STORYTIME TAPESTRY

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

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Special Treat ??“ Janet Seever

Nov 18, 2005? 

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Cheering for Chuck
By Janet Seever

Laughter rang out as children raced across the schoolyard, busily engaged in one of their inventive games. The October wind swirled red and yellow leaves against the brick four-room country school, which had stood like a sentinel on the corner for generations. In 1953, school games were innocent, and the worst school crimes were gum chewing and whispering??”and on rare occasions, looking at a neighbor??™s paper.
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"You can't play," said LeRoy, a fourth grader.
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"Why not?" I questioned, feeling hurt.
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"Because you're only in second grade, and second graders aren't old enough. That's why." He peered at me through thick glasses.

???It??™s not fair,??? I protested, turning and walking away.
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The game? Catch-the-girls-so-Chucky-can??“kiss-them. Chucky was our teacher??™s fourth grade son, who attended town school. However, today was a teachers' convention at his school. Much to our delight, he visited our school.

Hidden from the playground supervisor??™s view, the fourth grade boys brought the giggling girls to Chucky.

Several years later, I attended the same town school and church as Chucky. I was acutely aware of his presence in our fourth-sixth grade Sunday school class, but he never even noticed me. Never.

Throughout junior high and high school, Chuck, as he was now called, was popular??”handsome, polite, neatly dressed and a good student. I admired him from afar as did other girls. He was out of my league.

Days turned into months and months into years. I graduated from high school, got my university degree and eventually married. Then my husband and I moved overseas.

My mother wrote weekly with local and family news. On rare occasions she mentioned Chuck, who was married and teaching school.

Then a decade later, my mother sent a newspaper clipping. "I know you remember Chuck, so I thought you would like to read what he wrote for the local paper,??? she wrote. ???He's brave to write so openly."
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I could hardly believe what I was reading.
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"No one understands the pain of mental illness except someone who has lived through it," Chuck wrote. "I am sharing my story to encourage struggling people to get help as I did."
He had lost his wife to divorce, lost his job, and lost his self-respect in a nightmare of mental turmoil. Only when the condition was diagnosed as manic depression and his doctor put him on lithium was he able to find his way out of his mental fog. Now he was finding hope for the future, step by step.

Emotional pain flooded through me as I remembered the Chuck I had known. He had so much potential. He deserved so much better than this! ???Lord, be with Chuck,??? I prayed. ???Help him overcome his mental illness.???

After that, my path crossed with Chuck every few years. When Chuck's father died, I sent his mother a sympathy card and began writing to her. It was a natural connection since she had once been my teacher.
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One time, while writing to her, I shared the playground story from 1953 that I still vividly remembered. It partly belonged to Chuck, and I knew she would pass it on to him. It was my way of saying, ???Chuck, I care what happens to you. I always have.???

Two summers ago, while my husband, Dennis, and I were visiting the church in my hometown, I saw Chuck. Now in his mid-50s, he was dressed in a multicolored vest buttoned down the front??”without a shirt??”and had on jeans and sandals. With his longish, wavy hair and beard, he reminded me of a modern-day John the Baptist.

After church, he greeted me with, "I heard you once had a crush on me." He was pleased and gave me a hug. I was glad his mother had passed on the message. ? 
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Then he asked, "Did you know that my mother recently had a stroke? I live at home with her because she needs help. I know she would like company.???
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???I??™m sorry to hear that. I haven??™t seen her for about five years,??? I responded.

Dennis and I followed Chuck to his mother??™s house that was six blocks away. Although the stroke had affected her mobility, she was still alert and remembered me.
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After a pleasant visit with his mother, Chuck, Dennis and I talked in the living room. ???I miss not having a family of my own,??? said Chuck wistfully. ???You are so fortunate to have each other and your two children.???

???God has blessed us,??? I agreed. ???How about you? What are you doing now days????

???I want to go to Bible school so I can work with street people. The need out there is great,??? he said with conviction. ???I always thought I was a Christian, but three years ago a chaplain who works with street people explained to me what it meant to be a Christian.
It??™s made a big difference in my life. That??™s why I want to help others who feel hopeless.???

???That??™s great,??? I said. ???I hope things work out for you.???

We discussed the challenge going back to school would present. He was dealing with a life-long illness and didn??™t yet have funding.

When it was time to leave, we wished him well.

???Don??™t let your dream die,??? I urged.

Then, on impulse, Chuck picked up a ceramic angel from a coffee table, and held it out to me. ???This is for you,??? he said with a smile. ???God bless you both."

Chuck, wherever your path in life takes you, I??™ll be cheering for you. I always have. I always will.

?© 2002 Janet Seever

In a phone call to Chuck??™s mother in 2003, I learned that Multiple Sclerosis has now robbed Chuck of his ability to walk, and the doctors were having difficulty balancing his medication for his manic depression. Chuck won??™t have the opportunity to realize his dream, but there are thousands of other Chucks in the world. Cheer for them and encourage them. The Lord will bless you for it. Chuck??™s mother passed away in 2004, but not before I had a number of interesting phone conversations with her.
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The mother of two adult children, Janet Seever lives in Calgary, Alberta, and writes for Word Alive magazine. Her stories have appeared on Storytime Tapestry numerous times in the past. "Holding on to Hope," which appeared in July, was the story of her husband's struggle with a major stroke. You can reach her at jseever1@shaw.ca and read more of her writing at www.inscribe.org/janetseever

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