Terry Burke, Kim Weiss, Ronni O’Brien, Larry Getlen, Kelly Johnson Maragni, Karen Baliff Ornstein and Yvonne zum Tobel, for their incredible sales, publicity and marketing efforts. Laine Latimer at the Latimer Group for her exhaustless effort and wonderful results with publicity.
Larissa Hise, for working with us so patiently and cooperatively on the cover design of this book. Lawna Oldfield, for her skilled typesetting of the book’s text.
Jerry Teplitz, for his inventive approach to testing the manuscript and cover design.
John Reiner, who nourished our bodies and our souls with his exquisite food during the final week of the project.
Most important, we wish to acknowledge the thousands of kids, teachers, writers and others who sent stories, poems and quotes for possible inclusion in Chicken Soup for the Kid’s Soul. While we were not able to use everything you sent in, we were deeply touched by your heartfelt intention to share yourselves and your stories with our readers and with us. Thank you!
Because of the size of this project, we may have left out the names of some people who have helped us along the way. If so, we are sorry. Please know that we truly do appreciate all of you very much.
We are deeply grateful for the many hands and hearts that have made this book possible. We love you all!
Introduction
A great man is one who has not lost his child’s heart.
Mencius
I think it is funny to be writing about chicken soup for somebody’s soul when you can’t even see a soul. It must be a special thing inside of all of us that does something because books are written about it every day.
When I cook chicken soup, it takes a lot of ingredients to make the soup turn out right. Maybe that’s why a book about chicken soup for a kid’s soul will be fun—because it will take a lot of different ideas, from many different people, for the book to turn out right.
Some kids might write about happy things, and others will find that there are only sad things in their lives to write about—like when I think about my cousin Kimmy, it makes me sad because she was the first person I ever knew who died.
But then, when I play with Kimmy’s baby daughter, Emilie, it makes me feel happy when she does something to make me laugh. Something inside of me can feel happy and sad at the same time. Is that when you know that you have a soul?
Candice Hanes, age 10
Ever since the first Chicken Soup for the Soul was published in June 1993, we have been getting requests from kids all over the world asking for a Chicken Soup book just for them. So here it is, the first full-length Chicken Soup for the Kid’s Soul, written by kids and by adults who haven’t forgotten what it’s like to be a kid.
When we started this book a year and a half ago, we thought we pretty much knew what issues and challenges our kids face. When our own kids—Christopher, Elisabeth, Melanie, Marleigh and Weston—went off to school every day, we assumed that they were experiencing many of the same things that we did at their age. For example, being teased because of looks or physical disabilities was a big deal. Also, making and keeping friends was important. Betrayal by a friend was guaranteed to break our hearts. Getting good grades, being accepted by our peers, and being liked and supported by our teachers were things that mattered.
In April 1997, we did a fax-mailing requesting stories from over 5,800 elementary and middle schools across the United States. We received an overwhelming response. We read every single story sent to us—over 4,000! There were an additional 3,800 stories sent from other sources, giving us a grand total of 7,800 stories submitted and read for possible inclusion in this book. What we learned from the stories was very enlightening.
You, the kids of today, face much graver issues and harder decisions than we ever did. It is not uncommon for you to be exposed to gang warfare on a daily basis, and it is not necessarily confined to inner-city or at-risk kids. Drugs, alcohol, smoking, early physical development, pregnancy, depression and suicide have found their way into our middle and elementary schools. You know about kidnappings, child abuse and violence through the media or your own experiences. Immediate family members, grandparents and friends die from accidents or from diseases like AIDS and cancer. You are frightened of losing your families through divorce or separation; even when you know it is for the best, you don’t want it or like it. One of the subjects you submitted the highest number of stories about expressed your fear of and dislike of moving, and losing the home you have known all your life.
Although we celebrate the closing of the gender gap and the broader career choices that have become available to your generation, we now realize the stress that this creates for you. You are expected at an earlier and earlier age to know what you want to be and what you want out of life, and the choices can be overwhelming. We received stories that showed us that kids like you feel as if you must understand and accept all the troubles of the world. Because of the stories you have shared with us, we now have a better understanding of what you kids are going through today.
We realize that you have been requesting a Chicken Soup book of your own not only because you want one, but because you need one. Never has there been a time in history when kids have needed Chicken Soup for their souls more than now.
A book can open the door to a magical kingdom where knowledge and inspiration are available to all who read it. We hope that this book will become your best friend and nonjudgmental advisor, for a book cannot tell whether the person holding it is black or white, red or tan, young or old, a boy or a girl.
The pages in this book are meant to be read, absorbed and reread over and over again, and shared with friends and family. Within these pages are stories of heroes—kids just like you who have overcome some of the tremendous challenges that you face today. There are also stories that are funny or just plain silly. Without this side of the childhood experience, none of us can ever hope for balance and true joy in life.
This book is designed to empower and encourage you to love and accept yourself, and to believe in your dreams; to let you know that there are answers to your questions; and to give you hope for a great future.
