101 Stories of Changes, Choices and Growing Up for Kids Ages 9-13

by Jack Canfield

  My brother asks me one more question. “Brian, is Papa going to come alive again and be a ghost?”

  “No,” I answer sadly, wishing I could still see Papa. “But maybe we’ll see him again up in heaven.”

  “Is that a long drive?” he wants to know. I start to laugh. I feel like jumping up and down, but instead I hug my brother tightly. He feels so small.

  “It’s a very long drive,” I almost shout, “but when we get there and the gates to heaven swing open, I promise you, they won’t squeak.”

  All of a sudden I feel a lot better. I let go of my brother and I can see he feels better too.

  I think you can be both happy and sad at the same time.

  Brian Normandin, fifteen

  As told by Mary Normandin

  Taking a Stand

  It is better to be a lion for a day than a sheep all your life.

  Elizabeth Henry

  The summer before fifth grade, my world was turned upside down when my family moved from the country town where I was born and raised to a town near the beach. When school began, I found it difficult to be accepted by the kids in my class who seemed a little more sophisticated, and who had been in the same class together since first grade.

  I also found this Catholic school different from the public school I had attended. At my old school, it was acceptable to express yourself to the teacher. Here, it was considered outrageous to even suggest a change be made in the way things were done.

  My mom taught me that if I wanted something in life, I had to speak up or figure out a way to make it happen. No one was going to do it for me. It was up to me to control my destiny.

  I quickly learned that my classmates were totally intimidated by the strict Irish nuns who ran the school. My schoolmates were so afraid of the nuns’ wrath that they rarely spoke up for themselves or suggested a change.

  Not only were the nuns intimidating, they also had some strange habits. The previous year, my classmates had been taught by a nun named Sister Rose. This year, she came to our class to teach music several times a week. During their year with her, she had earned the nickname Pick-Her-Nose-Rose. My classmates swore that during silent reading, she’d prop her book up so that she could have herself a booger-picking session without her students noticing. The worst of it, they told me, was that after reading was over, she’d stroll through the classroom and select a victim whose hair would be the recipient of one of her prize boogers. She’d pretend to be praising one of her students by rubbing her long, bony fingers through their hair! Well, to say the least, I did not look forward to her sort of praise.

  One day during music, I announced to Sister Rose that the key of the song we were learning was too high for our voices. Every kid in the class turned toward me with wide eyes and looks of total disbelief. I had spoken my opinion to a teacher—one of the Irish nuns!

  That was the day I gained acceptance with the class. Whenever they wanted something changed, they’d beg me to stick up for them. I was willing to take the punishment for the possibility of making a situation better and of course to avoid any special attention from Pick-Her-Nose-Rose. But I also knew that I was being used by my classmates who just couldn’t find their voices and stick up for themselves.

  Things pretty much continued like this through sixth and seventh grades. Although we changed teachers, we stayed in the same class together and I remained the voice of the class.

  At last, eighth grade rolled around and one early fall morning our new teacher, Mrs. Haggard—not a nun, but strict nevertheless—announced that we would be holding elections for class representatives. I was elected vice-president.

  That same day, while responding to a fire drill, the new president and I were excitedly discussing our victory when, suddenly, Mrs. Haggard appeared before us with her hands on her hips. The words that came out of her mouth left me surprised and confused. “You’re impeached!” she shouted at the two of us. My first reaction was to burst out laughing because I had no idea what the word “impeached” meant. When she explained that we were out of office for talking during a fire drill, I was devastated.

  Our class held elections again at the beginning of the second semester. This time, I was elected president, which I took as a personal victory. I was more determined than ever to represent the rights of my oppressed classmates.

  My big opportunity came in late spring. One day, the kids from the other eighth-grade class were arriving at school in “free dress,” wearing their coolest new outfits, while our class arrived in our usual uniforms: the girls in their pleated wool skirts and the boys in their salt-and-pepper pants. “How in the world did this happen?” we all wanted to know. One of the eighth graders from the other class explained that their teacher got permission from our principal, Sister Anna, as a special treat for her students.

  We were so upset that we made a pact to go in and let our teacher know that we felt totally ripped off. We agreed that when she inevitably gave us what had become known to us as her famous line, “If you don’t like it, you can leave,” we’d finally do it. We’d walk out together.

  Once in the classroom, I raised my hand and stood up to speak to our teacher. About eight others rose to show their support. I explained how betrayed we felt as the seniors of the school to find the other eighth-graders in free dress while we had to spend the day in our dorky uniforms. We wanted to know why she hadn’t spoken on our behalf and made sure that we weren’t left out of this privilege.

  As expected, instead of showing sympathy for our humiliation, she fed us her famous line, “If you don’t like it, you can leave.” One by one, each of my classmates shrank slowly back into their seats. Within seconds, I was the only one left standing.

