A hero doesn't have to be a superpower or celebrity. Many of the heroes you tell us about are people you are close to: Mom, Dad, a cousin, stepparent, or friend. They may be recognized as heroes only by you, because of the way they treat you and make you feel. Heroic behavior can appear in the day-to-day routine of a loving family. The following story is an adaptation of O'Henry's, "The Gift of The Magi," written by Susannah Abbey.
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Carolyn and her eleven-year-old son, Walt, lived in a tiny apartment in a sprawling Southwestern city. Since Carolyn was a student, they did not have a lot of money to spare. But they each had dedicated interests: Carolyn loved listening to music, and that Christmas she allowed herself to buy a stereo with a tape deck and CD player. But she couldn't afford CDs, so she kept on listening to the tapes, which got older and more worn out every day.
Walt's favorite hobby was bicycle riding, and for Christmas his mom had bought him a used mountain bike. Walt's one desire was to take it to a trail outside of town and try it on rough terrain instead of just pedaling in circles around his block! But the bike would not fit in his mom's tiny car, and after the other safety equipment was purchased, they could not afford a bike rack.
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This family had a tradition of exchanging gifts on Valentine's day, but that year in particular had been a very difficult one. Carolyn met with some unforeseen expenses in January, and they had even less money than usual for rent, food, and clothing. There was absolutely nothing left for gifts.
Carolyn thought hard about what to do: she knew that Walt wanted to go to one of the famous bike trails that ran along the river on the other side of the city, and she knew that to do this they needed a bike rack. If she sold something, she would have the money. She looked around the tiny apartment: what could she sell? The old, sagging couch? The broken television? There was only one thing to do: she took the stereo to the store where she had bought it and got her money back.
Meanwhile, Walt was riding his mountain bike around the block for the twenty-third time, wondering where he was going to get the money to buy his mother some CDs to replace those dying cassettes of hers. He realized he had only one way to get the money. He knocked on the door of his friend Jerry's house, and told him he would be willing to sell the bike.
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On February 14th, mother and son presented each other with their hard-earned gifts. At once, Carolyn knew how much she meant to her son, and Walt discovered how much his mother cared about him. And they were not as disappointed as you might think.
"A young woman was coming toward me, her figure long and slim. Her
blonde hair lay back in curls from her delicate ears; her eyes were
blue as flowers. Her lips and chin had a gentle firmness, and in
her pale green suit she was like springtime come alive. I started
toward her, entirely forgetting to notice that she was not wearing a
rose. As I moved, a small, provocative smile curved her lips.
"Going my way, sailor?" she murmured. Almost uncontrollably I made
one step closer to her, and then I saw Hollis Maynell. She was
standing almost directly behind the girl. A woman well past 40,
she had graying hair tucked under a worn hat. She was more than
plump, her thick-ankled feet thrust into low-heeled shoes. The
girl in the green suit was walking quickly away. I felt as though I
was split in two, so keen was my desire to follow her, and yet so
deep was my longing for the woman whose spirit had truly
companioned me and upheld my own. And there she stood.
Her pale, plump face was gentle and sensible, her gray eyes had
a warm and kindly twinkle. I did not hesitate. My fingers gripped
the small worn blue leather copy of the book that was to identify
me to her. This would not be love, but it would be something
precious, something perhaps even better than love, a friendship for
which I had been and must ever be grateful.
I squared my shoulders and saluted and held out the book to the
woman, even though while I spoke I felt choked by the bitterness
of my disappointment. "I'm Lieutenant John Blanchard, and you
must be Miss Maynell. I am so glad you could meet me; may I take
you to dinner?" The woman's face broadened into a tolerant smile.
"I don't know what this is about, son," she answered, "but the
young lady in the green suit who just went by, she begged me to
wear this rose on my coat. And she said if you were to ask me
out to dinner, I should go and tell you that she is waiting for you
in the big restaurant across the street. She said it was some
kind of test!" It's not difficult to understand and admire Miss
Maynell's wisdom. The true nature of a heart is seen in its response
to the unattractive. "Tell me whom you love," Houssaye wrote,
"And I will tell you who you are."
Iris received this story from an old friend:
John Blanchard stood up from the bench, straightened his Army
uniform, and studied the crowd of people making their way through
Grand Central Station. He looked for the girl whose heart he
knew, but whose face he didn't, the girl with the rose. His
interest in her had begun thirteen months before in a Florida
library. Taking a book off the shelf he found himself intrigued,
not with the words of the book, but with the notes penciled in the
margin. The soft handwriting reflected a thoughtful soul and
insightful mind. In the front of the book, he discovered the
previous owner's name, Miss Hollis Maynell. With time and effort
he located her address. She lived in New York City. He wrote
her a letter introducing himself and inviting her to correspond.
The next day he was shipped overseas for service in World War II.
During the next year and one-month the two grew to know each other
through the mail. Each letter was a seed falling on a fertile heart.
A Romance was budding. Blanchard requested a photograph, but she
refused. She felt that if he really cared, it wouldn't matter what
she looked like. When the day finally came for him to return from
Europe, they scheduled their first meeting - 7:00 PM at the
Grand Central Station in New York. "You'll recognize me,"
she wrote, "by the red rose I'll be wearing on my lapel." So at
7:00 he was in the station looking for a girl whose heart he
loved, but whose face he'd never seen. I'll let Mr. Blanchard
tell you what happened:
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| Mothers of all kinds are heroes. | Fathers are heroes too! | Grandparents are heroes too! |
Page created on 2/1/2014 6:25:43 PM
Last edited 2/1/2014 6:25:43 PM
