We've all heard the expression 'Being born with a silver spoon in their mouth,' but this is one of my favorite stories. Kirk Douglas was born into an impoverished family, and his mother said the way he came into the family was when she looked into the backyard one day to see a gold box lowered by a string made of silver. She rushed out in the cold, opened the box, and saw a naked baby boy. Elated to at last have a son--The woman had five daughters--She took the child into her home.
As the family was always short on funds, Douglas always asked about the box. His mother said when she went back outside, it was gone. He constantly wondered if that didn't bother her. No, she replied. When she saw him, she could care less about the box.
I would have liked Kirk Douglas' mother. She knew what was truly important, telling her son at an early age how he was far more important than gold or silver. And she tried passing that along to him. It took a long time--long after her death--for the lesson to sink in, but eventually, he learned it.
Other parents have taught this lesson to their children in various ways. It's a beautiful analogy, and Douglas will insist today it's a true story. After all, his mother told it to him.
For those who doubt it, remember Baron Munchasen's famous line, "Vas you dere, Charlie?" Have faith in the words of our parents, who have let us know throughout the years in various ways we are far more valuable than gold or silver. And their value to us is immeasurable. We may not realize it growing up, but we do as we get older.
Cherish your family. They are your gold box.
Mizpah
I'm in the midst of reading Peter Ford's wonderful biography on his father, Glenn, one of my favorite actors. About halfway through it, Peter, who is an email friend of mine, stated his father never said, "I love you," to his son.
Kirk Douglas has won accolades all around the world. The one thing he wanted more than anything he never received. It was a pat on the back from his father. He wrote of once being taken out for ice cream as a child by his father, and treasures that moment. To Douglas, that ice cream cone to this day means more than any award he has.
Why is it we cannot say those three words? Are we supposed to be 'tough'? Is it not manly? It can't be the latter, as there are women with the same problem. Perhaps we think they already know it. Or even more tragic . . . in many cases, the love isn't there.
My family has never been short on sharing love, so when I read the above stories, I want to reach out to those people and embrace them to let them know someone does care about them. (I come from a family of huggers.) We were taught at an early age "I love you" is not hard to say, and my sister's bunch has carried on the tradition.
My nephews are a perfect example. They're all ex-jocks who jokingly like to act like they're 'bad', but they can all say "I love you" without hesitation. They don't look around to ensure no one is watching, or whisper it under their breath. They know no one is going to snicker at them. They've been taught it's beautiful to say, not a sissy thing.
It's only three words, and if you can say it, you'll make someone's day. With all the profanities we utter daily, "I love you" shouldn't be so hard.
When I was a kid, Bill Bixby starred in a series entitled 'The Courtship of Eddie's Father,' based on the Glenn Ford movie. The theme song went, "People, let me tell you `bout my best friend . . ."
Well, that's what I'm going to do this morning. Some of you are going to roll your eyes, and as a matter of fact, you're going to quit reading about now, but I have a reason for this, so be patient with me.
My cat Cricket's my pal, and I know . . everyone says it's supposed to be a dog. But Cricket likes to prance after me wherever I go. She lets me know at 9 in the evening it's bedtime -- - even if I'm not sleepy. If my insomnia awakens me, she'll get up with me, then tap me on the back at 5 to let me know it's her feeding time. (I get up around then.)
Of course, if I sleep past 5, she lets me know when it's time to get up. I've been boxed, bitten on the toe, jumped on, walked on (her favorite), and meowed in the face quite pitifully. In short, I never have to set the alarm.
When I work on my writing, I do it by hand. She lets me know a lap is a terrible thing to waste, and it makes writing that much harder, but you know what? It also is that much more enjoyable, as I'm doing it with my best friend.
My mother's dog - - whom Cricket and I consider to be our adversary- - is every bit as loyal. (I cannot mention her name in this, as Cricket has not given me permission.) When Mom was taken to the hospital with a heart attack last year, the dog was devastated, and stayed at the side of my mother's bed for hours, even though she wasn't there. I tried persuading her to go outside (She has a bladder the size of a pea, so I knew she was agonizing.), and she wouldn't. or eat (Her appetite is huge.) and she wouldn't do either. As a matter of fact, the only moving she would do was to go to the bathroom door. That lasted well into the next day.
The recent story of the young soldier who perished and his dog at his funeral has been well documented as well.
Now I ask you this . . . . Why aren't we as people as loyal as our pets? Why don't we give each other the loyalty, the love, the kindness, that our animals give? As a matter of fact, when someone is being insulted, they're a 'dog.' A snide remark is 'catty.' You know, after watching our pets, we need to re-evaluate those terms. I don't think we humans have the right to be on the same level with dogs and cats at times, as we don't have the love and loyalty as they do.
Mizpah.
