就为了今天，我会很快乐；就为了今天，我将磨练自己的意志；就为了今天，我会制定一个计划……
昨天，今天，明天， 也许选择今天最为明智。昨天已经过去，明天还未到来，唯有把握每一个今天，笑对今天，才是人生之一大真谛。

Just for today I will try to live through this day only and not tackle my whole life problem at once. I can do something for twelve hours that would appall me if I had to keep it up for a lifetime.

Just for today I will be happy. This assumes to be true what Abraham Lincoln said, that "Most folks are as happy as they make up their minds to be."

Just for today I will adjust myself to what is, and not try to adjust everything to my own desires. I will take my "luck" as it comes.

Just for today I will try to strengthen my mind. I will study. I will learn something useful. I will not be a mental loafer. I will read something that requires effort, thought and concentration.

Just for today I will exercise my soul in three ways. I will do somebody a good turn and not get found out: If anybody knows of it, it will not count. I will do at least two things I don't want to do-just for exercise. I will not show anyone that my feelings are hurt: they may be hurt, but today I will not show it.

Just for today I will be agreeable. I will look as well as I can, dress becomingly, talk low, act courteously, criticize not one bit, and try not to improve or regulate anybody but myself.

Just for today I will have a program, I may not follow it exactly, but I will have it. I will save myself from two pests: hurry and indecision.

Just for today I will have a quiet half hour all by myself and relax. During this half hour, sometime, I will try to get a better perspective of my life.

Just for today I will be unafraid. Especially I will not be afraid to enjoy what is beautiful, and to believe that as I give to the world, so the world will give to me.

Friendship with oneself is all important, because without it one cannot be friends with anyone else in the world.- Eleanor Roosevelt

We often focus on building relationships with others that we forget the essential first step: being friends of ourselves. That is the crucial first step if we are to have good relationships with others. How can we have good relationships with others if we don't even have good relationship with ourselves?

The problem might be worse than we expect. Maybe we don't like ourselves without realizing it. Here is a simple checklist; is there anything you don't like about yourself from these list?

Your past

Maybe you have made mistakes in the past which you feel bad about. You might be disappointed with yourself on why you could make such mistakes. Even if that happened in distant past, your subconscious mind still has a reason not to like yourself.

Your background

You might wish that you were born in different family, or that you have different background. Maybe you could not accept the fact that you are not as lucky as others, who seem to get whatever they want effortlessly because of their background.

Your personality traits

You might have some personality traits that you don't like. For example, you may be an introvert and you don't like it; you wish you are an extrovert.

Your achievements relative to others Others might have better achievements than you, and no matter how hard you tried, it might seem impossible for you to match them. You might then think that it's because you are not smart enough or don't have enough talents. Is there anything that resonate with you? All these give reasons to you not to like yourself. That in turn makes it difficult for you to be a good friend to yourself.

Fortunately, there are always things you can do to fix the situation. Here are some tips:

1. Forgive yourself

You may have made those mistakes in the past, but is there anything you can do about them? I don't think so, except learning from them. It's true that you are not perfect, but neither is everybody else. It’s normal to make mistakes, so do yourself a favor by giving yourself forgiveness.

2. Accept things you can't change

There are some things you cannot change, such as your background and your past. So learn to accept them. You will feel much relieved if you treat things you can’t change the way they deserve: just accept them, smile, and move on.

3. Focus on your strengths

Instead of focusing on your weaknesses, focus on your strengths. You always have some strengths which give you a unique combination nobody else have. Recognize your strengths and build your life around them.

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4. Write your success stories

One reason we may not like ourselves is we are too focused on what we don’t have that we forget about what we have. So make a list of your achievements; write your success stories. They do not have to be big things; there are a lot of small but important achievements in our life. For example, if you have some good friends, that’s already an achievement. If you have a good family, that is also an achievement.

5. Stop comparing yourself with others

You are unique. You can never be like other people, and neither can other people be like you. The way you measure your success is not determined by other people and what they achieve. Instead, it is determined by your own life purpose. You have everything you need to achieve your life purpose, so it's useless to compare yourself with others.

