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Subject: June 8, 2006 - Storytime Tapestry - Contributors: Joe Walker; Joyce Lock; Mary Dees - June08, 2006

Storytime Tapestry Newsletter

The newsletter devoted to spreading love and cultural awareness around the world.

June 8, 2006

Today’s Queue Stories

~**~**~

ValueSpeak

A Weekly Column

By Joseph Walker

valuespeak@msn.com

SOMEONE TO TAKE THE BLAME

I thought it would be a great April Fools prank. Honest – that’s what I was thinking.

I mean, it was a glorious spring day. We were growing teenagers. We needed to spend 45 minutes out in the fresh air, frolicking in the sun while the fire department cleared the school. From my 18-year-old perspective, it would be healthy. Fun. Exhilarating. Liberating.

But Principal Perkins didn’t see it that way.

“I want to know who set off the fire alarm, and I want to know NOW!” I heard him growl at Mr. Mangus, his assistant principal, as we started filing back into the high school. “Whoever did this is going to be in SERIOUS trouble!”

I wanted to ask him exactly how serious SERIOUS trouble would be, but I didn’t dare. I was a senior, just a little more than a month away from graduation. College scholarships were at stake, and Viet Nam beckoned to those who didn’t qualify – especially if you had a high draft number like I did. I didn’t need SERIOUS trouble.

Besides – and this is a little embarrassing to admit, given the circumstances – I was student body president. Principal Perkins trusted me. A couple of months earlier he had allowed some of my friends and I to stay overnight in the school to “protect” it from pranksters the night before our Big Game against our cross-town rivals. He even provided the pizza, for Pete’s sake! How could I face him now – guilty of pranksterism in the first degree?

I tried to look inconspicuous as Mr. Mangus roamed the halls, asking questions. What if they dusted for fingerprints? My fingerprints were all over the school. It wouldn’t be hard to match them to mine. Then . . hello, Hanoi Hilton.

I was opening my locker, wondering if it would help to crawl inside and close the door behind me, when I heard a voice behind me.

“I saw what you did.”

I froze. I was busted. I turned slowly to face my accuser. Thankfully, it wasn’t Mr. Mangus. It was John, a 19-or-20-year-old senior (OK, so he had a little trouble with 5^th grade – twice) who spent more time in the parking lot than in the classroom. And he was smiling.

“Nice job, man!” he said, punching me playfully in the shoulder. “That was great! And nobody will ever guess it was you! It was, like, the perfect crime!”

“Not quite perfect if you saw me,” I whispered. “John, did any one else see . . ?”

“Mr. Walker!”

It was Mr. Mangus storming toward me, and he wasn’t smiling. John retreated to the other side of the hall, and I braced myself to be unceremoniously stripped of title, rank and privilege – you know, like on the opening of that TV show, “Branded.”

“Mr. Walker, I’ve talked to several students who say they saw you near where the fire alarm was pulled this morning,” Mr. Mangus said sharply. “Did you see anything?”

“Well, no,” I said, choosing my words carefully. “I mean . . . you know . . . I saw . . . um . . . regular stuff . . . but not . . . you know . . . anyone close to the alarm . . . specifically . . .”

Mr. Mangus had spent a lifetime dealing with high school students. He knew an intentionally vague answer when he heard one. And it immediately made him suspicious. “So if you didn’t SEE anyone,” he said, “perhaps you were . . somehow . . involved . . . ?”

There it was. A direct question. If I answered honestly, I was in SERIOUS trouble. If I lied and it was later discovered that I lied, well, Watergate would look like an April Fool’s Day prank by comparison. But before I could respond I heard that voice behind me. Again.

“Bennie, you’re amazing.”

Mr. Mangus didn’t take kindly to students calling him by his first name. He whirled to face John. “How many times do I have to tell you not to call me . . .”

“Do you really think Walker here would do something like that?”

“Well, I don’t know, John. I wouldn’t have thought so, but . . .”

“Gimme a break,” John said. “He’s a [“goody-goody”].”

I didn’t know whether to be relieved or insulted.

“Well, then who did it, John?” Mr. Mangus asked. Then he pressed: “Was it you?”

