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Subj:     Tear Jerker3 stories
                 (Includes 9 jokes and articles, 12970n,3,cf,wXT2a,1)

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Stainglass Window
from
KarmaStorm
Includes the following: Peter Pan Proposes To Wendy - Video (S888)
........................Breakfast At McDonald's... (S255b)
........................The Yellow Shirt (S502c)
........................Joel Burns Tells Gay Teens "It Gets Better" - Video (S717)
........................Bruce Vincent Meets President Bush (S404)
........................Being A Waitress At The Big Wheel (S359)
........................Ann Margaret And The Vet (S322b)
........................Bob Welsh - My Christmas Eve Poem - Video (S832d)
........................Daddy's Pink Rose (S277, S601b)
........................Meeting Kyle In High School (S270e, S656)
........................Something For Stevie (S239, S656b)

Also see TEAR JERKER1 - 'Awful-looking old man knocks at the door'
......................- 'Reflections of the Vietnam Wall'
===========================================================Top
Subj:     Peter Pan Proposes To Wendy (S888d)
          Posted by Scottish Daily Record on 1/14/2014
 Source1: http://www.youtube.com/embed/1NOzkyhA-aQ
 Source2: http://www.wimp.com/proposesstage/
.
.....
.
.....Romantic Sandor Sturbl stunned the audience and his girl-
.....friend as he popped the question to Scots co-star Lilly-
.....Jane Young as they performed at the Hydro in Glasgow.  It
.....was the ultimate fairytale ending -- Peter Pan proposing
.....to Wendy on stage.  Click 'HERE' for to see this proposal.

Top
Subj:     Breakfast At McDonald's... (S255b)
          From: jtgalvan on 12/18/2001

 I am a mother of three (ages 14, 12, 3) and have recently
 completed my college degree.  The last class I had to take
 was Sociology.  The teacher was absolutely inspiring with
 the qualities that I wish every human being had been graced
 with.

 Her last project of the term was called "Smile."  The
 class was asked to go out and smile at three people and
 document their reactions.  I am a very friendly person and
 always smile at everyone and say hello anyway, so, I thought
 this would be a piece of cake, literally.

 Soon after we were assigned the project, my husband, youngest
 son, and I went out to McDonald's one crisp March morning.
 It was just our way of sharing special play time with our son.
 We were standing in line, waiting to be served, when all of a
 sudden everyone around us began to back away, and then even
 my husband did.

 I did not move an inch ...  an overwhelming feeling of panic
 welled up inside of me as I turned to see why they had moved.
 As I turned around I smelled a horrible "dirty body" smell,
 and there standing behind me were two poor homeless men.

 As I looked down at the short gentleman, close to me, he was
 "smiling".  His beautiful sky blue eyes were full of God's
 Light as he searched for acceptance.  He said, "Good day" as
 he counted the few coins he had been clutching.  The second
 man fumbled with his hands as he stood behind his friend.

 I realized the second man was mentally challenged and the
 blue eyed gentleman was his salvation. I held my tears as I
 stood there with them.  The young lady at the counter asked
 him what they wanted.  He said, "Coffee is all Miss" because
 that was all they could afford.  (If they wanted to sit in
 the restaurant and warm up, they had to buy something.  He
 just wanted to be warm).

 Then I really felt it - the compulsion was so great I almost
 reached out and embraced the little man with the blue eyes.
 That is when I noticed all eyes in the restaurant were set
 on me, judging my every action.

 I smiled and asked the young lady behind the counter to give
 me two more breakfast meals on a separate tray.  I then
 walked around the corner to the table that the men had chosen
 as a resting spot.  I put the tray on the table and laid my
 hand on the blue eyed gentleman's cold hand.

 He looked up at me, with tears in his eyes, and said, "Thank
 you.."  I leaned over, began to pat his hand and said, "I
 did not do this for you.  God is here working through me to
 give you hope."

 I started to cry as I walked away to join my husband and son.
 When I sat down my husband smiled at me and said, "That is
 why God gave you to me, Honey.  To give me hope."

 We held hands for a moment and at that time we knew that
 only because of the Grace that we had been given were we
 able to give.

 We are not church goers, but we are believers.  That day
 showed me the pure Light of God's sweet love.

 I returned to college, on the last evening of class, with
 this story in hand.  I turned in "my project" and the
 instructor read it.  Then she looked up at me and said,
 "Can I share this?"   I slowly nodded as she got the
 attention of the class.  She began to read and that is when
 I knew that we as human beings and being part of God, share
 this need to heal people and to be healed.

 In my own way I had touched the people at McDonald's, my
 husband, son, instructor, and every soul that shared the
 classroom on the last night I spent as a college student.
 I graduated with one of the biggest lessons I would ever
 learn:

 UNCONDITIONAL ACCEPTANCE.

