Freedom to Lead In Spite of Weaknesses

The summer after sixth grade was filled with surprises. One was getting new temporary neighbors next door. The family of five was moving boxes into their short-term rental property when I introduced myself and asked if I could help. Brian and his little brother ran over to chat.

Brian shared how they were building a new house three blocks away, while my next-door neighbor was on a one-year sabbatical in California. It was the perfect temporary living accommodations for their family. And, it gave me a chance to make new friends.

After helping move a few of the boxes, we knocked around playing football in the side yard. Unfortunately, I was called home to dinner, but expected we’d have many more games in the weeks to come. While the fun factor may have played a role in our new friendship, I sometimes wonder if the grade schoolers just liked hanging out with a kid who was entering Jr. High in the fall.

Brian wasn’t the typical grade schooler. He was quite mature for his young age. Because of his maturity, his father signed him up for a newspaper route in lieu of an allowance. He figured his son would be able to make as much money as his entrepreneurial heart would allow. Brian’s brother agreed to work with him, cutting down the time and workload in order to increase the amount their playtime. That gave Brian an idea.

Brian rang my doorbell within seconds of receiving his pay stub booklet for his paper route. He convinced me that if I helped, we could buy all kinds of neat things together like a new baseball for playing catch. Since money was tight in my house, except for around Christmas time, I agreed to help.

The pay stub booklet didn’t come with any instructions or training, so Brian looked to me for the answers. The only thing I knew about the stubs was that the paperboys tore out a stub for every dollar a subscriber paid. Brian was fascinated by my intellect and immediately asked how we should go about working his route.

A sense of importance flooded my soul. I was somebody in Brian’s eyes and I decided to step up to the leadership position he gave me. I had not yet encountered enough of life to understand the simple truth that pride comes before a man, or in this case a boy, falls.

Scanning the ratty booklet, I first suggested he start with fresh looking pages by tearing out all the uneven stubs. This would help give him a more professional look to his new customers. He readily agreed and tore all the jagged stubs out and threw it in the garbage. Then we walked the route.

Boredom filled our souls after walking our first mile together. I was secretly happy that it was Brian’s route and not my own, thinking that this would be my last day helping on the route. It was clear that I had no understanding of the value of money, what a work ethic looked like or true friendship.

A man answered the door at a dark brown ranch when we rang the doorbell to introduce Brian as the new paperboy. After handing him the paper, he asked Brian how much he owed. Brian looked at me with a confused face.

The man stated that he owed money for the last few weeks and suggested that Brian look in his stub book and charge him for any of the uneven stubs that were outstanding. Brian told him that we started fresh with the book, but the man insisted he pay for the weeks he owed and gave us four dollars.

I felt extremely foolish about us tearing off the jagged stubs that represented payments owed. I had no idea that he could immediately collect money where the last paperboy had left off. After all, what paperboy wouldn’t have collected all the money owed before quitting?

I recoiled from that experience and quietly backed out of helping, not feeling worthy of returning to Brian’s side. But that didn’t change Brian’s understanding of friendship. He invited me to the sports store later in the week where we purchased a couple baseballs, some trading cards and bubble gum with his four dollars.

We had a great time playing baseball and football together. Brian had proven his loyalty and his maturity in being a great friend. And I not only marveled as the recipient of his friendship, but I also learned a hard lesson about leadership.

A person isn’t a leader just because he looks or acts like one before others. It’s not until the leader considers those he serves and admits his weaknesses that he will be capable of leading. And with leadership, comes the difficult responsibility of acknowledging when he is wrong and personally apologizing to those he hurt.

As for restitution, I collected up a few dollars and a handful of trading cards to repay Brian for the stubs he pitched. While he was the one that tore the tabs from the booklet, I felt a certain level of responsibility for having directed him to do so. However, Brian’s in his gracious manner, turned down the money and accepted the cool trading cards.

That’s when I learned something even more important. When I admitted my fault and attempted to restore the relationship in a practical way, I let go of the negative emotions that drove me to withdraw from future encounters with my friend. I was freed from that emotional bondage and able to head next door whenever I desired.

Our friendship eventually changed when I started spending more time with Brian’s older sister. Their move down the street caused more changes and so did school starting up that fall. The final blow to our relationship came when their father’s company moved the family out west.

While their time in my neighborhood was short, I’ll never forget our time together, their kindness and generosity, and their ability to make friends. It’s my hope that I’ll always treasure the lessons I learned from Brian and be the leader he always saw me to be.

Copyright © 2014 by CJ Powers

The Gift of Imagination

scribbleOnce upon a time there was a wee little man who wished his imagination was big enough to create a gift for his niece’s birthday. He sat down immediately and started scratching lines and curves on a piece of paper. He was hoping that from the chaos a form of fun art would emerge, but his strokes didn’t look like art.

Nothing looked like anything, which infuriated the little man. Out of sheer anger he scribbled all the more until his paper was filled with a squiggly mess.

His eyes began to water when a wise old owl perched outside of his window.

elf“What seems to be the matter?” questioned the owl.

