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October 31, 2007

I was at the Children’s Hospital in Austin last night visiting some kids in the oncology wing. One of the nurses reminded me of the time I was sitting in a room with an amazing young lady named Megan Stento. Nine year-old Megan was losing her battle with cancer (even though this young softball champion had her leg amputated to try and stop the disease).

I remember it so clearly. We were chatting about a book I had written which I was going to dedicate to Megan and her heroic struggle.

Megan was really excited about having a book dedicated to her.

Just then the hospital priest Father Richard came into the room on his daily visit and interrupted our conversation.

“Megan looked up at Father Richard and without skipping a beat said, “I’m not dead yet. Come back next week.”

We all laughed so hard including both Megan and Father Richard who exited the room post haste.

Posted by trevor at 12:26 PM | Comments (0)

October 30, 2007

I forget most of the things that happen in my life. That’s where my journals come in. I often scribble a little note to remind me of an experience or an interaction that I would like to remember and learn from. There are so many thoughts, ideas and memories that would have been lost in time had I not written them down.

I was flipping though an old notebook today and was reminded of an incident I had almost forgotten:

It happened shortly after terrorists attacked the World Trade Center. I was traveling to Washington and I had a layover in Dallas. At the airport I saw a family of Pakistani’s sitting in the terminal. They looked totally distraught.

The mother and father sat hand in hand and looked as if they might burst into tears at any minute. Their three kids played at their feet.

I sat nearby and sketched in my journal.

The oldest child, who seemed to be around eight, hovered around where I was sitting and seemed inquisitive about what I was drawing.

“This is my sketching journal,” I said. “This is how I stop myself from being totally bored. Would you like to see the drawings?”

The little girl looked over at her parents for approval and they both nodded. I moved over to where the family was sitting showed them my journal.

“You’re a good drawer,’ said the little girl.

“Thanks,” I said. “I bet you’re a good artist?”

“I am,” she said.

I gave her a piece of paper and some markers and she sat on the floor and began to draw with her little brother and sister looking on.

“Where are you guys from?” I said.

The both looked sheepish as the husband answered softly, “Pakistan. But we’ve been here for 23 years. We’re American.”

“Pakistan has a pretty good cricket team,” I said, smiling.

“The best,” said the father. “Except for maybe the South African team.”

“Now you’re talking,” I said, proudly. “I’m originally from South Africa.”

The ice was broken.

We talked for sometime and then something awful happened.

Two men in their early twenties walked by wearing baseball caps.

One of the men looked over at the family and said. “Friggin’ arabs. Go home. We don’t want you here.”

The other man nodded and gave his buddy a high five. They mumbled something inaudible and walked away.

“This happens all the time,” said the father, looking like he might cry. “It’s sad.”

The little girl, who was drawing, glanced up at her parents with a worried look.

Her mother smiled gently and said, “It’s okay Mina. Those men are ignorant. I told you before, some people think we are from the same place as those men who made the towers fall, and they blame us for what happened. They are scared, Mina, and when people are scared they sometimes say awful things to help themselves fell stronger. It’s okay baby. Don’t worry.”

The little girl, satisfied with her mother’s explanation, went back to drawing.

I was so touched by the warmth, love and support the family had for each other, and how they handled the situation, especially considering that they were on their way to New York to attend the funeral of their cousin, a firefighter of Pakistani origin, who died bravely attempting to rescue people in the World Trade Center.

Posted by trevor at 02:39 PM | Comments (0)

October 28, 2007

I awoke one night as a little boy and went looking for my father for comfort from a nightmare I had. I found him in our little front garden lying on his back on the grass and looking up at the clear night sky.

I told him about my nightmare. He invited me to lie with him.

With his strong arms around me, we both looked up at the sky.

Neither of us said anything for a while. He just rocked me and I snuggled into him for comfort.

I don’t think I ever felt safer in my life.

I wanted it to last forever.

“Don’t go away daddy,” I said, holding him tightly.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said, pulling me closer to his chest.

“But what happens if you die?” I asked.

“I plan on staying a live for a long time,” he said, smiling.

“But what if you do?” I urged.

“See the stars?” he said pointing up into sky.

“Uh huh.” I replied.

“Remember I showed you those three stars in a row that make up Orion’s Belt,” he said pointing to the three bright stars Alnitak, Alnilam and Mintaka that form a straight line in the Orion constellation.

“Yeah.”

“Well, see the star in the middle of the three.”

