Sean Stephenson

From Chicken Soup for the Soul: Extraordinary Teens

BY: Motivational Expert and Author of Get Off Your But

It's never too late, or too soon, to get off your "BUT" and stand.

Quick Facts:

• Born with a rare condition called, osteogenesis imperfecta, a.k.a. brittle bones disorder
• Authored 3 books by age 21
• Has traveled to 47 states and 6 countries to speak to audiences since 1996
• Has appeared on WGN News, CBS News, CNN News, C-SPAN, the Discovery Health Channel, Jimmy Kimmel Live!, The Oprah Winfrey Show and many more
• Sean graduated with High Honors from DePaul University
• Board certified therapist
• The youngest individual to ever be invited on the Board of Directors of The National Association for Self-Esteem

When I was born the doctors told my parents that I had about twenty-four hours to live. I was diagnosed with a rare condition called osteogenesis imperfecta, otherwise known as brittle bone disorder. At birth, almost every bone in my body was broken and the medical complications that accompanied such a condition were daunting. The prognosis was grim and it was very unlikely that I would survive... but that was thirty years ago! I'm happy to say that I've come a long way since then.

I've authored four books, I've traveled to and given talks in forty-seven states and six different countries; I've spoken at the U.S. Senate, hospitals, universities, prisons and Fortune 500 companies; and I've been invited on numerous television shows. Quite frankly, I didn't even know all of this was possible! But all of this "success" has been the result of a gradual evolutionary process for me. You just don't get on big shows and do big things at the age of five! I've had a lot of different challenges to deal with.

For me, this ongoing physical pain, these circumstances, are all I know and have known -- it's not like I got into a devastating motorcycle accident at age eighteen! From a very young age I had to choose to be alive and choose to be positive. I somehow learned to say to myself, "Hey, I get to be on this planet." This life is a fragile gift -- literally! Even by doing something as simple as putting on a pair of pants, I could break a leg, or when something as simple as sneeze comes along I could fracture a rib.

By the time I was in the fourth grade, I already had 200 fractures. I realized that there were certain things I could not do. Activities like playing dodge ball were out of the question because they would cause terrible injuries. Fortunately, my parents did an awesome job of raising me, and they did a lot for me when they said, "Yes, there's a lot you can't do on this planet, but there's a MILLION things that you can do."

I'm willing and able to do a million other things that many other, more able-bodied, people could do, but don't, because they are too lazy or they simply doubt they can even accomplish their dreams. When I was in grade school I had suffered from a serious fractured leg and I was going to have to recover on the living room floor for four to six weeks. To make it worse, this was during Halloween. I was so mad that I was going to miss out on all the candy and parties.

As I was letting my frustrations be known, my mother came over to me and asked a very pivotal question. She said, (after calming me down) "Sean, is this going to be a gift or is it going to be a burden?" At that moment, so many feelings rushed through my mind and I realized that maybe I was put into this body of mine for a reason.

I LOVE my life! And I like being alive, even when there's the possibility of being in excruciating pain at any moment. Every single person alive deals with pain, problems, and distractions. But there is so much that can be accomplished in one's life if they can just focus their attention. Controlling our attention is what ultimately creates the emotions we feel, and thus the actions we take. And we need to recognize that everyone is at different stages in the process of living and I'm the kind of person who likes to know exactly where they're at. That being said, I can pretty much guarantee that people are where they are because of the choices they've made.

Once people take responsibility and ownership (not blame or complain) for their choices and their current position in life, they can then take positive steps forward. I like the statement, Energy flows where attention goes. I found that if I focused on what stinks in my life, then I would always get more of what stinks. And if I focused on what I could do and wanted to do, then my personal world would begin to change in a positive direction. Good things show up in the lives of those who focus on what is good in life. Believe me, this isn't a woo-woo-crazy concept. It works! But remember, once you're in the right place mentally, you must take action -- you actually have to do something.