6. Always be true to yourself

You don't like other people lying to you, right? Similarly, you won't like yourself if you know that you lie to yourself. Whether you realize it or not, that gives your mind a reason not to like yourself. That’s why it's important to always be true to yourself. In whatever you do, be honest and follow your conscience. Remember this quote by Abraham Lincoln:

I desire so to conduct the affairs of this administration that if at the end . . . I have lost every other friend on earth, I shall at least have one friend left, and that friend shall be down inside of me.

It hurts to love someone and not be loved in return. But what is more painful is to love someone and never find the courage to let that person know how you feel.

A sad thing in life is when you meet someone who means a lot to you, only to find out in the end that it was never meant to be and you just have to let go.

The best kind of friend is the kind you can sit on a porch swing with, never say a word, and then walk away feeling like it was the best conversation you've ever had.

It's true that we don't know what we've got until we lose it, but it's also true that we don't know what we've been missing until it arrives.

It takes only a minute to get a crush on someone, an hour to like someone, and a day to love someone- but it takes a lifetime to forget someone. Don't go for looks; they can deceive. Don't go for wealth, even that fades away. Go for someone who makes you smile because it takes only a smile to make a dark day seem bright.

Dream what you want to dream; go where you want to go; be what you want to be, because you have only one life and one chance to do all the things you want to do.

Always put yourself in the other's shoes. If you feel that it hurts you, it probably hurts the person too.

A careless word may kindle strife; a cruel word may wreck a life; a timely word may level stress; a loving word may heal and bless.

The happiest of people don't necessarily have the best of everything they just make the most of everything that comes along their way.

Love begins with a smile, grows with a kiss, ends with a tear. When you were born, you were crying and everyone around you was smiling. Live your life so that when you die, you're the one smiling and everyone around you is crying.

When I born, I black

When I grow up, I black

When I go in Sun, I black

When I scared, I black

When I sick, I black

And when I die, I still black

And you white fellow

When you born, you pink

When you grow up, you white

When you go in sun, you red

When you cold, you blue

When you scared, you yellow

When you sick, you green

And when you die, you gray

And you calling me coloured?

Once upon a time, a man punished his 5-year-old daughter for using up the family's only roll of expensive gold wrapping paper. Money was tight, and he became even more upset when on Christmas Eve, he saw that the child had pasted the gold paper so as to decorate a shoebox to put under the Christmas tree.

Nevertheless, the next morning the little girl, filled with excitement, brought the gift box to her father and said, "This is for you, Daddy!"

As he opened the box, the father was embarrassed by his earlier overreaction.

But when he opened it, he found it was empty and again his anger flared. "Don't you know, young lady, " he said harshly, "when you give someone a present there's supposed to be something inside the package!"

The little girl looked up at him with tears rolling from her eyes and said: "Daddy, it's not empty. I blew kisses into it until it was all full."

The father was crushed. He fell on his knees and put his arms around his precious little girl. He begged her to forgive him for his unnecessary anger.

An accident took the life of the child only a short time later. It is told that the father kept that little gold box by his bed for all the years of his life. Whenever he was discouraged or faced difficult problems he would open the box, take out an imaginary kiss, and remember the love of this beautiful child who had put it there.

In a very real sense, each of us as human beings have been given an invisible golden box filled with unconditional love and kisses from our children, family, friends and God.

There is no more precious possession anyone could hold.

For attractive lips, speak words of kindness.

若要优美的嘴唇，要说友善的话；

For lovely eyes, seek out the good in people.

若要可爱的眼睛，要看到别人的好处；

For a slim figure, share your foodwith the hungry.

若要苗条的身材，把你的食物分给饥饿的人；

For beautiful hair, let a child run his or her fingers through it once a day.

美丽的秀发，在于每天有孩子的手指穿过它；

For poise, walk with the knowledge that you never walk alone.

若要优雅的姿态，要记住行人不只你一个。

People, even more than things, have to be restored, revived, reclaimed and redeemed; never throw out anyone.

人之所以为人，是应该充满精力、能够自我悔改、自我反省、自我成长，而不是抱怨他人。

Remember, if you ever need a helping hand, you'll find them at the end of each of your arms. As you grow older, you will discover that you have two hands, one for helping yourself, the other for helping others.

