Gifts

The United States has the highest teenage pregnancy rate of all the developed countries. Approximately one million teenage girls get pregnant every year!

According to information collected by plannedparenthood.org, some reasons for the lower rates of teenage childbearing in other countries include:

• Mandatory, medically accurate sexuality education programs that provide comprehensive information and encourage teens to make responsible choices.
• Easy access to contraception and other forms of reproductive health care, including abortion.
• Social acceptance of adolescent sexual expression as normal and healthy.
• Straightforward public health media campaigns.
• Government support for the right of teens to accurate information and confidential services (Berne & Huberman, 1999).

The teenage years should be spent preparing for the adult world, when a teen gets pregnant the time to prepare is skipped and they are forced to grow up too quickly. In recent years the teen pregnancy rate has actually declined due to better methods of contraceptives and decreased sexual activity among teens. However the rates still remain high and it is important to raise awareness on this very important issue.

In teen pregnancy there are increased health risks to the baby and mother. The babies of teenage mothers are at risk for low birth-weight; this makes things like bleeding in the brain, underdeveloped organs and respiratory and intestinal problems more likely because the mother is less likely to gain enough weight during the pregnancy. Since many teenage mothers try to hide their pregnancy for as long as possible they are less likely to seek regular prenatal care. According to the American Medical Association, babies born to women who do not have regular prenatal care are 4 times more likely to die before the age of 1 year. Because teenage mothers may be unaware of how to take care of their bodies while pregnant they are more likely to have bad eating habits, smoke, drink, or take drugs during the pregnancy, all of which can cause major health problems for the baby.

Adult mothers, who planned and wanted their pregnancies, find raising children difficult, so imagine a teenager whom is not yet a fully mature adult trying to care for a child! Without proper guidance and support the children of teen parents are less likely to receive the proper nutrition, health care and social stimulation, which can result in an underdeveloped intellect and are at a greater risk for abuse and neglect.

Teen pregnancy does not just affect the mother and child; it places a burden on their families, communities and imposes large costs on taxpayers as well. The majority of teen mothers receive some form of public assistance, such as food stamps or housing assistance. Half of all teenage mothers and more than three-quarters of unmarried teen mothers are on welfare within five years of giving birth and society is burdened with an estimated 7 billion dollars a year to teen pregnancy costs!

There are many ways that you can reach out to the community and help prevent teen pregnancy. Talk to your children about sex and how to protect themselves from teen pregnancy and STD’s if they are going to become sexually active. Teenagers who have strong emotional attachments to their parents are less likely to become sexually active at a younger age. Three of four girls and over half of boys report that girls who have sex do so because their boyfriends want them to. Help them make a plan to get out of these situations before they are in them. It could be that one talk that stops your child from making a decision that could cause your baby to have a baby.

Some of my favorite memories of my childhood are ones I was too young to remember. What I mean is, they are stories my parents have told over and over again, at my request, and on occasions when I would have preferred they not be shared. Tales of diaper-free runs through the neighborhood and my refusal to call my brother by name are quasi memories I hold dear to my heart.

When I was eight years old, after a usual story-telling session on my parents’ bed, I went to my own bedroom and began to write. I was a young poet, and I loved to capture memories and ideas with words. It didn’t take me long before I had penned my masterpiece: an ode, if you will, to babies.

I gave the poem to my mom and watched as her eyes began to glisten, and the tears began to fall. I hadn’t realized the impact my words would have on her. My dad read the poem as well, and while his eyes remained dry, I did see a hint of shimmer in them. From that day forward, they showed the poem to everyone who happened by the house. My mom even had a calligrapher professionally craft the poem, and she hung the mauve frame over her bedside table.

Years went by, and I forgot all about the poem. My parents redecorated their bedroom long after I moved out, and the poem never made it back up on the wall, I guess. It wasn’t something that even drifted back to memory once in a while. I had completely forgotten all about it.

When I was eight months pregnant with my daughter, my friends and family hosted the perfect baby shower for me and my soon-to-be little girl. My mom was in her glory, as this was her first grandbaby, and she went completely overboard in the gift department. She announced the last gift, and I was almost thrilled to know it was coming to an end. I was too exhausted to pay attention to the quiver in her lip and the gleam in her eye as she handed me a beautifully wrapped box.

