Hello Steve, you really out did your self this time. What a beautiful story, I love this one. Thanks for sharing. Original message: > 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!"
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