One of my favorite statements is, "It's time to stand!" Basically, this means that people need to get off their "BUT" and activate themselves -- that's the only way to get to the next level of performance. We all have "buts" in our lives in the form of our fears. For example: "But what if I fail?" "But there's not enough time!" "But I'm not pretty or smart enough." We all deal with these "buts" (or fears) and the longer we talk about them and think about them, the more comfortable we become with doing nothing.

So how do you get off the buts? Well first you have to be clear about what you want. If you have small goals, you're going to have a small amount of inspiration. You have to say it like you mean it and show up like you want it. The first thing I had to do was get clear about what I wanted so I could determine whether or not I was on or off track. I mean, how can you take a stand if you don't know what you stand for? And we can all do this at any age -- in fact, the earlier the better!

I tell people you need to have a high G.P.A. In other words, you first need a "goal" that defines what you want on this planet. Second, you need to have a "purpose" as in, "Why do you want it? Finally, you'll need a plan of "action" or a to-do list. The next action steps (or the "how") will practically show up on your doorstep once you've secured the goals and the purpose.

Then you must put yourself in an environment that helps you succeed. So many people put themselves in poor environments either physically, mentally, spiritually, or emotionally and then wonder why they feel confused, frustrated, and depressed. My life changed dramatically once I spent more time around people who got me excited about life and my goals. I'm not saying it's easy, sometimes we need to make tough decisions about our friends.
But this is really important because you become your environment. And don't think that your own willpower can always overcome the social influence, because long term it cannot. In your weakest moment, if you turn to a peer group who wallow on their "buts," they're going to be the first ones to celebrate your low state. For example, they'll be the ones who hand you a cigarette and then with time, you'll become a smoker.

I came up with a simple strategy that helped me a lot. I recognized there were three groups of people: The "A" friends, "B" friends, and "C" friends.

The "A" friends are those you want to be with as much as possible. You can count on them and they will always do what is best for you. These friends are the hard-to-find kind but they can be found in perhaps a neighbor, a teacher, a parent, or even in a book written by a famous person who has long since passed away.

Skipping ahead, the "C" friends are those you want to say, "C YOU LATER" to because they work tirelessly to try and knock you down. They're the types who will say mean things and suck the energy right out of you. Around these people you will feel so drained, and they'll manipulate you into taking physical, emotional, and spiritual risks. Basically, the quality of your life takes a nosedive.

And finally, the "B" group is made up of those you want to Beeeeeeee careful of. These people constitute the largest group of the three, because they are those that haven't made up their minds about whether they are an A or C friend.

I'm not telling you to open up your cell phone and start labeling everyone you know. Simply try to avoid anyone or anything in your life that detracts from your internal drive to persevere. Will you have weak moments? Yes. Will you have times when you're not at the top of your game? Sure! We all have bad days. When I was young and having a pity party for myself, my mom would set a timer and tell me I had fifteen minutes to "get over it." Looking back, it was a really effective technique. It's okay to feel bad, but set a time limit and then get on with your life.

We have a choice to look at situations in our life as a gift or a burden. Two people can go through exactly the same experience and come out feeling completely different. It's all about your interpretation.

Always focus on what you can do and create opportunities that allow your talents to flourish.
My purpose here on earth, I believe, is that I have to show others how to have the kind of love for life that I have. I want others to know that anything is possible. I work daily to help people realize their heartfelt dreams... and that has made a life worth STANDING for.

http://www.beliefnet.com/Inspiration/Chicken-Soup-For-The-Soul/2009/10/Sean-Stephenson.aspx?source=NEWSLETTER

Lessons from My Cat

From Chicken Soup for the Soul: What I Learned from the Cat

BY: By Jane M. Choate

Cats seem to go on the principle that it never does any harm to ask for what you want.
~Joseph Wood Krutch

Our housecat, a pretty calico, has a sweet nature. Patient with our human foibles, she nonetheless lets us know what she wants.

Hers is not a demanding nature. However, when we fail to attend to her needs in a timely manner, she gently steers us in the proper direction.

