A Moment To (be) Hold
 
A number of years ago (1983-1987), I had the opportunity to play the
character of Ronald McDonald for the McDonald's Corporation. My
marketplace covered most of Arizona and a portion of Southern California.

One of our standard events was "Ronald Day." One day each month, we
visited as many of the community hospitals as possible, bringing a little
happiness into a place where no one ever looks forward to going. I was 
very proud to be able to make a difference for children and adults who 
were experiencing some "down time."  The warmth and gratification I 
would receive stayed with me for weeks. I loved the project, McDonald's 
loved the project, the kids and adults loved it and so did the nursing 
and hospital staffs....

There were two restrictions placed on me during a visit. First, I could
not go anywhere in the hospital without McDonald's personnel (my
handlers) as well as hospital personnel.  That way, if I were to walk
into a room and frighten a child, there was someone there to address the
issue immediately.  And second, I could not physically touch anyone
within the hospital.  They did not want me transferring germs from one
patient to another. I understood why they had this "don't touch" rule,
but I didn't like it.  I believe that touching is the most honest form of
communication we will ever know. Printed and spoken words can lie; it
is impossible to lie with a warm hug.

Breaking either of these rules, I was told, meant I could lose my
job......

Toward the end of my fourth year of "Ronald Days," as I was heading
down a hallway after a long day in grease paint and on my way home, 
I heard a little voice.  "Ronald, Ronald."  I stopped.

The soft little voice was coming through a half-opened door. I pushed the
door open and saw a young boy, about five years old, lying in his dad's
arms, hooked up to more medical equipment than I had ever seen. Mom
was on the other side, along with Grandma, Grandpa and a nurse tending 
to the equipment.

I knew by the feeling in the room that the situation was grave. I asked
the little boy his name---he told me it was Billy---and I did a few simple
magic tricks for him.  As I stepped back to say good-bye, I asked Billy
if there was anything else I could do for him.  "Ronald, would you hold
me?"....Such a simple request.  But what ran through my mind was that
if I touched him, I could lose my job.  So I told Billy I could not do that
right now, but I suggested that he and I color a picture. Upon completing
a wonderful piece of art that we were both very proud of, Billy again asked
me to hold him.  By this time my heart was screaming "yes!" But my mind
was screaming louder.  "No!  You are going to lose your job!"

This second time that Billy asked me, I had to ponder why I could not
grant the simple request of a little boy who probably would not be going
home. I asked myself why was I being logically and emotionally torn 
apart by someone I had never seen before and probably would never 
see again.

"Hold me."  It was such a simple request, and yet... I searched for any
reasonable response that would allow me to leave. I could not come up
with a single one.  It took me a moment to realize that in this situation,
losing my job may not be the disaster I feared. Was losing my job the
worst thing in the world?

Did I have enough self-belief that if I did lose my job, I would be able
to pick up and start again?  The answer was a loud, bold affirming
"yes!" I could pick up and start again.  So what was the risk?

Just that if I lost my job, it probably would not be long before I would
lose first my car, then my home...and to be honest with you, I really
liked those things.  But I realized that at the end of my life, the car
would have no value and neither would the house. The only things that
had steadfast value were experiences.  Once I reminded myself that the
real reason I was there was to bring a little happiness to an unhappy
environment, I realized that I really faced no risk at all......I sent
Mom, Dad, Grandma and Grandpa out of the room, and my two McDonald's
escorts out to the van.  The nurse tending the medical equipment stayed,
but Billy asked her to stand and face the corner. Then I picked up this
little wonder of a human being.  He was so frail and so scared.  We
laughed and cried for 45 minutes, and talked about the things that
worried him.

Billy was afraid that his little brother might get lost coming home from
kindergarten next year, without Billy to show him the way.  He worried
that his dog wouldn't get another bone because Billy had hidden the bones
in the house before going back to the hospital, and now he couldn't
remember where he put them.

These are problems to a little boy who knows he is not going home. On my
way out of the room, with tear-streaked makeup running down my neck, I
gave Mom and Dad my real name and phone number (another automatic
dismissal for Ronald McDonald, but I figured that I was gone and had
nothing to lose), and said if there was anything the McDonald's
Corporation or I could do, to give me a call and consider it done......

Less than 48 hours later, I received a phone call form Billy's mom. She
informed me that Billy had passed away.  She and her husband simply
wanted to thank me for making a difference in their little boy's life.
Billy's mom told me that shortly after I left the room, Billy looked at 
her and said, "Momma, I don't care anymore if I see Santa this year 
because I was held by Ronald McDonald."

Sometimes we must do what is right for the moment, regardless of the
perceived risk.  Only experiences have value, and the one biggest 
reason people limit their experiences is because of the risk involved.

For the record, McDonald's did find out about Billy and me, but given the
circumstances, permitted me to retain my job.  I continued as Ronald
for another year before leaving the corporation to share the story of
Billy and how important it is to take risks.

Jeff McMullen