John didn’t hesitate. “Yeah, it was me,” he said. “What are you gonna do about it?”

“It isn’t what I’m going to do,” Mr. Mangus said as he took John firmly by the arm and started leading him down the hall. “It’s what Principal Perkins is going to do. I’m just going to watch. And I’m going to enjoy every minute of it.”

I wish I could tell you that I jumped to John’s defense and admitted my guilt. I didn’t. He was willing – even anxious – to take the blame for me. And I was willing to let him – guilty though I was. I never did find out what SERIOUS trouble John got into, but it turns out he had already enlisted in the Marines. I heard he won some medals for bravery and courage, and it didn’t surprise me in the least.

I think about John every year about this time – not because of April Fools, but rather because of Easter.

Because there are other things of which I’ve been guilty.

And because Someone was willing to take the blame for me.

~**~**~

Whiskers

Joyce C. Lock

When growing up, I recall discussions about how it is impossible for animals to go to heaven; being that they don't have a spirit. How could they have one, being that they do not talk and, thus, can not understand or communicate with God? Or, at least, that was the winning argument.

Though, I have wondered, more and more, how it would be impossible for them not to have a spirit, after having our current cat; Whiskers. We have never had one like him before.

When we snap our fingers, in disapproval, Whiskers whines. When his preference is to be disobedient, he will whine as if we have scolded him already. Knowing he will get into trouble, Whiskers proceeds to do the very thing he knows not to do, anyway ... fully anticipating that we will immediately tell him to stop, for which he reluctantly does; perhaps also testing to see if we care enough to respond.

In every way, Whiskers appears to have the feelings and understanding of a toddler. He even talks back to us when he does not like the rules. Others have stated they have never heard a cat make sounds like he does; somewhat like how a baby's cry has different meanings.

When our hands are full and we need to open a door, Whiskers will reach for the doorknob and attempt to open it for us. He has the gift of helps! When he wants us to open a door for him, he will do the same. He already knows Bible! "Ask and ye shall receive."

With the aroma of cooking, Whiskers will run to the kitchen. Much like we did as children, he is prepared to rinse the pots and bowls by licking the tasty residue. (Being in the age of dishwashers, germs are not a problem.)

At meal time, Whiskers will select a chair around the kitchen table, just like any other member of the family; patiently awaiting (most of the time) scraps. (Just don't leave your plate until you are finished eating.)

Like children might sneak cookies (the evidence later to be revealed) we discover pieces of food Whiskers has snitched, then hid to eat. It is not a good idea to leave white powdered donuts out, even with the box lid closed. That is one of Whiskers' all-time favorites.

Whenever we leave the house, Whiskers watches out the window, anticipating our return; missing us, I am sure. Upon arrival and before we get to an entry, he has already scurried there to greet us.

It really is not all that different from picking up your toddler from the baby-sitter, how they run to the door, "Mommy!" If Whiskers has not greeted us, we know to check to see if he has become sick or gotten closed in a closet.

Surely, animals must care intensely, being that they take on the family health problems.

Also, each member of the family has a different place in his heart. Whiskers responds to the one who feeds him as if they were his mother and that is, also, the person he cries to when the bowl is empty.

To his playmate, Whiskers jumps on them, attacks, and does all sorts of silly things. His personality is so entertaining. Much like a Sanguine, he is sure to bring a smile.

To another, he is so romantic that everyone in the house is drawn to watch him. Whiskers will love on you as if you are the most precious person this side of heaven.

The unconditional love one gets from Whiskers is as heartwarming as any toddler. If you are in tune to listen to his heart, more joyous than his purr, you will know he knows 'love'; and God is love.

These are just a few of the things leading me to think Whiskers almost has to be part human.

Then, when the subject of animals came up, around my 12-year-old niece, I overheard her say, "Well, of course animals go to heaven! Everything God created will be in heaven!" Like, duh.

All the world will cry out that there is a God. Oh, the wisdom of a child!

Maybe God blessed us with Whiskers so I would ponder such things and be able to offer assurance to those who have lost pets; as, now, I know when our beloved pet dies, we will see them again.

Poetry Section

~**~**~

Keep On Truckin’

Mary Dees

She packs his lunch,

For his long journey ahead.

