CodeMoves

I was walking around in a Target store, when I saw the lady in the cashier hand this little boy some money back.

The boy couldn't have been more than 8 or 9 years old.

The Cashier said, 'I'm sorry, but you don't have enough money to buy this doll.'

Then the little boy turned to the old woman next to him: ''Nanny, are you sure I don't have enough money?''

The old lady replied: ''You know that you don't have enough money to buy this doll, my dear.''

Then she asked him to stay there for just 5 minutes while she went to look around for a cheaper one. She left quickly

The little boy was still holding the doll in his hand.

Finally, I walked toward him and I asked him who he wished to give this doll to

'It's the doll that my sister loved most and wanted so much for Christmas.

She was sure that Santa Claus would bring it to her.'

I replied to him that maybe Santa Claus would bring it to her after all, and not to worry.

But he replied to me sadly. 'No, Santa Claus can't bring it to her where she is now. I have to give the doll to my mummy so that she can give it to my sister when she goes there.'

His eyes were so sad while saying this. 'My Sister has gone to be with God. Daddy says that Mummy is going to see God very soon too, so I thought that she could take the doll with her to give it to my sister .''

My heart nearly stopped.

The little boy looked up at me and said: 'I told daddy to tell mummy not to go yet. I need her to wait until I come back from the shops.'

Then he showed me a very nice photo of himself. He was laughing. He then told me 'I want mummy to take my picture with her so she won't forget me.'

'I love my mummy and I wish she didn't have to leave me, but daddy says that she has to go to be with my little sister.'

Then he looked again at the doll with sad eyes, very quietly.

I quickly reached for my wallet and said to the boy. 'Suppose we check again, just in case you do have enough money for the doll!''

'OK' he said, 'I hope I do have enough.' I added some of my money to his without him seeing and we started to count it. There was enough for the doll and even some spare money.

The little boy said: 'Thank you God for giving me enough money!'

Then he looked at me and added, 'I asked last night before I went to sleep for God to make sure I had enough money to buy this doll, so that mummy could give it to my sister . He heard me!''

'I also wanted to have enough money to buy a white rose for my mummy, but I didn't dare to ask God for too much.. But He gave me enough to buy the doll and a white rose.''

'My mummy loves white roses.'

As I saw the old lady returning, I left with my basket as to not cause a scene.

I finished my shopping in a totally different state of mind from when I started.

I couldn't get the little boy out of my mind. Then I remembered a local news paper article two days ago, which mentioned a drunk man in a truck, who hit a car occupied by a young woman and a little girl. The little girl died right away, and the mother was left in a critical state. The family had to decide whether to remove the life-sustaining machine, because the young woman would not be able to recover from the coma.

Was this the family of the little boy?

Two days after this encounter with the little boy, I read in the news paper that the young woman had passed away.

I couldn't stop myself as I bought a bunch of white roses and I went to the funeral home where the body of the young woman was for people to see and make last wishes before her burial.

She was there, in her coffin, holding a beautiful white rose in her hand with the photo of the little boy and the doll placed over her chest.

I left the place, teary-eyed, feeling that my life had been changed for ever.. The love that the little boy had for his mother and his sister is still, to this day, hard to imagine.

And in a fraction of a second, a drunk driver had taken all this away from him.


The value of a man or woman resides in what he or she gives, not in what they are capable of receiving ....you will have an even better day after you pass this on...

What would you do?....you make the choice. Don't look for a punch line, there isn't one. Read it anyway. My question is: Would you have made the same choice?

At a fund raising dinner for a school that serves children with learning disabilities, the father of one of the students delivered a speech that would never be forgotten by all who attended. After extolling the school and its dedicated staff, he offered a question:

'When not interfered with by outside influences, everything nature does, is done with perfection.

Yet my son, Shay, cannot learn things as other children do. He cannot understand things as other children do.

Where is the natural order of things in my son?'

The audience was stilled by the query.

