Harry is every coach’s dream kid: He shows up for every practice early, stays late and is enthusiastic. Harry is also every coach’s nightmare: He has neither the instinct nor the physical talent for the game.Butterfly lady
I stepped in as a stand-in coach for my son’s Little League team when the regular coach got married. Somehow he thought a honeymoon took precedence over next Tuesday’s game. How can you blame him? Our team hadn’t won in more than two years.
As I accepted the fill-in spot, I promised myself that I would show no disappointment if we lost. That was the least I could do. The best I could do was give a good heart to the effort.
I met Harry at the first practice. A small, thin, awkward kid his best throw was about five feet, which made the choice of fielding position difficult. And he was scared. Every time he came to bat, he would glance at the pitcher, lean the bat on his shoulder, close his eyes and wait until the misery of three pitches was over. Then he’d trudge back to the dugout. It was painful to watch.
I met Harry before Tuesday’s game, took him aside and worked with him on keeping his eyes open. He tried, but it’s tough to overcome the habit of fear. We were about to play a team that had beat us 22-1 the last time. It didn’t seem a fortunate moment for a breakthrough. Then I thought, Why not?
I went to the dugout, got a different bat and returned to our practice area. “Harry,” I said, “I want you to use this bat. It’s the one for you. It’s a magic bat. All you have to do is swing and it will hit the ball.”
Harry seemed skeptical, but he said he would try. I hoped I wasn’t complicating an already tough problem for Harry, but I wanted to try to help.
Our team was trailing from the first inning. No surprise in that, but we had some loyal parents in the stands to give constant encouragement to the kids.
On Harry’s first at bat, I noticed he wasn’t using his special bat, but I didn’t step in. He struck out, as usual, and I decided to let it ride.
We were able to score from time to time. In the last inning, we were behind by only three runs. I was thinking about a “respectable outcome” speech to give the kids while packing up the gear. As the home team, we were last up. We alternated for five batters between singles with players safely on base and strikeouts. We had bases loaded and two outs. Only then did I notice that Harry was our last chance.
Surveying the field from my spot by first base, I saw the left fielder sprawl on the grass as Harry came from the dugout. He obviously expected no action. The right fielder was bothering some butterfly that was flitting about. The shortstop had moved well in, I suppose anticipati ng the possibility of a miraculous bunt. Clearly, the opposing players were already tasting the double-scoop ice cream cones they would go for after the victory.
Harry limped up to the batter’s box. I noticed he had his usual bat. I called a time out, ran up to him and whispered, “Harry, this is the time for the magic bat. Give it a try. Just keep your eyes open and swing.”
He looked at me in disbelief, but he said he’d try. He walked off for the special bat as I trotted back to first base.
First pitch, strike one. Harry didn’t swing, but he kept his eyes open. I pumped my fist and gave it a little swing, encouraging him to swing. He smiled, got into his awkward stance and waited. He swung, eyes open, but missed. Strike two. That was the first real swing Harry had ever taken. Who cared if we won the game? I considered Harry a winner already.
The other coach yelled to his pitcher, “Fire one past him and end this thing!” I grimaced.
The pitcher threw a straight fastball and Harry swung. The magic bat did its trick. It found the ball, which flew over the shortstop’s head.
Pandemonium erupted in the stands, in the dugouts, on the bases. I was cheering Harry to run to first as fast as he could. It seemed like an eternity. The left fielder called to the center fielder to get it. “You’re closer!
I kept cheering the runners. We had one in at home and three guys pouring it on from first to second, second to third, third to home. The second baseman yelled for the center fielder to get the ball to him. Excitedly, he obeyed, but the ball skipped across the grass and passed by the second baseman toward the right-field line. My job as coach was simple at this point. “Run, guys, run,” I yelled.
Another guy scored. By this time, the entire team had joined the cheering, “Go, Harry, go Harry!” This was surely the longest distance Harry had ever run. He was panting as he headed for third and another guy crossed home. The right fielder’s throw was critical, and it was pretty good, but the third baseman muffed it. The ball scooted past him out of play. The rule: one base on an overthrow that goes out of play. Harry, exhausted, kept the push on as best he could.
About then, the first cry of a Grand Slam!” hit the air. Everyone joined in. When Harry reached home plate, about to collapse, his teammates lifted him as high as they could and chanted, “Harry, Harry, Harry!”
I ran over to the team to hug the proudest kid in America. Tears streaming, Harry looked up at me and said, “The bat, Coach, the bat.”
I smiled and said, “No, Harry. It was you who hit the ball, not the bat.”Satibo
In this hustle-bustle world we live in it’s so much easier to charge something on a credit card rather than give a gift of the heart.
And gifts of the heart are especially needed during the holidays.Slimming Formula
A few years ago, I began to prepare my children for the fact that Christmas that year was going to be a small one. Their response was, “Yeah sure, Mom, we’ve heard that before!” I had lost my credibility because I had told them the same thing the previous year, while going through a divorce. But then I had gone out and charged every credit card to the max. I even found some creative financing techniques to pay for their stocking stuffers. This year was definitely going to be different, but they weren’t buying it.