如果你需要一只援助之手，你可以在自己的任何一只手臂下找到；随着年龄的增长，你会发现你有两只手，一只用来帮助自己，另一只用来帮助别人。

一个晴朗的下午，我在第五大街上闲逛，忽然想起要买双袜子。我拐进印入眼帘的第一家袜店，一个不到17岁的伙计迎上来说：“先生,我能为您效劳吗？” “我想买双短袜。” 他的双眼充满了热情，说话的声音也饱含着激情：“您知道吗？您来到了世界上最好的袜店！”可我并没意识到这一点。 “随我来，”男孩欣喜若狂地说。我跟着他往里走。他开始从货架上拿下一个又一个盒子，向我展示里面的袜子，让我欣赏……

One fine afternoon I was walking along Fifth Avenue, when I remembered that it was necessary to buy a pair of socks. I turned into the first sock shop that caught my eye, and a boy clerk who could not have been more than seventeen years old came forward. "What can I do for you, sir?" "I wish to buy a pair of socks." His eyes glowed. There was a note of passion in his voice. "Did you know that you had come into the finest place in the world to buy socks?" I had not been aware of that, as my entrance had been accidental. "Come with me," said the boy, ecstatically. I followed him to the rear of the shop, and he began to haul down from the shelves box after box, displaying their contents for my delectation.

"Hold on, lad, I am going to buy only one pair!" "I know that," said he, "but I want you to see how marvelously beautiful these are. Aren't they wonderful?" There was on his face an expression of solemn and holy rapture, as if he were revealing to me the mysteries of his religion. I became far more interested in him than in the socks. I looked at him in amazement. "My friend," said I, "if you can keep this up, if this is not merely the enthusiasm that comes from novelty, from having a new job, if you can keep up this zeal and excitement day after day, in ten years you will own every sock in the United States."

My amazement at his pride and joy in salesmanship will be easily understood by all who read this article. In many shops the customer has to wait for someone to wait upon him. And when finally some clerk does deign to notice you, you are made to feel as if you were interrupting him. Either he is absorbed in profound thought in which he hates to be disturbed or he is skylarking with a girl clerk and you feel like apologizing for thrusting yourself into such intimacy.

He displays no interest either in you or in the goods he is paid to sell. Yet possibly that very clerk who is now so apathetic began his career with hope and enthusiasm. The daily grind was too much for him; the novelty wore off; his only pleasures were found outside of working hours. He became a mechanical, not inspired, salesman. After being mechanical, he became incompetent; then he saw younger clerks who had more zest in their work, promoted over him. He became sour. That was the last stage. His usefulness was over.

I have observed this melancholy decline in the lives of so many men in so many occupations that I have come to the conclusion that the surest road to failure is to do things mechanically. There are many teachers in schools and colleges who seem duller than the dullest of their pupils; they go through the motions of teaching, but they are as impersonal as a telephone.

"Mom, you should put some of your things away. Baby proof this house," stated our oldest son Mark as he lumbered up the stairs followed by his wife, Kim, and fifteen－month－old Hannah.
Visiting for the Thanksgiving holiday, he finished unloading the luggage and took it to the guestroom downstairs. After driving all day from Salt Lake to Ft. Collins, his temper showed. "That one finger rule may work with the twins, but it'll never work with Hannah, " he insisted.

When my three granddaughters were born four months apart and the twins moved into our house at eight months, my close friend offered me her secret to entertaining grandchildren with few mishaps. "Teach them the 'one finger rule'." All of her five grandchildren learned it at a young age. The success of the method surprised me.

I picked up my granddaughter and said, "Well, Mark, you just watch." I hugged her and walked all around the great room.

"Hannah, you may touch anything in this room you want. But, you can only use one finger." I demonstrated the technique by touching my forefinger to the African sculpture on the mantle. Hannah followed my example. "Good girl. Now what else would you like to touch？"

She stretched her finger toward another object on the mantle. I allowed her to touch everything in sight, plants, glass objects, TV, VCR, lamps, speakers, candles and artificial flowers. If she started to grab, I gently reminded her to use one finger. She always obeyed. But, Hannah, an only child, possessed a more adventur ous personality. Her father predicted it would prevent her from accepting the"one finger"rule.