It is our hope that any adult or teenager who picks up this book and reads it will find his or her “child heart” touched, and hopefully, reawakened. We truly believe that within each and every one of us, there is a piece of our heart and soul that we have hidden—a piece of us that perhaps still believes that there is a Santa Claus, that butterflies should be set free and that good will always prevail over evil. On a very deep level—our kid-soul level—we all want to be loved, accepted, encouraged and supported, no matter what our age. From our hearts to your hearts, we present Chicken Soup for the Kid’s Soul.
May kids reign forever!
Share with Us
We would like to know how these stories affected you and which ones were your favorites. Please write to us and let us know.
We also invite you to send us any stories that you would like us to consider for our upcoming Chicken Soup for the Kid’s Soul 2. You may send stories and poems that you have written, or ones that you have read and liked.
Send submissions to:
LifeWriters
Attn: Patty Hansen and Irene Dunlap
P.O. Box 10879
Costa Mesa, CA 92627
To send e-mail or to visit our Websites:
www.chickensoup.com or
www.PreteenPlanet.com
We hope you enjoy reading this book as much as we enjoyed compiling, editing and writing it.
1
ON LOVE
Some people say love is blind, but I think love is beautiful. Everything and everyone can feel love—
Birds, humans and animals—all living creatures.
Love means caring and showing understanding.
Love means being there when someone is in need.
Love is being a friend.
You can love your pets, your doll, your favorite chair,
Your friends and family.
&nbs
p; Love can be just about anything you want it to be.
Love is a choice.
Stephanie Lee, age 11
Kelly, the Flying Angel
Kelly and the pony met when Kelly was seven. She had gone with her father to a neighbor’s farm to buy seed. The shaggy, brown and white pony stood alone in a pen. Kelly reached through the wires to touch the warm satin of the pony’s nose. Kelly spoke softly as the pony nuzzled Kelly’s fingers. “What’s your name, pony? You seem so sad and lonely.”
“She ain’t got no name,” the farmer grunted. “She ain’t much good anymore. She’s old and she’s blind in one eye. I ain’t got no use for her since the kids are gone.” He turned back to Kelly’s father, who had loaded the bags of seed onto the truck and pulled crumpled bills from his pocket. “You can have her if you pay me somethin’ for the saddle.”
“How much?” her father inquired, barely glancing at the pony.
“Twenty.” The old man reached a callused hand toward the money. Kelly’s father pulled off another bill. Gnarled fingers snatched the bills and stuffed them quickly into the pocket of well-worn, dirty overalls.
Kelly cradled the bridle in her arms as they drove home, her excitement mounting. She kept peeking into the rear of the truck to reassure herself that the pony was still there.
“Now, this pony will be your job. You have to feed her and take care of her. It’ll teach you some responsibility. I don’t have time to mess with her. Understand?” Her father’s voice was stern.
“I’ll do it, Daddy. Thank you for letting me have her. I promise I’ll take good care of her.”
Once they were home and the pony was safely in the stall, Kelly threw hay into the manger, then ran to the house.
“Mom, you should see our pony! She was so lonely, but she’ll be happy here.” Joy sparkled in Kelly’s eyes. “I’ve named her Trixie ’cause I’m going to teach her to do tricks.” Before her mother could respond, Kelly was back out the door to see that Trixie was comfortable. It was then that Kelly introduced Trixie to her angel.
When Kelly was a small child, she had been awakened by a frightening storm. She called to her mother, who reassured her by telling her, “Don’t be afraid. Jesus sends his angels to protect little children.” From then on, Kelly had never actually seen an angel, but she felt a presence at times when she would otherwise have been afraid or lonely.
Kelly brushed the pony’s coat and trimmed her mane and hoofs. Trixie responded to the attention by nuzzling Kelly’s neck, searching her pockets for treats and following her commands. As Kelly rode from the house to the back pasture, she taught Trixie to raise the latches on the gates with her nose. The gates would swing open, and Kelly would close them without dismounting.
Kelly taught Trixie a routine, trying to duplicate tricks she had seen at a circus. She rode standing up and eventually mastered the ultimate stunt of jumping through a crudely constructed hoop on each circuit of the riding ring. Kelly and Trixie became the best of friends.
When Kelly was ten, her parents divorced. Kelly and her dog, Laddie, moved with her mom to a small farm several miles away. The problems between her parents kept Kelly from seeing her father anymore, and because Trixie still lived at her father’s farm, Kelly was doubly miserable.
On the day they left her father’s farm, Kelly walked slowly to the pasture to say good-bye to Trixie. She had never needed her angel’s help more. “Angel,” she sobbed, “please stay with Trixie so she won’t be lonely. I have Mom and Laddie, but Trixie will be all alone. She needs you.” With her small arms around Trixie’s neck, she reassured the pony, “It’ll be all right, Trixie. My angel will take care of you.”
Her parents’ divorce, a new school, a different home and the loss of Trixie turned Kelly’s life upside down all at once. Her mother encouraged her to make friends.
“Come on, Kelly, and ride with us,” two of her schoolmates urged as they sat on their bicycles in the driveway.
