Your life can be changed in the most unexpected ways. Al Jacobson changed mine ten years ago, and now I'm working to help him change the life of my granddaughter, Lindsey, 8.
Al was one of the eight survivors of the US submarine Flier that hit a mine and sank on August 13, 1944, in the Philippines. When I was asked to take on the job of writing a book about the Flier survivors, I flew to Michigan to meet Al, at that time one of only two remaining Flier survivors.
Al was a top executive in his family's industrial firm, a company that made enormous profits on such things as bathroom faucet valves. He was semi-retired at the time, although he maintained an office at the company headquarters.
Except for his brush with death on Flier, Al's life had been a combination of hard work and great fortune. Born into the Jacobson family, a pillar of the Grand Haven, Michigan, community, Al had been a success at almost everything he did.
By the time I met Al, however, the insults of aging were begining to take their toll on his body. There was no shortage of ailments about which he could, if he wished, complain.
But any time Al was asked how he was doing, his response was a resounding "GREAT!"
He found no reason to complain about the discomfort or disability he might have been enduring. He was, after all, alive and in many ways quite fortunate.
Over several years, Al and I became friends of a sort. And in that time, I grew to admire his attitude. And I adopted his simple verbal affirmation of life.
I had a friend who, for example, might respond to an inquiry about his health with: "I'm okay, but it's early yet."
Comparing that with Al's "GREAT!" explained why Al might be the happier person of the two.
Thus did I begin to employ the same response in my daily life, and I've never regretted it. For one thing, it makes the people around you happier than if you'd listed all your ailments, over which they had no control.
Lindsey was sick on Thursday and on Friday, when I was to take care of her and her brothers, Richie and Justin, she was on the couch, still home from school, when I arrived. She and the boys came with me, and when we reached my home, Lindsey got on our couch, a truly pathetic invalid.
And there she stayed, until I'd had enough. I told her she needed to get out of her footsies and dress for a walk down to the river. She did, without complaint, but when we got back, she dove into her footsies again
That's when I began telling her about Big Al's reply. I suggested she should tell me she was "GREAT!"
It took some work before she finally, with the cutest grin on her face, allowed, in a very soft voice, that she, indeed, was feeling great.
Over the weekend, I phoned her twice, asking how she was. And to my great reward, both times, she said: "GREAT!"
Al has now touched a life very important to me. I hope Lindsey continues to feel GREAT and passes along that attitude to those close to her, regardless of how she feels.
Coincidentally, August 13 is the birthday of my daughter, Joy, Lindsey's mother.