Every week we do come again, even in the rain. We walk together to visit our friends: The Cook, The Joke Man, The Singer, The Grandmother, The Memory Lady and The Quiet Man.
One day Grandpa got very sick and had to go to the hospital. The doctors said they didn’t think he would ever get better.
Saturday came, and it was time to visit the nursing home. How could I go visiting without Grandpa? Then I remembered what Grandpa once told me: “Nothing should stand in the way of doing a good deed.” So I went alone.
Everyone was happy to see me. They were surprised when they didn’t see Grandpa. When I told them that he was sick and in the hospital, they could tell I was sad.
“Everything is in God’s hands,” they told me. “Do your best and God will do the rest.”
The Cook went on to reveal some of her secret ingredients. The Joke Man told me his latest jokes. The Singer sang a song especially for me. The Grandmother showed me more pictures. The Memory Lady shared more of her memories. When I visited The Quiet Man, I asked him lots of questions. When I ran out of questions, I talked about what I had learned in school.
After a while, I said good-bye to everyone, even the woman in charge, behind the desk.
“Thank you for coming,” she said. “May your grandfather have a complete recovery.”
A few days later, Grandpa was still in the hospital. He was not eating, he could not sit up and he could barely speak. I went to the corner of the room so Grandpa wouldn’t see me cry. My mother took my place by the bed and held Grandpa’s hand. The room was dim and very quiet.
Suddenly the nurse came into the room and said, “You have some visitors.”
“Is this the place with the party?” I heard a familiar voice ask.
I looked up. It was The Joke Man. Behind him were the Cook, The Singer, The Grandmother, The Memory Lady, The Quiet Man and even the woman in charge, behind the desk.
The Cook told Grandpa about all the great food that she would cook for him once he got well. She had even brought him a hot bowl of homemade chicken soup.
“Chicken soup? What this man needs is a pastrami sandwich,” said The Joke Man as he let out one of his deep, rich laughs.
Everyone laughed with him. Then he told us some new jokes. By the time he was finished, everyone had to use tissues to dry their eyes from laughing so hard.
Next, The Grandmother showed Grandpa a get-well card made by two of her granddaughters. On the front of one card was a picture of a clown holding balloons. “Get well soon!” was scribbled in crayon on the inside.
The Singer started singing, and we all sang along with him. The Memory Lady told us how Grandpa once came to visit her in a snowstorm, just to bring her some roses for her birthday.
Before I knew it, visiting hours were up. Everyone said a short prayer for Grandpa. Then they said good-bye and told him that they would see him again soon.
That evening, Grandpa called the nurse in and said he was hungry. Soon he began to sit up. Finally he was able to get out of bed. Each day, Grandpa felt better and better, and he grew stronger and stronger. Soon he was able to go home.
The doctors were shocked. They said his recovery was a medical miracle. But I knew the truth: His friends’ visit had made him well.
Grandpa is better now. Every Saturday, without fail, we walk together to visit our friends: The Cook, The Joke Man, The Singer, The Grandmother, The Memory Lady, The Quiet Man . . . and the woman in charge, behind the desk.
Debbie Herman
The Fire Truck
Some people give time, some money, some their skills and connections; some literally give their blood . . . but everyone has something to give.
Barbara Bush
After her parents split up, things at Tami’s house changed. Her mom started working, and Tami became responsible for caring for the house and making meals for herself and her younger sister. Though money was tight, they never went without. They had a nice home in a modest neighborhood, and the girls never wanted for the necessities—food, clothing and shelter. What Tami missed most of all, though, was family.
Tami spent the summer during her ninth-grade year working at a park to earn extra spending money. Her job was to run the ball shed and organize activities for the kids who spent their summer days at the park.
The kids absolutely adored Tami. She was constantly going out of her way to do things for them. She would plan picnics, organize field trips and even buy ice cream for all of them, using her own money. She always did more than the job required, even if it did mean using her own money.