One of her favorite activities is to look out the patio doors. Blinds incased between double-paned doors prevent her from simply pushing them aside. Instead, she scratches at the doors to inform me of her wishes.

I take my cue and open the blinds.

When I've neglected to fill her water bowl early in the morning, she nips at my leg, then nudges me in the direction of her bowl.

She doesn't pout or sulk; rather, she states her wishes in the best way she can. Rarely do I misunderstand what she is telling me.

One day I found myself envying her simple, uncomplicated existence.

How many times had I expected my husband or my children to anticipate my wants without my ever giving voice to them? How many times had I been disappointed that they couldn't understand when I needed a hug, a compliment, a chocolate bar?

After a pleasant afternoon with my husband, I wanted to stop somewhere nice (translation: somewhere where crayons weren't served alongside the meal) and have dinner.

He ignored my hints.

"Couldn't you see that I wanted to go out to dinner?" I asked when he pulled into our driveway.

To my horror, I noticed a whiny note had crept into my voice.

"Why didn't you say so? I can't read your mind," he answered in exasperation.

His admonition gave me pause. Had I expected him to read my mind? Why hadn't I expressed my desire more clearly? I realized I had fallen into the female trap of "If you loved me, you could read my mind."

Now, I emulate my feline friend. No longer do I "pussyfoot" around my needs. I state them with clarity and directness.
I look at my cat and know she approves.

http://www.beliefnet.com/Inspiration/Chicken-Soup-For-The-Soul/2009/10/Lessons-from-My-Cat.aspx?source=NEWSLETTER

Quality Time

From Chicken Soup for the Soul: All in the Family

BY: By Betsy S. Franz

The cure for anything is salt water--sweat, tears, or the sea.
~Isak Dinesen

I had just been through a rough day at work, and all I really wanted to do was stop by the beach on my way home and spend a few relaxing minutes trying to unwind.

When I got there, it seemed like I had made the perfect choice. The sun and the tide were both low, providing a perfect expanse of hard, moist sand that was out of the intense heat that had plagued most of the day. A cool, light breeze had begun to blow, and the beach was quiet and pleasantly deserted.

I set up a chair on the sand and lowered my work-weary body with a tired sigh, mustering up just enough energy to push off my shoes.

I took a deep breath, filling my lungs with the clean, damp ocean air. And as I exhaled, my eyes slowly closing, all the cares and troubles of my day seemed to float out and get carried away into the sea.

With my eyes closed, the sounds of the sea seemed to grow louder, surrounding me, caressing me, and whispering to me with the smooth, slow-motion rush, crash and murmur of the low summer tide. It was such a peaceful sound, almost hypnotizing. What had I been so tense about only moments before? I couldn't remember. I couldn't think of anything but the sound of the waves.

I realized I was almost dozing when a sound to my left broke my reverie. It was the high-pitched sound of seagulls. And then, mingled with the cries of the gulls, I heard the laughter of a small child.
Who was this coming to disturb the first peaceful moments I'd had all day? I lazily opened my eyes and turned toward the sounds.

Down the beach, a man and a young boy stood, laughing playfully as a dozen or so seagulls hovered above them. They appeared to be feeding the birds something from a paper bag, and all of them--the birds, the boy and the man--seemed to be enjoying it immensely. Man and boy would each thrust his hand deep into the bag, bring out their clinched fists, and fling the contents high into the air. And with each fistful, they would look at the birds, then at each other, and laugh with genuine delight as the birds swooped and called and rose again into the air, hovering there, anxiously waiting for the laughter to stop and the food to start flying again.

A father and child sharing some quality time, no doubt, I thought to myself sarcastically, and then I felt a little depressed by my reaction. Such pleasant father/child scenes always made me a little sad, a little jealous, for what I never had as a child. But I sure didn't need these thoughts now, not after the day I'd had. I closed my eyes tightly again and turned back toward the sea.

