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Tell us about a doozy of a practical joke someone played on you
My friend Rob invited me to join him in an airplane ride.
He said he had hired a pilot at the local airport and that I should meet him there. So I did, and saw that Rob was already in the plane, sitting in the front seat. The propeller was running. He said the pilot had to go back to the flight office for a moment and asked had Rob to hang on to things. He said I could sit in the copilot seat as long as I didn’t touch anything. I sat down and put on my seat belt. To my amazement, the plane started to move. I looked over at Rob, who was goosing the throttle. “Where’s the pilot?” I shouted over the roar of the engine. Rob ignored me as the plane picked up speed down the runway. Then the front of the plane lifted, and my stomach dropped. “Where’s the pilot?” I screamed now, in full panic. Don’t worry said Rob, with what seemed to me to be insane serenity, we’ll manage somehow. As the ground dropped farther and farther away, Rob began to work the controls, and we started to do spins and loops. White as the fluffy clouds floating beyond the windshield, I kept yelling the one thought that was riveted in my brain: “Where’s the pilot?” “Where’s the pilot!?!” Finally we landed, and I thanked God we had survived. I must have looked slightly insane myself after what had transpired. Rob started to laugh and said, smiling blandly, “Oh, I forgot to tell you — I’m a licensed pilot!” |
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Tell us about a time you found a surprise in your own back yard
Our town house in Philadelphia had a long history. Sara Josepha Hale. author of “Mary had a little lamb” and instigator of the official Thanksgiving Day, was a roomer at one time. But the star inhabitant was a Republican Congressman who had been a Union officer and received a Medal of Honor after the Civil War: Henry Harrison Bingham.
I was fascinated by the man and spent months researching him and his life. I even found a formal photograph of him in his Civil War uniform and proudly hung it in out home’s foyer. My wife thought my search was silly and asked that I do physical work such, as digging in a flower bed out back. One day, while I sweated and strained, my shovel struck something, The sun glinted on it, so I knew it wasn’t a rock. I carefully parted the dirt with my hands and discovered a pair of spectacles. To me, they looked like the type that Bingham might have worn. Realizing it was a shot in the dark, I took the glasses to Philadelphia’s oldest opticians There, in their archives, they found Bingham’s prescription — and it matched the spectacles! At last, I had a tangible piece of his life. I still have the glasses, despite having left Philadelphia three moves ago. And, at my wife’s request, I finished digging the flower bed.
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Tell us about a time when a Post-it note said it all
My father, like his brothers and cousins, is a man of few words. But he hasn’t always written short notes — because he usually doesn't write notes at all. Whenever I went off to camp or college, I would always exchange letters with my mother, but never with my father. So it didn’t take long to get used to the fact that, even on those occasions when he would send me a newspaper clipping or other item, he wouldn’t enclose a note. On one of my daily phone calls with my mother, she asked me what my father had written in the letter accompanying his latest mailing. “What letter?” I asked, and she was incredulous that he hadn't at least jotted down a few words. She complained to him that he certainly could (and should) enclose a note when he sent an envelope to his only daughter. The next time he sent me something, there was a note: a Post-it on which he had written, “Here.” |
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Tell us about a time a fortune came true
Laughing, I crumbled the white slip from the fortune cookie that read, You will soon meet someone very important. “These things are so vague and generic they could apply to anyone,“ I recall complaining to my husband as we left the Chinese restaurant on one of our first outings with our newborn son in 1979. Days later, we received a call from a friend who worked for the Secret Service. He offered us passes to stand in the restricted area to view Pope John Paul II on his first visit to the United States. We eagerly accepted, and early the next morning, my husband , baby and I stood on a grassy patch near the chancery of the apostolic delegate on Massachusetts Avenue. Pope John Paul II emerged, was hurried into his limousine and stood up through the opening, waving and scanning the crowd. Our eyes met, he saw the baby in my arms, and he beckoned me to him. I bolted for his car as the Secret Service shouted to me to get back. “There’s a woman with a baby running toward the car,“ crackled from one of their walkie-talkies. While the Pope continued to motion me forward, and the Secret Service furiously waved me back, I made a split-second decision to follow the orders of the higher authority. I jumped on the running board of the papal car, and the Holy Father kissed my son’s forehead and laid his hands on me. What my husband calls a coincidence, I call my good fortune. |
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Tell us about a time you had to admit your parents were right
“Never, ever take a drink you didn’t see someone make.” My parent’s advice echoed through my mind as I peered into my plastic cup of seemingly harmless liquid. My friends and I were having an early April Fool’s Day party. It was a Friday afternoon after school last year, when I was in seventh grade. We were at a friend's house, seated in a circle around a metal pitcher, a plastic cup in each our hands. My friend had mixed the liquid up in the kitchen and dared us to drink. It was a silly little game we had made up on the spot to keep from falling prey to boredom. “I’m not drinking this,” I said. “Why not?” my friend asked. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid” “I’m not afraid,” I snapped. “I don’t know what you did to it.” “It’s all apart of the game!” “No.” “Fine. You don’t have to play.” I watched my friends down the liquid, the look of disgust flashed across their faces only serving to reaffirm my decision. After they were done, I crawled to the center of the circle and peered into the metal pitcher. This may not have been what my parents had in mind, but I mentally thanked them anyway: There, settled at the bottom, was a brightly colored salamander. After that discovery, no one wanted to play anymore. |
