STORYTIME TAPESTRY

The Newsletter devoted to spreading love and cultural awareness throughout the world

July 9, 2005 

 Today's Queue Stories
 ~**~**~**~

May I have this Dance?

Roger Dean Kiser

My heart was beating ninety miles per hour as I approached her. I looked back several times to see if the boys from my class were still watching me. They had told me that Gloria wanted me to ask her to dance. I did not believe them but every time I looked in her direction, she would smile and waive at me.

I was fourteen years old and I had never danced with a girl. In fact, I had never even held the hand of a girl before. Talking to a girl, or even looking at a female, was strictly forbidden by the orphanage where I lived. Such actions would have one sent off to the reform school. I did not want that to happen.

Just as I was about to reach the prettiest girl in our classroom; a heavy-set girl came running out onto the gum floor.

"Roger, they are going to make fun of you again. I heard the girls in the bathroom laughing about it," she advised me.

Once again, I looked back and saw that the four boys motioning for me to continue.

I looked into Jackie's eyes and saw that she was very serious. She was a heavy-set girl and had a very bad skin condition. No one in the classroom liked her and they always called her "Fatty, fatty, two by four".

I stood there as Jackie turned around and walked back to the area where the girls were waiting to be chosen to dance.

Once again, I turned around to look at my friends.

"Go on," yelled Davis, as he pushed outward with his hand.

I turned back around and looked in Gloria's direction, she winked and then she smiled. I looked over at Jackie whom had never been asked to dance by anyone.

Slowly I walked over and stopped in directly in front of the two of them.

I looked at Gloria and then I looked at Jackie. I bent down, in a bow and I said, "Would you care to dance with me?"

"Look creep. I don..." Gloria started to say.

"I would love too," said Jackie, as she grabbed me like a rag doll and pulled me out onto the dance floor.

All I remember was Gloria stomping out of the gym with everyone laughing at her.

I was not a very handsome boy and Jackie was not the prettiest girl in school. However, she made me feel handsome that night. As I constantly stepped on her feet, I told her that she was pretty and she smiled at me.

That was the night I learned that you do not have to be handsome, or pretty in order to feel good inside.

Roger Dean Kiser

trampolineone @earthlink.net

Roger Dean Kiser is the author of the
book "Orphan, A True Story of
Abandonment, Abuse and Redemption."
Roger also writes non-fiction short
stories which he displays on his
website "The Sad Orphan" located at:
www.rogerdeankiser.com
Roger's short stories have also been
published in: Chicken Soup, Heartwarmers
Heartwarmers of Love, A
Cool Collection I and II (Israel),

"The Bully" was made into
a short film by Nicholas Delfino
and has been entered into several major
film festivals in the United States.

~**~**~ 

Information

Sharon Bryant

My aunt used to be a telephone operator.  She'd visit our house and I would laugh at so many things she told me happened at her job.

My last year of school in '64, she told me I should apply for a job at the phone company, that I had skills with the public having worked for my parents for many years.  I thought about it and said to myself, "Hmmmm, I'll give it a try."

I applied right after graduation.  In those days, you had to take a spelling test, a memory test, know how to pronounce names and businesses correctly.  We also had to take a course in how to handle emergency calls.   I passed and I was hired as an information operator.

I wore a headset and when my headset would ring, I said, "Information."  The caller then would give me what information they had for me to find the number

My directory I used was approximately two and a half to three foot long, and almost as wide.  The pages were huge and held many numbers.  Above our stations was a lit board.  On it were the most commonly called numbers, hospitals, police station, schools, etc.  Those were the ones we had to memorize.  Each week we were given spelling tests and memory tests.  I remember the time my "boss operator" made a fake call to me and said, "I'm looking for Mr. Smith.  Tell me how many ways you can spell Smith."  There are several.

No matter how rude a caller would be, we were NEVER to get rude back.  If we were and we were caught by our boss "listening in" on calls, we were pulled off the public board and taken to what they called the dummy board.  Then our boss would make call after call, and she would be VERY rude, teaching us how to hold our tempers when a real call came in as such.

I was put on the dummy board twice.

At Christmas time we had a local number kids could call in to the North Pole.  I used to love to get the kids and how excited they were to be able to actually dial the North Pole.  Some of them thought I must have been one of Santa's helpers because they began to give ME their Christmas list and I said, "Whoa, that's one for Santa, I'm just the operator."

There were calls that would break your heart.  A tiny voice would come on the phone whispering to me saying, "Operator, I need help, my dad is drunk and he's hitting my mama."  Or, "Operator, my mama is sick, can you help me make her feel better again?"

On an eight hour shift, we handled between 1100 and 1400 calls.  I always dreaded the night shift the most because the drunks would start calling wanting the number of taverns.

And some could really be rude.

But there are some calls that no matter how many years pass, you just never forget.  One came through one evening when I was working the 8 to midnight split shift.  A man's voice came on the line asking for a number.  I found it for him.  He asked for another, I found that one.  Rules were we were only supposed to give out 6 numbers to one customer so as not to tie the lines up.  When this man got his 6th number and then asked for another, I hesitated.  What he said next made me break the rules of Michigan Bell.

