Wise Men and Other Stories Read Online Free PDF Page B

it doesn’t have to stay that way. I believe that one of the reasons we have children on this planet is to show adults the way back to expressing our emotions.
    It’s worked on this adult. After being told by my daughter that I am her best friend, and after returning the compliment a number of times, I have found those words easier to say. Also, by witnessing her liberal use of the phrase—to me, Mommy, Megan, Grandma, Grandpa, her teachers, and, of course, her best friends—I have realized that I am also empowered to tell as many people as I like that they are my best friends. And I have especially realized that I should say those words to my best friends.
    I recently did just that. I told John, my best friend out in Idaho, that he is, in fact, my best friend. I always knew that, and I assumed he did. But when he later told me how much it meant to him that I would tell him such a thing, I realized that we should not take such knowledge for granted.
    I’ve also learned that in most cases, if you want a hug, all you’ve got to do is ask for it. Unless, of course, you are talking to Mrs. Megan. This, I chose to try out with my wife. And to my great delight and pleasure, I got exactly what I asked for: a hug. No strings attached. What a deal.
    So if you’d like to have some fun, let your kids show you the way. Call your best friend and say, “You’re my best friend.” If it feels good—and I think it will—call another best friend and repeat the process.
    And when you run out of best friends to call, ask your spouse or your parent or your kid for a hug. If at first they go for the mace, be patient. Old habits are hard to break. But somewhere inside each of us, you can be sure there’s a kid who wouldn’t mind a hug.

 
A Note From My Sister
     
    I want to tell you about something very personal. It’s about a note I received from my youngest sister one Christmas. It made me very happy when I received it, but it also made me cry. So I debated for a long time whether I should show it to anybody. And finally, for a number reasons, I decided that I should tell other people about it.
    I’ll show you the note in a minute, but first, I have to tell you a few things about me and my sister and our family.
    Our parents got divorced when I was ten. My youngest sister, Sharon, would have been two. Sharon and I, along with the rest of our brothers and sisters, stayed with our mother. Our father moved to another part of Louisville for a while, remarried, and eventually moved away to Massachusetts.
    After a few of years of trying, Mom finally acknowledged that she could not raise seven kids on her own. My brothers and sisters—including Sharon—were put in an orphanage. By that time, I was fourteen and I had a part - time job, so Mom kept me home with her.
    Now before you go feeling sorry for me and saying, “What a noble little boy, taking a job at fourteen to help his mother pay the bills,” you need to know that I was not helping with the bills—although I did buy some of my own clothes. But overall, I didn’t make that much money. And what I did make, I spent on myself.
    So I wasn’t at home to help pay the bills. When you get right down to it, I think Mom kept me at home so she wouldn’t be lonely.
    Unfortunately, I was not the greatest of companions. In fact, I was nothing but trouble. I skipped school, snuck out late at night with my friends, went to beer parties, and generally got into a lot of trouble. The culminating event came shortly before my fifteenth birthday when I skipped school one day, stole the keys to Mom’s car, took some friends for a joy ride, and ended up wrecking the car.
    After that, there were lots of talks about what to do with me. My Mom talked to me. My uncle talked to me. Our priest talked to me. And, of course, my probation officer talked to me. (I got a probation officer after I got caught shoplifting earlier that same year.) Everybody finally decided that the best thing to do was to