Chicken Soup for the Soul: Reader's Choice 20th Anniversary Edition

by Jack Canfield

  about not waiting to do the big things for others.

  I was a better person for it.

  ~Carol Goodman Heizer

  It Couldn’t Hurt

  Wherever there is a human being, there is an opportunity for a kindness.

  ~Seneca

  Random Acts of Kindness — huh!

  It couldn’t hurt.

  I told my husband I love him.

  It couldn’t hurt.

  I packed a note in my son’s lunch box telling him how special he is.

  It couldn’t hurt.

  I opened the door for a lady in a wheelchair at Walgreens.

  It couldn’t hurt.

  I left a box of cookies for the mailman.

  It couldn’t hurt.

  I let someone go in front of me in the grocery line.

  It didn’t hurt.

  I called my brother to tell him I miss him.

  He misses me too!

  I sent the Mayor a note saying what a good job he is doing.

  It couldn’t hurt.

  I took flowers to the nursing home.

  It couldn’t hurt.

  I cooked some chicken soup for a friend who is sick.

  It couldn’t hurt.

  I played Candy Land with my daughter.

  It was fun.

  I thanked the person who bagged my groceries.

  He beamed.

  I gave my assistant the day off with pay.

  It only hurt a little.

  I played ball with my dog.

  It felt good.

  I invited a woman who doesn’t drive to lunch and to a movie.

  I enjoyed myself.

  I got a massage for me.

  It felt marvelous.

  Random Acts of Kindness — hmmm, maybe I’ll live this way all year.

  It couldn’t hurt.

  ~Sandy Ezrine

  Always a Teacher

  Age is only a number, a cipher for the records. A man can’t retire his experience. He must use it.

  ~Bernard Baruch

  My hands trembled as I handed my husband the sealed, addressed envelope. “Please take this to the post office and mail it immediately. If you don’t get it out of the house now, I’m apt to change my mind.”

  After mulling it over for weeks, I had made a decision. I would accept the Independence, Iowa school district’s early-retirement offer and trudge off to that dismal world of blue-haired, early-bird-special retirees. To say I was less than enthusiastic about my pending “opportunity” would be an understatement. I was, in first grade terminology, one unhappy camper.

  I taught squirming little six-year-old bundles of energy in five different school districts over a span of forty-two years, but it never felt like work. A teacher has a job; but a good teacher has a passion. I think most students, parents, colleagues and administrators regarded me as passionate. I loved the classroom and everything that went with it. Well, almost everything.

  The pay was skimpy and the uncompensated overtime hours were endless. Much of the paperwork was state and/or federally mandated busywork, and staff development sessions fluctuated between boring and inane.

  There were, however, many things that I would miss. I’d miss hearing the nervous little six-year-old read a five-word sentence for the first time. I wouldn’t get any more precious handcrafted pictures with “I luv u” notations scribbled at the bottom. There would be no more “World’s Best Teacher” ornaments for my Christmas tree. I’d never again hear the excitement in a little kid’s voice as he exclaimed, “Now I get it!” I’d miss the support of parents, the leadership of administrators, and the camaraderie of colleagues. And finally, I would forever lose the satisfaction that goes with belonging to a group of people working toward a common goal.

  I replayed these positives, and countless more, over and over in my mind as I struggled to make a decision about retiring. But the process always ended with the same question. What would be best for the kids?

  Finally, after weeks of soul searching and more than a few tears, I knew what I had to do. Little munchkins deserve a teacher who can run and jump and climb on the monkey bars and crawl on the floor, and maintain patience — at all times. I had fulfilled that role for more than four decades, but those days were behind me. It was time to move on.

  Move on? Where would I go? Retirement was a place where old people went to brag about their grandkids and complain about their aches and pains. It wasn’t my idea of fun.

  The following weeks evolved into a never-ending self-pity party, but without the gifts of sympathy or empathy. Parents, colleagues, friends and family members all seemed to think my elevator had gotten stuck on the way to the top. Earlier retirees told me in great detail about all the advantages they were privy to, and my younger friends whined about how much they envied my pending opportunity. Nothing helped. I was in a self-imposed funk. Fortunately, I didn’t stay there long.

  On my sixty-second birthday, a former student gave me a copy of Chicken Soup for the Teacher’s Soul. I lived vicariously through all of the stories, but John Wayne Schlatter’s “I Am a Teacher” was my wakeup call.

  “Material wealth is not one of my goals,” he wrote, “but I am a full-time treasure seeker in my quest for new opportunities. . .”

  A-ha! There was the solution to my problem. If I wanted my retirement to be as fulfilling as my teaching career had been, I had to stop wallowing in self-pity and start looking for new opportunities. It wasn’t rocket science, but it was an idea that had not occurred to me.

  Shortly after the school year ended I began writing From the Teacher’s Desk, a help-your-child-succeed book for parents. My book didn’t come close to making the New York Times bestseller list, but it did open doors that I hadn’t known existed.