"Operator, I just got back from Viet Nam.  I lost one of my arms, and I'm having one heck of a time trying to leaf through the phone book and write numbers down as you give them to me.  Thank you so much for your kindness in helping me."

When we got to the 11th person he was trying to locate, he finally told me he had enough numbers for one night.  He thanked me again, and I told him to have a great night. 

"Wait operator, can you give me your name? he asked.  "No, we are not allowed to do that," I told him.  "Well, if I wanted to call back, how will I get you again?"  I told him it didn't work like that, the calls were taken by the next available operator, and I had no idea which one of us he would get.   He then said, "If I wanted to ask you out for a date, how would I find out who you are?"  I laughed and said, "Oh, just say you want operator number 49."

A few nights later I was working another split and got off at 8:00 P.M.  Our area for employees to park was inside a fenced in area.  When I approached the door to leave the building, I saw a man standing on the outside of the fence.  A few operator were ahead of me, and I heard him ask each one, "Are any of you operator number 49?"  They told him no.  I got to the door and he asked me.  I looked at him without saying a word and he said, "It's YOU, isn't it?"  I recognized his voice and saw that he was missing an arm.  His left hand was behind his back, but he brought it forward holding out a dozen red roses."

"For you," he said.  "For being so kind to me on the phone the other night, for not getting upset with me, and for helping me find some old friends I haven't seen in over four years."

I looked into the most beautiful eyes I've ever seen.  I was dating a guy who was in the military.

He asked if I'd have dinner with him.  I told him I was engaged and didn't feel that was a good thing.  He walked along the fence line as I did on my side, to get to my car.  When I got out of the employee parking lot, he was waiting for me.  He handed me the roses.  I told him he didn't have to go through all that trouble, that helping him was my job.  He said, "No, it was more than your job.  You gave me your time and you were so kind to me and never got mad when it took me so long to write a number down with this left hand."  He then told me he was right handed and that was the arm missing.

After that night, once in a while, when I would say, "Information," he would say, "Hey, It's me, I'm glad I got you again."

I never saw him again after that one night.  I left the phone company several months later to go to work managing for my parents.  But I've never forgotten him.

Three years later when I married a serviceman, I often thought of him.  I wondered how his life turned out after spending four years in Nam.  How well he adjusted to civilian life and his disability.

Even after all these years, If someone ever yells out, "Hey operator 49, Is that YOU?"  I will grin and say, "Yep, that's me."

Today everything in done with automation.  I still think the old way was better when you had a "real" person to talk to.  In the months I was an operator, I "met" some wonderful, kind people.

Sharon Bryant

1946 @bellsouth.net

About Me:

 I am Sharon Bryant, 59 years old and reside in Alabama.

I lost my child in 1977 when he was five and I write
articles on bereavement often.

I am a chocolate/candy maker and also a wood crafter and knitter.

I am married to a wonderful man, and have two remaining children, a daughter 25,
Amy, and a second son, Randy, age 22.

My main goal in life is to help those who
have lost a child. My website is: www.angelsremembered.tk

~**~**~ 

Piano

Sometimes he just preferred to stand there, in the doorway. And watch her. The room was white, by her design, and bare of all things. Except of course, for that old piano that now received her full attention, and a happily scattered pile of magazines and books that decorated a darker corner. The windows were opened wide and the breeze that whispered through them made the thin fabric of the curtains - white within white - dance and contort.

The piano was positioned towards this audience of textures and elements, and so she too was seated with her back to him. Sunlight filtered in through the play of curtains, and infused her hair with a glow he had rarely seen before. Strands of it were also carried here and there about her shoulders, by the persuasive wind. And he watched, silent and in awe, as she traced her hands over the keys and began to play.

He had intended to step into the room and share some time with her, but to see her like this, the rise and fall of her head as she flowed with the notes - sometimes words were not necessary; he felt in truth that he was not necessary - not at magical times like these, when the world was just her and her room, and the music she was giving life to. A slow purposeful rhythm, note by note. He was transfixed by her, remembering, as he always did at times like these, how unlikely and fortuitous their first meeting had been. How she had stepped into his life unannounced, and changed it forever

Her autumn hair framed her as she played, and in many ways he wished her music would never come to an end. The peace of this moment. The breeze that crept up to greet him. He sighed hard and smiled, leaning against the doorway. He sent two silent words to the woman he loved. Whom he adored. "Thank you".

?© Charith Pelpola, 2004

?© Charith Pelpola, 2004

About me:

I'm a wildlife documentary maker, have been in the business for almost 10 years and have spent my life working in the field of environmental conservation. In '96, I moved out of the UK, and proceeded to lead a nomadic existence throughout South East Asia, and have now taken root in Singapore. My factual writings have appeared in several publications. My fictional writing has remained entirely personal - until very recently! 

