A Simple Act of Love
 
        When I was growing up, my father always stopped what he was
   doing and listened while I'd breathlessly fill him in on my day.
   For him, no subject was off-limits. When I was a lanky and
   awkward 13, Dad coached me on how to stand and walk like a lady.
   At 17 and madly in love, I sought his advice on pursuing a new
   student at school. "Keep the conversation neutral," he counseled.
   "And ask him about his car."
        I followed his suggestions and gave him daily progress
   reports: "Terry walked me to my locker!" Guess what? Terry held
   my hand!" Dad! He asked me out!" Terry and I went steady for over
   a year, and soon Dad was joking, "I can tell you how to get a
   man; the hard part is getting rid of him."
        By the time I graduated from college, I was ready to spread
   my wings. I got a job teaching special education at a school in
   Coachella, California, a desert town about 170 miles from home.
   It was no dream job. Low-income housing across the street from
   the school was a haven for drug users. Street gangs hung around
   the school after dark. Many of my charges, emotionally disturbed
   10-to 14-year-old boys, had been arrested for shoplifting, car
   theft or arson.
        "Be careful," Dad warned me during one of my frequent
   weekend visits home. He was concerned about my living alone, but
   I was 23, enthusiastic and naive, and I needed to be on my own.
   Besides, teaching jobs were tight in 1974, and I felt lucky to
   have one.
        "Don't worry," I reassured him, as I loaded up the car to
   start my trip back to the desert and my job.
        Several evenings later I stayed after school to rearrange my
   classroom. Finished, I turned out the light and closed the door.
   Then I headed toward the gate. It was locked! I looked around.
   Everyone - teachers, custodians, secretaries - had gone home and,
   noy realizing I was still there, stranded me on the school
   grounds. I glanced at my watch - it was almost 6p.m. I had been
   so engrossed in my work that I hadn't noticed the time.
        After checking all the exits, I found just enough room to
   squeeze under a gate in the rear of the school. I pushed my purse
   through first, lay on my back and slowly edged through.
        I retrieved my purse and walked toward my car, parked in a
   field behind the building. Eerie shadows fell across the
   schoolyard.
        Suddenly, I heard voices. I glanced around and saw at least
   eight high-school-age boys following me. They were half a block
   away. Even in the near darkness I could see they were wearing
   gang insignia.
        "Hey!" one called out. "You a teacher?"
        "Nah, she's too young - must be an aide!" another said.
        As I walked faster, they continued taunting me. "Hey! She's
   kinda cute!"
        Quickening my pace, I reached into my shoulder bag to get my
   key ring. If I have the keys in my hands, I thought, I can unlock
   the car and get in before...My heart was pounding.
        Frantically, I felt all over the inside of my handbag. But
   the key ring wasn't there!
        "Hey! Let's get the lady!" one boy shouted.
        Dear Lord, please help me, I prayed silently. Suddenly, my
   fingers wrapped around a loose key in my purse. I didn't even
   know if it was for my car, but I took it out and clutched it
   firmly.
        I jogged across the grass to my car and tried the key. It
   worked! I opened the door, slid in and locked it - just as the
   teenagers surrounded the car, kicking the sides and banging on
   the roof. Trembling, I started the engine and drove away.
        Later, some teachers went back to the school with me. With
   flashlights, we found the key ring on the ground by the gate,
   where it had fallen as I slid through.
        When I returned to my apartment, the phone was ringing. It
   was Dad. I didn't tell him about my ordeal; I didn't want to
   worry him.
        "Oh, I forgot to tell you!" he said. "I had an extra car key
   made and slipped it into your pocketbook - just in case you ever
   need it."
        Today, I keep that key in my dresser drawer and treasure it.
   Whenever I hold it in my hand, I am reminded of all the wonderful
   things Dad has done for me over the years. I realize that,
   although he is now 68 and I am 40, I still look to him for
   wisdom, guidance and reassurance. Most of all, I marvel at the
   fact that his thoughtful gesture of making the extra key may have
   saved my life. And I understand how a simple act of love can make
   extraordinary things happen.
 

Taken from Chicken Soup for the Soul