  I began walking out of the classroom, and Mrs. Haggard commanded that I continue on to the principal’s office.

  Sister Anna, surprised to see me in her office so soon after school had begun, asked me to explain why I was there. I told her that as class president, I had an obligation to my classmates to represent them. I was given the option to leave if I didn’t like the way things were, so I did. I believed that it would have been a lie for me to sit back down at that point.

  She walked me back to class and asked Mrs. Haggard to tell her version of the situation. Mrs. Haggard’s side seemed to be different from what the class had witnessed. Then something incredible happened. Some of my classmates began shouting protests from their desks in response to Mrs. Haggard’s comments. “That’s not true,” they countered. “She never said that,” they protested.

  It was too much of a stretch for them to stand up and walk out with me that day, but I knew something had clicked inside of them. At least they finally spoke up.

  Perhaps they felt that they owed me. Or they realized that we’d soon be at different high schools and I wouldn’t be there to stick up for them anymore. I’d rather believe that when they spoke up that day, they had finally chosen to take control of their own destinies.

  I can still hear their voices.

  Irene Dunlap

  Loving Equally

  We are taught you must blame your father, your sisters, your brothers, the school, the teachers—you can blame anyone, but never blame yourself. It’s never your fault. But it’s ALWAYS your fault, because if you wanted to change, you’re the one who has got to change. It’s as simple as that, isn’t it?

  Katherine Hepburn

  My parents had been married for eighteen years and dating since my mother was fourteen. Their marriage had been on the rocks for as long as I can remember. They had talked about divorcing many times but never went through with it for the sake of their only child, me.

  One of their last fights that I can remember was very physical. My parents destroyed all of each other’s belongings, and it soon came to the point where there was nothing left in the house that wasn’t demolished. There were holes in the walls and just pieces of everything covering the floor.

  My father shoved my mother around and bruised her pretty badly,
and I had to witness it all with my fourteen-year-old eyes.

  Before I knew it, we were in court and I had to make the decision of whose hands to put my life into. I had to choose which parent I would live with every day. I felt like my heart was being cut out of my chest and my parents were tugging at each end of it. I loved both of my parents, and I knew one way or the other I was going to hurt one of them. After I thought for a while, I decided to live with my mom even though I knew my dad would be upset.

  But it was much harder than I thought it would be. My mom was always talking about my dad and how terrible she thought he was. She still held a lot of anger inside of her heart, and she wanted to get back at my dad through me. I felt like she wanted me to love only her and to despise my father. Because I loved my dad, too, I was upset a lot and we started to argue all the time.

  Nine months later, I went to live with my dad because my mother and I could no longer stand each other. I was blaming her for my feelings of confusion and anger. At first, it was better with my dad, but after only a week he started the same thing that my mother had been doing— only in reverse. My dad seemed to want me to have a lot of feelings of hatred towards my mother. I stuck it out at his house for a while. Then I began to see that he wasn’t as interested in me as I thought that he would be. He never asked me when I would be home or who I was hanging out with. I had pretty much all the freedom I wanted. Without any curfews or rules, I began to feel like he didn’t even care about me. I began partying too much, and my life was getting completely off track.

  After I had a few fights with my dad and spent many nights alone, crying myself to sleep, I realized that I had to figure out what to do.

  I recognized that there were ups and downs about living with both of them. They both had their faults and made mistakes. Neither of them wanted to admit their own mistakes, and they were both quick to point out the mistakes of the other. There was no way for me to decide who was right or who was wrong. I couldn’t love one of them more than the other and leave the other one behind. I decided that I had to love both parents equally.

  I could no longer let them influence me and take control of my feelings so easily. I began by asking them to please keep their feelings for each other to themselves. I think that they tried, but it didn’t work. When that failed, I realized that I would have to do this myself. I’d just have to try and be strong and ignore what they said about each other. As soon as I made that decision, I felt more in control and my life began to change.

  My mom and dad still say things out of anger about each other and they don’t speak to one another. But do you know what? That’s their problem. Not mine. I’m just doing the best I can to be fair to both of them. In my life, it has been a welcome change to not get caught up in their personal battles, but to focus on loving them instead.

  Nicole Peters, fifteen

  Just Do It!

  The shortest answer is doing.

  English Proverb

  My vision is getting worse. I can’t even see what is five feet away from me without squinting. I know I need to get glasses, but I refuse to. I’m afraid they will make me look dorky. Besides, I can manage without them. These were my thoughts two years ago, when I was in the sixth grade. An embarrassing experience taught me that what I was thinking was wrong.

  School had been out for two months. I was going to go to junior high school shortly, where I was sure that appearances are everything. So the question still remained. Should I, or should I not, wear glasses? The question was still in my mind when my family and I attended a wedding late in the summer.

