Chicken Soup for the Kid's Soul: 101 Stories of Courage, Hope and Laughter

by Jack Canfield

  Ever since that day, I think my dad has tried to cut back on cigarettes. I’m still telling him how much I love him and don’t want to lose him because of smoking. I know one thing: I want to live a long time. And I don’t want to be sick or out of control of my life, the way that lady was. I’ll never smoke. I’ll take fresh air, thank you.

  Valeria Soto, age 12

  [EDITORS’ NOTE: To learn more about the effects of smoking, contact the Campaign for Tobacco-Free Kids at their Web site: www.tobaccofreekids.org or call 800-284-KIDS to get involved in their campaign against the tobacco industry.

  ]

  DARE Rap

  When you SMOKE

  It’s no JOKE

  Smoking turns lungs BLACK

  And causes you to HACK

  If you go ahead and SMOKE

  You are going to CROAK

  If you smoke POT

  Your brain will ROT

  When you drink BEER

  You can’t think CLEAR

  When you drink BOOZE

  Your brain will SNOOZE

  If you take a DRUG

  You turn into a SLUG

  When you get HIGH

  You might try to FLY

  And you will DIE

  So if you go to a PARTY

  Be a SMARTY!

  Listen to my VOICE

  Make the right CHOICE

  If you never drink and DRIVE

  You have a good chance of staying ALIVE.

  Shelly Merkes, age 12

  I’m Not Dana

  Iam the force; I can clear any obstacle before me, or I can be lost in the maze. My choice; my responsibility; win or lose, only I hold the key to my destiny.

  Elaine Maxwell

  My mother raised all three of us kids right, and that’s a fact. But for some reason two of us turned out right—and my older sister, Dana, didn’t.

  When she went to the same elementary school where I go now, she was perfectly fine. She started having problems after she went into seventh grade. Dana dropped her old friends and began hanging with new people that our family didn’t know. No matter what my mom and dad said to her, she still did what she wanted. Everyone in the family was feeling terrible, especially me. I had always looked up to my sister and had wanted to be just like her. Now I just couldn’t figure out what was happening. Dana didn’t act as if she liked any of us anymore, and she never talked to me at all.

  It kept getting worse and worse. By the time she was in high school, she had started drinking alcohol and staying out late at night. She only came home to take a shower, make a mess and then leave again. I couldn’t believe that this person was my sister Dana. My sister, who took D.A.R.E. and who had gone to church with us, had turned into a stranger.

  One day when I was in sixth grade, I came home from school and heard screaming. I ran into the kitchen, and there was my dad, my mom, my grandma and Dana. They had Dana tied up on the floor, and my mom and grandma were holding her. Tears were running down Dana’s cheeks, and her face was all red from screaming. My dad was sitting on the floor next to her, and he was crying. The only other time I had seen my father cry was when his father died. I couldn’t stand to look anymore at what was going on, so I ran into my room and slammed the door.

  Some people came and took Dana away. My mom and dad sent her to Utah, to a home for kids who have problems. We all miss her so much. She came home for a short visit this summer, but she can’t come home to stay yet. Sometimes my mom cries when we talk about her.

  After Dana went away, I found this note in her room:

  To Sabrina,

  When Death knocks, you hide in the corner, while I run and greet it.

  Dana

  I think she felt so bad about herself that she wanted to die. I think she felt like she had no control over the bad things she did to herself. I can’t imagine what happened to her to have her do the things that she did. But I do know this. I’m not going to drink, and I won’t do bad things to myself. I don’t want to ruin my future or regret my past. I hope that it’s not too late for Dana. She’s my sister and I still love her. Maybe someday she will find the person deep inside that she used to be—I know she’s still in there somewhere.

  Sabrina Anne Tyler, age 11

  No Home

  America is an enormous frosted cupcake in the middle of millions of starving people.

