My mother, Eleanor, struggled with poor health after her husband ”deserted” us before I was born. She used only that one-word to describe our situation; it was a sad topic for her to talk about and we avoided any mention of the missing father. Even though we were very poor (my mother, older sister and I lived on welfare),  my mother always encouraged us to read, study, and be on the honor rolls at school. I treasured the books in our tiny rowhouse in North Philadelphia; they were bought for 5 or 10 cents from second-hand stores.  Mother would travel, by trolley, to a variety of second-hand stores or church rummage sales and buy our clothing for pennies per item. She was given a treddle-sewing machine and altered the clothing when needed, or she would add a ”border” on skirts/jacket sleeves as my sister and I grew taller.
Mother always wanted us to give a small gift to our teachers each Christmas. She would make ”Sachets” which were pink satin ribbons sewn to small pink satin squares filled with dried lavender that she gathered anywhere she found it growing.  My teachers seemed delighted every year.
Another memory of my mother involved visiting churches…ANY church would do. At that time, the 1940s, Philadelphia churches were ’open for business’ 24/7, with unlocked/welcoming doors. She would place a hanky on my head whenever we entered a church (she wore a second-hand hat). If we happened to be in a Catholic church, she would dab a drop of Holy Water on us and we’d sit in a pew for a few minutes; she prayed that we would have a brighter future.
Tragically, my mother suffered a fatal stroke on Mother’s Day 1954 when I was 14 years old. We were visiting my Aunt Alice in Clifton Heights that day; I never returned to my North Philadelphia home and my life was changed completely by one tragic stroke.
Just four months after my mother’s passing, I was paralyzed by polio and hospitalized in the Isolation Ward at the local hospital. With my Aunt Alice’s love, strength, and support (and months of physical therapy), I was able to keep up with my new classmates (in the new school, new town).  After graduation I was fortunate and attended the University of Pennsylvania on a full-scholarship.  God does indeed work in mysterious ways, and I hold onto the belief that everything in my life was part of His plan.
The ”Lessons from my Mother” can be summarized in two words: Kindness and Faith.  As a welfare family, we were not permitted to have a telephone, new clothing or furniture, ’extravagances’ like greeting cards or birthday cakes. The welfare workers routinely visited unexpectedly, and our rowhouse was inspected to verify that we were not violating the rules. The welfare money was stretched very thin; by the end of the month our dinner was often an onion sandwich or ketchup-bread.
Yet, my mother showed me that being kind to others (even when you have absolutely no material gifts/foods to share) is indeed the best way to live. And her faith in God (which she instilled in me from my earliest memories) has been the most beautiful gift a parent can give a child.

I am in the process of writing an E-Book, Lessons from Our Fathers, that will be a compilation of stories that people submit about their fathers. I am looking for people who want to contribute stories about the life lessons they learned from their fathers - stories about how to be loving, how to succeed in life, how to be happy, or any other lessons that were learned from their fathers. Stories should be less than 1500 words and each story should focus on one primary lesson.

Every story should include a summary of the lesson with the names you would like to appear in the book and a summary of the primary lesson learned.

As an example, for my father, it would be:
John Szwec - Never Give Up on Your Dreams, submitted by Jeanette Szwec

Even though I might not be able to include all stories in the E-book, I will publish all of the lines with the name of the father, the primary lesson and the submitter. In addition, all contributors (whether or not they are included in the E-Book) will have an opportunity to act as an affiliate when the book goes on sale. This means that each contributor can officially sign up as an affiliate (I will give detailed instructions at that time) and make a commission of 50% of all profits for any books they sell to their own friends or acquaintances (profits is sales price minus the small charge the affiliate site charges for handling the transaction).

Since this is an E-Book, each contributor must agree to two things:

1. to accept any editing that I do to their story with my promise that it won’t substantially change their story, but might change some of their words.
2. to accept that they will give up all rights to the story, so I am free to publish it in an E-Book or hard copy book.

Don’t let any fear you have about being a writer stand in the way of your submitting a story. My staff has experts on writing, and we will take what you send and make it work. My primary interest is in hearing your stories, honoring our fathers, and sharing our histories with each other.

