Many years ago, there was an Emperor, who was so excessively fond of new clothes, that he spent all his money in dress. He did not trouble himself in the least about his soldiers; nor did he care to go either to the theater or the chase, except for the opportunities then afforded him for displaying his new clothes. He had a different suit for each hour of the day; and as of any other king or emperor, one is accustomed to say, "he is sitting in council," it was always said of him, "The Emperor is sitting in his wardrobe."

Time passed merrily in the large town which was his capital; strangers arrived every day at the court. One day, two rogues, calling themselves weavers, made their appearance. They gave out that they knew how to weave stuffs of the most beautiful colors and elaborate patterns, the clothes manufactured from which should have the wonderful property of remaining invisible to everyone who was unfit for the office he held, or who was extraordinarily simple in character.

"These must, indeed, be splendid clothes!" thought the Emperor. "Had I such a suit, I might at once find out what men in my realms are unfit for their office, and also be able to distinguish the wise from the foolish! This stuff must be woven for me immediately." And he caused large sums of money to be given to both the weavers in order that they might begin their work directly.

So the two pretended weavers set up two looms, and affected to work very busily, though in reality they did nothing at all. They asked for the most delicate silk and the purest gold thread; put both into their own knapsacks; and then continued their pretended work at the empty looms until late at night.

"I should like to know how the weavers are getting on with my cloth," said the Emperor to himself, after some little time had elapsed; he was, however, rather embarrassed, when he remembered that a simpleton, or one unfit for his office, would be unable to see the manufacture. To be sure, he thought he had nothing to risk in his own person; but yet, he would prefer sending somebody else, to bring him intelligence about the weavers, and their work, before he troubled himself in the affair. All the people throughout the city had heard of the wonderful property the cloth was to possess; and all were anxious to learn how wise, or how ignorant, their neighbors might prove to be.

 "I will send my faithful old minister to the weavers," said the Emperor at last, after some deliberation, "he will be best able to see how the cloth looks; for he is a man of sense, and no one can be more suitable for his office than be is."

So the faithful old minister went into the hall, where the knaves were working with all their might, at their empty looms. "What can be the meaning of this?" thought the old man, opening his eyes very wide. "I cannot discover the least bit of thread on the looms." However, he did not express his thoughts aloud.

The impostors requested him very courteously to be so good as to come nearer their looms; and then asked him whether the design pleased him, and whether the colors were not very beautiful; at the same time pointing to the empty frames. The poor old minister looked and looked, he could not discover anything on the looms, for a very good reason, viz: there was nothing there. "What!" thought he again. "Is it possible that I am a simpleton? I have never thought so myself; and no one must know it now if I am so. Can it be, that I am unfit for my office? No, that must not be said either. I will never confess that I could not see the stuff."

"Well, Sir Minister!" said one of the knaves, still pretending to work. "You do not say whether the stuff pleases you."

"Oh, it is excellent!" replied the old minister, looking at the loom through his spectacles. "This pattern, and the colors, yes, I will tell the Emperor without delay, how very beautiful I think them."

"We shall be much obliged to you," said the impostors, and then they named the different colors and described the pattern of the pretended stuff. The old minister listened attentively to their words, in order that he might repeat them to the Emperor; and then the knaves asked for more silk and gold, saying that it was necessary to complete what they had begun. However, they put all that was given them into their knapsacks; and continued to work with as much apparent diligence as before at their empty looms.

The Emperor now sent another officer of his court to see how the men were getting on, and to ascertain whether the cloth would soon be ready. It was just the same with this gentleman as with the minister; he surveyed the looms on all sides, but could see nothing at all but the empty frames.

"Does not the stuff appear as beautiful to you, as it did to my lord the minister?" asked the impostors of the Emperor's second ambassador; at the same time making the same gestures as before, and talking of the design and colors which were not there.

"I certainly am not stupid!" thought the messenger. "It must be, that I am not fit for my good, profitable office! That is very odd; however, no one shall know anything about it." And accordingly he praised the stuff he could not see, and declared that he was delighted with both colors and patterns. "Indeed, please your Imperial Majesty," said he to his sovereign when he returned, "the cloth which the weavers are preparing is extraordinarily magnificent."

The whole city was talking of the splendid cloth which the Emperor had ordered to be woven at his own expense.

And now the Emperor himself wished to see the costly manufacture, while it was still in the loom. Accompanied by a select number of officers of the court, among whom were the two honest men who had already admired the cloth, he went to the crafty impostors, who, as soon as they were aware of the Emperor's approach, went on working more diligently than ever; although they still did not pass a single thread through the looms.

"Is not the work absolutely magnificent?" said the two officers of the crown, already mentioned. "If your Majesty will only be pleased to look at it! What a splendid design! What glorious colors!" and at the same time they pointed to the empty frames; for they imagined that everyone else could see this exquisite piece of workmanship.