I am of Anglo-Sri Lankan blood, 32 years old, husband to Kristen and parent to four cats and two dogs. I still enjoy getting lost in the wilderness and living to tell (write) the tale.

~**~**~ 

 Poetry Section

~**~**~

The Change Begins

Sharlett Hunt   3/24/05

As days go by I look within,

It seems the world is filled with sin,

And many times I see my face,

A worried frown is such disgrace.

While all the years I've wondered why,

It starts with just a little lie,

And being blind I cannot see,

The only one I fool is me.

I read of misery, death and woe,

It's in the hearts of some I know.

I get down on my knees and pray,

And ask the Lord for one more day.

For just today is all that's here,

To be so honest and sincere

In everything I say and do,

The change begins with me and you.

Sharlett Hunt

Sharlette863 @aol.com


About Me:

I was born in Alabama, the middle of
seven children. At about age four we moved
to Central Florida and I have lived here
most of my life. I am a Viet Nam Era
Veteran. I have always enjoyed writing
and as I get older it seems to come more
naturally to me. I believe
everyone has many stories inside them and
some are blessed to be able to share them.

~**~**~

Ida Know
by Steve Podielsky

She's the subject of a song by
those sultry Olsen twins and
also how every sentence
from my IT Guy begins

Ida Know bout hosting
email, stats or spam
Ida Know bout bandwidth
I'm just the IT man.

I'd like to swing a harddrive
no matter PC or Mac
kick him to the floor
and give his head a whack
with the latest in technology
an evolved config.sys
and see if dumbass learns
more readily through
forcible osmosis.

03/24/2005

~**~**~

HOPE

Charith Pelpola

A mob of leaves, delicate, ephemeral

Thrown into confusion

By a street-bound whirlwind

Racing across grey streets

Caution to the wind

Dodging cars and rushing feet

A gathering of twenty, thirty

Faded yellow and green

Against charcoal and white stripes

Streaming with abandon

Chaotic; somehow a ballet

Dancing for the joy of dancing

On the currents of an imaginary stream

Makes me smile

Life is worth living

After all.

?© Charith Pelpola, 2005

~**~**~

Writers Feedback

I am in agreement concerning leaves, Fall, colors.   Amen, Sandra Pringle

Hi Carol, I just read Maria's story about the London Bombings and I feel exactly as she does.  It is so sad that a few can wreck the lives of so many.  Hopefully a solution can be found but it seems like we will always have these tragedies caused from this kind of hate and cowardice.  As she says it is just a handful of people, most are like me and you, love and enjoy peace and harmony in the world.  Thank God.  Blessings, Sharlett Hunt 

Carol, a lovely reflection on nature. Autumn is the season which really disturbs the senses I feel. My favourite time. Gabrielle.

Prayer Requests and Updates

Father God In heaven I come to you in prayer asking that you reach down your

almighty hand down and touch Carol, Father please take all the sickness from

her and completely heal her, Father you know her needs. Show her your

awsome powers. It is in the name of Jesus Christ the Holy Son that I pray.

Amen Amen Amen!

God bless and be with you always!

Richard & Jackie Sims

Writing to again say thank you for all the prayers for our precious little Michael Schwaller  who was diagnosed and treated for Infantile Spazms.  He was   treated with ACTH and was having jack-knife seizures of many minutes long and with 80 to a hundred per time.  Praise be to our Lord who seen him through the medication without it causing any problems as far as his being mentally affected and he was given a eeg and the readings yesterday by his doctor who is an specialist on the Infantile Spazms. 

The doctor told his mother and grandmother to take him home and treat him as a normal little boy..and enjoy him because he was  seizure free and they would not return as there was no showing of them on the EEG.

If someone does not realize or know what those Infantile spazms are there is a web site that will show many testimonials and information about it and its severity and what can happen.

Michael's immune system is now starting to build up and he will be alright  He was in quaranteen for many weeks and it has been a very stressful and heartbreaking thing watching what he went through during this time. 

Again praise be to our dear Lord Jesus Christ for HIS healing virtue and for the goodness and faith that was sent out to Jesus by prayers from all the wonderful believers. 

Sincerely,

Leonia Ebling

SENIOR WRITERS

Agee, Vance;  Apted, Violet;  Baker, Kathy;  Batt, Al;  Berry, Nell;

Boda, Ginger;  Bryant, Sharon;  Buhagiar, Victor; Cassady, B.J.;  Crider, Mark; 

Deming, Barb; Goodier, Steve;  Harris, Kathy Anne; Hunt, Sharlette; 

Jacobson, Gary;  Kiser, Roger Dean; Kerens, Claudia; Jenkins, Pamela;

Liles, Norma;  Mazzella, Joe; Ojeigbe, Georgewaters;

  Petry, Dianna Doles; Roberts, Susan;  Shaw, Bob; Sims, Richard; Swarner, Ken; Vaknin, Sam;

Walker, Bill;  Walker, Joe; Warner, Gorden K;

Whirity, Kathy;  White, Robert;

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