Those Who Live Life Will Always Have Stories to Tell

I get that alot, in fact it was one of the things my soon to be Ex-wife would harp on about, and my Former Best friend would comment on.  Life is large and some people live their lives in small quiet ways, some go out and look in all the nooks and crannies and actually live life.   Your detractors are either afraid or jealous  maybe both , I do not know. Keep telling your stories they are a part of what makes you special. 

A story - My late husband Michael and I loved to go bush walking. There is a bush track along an abandoned railway line in the hills above where we lived in Western Australia that has a beautiful waterfall, and spectacular wild flowers at the end of it, so one spring day we decided that would be our day out.

We had been walking for a couple of hours and it was getting hot, and there was the stream nearby, so naturally going for a swim sounded like a great idea. Neither of us had a change of underwear, or swim suits, but 'our' track was hardly ever used so we decided to go skinny dipping.

5 minutes into our bonding with nature I see one person, then a few more, then what must have been a whole bus lad of tourists walking along the track on the other side of some very scanty bush coverage. I panicked and ran for cover, my arse cheeks, and boobs flapping in the brisk spring air. Michael stood calmly, and defiantly, his tackle above the waterline, waving to any passerby who took too keen an interest to be able to fix their attention on their path, rather than our 'assets'.

7 years ago, on the 21st November Michael died suddenly. I knew he would never want to be stuck in the ground, or interned in some stone monument, so I had an unattended cremation (the thought of watching him being lowered into a furnace made me sick), and we had a ceremony at that waterfall in the hills where we each took turns spreading some of his ashes into the water.

I haven't been back to that place yet. Perhaps it's time. Maybe that will be my next story.

I don't do the things you talk about (and I spend way too much time behind my computer) - I do have stories - but 95% of my stories are Thing 1 said this or Thing 2 said that - some of them are gross (9 year old boy gross) and some of them are sweet (5 year old girl sweet).

I was living the life of a young adult in a medium sized town working 2 average jobs and going to school. I had an injury at work which sidelined me for 3 months that I was not allowed to work at all. Trying to figure out what I should do to keep from going stir crazy, I found out the phone number for one person I had always wanted to meet. My Dad. Made the phone call and arrangements, he agreed to see me if I would travel. Sure, not much else to do. Bought a plane ticket to Fairbanks, AK (that's Alaska folks). Ended up spending 30 days and had a pretty good time with him and his wife. Near the end of the visit, they invited me to move. To Fairbanks, live with them and attend a wonderful University. I was ecstatic at the opportunity! Three months later I had completed my injury rehabilitation, & wrapped up the school semester. Applied & did all the transfer paperwork for the new Uni. Packed me car with my worldly possessions and hit the road to AK. It did not all work out as planned/dreamed - but I would not trade that 2 years for the world. Among other things, it gave me the love of my life.

I love stories. I find its a trait many people I surround myself with, have. I have my fair share as well, and the stories remind me of how blessed I truly am in this life. 

I dont have the time to share one now, but want you to know I admire that about you. I admire the story telling in trait in all people.

My favorite story happened in January 2001. I had just finished my PhD in Human Genetics, and was taking a well-deserved trip with my boyfriend (or so my family thought). In reality, we decided to elope in Kauai, Hawaii.  I will never forget landing in Kauai--I felt like I was at home, at peace. We arrived on island with no concrete plans and no wedding dress! My future brother-in-law was arriving in a few days, so we enjoyed the beach, the snorkeling and the amazing views. We spent one day figuring out how to get married on Kauai, which is more difficult than we had thought. But, after a few hours (and several department and interviews later--including the clerk asking me if I was coerced into this marriage), we had an arrangement--we were going to be married by a judge in his chambers in a few days. 

Although we were excited , we were also bummed that we were getting married in the judge's chambers. That evening we went shopping and stopped by an art gallery. For some reason, the proprietor chatted us up. When he found out we were getting married by a judge in his chambers, he insisted that we call his friend instead. So, he found the phone and called the Hawaiian minister. We arranged to be married the following Sunday at 1:30 PM. The proprietor also gave us the name of a florist so we could order leis: double white orchid for me, maile leaf for my husband and purple orchids for the best man and maid of honor! 

