“I promise, I’ll change,” said the thief.

“I don’t know if you have it in you,” said the judge. “But you can think about it for the next six months.”

The judge’s words echoed in his head as the thief turned the watch over and over in his trembling hands.

His gaze drifted from the watch and he looked out of the window. Suddenly the thief realized he was in hell.

He jumped up and rushed out of the door. He ran down the stairs and past the doorman. He ran down the street passing the fireman, the policeman and the mother with her child all still frozen in their tracks. He ran until he reached the watch repair store.

The storekeeper and an old man were standing at the register, frozen in conversation.

The thief pulled out the watch and placed it on the counter exactly where he found it.

The instant he released the watch, the world began to move again. The old man came to life and reached over and picked up the watch.

Lights seemed to flash in the thief’s head. He felt dizzy and completely disoriented. He shut his eyes.

When he opened his eyes again, the scene outside the window had changed completely. The debris from the collapsed towers was gone and people were going about their business.

“The World Trade Center,” muttered the thief, pointing out of the store’s window to ground zero where the Twin Towers had once stood.

“Can you believe it’s been six months?” said the storekeeper.

The old man marveled at the gold pocket watch. “I’m glad you could fix it,” he said, smiling at the storekeeper.

"It's beautiful isn't it?" said the old man turning and showing the watch to the thief. "It belonged to my son. My father passed it down to me and I passed it down to my son. He was a firefighter. He died when the second tower collapsed. He brought the watch in here to be repaired just a few minutes before he rushed down the road into the building.”

The old man's bottom lip began to quiver. He looked up at the thief. "I'm going to give the watch to my son's boy. He’ll be born next week. With his father gone, I figure it's the only way the child will ever have time with his dad. Heart-breaking, isn't it?"

The thief glanced down, unable to face the worn blue eyes that looked right through him.

"I went with my daughter-in-law to the doctor today," said the old man, lifting the watch to his ear. "I heard the baby's heartbeat. You know something? It sounded just like this watch."

The thief smiled. He felt his own heart beating powerfully in his chest. He found himself putting his hand on the old man's shoulder.

"The beat goes on," said the thief, smiling. "People die, but love does not. It is just transferred from one heart to another. Through this watch love will be passed from your son to your grandson."

"Yes it will," said the old man.

The thief patted the old man on the shoulder and walked out of the store into his own future.

Posted by trevor at 10:07 AM | Comments (2)

May 12, 2005

Small Is Big

So many people say to me, “I wish I could do something great with my life.” Or, “I wish I could collect enough money to build twenty orphanages in Pakistan.” Someone actually said to me today, “I want to make a big difference or I don’t want to do anything at all.”

We often forget, myself included, that sometimes the smallest difference can have the biggest impact. We don’t need a mammoth mission in life to do something incredible with our time here on earth. Being a good friend, a great parent, showing compassion, being a good listener and even simply just being there for someone who is scared and lonely can have a huge impact.

Not everyone is destined to be Mother Theresa or Nelson Mandela but so many people feel that their life will be of little value unless they do something on a large scale. This is not true. Often it comes down to one act of kindness, one word of encouragement, one expression of gratitude, or one act of determination. Small things are important because they often have big results.

It reminds me of a story my mum once shared with me about a beautiful new church that was built somewhere in Europe. People came from far and wide to marvel at its magnificence.

On the roof, a little nail heard the people praising everything about the lovely edifice except the nail. No one even knew he was there. He became so disillusioned that he decided to quit. So he let go of his hold, slid down the roof and fell into the mud. That night it rained heavily and the shingle that had no nail blew away, and the roof began to leak. The water streaked the walls. The plaster began to fall, the carpet was ruined and the prayer books got so soaked they were unusable. All because a little nail didn't realize the big difference it made.

Posted by trevor at 04:29 PM | Comments (5)

May 11, 2005

The Fine Art of Conversation

I am sketching in the local coffee shop. Conversations abound. There are few things in this world more uplifting, comforting and exciting than a wonderful, meaningful, heart-warming conversation.

“Anything that’s human is mentionable, and anything that is mentionable can be more manageable. When we can talk about our feelings, they become less overwhelming, less upsetting, and less scary. The people we trust with that important talk can help us know that we are not alone.” Mister (Fred) Rogers

“That is the happiest conversation where there is no competition, no vanity, but a calm, quiet interchange of sentiments.” - Samuel Johnson

Posted by trevor at 03:03 PM | Comments (2)

May 10, 2005

The Light

Vicki was absolutely beautiful. Even while she was hounded by cancer and tormented by chemotherapy, her awesome beauty radiated from within. (The picture above was taken two weeks before she died. She was fourteen years old.)