 Much love and compassion is sent to each and every person
 who may read this and learn how to LOVE PEOPLE AND USE
 THINGS - NOT LOVE THINGS AND USE PEOPLE.

 Many people will walk in and out of your life, but only
 true friends will leave footprints in your heart.

 To handle yourself, use your head.  To handle others, use
 your heart.  God Gives every bird it's food, but He does
 not throw it into it's nest.

Top
Subj:     The Yellow Shirt (S502c)
          From: Glorybbabi on 8/31/2006

 The baggy yellow shirt had long sleeves, four extra-large
 pockets trimmed in black thread and snaps up the front.  It
 was faded from years of wear, but still in decent shape.  I
 found it in 1963 when I was home from college on Christmas
 break, rummaging through bags of clothes Mom intended to give
 away.  "You're not taking that old thing, are you?" Mom said
 when she saw me packing the yellow shirt.  "I wore that when
 I was pregnant with your brother in 1954!"

 "It's just the thing to wear over my clothes during art class,
 Mom.  Thanks!"  I slipped it into my suitcase before she could
 object.  The yellow shirt be came a part of my college wardrobe.
 I loved it.  After graduation, I wore the shirt the day I moved
 into my new apartment and on Saturday mornings when I cleaned.

 The next year, I married.  When I became pregnant, I wore the
 yellow shirt during big-belly days.  I missed Mom and the rest
 of my family, since we were in Colorado and they were in Illinois.
 But that shirt helped.  I smiled, remembering that Mother had
 worn it when she was pregnant, 15 years earlier.

 That Christmas, mindful of the warm feelings the shirt had given
 me, I patched one elbow, wrapped it in holiday paper and sent it
 to Mom.  When Mom wrote to thank me for her "real" gifts, she
 said the yellow shirt was lovely.  She never mentioned it again.

 The next year, my husband, daughter and I stopped at Mom and
 Dad's to pick up some furniture.  Days later, when we uncrated
 the kitchen table, I noticed something yellow taped to its
 bottom.  The shirt!

 And so the pattern was set.

 On our next visit home, I secretly placed the shirt under Mom
 and Dad's mattress.  I don't know how long it took for her to
 find it, but almost two years passed before I discovered it
 under the base of our living-room floor lamp.  The yellow
 shirt was just what I needed now while refinishing furniture.
 The walnut stains added character.

 In 1975 my husband and I divorced.  With my three children, I
 prepared to move back to Illinois.  As I packed, a deep
 depression overtook me.  I wondered if I could make it on my
 own.  I wondered if I would find a job.  I paged through the
 Bible, looking for comfort.  In Ephesians, I read, "So use
 every piece of God's armor to resist the enemy whenever he
 attacks, and when it is all over, you will be standing up."

 I tried to picture myself wearing God's armor, but all I saw
 was the stained yellow shirt.  Slowly, it dawned on me.  Was
 not my mother's love a piece of God's armor?  My courage was
 renewed.

 Unpacking in our new home, I knew I had to get the shirt back
 to Mother.  The next time I visited her, I tucked it in her
 bottom dresser drawer.

 Meanwhile, I found a good job at a radio station.  A year
 later I discovered the yellow shirt hidden in a rag bag in
 my cleaning closet.  Something new had been added.  Embroidered
 in bright green across the breast pocket were the words "I
 BELONG TO PAT."

 Not to be outdone, I got out my own embroidery materials and
 added an apostrophe and seven more letters.  Now the shirt
 proudly proclaimed, "I BELONG TO PAT'S MOTHER."  But I didn't
 stop there.  I zig-zagged all the frayed seams, then had a
 friend mail the shirt in a fancy box to Mom from Arlington, VA.
 We enclosed an official looking letter from "The Institute for
 the Destitute," announcing that she was the recipient of an
 award for good deeds.  I would have given anything to see Mom's
 face when she opened the box.  But, of course, she never
 mentioned it.

 Two years later, in 1978, I remarried.  The day of our wedding,
 Harold and I put our car in a friend's garage to avoid practical
 jokers.  After the wedding, while my husband drove us to our
 honeymoon suite, I reached for a pillow in the car to rest my
 head.  It felt lumpy.  I unzipped the case and found, wrapped
 in wedding paper, the yellow shirt.  Inside a pocket was a note:
 "Read John 14:27 -29.  I love you both, Mother."

 That night I paged through the Bible in a hotel room and found
 the verses:  "I am leaving you with a gift: peace of mind and
 heart.  And the peace I give isn't fragile like the peace the
 world gives.  So don't be troubled or afraid.  Remember what I
 told you: I am going away, but I will come back to you again.
 If you really love me, you will be very happy for me, for now
 I can go to the Father, who is greater than I am.  I have told
 you these things before they happen so that when they do, you
 will believe in me."

