That made sense to me and the “shocking” part also made me laugh, so I told her the whole story. We must have sat there on the cold concrete floor for forty-five minutes talking before I decided that I would leave the girls’ bathroom.
When we returned to the classroom, Janie came by my desk and tried to say something comforting, but laughed and snorted instead. Other kids told me that my hair looked nice, which made me feel a little better, even though I found out later the principal had been there lecturing them about “putting themselves in my shoes.” Later someone passed me a note that read, “Don’t worry, it will grow back.”
I think it was from the cutest boy in the class.
Kerry Germain
Get Over It and Go On
The ideal man bears the accidents of life with dignity and grace, making the best of circumstances.
Aristotle
I was a ten-year-old girl who loved to wrestle, build tree forts in the woods by my house and spend time with my friends—just like I had done on the night that my life changed. We were on our way home from my sister’s birthday skating party, and my seven-year-old sister, Tiffany, and I were both exhausted after skating all night, so we were asleep in the back seat of the car.
I awoke to find myself in the hospital. At that moment, all of our lives were already changed. I just didn’t fully realize to what extent things would be different. I soon learned that I had broken my back, which had damaged my spinal cord. I would spend the rest of my life in a wheelchair. My sister, who had two broken legs and a broken arm, would end up in foster care and become separated from me. Mom had some broken bones, but that was mild compared with what would happen to her.
Why?
Because she had been drinking and driving. The police figured that she fell asleep at the wheel and then crashed head-on into a tree while going about 75 miles per hour.
During the time that I was recovering in the hospital, my mom was convicted of drunk driving and child endangerment. They gave her a sentence of three years in prison and she lost her parental rights to us. This news hit me really hard. The courts decided to find my dad so that he could care for us girls, but that didn’t go well. My dad was also on his way to prison after lots of problems with the law. He was sentenced to something like twenty-five years, so he wasn’t able to do anything but give up his parental rights, as well.
So after the accident, my sister and I never went to live at home again. After five months of being in the hospital, I went to live in foster care with a nice couple who were already caring for my sister. Things were fine there, but one day, my sister and I were sent to live with a lady named Paula. Things were all right there for a little while, but then we were split up and my sister went to live with another family. At first, I wasn’t that sad about it, maybe because I had so much to deal with after the accident, but I really began to miss my sister. I wonder about her all the time. I wish so much that we could grow up together, but the accident changed all that.
One day, Paula told me that she knew of a family that might want to adopt me. I said that I would meet them and see what they were like. So, I met the family—Sue and Chris and their two sons, Daniel and Josh, and I liked them a lot. I guess they liked me, because they adopted me.
I had to adjust to having two brothers, which was very different for me because I had never had a brother, let alone two. They act like typical boys and pester me sometimes, but overall, they’re pretty nice.
My adopted mom, Sue, is a nurse, and she encouraged me to try physical therapy to see if I could learn to walk again. But after struggling with crutches and trying as hard as I could, it didn’t work out. That’s when I realized that I had a choice to make. I could put all my interests that involved physical activity aside and forget about them, or I could try doing what I could from a wheelchair.
After looking around for something that I’d like to be involved in, I found out about a wheelchair basketball team for nine- to eighteen-year-olds in our area. I tried out and I made the team! I’m proud to say that we have been number one in the nation for our age group for the past two years. We get to fly to tournaments in different states where we play against several teams over a weekend. That’s the best part of all—traveling and seeing other places. I like meeting new people, too. Every summer now, I also go to two out-of-state basketball camps. The instructors are always really cool and usually teach us some pretty tricky maneuvers. Getting involved in something so much fun and so rewarding has shown me that things are possible, no matter what your situation is.
Just when my life began to level out and get better, my adoptive parents got a divorce, so now I live with my adoptive mom, two brothers and my biological sister. I sometimes wonder what things would have been like if my birth mom hadn’t driven drunk and crashed that night. I can wonder all I want, but I guess it doesn’t matter, ’cause I’ll never know. I just know that life keeps changing, but we have to go on anyway—with or without some of the people that we love. Sometimes, we just don’t have a choice. It’s definitely not fair, but that’s life. You can’t let things get you down, because it gets you nowhere to sulk and feel sorry for yourself.
I know some people might get depressed if they had my life, but the way I see it, it’s like, what’s the point?
You just have to get over it and go on.
Christina Zucal, twelve
The Board
They won’t last long, school days and childish things.
We’re moving up, going our separate ways.
Enjoy your future, all the changes and shifts.
And remember these years were precious gifts.
Maria Lamblin
“We were the cutest babies in the world!” I smiled as I put up the picture of me riding a horse and pretending I could fly.
“I know, look at this one!” Rachel pointed to a picture of us at age five, dressed up in our mothers’ clothing and wearing so much makeup that you could hardly see our skin. We both giggled and shook our heads. We couldn’t believe that we would be graduating in a week.