The father continued. 'I believe that when a child like Shay, who was mentally and physically disabled comes into the world, an opportunity to realize true human nature presents itself, and it comes in the way other people treat that child.'

Then he told the following story:

Shay and I had walked past a park where some boys Shay knew were playing baseball. Shay asked, 'Do you think they'll let me play?' I knew that most of the boys would not want someone like Shay on their team, but as a father I also understood that if my son were allowed to play, it would give him a much-needed sense of belonging and some confidence to be accepted by others in spite of his handicaps.

I approached one of the boys on the field and asked (not expecting much) if Shay could play. The boy looked around for guidance and said, 'We're losing by six runs and the game is in the eighth inning. I guess he can be on our team and we'll try to put him in to bat in the ninth inning.'

Shay struggled over to the team's bench and, with a broad smile, put on a team shirt. I watched with a small tear in my eye and warmth in my heart. The boys saw my joy at my son being accepted.

In the bottom of the eighth inning, Shay's team scored a few runs but was still behind by three.

In the top of the ninth inning, Shay put on a glove and played in the right field. Even though no hits came his way, he was obviously ecstatic just to be in the game and on the field, grinning from ear to ear as I waved to him from the stands.

In the bottom of the ninth inning, Shay's team scored again.

Now, with two outs and the bases loaded, the potential winning run was on base and Shay was scheduled to be next at bat.

At this juncture, do the others let Shay bat and give away their chance to win the game?

Surprisingly, Shay was given the bat. Everyone knew that a hit was all but impossible because Shay didn't even know how to hold the bat properly, much less connect with the ball.

However, as Shay stepped up to the plate, the pitcher, recognizing that the other team was putting winning aside for this moment in Shay's life, moved in a few steps to lob the ball in softly so Shay could at least make contact.

The first pitch came and Shay swung clumsily and missed.

The pitcher again took a few steps forward to toss the ball softly towards Shay.

As the pitch came in, Shay swung at the ball and hit a slow ground ball right back to the pitcher.

The game would now be over.

The pitcher picked up the soft grounder and could have easily thrown the ball to the first baseman.

Shay would have been out and that would have been the end of the game.

Instead, the pitcher threw the ball right over the first baseman's head, out of reach of all team mates.

Everyone from the stands and both teams started yelling, 'Shay, run to first!

Run to first!'

Never in his life had Shay ever run that far, but he made it to first base.

He scampered down the baseline, wide-eyed and startled.

Everyone yelled, 'Run to second, run to second!'

Catching his breath, Shay awkwardly ran towards second, gleaming and struggling to make it to the base.

By the time Shay rounded towards second base, the right fielder had the ball. The smallest guy on their team who now had his first chance to be the hero for his team.

He could have thrown the ball to the second-baseman for the tag, but he understood the pitcher's intentions so he, too, intentionally threw the ball high and far over the third-baseman's head.

Shay ran toward third base deliriously as the runners ahead of him circled the bases toward home.

All were screaming, 'Shay, Shay, Shay, all the Way Shay'

Shay reached third base because the opposing shortstop ran to help him by turning him in the direction of third base, and shouted, 'Run to third!

Shay, run to third!'

As Shay rounded third, the boys from both teams, and the spectators, were on their feet screaming, 'Shay, run home! Run home!'

Shay ran to home, stepped on the plate, and was cheered as the hero who hit the grand slam and won the game for his team

'That day', said the father softly with tears now rolling down his face, 'the boys from both teams helped bring a piece of true love and humanity into this world'.

Shay didn't make it to another summer. He died that winter, having never forgotten being the hero and making me so happy, and coming home and seeing his Mother tearfully embrace her little hero of the day !

                             _______________________________________

We all have thousands of opportunities every single day to help realize the 'natural order of things.'

So many seemingly trivial interactions between two people present us with a choice:

Do we pass along a little spark of love and humanity or do we pass up those opportunities and leave the world a little bit colder in the process?

A wise man once said every society is judged by how it treats its least fortunate amongst them.