  During the wedding, I don’t know why, but I felt as if I were ready to explode. Maybe it was the excessive amount of soda I drank prior to the wedding. Immediately after the ceremony ended, I walked quickly to the bathroom. Since it was an emergency and I couldn’t clearly distinguish which door was marked boys, I just opened the nearest door and entered the restroom.

  Unfortunately, I had entered the wrong restroom. I didn’t know this though, at the time, because all I could think about was to accomplish what I had gone there to do.

  After I was done, I went to the faucet to wash my hands. That’s awkward, I thought, after looking around the squeaky-clean restroom. How come there are only toilets in here? Could I be in the girls’ bathroom? Abruptly, as if to answer my question, I heard a shrill scream coming from the direction of the entrance to the restroom.

  After that incident, I decided to wear the dorky-looking glasses. I didn’t really care about what people thought of me anymore, as long as I never, ever, entered the wrong bathroom again.

  On the first day of seventh grade, instead of making fun of me, I received compliments from my friends. They thought the glasses made me look more intelligent—more like a grownup.

  So if you know something is right, just do it! Don’t make premature assumptions the way I did. You can avoid unnecessary embarrassment. It doesn’t matter what others think of you. All that matters is what you think of yourself—and that you can see where you are going!

  Son Truong Nguyen, fourteen

  I Love You, Lindsey

  Time is a dressmaker specializing in alterations.

  Faith Baldwin

  My heart drooped as I forced my unwilling body into the car. It would be miles and miles until we reached our painful destination, where we would have to leave Brandy, my oldest sister. Brandy was leaving home to serve as a volunteer in the Americorps.

  My dad revved the car engine and we left the house. Soon, the streets turned into highways, and we were closer to having to say good-bye with every mile. My heart continued to sink lower.

  All of the bittersweet memories of growing up with my sister flowed into my brain . . . from when I was young and Brandy telling me that my troll was evil, to when I copied her every move because I admired her so much, to when the painful teenage years came and her life was too busy for her younger sister. The anger came back to me too: the anger that came when suddenly my life was too immature for hers.

  I didn’t understand how come my old companion only talked to me when I did something wrong or when I annoyed her. Why did her new clothes make my childish apparel look babyish? These questions and many more stayed in my head.

  Now I knew that my time with her was very limited. Throughout the ride she made wicked remarks that hurt, but this time I knew what they meant. They still hurt me even though I knew that this was the agonizing way that she pulled herself away from us, in preparation for her leaving us at last.

  When we reached the place where Brandy was to stay, we did everything that we could to stall the painful goodbyes that awaited us, until all that was left were the goodbyes. The tears began to stream down my cheeks as she hugged me and told me the words that I hadn’t heard in a long time.

  “I love you, Lindsey.”

  I sobbed an answer in response. The family was all tears. We all piled into the car and pulled away. Brandy, still crying, turned her back and walked off. In that one moment, I loved her more than anything in the world. She looked like an adult as she walked away, but as the light from the headlight lit her face, I saw the little Brandy that still wanted to be my friend and still wanted to be a part of the family.

  On the long drive home that night I felt as though I had left my heart with Brandy. I couldn’t imagine life without my big sister or the endless chatter that Brandy always supplied. Would life ever be the same?

  It has taken some time, but now I know that life goes on, even though Brandy isn’t here. She is always with me because a part of her is in me and always will be.

  Lindsey Rawson, twelve

  My Best Friend

  We had been best friends since fourth grade. Me and Patty. Patty and me. Just about everywhere we went, people knew we were best friends. She taught me how to play pool in her cool, dark basement, and I taught her how to play basketball on my asphalt driveway. But the best part about having a best friend was taking turns sleeping over on Friday nights, sharing secrets ove
r popcorn and soda, year after year after year.

  Then in eighth grade everything changed. Or, I believe I changed and Patty didn’t. Suddenly, boys became more than pals to me and my interest in make-up and clothes surprised even my mom. I couldn’t believe Patty started the first day of school wearing the same pigtails she had worn forever. I had the latest hair fashion. I felt so confused and guilty at the same time. What was happening? Other girls seemed more interesting than Patty, and I wanted their approval. I felt restless and bored every time I went to her house now.

  I started avoiding her and making excuses. Finally, during the middle of the year, as we were sitting on my front lawn, the words burst out. I said, “Go home, Patty, and don’t come back.” I ran into the house crying and sobbing. Mom sat me down and I told her everything. I’ll never forget her words. She said, “Friends will come and go in and out of your life forever. You are changing and it’s okay for both of you to make new friends. What’s happening is hard but perfectly normal.” Hearing the word “normal” was just what I needed.

  The next day, the word was out at school and classmates picked Patty’s side or mine. The rest of the year was tough—I missed having a best friend but I also started enjoying the new “me” that was emerging. Patty became captain of the girls’ basketball team while I got the lead in the eighth-grade spring play. We spoke to each other but only on the most superficial terms.