Flora Edwards
A lazy summer’s day found me cleaning out my room and sorting through boxes. I picked up a newspaper article that I had almost forgotten about—one my mom cut out for me to read. I began to throw it aside, but I started feeling uneasy. The article was about a local woman with two kids who had fled an abusive relationship where the man she lived with had flicked hot ravioli on her two-year-old child’s face, among other things. The woman’s job brought in barely enough to keep them living in a week-to-week hotel room. Her seventeen-year-old son worked a janitorial job after school to help prevent them from becoming homeless. The article said that the boy was in need of a jacket and some pants that fit his tall frame.
I had seen pictures of homeless adults, but never of any kids my age. I imagined how cold and embarrassed he must have felt at school. I’ve been fortunate to always have a roof over my head, clean clothes that fit and a loving family. My mom always taught me to share what I have and to see God in everyone. I decided right then that I would give him some of my clothes.
I began sorting through my closet. That can be emotional—especially when you decide to give away one of your favorite shirts because you know somebody else needs it more than you do. Things like the clothes you wear play a huge part in acceptance in high school.
I started thinking that so many kids like me have more clothes than they need—or even want. That gave me an idea for a bigger solution. The kids in my area usually either donated the clothes they no longer wanted to a thrift store or threw them away. I wanted to educate them about the suffering some of their peers were going through and offer them a simple way to make another teen’s life a little better.
I thought that this would be a good project for earning my rank as an Eagle Scout because it would involve a lot of planning and the help of many people. The local volunteer center seemed like a good place to start, so I asked to meet with the youth coordinator there. When I told her what I was thinking, she fell in love with the idea, but cautioned me not to be overly optimistic about the amount of donations I would receive. I had a vision in my head of enormous piles of clothing coming in. She suggested that I might need someplace to store the clothes and a way to clean and deliver them.
After hours of brainstorming, she recruited me for the Youth Volunteer Corps, whose members were enthusiastic teen leaders from schools around our county. I presented my idea to them, which I decided to call, “Teens Dressing Teens,” and asked for their help. I was amazed by how they dug right in, quickly deciding that they could present the project at their schools and bring back what they collected to one of the meetings. And that’s exactly what they did.
At the next meeting, donated clothes were piled five feet high and five feet wide against the walls of the room!
So, my simple gesture to help one teenager evolved into a countywide clothing drive. Over the next four months, students from seven high schools and two middle schools cleaned out their closets of nice clothes and donated them to foster kids and homeless teenagers in the area. Clothing began piling up around school and I’d see collection boxes and signs I didn’t even make. The issue changed from obtaining enough clothing to finding somewhere to store it! The large shed for storing donations at the Catholic Charities Homeless Services Center soon filled up, causing them to halt all clothing donations from anyone for almost a month!
Generous stores answered my request for gift certificates for new socks and underwear. My church helped, and my family pitched in. A shoe store collected used and new running shoes and attire for a running program at a children’s home. Suits and work clothes were donated. It got to be so overwhelming that we began accepting only clean clothing because we didn’t have the people to wash so many items.
All was going pretty smoothly. Then one day, I got a note to go to the office immediately. I was told to call home. My heart raced, wondering what was going on. My mom answered the phone.
“Kirk, your dad is in critical condition. He’s going into surgery. They say that he has a fifty-fifty chance of living.”
I was speechless, and at the same time, I felt strongly that he would survive. I thought that maybe this would convince him that he should finally make the decision to quit smoking cigarettes and stop drinking. That illusionary bubble burst that evening at the hospital, when he was pronounced dead at 6:03 P.M. I put off my much-anticipated race in the Footlocker Cross County Championships and did some serious praying. I was shocked because my father was not overweight though he did smoke and have a lot of stress. The doctor said that it was an aortic aneurysm and that, “it just happens without cause.” I guess it goes to show how quickly life can change.
Everyone in my family was grieving. I sought comfort in them and in my faith. I was tempted to just shut down completely and withdraw from life and the activities I had become involved in. But that’s not my style. I also knew that my father would want me to be happy and continue living my life fully. That would be what would make him proud. I decided to go on.
Although I miss him, I know he is looking over me. His death changed me, no doubt about it. It made me realize even more how precious life is and the importance of using my god-given talents and abilities to help others. So, I finished leading the clothing drive with the help of many wonderful people. Together, we made it possible to help many people in need—not just teens.
I never met any of the kids that received the clothing. I respected their dignity and just wanted them to know that people care.
Although I also never met the boy in the newspaper article, I obtained a $50 gift certificate and delivered it to his teacher. A few months later, while waiting at a traffic light, I’m almost certain that I saw him sitting in the back seat of an older car. Our eyes locked for just for a few seconds. In that moment, I felt that we conveyed a sense of respect and understanding of each other.
Then the light turned green and off we went, still never having personally met, but definitely better off because of each other.