Uh huh,” I said.

“I’m going to give you that star as a gift,” he said. “And no matter where I am you can always look up at the star and trace a line from that star directly to me. And I will do the same. When I look up at the star, I will be able to connect to you no matter where you are.”

I smiled.

“Nobody will ever be able to take that star away from you,” he said, pointing at the best gift I have ever received. “And it will be there for the rest of my life and all of yours.”

I looked up at the star and felt a wonderful warmth flow though my heart.

Although I am now living in America, far from my South African home where my father first pointed out my gift, I still feel connected to him via the star.

It’s probably my imagination but, as the anniversary of my dad’s death approaches, the star seems to be getting brighter and brighter.

Posted by trevor at 09:20 PM | Comments (0)

October 24, 2007

While running around the lake this morning I saw a bunch of geese which reminded of an entry I made in my journal some time ago.

I wrote about an old lady who lives in our neighborhood.

The old lady is mean. Real mean. I saw her yell and swat a little kid with a broom the other day because he went to get his ball in her yard. The kid was petrified. You should have seen his eyes.

She deflates the tires of people who park their cars outside her house.

The old lady is mean. Real mean. She complains to the police if someone in the neighborhood has a party that continues after 8:30 at night.

The old lady is mean. Real mean. She probably has posters of Scrooge (in his pre-nice era) and Mean Mr. Mustard, hanging in her house.

I don’t think she has smiled since we won World War Two.

Not until today.

I saw her down at the park on Town Lake walking her mean little dog this morning. (Her dog growls and snaps at everyone and everything in sight. Even unsuspecting bushes that vaguely resemble people.)

This morning the mean old lady was scowling at some kids who were feeding the local gaggle of geese with breadcrumbs.

Suddenly one of the geese chased the group of kids who ran off giggling excitedly. One of the kids was rather slow and the goose managed to nip him on the backside. The kid shrieked and burst into the most delightful, hearty laugh as he ran into his mum’s arms.

It was so cute that everyone around found themselves smiling.

Even the mean old lady.

Granted, it was only a 1.7 second smile that was framed by a scowl that could probably crack open an oyster at twenty paces.

Never the less it was a smile.

And I saw it.

I hope and pray she gets to enjoy a few more of those this holiday season.

Posted by trevor at 01:03 PM | Comments (0)

October 21, 2007

I didn’t realize that the little granny sitting next to me was praying until I saw the mala (prayer beads) in her hand. I thought she was speaking to herself but she was in fact praying. I was sitting on a bench outside the Royal Orchid Hotel in Guam waiting for a taxi. I had just finished my USO tour doing stand-up comedy for kids on military bases on the island and was getting ready to fly back to the United States.

The little granny opened her eyes and caught me looking at her.

I smiled.

She smiled back.

“I pray,” she said.

I nodded. “Can you tell God hello from me?” I said, smiling.

“It’s better if you tell him yourself,” she said, handing me the string of beads. “His message machine is full.”

She patted my hands and smiled.

I took the beads and closed my eyes.

They were still warm from being clutched in her gnarly, worn hands.

I picked up my internal phone, dialed up the heavens and had a delightful chat with my Maker.

While I was in that area code, I had a quick word with a number of friends and family who live in the same heavenly neighborhood. I spoke to my late father, my grandma, my grandfather, my childhood friend Howard who died while we were in the army, one of my favorite girlfriends Babette, who passed away from an asthma attack, and Tylor, Vicki, Megan, Alex and some of the other kids I knew who died of cancer.

Boy it felt good to connect with them all.

While my eyes were closed I felt the granny gently take the rosary from my hands.

Again she patted my hands warmly.

I smiled and a short time later opened my eyes.

The granny was gone. I looked around. She was nowhere in sight. The seat beside me was empty.

But my heart was full.

I love meeting angels when I least expect to.

Posted by trevor at 10:55 AM | Comments (0)

October 15, 2007

I am currently away with the USO talking to children at Ramstein Air Base in the rural district of Kaiserslautern, Germany. I will be back with new stories to tell Monday!

Posted by trevor at 10:27 AM | Comments (0)

October 04, 2007

Found in a fortune cookie: "Be kind, for eveyone you meet is fighting their battle too."

Posted by trevor at 01:05 PM | Comments (0)

October 01, 2007

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. I don’t want to waste my time on small piddly stuff.”

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, a compassionate bystander, 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.

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 01:46 PM | Comments (0)