Ugly

(Author Unknown)

     Everyone in the apartment complex I lived in knew who Ugly was. Ugly was the resident tomcat. Ugly loved three things in this world: fighting, eating garbage, and shall we say, love.

     The combination of these things combined with a life spent outside had their effect on Ugly. To start with, he had only one eye, and where the other should have been was a gaping hole. He was also missing his ear on the same side, his left foot has appeared to have been badly broken at one time, and had healed at an unnatural angle, making him look like he was always turning the corner.

     His tail has long age been lost, leaving only the smallest stub, which he would constantly jerk and twitch. Ugly would have been a dark gray tabby striped-type, except for the sores covering his head, neck, and even his shoulders with thick, yellowing scabs. Every time someone saw Ugly there was the same reaction. “That’s one UGLY cat!!”

     All the children were warned not to touch him, the adults threw rocks at him, hosed him down, squirted him when he tried to come in their homes, or shut his paws in the door when he would not leave. Ugly always had the same reaction. If you turned the hose on him, he would stand there, getting soaked until you gave up and quit. If you threw things at him, he would curl his lanky body around feet in forgiveness.

     Whenever he spied children, he would come running meowing frantically and bump his head against their hands, begging for their love. If ever someone picked him up he would immediately begin suckling on your shirt, earrings, whatever he could find.

     One day Ugly shared his love with the neighbor’s huskies. They did not respond kindly, and Ugly was badly mauled. From my apartment I could hear his screams, and I tried to rush to his aid. By the time I got to where he was laying, it was apparent Ugly’s sad life was almost at an end.

     Ugly lay in a wet circle, his back legs and lower back twisted grossly out of shape, a gaping tear in the white strip of fur that ran down his front. As I picked him up and tried to carry him home I could hear him wheezing and gasping, and could feel him struggling. “I must be hurting him terribly,” I thought. Then I felt a familiar tugging, sucking sensation on my ear.

     Ugly, in so much pain, suffering and obviously dying was trying to suckle my ear. I pulled him closer to me, and he bumped the palm of my hand with his head, then he turned his one golden eye towards me, and I could hear the distinct sound of purring. Even in the greatest pain, that ugly battled scarred cat was asking only for a little affection, perhaps some compassion.

     At that moment I thought Ugly was the most beautiful, loving creature I had ever seen. Never once did he try to bite or scratch me, or even try to get away from me, or struggle in any way. Ugly just looked up at me completely trusting in me to relieve his pain.

     Ugly died in my arms before I could get inside, but I sat and held him for a long time afterwards, thinking about how one scarred, deformed little stray could so alter my opinion about what it means to have true pureness of spirit, to love so totally and truly.

     Ugly taught me more about giving and compassion than a thousand books, lectures, or talk show specials ever could, and for that I will always be thankful. He had been scarred on the outside, but I was scarred on the inside, and it was time for me to move on and learn to love truly and deeply.

     It was time to give my all to those I cared for. Many people want to be richer, more successful, well liked, beautiful, but for me, I will always try to be like Ugly.

The Pink Dress

(Author Unknown) 

     There was this little girl sitting by herself in the park.  Everyone passed by her and never stopped to see why she looked so sad. 
 
     Dressed in a worn pink dress, barefoot and dirty, the girl just sat and watched the people go by. 
 
     She never tried to speak. She never said a word. 
 
     Many people passed by her, but no one would stop. 
 
     The next day I decided to go back to the park in curiosity to see if the e little girl would still be there. 
 
     Yes, she was there, right in the very spot where she was yesterday, and still with the same sad look in her eyes. 
 
     Today I was to make my own move and walk over to the little girl.  For as we all know, a park full of strange people is not a place for young children to play alone. 
 
     As I got closer I could see the back of the little girl’s dress.  It was grotesquely shaped.       I figured that was the reason people just passed by and made no effort to speak to her. Deformities are a low blow to our society and, heaven forbid if you make a step toward assisting someone who is different. 

     As I got closer, the little girl lowered her eyes slightly to avoid my intent stare. 
 
     As I approached her, I could see the shape of her back more clearly. 
 
     She was grotesquely shaped in a humped over form. 
 
     I smiled to let her know it was OK; I was there to help, to talk. 
 
     I sat down beside her and opened with a simple, “Hello.” The little girl acted shocked, and stammered a “hi”; after a long stare into my eyes. 
 
     I smiled and she shyly smiled back. 
 
     We talked until darkness fell and the park was completely empty.       I asked the girl why she was so sad. 
 
     The little girl looked at me with a sad face said, “Because, I’m different.” 
 
     I immediately said, “That you are!”; and smiled. The little girl acted even sadder and said, “I know.” 
 
     “Little girl,” I said, “you remind me of an angel, sweet and innocent.”      She looked at me and smiled, then slowly she got to her feet and said,  “Really?”  “Yes, you’re like a little Guardian Angel sent to watch over all people walking by.” 
 
     She nodded her head yes, and smiled. 
 
     With that she opened the back of her pink dress and allowed her wings to spread, then she said “I am.” 
 
      “I’m your Guardian Angel,” with a twinkle in her eye.   I was speechless — sure I was seeing things. 
 
     She said, “For once you thought of someone other than yourself. My job here is done”. 
 
     I got to my feet and said, “Wait, why did no one stop to help an Angel?” 
 
     She looked at me, smiled, and said, “You’re the only one that could see me,” and then she was gone. 
 
     And with that, my life was changed dramatically. So, when you think you’re all you have, remember, your angel is Always watching over you

Lessons Learned

(Author Unknown) 

One day, the father of a very wealthy family took his son on a trip to the country with the express purpose of showing him how poor people live.

