The Best Time of my Life

It was June 15, and in two days I would be turning thirty. I was insecure about entering a new decade of my life and feared that my best years were now behind me.
My daily routine included going to the gym for a workout before going to work. Every morning I would see my friend Nicholas at the gym. He was seventy-nine years old and in terrific shape. As I greeted Nicholas on this particular day, he noticed I wasn't full of my usual vitality and asked if there was anything wrong. I told him I was feeling anxious about turning thirty. I wondered how I would look back on my life once I reached Nicholas's age, so I asked him, "What was the best time of your life?"
Without hesitation, Nicholas replied, "Well, Joe, this is my philosophical answer to your philosophical question:
"When I was a child in Austria and everything was taken care of for me and I was nurtured by my parents, that was the best time of my life.
"When I was going to school and learning the things I know today, that was the best time of my life.
"When I got my first job and had responsibilities and got paid for my efforts, that was the best time of my life.
"When I met my wife and fell in love, that was the best time of my life.
"The Second World War came, and my wife and I had to flee Austria to save our lives. When we were together and safe on a ship bound for North America, that was the best time of my life.
"When we came to Canada and started a family, that was the best time of my life.
"When I was a young father, watching my children grow up, that was the best time of my life.
"And now, Joe, I am seventy-nine years old. I have my health, I feel good and I am in love with my wife just as I was when we first met. This is the best time of my life."


-by Joe Kemp, A 5th Portion of Chicken Soup for the Soul

She Didn't Have to Say a Word

You have no idea what this has meant to me. All these years I never thought you were even interested in what I had to say," the old man told them.
It's my get away. You heard me mention it before. My favorite restaurant for a good old clog your heart breakfast of eggs, home fries, and bacon. Oh yes. Whole wheat toast to make it healthy.
I find the most incredible people and stories in restaurants. Think about it. It's your family dinner table removed from your kitchen and placed in a public area. Like home, but better. Somebody else is cooking and doing the dishes.
So scattered all around me are families having dinner, friends catching up with the latest news, business meetings and people like me just there to relax. Oh, of course. Great conversation.
Except in the booth across from me. Silence.
When I first sat down there two men sitting together quietly. One man appeared to be in his thirties. He was dressed in some old work clothes and still wearing his baseball cap. The other man I would guess was about 80. He had the most incredible face. The lines and creases gave him character. His white hair was messy from wearing a stocking cap he held on top of the table. He wore one of those red plaid shirt jackets that you might see on a construction worker. Heavy enough to keep you warm while you're moving about, but not too bulky to limit your movement.
But he didn't look like he was going anywhere. Neither was this conversation.
"Boy, I really worked up a hunger today, Pop. All that shoveling and sweeping the snow will do that," the younger man said.
"Yeah, this is somethin'," replied the old man.
Silence followed for the longest time.
Suddenly I heard the young man say, "Here they come," as he pointed toward the doorway.
He almost looked relieved. Somebody who would join in and help get this conversation going.
It appeared to me that the two people who joined them were a mother and teenage grandchild. The woman sat next to the younger man and Pop stood up to let the grandchild slide in place.
"Hello, Dad. Good to see you!" she said as she sat down.
"Yep!" the old man replied.
Silence. Even longer gaps than before.
"I feel real good," the old man said proudly.
"Oh, you look good Dad," the younger man said. Then one by one the others agreed.
Silence.
The waitress approached and took their breakfast orders.
Grandpa excused himself. "Gotta go to the bathroom. It happens a lot when you're old," he said.
As soon as he was out of sight, the younger man said, "God, I don't know what to say to him. We just sit here looking around. He never talks."
"I know what you mean. God what do you say?" the woman added.
"He's old. What do you talk about with an old man?" the kid joined in.
Oh, no. Here I go. I can't just sit here and listen to this. I'm going to say something, swallow hard and wait to see if they tell me it's none of my business.
"Ask him about his childhood," I said as I continued eating.
"What? Pardon me? Were you talking to us, sir?" the woman asked.
"Yes. It's really not my business, I know. But do you realize what he has to offer you? Can you even begin to understand what this man has seen in his lifetime? He most likely has answers to problems you haven't even discovered as problems in your life. He's a gold mine!" I said.
Silence again.
"Look, talk to him about his childhood. Ask him what the snows were like back then. He'll have a million stories to share. He's not talking because no one is asking," I told them.
Just then he came walking around the corner.
"Oh, boy. I feel much better now. You know I haven't been goin' good in a while," the old man told them.
They all turned and looked at me. I shrugged my shoulders. Okay. So old people also talk about the facts of life. And going or not going is a major thing when you're old. You take the good with the bad.
After a long silence the young girl said, "Paw Paw. When you were a kid were the snows this bad?"
"Gees, honey. This is nothing like the snows I had when I was a kid. Did I ever tell you about the snow storm that covered my house?" he asked.
"No, Pop. I don't think I ever heard that one myself," said the younger man.
Now for the next twenty minutes the old man was in his glory. At one point he even stood up to show them how high the one snow drift was. Throughout the entire meal everyone chimed in with more questions. They laughed and he lit up like he was on stage and the play he was acting in was his life story.
Just as I was about to leave I heard the old man say, "You have no idea what this has meant to me. All these years I never thought you were even interested in what I had to say."
"Oh..... well, I guess we just didn't think you wanted to talk," the woman said.
"Well nobody bothered to ask me anything. I just figured I was boring or somethin'. It's been a tough life you know. Ever since Ma Ma died I really had nothing to say." He paused for a moment. I could see him nervously wringing his rough life worn hands together.
"You see, her and I were like a song. I made the music and she...she was the words," he said.
Like tough guys of his time are supposed to do, he held back any visible emotion, sniffled and wiping his eye he said, "No sense talkin' if you ain't got the words."
As I turned to walk away I looked across the table. I saw the young girl wave and smile at me as she put her arm around Paw Paw's shoulders.
She didn't have to say a word.

