Her Wings

Far away there in the sunshine are my highest aspirations. I may not reach them but I can look up and see their beauty, believe in them and try to follow them.

Louisa May Alcott In 1959, when Jean Harper was in the third grade, her teacher gave the cla.s.s an a.s.signment to write a report on what they wanted to be when they grew up. Jean"s father was a crop duster pilot in the little farming community in Northern California where she was raised, and Jean was totally captivated by airplanes and flying. She poured her heart into her report and included all of her dreams; she wanted to crop dust, make parachute jumps, seed clouds (something she"d seen on a TV episode of "Sky King") and be an airline pilot. Her paper came back with an "F" on it. The teacher told her it was a "fairy tale" and that none of the occupations she listed were women"s jobs. Jean was crushed and humiliated.

She showed her father the paper, and he told her that of course she could become a pilot. "Look at Amelia Earhart," he said. "That teacher doesn"t know what she"s talking about."

But as the years went by, Jean was beaten down by the discouragement and negativity she encountered whenever she talked about her career-"Girls can"t become airline pilots; never have, never will. You"re not smart enough, you"re crazy. That"s impossible."-until finally Jean gave up.

In her senior year of high school, her English teacher was a Mrs. Dorothy Slaton. Mrs. Slaton was an uncompromising, demanding teacher with high standards and a low tolerance for excuses. She refused to treat her students like children, instead expecting them to behave like the responsible adults they would have to be to succeed in the real world after graduation. Jean was scared of her at first but grew to respect her firmness and fairness.

One day Mrs. Slaton gave the cla.s.s an a.s.signment. "What do you think you"ll be doing 10 years from now?" Jean thought about the a.s.signment. Pilot? No way. Flight attendant? I"m not pretty enough-they"d never accept me. Wife? What guy would want me? Waitress? I could do that. That felt safe, so she wrote it down.

Mrs. Slaton collected the papers and nothing more was said. Two weeks later, the teacher handed back the a.s.signments, face down on each desk, and asked this question: "If you had unlimited finances, unlimited access to the finest schools, unlimited talents and abilities, what would you do?" Jean felt a rush of the old enthusiasm, and with excitement she wrote down all her old dreams. When the students stopped writing, the teacher asked, "How many students wrote the same thing on both sides of the paper?" Not one hand went up.

The next thing that Mrs. Slaton said changed the course of Jean"s life. The teacher leaned forward over her desk and said, "I have a little secret for you all. You do have unlimited abilities and talents. You do have access to the finest schools, and you can arrange unlimited finances if you want something badly enough. This is it! When you leave school, if you don"t go for your dreams, no one will do it for you. You can have what you want if you want it enough."

The hurt and fear of years of discouragement crumbled in the face of the truth of what Mrs. Slaton had said. Jean felt exhilarated and a little scared. She stayed after cla.s.s and went up to the teacher"s desk. Jean thanked Mrs. Slaton and told her about her dream of becoming a pilot. Mrs. Slaton half rose and slapped the desk top. "Then do it!" she said.

So Jean did. It didn"t happen overnight. It took 10 years of hard work, facing opposition that ranged from quiet skepticism to outright hostility. It wasn"t in Jean"s nature to stand up for herself when someone refused or humiliated her; instead, she would quietly try to find another way.

She became a private pilot and then got the necessary ratings to fly air freight and even commuter planes, but always as a copilot. Her employers were openly hesitant about promoting her-because she was a woman. Even her father advised her to try something else. "It"s impossible," he said. "Stop banging your head against the wall!"

But Jean answered, "Dad, I disagree. I believe that things are going to change, and I want to be at the head of the pack when they do."

Jean went on to do everything her third-grade teacher said was a fairy tale-she did some crop dusting, made a few hundred parachute jumps and even seeded clouds for a summer season as a weather modification pilot. In 1978, she became one of the first three female pilot trainees ever accepted by United Airlines and one of only 50 women airline pilots in the nation at the time. Today, Jean Harper is a Boeing 737 captain for United.

