Media Encouragement (short story)

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“OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! I hate that.”

The TV blaring in the family room quickly got Maggie’s attention. She stormed in on a mission to find the remote.

“I can protect my kids from violent TV programs. I can block the shows with sexual content. I can monitor for lousy political propaganda. But there is no TV Guide that will tell me when they are going to air a commercial where they have swearing. And I hate that.”

“So write them a letter.” Maggie’s oldest son Gabe had followed the sound of her voice and found her ranting in the family room. As she frantically looked for the remote, he found it on the bookshelf and hit the off button.

“Thank you. And I have done that,” Maggie said. “I have written more complaint letters to more television executives than anyone west of the Mississippi.”

“I know, mom. It’s just what you always taught us to do.”

“Look here, Gabe. Here’s the stack of letters I sent to the NFL after Janet Jackson’s wardrobe malfunction at the Super Bowl. That was ten years ago and I still have every copy of every letter. What good has it done?”

“Well, have you prayed about it?”

“Huh?”

Gabe slowed down his speech to mock her, “Haaaaave youuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu prayed aboooooooooooooout it?”

“No, I heard you. Hmmm.” She laughed. “You know Gabe, I’m not sure. I mean I document everything that I think is offensive. I think my letter writing campaigns personally employ dozens of postal workers. But I honestly don’t know if I have prayed much about it.”

“Maybe you should do that.” Maggie, still distracted by the shock of his question, remained silent. “Maybe we should pray about it right now,” he offered.

“I would like that Gabe. That’s a great idea. I’m afraid your question has me a little discombobulated. Would you do the honors?”

“Sure. Dear Jesus, thank you for my mom’s vigilance. She wants to protect her family from everything displeasing to you. And it’s frustrating because there is so much that is out of her control. Out of our control. Please help her to know we appreciate her efforts. Please let it have a positive impact. In Jesus’ name, Amen.”

Maggie was truly touched by his gesture. “Thank you Gabe.” She walked across the room and gave him a hug. “What about you? Since we’re praying, what can I pray about for you?”

Now it was his turn to discombobulate. He hesitated. “Umm, nothing. No, I’m good.” He turned to make a beeline for his room.

“Not so fast, partner.” She glanced at the clock, “you’re home late by the way.”

He hesitated again.

“Out with it. What’s going on?” Maggie decided to get comfortable in the oversized lounge chair everyone fought over on family movie night.

“I got sent to detention,” Gabe admitted. “It’s no big deal.”

“Gabe how could you?”

“Mom, it’s all your fault.”

“What are you talking about? I wasn’t even there.”

“Well, it was like you were there. Everything you ever taught us was running through my mind and you got me in trouble.” He was talking really fast and flustered. His heart was racing as he relived the moment.

“Slow down, partner. Take a deep breath and explain yourself.”

Gabe exhaled slowly and sat down on the couch. “I was in last period history. Ms. Wells’ class. We were watching this documentary about the Iraq war. That’s what they called it, anyway. But it only documented one side. All it showed was all the bad stuff our troops do.  I just got sick of it and told my teacher I thought it was unfair.”

“Son, you have to be careful about these things.”

“No, mom. It was unfair. And I was respectful, I promise. I get that war is horrible and lots of bad things happen. But lots of good things happen, too. Before he died in Fallujah, Uncle Kyle wrote me all of those letters from Iraq. He told me about all of the lives they saved, and the school they built. None of that was in the video. I told Ms. Wells that American soldiers have liberated lots of people. She didn’t want to hear that. Then I said that Jesus said that greater love has no one than he who lays down his life for a friend. Quoting the Bible really sent her over the edge. She sent me to the principal’s office.”

“Hm. You really said all that Gabe?”

“Yes mom. All our lives you have talked to us about what we watch. What we take into our minds. I remember that night I watched Psycho at Billy’s slumber party and I came home crying. You sat up and prayed with me for 3 hours until I felt safe enough to fall asleep.”

“I was so mad at you that night. You knew better than that.”

“I know mom. And I never forgot that lesson. Now I am really careful about what I watch. And I examine everything to see if it honors God and tells the truth. And this documentary just didn’t seem like it was telling the whole truth. Before I knew it, I was talking about it to the class. I sounded more like you than you do.”

They both laughed.

“I’m really proud of you,” she said.

Now it was his turn. “Huh? You’re not mad.”

“At your teacher, yes. At you, no. I mean maybe we should watch this documentary together and I can see for myself. But bottom line, I am proud of you for using discernment. And for standing up for what you believe.”