The day before the wedding, I found my dress (something casual), and we arrived at the church a few minutes early. The minister had forgotten that he was supposed to marry us, and after a few minutes, we were off to Poipu for the ceremony. He married us on Shipwreck beach with turtles swimming nearby, and half of the ceremony in Hawaiian. It was amazing. We spent the afternoon at a nearby tiki bar and went to a luau that evening. Although I've had many more adventures, this continues to be my favorite story because we had the dream beach wedding thanks to the help of a stranger in an Art Gallery! 

I love the title of this post. This past Christmas, my mom gave me a wall hanging that says, "Your story matters.... Tell it!" which was awesome.

I may come back and tell a story, but for now, I just wanted to thank you for your blog, and for sharing your stories.

Hey, Dan, I am touched by your headline "Those Who Live Life Will Always Have Stories to Tell"

I started to travel by myself alone when I was 14 years old. One summer I went home with an empty stomach of two days because I have went too far...

After I divorce, I started to take my daughter to travel with me when she's five. We both have camera in our hand and take picture for each other. We don't check weather before we step on our way, so we may have some unexpected surprising...

This summer, my daughter's finally agree to let her have a passport so we can Asian. He warn her about the food and the dusty sky in China. Surprisedly she didn't get sick like many people think she would for the first time visit Asian. When her dad ask her about her trip in China in the phone, she laughed. "Daddy, I eat like a pig here and there is blue sky in China."

I am glad to lived my life and I am glad to have my daughter around to experience hers.

My favorite story of the week:

Discussing the first day of school with my seventh grader:

"MOM! There's a new teacher! No! He's an aide. And he wears SPANDEX to school!"

Well. This is, indeed, news. Hubby and I pause, each of us with mental pictures of a male teachers' aide in Spandex. He either looks REALLY good or VERY bad, and either way, it seems....inappropriate. Especially for a middle school. Um....."Spandex? On the bottom or on top?" I mean, a Spandex shirt wouldn't be quite as bad, right? Either way, I might be calling the school.

Puzzled silence. "Well, they're on top mostly....."

Thoughtful mental translation. "Do you mean suspenders?"

Of course she did. Black suspenders. She'll keep us updated if the color changes.

LOLOL

DeeDee

www.KidNeedsAKidney.blogspot.com

In 1947, Elk Point, SD, on the family farm; my mom was 13 years old. Her folks didn't tell the kids the facts of life, they said that God showed the animals where the babies were in the ground in the pastures, and the mamas dug them up. Somehow the kids figured it out on their own. There was no indoor plumbing on the farm, yet, so mom went out to use the outhouse early one morning. She said she spotted their favorite milk cow, Jane, in the process of giving birth, with two wet calf legs hanging out her backside. She ran into the house, straight into her parents' room without knocking, knowing that was forbidden! She knew how valuable each life was on the farm. She yelled, "Dad, Dad, you've got to come, quick! You know how the little calves are always running around bucking and jumping? Well one jumped right up Jane's butt! It's going to suffocate if you don't come quickly and pull it out of there!" She said she was pretty confused as to why her dad didn't jump right up. Why her mom said he should have put Jane in the barn. And why the 5 oldest boys and girls were snickering at her. She finally figured it all out, and she had a laugh when one of the younger boys later dug up the farrowing barn sod floor looking for baby pigs!

http://workfromhomewithmca.tk

New storie to tell: People complaining about clicking more / clicking less :) :). Greetings from Peru! Love your blog and your stories.

When I was 10 years old, I had my first and only flying lesson.  I grew up in the southern Arizona desert where the only two forms of weather are hot and windy.  My father's shop had two very large barn type doors that we built out of tongue and groove lumber. They must have been 10 feet tall and were held secure by a single board that would be wedged in the bracket on each door (like a barn door).  I was trying to get the doors shut, since the wind had started, making the breeze less valuable than continued eyesight.  I managed to martial my 45 pounds to pull the first door shut, but as I was pulling the second door shut, a gust of wind came up and pulled the door open taking me with it.  When the door hit the berm and came to an abrupt stop, I continued, flying through the air like the Greatest American Hero (Look it up, it was a great show).  My landing was less than graceful, although it would have been more so if that spool of barbed wire fencing hadn't been there.

I untangled myself and stumbled into the house. Being country folk, my parents were in the process of patching me up to send me back out to finish my chores when they realized I was exhibiting symptoms of a concussion.  One emergency room visit later, and I got a couple of days off of work...and a great story. 