But it was too late. Bits and pieces of unhappy childhood memories were already pushing their way into my mind, forming into the mental motion picture that I knew all too well--my mind's well-worn saga of a childhood with an alcoholic father. First came the scene of my father passed out drunk in front of the TV, nearly setting his chair on fire with the lit cigarette in his dangling hand. Then the scenes of angry outbursts, played over and over, sometimes accentuated with slammed doors, knocked-over furniture or squealing tires as he sped away, hurrying to find refuge in some dark , inviting bar.

And then, the grand finale: the time he came home so drunk that he didn't even know that he had just been in a car accident, although blood was running down his face in tiny rivulets. I locked myself in my room that day, afraid of the man with the unknowing stare who was stumbling around in our house. That was the last straw, apparently, for my mother. My father was asked to pack his bags and leave our family, to find another home. It was for the good of us kids, she said. And not long afterward, my father died, alone and hundreds of miles away from us. No, "quality time" was not something I had much of as a child.

I shook my head sharply and opened my eyes, trying to stop this melodrama in my mind. My breathing began to relax as I focused on the sights around me. There were the waves, still crashing. There was the sand, still damp beneath my feet. And down the beach, there was the boy and the man.
The boy was still looking skyward, though the bag was apparently empty now, hanging limply at his side. The seagulls were breaking up, some flying toward the sea, while others landed cautiously nearby. Just as the boy seemed to be losing his interest in the birds, the man began running and flapping his arms, chasing the few brave gulls that had landed on the beach. Squeals of laughter rang out as the boy excitedly followed, laughing and squawking and flapping after the birds.

I laughed to myself now and let my eyes drift shut once more. The child's laughter carried on the wind and drifted into my mind, echoing there, growing louder and louder until it seemed to fill my whole head. Such laughter! Such pure and simple joy.

Slowly, a new image began to form in my mind: a young girl propped up in bed, her pixie haircut framing a face lit up with joy and laughter. The image began to gain clarity, as if being focused by a giant mental lens. I could see a familiar pink bedroom trimmed in lace, stuffed toys long ago forgotten, and a plump, freckled face that I knew had to be mine. The laughter echoed again, and the image drifted back to include a dark-haired, handsome man sitting at the foot of the bed, telling a wonderful made-up bedtime story of friendly creatures, and a prince and princess who lived in a far-off and exciting kingdom. And as the story ended, the child realized that she was the princess and threw her arms around the man's neck and squealed, "And you were my prince, right, Daddy?"

Other memories came flooding back to me now as the man and the boy on the beach continued to run, laugh, and chase crabs and waves. It was as if the boy's laughter was pushing into the farthest reaches of my mind, discovering memories that had long since been buried.

Very clearly now I could remember my father working for hours in our basement, meticulously setting up tunnels and mountains and trees on a room-sized train set as my brothers and I waited eagerly for the first running of the train.

I remembered the pride in my father's eyes as he taught the teenage me to drive a stick shift. And though I stalled and stripped and tortured his car, he never got mad at me. He never yelled or got impatient. He had that same loving smile that I saw on the face of the father on the beach. It was a smile that beamed with love and joy and fatherly pride.

The tide was coming in now, but I sat motionless as I saw it catch my shoes and inch them up the sand. I couldn't move. I felt drained from the intensity of the emotions I was feeling.

He was a good father once. I could remember that now. What had happened to him to make him want to escape into a bottle? I stared out into the sea and thought of the things that had sometimes driven me to drink in my adult years. Had he felt the same feelings of loneliness and inadequacy that I sometimes felt? How could I know the challenges he faced, the loneliness he felt from a loveless marriage, the fears he must have felt when he lost his job with a family still to support? I couldn't have known. I was too young to know because he had died many years ago when all I felt for him was resentment and shame and embarrassment. I was still too young to understand his pain and frailties.