As soon as I lifted the lid I saw a glimpse of familiar mauve. It didn’t even take me a split second to guess what was inside. Like my father I am usually not one for tears, even in pregnancy, but for this, the floodgates opened. In front of unknowing guests, I pulled out of the box the gift I had given my mother as a child.

I didn’t even need to read it; I still had the poem memorized after 22 years. I memorized that moment as well, because it will one day be a story I will share with my own daughter when she asks about the poem that hangs on her bedroom wall.

So many times, we give material gifts to those around us. We select them with care and consideration. After we present the gifts, we have a sense of accomplishment and good feelings about our generosity. Those are really the easy gifts that we give. How many times do relatives, friends or neighbors need us to do something for them? Maybe someone needs a ride to the doctor or the grocery store. Some people may be lonely or troubled and just need someone to talk to. Others may need us to help with their daily activities since they are temporarily unable to do so themselves. How many times are we willing to give the gifts of our time and energy?

In August, 2005, my podiatrist performed extensive surgery on my right foot. I had no idea how debilitating post-surgery recovery would be. I couldn’t put any weight on the foot, not even on the heel of the cast. I used a walker and a wheelchair to get around my house. For the first week I couldn’t get out of bed. The pain was so severe I couldn’t even use the bathroom by myself.

My friend, Marianne, is a retired nurse. She took me to the surgical center for the surgery and then brought me home. Since I couldn’t use the bathroom by myself, she helped me with that task. She literally dressed me because I couldn’t do it myself while using the walker to hop around on my one good foot. When I was bedridden for that first week, she let herself into my house, brought me my newspaper from the driveway and made me some breakfast so I could take my medication. Then she sat with me so I had company and we talked about everything we could think of. She came back in the afternoon to check on me and visit with me once again. Then in the evening, she brought me dinner and visited some more. She didn’t leave until she was sure I was set for the night.

After I could use the walker to get from my bed to the wheelchair, she continued to check on me in the morning and bring me my newspaper since I could not get to the driveway. She also checked on me near dinnertime when she brought me delicious meals. She continued this for several weeks until I could wear a large shoe instead of the cast. During that time, she did my grocery shopping, picked up medications from the drugstore, washed my clothes and cleaned my house. She also brought me to my many doctor appointments. I will be forever grateful for her kindness.

Giving time and energy are priceless gifts and they only happen through sacrifice and generosity on our part. My friend gave me these kinds of gifts. These caring gestures truly bring feelings of pride, accomplishment, and satisfaction to our lives. How can we not feel good when we act on someone else’s behalf?

I found him at the end of the promenade. He was thin from not eating. He was lying in the sun, sleeping. It was September then, and I knew I’d be leaving soon enough and that I’d be unable to keep him. I had no room for him and I knew it would be hard at the end but I couldn’t leave him there to die. I had seen him wondering the narrow alleys of the old town and sitting on the promenade begging for scraps. Winter was coming and that would have been the end for him.

His coat was reddish-brown and when I put the bowl of chicken down in front of him, he jumped up and went at it. The food was gone in less than a minute. He wagged his tail and I slipped the collar around his neck. He didn’t like it but he didn’t resist too strongly.

It was hot and the sun was beating down hard on the cement. The small fishing boats rocked gently side to side in the harbor. The water was brightly blue and the tourists came and went, without looking at us. The locals laughed and called me, malaka - Greek, for, not right.

Xavier, the Frenchman, who owned the bar at the end of our narrow alleyway on the island, patted the dog on the head and put out a bowl of water.

They don’t really have dogs as pets here, he explained. They have hunting dogs, that’s all, and when they can’t hunt.

He shrugged his shoulders. It was just after 12 and the bar was closed but Xavier always let me in when I came and he liked the dog.

What will you call him? He asked.

I looked at his sad, almond shaped eyes and his long face. He seemed wise to me and then he reminded me of someone I had known a long time ago.

I knew this fellow, I said, he kept walking across the country… he’d find work and a place to sleep wherever he could. His name was Tony.

Tony, said Xavier, I am pleased to meet you.

Tony wagged his tail and then put his head across my legs.

In November, Tony was heavier, and happy. We went everywhere together. I was the crazy foreigner who led his dog around on a leash. Despina, who owned a hotel near where I lived, stopped us one day.

When they see you, she said, they say, there goes that bastard and his dog. I laughed.

They’ve got it back words, I said - there goes that dog, and his bastard. She howled with laughter and Tony barked.

