Jim’s First Day
“Why do you talk like that?” the girl asked him.
Jim’s face flushed. “I don’t know. It’s just how I talk.” “Well, it’s funny," the girl continued.
Jim looked at the girl's blond curls and wanted to pull one, to see if it would spring back into place, but the second-grader knew better than to try. “Keep your hands to yourself” was a rule he figured was as much a rule in Seattle as it was in Boston, and he didn’t want to get in trouble at school on his first day. He looked up at the clock. He hoped it would be lunch time soon. “I hate Seattle," Jim grumbled to himself. “Why did we have to move here?” He looked across the classroom through the window to rainy day gloom and willed the skies to clear. They didn’t.
When lunch time came, the teacher passed out the students’ lunches they had brought from home that morning and the other students made their way to the big carpet at the front of the classroom. Jim remained at his desk.
“Jim, don’t you want to come join the others?” the teacher asked him.
Jim didn’t say anything. He didn’t really want to. He didn’t know anyone and they all thought he was weird. He shrugged and slogged to the carpet, placing himself in a spot, alone, away from the other kids. He wanted them to like him, but he didn’t know what to do. All of his friends in Boston had always been his friends. His mom told him he would meet new ones, but he was less than sure. He unrolled the top of his brown paper bag and began to pull out a sandwich when he noticed something odd.
There were two baggies with chocolate chip cookies in the bottom of the sack. One was bigger than the others and a note taped to it said, “To share with your new friends.” At first Jim thought about keeping the cookies for himself. No one would ever have to know. Then he thought about how bad he’d feel if he disobeyed his mom. So the boy unfastened the note and reached the bag out to the boy sitting nearest him.
“Want a cookie?” he asked, fear wavering in his voice. “My mom made ‘em fresh.”
“Wow. Thank you!” the little boy exclaimed, drawing the attention of the other kids.
“Anyone else?” he asked. The other children hopped to their feet, exclaiming their gratitude as each one grabbed a cookie...everyone except the little girl who had embarrassed him about how he talked. There were simply not enough. She looked to Jim as if she might cry. Jim thought of the cookies in his lunch that his mom had left for him. But those are mine, he thought. Still, he didn’t want the little girl to cry... so even though he didn’t like her, he reached into his lunch bag and pulled out his private stash. He walked over to the girl whose name was Nancy and held the baggie out to her. “Would you like one too?” he asked.
Nancy seemed relieved as she reached out and took a chewy delight. “Thank you,” she whispered.
“Say, where did you come from?” one of the boys asked. “You weren’t here before Christmas.”
“Boston,” Jim replied.
“Where is that?”
Jim sat down with his lunch and answered the question as best as he knew how. “Far far away. It took us like a million years to drive here,” he said. “It’s on a whole different ocean and everything.” With that came more questions and before he knew it, the other kids didn’t mind so much that he spoke a little differently. They had just become his friends.
Ten years later, Jim stood on a tarmac in his uniform and flashed his girl a grin. She looked up and smiled her bravest smile, fear registering deep in her eyes. She pushed her blonde curls away as she wiped away her tears. Jim, satisfying an ancient urge, reached out and pulled one, winking as it shot back into place. “I’ll be back, Nancy. I promise,” he said. “Those Koreans don’t stand a chance. We’re the boys that beat Hitler. Remember?” He pulled her to him and kissed her.
“Here,” she said and reached her hand out to give him a small package.
“What’s this?” he asked.
“Never mind for now. You’ll know what to do with it,” she replied.
“But what___.”
She interrupted him with another kiss. “Just trust me. You stay safe over there fly-boy or I will never forgive you,” she said.
“I love you,” he replied. Then he reached down and picked up his duffel, waving one last time as he rushed to join his new platoon. He boarded the plane and looked for a seat. Men with vacant eyes stared back. Some had been to war before. Others were brand new. None of them seemed interested in making friends and it seemed to Jim that he was once again back in school. He stowed his duffel, but kept the package Nancy gave him. He was curious to know its contents. He found a seat near the back of the plane and buckled himself in. He looked out the window once more to see if Nancy was still there, but she had gone. Then he reached for the string tied around it and opened the box. Inside was another package tied in string with a note attached, “To share with your new friends.”
Jim untied the string and ripped back the paper to find a batch of homemade chocolate chip cookies. He stifled a tear and then he smiled. “Hey, fellas,” he called to the guys on the plane. “Would you like a chocolate chip cookie? My girl made ‘em fresh.”