 The shirt was Mother's final gift.  She had known for three
 months that she had terminal Lou Gehrig's disease.  Mother
 died the following year at age 57.

 I was tempted to send the yellow shirt with her to her grave.
 But I'm glad I didn't, because it is a vivid reminder of the
 love-filled game she and I played for 16 years.  Besides, my
 older daughter is in college now, majoring in art.  And every
 art student needs a baggy yellow shirt with big pockets.

Top
Subj:     Joel Burns Tells Gay Teens "It Gets Better"
          From: Rebecca Champion on Facebook
          on 10/14/2010 (S717d in Gay-Supp)
 Source: http://www.youtube.com/embed/ax96cghOnY4

 Fort Worth City Councilman Joel Burns reaches out to GLBT
 teens with a personal story and a message of hope.  Click
 'HERE' to see the video.  You will cry before the end of
 this wonderful, touching true story.

Top
Subj:     Bruce Vincent Meets President Bush (S404)
          From: jbcary1 on 10/23/2004

 Bruce Vincent is the Executive Director of Provider Pals,
 a nation-wide urban/rural youth exchange program based in
 Montana.  He was the recipient of a Preserve America
 Presidential Award, presented to him by the president in
 the White House. This is his account of an extraordinary
 moment between him and President Bush that occurred at the
 end of the presentation.  I invite you to send this on to
 friends who may benefit from knowing the kind of man
 America is blessed with to have as her president. - JW

 Stepping into the Oval Office, each of us [the awardees]
 was introduced to the President and Mrs.  Bush. We shook
 hands, received our awards with photo op and participated
 in informal conversation.

 He and the First Lady were asked about the impact of the
 Presidency on their marriage and, with an arm casually
 wrapped around Laura, he said that he thought the place
 may be hard on weak marriages but that it had the ability
 to make strong marriages even stronger and that he was
 blessed with a strong one.

 He noted that it would be a mistake to come to the Oval
 Office and entertain a mission to "find yourself."  He
 said that with all of the pressures and responsibilities
 that go with the job, you'd best know who you are when
 you put your nameplate on the desk in the Oval Office.
 He said he knows who he is and now America has had four
 years to learn about who he is.

 When we departed the I said to him, "Mr. President, I
 know you to be a man of strong faith and have a favor to
 ask you."  As he shook my hand he looked me in the eye
 and said, "Just name it."

 I told him that my step-Mom was at that moment in a
 hospital in Kalispell, Montana, having a tumor removed
 from her skull and it would mean a great deal to me if
 he would consider adding her to his prayers that day.
 He grabbed me by the arm and took me back toward his
 desk as he said, "So that's it. I could tell that
 something is weighing heavy on your heart today.  I
 could see it in your eyes. This explains it." From the
 top drawer of his desk he retrieved a pen and a note
 card with his seal on it and asked, "How do you spell
 her name?" He then jotted a note to her while discussing
 the importance of family and the strength of prayer.

 When he handed me the card, he asked about the surgery
 and the prognosis. I told him we were hoping that it is
 not a recurrence of an earlier cancer and that if it is
 they can get it all with this surgery. He said, "If it's
 okay with you, we'll take care of the prayer right now.
 Would you pray with me?" I told him yes and he turned to
 the staff that remained in the office and hand motioned
 the folks to step back or leave. He said, "Bruce and I
 would like some private time for a prayer."

 As they left he turned back to me and took my hands in
 his. I was prepared to do a traditional prayer stance
 -- standing with each other with heads bowed.  Instead,
 he reached for my head with his right hand and pulling
 gently forward, he placed my head on his shoulder. With
 his left arm on my mid-back, he pulled me to him in a
 prayerful embrace. He started to pray softly. I started
 to cry.

 He continued his prayer for Loretta and for God's perfect
 will to be done. I cried some more. My body shook a bit
 as I cried and he just held tighter. He closed by asking
 God's blessing on Loretta and the family during the coming
 months. I stepped away from our embrace, wiped my eyes,
 swiped at the tears I'd left on his shoulder, and looked
 into the eyes of our President. I thanked him as best I
 could and told him that me and my family would continue
 praying for he and his.

 I've read Internet stories about the President praying
 with troops in hospitals and other such uplifting
 accounts. Each time I read them I hope them to be true
 and not an Internet perpetuated myth.

 This one, I know to be true. I was there. He is real. He
 has a pile of incredible stuff on his plate each day -
 and yet he is tuned in so well to the here and now that
 he 'sensed' something heavy on my heart. He took time out
 of his life to care, to share, and to seek God's blessing
 for my family in a simple man-to-man, father-to-father,
 son-to-son, husband-to-husband, Christian-to-Christian
 prayerful embrace.