Why don't you just finish the story on one page? Is it to get more site clicks or something? I don't understand why, in order to read a blog post, I have to keep clicking, but the first page only contains 430 words. If you look at stats, and you see that some person in Canada only reads half or a third of your stories, that's why. Sorry, just venting.

When the great founder of the modern Hasidim, Rabbi Israel Baal Shem Tov, saw misfortune threatening the Jews, it was his custom to go into a certain part of the forest to meditate. There he would light a fire, say a special prayer, and the miracle would be accomplished, and the misfortune or trouble averted.

Later, when his disciple, the celebrated Rabbi Maggid of Mezritch, had occasion, for the same reason, to intercede with heaven, he would go to the same place in the forest and say: "Master of the Universe, listen! I do not know how to light the fire, but I am still able to say the prayer." And again the miracle would be accomplished, disaster was averted and life continued with its ups and downs.

Still later, Rabbi Moshe-Leib of Sasov, in order to save his people once more (this time, from themselves) would go into the forest and say: "I do not know how to light the fire, I do not know the prayer, but I know the place and this must be sufficient." It was sufficient and the miracle of continued life was accomplished.Then it fell to Rabbi Israel of Rizhyn to overcome misfortune. Sitting in his house, his head in his hands, he spoke to God: "I am unable to light the fire and I do not know the prayer; I cannot even find the the place in the forest. All I can do is to tell the story, and this must be sufficient." And it was sufficient.

So some people say God made men because He loves stories.

I went on a road trip in an RV with some friends a few years back. We were to meet in a mall parking lot. My friends were gathered in front of a RV with an open door. I went in to look around and before I knew it, the door was shut and locked. I couldn't get out by the main door. Just then, I noticed one of my friends arriving in the parking lot driving a RV. Oh my… It dawned on me that I was in a stranger's RV. I finally was able to get out and we all had a good laugh over it. I still blush to this day when I tell the story. :)

I went on a road trip in an RV with some friends a few years back. We were to meet in a mall parking lot. My friends were gathered in front of a RV with an open door. I went in to look around and before I knew it, the door was shut and locked. I couldn't get out by the main door. Just then, I noticed one of my friends arriving in the parking lot driving a RV. Oh my… It dawned on me that I was in a stranger's RV. I finally was able to get out and we all had a good laugh over it. I still blush to this day when I tell the story. :)

About 4 years ago I made a trip to my sister's house. It was a solitary trip, a spur of the moment decision. I just needed that time, me and the road and time to think and feel uninterrupted. Before I left I stopped and picked up a little plant for my sister.  That plant and I made our way north and the two of us did a whole lot of thinking. That poor plant survived my dreadful singing, and had to listen to me talk to myself. Yes, I have conversations with myself when I'm alone once in awhile, don't laugh, ya'll know you do it too. Well a while back I was at my sis's house and I got a cutting from that plant, which has since grown from a teeny thing that fit in my cup holder, to a monstrosity that is threatening to take over my sister's kitchen. I stuck that little cutting in a cup of water on my kitchen windowsill and waited for it to take root.I've never had much luck with plants, they all seem to die and I expected nothing less from this plant. I watched it week after week, checking the water, and nothing happened. It didn't die but it also didn't root either. It just sat there, looking sad and wilty. Every week I thought well, this is it, it's surely going to die. But it didn't. And then I got mad. My life had changed drastically, I was newly separated from my husband, my 20 year marriage was in the toilet and I was struggling to find my footing as a single mom of 4 boys. If I couldn't grow this stupid plant what hope did I have of growing a new life. One night as I stood there washing dishes, I kept looking up at it, just clinging to life and I did a crazy thing. I looked at it and snapped " Oh just die already you stupid thing!" Yes I yell at inanimate objects too, shut up, it's part of my charm.Another week passed and this damned plant was STILL alive and still wouldn't root. So that Saturday as I was vacuuming I got a hair-brained idea. And with the floor half done, I stopped what I was doing and went to the cupboard under the sink and got the bag of potting soil and pretty little pot that I had bought to put it in when it was ready. Then I took that little stubborn rootless cutting and I planted it anyway. I placed it by the window, gave it a drink and said, "There ya stupid thing, Now whatcha gonna do? Grow, don't grow, it's up to you." And then I finished vacuuming.Well time passed, I watered it, it still looked sad and wilty. I gave it sunshine and it slumped over in the pot and looked half dead. Then tonight I went to water it, and found an amazing thing...a tiny new leaf. I guess it decided to live after all.  Me too. Sometimes life is a leap of faith, and you've just gotta stick it in the dirt and hope for roots. I think I love that stubborn little plant.

