'This I Believe' Always Remember to Whistle

Always remember to whistle.

The soundtrack to my childhood is nothing more than a constant lull of untroubled whistling. I fondly remember my dad sweeping the back patio, mowing the lawn, or building my brother and me another gigantic rope swing that hung from our tall poplar trees behind our house — and all the while he was whistling.

He was happy, and his spirit was contagious. My dad loved my mom with all his heart. His family was everything to him. But when I was 5 years old, my mom admitted to having a lengthy affair and my parents divorced. Everything my dad knew and loved had been pulled out from under him; he was devastated and lost. But no matter how often he cried at night and no matter how much he worried that he would lose his children through the messy legalities, my dad continued to whistle. When I recall those years, I don't remember the horrible things that were said between the mom I loved and the dad who was my hero — I just remember the whistling.

My older brother Ben has always been an inspiration. Unfortunately, his love for reading, ability to excel in school, and genetically poor vision that required the early use of eye-glasses made him a target for bullying and ridicule during his middle school years. But he never strayed from the path of individuality — he never tried to be anyone other than Ben. In high school, still holding his head high, he graduated a valedictorian of his class, earned a 1600 on his SATs, was accepted to Stanford, and made a lasting impression on the students and staff of Beaverton, Ore. High. However it was not his amazing accomplishments that turned heads, it was his steadfast and genuine display of himself. Everywhere he walked, no matter who else was in the hallway with him, he was whistling. People remember that whistling.

My sophomore year in college I spent months holding the hand of my boyfriend Austin who was in a coma with a serious traumatic brain injury. I watched as his family cried day after day. They had no idea what was to become of their beloved son, brother, grandson, cousin and nephew. No one knew. But amid the stress, worry and tragedy, Austin's family found time to whistle — figuratively of course. Each day in the ICU was very similar to the next, Austin lay there, we watched his ventilated breathing, and massaged his lifeless hands and feet. But one day Austin's mom noticed that his feet were cold, so she brought in some thick fuzzy socks — they were bright pink. As she put them on his chilled feet, she looked up at him and smiled, "Sorry you can't fight me on this one. My baby looks good in pink socks. You can get mad at me later." We all laughed, just for a moment, and then returned to watching his breathing.

I have learned that life is not always easy. But whistling — whether it is heard down the hallway or done in the shower — will continue to be a friendly reminder to me that life is always a blessing. So remember to whistle. And if you can't whistle, find something else that frees your spirit — just for a moment — and do it regularly.

Kate Eppler is a senior.