Vicki once told me she wanted to be a model. I knew she was close to the end of her life and being a model was one dream that would probably not come true for her. Or could it? I called my friend Randal Alhadeff (a wonderful photographer) and asked him if he would help. He certainly did.

We brought the photographic equipment to the hospital and turned Vicki’s room into a real photographic studio. There were wires and lights and cameras and reflectors and people all over the room.

That afternoon, we took a series of stunning and memorable pictures, including the one above. It was amazing. Here was a child, hooked up to machines, totally nauseated from chemotherapy, and still running the show, making sure that nothing in the world was going to take the moment from her.

In the middle of the photo session, a nurse came in to give Vicki a round of medicine. The picture taking was interrupted while Vicki was medicated through a tube that went directly into her heart. The nurse wasn’t very happy that day and her attitude reflected it. As the nurse was about to walk over to the bed, Vicki looked up and said,” Err, excuse me. Mind leaving your bad mood outside?”

Vicki’s mom Liz and I laughed so hard we almost collapsed. Even the nurse cracked a smile.

Sometimes when I feel grumpy or down and find myself taking it out on other people, I think of Vicki. She had every right in the world to be miserable and downright depressed, but she always found time to smile and make the most of the moment.

I hope thousands of people will get to see your picture,” I said after the shoot.

“Then I’ll be one of those people who only becomes famous after they’re dead,” she said grinning.

“You’ll be famous.” I said.

“Promise,” she said imitating a pout like a spoiled model.

“ I Promise.”

Well Vicki, because of this here blog, I might be able to keep my promise to you. My web site is read by a number of really cool people. I hope those who visit my site today will share this story with others so that you can become a lot more famous than you ever thought possible.

The more people who know about you, the better the world will be. Your light continues to shine. I hope it illuminates the path for those who might be walking in darkness today.

Posted by trevor at 02:32 PM | Comments (26)

May 09, 2005

Comfort Zone

It was a rainy Monday like today. I was lying on my bed reading when I heard my mum sobbing. I tiptoed into the hallway and listened to my mother and father speaking.

My father had lost his job.

“What are we going to do?” said my mother, in tears.
“Well,” said my dad. “Firstly, we’re going to have dinner, then we’ll have dessert…”
“C’mon,” said my mom, chuckling.
“We’re going to wait for the rain to stop and then I’ll start looking for another job tomorrow?”
“Oh my God,” said my mother.
“We’re going to get through this,” said my dad.
“Got any ideas?” said my mum.
“Yup,” said my dad, “There's an opening for an assistant Industrial Arts teacher at Trevor’s school…”

I could not contain myself. I rushed around the corner and stood in front of my parents. I was more concerned about what I was going to tell my friends than about my dad losing his job.

“What am I going to tell my friends?” I asked.

“Mmm,” said my dad. “Let’s see. Why not tell them that …yeah…that your dad lost his job.”

“But they’ll think were going to be poor,” I yelled.

“It’s okay Trev,” said my dad, pointing to his heart. “Because we’re rich in here. And being rich in here is worth more than having a big house and a big car.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Being rich inside means that you care about people, that you have respect for yourself, that you have courage and that you can laugh when times are tough.”

(I knew deep down that my dad was scared and worried, but he really made us feel safe and secure. His demeanor and great attitude truly helped us to weather the storm.)

“A setback is a setup for a comeback,” said my dad. “We might have to tighten our belts, but we’ll be okay. Nobody is dead and we’re all healthy thank God. After all it’s only money.”

My dad put his arms around me and said, “ Trev, It doesn’t matter how much money we have or don’t have, I will always love you, care for you and respect you. I will never let you down my boy.”

My dad hugged me for the longest time. I can still feel the steady beat of his kind heart, the rhythm of his breath and the warmth of his caring hands on my shoulders.

My dad was true to his word until the day he died.

It took my dad months to finally land the job at King Edward School. They paid him next to nothing and it was tough and sometimes embarrassing, but we managed to get by.

Although I wore my sneakers clean through and I could not have the material things I wanted, my dad and I did get to eat our sandwiches together on the stone wall surrounding the rugby field at King Edwards for almost a year. The memories of us sitting under the magnificent oak trees and chatting during break is worth more than any amount of money in the world. If faced with the same situation, I would honestly choose the same circumstances again. The time I had with my dad was worth its weight in gold. The stress of not having money actually brought the family closer together. Those tough times were actually some of the best times.