At 3 a.m.,

He has to roll out of bed.

With a kiss and a wave,

He’s out the door.

He has to get back,

On the road by 4.

Through snow and ice,

No matter how bad the road,

The condition can’t matter;

He has to hitch his load.

He crosses the miles,

Just as fast as he’s able to.

His day just started,

And there’s a lot left to do.

He thinks of his girls,

And it makes him so glad,

How four beautiful children,

Call him dad.

He thinks of his wife,

While he still roams.

Knowing she can’t wait,

For his return home.

So he keeps on truckin’

To reach his destination –

Unhitching his load,

There’s no time for hesitation.

Turning back around,

He retraces the miles.

That kept him from,

All those wonderful smiles.

No matter the hours,

Or the miles far from home –

With their picture in his mind,

He’s never alone.

She meets him at the door,

He’s back for a while.

Before they sleep,

They share a smile.

He looks down on his girls,

And kisses their face.

He gives a thank you to God,

For keeping them safe.

He rolls over to hold her,

His wife’s now asleep.

Satisfied with the responsibility,

He was able to keep.

So they share their dreams,

When his workday comes to an end –

Awaiting tomorrow,

When work comes again.

You have done so well Lloyd,

And you have made me so proud.

My brother, I hope I can be,

Like you years from now.

I hope I have the courage,

That you have been given –

That makes you keep on truckin’

And helps you keep on livin’.

Mary Dees

marlena7694@yahoo.com

~**~**~

Her Name Is Lisa

Mary Dees

Her name is Lisa,

A life long friend.

Although I was lost,

She found me again.

She answered the phone,

In the middle of the night.

How could she know,

She would save my life.

Drunk and depressed,

I let it all flow.

The words would release me,

Then I would let go.

I had it all figured out,

That was my plan.

She swore that she loved me,

Then her crying began.

How could I know,

Her love would appear,

Right out of the blue,

After all of these years?

Ashamed of myself.

I fell to my knees.

I thought she was gone,

But she wasn’t it seemed.

I couldn’t believe it,

As I took her words in.

It was typical of me,

To be wrong once again.

The call had ended,

We hung up the phone.

I returned to my life,

And left hers alone.

Reflecting now,

I see her so clear.

My golden friend,

Had dried my tears.

I will never forget,

What she did that night.

Her belief in me,

Had changed my life.

My heart will embrace her,

Till the day that I die.

Her worry can end though,

For it won’t be tonight.

Mary M. Dees

marlena7694@yahoo.com

~**~**~

Senior Writers

Chief writer: Sharon Bryant

Chief researcher/historian: Hartson Dowd

Agee, Vance; Apted, Violet; Baker, Kathy; Batt, Al; Berry, Nell; Blaine, Pamela; Boda, Ginger; Booher, Paula; Buhagiar, Victor; Cassady, B.J.; Cavalera, Robyn; Crider, Mark; Deming, Barb; Doherty, Maria;

Dowd, Hartson; Gilbert, Robert, Jr.; Goodier, Steve; Braun-Haley, Ellie; Harris, Kathy Anne; Henry, Linda Ann; Hunt, Sharlett; Hymes, Christina; Jacobson, Gary; Kiser, Roger Dean; Kerens, Claudia; Kevin, Tim; Jenkins, Pamela; Liles, Norma; Lily Jodi Flesberg; Lock, Joyce; Marlor, Janice Bumbalough; Mazzella, Joe; Morris, Deepak; Ojeibge, Georgewaters; Petry, Dianna Doles; Roberts, Susan; Shiveley, Debra; Shaw, Bob; Sims, Richard; Streidel, Saskia; Swarner, Ken; Vaknin, Sam; Verhoeff, Jan; Walker, Bill; Walker, Joe; Warner, Gordon, K; Walsh, Sue; Weymouth, Barbara J.; Whirity, Kathy;

Wainland, David; Westerfer, Clara; White Robert;

Storytime Tapestry Staff

Carol Roach - Founder/publisher

Thelma Hartselle - Co-Founder, Moderator

Clara Westerfer – moderator

Bob Johnston - moderator