On the beach, the man and the boy were nearing me now, their feet splish-splashing in the waves as the setting sun cast their shadows out upon the sea. They were quiet now, holding hands, gently swinging their arms, dragging their feet through ankle-deep water. The fading sunlight seemed to outline them against the sea, and I thought I could almost read their minds--the cluttered, tense, worried adult thoughts of the man and the playful, carefree innocence of the child. And just then, as they passed in front of me, I heard the child's quiet voice as he said, "I love you, Daddy."

I smiled as a feeling of warmth and peace began to grow inside of me--a peace I hadn't felt for many years. And as I closed my eyes once more, I saw my father and me walking hand-in-hand down the beach, swinging our arms and splashing through waves.

"I love you, Daddy," I whispered aloud. And somewhere, carried on the wind and only slightly muffled by the sound of the surf, I'm sure I heard his reply.

http://www.beliefnet.com/Inspiration/Chicken-Soup-For-The-Soul/2009/10/Quality-Time.aspx?source=NEWSLETTER

A Golden Glow

Chicken Soup for the Soul: Power Moms

BY: Tracy Higginbotham

We make a living by what we get, we make a life by what we give.
~Winston Churchill

It's 5:00 A.M. on a typical school day. I rise from bed to do my daily yoga regimen. The house is enveloped in darkness until I turn on my television to hear my instructor tell me in her calming voice to open up my heart to the energy of the morning. I feel my soul breathe in the peacefulness of a new day. As I finish the invigorating workout, the room begins to brighten with a glow of early light. A new day has started and I feel blessed.

As I walk up the stairs to my sons' room, I feel the same rush of emotion I did when I checked on them as babies sleeping in their cribs. Except now my older son's six-foot three-inch body dangles off his bed and my younger son's mop of long brown hair hides his face. As I gently kiss them good morning, they roll over and sigh contently, knowing they have a few more minutes of peace before their school day begins. As I open up their window blinds, their room becomes illuminated with a golden glow that warms and energizes my soul.

The morning soon becomes chaotic as these big lumbering bodies rush around the house trying to make the school bus stop on time. As they run out the door, the soft colors of early morning are gone and replaced by the clear light of day. They are off to school and I settle down at my home office to run my business.

Gracing my desk are three sentimental objects -- an American Eagle Award given to me as a United States Small Business Administration Women in Business Champion, a photograph of me holding a lacrosse stick with my older son and his teenage lacrosse friends, and a photograph of me with my two sons. All three items remind me every day how powerful my choice was to become a woman entrepreneur.

They say women are more likely to become entrepreneurs if they had female role models. I fit that statistic perfectly. My mother owned a clothing boutique as well as a ski shop with my father. My aunt owned restaurants and a real estate company. I remember how happy they were running their businesses while finding time to spend with their families. For the late 1960s, they were pioneering women, balancing work and family for the first time in generations. Their independence and zest for a more modern life than women before them must have sparked an entrepreneurial spirit in my soul that lay dormant until I became a mother.

One early morning, I started to awaken my sons with my morning kiss, when something deep inside me awakened too. I realized I didn't want to rush my sons out of bed anymore to bring them to a day care center just to rush to my events management job, where I would wish my day away because I wanted to be with them. I also knew I loved my profession. In that moment, I flashed back to my mother and aunt working in their businesses. In that golden glow of morning, the dormant entrepreneurial spirit awoke in me. I looked at the rising sun and knew I was going to start my own event management company. It was the dawning of a new day in my career and in my life.

Starting a business can be exhilarating and terrifying at the same time. I knew I could count on my eight years of event planning experience, education, female role models, and passion for my profession to provide a solid foundation to launch my company. My first clients were individuals who had worked with me before and trusted my abilities. Their confidence, combined with a strong purpose and determination, gave me all I needed to begin. I knew I couldn't let this golden opportunity pass me by. I knew I could create the life I desired.

Shortly after becoming a woman entrepreneur, I realized I needed to surround myself with women who were taking the same risks. I discovered an organization of women who met monthly to discuss the pros and cons of being business owners. Open communication, exchange of ideas, and unshakable support from these women ignited my early business success. One year later I had developed a deep passion for aiding and inspiring other women entrepreneurs and became the organization's leader.