Knowing others is intelligence, knowing yourself is true wisdom.
Mastering others is strength, mastering yourself is true power.

It was almost 11 years ago when I stopped my car at the Teen Talwar traffic light to be greeted by the usual herd of beggars, windscreen cleaners and newspaper sellers.


One of the newspaper sellers, Riaz, a total of four feet in height, asked me for a lift to the Marriot signal. Irritated by the commotion around me, I chose to ignore him.


Rather than moving on, he boldly walked in front of my car, locked eyes with me, stuck his teeth out like President Asif Zardari would, if he stared at the sun, and performed a mini-break dance in defiance. His army of four footers was in hysterics.


What a cheeky little fellow!


The traffic light turned green and I drove on only to see high fives being exchanged in the rear view mirror.


About a week later, I was going to pick up my mother from the Karachi airport and once again stopped at the same traffic light. His Royal Cheekiness appeared, but this time he was alone. He politely informed me:


“Sir, signal tak jaana hai.” (Sir, I have to go to the next signal.)


I asked him to come around and sit in the passenger seat. As he sat inside the air conditioned car, he took a huge sigh of relief. He looked tired, worn out and a bit disoriented.


I asked:


“Kya huwa? Naach gaanay say thak gaye?” (What happened? Tired of singing and dancing?)


He looked at me quite confused. In return, I gave him a big smile and subtly mimicked his break dance move from the week earlier. He started laughing uncontrollably for about sixty seconds. “Sorry, sir”, he said to which I replied that Pakistan needs more artists, so he needn’t be.


After about five minutes, we arrived at his stop. He thanked me and asked if I wanted to buy a newspaper. I looked at him quietly for a few seconds trying to picture his entire day from start to finish. Perhaps a little recess was in order. “I’ll tell you what…” I proposed (in Urdu of course). “I’ll buy the entire stack if you give me company to the airport and back”.


It was as if the entire weight of the world was lifted off Riaz’s little shoulders and replaced by the thought of complete bliss, even if it was for just an hour. He agreed, closed the door and sat back down. I put on his seat belt for him (only to receive a condescending look), turned up the volume on the stereo and divided the AC vents between us. Conversation was expected to be limited, but satisfaction immense.


As it turned out, there were plenty of stories that were shared on our journey; some humorous, some serious and some downright painful (at least on his side). I could only offer two-bit advice knowing very well that it was all well and good in the theoretical sense, but too hard for someone in his situation to apply. Instead, we both chose to focus on the green patch of grass that was the present, especially the background (and sometimes blaring) music. In fact, Riaz became quite the fan of the Pulp Fiction soundtrack as suggested by his numerous head bobs and shoulder shrugs.


Upon arriving at the airport parking lot, Riaz jumped out of the car and raced towards the arrival exit as if he was going to receive some long lost friend after many years of separation. Trying to stand tall on the railing he would point towards every arriving passenger and impatiently ask, “is that them?” When my mother finally came out of the exit, Riaz ran towards her and grabbed the carry-on piece she was rolling. In her confusion, she let go off the bag not knowing its fate. To her amazement Riaz came and stood right beside me with the piece. “Er…and who are we?” she asked with a confused grin. “We sell newspapers” I replied with a big smile.


The three of us sat in the car and proceeded towards Clifton. This leg of the journey, Riaz was very formal. Not a peep came from the back seat. My mother and I conversed mostly in English with a few sentences of Urdu mixed in as we usually do, ignoring the fact that there was another passenger in the car. After about ten minutes, my mother started asking Riaz questions about where he lived, what he did, his parents etc. But I was a little surprised at the bluntness of the answers and how they lacked the same detail he shared with me earlier.


Occasionally I would glance at him through the rear-view mirror and find him staring into the empty space as if he was listening to something intently. Perhaps he was trying to focus on the faint music coming from the rear speakers. What a musical nerd I thought; God bless him. We ended up dropping Riaz at the Baloch Colony Bridge. As promised, I bought his newspapers. I also asked Riaz if I could meet him the next day at the same Teen Talwar traffic light. He agreed.