She got to know one little boy who lived in an apartment across the street from the park. His parents both worked at fast-food restaurants, and she knew that they didn’t have much money.
The boy talked about his upcoming birthday and the fire truck he wanted so badly. He said he was going to be a fireman someday and needed the truck to practice. He told Tami more details about the truck than she knew a toy truck could have.
The boy’s birthday came and went. The next day when Tami saw the boy, she expected to see a shiny red truck in his arms. When he arrived empty-handed, she asked about his birthday—did he get his truck?
The boy said no, his parents were going to have to wait and get it for him later, when things were better. He seemed a little sad but kept his chin up as best he could.
That week, Tami cashed her paycheck and headed for the toy store. She found the truck easily—after all, from his descriptions, she felt she knew it inside out. She used the money from her paycheck to buy the truck, then had it wrapped in birthday paper.
Early the next morning, Tami rode her bike to where the boy lived and left the wrapped truck at the door, without a note. When the boy showed up at the park that day, he was more excited than she’d ever seen him. He showed off his new truck to Tami, then played with it all day long.
That afternoon, the boy’s mom came to the park. She walked over to Tami.
“Thank you,” she said.
Tami tried to act confused, as though she didn’t have a clue as to why this woman would be thanking her.
“I get up early in the morning, just like you do,” the mother said.
Knowing that she’d been found out, Tami started to explain, but the woman stopped her.
“We want to pay you back,” the woman said.
Though Tami started to say no, the woman went on to say, “We don’t have the money to pay you for it, but I want you to come over for dinner tonight.” Tami felt she should refuse, but the boy’s mom would not take no for an answer.
After work, Tami walked over to the boy’s house. She could smell dinner coming from their window, though she couldn’t recognize what it was. When she entered their home, she saw that the family of four shared a small and cramped one-bedroom apartment. There were only two chairs at the makeshift table that served as the dining area. Instead of eating at the table, Tami and the family sat together on the ragged couch. They passed around collard greens and macaroni and cheese, laughing as Tami warily tried collard greens for the first time.
Tami had a great time that evening. As she left, it was Tami who was saying thank you. Though their means were modest, her hosts had given Tami something she had been missing—the warmth of a family.
She learned not only the rewards of giving, but that everyone has something to give. And that by accepting what is given to you, you complete the circle of love.
Lori Moore
Merry Christmas, My Friend
Love is the only thing that we can carry with us when we go, and it makes the end so easy.
Louisa May Alcott
“I will never forget you,” the old man said. A tear rolled down his leathery cheek. “I’m getting old. I can’t take care of you anymore.”
With his head tilted to one side, Monsieur DuPree watched his master. “Woof, woof! Woof, woof!” He wagged his tail back and forth, wondering, What’s he talking about?
“I can’t take care of myself anymore, let alo
ne take care of you.” The old man cleared his throat. He pulled a hankie from his pocket and blew his nose with a mighty blast.
“Soon, I’ll move to an old-age home, and, I’m sorry to say, you can’t come along. They don’t allow dogs there, you know.” Bent over from age, the old man limped over to Monsieur DuPree and stroked the dog’s head.
“Don’t worry, my friend. We’ll find a home. We’ll find a nice new home for you.” As an afterthought he added, “Why, with your good looks, we’ll have no trouble at all. Anyone would be proud to own such a fine dog.”
Monsieur DuPree wagged his tail really hard and strutted up and down the kitchen floor. For a moment, the familiar musky scent of the old man mingling with the odor of greasy food gave the dog a feeling of well-being.
But then a sense of dread took hold again. His tail hung between his legs and he stood very still.
“Come here.” With great difficulty, the old man knelt down on the floor and lovingly pulled Monsieur DuPree close to him. He tied a ribbon around the dog’s neck with a huge red bow, and then he attached a note to it. What does it say? Monsieur DuPree wondered.