Eight months later, Jim was airlifted out of Korea to Tokyo on a Medevac chopper. The tail gunner on a bomber, his foot had been pulverized by shrapnel during a bombing run, and his leg required amputation at his mid calf. For five days he lay in agony. The morphine did little to quell his pain. Screams of wounded soldiers all around him rang out day and night. On the fifth day, he was transferred to a rehabilitation ward. The screams were gone, but the wounds remained. Nobody wanted to talk... least of all Jim. He once again found himself all alone in a room full of strangers, not sure of how to fit in.
No one was more surprised or elated than Jim when Nancy walked though the door, having traveled across an ocean, a box of chocolate chip cookies in her hands. “Hey, fellas,” he called out to whoever would hear. His eyes locked deeply with hers and he smiled. “Who wants a chocolate chip cookie? My girl made ‘em fresh!" Nancy, never averting her gaze, handed the box to an orderly who came running at the announcement. Jim never even saw the cookies. All he saw was her.
“You look like an angel,” he whispered. “I’m coming home,” he added, as if he were already there.
“I know” she whispered, taking his hand. “I know.”
Nancy stayed with Jim for 6 months, volunteering as his nurse. They were married in his hospital room, by a chaplain, to the cheers of other wounded soldiers who had become fond of Nancy’s cookies. Jim learned to walk with a prosthetic, and the months flew quickly until at last the couple returned home to Seattle, eager to start their new lives.
It took Jim several months to pass the physical, but he did it. He ran with a limp but he ran hard and he beat the time of many an able bodied cadet. On the day that Jim Ronson graduated from the police academy amidst cheers from his friends, he and his pregnant wife stood proudly. They were the only two that always knew he’d graduate that day. Securing a job would prove much harder, but eventually he had that too. He moved his family, which now included baby Alicia, to Walla Walla and prepared to go to work at the Washington State Penitentiary. The night before he was to start, Jim, nervous about the day ahead, stayed up late baking chocolate chip cookies, using his wife's recipe. He wanted to make some new friends.
The next morning, box of cookies in hand, Jim reported for duty for his first day as a guard in the violent offenders section of the prison.
"Welcome to cell block D," his new boss said, upon his arrival. "This cell block houses some of the most hardened criminals you will ever hear about, no less meet. My recommendation? Most of these guys, given the opportunity would rip your spleen out with a rusty spoon and eat it in front of you while you died. Remember that, and do your best to keep them intimidated so that they don't assume you are weak and take advantage of it."
Jim had other ideas.
When he was introduced to the prisoners over whom he would keep watch, Jim smiled broadly and held out his box. "Hey, fellas? Who wants a chocolate chip cookie? My wife's secret recipe!"
Three years later, when the prisoners of cell block D revolted and killed four of the guards, including the man who had been his boss, Jim was spared, ushered out of the back by Tommy "The Butcher" Mullens, one of Washington's most notorious gang lords.
"This doesn't mean I like you," Tommy said as he opened the door. "But I sure do like your cookies!"
Later when Jim was promoted as the new cell block watch chief, the men in the block all cheered. "Just because you can't run free in society, on account of your convictions, doesn't mean you have to be treated like animals,” Jim said.
On her first day of Kindergarten, Alicia was scared, so Jim handed her a box of cookies. "Share these with the other kids," he said. "They're magic. If you bring cookies, you can face anything." That afternoon when Jim arrived home from work, his little girl leapt into his arms to tell him all about the new friends she had made and how much they loved his cookies.
“See?" he said, smiling. "I told you they're magic." Alicia never forgot it.
Through the years, anytime Jim faced a difficult or new challenge, he brought cookies along for the ride. The years passed, one cookie moment at a time. Throughout the years he changed the recipe, adding coconut, and nuts, and eventually butterscotch chips too. His cookies were always a hit!
When he met his daughter's fiancé, Jim reached in his shirt pocket and fished out a parcel wrapped carefully in a napkin. He unfolded it to reveal the contents and smiled "Cookie?" he asked.
When Alicia's first child was born, he handed Alicia a handwritten note-card. "You're going to need this,” he said. "Always use real butter." Alicia wiped away a tear when she read the note, the recipe for "Jim's Magic Cookies.” When Alicia's husband was killed in a car crash, Jim had cookies waiting. Somehow, everything was just the slightest bit better if you had a cookie.
When Alicia's son reached school age, she continued her father's tradition. When Nancy died, Alicia baked to comfort her father, and when Jim had long since retired and his mind began to wither to the point that he had to leave his home, Alicia handed her sweet dad a parcel. His mind no longer recognized the significance of the contents, but his daughter looked up and smiled. "Trust me Dad. They're magic. They're to share with your new friends."
I will never forget the lessons he taught me, but most of all, that everything is just a little better if you have a cookie. Just before he passed, he opened his eyes, and my daddy, Jim smiled at me once more. "Alicia," he said, before he breathed his last. "Can you set the oven to 350? I'm going to need some cookies."
awwww, I love this story.......