I packed a few bags of some old clothes (quite oversized for a ten-year-old) and other things that I thought would be handy for him. Riaz was at the traffic light, but without any newspapers this time. He sat in the car looking quite dissatisfied. I asked him if he had a great day and sold out. His jaw-dropping reply caught me completely off guard:


“Mujh ko akhbaar nahi baichnay… mujh ko ungraizee seekhni hai.” (I don’t want to sell newspapers. I want to learn English.)


Then it hit me. Riaz wasn’t staring into the empty space trying to listen to the faint music while sitting in the back seat. He was trying to decode the conversation my mother and I were having. He was trying to absorb the ‘sound of English.’


His timing couldn’t have been worse. I was leaving for the States in two weeks to pursue my undergraduate studies or else I would have taught him the language myself. In retrospect, I could have fixed him up with another family member, but that thought didn’t cross my mind at the time. Instead I took him to Boat Basin and bought some primary school books for English. But there was a catch. He had to find someone to teach him.


Parked outside the book store in Boat Basin, I gave Riaz an hour long lecture, the content of which shall remain between the two of us.


I handed him the bags, the books and an envelope.


He looked very sad. I felt even worse.


Then I ripped out a piece of paper from a notebook and wrote Riaz a letter… in English (the contents of which shall also remain undisclosed).


I wrote my e-mail address on it. If Riaz ever wrote back to me, well I don’t have to explain what that would mean.


Almost eleven years later (three days ago) I received an e-mail from Riaz for the first time. His determination to learn to speak the language proved to be truly remarkable.


Riaz’s story is a testament to the fact that our youth is thirsty for education. Unfortunately our leaders have not provided the necessary infrastructure – but that story is old now.


We have run out of excuses to let things be as they are. If only one per cent of us took the responsibility to take one 10-year old from the street under our wing, in ten years we would have 1.8 million more educated people than what would have been otherwise. Ten years fly by. Imagine if two per cent of us mobilised.


Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to do anything substantial for Riaz. He is completely self-made.


But, he did do something for me. He reminded me that there is no excuse for mediocrity.

A child was crying. His father was trying to distract him to no avail. "I don't want to wear these torn out shoes. The child screamed inconsolably. "�ALL my classmates wear new pair of shoes. they run like deer and laugh at pointing to my shoes." The child said innocently.

The father was a poor man with limited means. He wanted his child to b happy n contended with whatever he had,but assured that he Will get a new pair of shoes the next month. when the child was adamant, the father told the boy that he would get them repaired. The child felt happy as he thought the cobbler wont repair his shoes as they were beyond repair.

They reached the cobbler's place "DO u play a lot child"� asked the cobbler,smilingly. "I do n just let us know can u mend them or not"� the child asked in a rude manner. "The shoes r still in good condition and just need a quick fix"� the cobbler assured,looking at the shoes appreciatively.

The child become very angry. He wanted to use harsh words as the cobbler had spoiled his plans of buying new shoes. He thought that now he cant persuade his father into buying a new pair of shoes. "Are there some jewels on my shoes that u r staring for them for so long"� the child screamed. "Nno my child, I used to play a lot before I lost my both legs in an accident. But I don't feel subdued. I enjoy watching young children like u n thank HIM for these eyes"� the cobbler replied calmly.

The child was shocked. He was staring at the cobbler n his amputated legs. Suddenly he looked at the sky. His eyes were moist and hands were open. It seemed as if he was saying "Thanks for everything."�

The father smiled and mumbled. "You have learned an important lesson of life"� And the two went home happily and contended.

As she stood in front of her primary 5 class on the very first day of school, she told the children an untruth. Like most teachers, she looked at her pupils and said that she loved them all the same. However, that was impossible, because there in the front row, slumped in his seat, was a little boy named Koko Bassey.