  Gloria Steinem

  My mama lost her job. She has no money, so we have to move out of our house. We have nowhere to live because Mama has no money. While we look for a place to sleep, I help take care of my sister. I tell her not to cry and dry her tears with my mitten.

  We find a church basement to live in at night. Because it’s late, all the cots are taken. The basement is cold, and the cement floor hurts my head. I wonder what will happen if Mama never finds a job. We might have to live in a basement forever.

  During the day, I watch my sister on the street corners while Mama looks for a job. Mama talks to lots of people. We stand on lots of street corners. All day, people rush by us. I think about why they hurry. Maybe they’re going to their jobs, or maybe to their homes. I guess only people without homes stand still on street corners.

  Mama finishes talking to people for today. I decide not to ask her if she got a job. Her face, all tight with worry, tells me the answer. As we walk, I think about school. Mama says I can’t go to school for a while. I wonder if I’ll like it when I go back. Maybe the work will be too hard for me. Maybe the kids will tease me because we lost our home. What will happen to my sister if I go back to school before Mama finds a job? Mama tells me not to be afraid, drying my tears with her glove. She says she will find a job soon.

  At night, we eat at the soup kitchen. A woman wearing plastic gloves and a baseball cap puts food on my tray. I’m real hungry, but I look in my stew for anything mushy. I see lots of peas. Picking out each one, I hide them under the rim of my bowl. Mama is reading want ads in the newspaper and doesn’t notice. But a man with dirty hair sitting across from me does. When he smiles, I see he has lost both his front teeth. He hisses when he tells me his name is Joe. As I eat my stew, I wonder if I missed a pea. I chew slowly, just to be sure. After supper, Mama takes my tray to the trash can. She sees the peas but says nothing. When we had a home, she used to make me eat my peas. Things are different now.

  Later on, we find three cots to sleep on. Each has a pillow, a blanket and a small towel. Picking up my towel, I follow Mama to the bathroom. She shows me how to take a bath at the sink. I use grainy soap that hurts my skin. I wonder if someone will come in while I’m taking my bath. I wash fast. I’m cold. Even with my clothes on, I’m cold. Mama says my hair will have to wait. I think about Joe’s hair. Living in a church basement for a long time must have made his hair look that way. I think about my hair. Maybe I’ll wash it in the sink sometime.

  Joe’s hair is a mess, but he has money. I see the shiny coins in his guitar case. At night, he plays his guitar. I listen real hard to the music, and then I’m not so cold. When the music stops, I see my sister shiver. Mama puts her coat over us. I wonder if Mama sleeps.

  My mama lost her job, and it takes a long time to find another. But I’m not afraid because I know my mama is smart. She keeps me warm at night. She dries my tears with her glove. I know she will find a job. I know my mama will carry us home.

  Elizabeth A. Gilbert-Bono

  10

  ECLECTIC

  WISDOM

  I am me.

  There will not ever be anyone like me.

  I am special because I am unique.

  I am stardust and dreams.

  I am light.

  I am love and hope.

  I am hugs, and sometimes tears.

  I am the words “I love you.”

  I am swirls of blue, green, red, yellow, purple,

  orange, and colors no one can name.

  I am the sky, the sea, the earth.

  I trust, yet I fear.

  I hide, yet I don’t hold anything ba
ck.

  I am free.

  I am a child becoming an adult.

  I am me, and me is just right.

  Beth Schaffer, age 15

  Baby’s Ears

  How many a man has thrown up his hands at a time when a little more effort, a little more patience, would have achieved success?

  Elbert Hubbard

  Mom poured herself a glass of orange juice. “I’m worried about Grandma,” she said. I was pouring syrup on my French toast, hot and sweet, just the way I liked it.

  “Why?” I asked as I licked a drop of syrup from my fork.

  “Well, remember before she moved to Florida, how early Grandma would get up?”

  “Before the sun,” I said, “to make pancakes and bacon.”

  My mom nodded. “But now Grandma sleeps most of the day or watches television. I can’t get her out of the house, and she won’t try to make friends.” Mom frowned and lowered her voice. “Grandma’s even talking about going back to New York.”

