The Last One Picked
Lee Murray
It is said there is a purpose to everyone’s life though that plan may not be revealed for a very long time.
Such was the case for Ricky Gonzales, an 11-year-old fifth grader growing up in Indian Township, Ohio.
Ricky was the son of an avid baseball fan who worshiped the Cincinnati Reds and more than anything wished that his son would one day play for his favorite team.
Day after day, father and son got together in the backyard for sometimes grueling hitting, pitching, and catching sessions during which Dad did his best to tutor his son on the finer points of baseball.
Try as he might though, it didn’t take long for Dad to see his young son just didn’t possess much athletic ability. To begin with, Ricky was extremely nearsighted and had trouble catching a ball. His eye condition prevented him from hitting a pitch either. He repeatedly swung and missed at his father’s offerings.
Ricky could tell how disappointed his dad was at his total lack of baseball ability. The boy wanted to please his father in the worst way but he didn’t have the prowess needed to succeed on the diamond.
He showed up to play ball with other kids in the neighborhood, but when it came time to choose sides, Ricky was always the last kid picked. In little league games, he always rode the bench until the final innings when the manager would put him in right field to minimize the defensive damage.
Ricky was quite disconsolate about his poor baseball acumen. He knew he’d let his father down and no matter how hard he tried, he just wasn’t any good. Any hopes of him playing one day for the Reds or anywhere else were nothing more than a pipe dream.
But, there was something at which Ricky was very, very good at yet it was a long time before that talent became apparent. It happened quite by accident.
One day, while cleaning out the attic, he came across a dusty case containing a violin that his mother said belonged to his grandfather. Turns out Grandpa wasn’t any good at sports either but played a mean fiddle. Ricky dragged the bow over the strings a few times and decided that he’d put baseball on the back burner and put all his efforts into learning how to play his grandfather’s prized violin.
He enrolled in lessons and to his teacher’s surprise, the youngster turned out to be a natural. He had a wonderful ear for pitch and practiced non-stop. Upon returning home from school, Ricky would immediately head to his room where he would practice for hours on end. As time went on, he ultimately played in his school orchestra where he was made first chair.
At the spring concert in his senior year of high school, Ricky was selected to play a classic violin solo, Swan Lake, by Tchaikovsky. He played it brilliantly and when he finished, the crowd gave him a standing ovation. After taking a bow, he noticed a man in the second row with tears streaming down his face who clapped harder and longer than anyone in the auditorium. It was his father who couldn’t contain the pride he felt for his son. The boy who started out as the last one picked to play baseball ended up the very first one chosen to play in front of an awestruck crowd, the beautiful violin.
‘My Opinion Rules!’
Kris Szlauko
To be opinionated without compromise is dangerous.
If our forefathers were so narcissistic that they refused to agree that everyone has opinions and that their opinions are valuable, the United States of America would not exist, we would still be a bunch of colonies trying to govern each other.
The foundations of our Constitution are based on the fact that we respect and cherish each other’s opinions and the ability to find common ground to agree upon.
When we lose the ability to see past our own opinions and become so polarized that compromise is not an option we are leading ourselves into a totalitarianism type of existence.
Think about it on a more personal level. What if two very opinionated people were married and neither would consider the other’s opinions as valuable. Even the basic core responsibilities and tasks of a home life would be a constant struggle. There would be no agreement on anything … meal times, chores, sleeping arrangements, use of the car, expenses, and more all would be subject to the opinions of the more adamant and dominant partner. This arrangement would cause total anarchy and be doomed from the start. No one person is going to live under those circumstances for very long.
If a person is stripped of their right to have and express their opinions, they are stripped of their core values.
Respect and compromise are the true governing values of a Democracy.
In Gratitude
Lani Matsu
“O Thou who has given us so much, mercifully grant us one thing more, a grateful heart.” —George Herbert
There was a sweetness and softness about the word “gratitude” that she loved. Perhaps it was because she pictured it nestled always in a comfy cozy place inside of her. It burned there continually like a glowing candle placed in front of a mirror, and she felt its stirrings often throughout her day. It was as though her joy would suddenly escape like powder on a puff, so she was sure to say, “Thank you,” out loud to whoever sat beside her, or as she often whispered up into the heavens above.
She noticed a long time ago that one of the beautiful gifts in having a heart of gratitude is that all it asked of her was to “be in the moment.” Being present nudged her to be still, breathe in, breathe out, savor the sounds, tastes, smells of that very moment. She learned that being grateful went hand in hand with being happy, that one naturally attracted the other.
The more thankful she was, the happier she was, the more thankful she became. And there it was, a gift within a gift.
Additionally, she loved what John F. Kennedy said about that very thing, “As we express our gratitude, we must never forget that the highest form of appreciation is not to utter words, but to live by them.” So she set about being mindful in living gratitude as she left love notes for her sweetheart to find, visited a friend, told her children often how proud she was of them, met her son at their kitchen island after he texted her a pic of what he just took off of the grill for them, complimented a perfect stranger, looked deeply into the eyes while talking to a new friend listening intently from her heart.
She decided that in her simple, spontaneous prayers throughout her day was a happy way to express her gratitude, and she said those prayers often. She loved the idea about having a Gratitude Jar on her desk inviting family and friends to write those things they were thankful for. She was touched when she read the Vietnamese proverb, “When eating fruit, remember the one who planted the tree,” so she said prayers of grace often. Most especially she loved the saying upon her bedroom wall by Rumi, “If you only say one prayer in a day, make it thank you.”