It's a long story about a little girl who imagined she had her very own pet. Thankfully, the name sums it up: Stone Kitty Chin Stitches. Good times.

It's a long story about a little girl who imagined she had her very own pet. Thankfully, the name sums it up: Stone Kitty Chin Stitches. Good times.

I have a story about my stories! I was a Peace Corps volunteer for 2.5 years and stayed in my country of service working for an NGO (non-governmental organization) for 1.5 years after that. I traveled a lot during that time to some uncommon tourist destinations, and as such amassed a TON of stories. This isn't so unexpected when you think about a 22 year old moving to a country where they don't speak the language less than 4 months after graduating college and have some freedom to travel. I didn't come home for 18 months, and when I did I had reverse culture shock - BAD! I also realized that all of my stories were now so outside of what most of my friends, family and especially strangers could comprehend that I would just get strange looks, stares of disbelief and the occasional annoyed glares. After a while I just stopped telling stories for a long time until I found that I was unhappy and not involved in life around me. I realized that I shouldn't censor myself to make other people comfortable. My stories make me ME and I love them. I've now amassed a lot more stories from the US being back for five years, but I still love to bring out stories from my time abroad. I'm now proud of the looks people give me and love to tell them about what it's like in countries they have barely heard of. Keep telling your stories Dan!!

Sometimes I don't win mother of the year. More than just sometimes. Tayler woke up one Saturday morning and informed me that she was fighting cancer today. Okay... Tayler does this. When she brought home her snow cone maker she started printing out fliers to come to our house and buy a snow cone for $1 to save the animals. She put pictures of various endangered species on it. I nixed it. I wasn't comfortable with our address being plastered all over everywhere for strangers to show up at our house... So on this Saturday, when Tayler told me she was fighting cancer, I didn't take her too seriously. "Oh yeah? How are you going to do that?" "I'm gonig to help with a bake sale." "Is this a group that's putting this on? Is it a part of something?" "Me and my friends were talking about it at school and we want to do it." Suddenly my walls went up. If it wasn't part of an organization... "Is an adult helping you?" "No..." And then I got mean. Except, in my protective mother's eyes, I wasn't being mean, I was making a point. "Okay, say I let you help with this bake sale (I was still doubting that it was actually even going to happen if there was no adult or organization to make it "real"), what are you going to do with the money? How exactly is this going to help fight cancer?" "I don't know..." "Tay, I can't let you go." It was supposed to be at a boy's house. A boy I didn't know. No one was helping them. Where were they going to get baked items to sell? Who was going to watch them as they tried to sell things to strangers? It was a fiasco and I didn't want my daughter to be out in it. Tayler ran upstairs to her room where I heard deep heartfelt sobs coming from her. What point was it, exactly, that I had been trying to make? Because I don't think I made it. West, who had been sitting in the next room looked at me as I walked down the hall, on my way to Tayler. "She's just trying to do something good," he says. Having the pride issues that I have I replied, "but it isn't real. It's not a real function. And even if they do manage to earn money... where's it going to go? Who's going to take care of it? I'm not going to support adding money to another persons wallet because they let their kid have a bake sale in their front yard and then didn't know what to do with it." I went up stairs where I found sobbing Tayler sitting with her back against her dresser, knees up to her chest, head on knees. "Tay..." The rest is here: http://circusofmine.blogspot.com/2012/06/bake-sale-for-fighting-childrens-cancer.html

I lived in a very small town.  It was so small the population sign read 35.  I was a paramedic on a volunteer ambulance company.  One day we got a call that involved a female with respiratory problems.  It was snowing....hard.  We tried to get an medical helicopter to fly into her but it was impossible.  My partner (and my husband) and I decided to see how far we could get with the ambulance.  We couldn't even begin to get up her road, so we took my husbands 4x4 pickup, loaded up our gear, and attempted to drive in.  We made it .25 of a mile and we blew the clutch out on the truck.  At that point, we still needed to get to her.  We loaded our gear onto the backboard, strapped it down, and put the rest into bags and then we started hiking.  It was a two mile hike to her house in thigh deep snow.  We got to her and gave her medications for her problem.  After we were there for about 10 minutes the coast guard flew in with their helicopter.  They couldn't land because of the snow.  They hoisted her up to the helicopter and then informed us they would have to take my husband too because they didn't have a paramedic on board.  They winched my husband up to the helicopter and left a rescue swimmer with me.  The rescue swimmer and I picked up all our gear and hiked back down to the main road.  It was one of the scariest, tiring, and exhilarating calls I've ever been on.  After a brief hospital stay, the woman returned home, and is in good health.  Thinking of calls like this make me realize how much I miss being a a paramedic.

