The company I work for contributions generously to the community in many ways. Such is the case with the Back-to-School Project. Human Resources (HR) works with the local schools to determine those children particularly in need, then provides a gift certificate for a shopping spree at a local department store. The department store provides a 10 percent discount to stretch the shopping dollar. We, the employees, have an opportunity to contribute too -- each child must be accompanied while shopping. I had always meant to participate, but...well...I can't quite recall the reasons I found for declining each year. I'm sure they were good ones.

This year, I audibly sighed while opening the familiar e-mail when it came up on my screen. Searching the calendar, I was sure I could find a reason to call Helen, the event coordinator, with heartfelt apologies this year also. Instead, I found a calendar devoid of anything except a vet appointment for my Mickey-boy cat. Before thinking, I typed a half-hearted note thanking her for the opportunity. I knew that the insincerity of my acceptance had to be backed with some power. Another quick e-mail to my friend would cement my own commitment. "Hey. Ninette. Come do this with me this year. Want to?" If she accepted, I would not break my word. Her response, "Yes!" I was in.

A week passed when my spy-phone showed a call coming in from HR. Helen's voice was dubious. I listened tentatively. There was a number of kids to choose from, and there were 2 special ones. As Helen began describing the circumstances surrounding these kids, my interest peaked. I had been on the board of directors for a children's center -- the first on-site children's center in a work environment in the US -- begun in the early 1970s as an experiment at the University of California by my brilliant friend, Margaret. Over 16 years, our board, comprised of faculty and staff, had encountered every imaginable issue involved with troubled kids, troubled parents, curricula, and the general well-being of children. As an expression of my faith in Margaret, my own daughter had attended the center -- a choice that had proved to be among the wisest of my life.

I knew how to handle problem kids. I found myself responding before Helen could complete her seriously reluctant sentence, "Helen. Yes. I'll take one of them. I know how to deal with this."

I would plot my strategy before the event. It had been years since I worked with children, but I automatically set up the day. First, I'd locate this kid among the others at the event. Over the continental breakfast, we'd have our chat. I would place the responsibility for the day on her: We could have a marvelously fun time, or we could terminate the event half-way through. It would be up to her. Secretly, I would have another bill in my pocket to give her in the event she chose to be cool. With the plan firmly set in my mind, I put the matter aside until Saturday morning.

Name-tagged kids and familiar, casually-dressed adults were chatting and giggling excitedly, marking the entrance to the store. I assumed a solemn posture, which could be relaxed only after my kid made her choice to be decent during the shopping spree. I stepped up to the table. I located my name-tag, coffee and a pastry were thrust toward me from a joyous face of the HR staff, nearly throwing me with my strategy off guard. I recomposed just in time, as I felt the tug on my elbow, "Hi! Here I am." I looked down on a smiling, freckled, dark-haired, green-eyed child with an enormous blue name-tag. JASMINE. Before I had a chance to respond, I placed the coffee down and both arms flew tightly around this baby's shoulders. Planting a huge kiss on her forehead, I grinned, apparently as surprised as she. "I'm Glenna. Let's go have fun!"

Countless miracles occurred that day. K-Mart increased their contribution to 20 percent after having sacrificed major profits already. Jasmine used the money I gave her to buy a watch that she had admired each time we passed the locked display -- surely an extravagance had it been another time. At the close of the day, Seagate employees, K-Mart employees and kids hugged. The most amazing miracle of all for me was observing my problem child: Jasmine kneeled down before a smaller version of herself and placed the watch on her little sister's wrist.

I never found the need to have that chat with Jasmine. My vision has been corrected. We are living in a new world; one that can be healed by love, expressed through a hug. But I don't know which of us was healed... I cannot wait until next year's event.

(c) October 1999 Glenna Heller