-by an Unknown Author, Souyrce Unknown

The Window

Two men, both seriously ill, occupied the same hospital room. One man was allowed to sit up in his bed for an hour a day to drain the fluids from his lungs. His bed was next to the room's only window. The other man had to spend all his time flat on his back.
The men talked for hours on end. They spoke of their wives and families, their homes, their jobs, their involvement in the military service, where they had been on vacation. And every afternoon when the man in the bed next to the window could sit up, he would pass the time by describing to his roommate all the things he could see outside the window.
The man in the other bed would live for those one-hour periods where his world would be broadened and enlivened by all the activity and color of the outside world. The window overlooked a park with a lovely lake, the man had said. Ducks and swans played on the water while children sailed their model boats. Lovers walked arm in arm amid flowers of every color of the rainbow. Grand old trees graced the landscape, and a fine view of the city skyline could be seen in the distance. As the man by the window described all this in exquisite detail, the man on the other side of the room would close his eyes and imagine the picturesque scene.
One warm afternoon the man by the window described a parade passing by. Although the other man could not hear the band, he could see it in his mind's eye as the gentleman by the window portrayed it with descriptive words. Unexpectedly, an alien thought entered his head: Why should hehave all the pleasure of seeing everything while I never get to see anything? It didn't seem fair. As the thought fermented, the man felt ashamed at first. But as the days passed and he missed seeing more sights, his envy eroded into resentment and soon turned him sour. He began to brood and found himself unable to sleep. He should be by that window - and that thought now controlled his life.
Late one night, as he lay staring at the ceiling, the man by the window began to cough. He was choking on the fluid in his lungs. The other man watched in the dimly lit room as the struggling man by the window groped for the button to call for help. Listening from across the room, he never moved, never pushed his own button which would have brought the nurse running. In less than five minutes, the coughing and choking stopped, along with the sound of breathing. Now, there was only silence--deathly silence.
The following morning, the day nurse arrived to bring water for their baths. When she found the lifeless body of the man by the window, she was saddened and called the hospital attendant to take it away--no words, no fuss. As soon as it seemed appropriate, the man asked if he could be moved next to the window. The nurse was happy to make the switch and after making sure he was comfortable, she left him alone.
Slowly, painfully, he propped himself up on one elbow to take his first look. Finally, he would have the joy of seeing it all himself. He strained to slowly turn to look out the window beside the bed. It faced a blank wall.
Moral of the story:The pursuit of happiness is a matter of choice...it is a positive attitude we consciously choose to express. It is not a gift that gets delivered to our doorstep each morning, nor does it come through the window. And I am certain that our circumstances are just a small part of what makes us joyful. If we wait for them to get just right, we will never find lasting joy.
The pursuit of happiness is an inward journey. Our minds are like programs, awaiting the code that will determine behaviors; like bank vaults awaiting our deposits. If we regularly deposit positive, encouraging, and uplifting thoughts, if we continue to bite our lips just before we begin to grumble and complain, if we shoot down that seemingly harmless negative thought as it germinates, we will find that there is much to rejoice about.


-by Unknown