 He's not what I had hoped he would be. He is, in fact,
 so very, very much more.

Top
Subj:     Being A Waitress At The Big Wheel (S359)
          From: Imogenelumen on 12/13/2003

 In September 1960, I woke up one morning with six hungry
 babies and just just 75 cents in my pocket.  Their father
 was gone.  The boys ranged fro m three months to seven years;
 their sister was two.  Their Dad had never been much more
 than a presence they feared.  Whenever they heard his tires
 crunch on the gravel driveway they would scramble to hide
 under their beds.  He did manage to leave $15 a week to buy
 groceries.

 Now that he had decided to leave, there would be no more
 beatings, but no food either.  If there was a welfare system
 in effect in southern Indiana at that time, I certainly knew
 nothing about it.  I scrubbed the kids until they looked
 brand new and then put on my best homemade dress. loaded
 them into the rusty old 51 Chevy and drove off to find a job.

 The seven of us went to every factory, store and restaurant
 in our small town.  No luck. The kids stayed crammed into
 the car and tried to be quiet while I tried to convince
 whomever would listen that I was willing to learn or do
 anything.  I had to have a job.  Still no luck.  The last
 place we went to, just a few miles out of town, was an old
 Root Beer Barrel drive-in that had been converted to a truck
 stop.  It was called the Big Wheel.

 An old lady named Granny owned the place and she peeked out
 of the window from time to time at all those kids.  She
 needed someone on the graveyard shift, 11 at night until
 seven in the morning.  She paid 65 cents an hour and I could
 start that night.  I raced home and called the teenager down
 the street that baby-sat for people.  I bargained with her
 to come and sleep on my sofa for a dollar a night.  She
 could arrive with her pajamas on and the kids would already
 be asleep.  This seemed like a good arrangement to her, so
 we made a deal.

 That night when the little ones and I knelt to say our
 prayers, we all thanked God for finding Mommy a job.  And
 so I started at the Big Wheel.  When I got home in the
 mornings I woke the baby-sitter up and sent her home with
 one dollar of my tip money--fully half of what I averaged
 every night.

 As the weeks went by, heating bills added a strain to my
 meager wage.  The tires on the old Chevy had the consistency
 of penny balloons and began to leak.  I had to fill them
 with air on the way to work and again every morning before
 I could go home.

 One bleak fall morning, I dragged myself to the car to go
 home and found four tires in the back seat.  New tires!
 There was no note, no nothing, just those beautiful brand
 new tires.  Had angels taken up residence in Indiana?  I
 wondered.

 I made a deal with the local service station.  In exchange
 for his mounting the new tires, I would clean up his
 office.  I remember it took me a lot longer to scrub his
 floor than it did for him to do the tires.

 I was now working six nights instead of five and it still
 wasn't enough.  Christmas was coming and I knew there
 would be no money for toys for the kids.  I found a can
 of red paint and started repairing and painting some old
 toys.  Then I hid them in the basement so there would be
 something for Santa to deliver on Christmas morning.
 Clothes were a worry too.  I was sewing patches on top of
 patches on the boys pants and soon they would be too far
 gone to repair.

 On Christmas Eve the usual customers were drinking coffee
 in the Big Wheel.  These were the truckers, Les, Frank,
 and Jim, and a state trooper named Joe.  A few musicians
 were hanging around after a gig at the Legion and were
 dropping nickels in the pinball machine.  The regulars
 all just sat around and talked through the wee hours of
 the morning and then left to get home before the sun came
 up.

 When it was time for me to go home at seven o'clock on
 Christmas morning I hurried to the car.  I was hoping the
 kids wouldn't wake up before I managed to get home and
 get the presents from the basement and place them under
 the tree. (We had cut down a small cedar tree by the side
 of the road down by the dump.)

 It was still dark and I couldn't see much, but there
 appeared to be some dark shadows in the car-or was that
 just a trick of the night?  Something certainly looked
 different, but it was hard to tell what.  When I reached
 the car I peered warily into one of the side windows.
 Then my jaw dropped in amazement.  My old battered Chevy
 was filled full to the top with boxes of all shapes and
 sizes.  I quickly opened the driver's side door, scrambled
 inside and kneeled in the front facing the back seat.

 Reaching back, I pulled off the lid of the top box.  Inside
 was whole case of little blue jeans, sizes 2-10!  I looked
 inside another box:  It was full of shirts to go with the
 jeans.  Then I peeked inside some of the other boxes:
 There was candy and nuts and bananas and bags of groceries.
 There was an enormous ham for baking, and canned vegetables
 and potatoes.  There was pudding and Jell-O and cookies,
 pie filling and flour.  There was a whole bag of laundry
 supplies and cleaning items.  And there were five toy
 trucks and one beautiful little doll...