As a way of celebrating our childhoods, we had been asked to bring in pictures of ourselves growing up. The board took up the space between the eighth-grade classroom and the bathrooms, and every square inch was now covered with pictures. As I looked from photo to photo, from kindergarteners to fourth-graders to sixth-graders, I began to look at my classmates around me.
First I looked at Rachel, and I remembered the first day of school. I was a scared little five-year-old, clinging to my mother for dear life. Then the unimaginable happened, she left me—she just set me down and left me! Having been abandoned by my mother in a room filled with books and crayons, I didn’t know what else to do but cry. I was so busy crying that I didn’t notice the twenty other kids around me that had been left to a similar fate. Then I felt a hand on my shoulder. Expecting to see the scary woman who would be in charge of us each morning, I turned around and saw Rachel. Her hair was darker than midnight, and her skin had a beautiful olive tone. But what was most beautiful about Rachel was her voice. It was the kind of voice that made you just want to listen for hours. It was the kind that was meant for the radio, the kind that captured people’s attention. Even in kindergarten, her voice captivated me, and the first words she spoke remain in my mind. “Why are you crying?”
“My mommy left me,” I sobbed.
“What’s your name?” she asked with confidence.
“Sarah,” came my soggy reply.
“Well, Sarah, wanna play Chutes and Ladders?”
That got my attention. I loved board games. I started to play and after a few minutes I wasn’t crying anymore, I was actually enjoying myself so much, that I cried when it was time to leave.
I looked back at the board and my eyes landed on a picture of TJ. TJ lives right next to me, and we have always been close. I was a bit of a tomboy until about fourth grade and I remember how much fun I had playing with the boys, and how it wouldn’t have been allowed if it weren
’t for TJ.
“C’mon, she’s a girl—she’ll make you play Barbies or somethin’,” one of the boys on our block had said to TJ.
“Let’s go, TJ,” I said. I turned and started to walk away, tears welling up in my eyes, when I heard TJ answer the other boy.
“Nuh-uh, I wanna play with Sarah. She’s more fun than you anyway. We’re gonna play basketball.”
After that day, people started to join our basketball games; first just a few boys brave enough to get beaten by a girl, but pretty soon we had the whole neighborhood on the court. And you know what? I was beating all of them.
“Sarah, Sarah! Earth to Sarah!” I snapped out of my daydream to see Rachel waving her hand in front of my face. “Why are you crying?” she asked, just as she had on that first day. I felt my face, and sure enough, there was a tear rolling down my cheek. Pretty soon, I was pouring out my heart and soul and my face was damp with tears. I was thinking about the million memories that I had collected over the past nine years, and how I was leaving. I was leaving this school. High school would be different. I was afraid that we weren’t going to be as close. I couldn’t imagine how that would feel, and I didn’t even want to.
When I told Rachel this, she just smiled. “We are growing up. We may make new friends, but we will still have each other always.”
She always knew what to say.
As I stood up to leave, I looked at the board once more and noticed how, in every picture, each of us were at different points of our lives, but we were always smiling. We were all okay, even through all the changes. We had grown up in those pictures, as we were growing up in real life.
I took one last sniffle and a deep breath.
I was finally ready for high school.
Sarah Kessler, thirteen
7
BUSTIN’
DOWN WALLS
I did not struggle as invisible hands pulled me down.
I just waited for someone else to pull me out.
I wondered why no one did.
Finally, I realized others were reaching
They just couldn’t reach far enough.
And no rope was long enough for me to grab.
So with all my strength, I started to climb the
mountain.
Because I began to realize that I was the only one
With a rope long enough to pull me out.
Jennifer Lynn Clay, fourteen
To a Different Drummer
If a man does not keep pace with his companions, perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer. Let him step to the music which he hears, however measured or far away.
Henry David Thoreau
“Come on—put up your hands and fight!”
I groaned. Why was this happening to me? My mother had said, “No fighting,” right before I left the house. After coming from London, England, to Kitchener, Canada, to live with her, I was starting a new life. During recess, this kid wanted to scrap with me, and now it looked like I wouldn’t even be able to get through my first day of school and keep my promise to my mum.
“Naw,” I replied.
“You’re just chicken,” he yelled. “Is that it? Are you chicken?” The kid’s red hair blazed in the winter sun and his freckles seemed to jump out of his pale skin. At twelve, I was tall for my age, but I was kind of skinny and lanky. He was taller than me, and with his heavy parka on, he looked heavier than me, too.
“No. I’m not chicken. My mother just told me to stay out of trouble.”
“I don’t care . . . I want to fight with you, anyway.” He pushed me in my chest. Then he put up his hands. “Come on!”