I spoke with Xavier. He had a friend, he said, who could help. I waited three days while the first heavy storms of the winter came to the island. The narrow streets and alleys became small fast rivers. Tony loved the water.

Xavier told me the story. I had to get Tony on to a ferry. Take the ferry to Piraeus, Piraeus to Athens and get him on a flight to Frankfurt.

Frankfurt to Houston, he said. My friend’s friend has a young boy. He just turned twelve. They are good people. They will love him and take care of him.

At the airport, as they lifted the heavy box with Tony inside of it, we looked at each other. He barked and wagged his tail. He sat down then, and just stared at me.

Sometimes, said Xavier, giving a gift takes courage, and it hurts, but it’s still the right thing to do.

I don’t think there is anyone out there young, or old, who doesn’t love teddy bears! Real bears are one of the fiercest creatures in nature, but we’ve all become very attached to the fluffy, cuddly stuffed versions of the real thing. Have you ever wondered where the name “teddy” came from?

The whole thing started a little over a hundred years ago on a hunting trip gone wrong. Theodore Roosevelt had a passion for hunting and for hunting bears in particular. On November 13, 1902, the President’s hunting party set out led by legendary guide Holt Collier. Roosevelt was determined to win the one trophy that had eluded him, the Louisiana Black Bear.

Since he was the President of the United States, Roosevelt’s guide among other members of the party wanted him to have a successful hunt.

Collier, wanting to save the President needless hard riding, sent him on ahead based on his feelings as to where the bear would come out of the woods. After several hours of waiting, Roosevelt gave up and headed back to the camp for lunch.

While the President was back at the camp enjoying his lunch, the bear did indeed exit in the exact area where he was previously waiting. Collier and his dogs eventually backed the bear into a bayou. Before they could reach the President, the bear attacked one of Collier’s dogs. Collier could not shoot without risking hitting his beloved dog, so he bludgeoned the bear in the head with his rifle.

While the bear was semi-conscious, Collier tied him with a rope to a nearby tree. The President was then alerted by three rifle shots that they had cornered a bear for him to shoot. When he arrived he was greatly disappointed by what he saw. The onlookers cheered him on, “Shoot the bear! Shoot it Mr. President!”, but Roosevelt refused. He had been criticized in the past for his love of hunting and with three reporters present he did not want to bring further criticism upon himself.

The newspapers were wild for the story and at first tried to paint Roosevelt in a poor light saying he was unprepared and praising Collier for his heroic efforts. But the public took it a different way. Political cartoonists depicted the bear as a cute cub, causing even more public support of the President for his unwillingness to shoot the captured bear.

Soon everyone was talking about Teddy and the bear. And that was the beginning of the now famous Teddy Bear. Who would have imagined that such a sweet and lovable toy came from such a violent beginning? They were there to shoot bears to begin with? Remember?

Children are priceless, and so is the way that they think, my own children are no exception. When giving gifts my children always provide the best and most memorable gifts. Gifts that make me laugh and cry, but most of all gifts that help me to remember how cute they were, and how much they have grown up over the years.

One time I recall my children bought me a gift, it was a beautiful mothers day card, which they had bought down at the shop all by themselves. The card was beautiful and filled my heart with pride, at the thought that they had gone out all by themselves without any prompting and had very sneakily hid the card from me. Then they had taken it to their bedroom and written in the card all by them selves with green marker pen, and presented me with this beautiful card.

What made things far more entertaining, was neither of them could read very well. The card was not really a mother’s day card, but a Valentines Day card. When the joy of receiving such a beautiful gift had worn off, I wondered how they had come to acquire the money for the card. I had not given them the money nor had their father, and I knew they had no money themselves. They were only too happy to tell me where they had found their little treasure trove of coins to fund their recent expedition.

My children took me by the hand and showed me where they had found ‘lots of money’ and smiled up at me looking for approval. They had found my hidden coin purse full of rare coins, some of which were very valuable. It was these coins they had chosen to take to the shops and buy a very important mother’s day gift.

I closed my eyes and tried not to be bothered by loosing one possession and gaining something that was worth more than a room full of precious coins, I managed to stay calm but it was a little difficult at first! It did take a while to accept. Possessions are just something that you have, but in the larger scheme of things are never really worth anything. After a few years I would most probably have sold those coins to buy my children gifts at Christmas, with very little regard to what the coins meant to me.