I laugh!  A lot!!  I remember lunch/dinner time while in college...our group of friends always sat together talking, joking, messing around and laughing!!  We weren't quiet about it either!  We would rag on each other and sometimes would chase each other around the "caf" and shove mashed potatoes up their nose...resulting in someone peeing their pants from laughing so hard!!  I also remember people giving us looks.  Some nasty looks because we interrupted their meal, some amused because we were having so much fun and others in disbelief that people could act like that in public!!  HAHA!!  Then a few years later a friend and I ran into one of the onlookers.  She said that she had never seen anyone have as much fun or laugh as much as our group did!!  What's life without laughter?!!!  Gotta have fun livin'!!

I like to think of myself as a some what witty and humerus person, but on numerous occasions have learn not everyone feels the same way I do. For example, one morning my Mother ask if Id pick her up coffee and cream after I dropped the kids off at school for her and as the outstanding Daughter that I am I said sure.  Standing at the check out I noticed that the man in front of me just had bacon and eggs and I just had coffee and cream. So I said to the check out girl," ya were getting together for breakfast." She laughed and said ,"Ya it looks that way!" but the guy very quickly replied"NO!" Me being me looked him in the eye and said,"it was a joke not an invite!" Or when I was having a planed C-cession the Doctor announced," He isn't even officially born get but he is screaming his head off!" So I said back,"Quick do me back up! God got my order wrong. I ordered a placid and calm child!" The whole OR got really quite and then the Doctor looked over the screen and replied."I can't do that".

On the contrary...while my story is a sad one, I have such a greater appreciation for life and how important it is to live each day like it's your last...to make the most positive impact on others as I can, to be enthusiastic, motivated, and hopeful about what life offers next. If I had permission for additional paragraphs, I would have stated this!! :-)

This post has made me kindof sad.... I feel as though I dont have stories to tell.. at least not any cool, happy, funny ones. Only sad and dreary ones. Life changes people, and with a lot of negative happenings, I guess not in a good way...

Living is story, you are so write about that. The problem is that to many of us don't notice.

My first full time job in which I was going to live on my own was in Labrador in Canada. I had applied all over the place and decided I would simply accept the first job that was offered. The personnel office for the Conference of Newfoundland and Labrador called one morning. I had been expecting a call (that's a long story in itself). He told me they had a job for me if I wanted it. I said, "sure I'd take the job. I'd love to come.. By the way, where was I going?" I spent two years in a community on the coast and still think fondly of the people I met and learned from there.

Flash forward a couple of decades, I was laid off from my job because the economy had tanked and everyone was being laid off, so why should I be any different? I was December and me and my family had always had an open table at Christmas. We always will. We figured to do the same again this year. We already had ordered our fresh, free range turkey and invited friends and others who might be alone. About a week before Christmas a neighbour came to the door with a basket of food for Christmas dinner. There was everything down to the cranberries for the sauce! She wouldn't tell us who it was from, but I have my ideas. It was humbling and wonderful to be on the receiving end of such generosity. 

I'm a blogger myself, and I totally agree with you! I think of my family blog as an online journal, and because you can now turn your blog into a book, my boys will love reading about all of our family's "stories" when they are older :)

Crap. FB took out the paragraphs. Ugh.

It was midnight, March 3, when I got the call. My stepbrother said Mom was in the hospital in Lagrange, they think she had a stroke. I drove like a madwoman and the drive that usually took 45 minutes I made in less than 30. I pressed my face to the cold green tile of the emergency room where Mom lay, hooked up to machines. The doctor showed me her x-rays, indicating where all the blood was in her brain. He told me that, yes, I could have her moved to another hospital and get another opinion, but it would be the same. So I called everyone to come. Four days later, as everyone left her room to get some breakfast, I stayed with her. I reminded her that during holidays, she always said she was happy to see everyone in her home, but she was just as happy when they left! I sang to her all the lullabies I sang to my son when he was little. Her breathing slowed. Everyone returned from breakfast, and within 30 minutes, she breathed her last, surrounded by her husband, children, step-children, some grandchildren and other relatives. I spoke to her on the phone the day she had the stroke. We ended our conversation as we always did…with “I love you.” I miss her every day, and I’m so happy that she knew she was so loved. And I look forward to seeing her again, someday.