Following the two girls down the road, Kelly felt the wind in her hair and the warmth of the sun on her face. She needed friends, she reminded herself, and pedaled faster to catch up.
During the summer, Kelly and her friends rode their bicycles to the park and around the track at the school. With her strong legs, she could match any of them when they raced.
After racing on the track one sunny day, Kelly pedaled home with her new friends. As she bounced along the bumpy, dusty road, the hard edge of the bike seat dug into her leg. She wished she were sitting in her smooth leather saddle on Trixie, gliding over the fresh green grass of the pasture.
Suddenly, the front wheel of the bicycle swerved into a rut. She turned hard to the left to get it out, but it was too late. Hurtling over the handlebars, she bounced off the edge of the road and into a ditch. The girls hurried to her.
“Her injuries are minor,” the doctor informed her mother after Kelly had limped home, “but you’d better keep her quiet for a couple of days.”
Though sore and scratched, Kelly returned to her bicycle in a few days. One morning, she awoke with a numb feeling in her legs. Slowly, she slid her body to the edge of the bed; but as she attempted to stand, she collapsed on the floor.
Puzzled by this development, the doctor examined her carefully.
“Her injuries have healed, but there is some psychological trauma,” he said. “I’ve scheduled therapy, and stretching exercises should help.” Kelly went home in a wheelchair.
As she sat on the porch, she hugged Laddie close and stared wistfully across the field. “Please, God, please bring Trixie and my angel back to me. I need them so.”
One day a letter came from Kelly’s father:
Dear Kelly,
Your aunt told me about your accident. I’m sorry to hear about it. I have made arrangements to have your pony delivered to you next week. She has been opening all the gates and letting my stock out of the pasture. I think she is looking for you. Maybe having her will help you feel better.
Love,
Dad
In a few days a truck arrived, and Trixie was led down the ramp. Nuzzling Kelly’s neck and snorting at Laddie, the pony checked out her new home. Kelly petted Trixie’s head and neck as far as she could reach from her wheelchair, and kissed her on the nose. “Trixie, Trixie, I knew you would come. Thank you, thank you.”
Kelly awoke the next morning with renewed determination. She wheeled herself to the barnyard with a treat for Trixie. Grasping Trixie’s mane, she pulled herself up from the wheelchair and stood beside the pony. Stretching to reach Trixie’s back, she brushed her until the pony’s coat shone.
Kelly’s legs grew stronger each day. Then, eager to ride, she climbed up the wooden fence and struggled to pull herself onto the pony’s back. Trixie’s coat was warm and silky against Kelly’s bare legs.
“Look! I’m riding. . . . I’m riding!” Kelly yelled as Trixie’s slow trot bounced her up and down like a rag doll. “Go, Trixie!” Kelly dug her heels into the pony’s sides, and they raced through the gate to the open pasture. Kelly squealed with delight, and Laddie ran after them, barking wildly.
When school started, an enthusiastic Kelly sprang onto the bus with a cheerful greeting. No more wheelchair for her! At home, a poster of a circus hung in Kelly’s room. It showed a smiling angel. In Kelly’s bold, colorful printing it read, “Kelly, the Flying Angel—Shows Nightly and Weekends.”
Louise R. Hamm
The Tower
After the verb “to love,” “to help” is the most beautiful verb in the world.
Bertha Von Suttner
Am I my brother’s keeper? Absolutely!
James McNeil, age 17
Ten-year-old John McNeil ran barefoot out the door on a windy, cold day in February and headed straight for the 125-foot electrical tower behind the McNeil home. John didn’t realize the dangers of the structure, which carries power from Hoover Dam to the southern Arizona communities. He didn’t know that it carried 230,000 sizzling volts through its silver wi
res. He wasn’t even aware that he had forgotten his shoes. John suffers from autism, a condition that separates him from reality, forcing him to live within his own thoughts. That day his thoughts were set on climbing to the top of that tower, touching the sky and feeling what it’s like to fly.
He had scaled the gigantic jungle gym before, but he had never gotten beyond the twenty-foot handrails. His seventeen-year-old brother, James, was always watching, and close by. James always made sure that no harm came to his little brother. But today was different. Today, John ran out the door unnoticed before James realized that he was missing. John had already cleared the handrails and was making his way to the sky by the time James spotted his brother. John, like most autistic children, had absolutely no fear or concept of danger. James, on the other hand, realized that he had to face his greatest fear of all—the fear of heights.
James understood the danger of the electrical tower but chose to follow his younger brother up each gray rail, trying not to look down, all the way to the top. James finally reached his brother and held him tightly with his right hand. With his left hand, he gripped a metal bar to help stabilize them both.
James was shaking. He was cold and scared, but he never released his grip on John. John struggled, wanting to fly, but James held tight. James’s hands were numb, and he was afraid that if he let go, they would both fall to their death.
The minutes stretched into hours as they balanced on a three-inch rail. James sang hymns to soothe his own racing heart and to distract his brother from the rescue action taking place below.