One of my favorite members in the group was a boisterous, older female who once said, "To be a smart woman entrepreneur, you must set a course for your business, but if the road starts to naturally bend in another direction, you must follow the curve and see where it leads you." After ten years of running my company and nine years as the leader of this growing organization for women business owners, I remembered her words and created my second company, this one dedicated to promoting women entrepreneurship all over New York State. I announced the news at a gathering of 500 women at an event that celebrates and applauds women for taking chances. This was my chance -- my chance to help even more women make the same choice I made looking out my sons' window one golden morning.

The eagle statue on my desk reminds me every day that I work on behalf of women entrepreneurs everywhere, helping them to move toward their own bright entrepreneurial future. It also represents a strong belief by the business community that I have made, and will continue to make, a positive impact on women entrepreneurship in the future.

The photograph of me holding the lacrosse stick with my sixteen-year-old son and his West Genesee friends was taken after they challenged me to a lacrosse contest with their junior varsity goalie. I was wearing my favorite pink shirt that stated, "Well behaved women rarely make history." The photo is a token of the challenge I took on with these young men, hoping they would see that girls and women can do anything boys and men can do. I wore it proudly and won their respect even though I lost the contest.

The photograph of my two sons reminds me that I will never regret the personal and professional decisions I have made to be the best mother I can be while being the best woman I can be. When my life is over, I hope a sun is rising on the eastern horizon, more women are achieving business success because of my dedication to them and their companies, and my two wonderful sons appreciate the power of women to make the right choices for their lives -- important choices that create a ripple effect that change the world.

As another day ends and the glow of the setting sun now shines on my desk, I look out the window and feel peaceful knowing tomorrow brings another golden opportunity for me to awaken my sons to a glorious new day and to shine more rays of inspiration and hope to women entrepreneurs everywhere. Life is golden.

Another day has ended and I feel blessed.

http://www.beliefnet.com/Inspiration/Chicken-Soup-For-The-Soul/2010/05/A-Golden-Glow.aspx?source=NEWSLETTER&nlsource=49&ppc=&utm_campaign=DIBSoup&utm_source=NL&utm_medium=newsletter

In the Middle of the Night

From Chicken Soup for the Soul: Twins and More

By Laurie M. Ford

Long before my husband Michael and I became parents, some of my favorite moments between us had been when we would both be wide awake in the middle of the night. It always felt to me like we were the only two people in the world.

To me, there was always something special about the middle of the night. We could share our greatest secrets, have our biggest laughs or our best talks. It always seemed as though anything was possible for our future in the middle of the quiet night. There was always a sense of joy, peace, and love.

We went through a long journey to conceive and carry to full term our fraternal twin boys, Dominic and Zachary. They were born one minute apart, and in perfect health.

After their birth, I can remember the early months when my husband and I were half-awake with our newborn sons in the middle of the night. The Noah's Ark-themed nursery decorated with animals in two-by-two formation across the green and cream painted walls was the perfect place to dream of a whole new world of possibilities.

Each night, after changing diapers and warming bottles, we would each nestle into a rocking chair with one of our sons and begin to quiet the noises of hungry newborns. Once settled, only the sounds of rocking chairs slowly moving back and forth and babies gently drinking their bottles could be heard. It felt like we were the only four people in the world.

With reluctance, after they were asleep, we would gently lay them in their bassinets and be off again to our own bed. But amidst my exhaustion, in the middle of the night, I felt happy and content.

Things are a little different now as my twins turn three this year. It feels as though chaos is a typical part of our everyday lives, in one form or another. Spoons have been flushed down the toilet, and batteries have been hurled with glee at my dining room chandelier. Even bath time has become an event unto itself.