  “Back to New York? But you said that she couldn’t live alone anymore. That’s why she came to live here.” I like Florida. Of course, I have a lot of girlfriends to play with in my sixth-grade class.

  “If Grandma went back to New York, she would have to live in a nursing home,” my mother told me. “That’s a place where old people live and nurses take care of them.”

  “It sounds like a hospital to me,” I said. I thought for a minute. “I’ll find a way to make Grandma like Florida.”

  Mom smiled and said, “I wish you could.”

  After school, I saw Grandma watching television and figured she hadn’t moved all day. In my room, I sat on my bed and took out my seashell collection. I had found Striped Whelks, Purple Sea Snails and even a Queen Conch Shell. You can hold a conch shell up to your ear and actually hear the ocean waves. My very favorite shell was called a Baby’s Ear. It’s a beautiful white shell shaped just like the ear of a baby, all swirly and delicate.

  Looking at my seashells gave me an idea. I went into the living room and sat on the couch. “Did you ever go to the beach when you were little, Grandma?” I asked.

  “Once my mother took me, but I didn’t enjoy it at all,” she said, frowning.

  “Really?” I took an oatmeal cookie from the plate on the coffee table. “Why not?“

  “I’m afraid of the water, and I can’t swim.” Grandma pursed her lips as though she’d tasted a lemon. I wished Grandma could feel the way I did about the beach. I loved to see pelicans flying over the water, and once I even saw a huge green iguana.

  “Well, I was wondering if you could take me to the beach, Grandma. I need some new shells for my collection.”

  Grandma didn’t even look up from the TV. “I’m watching my show, Val. Can’t you go by yourself?”

  “No. I’m not allowed to go to the beach by myself. Please!” I begged, imagining Grandma in a nursing home.

  “Oh, all right,” Grandma sighed. She took my hand as we left the house, and we walked to the beach. The sun felt hot enough to melt metal. I handed Grandma a plastic bag. “Here. This is for the seashells you find.”

  “Oh, I’ll leave that to you,” she said. A soft ocean breeze blew her gray curls across her eyes.

  I shook my head. “No, Grandma. I need all the help I can get.”

  “Oh, all right,” she said. We walked side by side up the beach, our heads down, looking for only the most beautiful shells.

  “Doesn’t look like there’s much to choose from,” Grandma said, shading her eyes with her hand. “Maybe we should go home.”

  “Not yet, Grandma! I’ll go ahead like a scout and see if I find anything good.” I looked back at her as I walked ahead. Grandma stood watching the ocean waves and the seagulls that flew over the water searching for fish. She took off her shoes and carried them.

  I ran on ahead and slipped a Pink Triton shell from my pocket, dropping it in the sand. Farther up the beach, I did the same with my Blue Starfish and my Green Serpent Star. Finally, I dropped my favorite shell, the Baby’s Ear.

  Just then, I heard Grandma shout, “Val! Look what I found!” Grandma stood in the sand, holding up the pink Triton.

  “That’s beautiful, Grandma!” I cried. “It will look great in my collection.”

  Grandma nodded and smiled. “Let’s keep looking!” she said, suddenly excited. I pretended to pass right by the Blue Starfish, but Grandma bent down slowly and picked it up. “Val! Look at this starfish. It’s blue!”

  “You’re really good at this, Grandma!”

  She carried her plastic bag proudly. At last, Grandma came to my favorite shell.

  “Val, look at this strange thing.” She handed it to me.

  I cradled the shell in my hand. “It’s called a Baby’s Ear because that’s what it looks like.”

  “You’re pretty good at this yourself, Val,” Grandma said, giving me a hug. On the way home we waded in the ocean. Grandma seemed to have forgotten her fear of water.

  We met my mom on the front porch. “We’ve been to the beach,” Grandma told her. “And you know, I think I’ll start a shell collection of my own. You can help me, Val.”

