by Terry Ann Fielding
Brandon, Â Mississippi, USA
When I was about 12, my father decided that I needed something constructive to occupy my day; something that wasn’t devoted just to me. At that age I was kind of selfish and felt that the world meant being with girlfriends, dreaming about guys, eating and sleeping. He had other ideas: I was signed up to be a Junior Volunteer at Children’s Hospital in New Orleans.
The hospital wasn’t a dreary place. It was painted in bright colors, and always had cheerful volunteer workers and a staff that filled the need of surrogate family during their stay. I was assigned the job of playing with the kids. Sounds easy, but it was a challenge to figure out games that you could play as a group, or something to do one-on-one when a child needed special attention.
One sticks out above the rest even after all these years. She taught me to be thankful for all the great things I had, but sometimes took for granted — parents, regular schooling, clothes, food and, above all, good health. She never asked for much, and was always happy, smiling, and chattering a mile a minute. She was only about four years old, and seemed to have adapted rather well to her disability.
One day she wanted to paint a picture with watercolors. Easy enough, except she didn’t have any arms. I felt sick that I was encountering a problem I couldn’t solve. That is when I learned how to accept what you have and how to use it to the best of your ability. Yes, she did paint her picture. To this day I can close my eyes and see her painting with a brush taped between her toes. No, the picture wasn’t perfect, but to me it was a Picasso: a simple flower in yellow and green. That child brought me into the real world and taught me many valuable tools for life. It led me to a life of giving whenever I could. I worked at the hospital for two years and it was my honor to share that little girl’s life and grow from it. She gave more to me than I could have ever given to her. I don’t know whatever became of her, whether she eventually went home, or even lived. I have often wondered if she was one of the lucky ones to survive. Not knowing, I have chosen to visualize her as a teacher, or a wonderful mother to a houseful of noisy children, teaching all around her to shine.
Available in The Best of HeroicStories, Volume 1.
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