So, I hit him. Down he went into the snow. Other kids on the playground started to circle around us. He got up. He put up his hands—and I hit him again. He went down for a second time. All the kids were yelling, “Fight! Fight!” This time, I kept my hands up just in case someone else in the circle of kids wanted a taste of me, too. I waited, and the kid got back up again.
He walked toward me, stuck out his hand and said, “Shake. I just wanted to see how tough you are. Wanna be friends?”
I heaved a sigh of relief and shook hands with him. I figured that I would need a friend. The snow, strange country, new school, the way that people spoke—different from my London street slang—and being the only black kid for miles around, all of this added up to being a weird new world for me.
I was born in London, England, and lived there with my mother until I was about eight years old. My mum wanted to find a better life for us, so she went to Chicago, in the United States. She left me with friends in London until she got settled enough to send for me. Mum ended up not staying in Chicago but moved to a small town in Canada because she had a friend there who helped her get a good job.
Meanwhile, back in England, I was getting into trouble. I had always felt like an outsider, different from the other kids. They didn’t want to play with me. That made me mad, so I got into fights and ended up getting expelled for being a danger to the other kids at my school. The people I was staying with were upset with me and felt they couldn’t manage me. So, after living with them for almost two years, they sent me to a home for kids—kind of a boarding school. I lived there for a year. I felt alone and bored, the food was gross, and I really missed my mother. Finally, she sent for me.
My mum met me at the airport in Toronto with a smile on her face, a warm hug and huge parka to put on. When we went outside the airport, there was snow all over the ground, the cars—everything! I didn’t know what it was. I asked my mum, “What is this?” I touched the snow and was amazed by how cold and fluffy it was. It was different from anything I had ever seen before.
The weather was different, my school was different, the country was different, but some things were still the same—I was still getting into fights. Other kids picked on me about my accent, the color of my skin, my grades or whatever. I was different, still left out. It didn’t matter; I hated getting picked on, and I let them know it—with my fists. All through grades seven and eight, I was sent to the principal’s office so often that he and I became friends. Instead of punishing me, he would counsel me. He told me that I would be better off using the energy I had in more positive ways and encouraged me to play football and basketball after school. He also suggested that I check out boxing—maybe I could learn to use my fists in a constructive way instead of being on the destructive path I seemed to be headed for.
Even though I was an outsider and a loner, I liked going to school dances. At one of the dances, some of the guys wanted to fight a group of guys from another school. We agreed to meet them on neutral ground—the police boxing gym downtown. We showed up, but they didn’t. While we were hanging around waiting for them, one of the boxing trainers called out to me, “You, come over here.”
I walked over to him and he asked me, “Do you want to go a few rounds with him?” He pointed to a guy getting into one of the rings. I was pretty full of myself and figured I could take him because he was small, so I said, “Sure, why not?”
I just couldn’t hit the guy. He danced all around me while I tried to hit him. Then that little guy really connected with my nose. Not only did that make my eyes water, but it bruised my ego and made me realize that there was more to the sport of boxing than just swinging my fists. The coach put me into the ring with another fighter who was about my size, and I did pretty well. That was a moment of decision in my life. I remembered what my middle school principal had told me and everything clicked. The boxing ring was where I belonged.
All through high school, I played football, basketball and soccer, and I was on the track team. But from that day on, boxing was the sport that I liked the most. Because it’s an individual sport, it’s more challenging and exciting to me. I found that I enjoyed the thrill of one-on-one competition. I also liked the fact that it was up to me whether I won or lost—that I was the determining factor. I think I’ve always been a competitor, and winning would give me a glow of satisfaction and a
good feeling about myself. There was always a bad feeling if I lost, and I didn’t like that. I wanted to win—every time.
I started training with the man who got me into the ring that first time. He became my boxing coach, friend, mentor and a father figure for me to look up to. I learned that boxing is a sweet science where I could use my brain as well as my strength and size. I used my ability to focus under pressure. Under his training, I went from being a street fighter to a gold medal-winning Olympic champion.
Though I was basically an outsider, even as a little boy I wanted to be first in whatever I set my mind to. Once I went professional, I worked hard and got what I wanted. I have earned millions, but for me, it’s not just about the money. I made my dreams come true. I did it my way. I stayed away from bad promoters and bad managers and upheld my integrity. Throughout my career, I have gained, regained and retained the WBC and IBF heavyweight belts, the most prestigious in the boxing world. I want my place in history, and I know I will have it.
A couple of years ago, I was given the title, Member of the Order of the British Empire, an honorary title bestowed by Queen Elizabeth II for distinguished achievement. I have come a long way from being a brawling London street kid to the man I am today—the man that my mum raised me to be.
Lennox Lewis
Undisputed WBC Heavyweight Champion of the World
Life Rolls On
In three words I can sum up everything I’ve learned about life. It goes on.
Robert Frost
Chicken Soup for the Preteen Soul II Page 14