During their four-day stay, we aided Hannah in remembering"one finger"rule. She learned quickly. I only put away the things that might prove to be a danger to a child. Otherwise, we watched her closely and nothing appeared to suffer any damage. Besides, "things"can be replaced.

A few fingerprints on glass doors, windows and tables remained after Hannah and her family returned home. I couldn't bring myself to clean them for days. Each one reminded me of some wonderful experience with Hannah.

Months later, my husband and I drove to Salt Lake; I watched Mark and Kim continue to practice the one finger rule. But I refrained from saying, "I told you so." Yet, I smiled inwardly each time they prodded Hannah to touch with "one finger. " Mark, a salesman, always gave a packet of gifts to his potential clients. The night before we returned home, Mark sat on the floor stuffing gifts into their packets. Hannah helped.

Then she picked up one gift, held it in her hand as if it were a fragile bird, and walked toward me. At my knee, her beautiful blue eyes looked into mine. She stretched her prize to me and said, "One finger, Nana!"

Can it really be sixty-two years ago that I first saw you?

It is truly a lifetime, I know. But as I gaze into your eyes now, it seems like only yesterday that I first saw you, in that small café in Hanover Square.

From the moment I saw you smile, as you opened the door for that young mother and her newborn baby. I knew. I knew that I wanted to share the rest of my life with you.

I still think of how foolish I must have looked, as I gazed at you, that first time. I remember watching you intently, as you took off your hat and loosely shook your short dark hair with your fingers. I felt myself becoming immersed in your every detail, as you placed your hat on the table and cupped your hands around the hot cup of tea, gently blowing the steam away with your pouted lips.

From that moment, everything seemed to make perfect sense to me. The people in the café and the busy street outside all disappeared into a hazy blur. All I could see was you.

All through my life I have relived that very first day. Many, many times I have sat and thought about that the first day, and how for a few fleeting moments I am there, feeling again what is like to know true love for the very first time. It pleases me that I can still have those feelings now after all those years, and I know I will always have them to comfort me.

Not even as I shook and trembled uncontrollably in the trenches, did I forget your face. I would sit huddled into the wet mud, terrified, as the hails of bullets and mortars crashed down around me. I would clutch my rifle tightly to my heart, and think again of that very first day we met. I would cry out in fear, as the noise of war beat down around me. But, as I thought of you and saw you smiling back at me, everything around me would be become silent, and I would be with you again for a few precious moments, far from the death and destruction. It would not be until I opened my eyes once again, that I would see and hear the carnage of the war around me.

I cannot tell you how strong my love for you was back then, when I returned to you on leave in the September, feeling battered, bruised and fragile. We held each other so tight I thought we would burst. I asked you to marry me the very same day and I whooped with joy when you looked deep into my eyes and said "yes" to being my bride.

I'm looking at our wedding photo now, the one on our dressing table, next to your jewellery box. I think of how young and innocent we were back then. I remember being on the church steps grinning like a Cheshire cat, when you said how dashing and handsome I looked in my uniform. The photo is old and faded now, but when I look at it, I only see the bright vibrant colors of our youth. I can still remember every detail of the pretty wedding dress your mother made for you, with its fine delicate lace and pretty pearls. If I concentrate hard enough, I can smell the sweetness of your wedding bouquet as you held it so proudly for everyone to see.

I remember being so over enjoyed, when a year later, you gently held my hand to your waist and whispered in my ear that we were going to be a family.

I know both our children love you dearly; they are outside the door now, waiting.

Do you remember how I panicked like a mad man when Jonathon was born? I can still picture you laughing and smiling at me now, as I clumsily held him for the very first time in my arms. I watched as your laughter faded into tears, as I stared at him and cried my own tears of joy.

Sarah and Tom arrived this morning with little Tessie. Can you remember how we both hugged each other tightly when we saw our tiny granddaughter for the first time? I can't believe she will be eight next month. I am trying not to cry, my love, as I tell you how beautiful she looks today in her pretty dress and red shiny shoes, she reminds me so much of you that first day we met. She has her hair cut short now, just like yours was all those years ago. When I met her at the door her smile wrapped around me like a warm glove, just like yours used to do, my darling.