But on certain nights, when the boys, who can now get in and out of their own cribs, climb into our bed around 2:00 A.M., that same special feeling reappears. And after a few minutes of chattering, and rearranging of pillows and legs, my husband and both my boys fall back asleep.
I, however, will usually remain awake for some time, even though I know that I will be exhausted the next morning. In the middle of the night, I want to absorb these special moments that I know are fleeting, passing too quickly, by day and by year.

As I watch them sleep and listen to the sounds that are only heard in the middle of the night -- the steady breathing of my sleeping family and the stillness of the air -- I am happy and content.

The possibilities of our sons' future gently float through my mind as I eventually drift back to sleep. And in my exhaustion, there is joy; there is love; there is peace.

http://www.beliefnet.com/Inspiration/Chicken-Soup-For-The-Soul/2010/05/In-the-Middle-of-the-Night.aspx?source=NEWSLETTER&nlsource=49&ppc=&utm_campaign=DIBSoup&utm_source=NL&utm_medium=newsletter

It Was My Dad

Chicken Soup for the Soul: Thanks Dad

BY: Joel Schwartzberg

Silence is the mother of truth.
~Benjamin Disraeli

Back when I competed in middle school debate, my dad -- a lifelong teacher -- would wake up early to rouse me on Saturday tournament mornings. With night still engulfing the morning sky, he'd help me into my suit and suggest tactics as we drove to the waiting school bus. If there was time, we'd get a box of doughnuts for the team.

Roughly twelve hours later, the bus would pull back into the dark school parking lot as if the day had never touched it. I'd see my dad's car, its dome light illuminated so he could grade papers while he waited. He got a lot of work done on those nights.

"So... what's new?" he'd ask sarcastically while I climbed inside, as if the plastic-and-marble trophies entering with me didn't already answer the question. As I shared the day's details, he'd consume each word thoughtfully.

"So what's new?" is the closest my father ever comes to saying "I love you," as if the word "love" might burn his lips on the way out.

But looking back, I realize my father expresses love, as dads are so prone to do, in deeds more than declarations. My father's love is cloaked in attention, sacrifice, and selfless generosity. Love is the quiet battery that powers those human qualities.

It was my dad who told me not to worry about the cost of college -- that he and my mom would somehow "make it work." It was my dad who drove to where I worked to hand-deliver my SAT scores, hot off the mailman's truck.

It was my dad who called with weekly encouragement when I was unemployed in Los Angeles and sleeping in a friend's living room. It was my dad who supported me as I started law school, and just as much when I quit six months later. And it was my dad who visited me at the mall where I competed with a teenager to be the assistant manager of a tiny video store.

It was my dad who opened his home and every possession to me when I moved into my parents' condominium following my divorce. He treated it like a routine event, even though it was the first divorce in the history of our family.

I remember how my dad insisted I try on his work shirts and pants, as if sensing the holes the separation had left in me, and desperately trying to fill them in with pieces of himself.
It was my dad who steadfastly held the ladder as I climbed back up to resume my life.

"Love" or no "love," he comes in loud and clear.

Sometimes on Friday nights, while I wait in my ex-wife's driveway for the children to emerge, I play with the dome light and wonder about the kind of father I am.

The kids knock the thought out of my head as they enthusiastically pile in.
"So... what's new?" I ask, instinctively.

They smile broadly, and start telling their tales.

http://www.beliefnet.com/Inspiration/Chicken-Soup-For-The-Soul/2010/05/It-Was-My-Dad.aspx?source=NEWSLETTER&nlsource=49&ppc=&utm_campaign=DIBSoup&utm_source=NL&utm_medium=newsletter

Back behind the Wheel

Chicken Soup for the Soul: NASCAR

BY: Kay Presto

To race fans and television viewers, NASCAR driver Kenny Wallace is an upbeat, happy guy -- even boisterous, some people say. He's at his best when he's behind the wheel of his NASCAR Nationwide Series car.

I love to talk with Kenny. Whenever I interview him, it's a fun time. His answers are always punctuated with laughter. His stories are great, and depending on whom you ask, most of them are true. He loves to tease.