 As I drove back through empty streets as the sun slowly
 rose on the most amazing Christmas Day of my life, I was
 sobbing with gratitude.

 And I will never forget the joy on the faces of my little
 ones that precious morning.

 Yes, there were angels in Indiana that long-ago December.
 And they all hung out at the Big Wheel truck stop.

Top
Subj:     Ann Margaret And The Vet (S322b)
          From: JBCARY1 on 3/28/2003

 You may enjoy reading this story... attached is a copy of
 the story about a Viet Nam vet and Ann Margaret as told
 by the vet's wife.

 Richard, (my husband), never really talked a lot about his
 time in Viet Nam other than he had been shot by a sniper.
 However, he had a rather grainy, 8 x 10 black ? white photo
 he had taken at a USO show of Ann Margaret with Bob Hope in
 the background that was one of his treasures.  A few years
 ago, Ann Margaret was doing a book signing at a local book-
 store.  Richard wanted to see if he could get her to sign
 the treasured photo so he arrived at the bookstore at 12
 o'clock for the 7:30 signing.

 When I got there after work, the line went all the way
 around the bookstore, circled the parking lot, and
 disappeared behind a parking garage.  Before her appearance,
 bookstore, employees announced that she would sign only her
 book and no memorabilia would be permitted.  Richard was
 disappointed, but wanted to show her the photo and let her
 know how much those shows meant to lonely GI's so far from
 home.

 Ann Margaret came out looking as beautiful as ever and, as
 2nd in line, it was soon Richard's turn.  He presented the
 book for her signature and then took out the photo.  When
 he did, there were many shouts from the employees that she
 would not sign it.  Richard said, "I understand. I just
 wanted her to see it". She took one look at the photo,
 tears welled up in her eyes and she said, "This is one of
 my gentlemen from Viet Nam and I most certainly will sign
 his photo.  I know what these men did for their country
 and I always have time for "my gentlemen".  With that, she
 pulled Richard across the table and planted a big kiss on
 him.  She then made quite a to-do about the bravery of the
 young men she met over the years, how much she admired
 them, and how much she appreciated them.

 There weren't too many dry eyes among those close enough
 to hear.  She then posed for pictures and acted as if he
 was the only one there.  Later at dinner, Richard was very
 quiet.  When I asked if he'd like to talk about it, my big
 strong husband broke down in tears.  "That's the first time
 anyone ever thanked me for my time in the Army", he said.

 That night was a turning point for him.  He walked a little
 straighter and, for the first time in years, was proud to
 have been a Vet.  I'll never forget Ann Margaret for her
 graciousness and how much that small act of kindness meant
 to my husband.  I now make it a point to say Thank You to
 every person I come across who served in our Armed Forces.
 Freedom does not come cheap and I am grateful for all those
 who have served their country.  If you'd like to pass on
 this story, feel free to do so.  Perhaps it will help
 others to become aware of how important it is to acknowledge
 the contribution our service people make.

 With global circulation... this may reach Jane Fonda

Top
Subj:     Bob Welsh - My Christmas Eve Poem (S832d)
          From: rfslick on 12/19/12 (in Chris-Supp)
Photo from YouTube.com...
 Source1: http://www.youtube.com/embed/WxjZB5S_g7s
 Source2: http://www.youtube.com/embed/PLerLCES03g

 Ohio Highway Patrol Officer Bob Welsh recites his original
 poem 'My Christmas Eve.'  Bob uniquely weaves his stories
 into prose.  His Christmas Eve experiences are not pretty,
 but they are very touching, and a real tear jerker.  Click
 'HERE' to hear the story of Bob's life.

Top
Subj:     Daddy's Pink Rose (S277, S601b)
          From: RFSlick on 5/21/2002
      and From: tom on 7/17/2008

 Get your kleenex out....You're going to need it!

 Her hair was up in a pony tail,
 her favorite dress tied with a bow.
 Today was Daddy's Day at school,
 and she couldn't wait to go.

 But her mommy tried to tell her,
 that she probably should stay home.
 Why the kids might not understand,
 if she went to school alone.

 But she was not afraid;
 she knew just what to say.
 What to tell her classmates
 of why he wasn't there today.

 But still her mother worried,
 for her to face this day alone.
 And that was why once again,
 she tried to keep her daughter home.

 But the little girl went to school,
 eager to tell them all.
 About a dad she never sees,
 a dad who never calls.

 There were daddies along the wall in back,
 for everyone to meet.
 Children squirming impatiently,
 anxious in their seats.

 One by one the teacher called,
 a student from the class.
 To introduce their daddy,
 as seconds slowly passed.

