This was good. Becky
From: steve doyle Sent: Tuesday, November 10, 2009 12:36 PM To: [email protected] Subject: [RecipesAndMore] The Happiest Day Of My Life The Happiest Day Of My Life It started innocently. Many years ago I worked in an office with large windows facing a busy overpass. I was standing by one of those windows one day when a woman in a passing car looked up and made eye contact. Naturally, I waved. A chuckle escaped my lips as she turned and tried to identify me. It was the beginning of a year of window antics. When things were slow, I would stand in the window and wave at the passengers who looked up. The strange looks made me laugh, and stress was washed away. Co-workers began to take an interest. They would stand out of view, watch the reactions I received, and laugh along. Late afternoon was the best time - rush-hour traffic filled the overpass with cars and commuter buses, and provided lots of waving material for the end-of-day routine. It didn't take long to attract a following - a group of commuters who passed the window every day and looked up at the strange, waving man. There was a man with a construction truck who would turn on his flashing yellow light and return my wave, the carpool crowd, and the business lady with her children fresh from day care. But my favorite was the transit bus from the docks that passed my window at 4:40 p.m. It carried the same group every day, and they became my biggest fans. After a while, waving became boring, so I devised ways to enhance my act. I made signs - "Hi," "Hello," "Be Happy!" - and posted them in the window and waved. I stood on the window ledge in various poses, created hats from paper and file-folders, made faces, played peek-a-boo by bouncing up from below the window ledge, stuck out my tongue, tossed paper planes in the air, and once went into the walkway over the street and danced while co-workers pointed to let my fans know I was there. I didn't know it then, but a bond was forming between my fans and me. It wasn't until the following spring that I discovered how close we had become. My wife and I were expecting our first child that spring, and I wanted the world to know. Less than a month before the birth, I posted a sign in the window, "25 DAYS UNTIL B DAY." My fans passed and shrugged their shoulders. The next day the sign read, "24 DAYS UNTIL B DAY." Each day the number dropped, and the passing people grew more confused. One day a sign appeared in the bus, "What is B DAY?" I just waved and smiled. Ten days before the expected date, the sign in the window read, "10 DAYS UNTIL BA DAY." Still the people wondered. The next day it read, "9 DAYS UNTIL BAB DAY," then "8 DAYS UNTIL BABY DAY," and my fans finally knew what was happening. By then, my following had grown to include 20 or 30 different buses and cars. Every night they watched to see if my wife had given birth. Excitement grew as the days counted down. My fans were disappointed when the count reached 0 without an announcement. The next day the sign read, "BABY DAY 1 DAY LATE," and I pretended to pull out my hair. Each day the number changed, and the interest from passing cars grew. When my wife was 14 days overdue she went into labor, and the next morning our daughter was born. I left the hospital at 5:30 a.m., screamed my joy into the still morning air, and drove home to sleep. I got up at noon, showered, bought cigars, and appeared at my window in time for my fans. My co-workers were ready with a banner posted in the window: "IT'S A GIRL!" I wasn't alone that night. My co-workers joined me in celebration. We stood and waved our cigars in the air as every vehicle that passed acknowledged the birth of my daughter. Finally, the bus from the docks made its turn onto the overpass and began to climb the hill. When it drew close, I climbed onto the window ledge and clasped my hands over my head in a victory pose. The bus was directly in front of me when it stopped dead in heavy traffic, and every person on board stood with their hands in the air. Emotion choked my breathing as I watched the display of celebration for my new daughter. Then it happened: A sign popped up. It filled the windows and stretched half the length of the bus: "CONGRATULATIONS!" Tears formed in my eyes as the bus slowly resumed its journey. I stood in silence as it pulled from view. My daughter had been born 14 days late. Those people must have carried the sign on the bus for at least two weeks. Every day they had unrolled it and then rolled it back up. We all have a clown inside of us. We need to let it free and not be surprised at the magic it can create. For eight months I had made a fool of myself, and those people must have enjoyed the smiles I gave them, because on the happiest day of my life they had shown their appreciation. That day, more than 20 years ago, changed me. I just wanted to make my day better. I didn't realize how it affected others. Ever since then, I try to put a smile on someone's face every day. I compliment strangers on their clothing. I start conversations in elevators. I even make jokes in crowded New York City subways. Some may think I am crazy, but I know there is a chance that I'm making someone's day, someone who may, one day, hold up a sign that says "Congratulations!" --~--~---------~--~----~------------~-------~--~----~ Access the Recipes And More list archives at: http://www.mail-archive.com/recipesandmore%40googlegroups.com/ Visit the group home page at: http://groups.google.com/group/RecipesAndMore -~----------~----~----~----~------~----~------~--~---
