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WITandWISDOM(tm) - July 8, 1999
"Let us realize that the privilege to work is a gift, that power to work is a blessing, that love of work is success." - David O. McKay
(E-zine: INSPIRATION A DAY! Mailto:email@example.com)
~~~~~~~ SPECIAL THOUGHTS:
"Can I see my baby?" the happy new mother asked. When the bundle was nestled in her arms and she moved the fold of cloth to look upon his tiny face, she gasped.
The doctor turned quickly and looked out the tall hospital window. The baby had been born without ears. Time proved that the baby's hearing was perfect. It was only his appearance that was marred.
When he rushed home from school one day and flung himself into his mother's arms, she sighed, knowing that his life was to be a succession of heartbreaks.
He blurted out the tragedy. "A boy, a big boy. . . called me a freak."
He grew up, handsome for his misfortune. A favorite with his fellow students, he might have been class president, but for that.
He developed a gift, a talent for literature and music.
"But you might mingle with other young people," his mother reproved him, but felt a kindness in her heart.
The boy's father had a session with the family physician. Could nothing be done? "I believe I could graft on a pair of outer ears, if they could be procured" the doctor decided. Whereupon the search began for a person who would make such a sacrifice for a young man. Two years went by. Then, "You are going to the hospital, son. Mother and I have someone who will donate the ears you need. But it's a secret" said the father.
The operation was a brilliant success, and a new person emerged. His talents blossomed into genius, and school and college became a series of triumphs. Later he married and entered the diplomatic service.
"But I must know!" He urged his father. "Who gave so much for me? I could never do enough for him."
"I do not believe you could," said the father, "but the agreement was that you are not to know . . . not yet."
The years kept their profound secret, but the day did come. . . one of the darkest days that ever pass through a son. He stood with his father over his mother's casket. Slowly, tenderly, the father stretched forth a hand and raised the thick, reddish-brown hair to reveal. . . that the mother had no outer ears.
"Mother said she was glad she never let her hair be cut," he whispered gently, "and nobody ever thought mother less beautiful, did they"?
. . . Real beauty lies not in the physical appearance, but in the heart. Real treasure lies not in what that can be seen, but what that cannot be seen. Real love lies not in what is done and known, but in what that is done but not known.
BEAUTY AND LOVE, Author Unknown
Submitted by Carol Blum
~~~~~~~ THIS & THAT:
A telemarketer called a home one day, and a small voce whispered, "Hello?"
"Hello! What's your name?"
Still whispering, the voice said, "Jimmy."
"How old are you, Jimmy?"
"Good. Is your mother home?"
"Yes, but she's busy."
"Okay, is your father home?'
"He's busy too."
"I see, who else is there?"
"The police? May I speak with one of them?"
"Any other grown-ups there?"
"May I speak with a fireman, please?"
"They're all busy."
"Jimmy, all those people in your house, and I can't talk with any of them? What are they doing?"
"Looking for me," whispered Jimmy.
-from The Jokesmith
~~~~~~~ KEEP SMILING:
Did you know that man is made up of many useless parts? A belly button that won't button, an Adam's Apple that isn't an apple, two calves that will never be cows, a chest that won't hold linen, and a nose bridge that doesn't lead anywhere.
(E-zine: HEADSCRAPS(tm) Mailto:firstname.lastname@example.org)
How did "?" come to represent a question? . . .The humble question mark is taken for granted day after day, with little regard for how the odd little squiggle became so important in the first place. The history starts with classical Greek and Latin, which was more likely to be read aloud than in the privacy of one's home. Different marks showed readers where to place emphasis, where to pause or where to draw a breath.
In Latin, a question was indicated in the text by the word "questio" at the end of the sentence. Books were handwritten back then, and eventually "questio" became a real drag to write over and over again. Scribes shortened the word to "QO", but soon realized that it could be easily mistaken for other abbreviations. The solution came in placing the Q above the O, which deteriorated with handwriting to a squiggle for the Q and a dot for the O.
From: Ever Wonder Why? by Douglas B. Smith
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