by Michael T. Heath

Created on: September 03, 2010   Last Updated: September 10, 2010

Once, When It Counted

All of us get some chances to prove just what we're made of, and once in a while the universe stands still and watches to see what we'll do as if hundreds of cameras were trained on you at all times (but unless you're the President or in maximum security, not likely). I believe the spirits of our ancestors are watching us, however. In Native American culture (and in many religions worldwide) the ancestors not only watch but may lend a hand, from time to time. Imagine dear old grandfather whispering something in your ear from the other side in time to avert some disaster. It would explain a few things in my life, for sure.

I'm no veteran, having been too young for Vietnam and too old and fat for Iraq. I respect soldiers and sailors and airmen and women who serve our country. Bravery on the battlefield seems to be expected of them, and the majority of our  service people don't let us down. 

They have faced death and come back - usually on planes, but more than enough in plain boxes. Facing death and living to tell about it is a lucky break, and we who have been there won't forget the exact moment life itself was in the balance as each of our departed ancestors held their breath.

My own acts of bravery constitute a slim catalog. Just three times I can recall doing the extraordinary. The first was sort of trivial: I was working as a product tester/developer for a gardening company and got worked up about a new item they were planning to sell. It featured a metal spike with a sharp arrow head on top and a series of numbered increments running down the side. This rusty monstrosity was intended to be set in the ground - arrowhead up - as a snow depth indicator. Home-owners could look out their window and see how deep the snowfall had been overnight. But what if a season of snow buried this thing in a drift? A kid could jump on a rusted spike as they played in the backyard. When we were kids in New England, my brother and sisters and I made snow forts, snow slides all over: one of us would've surely gotten impaled on this god-awful product. The sales manager allowed me to speak at the next catalog meeting for top managers. I dutifully waited my turn, at last ushered into the cheerful conference room full of big bosses, including the sales manager. I wheeled in a little cart covered with a white sheet of fabric and began my spiel. I then grabbed a ripe pumpkin from under this cart and thrust it over the snow spike which was

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