This is because the love and adoration of a child is worth far more than anything else. I have since framed that mother’s day card. I look at it every so often to remind me how lucky that I am to have such special children, who put others before themselves. Special children who are able to still to this day melt my heart with just a single smile.

I met her in San Francisco. Her name was Elisabeth. She was a proper British woman with big glasses that made her blue eyes seem watery and large, as if you were looking at a well-dressed goldfish swimming in its comfortable home.

She served tea and small sandwiches with the crust sliced perfectly from the bread and she told me about her childhood in England while we sipped the tea and I ate the sandwiches.

She did not eat but talked all through that hot, weary September day, her perfect British accent purring softly through what seemed like every movie ever made about England and then her days at Oxford where she met, Harold - we called him Harry, she said.

She was nineteen and he was twenty-three. She was studying ancient Greek and he was a history major and he had commented on her ability to perform - that was the word he used - perform - the Times Crossword, in ink, in just a few minutes. He thought that was remarkable and he gave me several word puzzles and when I finished them all quickly, and correctly he asked if I wanted to meet a friend of his.

Of course, I said yes, she said, for I was delighted to be in his company and everything about him seemed so dashing and keen.

She said keen without a trace of self-consciousness, and I let my eyes drift over the things in her sitting room, as she called it; the commemorative plates embossed with images of the royal family, the Union Jack under glass beside the smaller tricolor of France.

She paused and stood, and followed my gaze to a photo. She went to it and picked it up with care and sighed a little and then she turned the photo, popped open the back and pulled out a neatly folded cloth.

She brought both the photo and the cloth to me and put them on the low table between us and said - yes, this was our little group. There, she said, pointing at a tall, thin man with red hair, that was Harry.

Harry, she said, recruited me to service with the SOE - Strategic Operations Executive.

I wasn’t sure what to say, but then she unfolded the cloth and showed me that it was a scarf and then, calmly, a faint gleam of mischief showing in her big blue eyes, she folded the scarf one way and then another and said: See my dear boy, it’s just a scarf, but folded correctly, it becomes a map of France.

I sat there, mutely, a cup of tea in one hand, a sandwich in the other, while this proper old British lady, erect and prim at somewhere near seventy, proceeded to tell me about parachuting into occupied France, her French lover, who betrayed her to the Germans, her incredible escape, and how that scarf had helped save her life.

I thanked her and thanked her for her time and the tea and sandwiches, and she walked me to the door and then she asked me to wait a moment.

She returned with a small square of violet colored tissue paper with a piece of red twine around it. For you, she said, so someone remembers what we did.

I thanked her again and left her there and hurried home clutching the tissue tightly. I got home and opened the package carefully and inside was the scarf. It was colorful, still, so many years later and smelled faintly of vanilla and holding it up I looked at the pattern of the lines and saw roads, towns, and rivers but mostly, I saw a young girl, in love, and in danger, trying to do the right thing in impossible circumstances, and whenever I look at the scarf, I see her as she was then, and as she was when I knew her, and I know that she had given me a wondrous gift: the gift of remembering.

Dave said he was lucky. I called it fate. Whatever name you gave it the results were the same; people kept giving him gifts - incredible gifts.

Dave was working as a writer for a magazine. He was interviewing a man who worked in Las Vegas arranging parties for business executives.

He was an interesting guy, said Dave. He had an advanced degree in Art History from a famous school; spoke several languages. He had lived on an island in the Caribbean and painted, ran a bar.

Vegas is always surreal, said Dave. Of course it’s artificial, everyone knows that, but the paradox of it is that the fake is a genuine thing. You experience it, you live it. It’s all real.

The story ended up being killed by the magazine. Dave had interviewed the guy for weeks and followed him around Vegas for two months.

He didn’t like the work he was doing, said Dave; he had lost everything during a hurricane that hit the islands and in a way those winds blew him all the way to Las Vegas and a new life he didn’t like at all.

Dave went back to San Francisco and started working on another story for the magazine. Then, one day he came home and found a large package waiting for him.

It was a big flat box, he said, leaning on the front door. There was an envelope taped to the box. I pulled it off and I opened it. It was from him.

He was in Tahiti. He had painted a portrait of this executive. The guy loved it and bought it and the next thing he knows he’s receiving requests for portraits. He made a small fortune and packed his few bags and blew out of town as fast as he could.

