write a story on " A MAN WITH ONE LEG"
Answers
Answer:
Thinking>>Inspiration>>This Little Light: The Story of The Lewster and the One-Legged Man
SEPTEMBER 21, 2017 0 COMMENTS
This Little Light: The Story of The Lewster and the One-Legged Man
POSTED BY JEREMY FLOYD IN INSPIRATION, LEW FLOYD, THINKING PRINT WITHOUT FORMATTING
I just walked out of the doctor’s office. Despite a few niceties from the administrative staff, the conversation was bare and canned. They didn’t even know my name, and why would they.
As a kid, whenever I went to the doctor with my dad, the staff literally cackled at his jokes and came out from behind the counter to hug him. They came to life when he was around, and when he wasn’t the staff would ask about him with some little comment, “I just love your dad.”
As a kid, I wondered, “Is he famous?” He had this impact on people everywhere we went. He didn’t participate in politics, and he wasn’t a major community leader in the non-profit world. He taught Sunday School. He was an FBI agent, and I guess I thought as a child that meant that everyone knew it–like he was an official or a politician.
Once we were in an elevator when a fella hollered, “hold the door.” Several of us were standing there in light-hearted conversation, but we held the door as the man maneuvered himself toward us. His gate accented by the familiar metallic thud of his crutches hitting the ground. The one-legged man joined us. His pant leg, now empty, was neatly pinned up, and his novice control of the crutches indicated that this was whole experience was new to him. The man quickly and coldly turned to face the front of the elevator.
As the doors closed, silence fogged the cramped space. “So, what happened to the leg?” my dad queried. The unasked question that everyone was thinking broke the silence like a thunderclap. Without moving his head, the man said, “amputated…diabetes.” My father said, “my brother lost his leg. I’m really sorry.” The man softened and turned to face my dad and they struck up a conversation. Again we held the doors open, this time so they could finish up a conversation. Before the man made his way off the elevator, he beamed a smile and wished us a good day.
After the doors closed, my dad with a tone of mischievous triumph whispered, “my goal was to make him smile.” He cared. Whether it was a clerk at a grocery store or a captured fugitive (yes, there’s a story), he sought to lighten the lives of those he encountered. He lived by the principle that you can say just about anything if you genuinely care about the answer.
I cannot control the hurricanes, the earthquakes, or the threat of nuclear war, but I can control how much I care about those whom I engage. We need a little of that Lewster light today.
Explanation:
i am new here support me in growing up and plz
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The One-legged Man
THE winter in New York State was so cold that the stoves in the little wooden cabin
at Saranac Lake seemed to emit no heat, until you touched them and burnt yourself.
During that February in 1888, the mercury fell often to 40 below zero overnight. Yet
the exquisite cold seemed strangely to suit the weak chest of 37-year-old Louis and,
wrapped in a heavy buffalo-skin coat, he was able to work at his new novel, The
Master of Ballantrae. Through the thin walls he could hear his wife and Valentine
the maid preparing breakfast. The two women had recently been ill, obliging Louis
and his step-son Lloyd to cook and wash dishes, but both could now return to
writing - not that Lloyd's tapping at the typewriter was entirely serious as he rattled
through the facetious plot of The Wrong Box.
Louis, as an internationally famous author, could indulge his family, taking on 19-
year-old Lloyd as his co-writer and dressing up Fanny's short stories for Scribner's
Magazine, whose proprietor had been happy to publish a new short story called The
Nixie by 'Mrs Robert Louis Stevenson'. Louis may have felt uneasy, because he knew
the idea had been taken from his cousin Katharine, who could not get her version
into print. Yet back in London Katharine had not actually refused Fanny's brash
request for permission to borrow the story, although a more sensitive person might
have fathomed her true feelings.
In the cold, clear air of Saranac, where Louis had come to escape the life-
threatening chest haemorrhages that had plagued him for eight years, he had other
things on his mind beyond Katharine's financial struggles. At the nearby
Adirondack Cottage Sanatorium for the treatment of tuberculosis, he had been
examined by Dr Edward Livingston Trudeau, who had developed a test for the
bacillus that caused the disease. Curiously, although Trudeau found what might be
indications of an earlier consumption, Louis did not appear to have tuberculosis
now.
The other timebomb within him had been a constant companion for so long that
PLEASE MARK ME AS A BRAIN LIST