  “Okay, Grandma,” I said.

  My mom and I shared a secret smile.

  Valerie Allen

  Kindness Is Contagious

  The place to improve the world is first in one’s own heart and head and hands. . . .

  Robert M. Pirsig

  When I was through with my doctor’s appointment, I made my way down to the lobby. My mom was going to pick me up, but knowing how she was always late, I realized I had some time to spare. I took a seat in the lobby and smiled politely at the three elderly people sitting near me. There were two women and one old man. Then I dug into my backpack for my library book.

  Just as I started to read, one of the women struck up a loud conversation with anyone who would listen. She relayed her adventures purchasing her new eyeglasses. I smiled and listened to her tale; she had a lot to say. When her husband pulled up in front of the big glass doors, her story ended abruptly. She was gone.

  The old man’s ride arrived just as quickly. His daughter pulled up in a station wagon filled with kids. She burst through the doors, saying, “Pop, are you ready?” That left just me and a beautiful gray-haired woman in the lobby.

  I looked directly at her. She appeared dignified, serious and stern. I thought she might be a former English teacher because she impressed me as a person with knowledge and confidence. She intentionally avoided my direct glance, but as I lifted my book to read, I could feel her eyes carefully gazing in my direction.

  Concentrating on reading was impossible. My thoughts kept shifting from the beautiful gray-haired woman to thoughts of school.

  Everyone was talking about graduation. The other kids had been discussing what presents to buy for each other. My face turned red at the thought. It had never occurred to me that kids bought presents for graduation. In our home, relatives bought the graduate presents, not friends. I had no money. And I couldn’t ask my parents; they hadn’t any money either. Yet I longed to be able to share with my best friends something that would help them remember our friendships, even if it was just something little.

  I prayed, Oh God, help. What am I going to do?

  My mind was still deep in thought when suddenly I heard a commotion at the entrance doors. There was an elderly woman in a wheelchair and another older woman trying to push her along. They were struggling with the heavy glass door. A bustling crowd too busy to help sidestepped them to get by, leaving them to struggle alone.

  I jumped up to help them. It was only then that I realized the woman pushing the wheelchair could barely walk. I eased them through both sets of doors and helped them to the elevator. They thanked me, but I could see that they still had a monumental struggle ahead. They still needed to get on and off of the elevator, and into their doctor’s office safely.

  I decided to ride with them on the elevator. I asked them which floor they nee
ded, and then I made sure they found the correct office. They thanked me again. I told them it was my pleasure, and I really meant it. I was truly happy to help them.

  I was on my way down in the elevator when I realized that I had left my backpack on the lobby chair. My backpack had nothing of value in it, just a wallet with fifty-nine cents in change, a small mirror, a comb and some tissues. But then I remembered that my precious library book was also on the chair.

  The elevator could not go fast enough. As the doors opened, I held my breath, hoping against all hope that my backpack and library book were still there. I rushed into the lobby.

  They were both safely on the chair, just as I had left them.

  As I sat down, I could feel the beautiful gray-haired woman’s smiling eyes on me. She seemed proud for some reason. Then her taxi arrived, and, without a word, she was gone.

  I decided to pick through my pennies to see if I had enough money to buy a package of peanuts at the little pharmacy. I opened my backpack. To my surprise, tucked neatly inside my wallet was a fifty-dollar bill!

  My mind flashed to the beautiful woman with the proud look in her eye. I had been kind to a stranger, and in turn, a stranger had been kind to me. I knew that God had answered my prayer.

  Kristin Seuntjens

  Do You Have Your Wallet?

  The experience gathered from books, though often valuable, is but the nature of learning: whereas the experience gained from actual life is of the nature of wisdom.

  Samuel Smiles

  This is a story about a learning experience that had a big effect on the way that I live my life. The teacher in the story did not scream, assign homework, give me tests or even grade me on my work. I was taught by one of the most effective methods of teaching, one that only people with lots of love can do.