But Kenny gets serious when he tells the story of how that innate happiness was almost taken away from him, in his younger days as a NASCAR competitor. It was at the New Hampshire Motor Speedway in Loudon. The year was 1991.

Kenny was the points leader in the Nationwide Series. He could actually feel that championship ring on his finger.

It was natural for him to feel that way. He has racing in his blood. His dad, Russ, was a famed dirt and asphalt race car driver. His two older brothers, Rusty and Mike, were successful drivers. In 1982, he won the first race he ever entered -- in the Illinois Street Stock Championship Series. In 1986, he was the Nationwide Series Raybestos Rookie of the Year, finishing sixth in points. He was proving that he too had those winning racing genes in his body.

Now he wanted that Nationwide Series championship -- badly.

Chasing him in the points was Bobby Labonte. Kenny felt his championship chances were solid. He had an edge on Labonte by over 100 markers. There were only three races left in that season. His No. 36 mount, owned by Rusty's race team, performed flawlessly race after race. And then it happened ...

While charging down New Hampshire Motor Speedway's backstretch, his rear suspension broke and as he entered Turn 3, his car spun out. Ultimately, he was diagnosed with "positional vertigo;" there would be no more racing for now.

A sharp fear stabbed through Kenny's heart. His championship dreams had been cruelly snatched away. But what was worse, he was just 28 years old. Would he ever be able to race again?

Kenny says that at that moment, he thought his racing was over. It was the scariest time of his life, and there were days when he caught himself crying; he had grown up as a kid wanting desperately to win a championship. Not only wanting to win, but to be the best, like Richard Petty, or David Pearson.

Over the long winter months, his injury gradually healed, much to the amazement of the doctors. Cleared to get back behind the wheel, he returned to the Nationwide Series in 1992. But was he still capable of racing competitively?

It was the second race of the year, at Richmond International Raceway. The top three in points were Labonte, Harry Gant ... and Wallace. Kenny was running second, and Labonte held the lead. Kenny says he wanted to beat Labonte for that win, that it was a psychological thing with him.

He drove his car to Labonte's outside. Passed him clean. Suddenly, in a surprise move, Gant swept by them both and got the victory. Kenny finished second.

A few races later, Kenny was leading at Martinsville Speedway. To his intense pleasure, he drove his race car to victory. A new young driver, Jeff Gordon, approached him and congratulated him on a great race. Kenny says he thinks part of his recovery was not just that his brain was healing, but that he realized he could still compete.

So the fire of competition still burned in his heart. But a new uncharted territory lay ahead for him. ESPN Television tapped him to co-host a television show, RPM Tonight, every Monday night, which he did, until they stopped covering NASCAR.

When he was 36 years old, Kenny got another call, this time from SPEED TV. They wanted him as a color commentator for their new NASCAR Sprint Cup Series coverage. Kenny had to decline. He was racing in the Cup Series, and did not want to quit. They hired Darrell Waltrip instead.

Kenny says he told SPEED he would call them back when he was ready. And six years later, he did just that.

These days Wallace has his perfect schedule. He's competing in the Nationwide Series and does his dirt car racing. He co-hosts not one, but two, television shows for SPEED. He laughs and says he's still a competitive race car driver, and he only has to put in three hours for TV on Sundays.

He is as popular as ever with his fans. He has received the Nationwide Series Most Popular Driver three times. When his Nationwide car could not be sponsored by the U.S. Border Patrol for the race being held at the Circuit Gilles-Villeneuve in Montreal, Canada, dedicated race fans quickly raised the money, and saw their names on his car at that race.

There's still no championship ring on his finger. Kenny still has that fire, but he's now more content. He and his wife, Kim -- his former high school sweetheart -- have celebrated their 25th wedding anniversary, even renewing their vows.

"I'm having a very good time in my life right now," he told me, flashing that impish grin of his.

And I know for sure that he means it.

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