Thanks to my dad, I have always been aware that money and acquisitions cannot bring ultimate happiness. Magazine and television advertisements keep telling us that ‘things’ will make us happy, content and secure. On the contrary, no money or possessions in the world can take away loneliness, heal emotional pain or fill our emptiness. It doesn’t matter what we have in the end. What really matters is how we care about each other. How we support those who are afraid, lonely and desperate, even if we feel the same way ourselves.

Posted by trevor at 10:52 AM | Comments (7)

May 07, 2005

Writer's Blog

Posted by trevor at 08:58 PM | Comments (3)

May 06, 2005

How To Remember...

There are so many wonderful experiences that I have enjoyed in my life, but have forgotten over the years. That’s where the Moleskin journal comes in. I try to keep a record of things that mean something to me on paper. It’s amazing what you forget over time. It’s also amazing how a sketch or a few scribbled notes will help you to remember. You don’t have to be a brilliant writer or an accomplished artist to keep either a written or visual journal. Stick figures with annotations will trigger memories you would otherwise have forgotten.

I have recorded most of my trips back to Africa in my Moleskin journals and each little picture is the ‘start’ button to many memories that I always want to remember.

The sketches above are from a small village called Morgan Bay in South Africa. The mother in the bigger sketch, Pamela, is the wife of my friend Ben, an Australian. Ben turned this small South African town upside down by marrying Pamela, who was a servant working at the hotel where Ben tended bar. This was a first in the town where most white people and their African neighbors don’t mix socially.

I saw another side of life in South Africa thanks to Pamela and Ben. Not the life you see in the wonderful resort brochures featuring five star hotels and smiling people drinking cocktails with umbrellas in them. I saw the life of the people who serve the cocktails. The warm and friendly African staff who actually form the ‘heart’ of most of these resorts. I saw how an extremely poor community still manages to find rhythm and joy within poverty.

I had the privilege of spending many wonderful afternoons in the village where the family live. The hours I spent sitting on an apple crate and drawing in the dusty unpaved streets was an incredible experience. The little village kids would crowd around and watch the strange white man drawing pictures everywhere he went. They would grin from ear to ear with their beautiful pearl white teeth as they peered over my shoulder to see what I was drawing. “Draw me. Draw me,” they would sing, dancing in front of me.

Ah. What a pleasure to flip through my Africa Journal #5 and enjoy some of the most inspiring times I can remember.

Posted by trevor at 10:43 AM | Comments (2)

May 05, 2005

Listen Hear

I fear that instant gratification is becoming a disease among young people. I overheard a conversation between two teenage boys recently that piqued my interest. They were rather loud and I could not help overhearing what they were saying. I must admit I did become enthralled by their banter and I turned into a genuine eavesdropper. It went something like this:

“I’m going to be rich, dude.”

“How you gonna do it?”

“I’m going to have my own business.”

“Oh yeah. What business?”

“I don’t know but it’s going to be successful, that I can tell you.”

“Uh-huh. Are you going to study business, like at school?”

“No way. That’s a waste of time. You can’t learn how to make money studying. You just gotta do it. What about you?”

“I’m going to be a rap star. Check it out. Gold chains. A Hummer, blin-bling up the wazoo. Good lookin’ women. Yup. I’m gonna rap me up some big bucks.”

“What are you going to call yourself?”

“M.C. Dallah.”

“M.C. Dallah. What the hell is that?”

“You know Dallah. Like dollar. You know a dollar bill? Like Fifty Cent calls himself Fifty Cent. Me, I’m gonna be MC Dallah.”

“But dude, you don’t even know a thing about rapping. You can’t even play an instrument. And remember what happened to Vanilla Ice, the other white rapper? And Milli Vanilli?”

“Who are they?”

“I don’t know. Some lame group my mom used to listen to. They lip-synched all their music.”

“Yeah but I’m different. I’m serious about this. I’m not gonna worry about none of that blah-blah about paying your dues crap. That’s out man. I’m going to be an instant success. Just add water so my boat can come in, dude. If Ashley Simpson can make it, so can I. What about “Fifty Cent”? He’s a millionaire rapper and he knows nothin’. He’s a gangster. Dude, it’s not rocket science.”

“How are you gonna do it. I mean, where do you start?”