Kirk Brandt
No Place I’d Rather Be
All our dreams can come true, if we have the courage to pursue them.
Walt Disney
Growing up, I always dreamed of being a professional figure skater. After years of hard work, support from my family and good coaching, I am living proof that dreams can come true.
When I was born, my parents immediately noticed something wrong. My feet were deformed, pointing inward and curling under. I wore casts and foot braces my first two years to correct the problem. My casts were changed every two weeks. I teetered at first, yet I learned to balance and walk in casts. Soon after the last set of casts came off, Mom enrolled me in dance classes as therapy for my feet.
I, however, quickly decided to try something else. Not far from my house was an ice rink in the mall. There, local skaters would perform ice shows. I remember seeing the glittery costumes, the dazzling spotlight, and their graceful movements. I wanted to try skating.
I started taking group skating lessons, but I’d cry before class because going into a group scared me. Performing on ice came naturally, but I have always been shy and afraid to speak in group settings.
One thing I’ve never been afraid of is competition. I get nervous, like everyone else, but never fearful. For me, skating has never been about beating others. It’s been about being my personal best. I progressed through various levels rapidly and gave my first ice performance at age seven. Soon I started winning local and regional competitions. That’s because being on the ice has always been the one place I can truly express my emotions. The ice is like home.
I began seriously training when I was nine years old. Mom and I would wake up at four o’clock in the morning, six days a week. I’d skate for five hours. Then I’d go to school. Since education has always been important in my family, I had to find creative ways to fit in school studies throughout my amateur career.
Twenty-four hours after graduating from high school, I moved to Canada. Saying good-by
e to my family and friends made me homesick before I even left, but I knew deep down that I had to leave and train full-time to give my dreams a chance at reality.
I went to compete in the Olympic Games in 1992. No one, not my coach or even my family, ever talked to me about winning a gold medal. In fact, I wouldn’t even allow myself to think about it. I thought that would jinx me. So, I went with the attitude that I wanted to enjoy the Olympic spirit.
My practice sessions felt great leading up to the competition. Finally, the day arrived. I remember stepping onto the ice and thinking, I can’t do this. How am I going to keep myself from freaking out? I took a deep breath and eased into a solid performance that placed me first going into the finals.
Two days later, I was the first of the final six skaters on the ice. My long performance started well, but I slipped while landing one of my easiest triple jumps, and my hand touched the ice. I didn’t want to make two mistakes in a row, so next I did a jump with just two spins to play it safe. As I neared the end, I had one more jump, the triple Lutz. Okay, this is it. You have to do this, I told myself. I landed it perfectly.
When medals were awarded, I found myself on the top step, the gold hanging around my neck and America’s national anthem playing. Words can’t describe the overwhelming mixture of emotions I felt.
Little did I know how much that one night would change my life. Interviews. TV shows. Magazine covers. Dignitaries. Celebrities. Parades. Fans. Endorsements. My big dream came true when I signed a contract to skate professionally with the Stars on Ice tour. I thought life as a pro would be easy. It’s not. It takes as much training now as before.
Throughout the tour, special children visit us at practice. Their courage in the face of incredible challenges teaches so much to all who meet them. It has helped me see that we all have the opportunity to make a difference in someone’s life. That’s why I started the Always Dream Foundation. Our goal is to make a positive difference in the lives of children.
How can anyone love ice? Frozen water can be so painfully hard and oh so cold—just as life can be. Ice doesn’t care who skates across its surface. It doesn’t care who loses balance and falls on its slippery back. Still, when the lights go on and the crowd roars its welcome, there’s no place I’d rather be.
For me, the ice is a warm world of beauty and grace. Being on the ice is being alive. I encourage you to pursue the things that make you feel alive. And, as you glide your way along life, remember . . . always dream.
Kristi Yamaguchi
[EDITORS’ NOTE: To find out more about the Always Dream Foundation, log on to www.alwaysdream.org. Check out www.positivelyforkids.com for cool books featuring the life stories of star athletes and celebrities.]
4
ON TOUGH
STUFF
Grasping into thin air,
We reach but cannot touch
Things we wish would go away
Things that hurt too much
Why do we face such tough times
While others go unscathed
Where do we find a shelter
When it rains on our parade
Life will give us roses
But every petal falls
Leaving joy and sadness
From the memories we recall
So if time’s our greatest treasure
And love is all we need
Let’s give each other all we have
Nothing else is guaranteed
Irene Dunlap
Stay with Me
You were so full of life, always smiling and carefree.
Life loved you being a part of it, and I loved you being part of me.
Brittany L. Hielckert, fourteen
I was the new kid in the neighborhood. My family had just moved from the country to a bigger city, so I had to start over making friends. I wasn’t sure how I was going to do that, even though I had moved many times before that. It was just never easy introducing myself to total strangers with the hopes that they’d like me enough to become my friend.