“So, I’m not in trouble?”

“No. Ask your teacher if we can borrow the documentary and we’ll watch it together tomorrow night. And before we do, we’ll pray about it. How’s that?’

“Thanks, mom.”

“No, Gabe, thank you.”

Hospital Encouragement (Short Story)

“This stuff is so good,” shrieked Amy, as she scooped another spoonful.

“Pass it down here. My turn,” demanded her coworker Beth.

“You know if Dr. Martin catches us eating at the nurse’s station we are toast,” warned Joseph.

“I know, but this cookie dough is too addicting. Do you think anyone has ever really gotten sick off raw cookie dough? This warning label seems silly to me.” Amy grabbed for the bowl and another turn.

“I don’t know. We had a dormitory full of sick coeds once in the E/R with salmonella and a shared tub of cookie dough was one of many potential culprits,” remembered Beth.

BUZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ.

“Dang it! That’s my pager. It’s room 678 again. That man just won’t leave me alone,” complained Amy.

“What’s wrong with him?” asked Joseph.

“Everything. He is going downhill fast. This is the 6^th time he’s buzzed me this shift. What’s it gonna be this time? Nurse, fluff my pillows. Fluff your own pillows you crazy old…” Her voice drifted off as she walked down the hallway. She stopped outside his room and took a deep breath, trying to gather her composure. “Dear Jesus. I don’t know why but I am losing my patience with this man. Help. All things are possible through God who strengthens me.” She entered, avoiding eye contact with the old man.

“I can’t give you any more meds for another 3 hours Mr. Bloom. Doctor’s orders. You’re just going to have to wait.”

“What? No, I don’t need any medication.  That’s not why I buzzed you.”

Amy wasn’t listening. “I’m sorry but there’s really nothing more I can do for you. I have to finish my rounds but I’ll check back in on you before the morning shift takes over.”

“Wait. Don’t go!” he pleaded. Now he was embarrassed and with the raising of his voice to get Amy’s attention, he had overexerted himself. He sank back down in his bed.

She wanted to keep walking but she knew she had to stop. His cheeks were red and he was breathing heavy. “Mr. Bloom, what’s wrong? I already helped you with the TV remote. I brought your juice. We changed your bandages and your IV.”  

Amy wasn’t really able to disguise her impatience. But Mr. Bloom didn’t care. This might be his last chance. He tried his best to get the words out.

“Nurse, what day is it today?”

Amy’s chin dropped. She was so frustrated right now. She had 4 other patients she needed to visit and this man was asking her to be his own personal calendar. “It’s Wednesday!” she barked.

“Sorry, no. I mean what is the date? I’ve been in here so long, I’m losing track.”

That made sense to Amy. Though recently moved to her section, he’d been in this wing for about three weeks and she could understand patients getting dementia.  That always broke her heart. “It’s June 3, 2014.”

“That’s what I thought,” he mumbled. Immediately tears welled up in his eyes.

That did not make sense to Amy. “Mr. Bloom, what is it?” She wasn’t sure she wanted to know but was beginning to sense this was going to take a while. She brought him the Kleenex but didn’t give it to him. Instead, she wiped the tears away for him.

“I’ve been trying to talk to someone all day. The doctor came in for all of 20 seconds and she didn’t even let me ask her a question. She spoke a couple of clinical sounding sentences, wrote on my chart and dashed out. You at least smiled at the beginning of your shift and I knew that I had to talk with you.”

The smile returned and Amy let it linger. She was starting to feel bad about how she had been treating him. She sat on the edge of his bed.

“What’s on your mind Mr. Bloom?”

“Call me Alex.”

“What’s on your mind, Alex? Why the reaction to June 3^rd, 2014?”

“My wife died one year ago today. In this hospital.” Again the tears flowed and Amy could feel them bubbling up in her as well.

“I’m so sorry, Alex.”

“We’d been married 56 years. I was just missing her so much.” Amy walked up and gave him a hug.

“Where’d you meet her?” Amy sank back onto the bed, fully drawn into the moment.

“I was in the Army. The USO gave a concert at our base and Marianne was one of the backup singers. She had a great set of pipes, if you know what I mean.”

Amy laughed. “Do you have any children?”

“Our daughter, Amy.”

“That’s my name. With a name like that, she must be great!”

“She is. But once my wife got sick and the medical expenses started piling up, we became a financial burden. Our Amy just stopped calling. I haven’t seen or spoken to her since her mother’s funeral.”

Amy was stunned. “Well, enough about her then.”