I know it's 4 paragraphs...sorry!

I like your stories, so I'll tell you one of mine! On Sunday, I ran my fifth half marathon. I ran it in Virginia Beach. It was 85 degrees and 90% humidity. I knew at the start I wasn't going to set any personal records, so I readjusted my goals and I ran. 

My first half marathon was in 2010. I trained hard for months and I was so excited! I had an unstoppable determination and drive. But then, days before the half marathon, I got sick. I thought it was just a cold and stayed in denial until after the half marathon. I ran it with a sinus infection. (Stupid, idea, btw. I don't recommend doing that.) After I crossed the finish line I was so proud of myself for finishing despite being sick. I went to meet my friend, but I had to stop to cross a street. When I tried to walk again, my legs froze and I couldn't walk. I was terrified. I almost fell, but managed to pull myself together. I had an electrolyte imbalance - probably from running with a sinus infection and from taking so much cold medicine.

My second half marathon was also in 2010 and it was my best one. My unstoppable determination and drive were even better than before because I had experience on my side. I rocked that half marathon. I have no idea what happened to me after that. That determination and drive faded. I ran several other races including two more half marathons and a full marathon over the next year and a half. My heart just wasn't in it. My determination and drive were gone. But this Sunday, something clicked. The oppressive heat and humidity could have dragged me down. I could have given up. My body could have given up. But I didn't. Somewhere around mile ten when I saw other runners collapsing in pain or just giving up mentally, that spark of determination and drive came back. I pushed myself through the physical pain and kept going. I crossed that finish line having beaten my last half marathon time and I couldn't have been more proud. Saturday I start training for my sixth half marathon. My determination and drive are back and I WILL get a personal record. 

The bulk of my stories are in my blog, http://cannebodyhearme.wordpress.com, but I'll tell one here. When I was in high school, I spent a week of each of my summers volunteering with my youth group for a foundation called Group Workcamps, which helps repair homes for the disabled or those who can't afford it. The very first Group Workcamp that I attended was in New York, and my group of 5 teenagers and 2 parents was set to help repair a man's wheelchair ramp and re-paint the foundation of his home. I had no idea how to do any of these things, and I was really nervous about meeting this man in a wheelchair for some reason. I admit it; I was nervous.When I met Mike (the man whose home we were there to repair), I never thought I was meeting someone who would change my life. 

Mike was young when he had the stroke that left him wheelchair-bound and without the use of most of half of his body. He was in his 30s. He told us that after that stroke, he gave up on life and went to live in a nursing home. After a couple of years getting to know the folks around him, he, in his own words, "woke up one morning, kicked [him]self in the rear, and said what are you doing here?! Get out there and live!" And so, he did. Turns out, we were there to extend the turn in his wheelchair ramp so that he could fit his MOUNTAIN BIKE down it! He began mountain biking in a special type of hand-powered mountain bike. He did 100 push ups a day and 1,000 sit ups each day! 

Now, what I remember most was one moment when I held a hammer in my hand for the very first time. We were finally nailing boards together to put up this extended turn in the ramp. Mike had stayed outside with us the entire time talking to us and watching us work. I was nervous about the hammer; I knew nothing about carpentry and worried I'd embarrass myself. I was very self conscious already because of my weight, acne, and glasses. I lifted that hammer (tentatively) and brought it down...and missed the nail completely. I was mortified in front of my crew of much better-abled carpenters. But Mike looked at me and said (emphatically) "Thank you for trying!" And man oh man has that stuck with me. Here was this man who has to try 100 times as hard as me each day...thanking me for lifting a hammer. A few days later, I got the chance to perform on stage at the camp. I got to sing the song "I Hope You Dance," and I dedicated it to Mike, who was there watching. At the very end of the song, Mike stood up out of his wheelchair (something VERY difficult for him to do!) and hugged me in tears. I will never ever forget Mike Malone and how dedicated he was to living life fully despite challenges; he changed my life for forever.