They spent a couple of days and nights on the farm of what would be considered a very poor family.

On their return from their trip, the father asked his son, “How was the trip?”

“It was great, Dad.”

“Did you see how poor people live?” the father asked.

“Oh yeah,” said the son.

“So, tell me, what did you learn from the trip?” asked the father.

The son answered:  “I saw that we have one dog and they had four.   We have a pool that reaches to the middle of our garden and they have a creek that has no end.  We have imported lanterns in our garden and they have the stars at night.  Our patio reaches to the front yard and they have the whole horizon. 

“We have a small piece of land to live on and they have fields that go beyond our sight. 

“We have servants who serve us, but they serve others.  We buy our food, but they grow theirs. 

“We have walls around our property to protect us, they have  friends to protect them.”

The boy’s father was speechless.

Then his son added,  “Thanks Dad for showing me how poor we are.”

Keep Your Dream

I have a friend named Monty Roberts who owns a horse ranch in San Ysidro. He has let me use his house to put on fund-raising events to raise money for youth at risk programs.
The last time I was there he introduced me by saying, “I want to tell you why I let Jack use my horse. It all goes back to a story about a young man who was the son of an itinerant horse trainer who would go from stable to stable, race track to race track, farm to farm and ranch to ranch, training horses. As a result, the boy’s high school career was continually interrupted. When he was a senior, he was asked to write a paper about what he wanted to be and do when he grew up.

“That night he wrote a seven-page paper describing his goal of someday owning a horse ranch. He wrote about his dream in great detail and he even drew a diagram of a 200-acre ranch, showing the location of all the buildings, the stables and the track. Then he drew a detailed floor plan for a 4,000-square-foot house that would sit on a 200-acre dream ranch.

“He put a great deal of his heart into the project and the next day he handed it in to his teacher. Two days later he received his paper back. On the front page was a large red F with a note that read, `See me after class.’

“The boy with the dream went to see the teacher after class and asked, `Why did I receive an F?’

“The teacher said, `This is an unrealistic dream for a young boy like you. You have no money. You come from an itinerant family. You have no resources. Owning a horse ranch requires a lot of money. You have to buy the land. You have to pay for the original breeding stock and later you’ll have to pay large stud fees. There’s no way you could ever do it.’ Then the teacher added, `If you will rewrite this paper with a more realistic goal, I will reconsider your grade.’

“The boy went home and thought about it long and hard. He asked his father what he should do. His father said, `Look, son, you have to make up your own mind on this. However, I think it is a very important decision for you.’ “Finally, after sitting with it for a week, the boy turned in the same paper, making no changes at all.

He stated, “You can keep the F and I’ll keep my dream.”

Monty then turned to the assembled group and said, “I tell you this story because you are sitting in my 4,000-square-foot house in the middle of my 200-acre horse ranch. I still have that school paper framed over the fireplace.  He added, “The best part of the story is that two summers ago that same schoolteacher brought 30 kids to camp out on my ranch for a week.” When the teacher was leaving, he said, “Look, Monty, I can tell you this now. When I was your teacher, I was something of a dream stealer. During those years I stole a lot of kids’ dreams. Fortunately you had enough gumption not to give up on yours.”

“Don’t let anyone steal your dreams. Follow your heart, no matter what.”

Just a Mom

(Author Unknown) 

A woman,  renewing her driver’s license at the County   Clerk ’s office was asked by the woman recorder to state her occupation. She hesitated, uncertain how to classify herself.  ”What I mean  is,” explained the recorder, “do you have a job or are you just a……?”

“Of course I have a job,” snapped the woman.  ”I’m a Mom.”
 
“We don’t  list ‘Mom’ as an occupation, ‘housewife’ covers it,” said the recorder emphatically.

I forgot all  about her story until one day I found myself in the same situation, this time at our own Town Hall.

The Clerk  was obviously a career woman, poised, efficient and  possessed of a high sounding title like, “Official Interrogator” or “Town Registrar.”

 ”What is your occupation?” she probed.  What made me say it? I do not know.  The words simply popped out.

“I’m a  Research Associate in the field of Child Development and Human Relations.”  
 
The clerk  paused, ball-point pen frozen in midair and
looked up as though she had not heard right. I repeated the title slowly emphasizing the most significant words.

Then I  stared with wonder as my pronouncement was written, in bold, black ink on the official questionnaire.

 ”Might I ask,” said the clerk  with new interest, “just what you do in your field?”

Coolly,  without any trace of fluster in my voice, I heard myself  reply, “I have a continuing program of research, (what  mother doesn’t) in the laboratory and in the field, (normally I would have said indoors and out). I’m working  for my Masters, (first the Lord and then the whole family) and already have four credits (all daughters). Of course,  the job is one of the most demanding in the humanities, (any mother care to disagree?) and I often work 14 hours a day, (24 is more like it).

But the job is more challenging than most run-of-the-mill careers and the  rewards are more of a satisfaction rather than just money.”

 There was an  increasing note of respect in the clerk’s voice as she completed the form, stood up and personally ushered me to the door.
 
As I drove into our driveway, buoyed up by  my glamorous new career, I was greeted by my lab assistants — ages 13, 7, and 3. Upstairs I  could hear our new experimental model, (a 6 month old  baby) in the child development program, testing out a new vocal pattern.

I felt I had scored a beat on bureaucracy! And I had  gone on the official records as someone more distinguished and  indispensable to mankind than “just another Mom.”   Motherhood!