A week before Christmas, I asked myself, What do I have that will make this Christmas special? In all the houses we had lived in before the divorce, I had always made time to be the interior decorator. I had learned how to wallpaper, to lay wooden and ceramic tile, to sew curtains out of sheets and even more. But in this rental house there was little time for decorating and a lot less money. Plus, I was angry about this ugly place, I with its read and orange carpets and turquoise and green walls. I refused to put money into it. Inside me, and inner voice of hurt pride shouted, We’re not going to be here that long!
Nobody else seemed to mind about the house except my daughter Lisa, who always tried to make her room her special place.
It was time to express my talents. I called my ex-husband and asked that he buy a specific bedspread for Lisa. Then I bought the sheets to match.
On Christmas Eve, I spent $15 on a gallon of paint. I also bought the prettiest stationery I’d ever seen. My goal was simple: I’d paint and we and stay busy until Christmas morning, so I wouldn’t have time to feel sorry for myself on such a special family holiday.
That night, I gave each of the children three pieces of stationery with envelopes. At the top of each page were the words, “What I love about my sister Mia,” “What I love about my brother Kris,” What I love about my sister Lisa” and “What I love about my brother Erik.” The kids were 16, 14, 10 and 8, and it took some convincing on my part to assure them that they could find just one thing they liked about each other. As they wrote in privacy, I went to my bedroom and wrapped their few store-bought gifts.
When I returned to the kitchen, the children had finished their letters to one another. Each name was written on the outside of the envelope. We exchanged hugs and goodnight kisses and they hurried off to bed. Lisa was given special permission to sleep in my bed, with the promise not to peek until Christmas morning.
I got started in the wee hours of Christmas morn, I finished the curtains, painted the walls and stepped back to admire my masterpiece. Wait-why not put rainbows and clouds on the walls to match the sheets? So out came my makeup brushes and sponges, and at 5 A.M. I was finished. Too exhausted to think about being a poor “broken home,” as statistics said, I went to my room and found Lisa spread-eagled in my bed. I decided I couldn’t sleep with arms and legs all over me, so I gently lifted her up and tiptoed her into her room. As I laid her head on the pillow, she said, “Mommy, is it morning yet?”
“No sweetie, keep your eyes closed unit Santa comes.”
I awoke that morning with a bright whisper in my ear. “Wow, Mommy, it’s beautiful!”
Later, we all got up and sat around the tree and opened the few wrapped presents. Afterward the children were given their three envelopes. We read the words with teary eyes and red noses. Then we got to “the baby of the family’s” notes. Erik, at 8, wasn’t expecting to hear anything nice. His brother had written: “What I love about my brother Erik is that he’s not afraid of anything.” Mia had written, “What I love about my brother Erik is he can talk to anybody!” Lisa had written, “What I love about my brother Erik he can climb trees higher than anyone!”
I felt a gentle tug at my sleeve, then a small hand cupped around my ear and Erik whispered, “Gee, Mom, I didn’t even know they like me!”
In the worst of times, creativity and resourcefulness had given us the best of times. I’m now back on my feet financially, and we’ve had many “big” Christmases with lots of presents under the tree…but when asked which Christmas is our favorite, we all remember that one.Procomil Spray
Athena
On one occasion Zeus suffered a bad headache．VigRX Oil
All the gods，including Apollo，the god of medicine
，had tried uselessly to offer an effective treatment
．Then the father of gods and men asked Hephaestus to open his head．This the god of the fire did．To the wonder of all the Olympians，a goddess，well-grown and full-armed，came out of Zeus’ head．The goddess was giving off light and splendor. She was Athena，goddess of wisdom and knowledge and patroness of Athens
．The story of Athena becoming patron goddess of Athens concerns the struggle between the goddess and Poseidon．When the city of Athens was first built by a Phoenician
，both Poseidon and Athena competed for the honour of naming it．It was then agreed that whoever offered the most useful object for men would become the patron of the city．Poseidon struck the ground with his trident and produced a horse，whereas Athena had an olive tree
to present，a symbol of peace and plenty．As the horse was regarded as struggle and sorrow， Athens was named after the goddess，who soon took the city under her protection．Athena was the goddess of arts and crafts
and woman’ s handiwork．She was so skilled with her hands that she tolerated no challenge to her skill in this respect ． A Lydian maid，Arachne by name，did not seem to think much of Athena’s skill，for she frequently talked big
that she could beat the goddess if she had the chance to do so．The goddess was quite angry．Dressed up as an old woman，she went to advise Arachne to be modest．But the ignorant crafts womannanbao
bravely asked the goddess herself to come down and compete with her．At this the goddess took off her disguise and accepted the competition. The two women immediately set about making different designs．While the goddess worked on the story of her rivalry with Poseidon，Arachne began to make a delicate web．When both pieces were finished，Arachne saw，to her surprise，that she had been beaten，for the goddess’ design was infinitely better．She felt so shamed that she tied a piece of silk to hang herself．But Just before she breathed her last breath the goddess changed her into a spider and let her weave forever．