I know you are tired, my dear, and I must let you go. But I love you so much it hurts to do so.

As we grew old together, I would tease you that you had not changed since we first met. But it is true, my darling. I do not see the wrinkles and grey hair that other people see. When I look at you now, I only see your sweet tender lips and youthful sparkling eyes as we sat and had our first picnic next to that small stream, and chased each other around that big old oak tree. I remember wishing those first few days together would last forever. Do you remember how exciting and wonderful those days were?

I must go now, my darling. Our children are waiting outside. They want to say goodbye to you.

To someone who is beautiful... all over

It is absolutely wonderful to have
someone in your life who is caring
and giving and gracious — some whose
smiles are live sunshine and laughter
and whose words always seem to say
the things you most like to hear...
because those magical people are really
beautiful... inside.


And it is a special privilege to
know someone whose outward appearance
is a delight just to see — someone who
lights up a room with radiance and
who lights up my little corner of the
world with a loveliness it has never
known before... because special people
like that are really beautiful... outside.


But most of all, it is one of the
world's most special blessings to
have a person in your life who can
add so much pleasure and such magnificence
to the days — as you have to mine...
because you're someone who is beautiful...
all over.

To this day I remember my mum's letters. It all started in December 1941. Every night she sat at the big table in the kitchen and wrote to my brother Johnny, who had been drafted that summer. We had not heard from him since the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor.

I didn't understand why my mum kept writing Johnny when he never wrote back.

"Wait and see-we'll get a letter from him one day," she claimed. Mum said that there was a direct link from the brain to the written word that was just as strong as the light God has granted us. She trusted that this light would find Johnny.

I don't know if she said that to calm herself, dad or all of us down. But I do know that it helped us stick together, and one day a letter really did arrive. Johnny was alive on an island in the Pacific.

I had always been amused by the fact that mum signed her letters, "Cecilia Capuzzi", and I teased her about that. "Why don't you just write 'Mum'?" I said.

I hadn't been aware that she always thought of herself as Cecilia Capuzzi. Not as Mum. I began seeing her in a new light, this small delicate woman, who even in high-heeled shoes was barely one and a half meters tall.

She never wore make-up or jewelry except for a wedding ring of gold. Her hair was fine, sleek and black and always put up in a knot in the neck. She wouldn't hear of getting a haircut or a perm. Her small silver-rimmed pince-nez only left her nose when she went to bed.

Whenever mum had finished a letter, she gave it to dad for him to post it. Then she put the water on to boil, and we sat down at the table and talked about the good old days when our Italian-American family had been a family of ten: mum, dad and eight children. Five boys and three girls. It is hard to understand that they had all moved away from home to work, enroll in the army, or get married. All except me.

Around next spring mum had got two more sons to write to. Every evening she wrote three different letters which she gave to me and dad afterwards so we could add our greetings.

Little by little the rumour about mum's letters spread. One day a small woman knocked at our door. Her voice trembled as she asked: "Is it true you write letters?"

"I write to my sons."

"And you can read too?" whispered the woman.

"Sure."

The woman opened her bag and pulled out a pile of airmail letters. "Read… please read them aloud to me."

The letters were from the woman's son who was a soldier in Europe, a red-haired boy who mum remembered having seen sitting with his brothers on the stairs in front of our house. Mum read the letters one by one and translated them from English to Italian. The woman's eyes welled up with tears. "Now I have to write to him," she said. But how was she going to do it?

"Make some coffee, Octavia," mum yelled to me in the living room while she took the woman with her into the kitchen and seated her at the table. She took the fountain pen, ink and air mail notepaper and began to write. When she had finished, she read the letter aloud to the woman.

"How did you know that was exactly what I wanted to say?"

"I often sit and look at my boys' letters, just like you, without a clue about what to write."

A few days later the woman returned with a friend, then another one and yet another one--they all had sons who fought in the war, and they all needed letters. Mum had become the correspondent in our part of town. Sometimes she would write letters all day long.

Mum always insisted that people signed their own letters, and the small woman with the grey hair asked mum to teach her how to do it. "I so much want to be able to write my own name so that my son can see it." Then mum held the woman's hand in hers and moved her hand over the paper again and again until she was able to do it without her help.