“I can’t seem to do anything creative,” moaned the wee little man. “I had hoped to sketch out a present for my niece’s party, but my creativity lacks something awful.”

“Not at all,” mused the wise owl. “For I see a cool elf in the picture that will amuse your niece.”

The wee man squinted and bulged out his eyes until he finally saw what the owl had discovered. His hand quickly covered the paper with a tissue and outlined the picture with another color until it was easier to see.

Colored Scribbled elf“It’s amazing!” cried the little man.

He turned from the owl and began coloring the work. It would be a wonderful, humorous gift for his niece. By the time he was finished a large smile formed on his face, but then disappeared.

“What is the matter?” asked the wise owl.

“My niece has a turtle collection and I wished my scribbles had created a funny turtle for her instead.”

“Very well my little friend,” affirmed the owl. “Turn the original scribbled picture upside down, find the turtle, outline it and color it to your satisfaction.”

The man flipped the picture around and spotted the turtle carrying a service tray. He outlined it and colored it until it looked like a fun picture.

Turtle“Thank you Mr. Owl,” said the humble man. “I would never have seen my own creativeness had you not pointed it out.”

“You are welcome,” the owl said. “Now take your gift of creativity to the child and teach her how to see the inspiration that her chaos can bring to our world.”

The wee little man gave a nod, grabbed the picture of the turtle and headed off to the party. He couldn’t wait to see what his niece’s imagination would create.

Copyright © 2014 by CJ Powers

The Perception Changing Crash

My grade school mind raced as I stared out of the back passenger car window. Last night’s Mission Impossible episode was so cool that I projected spy like perspectives into my view. I scanned the surroundings and determined that the parked car across the street from the gas station pump where we sat was more than just a car. Something was about to happen and I needed to figure it out before…

Parked CarDad opened the car door and leaned over toward mom. She had the vacation cash for the trip and he needed money to pay the gas station attendant. But I didn’t let that distraction take me away from the adventure at hand. I had to piece together the puzzle before it was too late.

As dad walked into the station, I focused on the car across the street. Had it been abandoned with a bomb planted in it? Or, was it filled with drugs and dropped off for a later pick up? National security needed my best speculation and I had to figure it out before my dad returned to the car. Maybe the car was placed there as a deterrent to block someone’s movement until a hitman could take him out?

The sound of a motorcycle revved into my view from the far right side. I knew in an instant the man was about to be taken out. In my periphery I could see my dad exiting the gas station counting his change. His timing couldn’t be better.

I fixed my eyes on the motorcyclist as he zip through the intersection and headed straight for the parked car. I braced for the impact, knowing that he would be shot by a sniper and taken out before he could steer around the car.

My eyes widened as I watched the motorcycle ram into the back end of the car. The cyclist was tossed over the car and onto the street. The thud of the impact made my stomach feel nauseous, as I watched the man bounce twice on the pavement. When his body came to a stop he was motionless. I had just witnessed a motorcycle accident and I wondered if the man was dead.

Perspective Changing CrashI was startled as my dad’s car door opened. I pointed across the street and told him that a motorcycle had just crashed. My dad turned to see the mangled cycle. His head slowly moved in the direction of traffic and spotted the man on the pavement. He immediately shouted to the gas attendant to call the police and report the accident.

Dad stuck his head in the window and asked mom to pull the car to the side to clear the pumps for the next customer, while he helped clear the traffic until the police arrived. The traffic was becoming congested with gawkers.

The sound of my dad’s police whistle resounded in the area and cars immediately obeyed his waved directions. Being dressed in his weekend clothes didn’t matter, as all drivers respected the authority he commanded. The first police car arrived and one of the officers took over the directing of traffic.

My mom instructed us not to look at the horrible sight, as the thought of death was making her stomach queasy and she didn’t want us to experience anything bad. She even tried to involve us in singing happy songs, but all I could do was wonder how my make believe was perfectly timed with the devastating crash.

What were the odds? Could a grade schooler’s mind impact reality?

My mind was flooded with questions and thoughts about the moment, which may have saved me from the realization that I had just witnessed a man’s death. The experience was terrible and no one in the family ever brought it up again except for me. I had to share how my dad put our vacation on hold long enough to help the local police.

Having watched a real crash at such a young age altered my perception of motorcycles. While I could handle driving mini-bikes on a camping trail later in my youth, I could never bring myself to driving a motorcycle on the street. Nor was I comfortable twenty years later losing two friends to motorcycle accidents. I also struggled when my cousin had to make life changing adjustments after his motorcycle accident made him a paraplegic.

The odd thing about all of these motorcycle accidents was that not one of them happened to me, yet my emotions took a significant hit each time.

But what ever happened to that man? Did he feel a rush as his body was tossed over the car? Did he feel the intense pain of his landing on the pavement? When his body bounced a second time, did his spirit bounce out of his body like in the movies?

These questions filled my grade school mind well into my teen years and beyond, with no available source to provide the answers. It was a hard lesson to realize that some questions never get answered. And most accidents never bring closure. In this case, I never learned why the man drove straight into a parked car as if he never saw it.

Copyright © 2014 by CJ Powers
art © fotolia.com