“It says,” the old man read aloud, “Merry Christmas! My name is Monsieur DuPree. For breakfast, I like bacon and eggs—even cornflakes will do. For dinner, I prefer mashed potatoes and some meat. That’s all. I eat just two meals a day. In return, I will be your most loyal friend.”
“Woof, woof! Woof, woof!” Monsieur DuPree was confused, and his eyes begged, What‘s going on?
The old man blew his nose into his hankie once more. Then, hanging on to a chair, he pulled himself up from the floor. He buttoned his overcoat, reached for the dog’s leash and softly said, “Come here, my friend.” He opened the door against a gust of cold air and stepped outside, pulling the dog behind. Dusk was beginning to fall. Monsieur DuPree pulled back. He didn’t want to go.
“Don’t make this any harder for me. I promise you, you’ll be much better off with someone else.”
The street was deserted. Leaning into the wintry air, the old man and his dog pushed on. It began to snow.
After a very long time, they came upon an old Victorian house surrounded by tall trees, which were swaying and humming in the wind. Shivering in the cold, they appraised the house. Glimmering lights adorned every window, and the muffled sound of a Christmas song was carried on the wind.
“This will be a nice home for you,” the old man said, choking on his words. He bent down and unleashed his dog, then opened the gate slowly, so that it wouldn’t creak. “Go on now. Go up the steps and scratch on the door.”
Monsieur DuPree looked from the house to his master and back again to the house. He did not understand. “Woof, woof! Woof, woof!”
“Go on.” The old man gave the dog a shove. “I have no use for you anymore,” he said in a gruff voice. “Get going now!”
Monsieur DuPree was hurt. He thought his master didn’t love him anymore. He didn’t understand that, indeed, the old man loved him very much but could no longer care for him. Slowly, the dog straggled toward the house and up the steps. He scratched with one paw at the front door. “Woof, woof! Woof, woof!”
Looking back, he saw his master step behind a tree just as someone from inside turned the doorknob. A little boy appeared, framed in the doorway by the warm light coming from within. When he saw Monsieur DuPree, the little boy threw both arms into the air and shouted with delight, “Oh boy! Mom and Dad, come see what Santa brought!”
Through teary eyes, the old man watched from behind the tree as the boy’s mother read the note. Then she tenderly pulled Monsieur DuPree inside. Smiling, the old man wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his cold, damp coat. Then he disappeared into the night, whispering, “Merry Christmas, my friend.”
Christa Holder Ocker
2
ON
FRIENDSHIP
Friends are there to heal the wounds
To pull you out of saddened tunes
To brighten up your cloudy skies
To clear up fictitious lies
Friends are there with open arms
To comfort you and block the harms
To keep your secrets hidden away
To entertain you when you want to play
Friends are there, smile or tear
Friends are there, happiness or fear
Friends are fun and friends are clever
And the ties that bind friends will last forever.
Harmony Davis, age 14
There’s an Alien on the Internet
Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a harder battle.
Plato
Andy has never met Joey in person, even though Joey is his best friend. He met him on the Internet. At school recess he played Star Wars with Kevin and Rob; but it’s all the neat stuff he learned about the solar system from Joey that made his Star Wars games fun. Joey doesn’t go to school. He’s home-schooled. I wish Joey went to our school here in Portland—then I’d never get bored because he’s so smart, thought Andy.
Last week Andy’s teacher, Mrs. Becker, put a big circle on the blackboard and said it was a pizza pie. “Andy,” she said, “if I were to divide the pizza, would you like one-third or one-tenth?”
Ten is the bigger number, so that’s what he picked. Kevin started waving his hand in the air, shouting that he chose one-third. Mrs. Becker drew lines on the circle, showing that his piece of the pie was bigger than Andy’s.
“Andy’s gonna get hungry,” Kevin teased. Sandra, the girl who sat behind Andy started to snicker. Then the whole class was laughing. I wish that the recess bell would ring, thought Andy, as he planned how he would play by himself during recess, instead of with Kevin and Rob.