After that day, when mum had written a letter for the woman, she signed it herself, and her face brightened up in a smile.

One day she came to us, and mum instantly knew what had happened. All hope had disappeared from her eyes. They stood hand in hand for a long time without saying a word. Then mum said: "We better go to church. There are certain things in life so great that we cannot comprehend them." When mum came back home, she couldn't get the red-haired boy out of her mind.

After the war was over, mum put away the pen and paper. "Finito," she said. But she was wrong. The women who had come to her for help in writing to their sons now came to her with letters from their relatives in Italy. They also came to ask her for her help in getting American citizenship.

On one occasion mum admitted that she had always had a secret dream of writing a novel. "Why didn't you?" I asked.

"All people in this world are here with one particular purpose," she said. "Apparently, mine is to write letters." She tried to explain why it absorbed her so.

"A letter unites people like nothing else. It can make them cry, it can make them laugh. There is no caress more lovely and warm than a love letter, because it makes the world seem very small, and both sender and receiver become like kings in their own kingdoms. My dear, a letter is life itself!"

Today all mum's letters are lost. But those who got them still talk about her and cherish the memory of her letters in their hearts.

Oh God! I think I was about seven and half when my sisters and I pulled this stupid stunt. I remember watching television with them and the show on happened to be our favorite program to watch. All of a sudden we heard my brother, Chris, yelling from the backyard. So we all headed out there to see what happened. When we finally located him, he was in a tree hanging from the highest tree branch. Crying, he explained to us that he had climbed up the tree and couldn't get down. We thought, okay, one of us should climb up and get him off, but we couldn't manage to get him moving down.

It was then my youngest sister, Ka, who was five and a half at the time had seen a similar situation. She suggested we grab a sheet, hold it under the branch Chris was hanging off of, and tell him to drop so we can catch him. My other sister, Yams, who is one year younger than me, peered at me to confirm the idea and I said "Yeah, let's try that".

So we grabbed a sheet from the closet and went to hold it beneath the tree. Now mind you, the ages holding this blanket were ranging from seven and a half to five and a half, thus the sheet was probably being held up to our waist and also close to touching the ground. But we were confident it could work.

We looked up to Chris and he looked down at us a bit hesitant. I don't blame him the poor guy. It was then we told him to let go and to fall on his back. Chris looked at me and asked "Are you sure I'll land on the blanket?" Now, my brother at the age of four, had a cute squeaky voice. But because of a problem at birth with his tongue being a bit attached to the mouth, it came out more like this, "Ah you sho awill lan on da blanked?", "Yup!", I told him, "We're sure!" and he let go.

Now when I think about Chris letting go of that branch, I think of his faith in me and my sisters and I also think how stupid he was to trust us, cause when that boy let go he was in for a big surprise. Chris fell right through that sheet and landed right on his stomach. And no matter how tight we held on to the sheet, he still managed to get through.

We were shocked and a bit worried and we looked at the ground where he landed. This tiny seventy pound boy had made a hole right through the sheet and landed. He was positioned like one of those chalk drawings you find after a homicide, with one arm near the head another to the side and the knee bent a bit. We might as well have drawn an outline because he wasn't moving. So we bent down to check if he was still alive and when we asked him if he was okay he uttered these five words… "Ah stee hi da flow" in other words, "I still hit the floor!" Poor little man! But before you condemn us, Chris is fourteen now and he still bugs us about it, any tree he climbs he gets down on his own and, strangely, he wants to be a fireman when he grows up. Now he can write that he had personal experience about jumping and catching. See, no harm done…

Once, when I was a teenager, my father and I were standing in line to buy tickets for the circus. Finally, there was only one family between us and the ticket counter.

This family made a big impression on me. There were eight children, all probably under the age of 12. You could tell they didn't have a lot of money.

Their clothes were not expensive, but they were clean. The children were well-behaved, all of them standing in line, two-by-two behind their parents, holding hands. They were excitedly jabbering about the clowns, elephants, and other acts they would see that night.

One could sense they had never been to the circus before. It promised to be a highlight of their young lives. The father and mother were at the head of the pack, standing proud as could be.