 At last the teacher called her name,
 every child turned to stare.
 Each of them was searching,
 for a man who wasn't there.

 "Where's her daddy at?"
 she heard a boy call out.
 "She probably doesn't have one,"
 another student dared to shout.

 And from somewhere near the back,
 she heard a daddy say,
 "Looks like another deadbeat dad,
 too busy to waste his day."

 The words did not offend her,
 as she smiled up at her Mom.
 And looked back at her teacher,
 who told her to go on.

 And with hands behind her back,
 slowly she began to speak.
 And out from the mouth of  a child,
 came words incredibly unique.

 "My Daddy couldn't be here,
 because he lives so far away.
 But I know he wishes he could be,
 since this is such a special day.

 And though you cannot meet him,
 I wanted you to know.
 All about my daddy,
 and how much he loves me so.

 He loved to tell me stories,
 he taught me to ride my bike.
 He surprised me with pink roses,
 and taught me to fly a kite.

 We used to share fudge sundaes,
 and ice cream in a cone.
 And though you cannot see him,
 I'm not standing here alone.

 'Cause my daddy's always with me,
 even though we are apart
 I know because he told me,
 he'll forever be in my heart"

 With that, her little hand reached up,
 and lay across her chest.
 Feeling her own heartbeat,
 beneath  her favorite dress.

 And from somewhere in the crowd of dads,
 her mother stood in tears.
 Proudly watching her daughter,
 who was wise beyond her years.

 For she stood up for the love
 of a man not in her life.
 Doing what was best for her,
 doing what was right.

 And when she dropped her hand back down,
 staring straight into the crowd.
 She finished with a voice so soft,
 but its message clear and loud.

 "I love my daddy very much,
 he's my shining star.
 And if he could, he'd be here,
 but heaven's just too far.

 You see he was a fireman
 and died just this past year
 When airplanes hit the towers
 and taught Americans to fear.

 But sometimes when I close my eyes,
 it's like he never went away."
 And then she closed her eyes,
 and saw him there that day.

 And to her mother's amazement,
 she witnessed with surprise.
 A room full of daddies and children,
 all starting to close their eyes.

 Who knows what they saw before them,
 who knows what they felt inside.
 Perhaps for merely a second,
 they saw him at her side.

 "I know you're with me Daddy,"
 to the silence she called out.
 And what happened next made believers,
 of those once filled with doubt.

 Not one in that room could explain it,
 for each of their eyes had been closed.
 But there on the desk beside her,
 was a fragrant long-stemmed pink rose.

 And a child was blessed, if only for a moment,
 by the love of her shining bright star.
 And given the gift of believing,
 that heaven is never too far

 Life is short.... Enjoy the important things.

Top
Subj:     Meeting Kyle In High School (S270e, S656)
          From: RFSlick on 4/5/2002
      and From: Thomas.Bonina on 1/31/2005

 One day, when I was a freshman in high school, I saw a kid
 from my class was walking home from school.  His name was
 Kyle.  It looked like he was carrying all of his books.  I
 thought to myself, "Why would anyone bring home all his
 books on a Friday?  He must really be a nerd."

 I had quite a weekend planned (parties and a football game
 with my friends tomorrow afternoon), so I shrugged my
 shoulders and went on.  As I was walking, I saw a bunch of
 kids running toward him.  They ran at him, knocking all his
 books out of his arms and tripping him so he landed in the
 dirt.  His glasses went flying, and I saw them land in the
 grass about ten feet from him.  He looked up and I saw this
 terrible sadness in his eyes.

 My heart went out to him.  So, I jogged over to him and as
 he crawled around looking for his glasses, and I saw a tear
 in his eye.  As I handed him his glasses, I said, "Those
 guys are jerks.  They really should get lives." He looked
 at me and said, "Hey thanks!"  There was a big smile on his
 face.  It was one of those smiles that showed real gratitude.

 I helped him pick up his books, and asked him where he lived.
 As it turned out, he lived near me, so I asked him why I had
 never seen him before.  He said he had gone to private school
 before now.

 I would have never hung out with a private school kid before.
 We talked all the way home, and I carried some of his books.
 He turned out to be a pretty cool kid.

 I asked him if he wanted to play a little football with my
 friends.  He said yes.  We hung out all weekend and the more
 I got to know Kyle, the more I liked him, and my friends
 thought the same of him.

 Monday morning came, and there was Kyle with the huge stack
 of books again.  I stopped him and said, "Boy, you are gonna
 really build some serious muscles with this pile of books
 everyday!"  He just laughed and handed me half the books.

 Over the next four years, Kyle and I became best friends.
 When we were seniors, we began to think about college.  Kyle
 decided on Georgetown, and I was going to Duke.  I knew that
 we would always be friends, that the miles would never be a
 problem.  He was going to be a doctor, and I was going for
 business on a football scholarship.

