Inspirational Stories Motivational Experiences Pinoy Life Stories

My Traveling Companion
By Edmund W. Boyle

I've spent most of my career as a traveling salesman,
and I know that there's nothing lonelier than a bunch of
salesmen eating their meals in a motel coffee shop.
One year, my five-year-old daughter pressed a gift
into my hands. The wrapping paper was all twisted, and it
was bound together into a shapeless mass by at least a mile
of tape.
I gave her a big hug and sloppy kiss--the kind that
all daddies give--and proceeded to unwrap the little
package she had bestowed on me. The contents hidden within
felt kind of soft, and I was very careful not to cause any
damage. With excitement radiating from her face, little
brown-eyed Jeanine stood attentively beside me in her too-
small pajamas while I completed the process of unraveling
my surprise.
A pair of black, beady eyes peeked out from their
papery hiding place, then a yellow beak, a red bow tie, and
orange feet. It was a stuffed toy penguin that stood about
five inches tall.
Attached to its right wing with still wet paste was a
tiny, wooden sign, and a hand-painted declaration, "I Love
My Dad!" Beneath it was a hand-drawn heart, colored with
crayon.
Tears welled up in my eyes and immediately I gave it a
special place on my dresser.
Seldom did much time pass before I had to leave on
another business trip. One morning when I was packing, I
tossed the penguin in my suitcase. That night when I
called home, Jeanine was very upset that the penguin had
disappeared. "Honey, it's here with me," I explained. "I
brought it along."
After that day, she always helped me pack, and saw to
it that the penguin went in along with my socks and shaving
kit. Many years have gone by since then, and that little
penguin has traveled hundreds of thousands of miles all
across America and over to Europe. And we have made many
friends along the way.
In Albuquerque, I checked into a hotel, dumped out my
bag and dashed to a meeting. When I returned, I found the
bed turned down and the penguin propped up on the pillow.
In Boston, upon returning to my room one evening,
somebody had perched it in an empty drinking glass on the
nightstand--it never did stand up that well. The next
morning I left it sitting in a chair. Again that night it
was in the glass.
Once, at New York's Kennedy airport, a customs
inspector coolly asked that I open my bag. And right
there, on top, was my little pal. Holding it up, the agent
quipped, "That's about the most valuable thing I have seen
in all my years on the job. Thank God we don't charge tax
on love."
Late one night, after driving over a hundred miles
from my previous hotel, I unpacked my luggage only to
discover that the penguin was missing.
Frantically, I phoned the hotel. The clerk was
incredulous and a bit aloof. He laughed, saying it hadn't
been reported. Nonetheless, a half an hour later, he
called back to say that my penguin had been found.
The time was late, but not that late. I got back in
my car and drove the couple of hours to retrieve my two-
toned touring buddy, arriving near midnight.
The penguin was waiting at the front desk. In the
lobby, tired business travelers looked on at the reunion--I
think with a touch of envy. A few of them came out to
shake my hand. One man told me that he had even
volunteered to deliver it to me the very next day.
Jeanine is in college now and I don't travel as much
anymore. The penguin spends most of its time sitting on my
dresser--a reminder that love is the best traveling
companion. All those years on the road, it was the one
thing I never left home without.