  Two years later, I founded an interactive website for educators: www.theteachersdesk.com. I update the material on six of the site’s links on the first day of every month throughout the school year, and e-mail monthly newsletters to more than 1,100 subscribers. I have written countless articles for parenting magazines and academic journals, as well as single chapters for two reference texts: Visual Literacy and Reading in 2010 and Beyond. My most recent book, If They Don’t Learn the Way You Teach . . . Teach the Way They Learn, was released a couple of years ago.

  When I’m not on the road I try to keep up with what’s new in the world of education by subbing in my local school district and picking the brains of exemplary teachers, many of whom are former colleagues. I serve on the public library board in Independence, and on the Upper Iowa University Press Advisory Council. I provide professional development training throughout the Midwest during the school year, and teach several literacy workshops each summer.

  International Reading Association State Conferences are the fragrant flowers in my retirement pasture. To date I have been one of several featured speakers at seventy-two IRA conferences, with more on the docket. These stimulating and enjoyable venues have made it possible for my husband and me to visit nearly every state in the union, to participate in new activities, to try new foods and to make new friends. Ah yes, retirement is great. And no, my hair isn’t blue.

  Alexander Graham Bell said, “When one door closes another door opens; but we so often look so long and so regretfully upon the closed door, that we do not see the ones which open for us.”

  Teacher John Wayne Schlatter illuminated my open doors through his “I Am a Teacher” story, and the memory of 1,500 former students inspired me to walk through those doors. It was a powerful lesson that has served me well.

  ~Jacquie McTaggart

  I Am a Teacher

  Teaching creates all other professions.

  ~Author Unknown

  I am a teacher.

  I was born the first moment that a question leaped from the mouth of a child.

  I have been many people in many places.

  I am Socrates exciting the youth of Athens to discover new ideas through the use of questions.

  I am A
nne Sullivan tapping out the secrets of the universe into the outstretched hand of Helen Keller.

  I am Aesop and Hans Christian Andersen revealing truth through countless stories.

  I am Marva Collins fighting for every child’s right to an education.

  I am Mary McCloud Bethune building a great college for my people, using orange crates for desks.

  And I am Bel Kaufman struggling to go Up the Down Staircase.

  The names of those who have practiced my profession ring like a hall of fame for humanity . . . Booker T. Washington, Buddha, John Dewey, Leo Buscaglia, Moses and Jesus.

  I am also those whose names and faces have long been forgotten but whose lessons and character will always be remembered in the accomplishments of their students.

  I have wept for joy at the weddings of former students, laughed with glee at the birth of their children, and stood with head bowed in grief and confusion by graves dug too soon for bodies far too young.

  Throughout the course of a day, I have been called upon to be an actor, friend, nurse and doctor, coach, finder of lost articles, money-lender, taxi driver, psychologist, substitute parent, salesman, politician, and a keeper of the faith.

  Despite the maps, charts, formulas, verbs, stories and books, I have really had nothing to teach, for my students really have only themselves to learn, and I know it takes the whole world to tell you who you are.

  I am a paradox. I speak loudest when I listen the most. My greatest gifts are in what I am willing to appreciatively receive from my students.

  Material wealth is not one of my goals, but I am a full-time treasure seeker in my quest for new opportunities for my students to use their talents and in my constant search for those talents that sometimes lie buried in self-defeat.

  I am the most fortunate of all who labor.

  A doctor is allowed to usher life into the world in one magic moment. I am allowed to see that life is reborn each day with new questions, ideas and friendships.

  An architect knows that if he builds with care, his structure may stand for centuries. A teacher knows that if he builds with love and truth, what he builds will last forever.

  I am a warrior, daily doing battle against peer pressure, negativity, fear, conformity, prejudice, ignorance and apathy. But I have great allies: intelligence, curiosity, parental support, individuals, creativity, faith, love and laughter all rush to my banner with indomitable support.

  And who do I have to thank for this wonderful life I am so fortunate to experience, but you the public, the parents. For you have done me the great honor to entrust me with your greatest contribution to eternity, your children.

  And so I have a past that is rich in memories. I have a present that is challenging, adventurous and fun because I am allowed to spend my days with the future.

  I am a teacher . . . and I thank God for it every day.

  ~John Wayne Schlatter

  Knowing They Are Loved

  Children make your life important.

  ~Erma Bombeck

  “Hey Grandma, what can I do to help?” My four adopted grandchildren burst through the door. This was the first holiday that we were celebrating with them. My daughter had been trying for almost three years to jump through the hoops required by the Department of Social Services, so she and her husband could rescue their nieces and nephews from foster care and group homes and add them to their family.

  Although from the beginning I harbored serious doubts about this endeavor, I knew how important these children were to my daughter and her husband. The birthmother of the children was my son-in-law’s sister. Every contact with her, his parents and his other siblings had been disastrous for him and for my daughter. I worried that contact with the children meant increased contact with the rest of that family. Bits and pieces of information about the abuse the children had endured merely added to my conviction that the plan to adopt them was fraught with problems.