Mrs. Thompson had watched Koko the year before and noticed that he did not play well with the other children, that his clothes were messy and that he constantly needed a bath. In addition, Koko could be unpleasant. It got to the point where Mrs. Thompson would actually take delight in marking his papers with a broad red pen, making bold X's and then putting a big "F" at the top of his papers.


At the school where Mrs. Thompson taught, she was required to review each child's past records and she put Koko's off until last. However, when she reviewed his file, she was in for a surprise.


Koko's primary 1 teacher wrote, "Koko is a bright child with a ready laugh. He does his work neatly and has good manners... he is a joy to be around."


His primary 2 teacher wrote, "Koko is an excellent pupil, well liked by his classmates, but he is troubled because his mother has a terminal illness and
life at home must be a struggle."


His primary 3 teacher wrote, "His mother's death has been hard on him. He tries to do his best, but his father doesn't show much interest and his home life will soon affect him if some steps aren't taken."


Koko's primary 4 teacher wrote, "Koko is withdrawn and doesn't show much interest in school. He doesn't have many friends and he sometimes sleeps in class."


By now, Mrs. Thompson realized the problem and she was ashamed of herself. She felt even worse when her pupils brought her Christmas presents, wrapped in beautiful ribbons and bright paper, except for Koko's. His present was clumsily wrapped in the heavy, brown paper that he got from a grocery bag.


Mrs. Thompson took pains to open it in the middle of the other presents. Some of the children started to laugh when she found a rhinestone bracelet with some of the stones missing, and a bottle that was one-quarter full of perfume. But she stifled the children's laughter when she exclaimed how pretty the bracelet was, putting it on, and dabbing some of the perfume on her wrist.


Koko Bassey stayed after school that day just long enough to say, "Mrs. Thompson, today you smelled just like my Mom used to." After the children left, she cried for at least an hour. On that very day, she quit teaching reading, writing and arithmetic. Instead, she began to teach children. Mrs. Thompson paid particular attention to Koko. As she worked with him, his mind seemed to come alive. The more she encouraged him, the faster heresponded. By the end of the year, Koko had become one of the smartest children in the class and, despite her lie that she would love all the children the same, Koko became one of her "teacher's pets."


A year later, she found a note under her door, from Koko, telling her that she was still the best teacher he ever had in his whole life.


Six years went by before she got another note from Koko. He then wrote that he had finished secondary school, third in his class, and she was still the best teacher he ever had in his whole life.


Four years after that, she got another letter, saying that while things had been tough at times, he'd stayed in school, had stuck with it, and would soon graduate from the university with the highest of honors. He assured Mrs. Thompson that she was still the best and favorite teacher he had ever had in his whole life.


When children are doing nothing, they are doing mischief.Then four more years passed and yet another letter came. This time he explained that after he got his bachelor's degree, he decided to go a little further. The letter explained that she was still the best and favorite teacher he ever had. But now his name was a little longer . . . The letter was signed, Koko A. Bassey, MD.


The story does not end there. You see, there was yet another letter that spring. Koko said he had met this girl and was going to be married. He explained that his father had died a couple of years ago and he was wondering if Mrs. Thompson might agree to sit at the wedding in the place that was usually reserved for the mother of the groom.


Of course, Mrs. Thompson did. And guess what? She wore that bracelet, the one with several rhinestones missing. Moreover, she made sure she was wearing the perfume that Koko remembered his mother wearing on their last Christmas together. They hugged each other, and Dr. Bassey whispered in Mrs. Thompson's ear, "Thank you Mrs. Thompson for believing in me Thank you so much for making me feel important and showing me that I could make a difference."


Mrs. Thompson, with tears in her eyes, whispered back. She said, "Koko, you have it all wrong. You were the one who taught me that I could make a difference.


I didn't know how to teach until I met you."




"Laughing Faces Do Not Mean That There Is Absence Of Sorrow!
But It Means That They Have The Ability To Deal With
It" --- Shakespeare