Please send your stories to:

TellYourStory@Charter.Net

Please List “Father” in the Subject Line. Please include contact information:Name, email address, phone (optional - only used to ask questions about the story)

I am also preparing an E-Book, Lessons from Our Mothers, so feel free to tell me a story about your mother also - just make it a separate email with the word “Mother ” in the Subject Line.

Below you will find the Introduction to the E-Book, Lessons from Our Fathers. It should give you a better idea of what this book is about.

Introduction to Lessons From Our Fathers:

I started this book around the holidays – a time of year we all reflect on our fathers and the role that they played in our lives. Some of us have happy memories and some sad, but we all have lessons we learned from our fathers. If you were lucky, you had a chance to see values and actions that gave you courage, hope, self-confidence, joy, and a path for your own life.This book is about our stories – about the lessons we learned from our fathers. They didn’t need to be perfect or saint-like. They passed these life lessons on to us by the way they lived their lives, by the way they fought through their own challenges and came through a better person, and by the way they taught us to challenge ourselves.Fathers aren’t necessarily the father listed on a birth certificate. People can come into your life and pick up the banner of “father” and be that father figure to you when your biological father could not or would not play that role. This book is about all the men that stepped up to the challenge of being a father in someone’s life. This is my story, but even more, it is the story of thousands of contributors who want to honor the fathers in their lives.

If you have any questions about submitting your story, just send an email to TellYourStory@charter.net and I will be happy to answer any questions you may have. I will be asking for more stories about your other family members in the future, so keep checking this blog. I will also post some of your stories here, if you give me approval to do that. Thank you very much for helping me honor fathers everywhere. I know my Dad shaped my life and I miss him each and every day.

Jeanette Szwec

John came to the United States as a Ukrainian immigrant when he was 14 years old. Unable to speak English but willing to do anything to succeed, John learned the language, became a barber, and opened up his own business in the small town of Clifton Heights, PA. He put two daughters through college and one through medical school during a time when most people thought that women didn’t need an education and that they should be satisfied getting married and having children. He had his faults but he gave us values and ambition – a mighty combination. But this story doesn’t really start until my father was 60 years old.

I was preparing to get married and my father was attempting to practice the polka, a must at any Ukrainian wedding. But he couldn’t do it! He had lost significant mobility in his leg and was soon diagnosed with a brain tumor. One surgery later, this energetic, hard-working man was forced to retire as a result of significant paralysis in his right arm and leg. My Dad had always worked two jobs and spent his spare time working around the house. Now his life came to a screeching halt. Yet never once did he complain. He bought rubber balls for physical therapy and spent his days trying to regain his hand mobility by squeezing those balls over and over. A few years later, fate threw him another curve ball. He was diagnosed with a recurring brain tumor.

I will never forget the day I went to visit him after his second brain surgery. Smiling as always, he chatted pleasantly in the hospital room until a nurse flew into the room, waving her finger at me, and yelling, “You better tell your father to stay in bed. He is paralyzed and will never walk again. He needs to stop trying to get out of bed and accept the fact that he can’t walk now or ever. Every time I walk out of his room, he tries to get out of the bed and then falls on the floor. I am sick of picking him up and you better warn him to stay put!”

With that, she steamed out of the room, thinking she had dealt with her problem patient. My father smiled, put his arms behind him on the bed to brace himself, and immediately tried to lift himself out of that bed. He spent a great deal of time on the floor that year, but he eventually got up and walked. He never sprinted across a room – it was more a will that propelled half of his body forward and dragged the other half to catch up.

My father lived nineteen more years after that second brain surgery. He bought himself a motorized scooter and spent years zipping around the streets of Philadelphia. He was proud, free, and always smiling.

My Father’s Lesson: My father planted a belief deep in my heart that taught me to never give up. No matter what misfortune comes your way, shove it aside and go for your dreams. Go for it and never give up. This is the lesson my father taught me and I then taught my son.

My dear, sweet father died at age 89 in a nursing home. He was sharing a room with a man who was blind. When the blind man dropped something, my father leaned over to help him pick it up, lost his balance, and hit his head. To the last minute of his life, he was reaching out to others.

Dad – I Will Never Give Up on My Dreams

Jeanette