“I’m gonna register my name. Set me up some turntables and ‘bang’. I’m gonna make it. All you gotta do is get mentally ready and sit back and wait for your ship to come in, dude. It’s just a mental thing. Build it and they will come, man”

I had to smile to myself. I remember having dreams about being rich when I was a kid, but somehow I knew it wasn’t going to be that easy.

There are so many people who sit and wait for their big break to come. They just sit back and wait to be discovered. Very few of them ever achieve success.

Willie Jollie (an incredible speaker) says in his book “It Only Takes A Minute To Change Your Life,” - “ I remember my days as a nightclub performer and how I was always waiting for my big break, waiting to be discovered. I had always heard people say, “Just keep singing, sing real hard and one day someone will give you a break!” I kept waiting for my break, but it never came. Then I started learning that success is a choice, not a chance. I learned that the best way to grow your future is to grow yourself. I started a program of self-development and I decided I was no longer going to wait for my breaks…I was going to make my breaks. I had a choice, I could continue to wait for my ship to come in or I could swim out to it. I decided to swim out to it, and I am so glad I did because some of my friends are still standing on the pier, waiting. Jonathan Winters said, “I kept waiting for success, but it didn’t come, so I just went on without it.”

I’m glad that the two boys I overheard exude confidence and have goals and dreams. Dreaming is essential, but I believe that each and every dream must have its roots firmly planted in reality; otherwise it will drift off into the universe and be hard to hold on to. (That’s just my opinion though. Which I shouldn’t even be giving, because I wasn’t invited to join their conversation. I was eavesdropping, and that’s not a very nice thing to do.)

A preemptive note to my mum who is certain to comment on this blog entry: “But mum, they were speaking so loudly I couldn’t help…yes I should mind my own business.”

Posted by trevor at 10:07 AM | Comments (8)

May 04, 2005

The Perfect Gift

This morning I woke up and realized that today is a blessed, pristine, blank white canvas upon which I get to paint the next picture in the ‘rest-of-my-life’ series. What a gift!

Posted by trevor at 01:56 PM | Comments (3)

May 03, 2005

Honest Answers

I was searching through some files today and came across the following questions and answers. Leave it to kids to tell you exactly how they feel. I took the liberty of presenting it in a comic strip format. The source is unknown. (The resemblance to any child living or dead is purely coincidental.)

Posted by trevor at 06:22 PM | Comments (4)

May 02, 2005

Honor

My first ever ‘Blog Roll of Honor’ Award goes to an awesome young chap named Donald Lobello.

Donald’s story is remarkable:

I met Donald when he was a young lad of two. He had come to Johannesburg to visit his mum who worked for my mum. (It is customary in many South African communities for young mothers to leave rural villages and work in the big city. The offspring of the mothers are left in the care of the village elders. In principal this sounds wonderful. Kids living in rural villages, cared for, nurtured and taught by grandparents. But in reality it does not work. The kids live in little huts and sleep on dirt floors. They have no indoor plumbing and have to haul water from the river to bathe and cook. And that’s just the beginning. Some kids as young as 4 years old walk three or four miles to school. They all wear school uniforms but cannot afford shoes. Unfortunately, because of lack of finances, most kids leave school by the time they are fourteen to work on the farms or in the factories.

Donald was one of these kids.

I saw Donald over the years after I left South Africa when I went to visit my mum and he was visiting his mum for the holidays. Donald was a very shy kid, and could not speak English. It often took me days, but finally I was able to get Donald to smile and we would draw together. Donald is an incredible artist.

Five years ago when Donald was about ten, we approached his mum and asked her about Donald’s schooling. She told me she wanted Donald to live with her and go to school, but there was not enough money. I knew this because as a domestic worker Mercy (Donald’s mum) earned a pittance. (His father and mother are not married and dad only appears on the scene every now and then.)

We investigated the possibility of Donald attending school in Johannesburg, but were told that he had to speak English before that could happen. So, we enrolled Donald in an English class in the little town of Mafikeng near where he lived.

We made a commitment to Donald that if he passed the English class and promised us he’d try his best at school that we would pay his education and living costs until he completed high school

Donald worked really hard and after a year passed the English class. His grade was not great but good enough to get him into a school in Johannesburg. So Donald went to live with his mum at my mum's house. (They live in a couple of rooms in the back.) It was amazing. Donald actually went to the very same primary school that I did. He was one of the first black kids to go to Linksfield School, which was an all white school before the elections and change of government in South Africa. (That is another story I’m sure I’ll write about in the future.)