 “I’m sorry I’m bothering you.”

“Alex, you’re not bothering me. I’m sorry I was in such a rush earlier.”

“I was overwhelmed with this sense of loneliness and then it dawned on me what day it must be. It has been a difficult year.”

“Tell me more about your wife.”

“She was beautiful. She made me the man that is wasting away before you today.”

Amy nodded. He was wasting away and she knew his time was short. She was going to make it as special as possible. “Let me get my coworker Beth and ask her to check on my patient in 684. Do you have any photos of Marianne? I want to see this great set of pipes, as you called them. I’ll be right back.” She left the room. “Hey Alex, do you like cookie dough?” she hollered as she went on a hunt for Beth.

Carny Encouragement

“5 darts for $5. Pop 3 balloons and win a BIIIG prize,” he barked. As the carnival crowd ignored him and bustled by, he darted behind the booth for another drag on his cigarette. When he popped his head back around he was startled to see her, as if one of his giant balloons had just exploded.

“Hi dad,” she said.

With the hot sun beating down on his balloon booth he shielded his eyes, pretending to look at her. But it wasn’t really the sun, it was the shame that made him avert her gaze.

“Mom told me where I could find you. She said you had trouble finding work and this was the only place that would hire you.” She paused to fight back the tears. She didn’t realize this would be so hard. His obvious discomfort wasn’t making it any easier.

“I’m sorry I never came to visit you,” she continued.

This was too painful for him and he turned to walk away, though he had no escape. She noticed how thin his frame was, how old and tired he looked. Sure carny workers always look old and tired, but this was different. She had never seen him like this before.

“Don’t go,” she gasped. “It wasn’t just you. I never visited mom, either. When I came back to town I was shocked that you two were still together. That she had waited for you.”

That made him smile and he stopped in his tracks.

“She said she decided to forgive you and that she still loved you. Always loved you. She waited five long years.”

“I don’t deserve your mother,” he stammered.  He thought his baby girl was gone forever. Instead she was here and he was dirty and smelly. He had never wanted her to see him like this. He grabbed some balloons and began blowing them up, trying to keep busy. He needed something to do with his nervous energy.

“I didn’t wait,” she sobbed. Without realizing it, her crying had caused quite a commotion. Carnival goers, always eager to see a freak show, began to stop and stare.

“I got outta town as fast as I could. The only reason I got all those college scholarships is that people felt sorry for me. The good girl from the good family, until the dad got charged with a felony. I was so embarrassed. And I was so angry at you.” The sheer force of that sentence, the first time she had ever spoken those words, compelled her to look directly at him. For one brief moment they locked eyes and he was stung by her anger. He stopped exhaling and the balloon in his mouth shriveled up and fell to the floor. He wished he could do the same.

“My anger was so out of control I ended up following in your footsteps. I became the very thing I hated.”

Those words were a dagger. The last thing a father ever wants to do is hurt his child and he could see how deep a wound he inflicted. He reached out for her but shrunk back in fear.

“I didn’t come back to town because I wanted to. I had to. My anger consumed me and I couldn’t focus on school. I got expelled for cheating. Like father, like daughter.”

As he began to cry he noticed the onlookers and tried to shoo them away. He popped a balloon to break the tension and yelled “Nothing to see here, folks. Move along.”

She thought he was trying to shut her up and she needed to finish. She had to get this off her chest. “No, I’ll pay,” she blurted. “Here’s $5” as she fumbled through her purse. She started talking faster, afraid that he would bolt.

“I came across the letters you wrote me from prison. I had never opened them. I was too good for you. You had hurt me and I wanted nothing to do with you. But then when I saw them again I thought maybe it will be comforting to read about someone’s life that is more messed up than mine.”

An older lady from the crowd approached and handed her a tissue. She wiped away a tear and let out a sigh that could have deflated a row of balloons.

“But I was wrong,” she admitted. “Your letters weren’t messed up. You told me how sorry you were. That you loved me. You took responsibility for your mistake. You shared about the Bible study in your cellblock and asking God to forgive you. You sounded so at peace. And I didn’t have any peace. So I knew I needed to forgive you.”

Murmurs rose up from the crowd like an episode of the Jerry Springer show. Some agreed with her, some walked way in disgust. She turned to look at the crowd, as if to persuade them. “Mom and I agreed. I need to forgive you. I do forgive you, dad.”

Applause broke out amongst her supporters as she looked back at her dad. He ran to the edge of the booth and leaped over the counter. He swung her around in his arms as the remaining crowd hollered their support.