Emerging Courageous online Magazine - Stories
Cheering for Chuck by Janet Seever
Laughter rang out as children raced across the school yard, busily engaged in
one of their inventive games.
The October wind swirled red and yellow leaves against the brick four-room
country school, which had
stood like a sentinel on the corner for generations. In 1953, school games were
innocent, and the worst
school crimes were gum chewing and whispering--and on rare occasions, looking at
a neighbor's paper.
"You can't play," said Leroy, a fourth grader.
"Why not?" I questioned, feeling hurt.
"Because you're only in second grade, and second graders aren't old enough.
That's why."
He peered at me through thick glasses.
"It's not fair," I protested, turning and walking away.
The game? Catch-the-girls-so-Chucky-can-kiss-them. Chucky was our teacher's
fourth grade son, who attended town school. However, today was a teachers'
convention at his school. Much to our delight,
he visited our school. Hidden from the playground supervisor's view, the fourth
grade boys brought the
giggling girls to Chucky.
Several years later, I attended the same town school and church as Chucky. I was
acutely aware of his presence in our fourth-sixth grade Sunday school class, but
he never even noticed me. Never.
Throughout junior high and high school, Chuck, as he was now called, was
popular--handsome, polite,
neatly dressed and a good student. I admired him from afar as did other girls.
He was out of my league.
Days turned into months and months into years. I graduated from high school, got
my university degree
and eventually married. Then my husband and I moved overseas. My mother wrote
weekly with local
and family news. On rare occasions she mentioned Chuck, who was married and
teaching school.
Then a decade later, my mother sent a newspaper clipping. "I know you
remember Chuck, so I thought
you would like to read what he wrote for the local paper," she wrote.
"He's brave to write so openly."
I could hardly believe what I was reading.
"No one understands the pain of mental illness except someone who has lived
through it," Chuck wrote.
"I am sharing my story to encourage struggling people to get help as
I did." He had lost his wife to
divorce, lost his job, and lost his self respect in a nightmare of mental
turmoil. Only when the condition
was diagnosed as manic depression and his doctor put him on lithium was he able
to find his way out of
his mental fog. Now he was finding hope for the future, step by step.
Emotional pain flooded through me as I remembered the Chuck I had known. He had
so much potential. He deserved so much better than this! "Lord, be with
Chuck," I prayed. "Help him overcome his mental illness."
After that, my path crossed with Chuck every few years. When Chuck's father
died, I sent his mother a sympathy card and began writing to her. It was a
natural connection since she had once been my teacher.
One time, while writing to her, I shared the playground story from 1953 which I
still vividly remembered.
It partly belonged to Chuck, and I knew she would pass it on to him. It was my
way of saying, "Chuck,
I care what happens to you. I always have."
Two summers ago, while my husband, Dennis, and I were visiting the church in my
home town, I saw
Chuck. Now in his mid-50s, he was dressed in a multicolored vest buttoned down
the front--without a shirt--and had on jeans and sandals. With his longish, wavy
hair and beard, he reminded me of a modern
-day John the Baptist. After church, he greeted me with, "I heard you once
had a crush on me." He was
pleased and gave me a hug. I was glad his mother had passed on the message. Then
he asked, "Did you
know that my mother recently had a stroke? I live at home with her because she
needs help. I know she'd
like company." "I'm sorry to hear that. I haven't seen her for about
five years," I responded. Dennis and I followed Chuck to his mother's house
which was six blocks away. Although the stroke had affected her mobility, she
was still alert and remembered me.
After a pleasant visit with his mother, Chuck, Dennis and I talked in the living
room. "I miss not having a
family of my own," said Chuck wistfully. "You are so fortunate to have
each other and your two children."
"God has blessed us," I agreed. "How about you? What are you
doing now days?"
"I want to go to Bible school so I can work with street people. The need
out there is great," he said with conviction. "I always thought I was
a Christian, but three years ago a chaplain who works with street
people explained to me what it meant to be a Christian. It's made a big
difference in my life. That's why I
want to help others who feel hopeless." "That's great," said
Dennis. "I hope you are able to do it. You'll
have some challenges ahead." Chuck agreed. His illness and the fact he
didn't yet have funding would
make it difficult. When it was time to leave, we wished him well. "Don't
let your dream die," I urged. Then,
on impulse, Chuck picked up a ceramic angel from a coffee table, and held it out
to me. "This is for you,"
he said with a smile. "God bless you both."
Chuck, wherever your path in life takes you, I'll be cheering for you.
© 2002 Janet Seever
Janet has seen first hand the effect a chemical imbalance has
had on a family member and longs for the day when people can share as openly as
Chuck did in his newspaper article without a stigma attached.
In a recent phone visit with Chuck's mother, she learned that Multiple Sclerosis
has now robbed Chuck of
his ability to walk, and doctors are having difficulty balancing his medication
for manic depression (now
known as bi-polar mood disorder.) Chuck won't realize his dream, but there
are thousands of other Chucks
in the world. Cheer for them and encourage them. The Lord will bless you for it.
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The mother of two adult children, Janet Seever lives with her husband, Dennis,
in Calgary, Alberta.
She writes for Word Alive Magazine, a publication of Wycliffe Canada and
can be reached at [email protected]..
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