 Kyle was valedictorian of our class.  I teased him all the
 time about being a nerd. He had to prepare a speech for
 graduation.  I was so glad it wasn't me having to get up
 there and speak.

 Graduation day, I saw Kyle.  He looked great.  He was one
 of those guys that really found himself during high school.
 He filled out and actually looked good in glasses.  He had
 more dates than I had and all the girls loved him.  Boy,
 sometimes I was jealous.

 Today was one of those days. I could see that he was
 nervous about his speech.  So, I smacked him on the back
 and said, "Hey, big guy, you'll be great!"  He looked at
 me with one of those looks (the really grateful one) and
 smiled. "Thanks," he said.

 As he started his speech, he cleared his throat, and began.
 "Graduation is a time to thank those who helped you make it
 through those tough years.  Your parents, your teachers,
 your siblings, maybe a coach...but mostly your friends. I
 am here to tell all of you that being a friend to someone
 is the best gift you can give them.  I am going to tell
 you a story."

 I just looked at my friend with disbelief as he told the
 story of the first day we met.  He had planned to kill
 himself over the weekend.  He talked of how he had cleaned
 out his locker so his Mom wouldn't have to do it later
 and was carrying his stuff home.  He looked hard at me and
 gave me a little smile.

 "Thankfully, I was saved. My friend saved me from doing the
 unspeakable."

 I heard the gasp go through the crowd as this handsome,
 popular boy told us all about his weakest moment.  I saw
 his Mom and dad looking at me and smiling that same
 grateful smile. Not until that moment did I realize it's
 depth.

 Never underestimate the power of your actions.  With one
 small gesture you can change a person's life.  For better
 or for worse.

 God puts us all in each other's lives to impact one another
 in some way.  Look for God in others.

 "Friends are angels who lift us to our feet when our wings
 have trouble remembering how to fly."

 There is no beginning or end..Yesterday is history.

 Tomorrow is mystery.

 Today is a gift.

Top
Subj:     Something For Stevie (S239, S656b)
          From: RFSlick on 8/25/2001

 Hi to all,
 If this doesn't make you cry nothing will.
 This is a long one but worth every minute . . .

 I try not to be biased, but I had my doubts about hiring
 Stevie.  His placement counselor assured me that he would
 be a good, reliable busboy.

 But I had never had a mentally handicapped employee and
 wasn't sure I wanted one.  I wasn't sure how my Customers
 would react to Stevie.  He was short, a little dumpy with
 the smooth facial features and thick-tongued speech of
 Down syndrome.

 I wasn't worried about most of my trucker customers because,
 truckers don't generally care who buses tables as long as
 the meatloaf platter is good and the pies are homemade.
 The four-wheeler drivers were the ones who concerned me; the
 mouthy college kids traveling to school; the yuppie snobs
 who secretly polish their silverware with their napkins for
 fear of catching some dreaded "truckstop germ"; the pairs
 of white shirted business men on expense accounts who think
 every truckstop waitress wants to be flirted with.

 I knew those people would be uncomfortable around Stevie so
 I closely watched him for the first few weeks.  I shouldn't
 have worried.  After the first week, Stevie had my staff
 wrapped around his stubby little finger, and within a month
 my truck regulars had adopted him as their official truck-
 stop mascot.  After that, I really didn't care what the
 rest of the customers thought of him.

 He was like a 21-year-old in blue jeans and Nikes, eager to
 laugh and eager to please, but fierce in his attention to
 his duties.  Every salt and pepper shaker was exactly in
 its place, not a bread crumb or coffee spill was visible
 when Stevie got done with the table.  Our only problem was
 persuading him to wait to clean a table until after the
 customers were finished.  He would hover in the background,
 shifting his weight from one foot to the other, scanning
 the dining room until a table was empty.

 Then he would scurry to the empty table and carefully bus
 dishes and glasses onto cart and meticulously wipe the
 table up with a practiced flourish of his rag.  If he
 thought a customer was watching, his brow would pucker
 with added concentration. He took pride in doing his job
 exactly right, and you had to love how hard he tried to
 please each and every person he met.

 Over time, we learned that he lived with his mother, a
 widow who was disabled after repeated surgeries for cancer.
 They lived on their Social Security benefits in public
 housing two miles from the truckstop.  Their Social worker,
 who stopped to check on him every so often, admitted they
 had fallen between the cracks.  Money was tight, and what
 I paid him was probably the difference between them being
 able to live together and Stevie being sent to a group
 home.