It was the power of one well-placed positive word, one spark of encouragement from a woman Jean respected, that gave that uncertain young girl the strength and faith to pursue her dream. Today Jean says, "I chose to believe her."

Carol Kline with Jean Harper

What Do You Want to Be?

Imagination is the highest kite one can fly.

Lauren Bacall I had one of those serendipitous moments a few weeks ago. I was in the bedroom changing one of the babies when our five-year-old, Alyssa, came and plopped down beside me on the bed.

"Mommy, what do you want to be when you grow up?" she asked.

I a.s.sumed she was playing some little imaginary game, and so to play along I responded with, "H"mmmmm. I think I would like to be a mommy when I grow up."

"You can"t be that "cause you already are one. What do you want to be?"

"Okay, maybe I will be a pastor when I grow up," I answered a second time.

"Mommy, no, you"re already one of those!"

"I"m sorry, honey," I said, "but I don"t understand what I"m supposed to say then."

"Mommy, just answer what you want to be when you grow up. You can be anything you want to be!"

At that point I was so moved by the experience that I could not immediately respond, and Alyssa gave up on me and left the room.

That experience-that tiny five-minute experience- touched a place deep within me. I was touched because in my daughter"s young eyes, I could still be anything I wanted to be! My age, my present career, my five children, my husband, my bachelor"s degree, my master"s degree: none of that mattered. In her young eyes I could still dream dreams and reach for stars. In her young eyes my future was not over. In her young eyes I could still be an astronaut or a piano player or even an opera singer, perhaps. In her young eyes I still had some growing to do and a lot of "being" left in my life.

The real beauty in that encounter with my daughter was when I realized that in all her honesty and innocence, she would have asked the very same question of her grandparents and of her great-grandparent.

It has been written, "The old woman I shall become will be quite different from the woman I am now. Another I is beginning..."

So... what do you want to be when you grow up?

Rev. Teri Johnson

h.e.l.lo, Dolly!

You gotta have a dream. If you don"t have a dream, how ya gonna make a dream come true?

b.l.o.o.d.y Mary, in the movie South Pacific Music, I suppose, will be the thing that sustains me in the time of my life when I am too old for s.e.x and not quite ready to meet G.o.d. It has always been an essential part of me. Since I have been able to form words, I have been able to rhyme them. I could catch on to anything that had a rhythm and make a song to go with it. I would take the two notes of a bobwhite in the darkness and make that the start of a song. I would latch on to the rhythm my mother made snapping beans, and before I knew it, I"d be tapping on a pot with a spoon and singing. I don"t know what some of this sounded like to my family, but in my head it was beautiful music. I loved to hear the wild geese flying overhead. I would get into the music of their honking, and start to snap my fingers to their cadence and sing with them. I think I was especially drawn to them because I knew they were going somewhere. They had good reason to sing. They were free to go with the wind, to make the world their own. My song connected me to them. They took part of my spirit with them wherever they went.

When I was forced to pursue my musical dreams on my own, I would whang away at my old mandolin with the piano strings. I started getting pretty good with it, within its limitations, and people started to notice. Of course, that was exactly what I wanted. I was never one to shy away from attention. Finally, my Uncle Louis began to see that I was really serious about wanting to learn, so he taught me guitar. He gave me an old Martin guitar, and I learned the basic chords pretty quick. This was like manna from heaven to me. At last I could play along with the songs I heard in my head. Mama"s family were all very musical, and I used to worry the heck out of all of them to "teach me that lick" or "play this with me." If Daddy had found it hard to get me to work in the fields before, now even he began to realize it was a fruitless undertaking.

