My mom is the person who inspires me. When my twin brother and I were two years old, mom and dad adopted him and I. My mom, who had lost a baby of her own, had enough room in her heart to take in two toddlers whose birth parents didn't want them. She showed more love and gave more love than any birth parent could. She taught me how to love with all my heart. People would have never guessed that we weren't hers. She inspires me to this day with the loss of our dad, her husband. She is still there helping others get over the loss. She has never asked for anything in return except to be kind to others and to do to them as you would want them to do to you.
—Kelli, Hillsboro
He just didn't get it. No matter how hard Deshawn tried and no matter how much time I dedicated to helping him, every assignment in seventh grade social studies that semester seemed to end in failure. I like to think I was more optimistic about Deshawn's chances for success than most teachers would have been, and yet, after several weeks of hard work and repeated failure, I found myself wondering – what difference did it really make? Would I ever be able to get through to kids like Deshawn? Was I wasting my time? Despite my worries, I pressed on. I lectured and scolded, explained and praised, graded and recorded. While I had to admit I was becoming attached to the students, Deshawn included, I still felt doubtful. They certainly didn't seem to care if I was there or not. Then, on my last day there, Deshawn walked in. With a proud but shy smile he handed me a gorgeous potted plant that I know must have cost him several months' allowance. As I fought back tears, he gave me a hug (which meant a lot coming from a seventh grade boy) and looked up at me with a toothy grin. Deshawn's plant sits on my windowsill - the only plant I have ever succeeded in keeping alive for more than a week. It reminds me everyday that I don't have to design the perfect lessons or have a grade book full of As to be a great teacher. I just have to make sure my students know that I believe in them. Thanks to Deshawn I realized that my students don't care how many homeruns I hit, they care how many times I step up to the plate. Thanks to Deshawn – I get it!
—Chelsea, Red, Illinois
My daughter Jessie gave up her fall break from college to drive 17 hours to Louisiana, to repair a school for disabled children and to clean up a home destroyed in the hurricane. She didn't do it for glory or to add to her "do-gooder" image, but because she could and wanted to help. Such a selfless act (yet so typical of her true self) no longer surprises me but I'm still touched by her, and proud to be her poppa. She's a bright and pretty young woman but she's had her share of tribulations, some health-related, many typical of teenagers growing up in a post 9-11 America, which isn't easy. The world is no longer a sheltering place, yet again and again, she seeks to give shelter to others. Like so many of my generation, I write checks to charities like Habitat for Humanities—she volunteers at the office and hammers nails into a new home. She's a doer. Jessie went to Tanzania last summer to teach English and even though she got sick, she taught her class, who sent me a touching Happy Birthday card in very formal English. Like so many heroes, she faces fear and pushes on, trusting in the future and the good to triumph in the end. She reminds me, and everyone who knows her, that the future is in good hands, that doing good matters, and most of all, that human beings have the power to heal through caring. I love her madly but I'm a little in awe.
—John, Virginia
People inspire me in pieces. Everyday, all around me, I see examples of what the human spirit can do when aspiring to be its best. I mean, who knows one perfect person to pattern their life after? I certainly don't, but I know lots of perfect pieces of people - pieces of grace, pieces of enlightenment, pieces of excellence in otherwise fallible souls.
Some people are great at persevering. Others at conversation. Others are fantastic at what they do for a living. But no one gets all the pieces right. So who inspires me? My grandmother, for the way she held our family together single-handedly. The mere presence of her made three generations of people feel loved and welcome, from her own sisters to her daughters and all her grandchildren.
My mother, for always providing a warm and loving environment in which to grow. From her I learned that we aren't always dealt a fair hand, but love and a little hard work can truly conquer the worst set of circumstances.
My husband, for facing the world every day at an inherent disadvantage and hardly ever complaining that he just can't see out of one eye. I've tried walking around for only an hour with one eye closed and I know I'd be so tempted to be bitter and whiny and shake my fists at God and ask "why me?!" But he never does.
Are all these people perfect? No. But parts of them are absolutely amazing. And I wish I could take all their best parts, incorporate them into my personality, and be a shining reflection of the best that a person can be. But I would leave out my grandmother's annoying habit of farting and quickly leaving the room.
Nobody's perfect.
—Mary, Burbank, California