The mother was holding her husband's hand, looking up at him as if to say, "You're my knight in shining armor."

He was smiling and basking in pride, looking back at her as if to reply, "You got that right."

The ticket lady asked the father how many tickets he wanted. He proudly responded, "Please let me buy eight children's tickets and two adult tickets so I can take my family to the circus."

The ticket lady quoted the price. The man's wife let go of his hand, her head dropped, and his lip began to quiver. The father leaned a little closer and asked, "How much did you say?"

The ticket lady again quoted the price. The man didn't have enough money.

How was he supposed to turn and tell his eight kids that he didn‘t have enough money to take them to the circus? Seeing what was going on, my dad put his hand in his pocket, pulled out a $20 bill and dropped it on the ground. (We were not wealthy in any sense of the word!)

My father reached down, picked up the bill, tapped the man on the shoulder and said, "Excuse me, sir, this fell out of your pocket."

The man knew what was going on. He wasn't begging for a handout but certainly appreciated the help in a desperate, heartbreaking, embarrassing situation. He looked straight into my dad's eyes, took my dad's hand in both of his, squeezed tightly onto the $20 bill, and with his lip quivering and a tear running down his cheek, he replied, "Thank you, thank you, sir. This really means a lot to me and my family."

My father and I went back to our car and drove home. We didn't go to the circus that night, but we didn't go without.

In my opinion, these things matter…

1. Listening enough to care and caring enough to listen.

2. Being a dreamer but not living in a dream world.

3. Saying "It doesn't matter" and meaning it.

4. Being a positive influence in any way possible, to as many as possible, for as long as I possibly can.

5. Balancing justice with mercy and fairness with common sense.

6. Being patient and patiently enduring.

7. Earning credibility instead of demanding compliance.

8. Valuing the wisdom of discernment, the danger of pleasure without restraint, and the joy of victory with integrity.

9. Being worthy of trust and trusting what's worthwhile.

10. Enjoying all things small and beautiful.

11. Words that heal.

12. Words that help.

13. And words that encourage.

14. Forgiving myself for what I've done and others for what they haven't.

15. Gaining what I desire without losing what I should gain.

16. Maintaining the passion of purpose while avoiding the pit falls of making hasty decisions with little or no discernment.

17. Watching "You've Got Mail" one more time.

18. Enjoying life for all it holds instead of holding out for all it has yet to become.

19. Giving praise without demands and encouragement without expectations.

20. Hugs.

21. Healing wounds.

22. And helping people realize their dreams.

23. Knowing when I can, can't and shouldn't.

24. Laughter for the sake of laughter!

25. Leading while not forgetting how to follow.

26. Honoring the honorable and avoiding the painful errors of the disgraceful.

27. Knowing the power of commitment, the rewards of self-discipline and the meaning of faith in myself and others.

28. Smiles -- lots of them.

29. Learning as much as I can for as long as I can.

30. Standing for what's right when everything's wrong, and saying "I'm wrong" when something's not right.

31. Letting the music play.

32. Knowing I can and seeking help when I can't.

33. Just doing nothing at just the right time.

34. Filling my mind with all that is excellent, truthful, full of hope, and worthy of thinking about again.

35. Kisses that say "I love you" more than "I need you."

36. Treasuring ideas for their untapped potential.

37. Caring.

38. Giving.

39. And having fun.

40. Refusing to believe lies about myself or others regardless of the source -- including what I hear from within.

41. Trusting enough to see good in people without blindly trusting in the goodness of all people.

42. Success without self-absorption.

43. Showing I know the difference between keeping the rules and listening with understanding.

44. Winning with dignity.

45. Losing with grace.

46. And learning from both.

47. Believing in all my possibilities -- and yours too!

48. Appreciating the wisdom of maturity and the beauty of childhood.

49. Avoiding the bondage of bitterness, the deceit of wealth without character, and the vanity of pride without gratefulness.

50. Loving for all I'm worth because in the end it's worth it all.

"Dr. Carr! Is it you? Is it really you?" I turned from where I had been browsing in the bookstore to see a six-foot-six, muscular, good-looking, smiling, sandy-haired young man calling me.