I would sit up on top of the woodpile, playing and singing at the top of my lungs. Sometimes I would take a tobacco stake and stick it in the cracks between the boards on the front porch. A tin can on top of the tobacco stake turned it into a microphone, and the porch became my stage. I used to perform for anybody or anything I could get to watch. The younger kids left in my care would become the unwilling audience for my latest show. A two-year-old"s attention span is not very long. So there I would be in the middle of my act, thinking I was really something, and my audience would start crawling away. I was so desperate to perform that on more than one occasion I sang for the chickens and the pigs and ducks. They didn"t applaud much, but with the aid of a little corn, they could be counted on to hang around for a while.

Over the years, my dream for a better audience grew. I wanted to sing at the Grand Ole Opry! But people thought my chances were pretty slim and wanted to spare me a heartache, so they"d come up with answers like "You"re just a kid," or "You have to be in the union" or just about anything they could think of. But I just wouldn"t be denied.

You had to have a slot on the program to sing on the Opry, and there was no way I was going to get one. But finally, Jimmy C. Newman, who had a spot one Sat.u.r.day night, agreed to let me go on in his place. Yet even though I got my wish to actually sing on the Opry, the reality of it hadn"t really sunk in. I took my place backstage that night, my usual c.o.c.ky self, acting as if I sang on the Opry every night.

When my time came to sing, none other than Johnny Cash introduced me. "We"ve got a little girl here from up in East Tennessee," he said. "Her daddy"s listening to the radio at home, and she"s gonna be in real trouble if she doesn"t sing tonight, so let"s bring her out here!"

Now the reality hit me. Not only the live audience: I knew very well that the radio broadcast was going out live all over the country. I was in the big time.

I walked up to that mike with the familiar WSM call letters on the little box built around it. This is actually it, I thought. For a split second I was a tourist as I pondered the mike, the same one I had seen in so many press photos of the stars I looked up to. I was standing on that same stage in the same place they had stood, where five seconds ago Johnny Cash had stood welcoming me to the stage-me, little Dolly Rebecca Parton from Locust Ridge.

Someone in the audience took a flash picture, and it snapped me out of being a tourist. I wasn"t sure I could sing at all. But G.o.d had brought me this far and had put something in me that would not be held back. As I heard the band play my introduction, I lifted my head and looked up toward the lights. I smiled at the people in the balcony and then let "er rip. I sang for G.o.d and Mama and Daddy. I sang for everybody who had ever believed in me. Somehow, I believed in me. I guess it showed in my voice.

I was stunned by the way the crowd reacted. I don"t think I had ever seen two thousand people in one place before. I know I had never heard a crowd cheer and shout and clap that way. And they were doing it all for me. I got three encores. This time I was prepared for an encore, but not three, not at the Grand Ole Opry. Someone told me later, "You looked like you were out there saying, "Here I am, this is me."" I was. Not just to that audience but to the whole world. And I have been doing that same thing ever since.

Dolly Parton

Finding My Wings

Reach high, for stars lie hidden in your soul.

Dream deep, for every dream precedes the goal.

Pamela Vaull Starr Like so many other girls, my self-confidence growing up was almost nonexistent. I doubted my abilities, had little faith in my potential and questioned my personal worth. If I achieved good grades, I believed that I was just lucky. Although I made friends easily, I worried that once they got to know me, the friendships wouldn"t last. And when things went well, I thought I was just in the right place at the right time. I even rejected praise and compliments.

The choices I made reflected my self-image. While in my teens, I attracted a man with the same low self-esteem. In spite of his violent temper and an extremely rocky dating relationship, I decided to marry him. I still remember my dad whispering to me before walking me down the aisle, "It"s not too late, Sue. You can change your mind." My family knew what a terrible mistake I was making. Within weeks, I knew it, too.

The physical abuse lasted for several years. I survived serious injuries, was covered with bruises much of the time and had to be hospitalized on numerous occasions. Life became a blur of police sirens, doctors" reports and family court appearances. Yet I continued to go back to the relationship, hoping that things would somehow improve.