"How is this?" said the Emperor to himself. "I can see nothing! This is indeed a terrible affair! Am I a simpleton, or am I unfit to be an Emperor? That would be the worst thing that could happen--Oh! The cloth is charming," said he, aloud. "It has my complete approbation." And he smiled most graciously, and looked closely at the empty looms; for on no account would he say that he could not see what two of the officers of his court had praised so much. All his retinue now strained their eyes, hoping to discover something on the looms, but they could see no more than the others; nevertheless, they all exclaimed, "Oh, how beautiful!" and advised his majesty to have some new clothes made from this splendid material, for the approaching procession. "Magnificent! Charming! Excellent!" resounded on all sides; and everyone was uncommonly gay. The Emperor shared in the general satisfaction; and presented the impostors with the riband of an order of knighthood, to be worn in their button-holes, and the title of "Gentlemen Weavers."

The rogues sat up the whole of the night before the day on which the procession was to take place, and had sixteen lights burning, so that everyone might see how anxious they were to finish the Emperor's new suit. They pretended to roll the cloth off the looms; cut the air with their scissors; and sewed with needles without any thread in them. "See!" cried they, at last. "The Emperor's new clothes are ready!"

And now the Emperor, with all the grandees of his court, came to the weavers; and the rogues raised their arms, as if in the act of holding something up, saying, "Here are your Majesty's trousers! Here is the scarf! Here is the mantle! The whole suit is as light as a cobweb; one might fancy one has nothing at all on, when dressed in it; that, however, is the great virtue of this delicate cloth."

"Yes indeed!" said all the courtiers, although not one of them could see anything of this exquisite manufacture.

"If your Imperial Majesty will be graciously pleased to take off your clothes, we will fit on the new suit, in front of the looking glass."

The Emperor was accordingly undressed, and the rogues pretended to array him in his new suit; the Emperor turning round, from side to side, before the looking glass.

"How splendid his Majesty looks in his new clothes, and how well they fit!" everyone cried out. "What a design! What colors! These are indeed royal robes!"

"The canopy which is to be borne over your Majesty, in the procession, is waiting," announced the chief master of the ceremonies.

"I am quite ready," answered the Emperor. "Do my new clothes fit well?" asked he, turning himself round again before the looking glass, in order that he might appear to be examining his handsome suit.

The lords of the bedchamber, who were to carry his Majesty's train felt about on the ground, as if they were lifting up the ends of the mantle; and pretended to be carrying something; for they would by no means betray anything like simplicity, or unfitness for their office.

So now the Emperor walked under his high canopy in the midst of the procession, through the streets of his capital; and all the people standing by, and those at the windows, cried out, "Oh! How beautiful are our Emperor's new clothes! What a magnificent train there is to the mantle; and how gracefully the scarf hangs!" in short, no one would allow that he could not see these much-admired clothes; because, in doing so, he would have declared himself either a simpleton or unfit for his office. Certainly, none of the Emperor's various suits, had ever made so great an impression, as these invisible ones.

"But the Emperor has nothing at all on!" said a little child.

"Listen to the voice of innocence!" exclaimed his father; and what the child had said was whispered from one to another.

"But he has nothing at all on!" at last cried out all the people. The Emperor was vexed, for he knew that the people were right; but he thought the procession must go on now! And the lords of the bedchamber took greater pains than ever, to appear holding up a train, although, in reality, there was no train to hold.

The old man turned to me and asked
"How many friends have you?"
Why 10 or 20 friends have I,
And named off just a few...

He rose quite slow with effort
And sadly shook his head
"A lucky child you are
To have so many friends," he said

But think of what you're saying
There is so much you do not know
A friend is just not someone
To whom you say "Hello".
                  
A friends a tender shoulder
On which to softly cry
A well to pour your troubles down
And raise your spirits high

A friend is a hand to pull you up
From darkness and despair...
When all your other "so called" friends
Have helped to put you there

A true friend is an ally
Who can't be moved or bought
A voice to keep your name alive
When others have forgot

But most of all a friend is a heart
A strong and sturdy wall
For from the hearts of friends
There comes the greatest love of all!!!

So think of what I've spoken
For every word is true
And answer once again my child
How many friends have you???

And then he stood and faced me
Awaiting my reply
Softly I answered
"If lucky...... one have "I"

"You!!!!"

He could not believe that this was how it was going to end. After everything that he had been thorough in his life it had come down to this. As big and as strong as he once was. Flat on his back in a hospital bed with a heart that was giving up.

He thought about everything he put himself thorough. The broken bones knocked out teeth six years in the military. All the booze, cigarettes and drugs some legal most them not. Here he was paying for the life that he led. All the hours spent on that big two wheeler. Just having to see what was over the next horizon. The wander lust in his heart. Who could have put up with that?