"It's me, Dr. Carr! Gibby!"

"Gibby, it can't be. You're all grown up!"

Looking closer, I would have known those eyes anywhere: serious, intense, penetrating blue eyes. Yes, It was my Gibby, all right.

He leaned down to hug his former elementary principal, and my thoughts went back to that shy, overweight little boy who transferred to our school as he began the fifth grade. He was quiet and withdrawn then.

Gibby had a difficult time the first few months, as do many children when they enter a new school. Some of the boys teased him about his lack of athletic ability when he attempted to play games on the playground. Gibby wasn't coordinated and had difficulty keeping up. He always appeared to be stumbling over his shoestrings. Most of the time, he was. I would remind him, "Better tie your shoestrings, Son," and he'd reply, "Yes, ma'am, Dr. Carr."

Often I would watch the students playing at recess. I noticed that when they began to choose up sides for a game, serious little Gibby would usually be left standing alone. Several times I went out on the playground and said, "I never get to choose a team. May I?" The boys and girls would laugh at their principal who wanted to play, and say, "Okay, Dr. Carr, it's your turn!" I'd call out a few names and then, around the fourth or fifth spot, I'd call Gibby's name and a few others who never seemed to get selected by their peers. My team may not have been the best, but we were, by far, the happiest and definitely the most committed, determined, and loyal.

In the early spring of Gibby's fifth grade year, I held an exercise class on the playground during recess for anyone who wanted to tone up their winter-weary muscles. Girls flocked to this program, and so did a few boys. Gibby was one of those.

We began by walking briskly around the perimeter of the large playground. I led the pack and Gibby invariably brought up the rear, puffing and panting and tripping over his shoestrings. As my group circled, we would pass Gibby who was giving it his all, but nevertheless, lagging far behind. I'd call to him, "Good going, Gibby. Keep it up. You're getting the hang of it. Uh . . . Better tie your shoestrings, Son."

"Yes, ma'am, Dr. Carr," he said, breathing hard and trying to put on a happy face.

After a month, Gibby shed a few pounds and didn't huff and puff as much. He still tripped over his shoestrings, but he did keep up with the group much easier.

By the fifth week, we had as many boys in our exercise class as girls. I don‘t believe the boys were suddenly all that interested in their health, for it was about this time the girls decided to dress out in shorts. We added some floor exercises to our program and held this class in the gym. Gibby was right there, in the back row, stretching and bending, lifting and kicking, as intense as ever. Gibby never gave up or made excuses. The little fellow just wasn't a quitter. He tried harder than anyone, and I admired his spunk. Many of his classmates did too. In time, he gained confidence and began to smile and talk more. He wasn't the new kid anymore, and he began to make some solid friends.

Now, after all those years, here we were standing in the bookstore. My little Gibby towered over me.

"What are you doing here, Gibby?" I asked. "I heard you have moved to Georgia."

"Yes, Dr. Carr. I live in Atlanta now, and I'm division manager of a computer software company. I'm visiting my mom here this weekend," he replied.

"Well, you look good and sound happy, Gibby."

"I am happy, Dr. Carr. And I think of you often. You know, it was kinda hard for me to change schools back then and move to a new town, but you were real nice to me."

"Why, thank you, Gibby."

"Yeah, you were always laughing, and you made it fun to come to school," he said. "I'll never forget your exercise classes. You really made us work."

Then a big smile lit up his face as he continued, "But, Dr. Carr, you know the thing that I remember most about you?"

"I have no idea, Gibby. What was it?"

"Well," he said, as he stared at me with those deep blue eyes, "Whenever you got a chance to choose up sides on the playground, you never picked me last."

"Of course not, Gibby. You were one of my most determined players."

We hugged again and he said, "I'm married now, Dr. Carr. She's really nice and always laughing. Come to think of it, she's a lot like you. And the best thing about her is-from everyone in the world she could have married, she picked me. She picked me first!"

Tears flooded my eyes. I looked down to avoid his gaze and try to regain my control.

It was then that I noticed his shoes.

"Better tie your shoestrings," I mumbled, wiping away my tears with the back of my hand.

"Yes, ma'am, Dr. Carr," he replied, flashing that boyish grin.