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

by Jack Canfield

  The news of my accident spread over the television stations from Hawaii to California. My mom flew to Hawaii on the first plane she could catch, to bring me home. On the plane, and even at the airport in Los Angeles, people recognized me as “the boy who had fallen into the steam vent.” They’d stop to talk to me, and I felt that they honestly cared. Many people told me that they had been praying for me.

  My family and friends were there for me throughout my painful recovery. My parents took me for treatment to a hospital near my home, and I had to go there every day for four weeks to have whirlpool therapy. Either my mom or dad would go with me every single time. Getting into that water was the most painful thing that I’ve ever had to go through. I would kiss my mom or dad’s hands over and over again, to keep my mind off the pain. That seemed to make the pain less unbearable.

  I have learned a lot since that summer day, which came so close to being my last. The experience has changed my relationships with my friends. We talk a lot more, about anything and everything. I am more interested in being there for my family, too, just as they were there for me. When my mom got stitches in her thumb, I stayed with her in the emergency room the whole time and held her hand. I understand the importance of moral support, of just being there for people. I reach out to others more than I used to.

  Once that summer was over and all of the therapy was behind me, I got right back out there to play soccer again. I had really missed the sport. But mostly I had missed my friends, the people—the connection.

  Joel Walker, age 11

  The Favorite Vase

  My younger brother and I were home watching cartoons while my father slept and my mother was out shopping. I left my brother in the living room and went to get something to drink. As I was pouring some orange juice, I heard something break. First, I looked in to see if my father had woken up, and he hadn’t. Then I quickly ran to see what had happened. When I went into the living room, I was shocked. My brother had broken my mother’s favorite vase.

  “What did you do?” I gasped.

  “I broke it!” my brother answered. “It was an accident!”

  Knowing that he was freaked out, and not wanting him to get in trouble, I did what any friend would do. I tried to help him. I quickly ran and got some glue. I didn’t know what time my mother was going to be back or when my father was going to wake up, so I tried to hurry. I frantically gathered up all of the broken pieces and started to glue them together. It took me an hour but I finally fixed the vase. Then came the real disaster.

  “Oh my gawd! Oh my gawd!” I screamed.

  I had fixed the vase, but I had accidentally glued my hair to it!

  While my brother looked at me like I was some kind of idiot, I carried the vase—with my hair attached to it—into the bathroom. I looked in the mirror.

  “My beautiful hair,” I cried. Realizing that there was no way to pull my hair from the vase, I grabbed a pair of scissors. With every single strand of hair that I cut, I cried again. My hair was ruined and the vase looked like a wig was attached to it! As I was leaving the bathroom with my ridiculous new hairdo, I heard a key turn in the front door. “Hey guys, I’m back!”

  My mother was back! My brother ran to his room and quickly pretended to be asleep leaving me to deal with her all by myself. Before I could explain, my mother yelled at me and grounded me because she thought I had broken the vase. I went to my room to think about what had happened. I was grounded and I was also going to have to go to school looking like an idiot!

  While I was lying on my bed looking up at the ceiling, I realized that what I had done for my brother was an act of friendship. I knew that even though my brother and I fight a lot, I had made a sacrifice for him. This was a huge sacrifice though—my hair and my freedom!

  “Knock, knock,” sounded someone at my door.

  “Who is it?” I asked.

  My brother walked in and gave me a hug.

  “Thank you,” he said.

  “You’re welcome,” I replied. “I guess that’s what a big sister is for, to be a friend when you need one.”

  Belladonna Richuitti, age 12

  “My mom's not a big believer in accidents.”

  Used by permission of Hank Ketcham and © by North America Syndicate.

  A Friend . . .

  Friendships multiply joys and divide grief.

  Thomas Fuller

  Recently, one of my best friends, whom I’ve shared just about everything with since the first day of kindergarten, spent the weekend with me. Since I moved to a new town several years ago, we’ve both always looked forward to the few times a year when we can see each other.

  Over the weekend we spent hours and hours, staying up late into the night, talking about the people she was hanging around with. She started telling me stories about her new boyfriend, about how he experimented with drugs and was into other self-destructive behavior. I was blown away! She told me how she had been lying to her parents about where she was going and even sneaking out to see this guy because they didn’t want her around him. No matter how hard I tried to tell her that she deserved better, she didn’t believe me. Her self-respect seemed to have disappeared.

  I tried to convince her that she was ruining her future and heading for big trouble. I felt like I was getting nowhere. I just couldn’t believe that she really thought that it was acceptable to hang with a bunch of losers, especially her boyfriend.

  By the time she left, I was really worried about her and exhausted by the experience. It had been so frustrating, I had come close to telling her several times during the weekend that maybe we had just grown too far apart to continue our friendship—but I didn’t. I put the power of friendship to the ultimate test. We’d been friends for far too long. I had to hope that she valued me enough to know that I was trying to save her from hurting herself. I wanted to believe that our friendship could conquer anything.