He thought about the girl who spent so many miles riding behind him. How he loved that woman now. Twenty-five years of good times and bad. She never left sometimes he didn’t understand why she stayed. He was grateful that she did. She was his world. Some days his temper was not to be believed. He could be moody for weeks at a time. By the end of the winter he was wearing a groove in the carpet waiting on the weather so he could get back outside. How that woman could stand that just amazed him. Then there was their daughter.

What a spitfire she is. Whoever she marries is going to have their hands full. He thought about all the overtime he put in and how much of her life he missed. She is almost finished with college. How wild is that his daughter in law school. Is the world ready for that? He wonders if she knows how proud of her he is. Does she know how much he loves her? Not being there for her is what hurts the most about this.

He was not going to think like that. He’ll get a transplant stop smoking and drinking and life will go on as it has in the past. A cigarette sounds good about now he thought. The rare blood type that he has that kept in beer money half of his life. Is now going to be the reason that he ends dying on his back in a hospital bed. What a way to go out. Where is the blaze of glory he always figured would accompany his departure from this world. No bells or whistle just a slow fading away. That sucks.

He woke up to hearing voices in his room. He looked around and saw that they had brought in another patient and put in his room. No dying alone now even if he wanted too. He saw woman pass by the end of the other bed. She was huge. She must have been at eight months pregnant. He thought how sad is that to have a pregnant wife and be in the IC unit of the hospital. He could them talking. The man voice was weak and he was trying to be encouraging to the woman. She told the man that he needed to get some rest and that she would there when he woke up. He could hear the steady breathing of his roommate as realized that he must have fallen on the woman’s command. He could hear the woman mumbling. He thought prayers at this point lady are not going to help. Then voice got a little louder and he could hear her.

She was praying. Just like he thought. But what she was praying for sent chills down his spine. "Oh God just a couple of more months. Please let him live long enough to hold our child in his arms at least once before you call him home. Please just a few more days. I know he is dying but let him see his child first."

As he laid he thought how hard her life was going to be. He thought about the unborn child growing up without their father. Who would his daughter be if he had died that early in her life. What would happen to his wife. With his quirks she loved him with all of her being. How would have she survived.

He must have drifted off again.    
                        
With the lighting in this place you can never figure out what time it is. His roommates were talking again about how he would never get the transplant that he needed in time the list was so long and he was so sick.

The nurse came in and told him we have to get you ready they had found him a heart. It was on its way and they needed to get him prep for the surgery. He looked at her ask her to get his wife and his daughter for him. She said there was no time. He looked at her and told her to make the time.

He watched his wife walk in. She was so beautiful. Their daughter behind her, her mother’s looks and intelligence and her father pit bull mentality and he smiled. One on either side of his bed holding his hands. Was he strong enough for this he didn’t know? He done a lot bad things in his life he cut corners and cheated when he could get a way with. But this was different this was where the rubber meets the road. He knew what had to be done. He looked at his wife and said, "I love more now than I ever did thank you for the life we have had. I will miss you."

To his daughter he said, "Never in my wildest dreams did I ever think that I could have a child like you. No father anywhere at anytime could be a more proud parent than I am. You are the best thing that has ever happened to me. I will love until the last star is a memory."

The doctor came rushing into the room and started talking about how they had to get him ready. He looked at wife and his daughter then he turned to the doctor and told him "Doc we ain’t doing this. You give that heart to the person on the list. I have had a good life. Let someone else get a chance at theirs."

He looked at the other woman in the room as said. "How could God not answer your prayer"

He looked at wife and said "Get me out of here while I still have the strength to leave and before I get scared."

The doctor left the nurse brought in a wheel chair at he left that hospital knowing he had done the right thing. He didn’t particularly believe God but some else needed that heart. He died that at his home with wife and daughter with him. A cigarette in his mouth and a beer in his hand. With no regrets.

Back at the hospital days kept turning. His roommate was recovering from getting his heart transplant. And it looked like he would get to see his unborn child grow up.

The nurse took a different position at the hospital she could not work with dying people anymore. So she went to OB/GYN department help bring lives into the world. As things would happen the woman whose husband had needed the transplant months before was there to have her baby. The nurse was not involved in the delivery but stayed to see the child. As she was looking at baby thorough the window the husband showed up to see the baby. He noticed the tears that were running down the nurse’s face and asked her way was she crying.

The nurse responded pointing at his child she said "That baby has daddy because of the unselfishness of one man. And the baby’s mother’s prayer."

The man asked to explain why she would say this about this child. She told him of a night when she worked in the Intensive care unit of hospital. And that a man gave up his heart transplant to the next person on the list. The next person on the list at the hospital with the same blood type was the baby’s father.