He took the package inside and opened it. It was a large oil painting of Dave leaning against his car just outside the Wonderly Hotel on the Vegas Strip.

That was where he was living, said Dave. I interviewed him there several times.

I told Dave it fit; that it was fate, the way he always received gifts from people.

He laughed and said that was not the end of the story.

There was another note, he said, it was taped to the top of the frame and it said: Look at the back.

That was all it said.

What was on the back, I said.

A round trip ticket to Tahiti, said Dave.

We both laughed and while I said it was fate and Dave said it was luck, what mattered was that it was real, and once again, Dave was at the right place at the right time to receive a gift.

My Nanna is one of the most unique women that I have ever met, she was an orphan brought out on a train from Scotland during the war. During those times there was panic and desperation surrounding many families. My Nanna was a small child and her family, put her on a train to Australia where she would be safe. She never met her real parents again, and was adopted by an older couple that loved and cherished her. She was brought up as an only child and always longed for a brother or a sister for a companion.

She has never dwelled on what could have been or who her real parents may have been. She accepts the fact that the people who adopted her are her real parents, even though they may not be related biologically. My Nanna had five children, and as they grew up they had an amazing twenty-four children between them. Over the years her children have had another thirty-four children, and some of their children have also had children. As you can imagine when we all get together there are enough people to fill a stadium.

Every year for my whole life we have had an amazing tradition, we call it Nanna’s party. It is usually held at a park, or large area and everyone who is related comes from near and far to get together. Australia is a vast place, and some of us drove for up to ten hours to attend. My Nanna used to give each of us a small gift. She would call out each of our names, and we would go up where she was seated and receive our gift. Our family grew so large she could no longer afford a gift for everyone, so she only gave gifts to the children, or her great, great grandchildren.

The gifts weren’t the reason many of us traveled so many miles to be a part of this tradition, it was the opportunity to meet with our family and relatives. To add to the fun we would all dress up to a theme. One year we had to go as fruit, another year we had to dress up like they did in the 1950’s and 1960’s and perform mimed songs on stage.

Now that I am a lot older I realize that Nanna was a very smart woman, through her insistence of having these parties she was keeping us all together. She was in fact giving us the opportunity to have the family closeness that was taken from her as a child. It cannot be said that anyone in our family of over two hundred, does not know whom they’re related to.

Our Nanna gave us a lot more than small gifts and dress up parties, she gave us a strong family unit that has stood the test of time for over four generations. That is a truly valuable gift.

Receiving a gift is one of the most gratifying feelings in the world; the delight felt is not directly from receiving an object, or thing of value. A gift is far more important than that, as you are in fact receiving something else, something far more precious than any material possession. Love - it cannot be bought, stolen or demanded but is something that is given freely from the heart to those we adore most…

I have been fortunate to receive many gifts in my life, the one’s that stay in my mind and in my heart are those of least monetary value, and very simple in nature. The reason for this is because the person who gave them to me was thinking of me, how I was feeling at that time and chose to give a gift that was from their heart.

My most prized gift was after the birth of my third child, who was a surprise arrival. All of my life since I was a child I had dreamt of having a beautiful little girl. As a child I was very lonely and longed for the company of a sister to play with, sadly for me my mother could not conceive any more children after me; I was alone a lot of the time. So I decided when I grew up I would have a little girl of my own…

Many years later I met my husband and a year or so later we had our first child, he was a beautiful bouncing baby boy, with golden hair and a smile that lit up the world, I adored him and lavished all of my affections upon him, yet he wasn’t the beautiful baby girl that I had hoped for.

Several years later I fell pregnant again, this time I hoped that I would have my beautiful baby girl and then my family would be complete, instead I had another bouncing baby boy, I loved and adored him too, although I did wish for a girl. After having two children we decided that we had enough children and I gave up all hopes of ever having a daughter.

Than one day I found out that I was ‘unexpectedly’ expecting! Even though I had been very careful and had not been planning for this to happen, I was sure that this would be my little girl. Quite a few months later I was holding my darling little girl, my miracle little girl, and on that day I was given a gift that was worth more to me than any expensive gift, and it come in the form of a simple little card hand made by my mother, in that card my mother told me that “if you want something bad enough, if you pray for it long enough - then sometimes miracles do happen!”

Isn’t life funny, a small piece of paper with some hand written words means more to me than any trinket ever could, the moral of my story is that gifts- real gifts come from the heart not from the hip pocket.