After we had our two little girls, there were times when all that got me through the night was having those chubby little arms wrapped around my neck, pudgy cheeks pressed up against mine and precious toddler voices saying, "It"s all right, Mommy. Everything will be okay." But I knew that it wasn"t going to be okay. I had to make changes-if not for myself, to protect my little girls.

Then something gave me the courage to change. Through work, I was able to attend a series of professional development seminars. In one, a presenter talked about turning dreams into realities. That was hard for me-even to dream about a better future. But something in the message made me listen.

She asked us to consider two powerful questions: "If you could be, do, or have anything in the world, and you knew it would be impossible to fail, what would you choose? And if you could create your ideal life, what would you dare to dream?" In that moment, my life began to change. I began to dream.

I imagined having the courage to move the children into an apartment of our own and start over. I pictured a better life for the girls and me. I dreamed about being an international motivational speaker so that I could inspire people the way the seminar leader had inspired me. I saw myself writing my story to encourage others.

So I went on to create a clear visual picture of my new success. I envisioned myself wearing a red business suit, carrying a leather briefcase and getting on an airplane. This was quite a stretch for me, since at the time I couldn"t even afford a suit.

Yet I knew that if I was going to dream, it was important to fill in the details for my five senses. So I went to the leather store and modeled a briefcase in front of the mirror. How would it look and feel? What does leather smell like? I tried on some red suits and even found a picture of a woman in a red suit, carrying a briefcase and getting on a plane. I hung the picture up where I could see it every day. It helped to keep the dream alive.

And soon the changes began. I moved with the children to a small apartment. On only $98 a week, we ate a lot of peanut b.u.t.ter and drove an old jalopy. But for the first time, we felt free and safe. I worked hard at my sales career, all the time focusing on my "impossible dream."

Then one day I answered the phone, and the voice on the other end asked me to speak at the company"s upcoming annual conference. I accepted, and my speech was a success. This led to a series of promotions, eventually to national sales trainer. I went on to develop my own speaking company and have traveled to many countries around the world. My "impossible dream" has become a reality.

I believe that all success begins with spreading your W.I.N.G.S.-believing in your worth, trusting your insight, nurturing yourself, having a goal and devising a personal strategy. And then, even impossible dreams become real.

Sue Augustine

Grandma Moses

and Me

I"m too old and it"s too late, played over and over in my mind. I was discouraged and exhausted after ending my marriage and my law career at the same time. Despite my intense desire to become a writer, I doubted my ability to succeed as one. Had I wasted years pursuing the wrong goals?

I was at a low point when the voice on the radio began telling the story of Grandma Moses. Ann Mary Moses left home at 13, bore 10 children and worked hard to raise the 5 who survived. Struggling to make a living on poor farms, she managed to provide a bit of beauty for herself by embroidering on canvas.

At 78, her fingers became too stiff to hold a needle. Rather than give in to debility, she went out to the barn and began to paint. On Masonite panels she created brilliantly colored, precisely detailed scenes of country life. For the first two years, these were either given away or sold for a pittance. But at the age of 79, she was "discovered" by the art world-and the rest is history. She went on to produce more than 2,000 paintings, and her book ill.u.s.trations for "Twas the Night Before Christmas were completed in her 100th year!

As I listened to the radio, my mood changed. If Grandma Moses could begin a new career and succeed after 80, my life still had hope after 30. Before the program ended, I charged to my computer to work on the novel I"d nearly abandoned.

It was published eight months later.

Liah Kraft-Kristaine

"We"re All Here to Learn"

The future belongs to those who believe in the beauty of their dreams.

Eleanor Roosevelt "Sixteen," I said. I have forgotten the math question my second-grade teacher, Joyce Cooper, asked that day, but I will never forget my answer. As soon as the number left my mouth, the whole cla.s.s at Smallwood Elementary School in Norfolk, Virginia, started laughing. I felt like the stupidest person in the world.