 That's why the restaurant was a gloomy place that morning
 last August, the first morning in three years that Stevie
 missed work.  He was at the Mayo Clinic in Rochester
 getting a new valve or something put in his heart.  His
 social worker said that people with Down syndrome often
 had heart problems at an early age so this wasn't
 unexpected, and there as a good chance he would come
 through the surgery in good shape and be back at work in
 a few months.

 A ripple of excitement ran through the staff later that
 morning when word came that he was out of surgery, in
 recovery and doing fine.  Frannie, my head waitress, let
 out a war hoop and did a little dance in the aisle when
 she heard the good news.  Belle Ringer, one of our regular
 trucker customers, stared at the sight of the 50-year-old
 grandmother of four doing a victory shimmy beside his
 table.  Frannie blushed, smoothed her apron and shot Belle
 Ringer a withering look.

 He grinned. "OK, Frannie, what was that all about?" he
 asked.  "We just got word that Stevie is out of surgery
 and going to be okay."

 "I was wondering where he was. I had a new joke to tell
 him.  What was the surgery about?"  Frannie quickly told
 Belle Ringer and the other two drivers sitting at his
 booth about Stevie's surgery, then sighed.  "Yeah, I'm
 glad he is going to be OK," she said, "but I don't know
 how he and his Mom are going to handle all the bills. From
 what I hear, they're barely getting by as it is."

 Belle Ringer nodded thoughtfully, and Frannie hurried off
 to wait on the rest of her tables.  Since I hadn't had
 time to round up a busboy to replace Stevie and really
 didn't want to replace him, the girls were busing their
 own tables that day until we decided what to do.

 After the morning rush, Frannie walked into my office. She
 had a couple of paper napkins in her hand a funny look on
 her face.  "What's up?" I asked.

 "I didn't get that table where Belle Ringer and his friends
 were sitting cleared off after they left, and Pony Pete and
 Tony Tipper were sitting there when I got back to clean it
 off" she said. "This was folded and tucked under a coffee
 cup."

 She handed the napkin to me, and three $20 bills fell onto
 my desk when I opened it.  On the outside, in big, bold
 letters, was printed "Something For Stevie."

 "Pony Pete asked me what that was all about," she said,
 "so I told him about Stevie and his Mom and everything,
 and Pete looked at Tony and Tony looked at Pete, and they
 ended up giving me this." She handed me another paper
 napkin that had "Something For Stevie" scrawled on its
 outside.  Two $50 bills were tucked within its folds.
 Frannie looked at me with wet, shiny eyes, shook her head
 and said simply "truckers."

 That was three months ago.  Today is Thanksgiving, the
 first day Stevie is supposed to be back to work.  His
 placement worker said he's been counting the days until
 the doctor said he could work, and it didn't matter at all
 that it was a holiday. He called 10 times in the past
 week, making sure we knew he was coming, fearful that we
 had forgotten him or that his job was in jeopardy.

 I arranged to have his mother bring him to work, met them
 in the parking lot and invited them both to celebrate his
 day back.  Stevie was thinner and paler, but couldn't stop
 grinning as he pushed through the doors and headed for the
 back room where his apron and busing cart were waiting.

 "Hold up there, Stevie, not so fast," I said. I took him
 and his mother by their arms. "Work can wait for a minute.
 To celebrate you coming back, breakfast for you and your
 mother is on me."

 I led them toward a large corner booth at the rear of the
 room.  I could feel and hear the rest of the staff following
 behind as we marched through the dining room.  Glancing over
 my shoulder, I saw booth after booth of grinning truckers
 empty and join the procession.

 We stopped in front of the big table.  Its surface was
 covered with coffee cups, saucers and dinner plates, all
 sitting slightly crooked on dozens of folded paper napkins.

 "First thing you have to do, Stevie, is clean up this mess,"
 I said!  I tried to sound stern.  Stevie looked at me, and
 then at his mother, then pulled out one of the napkins. It
 had "Something for Stevie" printed on the outside.  As he
 picked it up, two $10 bills fell onto the table.

 Stevie stared at the money, then at all the napkins peeking
 from beneath the tableware, each with his name printed or
 scrawled on it.  I turned to his mother. "There's more than
 $10,000 in cash and checks on that table, all from truckers
 and trucking companies that heard about your problems.
 Happy Thanksgiving."

 Well, it got real noisy about that time, with everybody
 hollering and shouting, and there were a few tears, as
 well.  But you know what's funny?

 While everybody else was busy shaking hands and hugging
 each other, Stevie, with a big, big smile on his face,
 was busy clearing all the cups and dishes from the table.
 Best worker I ever hired.

 Plant a seed and watch it grow. At this point, you can
 bury this inspirational message or forward it fulfilling
 the need!

 WELL..............DON'T JUST SIT THERE, SEND THIS STORY
 ON!!!!!!

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.............................From GIFs Rubrik:Neon Smiley
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