  Of course I hated what these poor innocent children had suffered, but I worried that intervention would not be successful, especially for the older ones. I almost didn’t write the letter of support that my daughter needed as part of her paperwork.

  Then I read a vignette in the very first Chicken Soup for the Soul book. It was called “I Like Myself Now.” That convinced me that our love for these kids might help them believe in themselves helped. I wrote the letter for my daughter.

  What these delightful children, ranging in age from nine to sixteen had endured in their lives prior to their rescue, still makes my heart ache. Their birthmother, who used drugs and consistently exposed them to the abusive men in her life, had never provided a safe and stable home. After her parental rights had been taken away, the children seemed stuck in limbo.

  During the waiting period, Sarah and her husband, Rob, visited the children frequently, celebrating birthdays and holidays, bringing gifts and love. Although we had never met them, my husband and I began to shop for gifts and send them with Sarah for those visits.

  Listening to Sarah’s stories about what the kids had endured was painful. But she tempered these stories with delightful anecdotes about their quirks and foibles. Their startlingly different personalities began to emerge in those stories. Without planning it, we began to love them long before we met them.

  Finally Sarah and Rob became guardians and the children moved into their small house. The weekend after the kids came “home,” my husband and I went to meet them.

  To give the children some distance, we decided our first meeting would take place at a local family-friendly restaurant. Sarah and Rob are always prompt and as often happened, my husband and I were a few minutes late. As we pulled into the parking lot, the two boys, nine and twelve, erupted from the restaurant lobby with “Uncle Rob” in tow, and ran toward our moving vehicle.

  We quickly exited the car, only to see that the boys had suddenly turned shy. Their eyes were huge and questioning. I could almost hear the question, “Can you love us?” hanging in the winter air. It seems likely, given their past, that they wondered if they would measure up to our standards. The minute we pulled them into a hug, the boys’ tense bodies relaxed. They couldn’t stop smiling.

  The girls, fourteen and sixteen, more reserved than their brothers, were waiting just inside the restaurant door. The older one dazzled us with a wide and engaging smile, while the younger one accepted our hugs but held back.

  Two years later, the oldest of the four and the one who had assumed the role of protector and mother, told us that she couldn’t understand why we loved her, that she had been “such a brat.”

  Can you imagine the conviction she held that she could never measure up and we would reject her as everyone else in her life had done? For months after her arrival, she was frequently angry and out of control. Patience and love and her slow realization that her new family would love her regardless of what she did pulled her through those difficult times.

  Since that first meeting my husband and I count our blessings that these children have become part of our family and are finding new pathways for themselves with the love and support that all of us willingly give them. Although they continue to struggle with the residue of those early years, I am convinced the progress they have made directly relates to the knowledge that they are loved.

  ~Judythe Guarnera

  I Like Myself Now

  Once you see a child’s self-image begin to improve, you will see significant gains in achievement areas, but even more important, you will see a child who is beginning to enjoy life more.

  ~Wayne Dyer

  I had a great feeling of relief when I began to understand that a youngster needs more than just subject matter. I know mathematics well, and I teach it well. I used to think that was all I needed to do.

  Now I teach children, not math. I accept the fact that I can only succeed partially with some of them.

  When I don’t have to know all the answers, I seem to have more answers than when I tried to be the expert. The youngster who really
made me understand this was Eddie. I asked him one day why he thought he was doing so much better than last year. He gave meaning to my whole new orientation: “It’s because I like myself now when I’m with you,” he said.

  ~A teacher quoted by Everett Shostrum in Man, The Manipulator

  Worship Together

  The test of courage comes when we are in the minority. The test of tolerance comes when we are in the majority.

  ~Ralph W. Sockman

  A story in Chicken Soup for the Christian Family Soul entitled, “A Guy Named Bill” made a big impact on my life. Bill was a college student dressed like a hippie. He didn’t look like the other members of the middle-class church he visited one day. There was no place to sit, so Bill sat down on the carpet near the pulpit. An elderly deacon stood up and made his way to the young man. Everyone in the church expected him to take care of the situation by asking him to leave. They were surprised by the deacon’s action. He dropped his cane and plopped down on the floor beside Bill and worshipped alongside him.

  As a pastor’s wife, I’ve served in many churches, both large and small. I’ve seen people who want to handpick the members who worship with them. Too many church members want people who look like them, think like them and act like them. They want to pick and choose those who attend “their” church. Of course, not all churches are like that; neither are all members. But some certainly are and they need to be taught that the church doesn’t belong to them, but to God.

  After reading “A Guy Named Bill,” I was moved to tears. I knew of a small church where the congregation split because someone inside the church invited some people who were considered undesirable to attend. Let’s just say the visitors didn’t resemble the rest of the congregation.

  When I heard of this situation, I decided that I would stand firm and insist that all people who want to worship in a church should be welcome. The authority of the church is neither with the pastor nor with the deacons. The church should not be run by committees of people. Charter members should have no say as to who can worship in the church. The authority of the church is God and God alone.