Mrs. Becker’s stern voice quieted the room. “Andy, do you see how the more you divide the whole pie, the smaller the pieces become?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Andy lied.
The recess bell didn’t ring for another half hour, and by then Mrs. Becker had assigned twenty problems in the class math book. Each problem had two fractions with an empty circle between the fractions. The students were supposed to put a sign, > greater than, or < lesser than, in each circle. Looking at all those fractions and circles made Andy dizzy. He decided he had a fifty-fifty chance of guessing which way to point the arrows, so he guessed— wrong.
After school, when Andy got on-line with Joey, he typed: “Flunked my math quiz today. I don’t get fractions, how to tell which is bigger.” Joey typed back: “Here’s a good trick. Cross-multiply from the bottom up.” Then he went to his drawing board and showed Andy how.
“Five times two equals ten. Three times four equals twelve. Ten is smaller than twelve.” His trick made it a cinch, even for Andy. The next week, when Mrs. Becker gave a fractions test, Andy was the only kid who got 100 percent. The class didn’t think Andy was so stupid anymore, thanks to Joey.
After Joey and Andy got to be such good pals, Andy asked Joey to send him a picture and told Joey he would send one of his in return. Andy’s Little League team was having their picture taken in their uniforms, and Andy had posed for his with his bat over his shoulder, like he was up to the plate about to hit a home run. Andy thought, as he looked at his picture before he sent it to Joey, I look pretty cool, really athletic. Andy mailed one to Joey in Tallahassee, and started waiting for his picture to arrive in the mail.
Each day when Andy talked on the Internet, he asked Joey if he’d received his photo yet. On the third day Joey said, “Your picture came, and it’s awesome. Thanks!”
“Great!” Andy replied. “Then I should be getting yours soon.” But Joey’s picture never came, and each time they talked, Andy told him, “Still no picture. Maybe you’d better send another.”
It was weird. No photo and no comment from Joey. He’d just change the subject. Then one day when they were talking about Star Wars and aliens Andy asked him, “What if there really are aliens in disguise on earth? You know, like in the TV program Third Rock from the Sun or the
book My Teacher’s an Alien?”
It seemed like a long time before the screen lit up with his reply. “Can you keep a secret?”
“I guess,” Andy answered.
“Promise? It’s really important!”
“Sure. I promise.”
“I’m an alien from another galaxy. That’s why I can’t send you a photograph. My energy field can’t be caught on film.”
Andy sat there, staring at the screen. His mother was calling him to dinner, but it was Joey who signed off while he sat, staring at the computer, in a daze. Was this one of Joey’s jokes? Then why didn’t he send a picture? Is this why he knew so much more than other kids about spaceships and outer space? Why was he so secretive?
At dinner, Dad announced, “Good news! My transfer request was approved. We’ll be moving to the home office in Denver at the end of this month. The company has found a rental home for us that’s close to a good school for Andy and with plenty of room for Grandma to live with us.”
Andy’s mom was happy because her mother had been in a Denver nursing home ever since she fell and broke her hip, and she wanted to have Grandma live with them. Andy just felt mixed up.
That night in bed, Andy thought about being a new kid in a new school. I remember how I felt when we moved here. It was hard to make new friends. It seemed like everybody stared at me the first day, and the other kids treated me differently for a while until they got to know me. That was the last thing he thought about before he fell asleep.
The next morning, as Andy was sitting at the kitchen table, eating cereal, his mom was watching a show on TV. A newscaster was interviewing a lady in Tallahassee, Florida. “Tell me about the role the Internet plays in Joey’s life,” the newscaster asked.
“Well, it has allowed him a freedom he’s never known before. Not only is he able to access information from his wheelchair, but most important, he has made new friends.”
Chicken Soup for the Kid's Soul: 101 Stories of Courage, Hope and Laughter Page 4
