Two of my favourite Mom stories . . .
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| Best Friends. |
Little Brother, Blair, arrived home from school tousled, scratched and with a badly torn shirt.
Mom blinked.
Let’s face it, this wasn’t his normal look.
Moving quickly to her disheveled son, she asked the question I think would hover on all our lips. “What happened to you?!”
Blair frowned. “Bruce beat up on me!”
Mom was aghast. (Oooh! Good word!) “How come? Can’t you handle little Bruce?”
I should probably point out that Bruce was a small chap. Half the size of my brother.
“I can’t hit him!” Blair exclaimed. “He’s my friend!”
Many of us are taught to turn the other cheek. Some of us actually do . . .
* * *
In Vietnam a little girl was critically injured by flying shrapnel.
She needed a blood transfusion.
A group of young children were canvassed for a volunteer to give some blood.
One little boy slowly raised his hand.
As the doctor prepared him for the transfusion, the little boy let out a shuddering sob.
When the needle was inserted and the blood began to flow, the sobs became a steady, soft crying.
A nurse spoke to the boy and asked him if he was alright.
The boy looked at her. “When am I going to die?” he asked.
She smiled. “You aren’t going to die.”
“But—what about when all my blood is gone?”
“Oh, Son, we aren’t going to take all your blood. Just a little bit.”
“Oh.”
“You thought you were going to give everything you had and then die?”
He nodded.
“But why, then, would you offer to give this little girl your blood?”
His answer was simple. “Because she is my friend!”
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