  A few days later, she called to say that she had thought long and hard about our conversation, and then she told me that she had broken up with her boyfriend. I just listened on the other end of the phone with tears of joy running down my face. It was one of the truly rewarding moments in my life. Never had I been so proud of a friend.

  Danielle Fishel

  A Friend . . .

  Won’t allow you to self-destruct.

  Will take all the time that’s needed, no matter what time of day, to listen to your problems and give you her best advice.

  Is someone who can open up and be herself around you.

  Will swallow her pride to take your advice.

  Will never write you off.

  Danielle Fishel

  Is someone who keeps promises, tells the truth, makes time for you and is someone to laugh with.

  Leah Hatcher, age 14

  Is a person who knows what you are saying, even if you’re not talking.

  Understands what you’re feeling, even if you don’t understand your own feelings.

  Will always forgive you, usually before you forgive yourself.

  Sarah Bennett, age 13

  Will do something for you and not ask for a favor in return.

  Comes and cheers for you at your games.

  Roman Zaccuri, age 12

  Will always say that you look great—even if you don’t.

  Will tell you if you have something in your teeth.

  Katie Adnoff, age 13

  Doesn’t talk bad about you.

  Martina Miller, age 12

  Has a special place in your heart and is always there when you need them.

  Meghan Gilstrap, age 14

  Is someone who will hold in a laugh when you make a fool out of yourself.

  Stays after school when you get in trouble, to help you write 250 sentences.

  Danielle Uselton, age 12

  Is someone that you respect, who respects you and shares their feelings.

  Jorge Prieto, age 11

  Makes you feel good about yourself.

  Encourages you
to reach for your goals.

  Never gets jealous of you.

  Megan Preizer, age 12

  Shares the good times and helps out by listening during the bad times.

  Molly Oliver, age 9

  Never tells a secret they promise not to tell.

  Doesn’t talk about you to other friends.

  Is forever and for life.

  Angie Porter, age 12

  Is there for you even when you feel like the world is against you.

  MeShelle Locke, age 13

  Will open the door for you no matter how late it is.

  Would never betray you.

  Helps you make new friends.

  Eun Joo Shin, age 13

  Might get in fights with you but will always forgive you.

  Gina Pozielli, age 12

  Is someone who will share lunch with you if you forgot yours.

  Hayley Valvano, age 12

  Doesn’t laugh when someone makes a mean joke about you.

  Brittany Miller, age 12

  Likes you for who you are and not what you look like, because that is what really matters.

  Marleigh Dunlap, age 11

  Never makes fun of anything you have or do.

  Jessica Ann Farley, age 10

  Helps you get up when you fall at the roller-skating rink.

  Elisabeth Hansen, age 12

  Is not about beauty or popularity, but it is someone who likes your personality.

  Is with you to the end.

  Renny Usbay, age 12

  Doesn’t always think the way that you do.

  Is a person who will tell on you when you are doing drugs or smoking.

  Is someone that tells you when you are wrong, but not in a bad way.

  Stephanie Lane, age 12

  Is someone that your own mom trusts, too.

  Mike Curtis, age 13

  Is not afraid to be seen with you.

  Will laugh at your jokes, even if they’re bad.

  Geoff Rill, age 12

  Never blames everything on you.

  Tania Garcia, age 13

  Will give you the last bite of their candy bar.

  Is a present that you can open again and again.

  Natalie Citro, age 12

  Is someone who believes you when nobody else will.

  Ashley Parole, age 12

  Best Friends

  We’re swallowed up only when we’re willing for it to happen.

  Nathalie Sarraute

  “Please stay,” I begged.

  Ann was my best friend, the only other girl in the neighborhood, and I didn’t want her to go.

  She sat on my bed, her blue eyes blank.

  “I’m bored,” she said, slowly twirling her thick red pigtail around her finger. She had come to play a half hour ago.

  “Please don’t go,” I pleaded. “Your mother said you could stay an hour.”

  Ann started to get up, then spotted a pair of miniature Indian moccasins on my bedside table. With their bright-colored beads on buttery leather, the moccasins were my most cherished possession.

  “I’ll stay if you’ll give me those,” Ann said.

  I frowned. I couldn’t imagine parting with the moccasins. “But Aunt Reba gave them to me,” I protested.

  My aunt had been a beautiful, kind woman. I had really adored her. She was never too busy to spend time with me. We made up silly stories and laughed and laughed. The day she died, I cried under a blanket for hours, unable to believe that I would never see her again. Now, as I cuddled the soft moccasins in my hands, I was filled with fond memories of Aunt Reba.

  “Come on,” prodded Ann. “I’m your best friend.” As if she needed to remind me!

  I don’t know what came over me, but more than anything, I wanted someone to play with me. I wanted someone to play with so much that I handed Ann the moccasins!

