small of stature

Now, as I stood before him, I thought of those lost opportunities. How many times have we

all let such moments pass? A boy graduates from school, a daughter gets married. We go

through the motions of the ceremony, but we don‘t seek out our children and find a quiet

moment to tell them what they have meant to us. Or what they might expect to face in the

years ahead.

How fast the years had passed. Daniel was born in New Orleans, LA., in 1962, slow to walk

and talk, and small of stature. He was the tiniest in his class, but he developed a warm,

outgoing nature and was popular with his peers. He was coordinated and 6)agile, and he

became adept in sports.

Baseball gave him his earliest challenge. He was an outstanding pitcher in Little League,

and eventually, as a senior in high school, made the varsity, winning half the team‘s games

with a record of five wins and two losses. At graduation, the coach named Daniel the team‘s

most valuable player.

I had not returned

Entering the convenience store was like entering the twilight zone. On the outside I was a healthy, athletic, pre-med student, but on the inside I was just another statistic of a violent crime. I thought I was entering an empty store, but suddenly I realized it was not empty at all. Three robbers were in the process of committing a robbery and my entrance into the store caught them by surprise. One of the criminals immediately shoved a .38 caliber handgun to my head, ordered me to the cooler, pushed me down on the floor, and pumped a bullet into the back of my head - execution style. He obviously thought I was dead because he did not shoot me again. The trio of thieves finished robbing the store and left calmly. 。

Meanwhile, Sharon wondered why I had not returned. After seeing the three men leave the store she really began to worry as I was the last person she saw entering the store. She quickly went inside to look for me, but saw no one-only an almost empty cash register containing one check and several pennies. Quickly she ran down each aisle shouting, "Mike, Mike!"

engraving on the inside

Then tragedy struck our lives, when my husband's younger brother was killed on September 11, 2001, along with thousand of other innocent people. He made it out okay and spoke to his wife to say he was going back in to help those that were still trapped. He was identified only by the engraving on the inside of his wedding band.

Attending my brother's memorial service was an eye-opening experience for the both of us. For the first time, we saw our own marriage was almost like my in-laws. At the tragic death of the youngest son they could not reach out console one another. It seemed as if somewhere between the oldest son's first tooth and the youngest son's graduation they had lost each other. Their wedding day photograph of the young, happy, smiling couple on the mantle of their fireplace was almost mocking those two minds that no longer touched. They were living in such an invisible wall between them that the heaviest battering with the strongest artillery would not penetrate, when love dies it is not in a moment of angry battle or when fiery bodies lose their heat; it lies broken and panting and exhausted at the bottom of a wall it cannot penetrate.

Recently one night, my husband told of his fear of dying. Until then he had been afraid to expose his naked souls. I spoke of trying to find myself in the writings in my journal. It seemed as if each of us had been hiding our soul-searching from the other.

We are slowly working toward building a bridge—not a wall, so that when we reach out to each other, we do not find a barrier we cannot penetrate and recoil from the coldness of the stone or retreat from the stranger on the other side.

seven weeks ago

That‘s all I could say. I wasn‘t sure he understood what I meant. Then he came toward me

and threw his arms around me. For a moment, the world and all its people vanished, and there

was just Daniel and me in our home by the sea.

He was saying something, but my eyes misted over, and I couldn‘t understand what he was

saying. All I was aware of was the stubble on his chin as his face pressed against mine. And

then, the moment ended. I went to work, and Daniel left a few hours later with his

girlfriend.

That was seven weeks ago, and I think about him when I walk along the beach on weekends.

Thousands of miles away, somewhere out past the ocean waves breaking on the deserted shore,

he might be scurrying across Boulevard Saint Germain, strolling through a musty hallway of

the Louvre, bending an elbow in a Left Bank café.

What I had said to Daniel was clumsy and trite. It was nothing. And yet, it was everything.

In his room

What is it going to be like, Dad? Can I do it? Will I be okay? And then he walked up the

steps of the bus and disappeared inside. And the bus drove away. And I had said nothing.

A decade or so later, a similar scene played itself out. With his mother, I drove him to

William and Mary College in Virginia. His first night, he went out with his new schoolmates,

and when he met us the next morning, he was sick. He was coming down with mononucleosis, but

we could not know that then. We thought he had a hangover.

In his room, Dan lay stretched out on his bed as I started to leave for the trip home. I

tried to think of something to say to give him courage and confidence as he started this new

phase of life.

Again, words failed me. I mumbled something like, "Hope you feel better Dan." And I left.

to catch up

with that he let out a whistle, "Here, Dolly!" he called.

Out from the doghouse and down the ramp ran Dolly followed by four little balls of fur. The little boy pressed his face against the chain link fence. His eyes danced with delight.

As the dogs made their way to the fence, the little boy noticed something else stirring inside the doghouse. Slowly another little ball appeared; this One noticeably smaller. Down the ramp it slid. Then in a somewhat awkward manner the little pup began hobbling toward the others, doing its best to catch up.

"I want that one," the little boy said, pointing to the runt.

The farmer knelt down at the boy's side and said, "Son, you don't want that puppy. He will never be able to run and play with you like these other dogs would."

With that the little boy stepped back from the fence, reached down, and began rolling up one leg of his trousers. In doing so he revealed a steel brace running down both sides of his leg attaching itself to a specially made shoe. Looking back up at the farmer, he said, "You see sir, I don't run too well myself, and he will need someone who understands."

The world is full of people who need someone who understands.

Koobor the Koala and Water-1

Then he sang a special song and the tree began to grow and grow, with Koobor sitting in the

middle of it, holding the buckets.

His relatives came back hot and tired after searching for food all day. They could not find

their water buckets or Koobor. Then they saw him in the tallest of all the trees, with water

buckets hanging from the branches.

"Koobor, bring those buckets down now, or we will beat you" they cried. "No! I'm not coming

down" shouted Koobor. "It's your turn to be thirsty!"

Several men started to climb the tall tree, but Koobor threw the water buckets at them,

knocking them to the ground.

Finally, two men managed to climb up, dodging the buckets. They grabbed Koobor, beat him

very badly and threw him down.

His broken body smashed into the earth, where it changed into Koobor the Koala.

The animal climbed into a nearby tree and began munching gum leaves. Then he looked down at

the people on the ground.

"From now on, you may kill me if you need food, but you must cook my body before you take

off my skin or break my bones.

This is my law. If you don't follow it, I will come back and dry up all the rivers and lakes

and you will always be thirsty."

This is why Koalas don't need water to


keep alive and why aborigines always follow Koobor's law when cooking a dead koala. They are

frightened that he will come back and take all their water, leaving them thirsty forever.