I am happy to say that Donald totally embraced his new opportunities and after a very rough start has exceeded all expectations. It was hard for him at first. Life in the city is so different, but Donald never gave up.

This year Donald lost his little brother Lebo who was only two years old (as mentioned in my blog dated January 12, 2005).

Despite the rough road and so many obstacles, Donald has been given my Blog ‘Roll of Honor’ Award because not only did he place first in his class this last semester at Highlands North Boys High School, but he received three honors prizes for his academic work. He is also the under sixteen cross country champ and recently won the 800 and 16,000 meter races at the inter school track meet. Donald plays cricket and rugby although he is quite small for his age. (Actually his heart is bigger than his whole body.) He is also a member of Interact (Junior Rotary).

Some of Donald’s friends who have had similar opportunities have not done so well. I am told that a number of them have been arrested for burglary and drug offences. Some of the older kids in Donald’s village are HIV positive and two have died of AIDS this year.

Donald tells me he is going to be a doctor so he can help sick people in Africa.

I am really proud of Donald and extremely pleased to honor this remarkable young man on my blog!

My Blog ‘Roll of Honor’ Compassion Award goes to Tylor Lauck. Tylor’s mum told me that during their recent trip to California, the family visited the Hollywood Walk of Fame . Tylor (who has lost a leg to cancer and was actually on vacation carrying a portable chemotherapy IV pack) was approached by a homeless man. The man asked if Tylor could spare some change. Tylor reached into his pocket and handed the man a few dollars. “It’s not much, but I hope it will help,” said Tylor. (Money is extremely tight for the Lauck family due to their immense medical bills for Tylor’s treatment, so his act of giving is especially meaningful.) Tylor's mom laughed at the fact that a homeless man approached a one legged boy for money. What a world we live in.

Finally, I'd like to honor my wonderful little friend Audrey, who passed away 6 years ago yesterday. Five year-old Audrey was the first child I ever met with cancer. Her charm, big eyes, warm heart and extra-large grin will never be forgotten.

I am blessed to have Donald, Tylor and Audrey as a reminder of how some people can be wonderful human beings and do amazing things despite incredible odds.

Posted by trevor at 07:26 PM | Comments (4)

May 01, 2005

Right Here, Right Now

Today was a beautiful spring day. This morning I went for a run on the hike and bike trail and afterwards sat talking with some friends and acquaintances. My godson Oz was playing nearby. I became distracted and found myself watching Oz as he enjoyed every moment in the rich morning light. I was amazed at his ability to be in the 'now'. To enjoy the morning for all it was worth. He was not thinking about the future.

When did we forget how to wallow in every single amazing moment? At what age did it all change? When did ‘now’ become a ‘waiting room’ for something better to happen?

It was wonderful to watch Oz playing like there was no tomorrow while the adults around him we’re busy talking about what they need, in the future, to make them happy.

One person talked about how a new truck will certainly bring him out of his depression.

And Oz played on. Now he was a fireman. Then he was a hunter.

Someone else talked about how she refuses to travel for fear of another terrorist attack, even though she has a free ticket to London. And besides, she’s only going to go when she loses ten pounds.

And Oz played on. Now he was a lion. Then he was a wrestler.

A friend talked about the book he was going to write once his kid got out of school.

And Oz played on. Now he was a superhero. Then he was himself. Then he was hungry and a slice of apple did the trick.

Another person said she will never be happy until she finds the perfect man. (She has been married four times.)

And Oz played on. Now he was a policeman. Then he was a cowboy.

Watching him was surely a gift from the universe reminding me to unhook myself from tomorrow's conveyor belt, and swath myself in today. A gift that reminds me to enjoy what I have. To be thankful for the daily blank canvas I call my life and the colorful opportunities that are my paint.

And Oz played on.

Then everyone rushed off toward tomorrow leaving me to enjoy the lush spring blooming all around me. I closed my eyes and lifted my face toward the sun, letting its warm hands caress my skin. I opened my eyes to the sound of infectious laughter. It was Oz. He was running through another group of people. They scowled at him as ran.

And Oz played on. Now he was a plane flying with outspread arms between the people. His face flushed with glee his heart pounding with excitement fuelled with moment after glorious moment of sheer life.

"Yesterday is history. Tomorrow is a mystery. And today? Today is a gift. That's why we call it the present." ~Babatunde Olatunji

"God made the world round so we would never be able to see too far down the road." ~Isak Dinesen

Posted by trevor at 08:44 PM | Comments (6)