  After she stuffed them in her pocket, we rode our bikes up and down the alley a few times. Soon it was time for her to go. Upset at what I had done, I didn’t feel like playing anyway.

  I pleaded “not hungry” that evening and dragged off to bed without dinner. Once up in my room, I began to really miss those moccasins!

  When my mom had tucked me in and turned out the light, she asked me what was wrong. Through my tears, I told her how I had betrayed Aunt Reba’s memory and how ashamed I felt.

  Mom hugged me warmly, but all she could say was, “Well, I guess you’ll have to decide what to do.”

  Her words didn’t seem to help. Alone in the dark, I began to think more clearly. Kids’ code says you don’t give, then take back. But was it a fair trade? Why did I let Ann toy with my feelings? But most of all, is Ann really my best friend?

  I decided what I would do. I tossed and turned all night, dreading daylight.

  At school the next day, I cornered Ann. I took a deep breath and asked for the moccasins. Her eyes narrowed, and she stared at me for a long time.

  Please, I was thinking. Please.

  “Okay,” she said finally, producing the moccasins from her pocket. “I didn’t like them anyway.” Relief washed over me like a wave.

  After a while, Ann and I stopped playing together. I discovered the neighborhood boys weren’t half bad, especially when they asked me to play softball. I even made girlfriends in other neighborhoods.

  Through the years, I have had other best friends. But I have never again begged for their company. I have come to understand that best friends are people who want to spend time with you, and they ask nothing in return.

  Mary Beth Olson

  All I Would Ever Need

  Lots of people want to ride with you in the limo,but what you want is someone who will take the bus with you when the limo breaks down.

  Oprah Winfrey

  I had always felt like I was a misfit in school. My friends, although good and true friends, were not in the crowd of popular kids in school. Besides, I was sure I was funny looking. I just didn’t fit the mold.

  Parading constantly before my eyes was “the fun group”—the popular kids—always laughing and whispering, never sad or depressed, skipping their way through school, the best of friends. Teachers loved them, boys loved them, the whole school loved them. I worshipped them and wanted to be just like them. I dreamed of the day that they would accept me.

  My dream came true when I turned fourteen and I tried out for the cheerleading squad. To my surprise, I was chosen. Almost instantly, I was thrust into the “in crowd.” I felt like a butterfly coming out of a cocoon. I changed my hair and the way I dressed. Everyone thought the change in me was fantastic—new clothes, a new group of friends and a new outlook on life.

  Almost overnight, the whole school knew who I was, or at least they knew my name. There were parties and sleepovers, and of course, cheering at the games. I was finally one of the popular kids. Everyone I had hoped to know, I knew. Everything I had wanted to be, I was.

  Something strange was happening to me, however. The more I was included with the “in crowd,” the more confused I became. In reality, these people were far from perfect. They talked behind each other’s backs while they pretended to be best friends. They rarely had a truly good time but smiled and faked it. They cared about what I was wearing and who I was seen with. But they didn’t care about who I was, what I believed in, what my dreams were or what made me who I was. It was a shock to see them as they really were, instead of as I had thought they were.

  I began to feel a huge sense of loss and disappointment. But worst of all, I realized that I was becoming just like them, and I didn’t like what was happening at all. I had to get my life back in order.

  I concentrated first on finding out who my real friends were—the ones who listened and who really cared about me. They were the only ones who really mattered. I stayed with cheerleading because I really enjoyed it. But I stopped hanging around with only the popular kids, and I widened my circle of friends. I found out that my real friends had never left me. They were simply waiting for me to
come to my senses. I finally realized that my original friends were all I would ever need.

  Kerri Warren

  My Friend Anthony

  Whenever I think back to third grade, I think of my friend Anthony. He had blond hair and big, brown, expressive eyes. I had been surprised to see that he was in my class because he was older than I was.

  Although Anthony had AIDS and knew his days were limited, he was always eager to come to school and try to lead a normal life. Some days, he got tired and had to leave early. His mother usually came every day to eat lunch with him or just to be with him. It seemed like he always had a positive outlook on things even though he knew everything wasn’t okay. He came to school with what appeared to be a medicine pouch attached to his waist. Many times I felt sorry for him because I knew he must have been in pain.

  In June of that year, Anthony died. I clearly remember that he wore a Charlotte Hornets windbreaker outfit in his coffin, and lying beside him was his Cabbage Patch doll, along with a small bag of toys. After that, I sometimes lied awake at night, afraid to go to sleep because I was afraid of dying.

  I knew Anthony had left his body to go to a better place, a place without pain, but I felt bad for his family because they would always feel empty without Anthony.

  During the year that I had gone to school with Anthony, I had grown to respect him and his mother, too. Through her love and compassion, she taught Anthony, as well as others such as myself, to be brave, and to love, care for and respect everyone. Anthony had taught me to live life to the fullest, and I intend to do just that.