So, I was really lonely until the day that this boy named Brandon came up to me and asked if I wanted to play with him and his friends. After that, we were like best friends. He was a few years older than I was so he always treated me like a little sister. If he wasn’t at school, he was playing with me.
A few months passed and then a whole year went by. We were closer than ever, even though Brandon began making more friends at school, and they would come over, too. Still, he let me play with him, even when they were around. Brandon never let anyone push me around or pick on me. He was always there for me.
When my mom would call me in for dinner, I would always beg her to let me play for a few more minutes. He would say, “No, go ahead. I’ll wait right here for you.” I would sometimes think that he would not be there waiting when I was done, but he was always still there.
A lot of times, Brandon would help me with my homework and tell me more about what a certain subject was about. Afterwards, we would ride bikes or skate around our neighborhood together. The most important thing that he ever taught me, though, was to be my own person. He always used to say, “Who cares what others think about you? You should only care about how you feel about yourself.” That saying got me through a lot of hard times.
One weekend, I had to go to my grandmother’s. A new kid, named Lance, had moved to our neighborhood a few weeks before, and he seemed cool. The day I left, Brandon said he was going over to Lance’s house to play video games. I said, “Okay, I’ll see ya Sunday afternoon.”
Well, things changed forever after that. Brandon spent the night over at Lance’s and they played video games and watched movies. That Saturday, they went into Lance’s parents’ room to play Nintendo 64. Lance noticed that there was a little gun by his dad’s bed, so he picked it up to check it out. Just joking around, he pointed the gun at Brandon and pulled the trigger. He thought it wasn’t loaded. Well, he thought wrong.
I didn’t get back until late Sunday night. I came in to find everyone in my family crying. I was scared because I didn’t know what had happened. My mom took me into her room and said there had been an accident. From that moment on, I knew nothing would ever be the same. She finally told me that Lance had accidentally shot Brandon with a gun and that Brandon didn’t make it. My mom wouldn’t tell me where he had gotten shot but I had a good idea of it.
I started crying, and I ran to my room and hid my face in my pillow. I didn’t want to talk to or see anyone.
A few days later, we went to his funeral. I couldn’t help but cry. I went up to see him and I realized he was in a better place, because I knew that Brandon knew God, and that was comforting to me. All this happened about six years ago. I am now thirteen. Still, there isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t think about him. I cry whenever I pass by the cemetery. My best friend is gone, but the friendship that he showed me—the new kid in the neighborhood—will stay with me forever.
Jaime Fisher, thirteen
[EDITORS’ NOTE: For information about gun safety, go to www.kidshealth.org, keyword search: “gun safety”.]
A Loving Mother
The best things in life are never rationed.
Friendship, loyalty and love.
They do not require coupons.
George T. Hewitt
I’m a girl with bipolar disorder. That’s when your moods go up or down way too far. Sometimes with bipolar, you feel so happy that you get kind of hyperactive, bouncing off the walls and jumping for joy. Then, within minutes, bipolar can make you feel really sad or so mad that you start throwing stuff around, screaming and stomping.
With bipolar, when a person gets either really, really happy or really, really sad or mad, they have no idea why they feel that way. They can think of nothing that caused their mood to be so extreme one way or the other.
When I was seven years old, I got mad at my mom for no reason. We got into a fight over nothing, and I got so mad that I threw my glass piggy bank at her. Pre
tty bad, huh?
Maybe some of my anger was due to the fact that my parents had recently divorced and my mom and dad were not getting along well. My dad had been following my mom around. Then one night, he came into our house and attempted to hurt her, and she ran outside to call the police. At that point, he started to go up the stairs to find me. I was asleep and my stepdad kept him from getting to me. He ran away before the police got there, but the next day, the police arrested him for harassing our family.
That next day, I was supposed be with my dad but, of course, he didn’t show up. That’s when I knew something was wrong. My mom tried to protect me from finding out why he didn’t come. She just told me that he had done something wrong and couldn’t be with me. I cried every night because I missed him, and I became really depressed. Finally, I bugged my mom enough that she told me what had happened that night. In a way, it just made me more upset because everyone had kept the truth from me.
Around that time, I also began experiencing these extreme mood shifts. First I’d be really, really happy and then the next minute I’d be really, really mad. Then I couldn’t stop myself from crying. It was very confusing, and I felt like I had no control over my emotions anymore. When I would get into trouble, I couldn’t understand why I was behaving so badly. I would later come back to my mom and apologize to her for being so out of control, and she would always say, “It’s okay, Holly. You’re forgiven. Tomorrow will be a better day.” It was hard on her, I’m sure, but she tried to deal with it by giving me love and understanding. She somehow knew that I couldn’t help myself and suspected something more was wrong with me when one day I got so depressed that I asked her, “Why don’t you just get rid of me?” I had been so down that I didn’t even want to live anymore.
Stories About Facing Challenges, Realizing Dreams and Making a Difference Page 8