Chicken Soup for the Kid’s Soul (29 page)

The Day I Figured Out That
No One Is Perfect

Once there was a girl in my class that I thought was beautiful and smart. I believed that she was perfect. When it came time for my birthday, I invited her to my party, and she came.

A few months later, it was her birthday. I got a special necklace for her. Thinking about how happy she would be to receive my gift made me so excited.

I asked her when her birthday party was going to be. She replied, “Why do you want to know? You’re not invited. You’re just a dork with glasses!”

I felt really bad when she said that. I just stood there looking at her. Everyone standing by her came to stand next to me. Then we all left.

That day, I figured out that even if someone looks perfect, there is a very good possibility that they aren’t. When it comes to perfection, it’s how someone treats you that is more important than how they look.

Ellie Logan, age 9

CALVIN AND HOBBES. Distributed by Universal Press Syndicate. Reprinted with permission. All rights reserved.

The Little Notice

H
onesty’s the best policy.

Benjamin Franklin

Once upon a time, when I was in the sixth grade, I got a disciplinary, “Child-Has-Done-Bad” notice, “Child-Has-Been-Cutting-Up-In-Class” type notice, which was actually known as a “Yellow Slip.” I brought it home, but I was really bad about dealing with this kind of thing. My plan was to always get my disciplinary slips signed in the morning before school, right before I had to get out of the car. I would say, “Well, Dad, there’s one more thing. I got this little notice, and I need you to sign it so I can go to class.” That way, I could avoid a punishment. I was think-in’ that I was really smart!

But this particular morning, I was kind of chicken, and I just got out of the car. My father got out, too, to tell me something. I walked around to his side and showed him the little notice. He was in the middle of the street with the car still running.

I was like, “Sign it real quick,” you know. Then I began to joke around with him by saying stuff like, “Actually, it isn’t a
real
disciplinary notice; it’s a fake one. It’s just a test. See, see, you’re getting mad! You’re passing the test! You’re
supposed
to get mad—it’s a test for the parents. I’m supposed to report to my teacher, ’cause they’re looking to see if we’re having family problems and stuff like that. . . . ”

He didn’t laugh at my joking about it. He signed the little notice, but he told me that this time I wasn’t gettin’ off easy and that I was really gonna get it when I got home.

That was the longest day I’d ever gone through. The day just dragged on and on. I was thinking about all the ways that Dad could decide to punish me, like grounding me from hangin’ around with my friends, or even worse, no TV for a month.
That
would have
killed
me, ’cause I’m such a big TV head!

When my father picked me up, I tried to be a little angel, you know, hoping that he’d forget about the punishment. We got home and went in the house, and everything was cool, right? But then he says, “Alright, get upstairs and wait for me.” I was thinkin’, “OOOHHH maaan!”

Well, I didn’t lose a month of TV, but I got a spankin’ that I never forgot. It got the message across real clear, and I learned my lesson. Don’t hold out on your parents! Just go ahead and tell the truth, ’cause it shall
set you free!

Kenan Thompson

Teenagers

They wear clothes too tight.
They wear clothes too big.
They have funky hair styles,
I think they need a wig.

They’re allowed to stay out.
They’re allowed to make out.
They’re allowed to wear clothes
That let it all hang out.

They’re allowed to have boyfriends.
They’re allowed to have girlfriends.
They can’t mind their business.
They’re way far into trends.

They’re snotty and conceited.
They think they’re all that,
They make me want to puke.
Next year . . .
Will I be like that?

Melissa Mercedes, age 12

“I sure hope Billy's guardian angel
doesn't go on strike.”

Reprinted by permission of Bil Keane.

My Guardian Angel

We all take for granted the great gift of life. You don’t really notice how special it is until death looks you in the eyes.

When I was about two years old, I had a near-death experience. I don’t really remember much about it except for what my mom told me.

It was a hot summer day, and everybody had gone outside to enjoy the weather. My sister and her friend jumped into our backyard pool to cool off. I did not know how to swim yet. My mom would always watch all of us very closely, but just for a minute, she had walked over to the side of the yard to talk to my dad. She told my sister to watch out for me, but my sister was busy laughing and having fun with her friend.

Before anyone knew it, I fell into the pool. No one heard me because I was so little; there was hardly a splash.

What happened next was amazing. My mom says it felt as though someone tapped her on the shoulder, but when she turned around no one was there. It was then that she noticed I wasn’t in sight. She ran over to the pool, looking for me. She saw me in the pool, kicking and waving my arms in the air, trying to keep my head above the water. She jumped in and pulled me out. Luckily I was okay. She held me in her arms and thanked God that I was all right.

All of this happened within less than a minute. It shows how very precious life really is and how it can be lost in the blink of an eye.

No one really knows why my mom turned around. To this day, she thinks that it was my guardian angel tapping her on the shoulder.

Travis Ebel, age 14

Grandpa’s Bees

I
have known it for a long time but now I have experienced it. Now I know it not only with my intellect, but with my eyes, with my heart, with my stomach.

Hermann Hesse

A long time before I was born, my grandma and grandpa moved into the house on Beechwood Avenue. They had a young family of four little girls. The little girls slept in the attic in a big feather bed. It was cold there on winter nights. Grandma put hot bricks under the covers at the foot of the bed to keep the girls warm.

During the Great Depression work was hard to find, so Grandpa did whatever jobs he could. He dug ditches during the week, and on weekends he and Grandma dug a garden to grow some of their own food.

The house on Beechwood Avenue had a big front yard with shade trees and fruit trees. In the middle of the yard was a water pump where the four little girls pumped water for cooking, cleaning and watering the garden. On one side of the yard Grandma and Grandpa planted tomatoes, beans, squash, cucumbers, peppers and strawberries to feed their growing family. They planted roses, geraniums, lilacs and irises on the other side of the yard, around the statue of the Blessed Mother.

Everybody worked to keep the garden growing. All summer long the family ate food from the garden and enjoyed the beautiful flowers. Grandma put up strawberry jam, tomatoes, beans, peppers, pears and peaches in canning jars. They were good to eat through the long winter.

The family grew up, and before too many years had passed, grandchildren came to visit. Grandma and Grandpa still planted their garden every spring. Everyone still enjoyed the good food from the garden and always took some home.

Grandchildren grow up, and grandparents grow older. It became harder for Grandma and Grandpa to keep up the garden, so they made it a little smaller. There was still plenty to eat from the garden and lovely flowers to enjoy.

Then one summer when Grandpa was eighty-nine years old, all he could do was watch from his lawn chair as the vegetables grew and the roses bloomed. Summer slowly faded, and Grandpa died before it was time to bring in the harvest.

It was a lonely winter for Grandma. She sat near the window, looking out at the yard and wondering if she should plant a garden in the spring. It would be hard to care for it by herself. When spring came, she planted only a little garden.

One sunny day in early summer, Grandma heard a commotion in the front yard and looked out the window to see a frightening sight. A gigantic swarm of bees filled the air between two tall trees. There were thousands of bees in the air, so many that the swarm reached the treetops! The buzzing sound was tremendous.

Grandma watched as the bees made their way into a hole high up in one of the trees. Before long, every one of those bees had disappeared into its new home.

Grandma wondered what in the world she could do. Should she hire someone to get rid of the bees? That would cost more than she could afford. She decided to wait and think it over.

During the next few days, the bees were busy minding their own business. Grandma could always see a few bees buzzing in and out and around the opening high in the tree. Before long, she decided the bees weren’t bothering anyone, so she went about her business and didn’t give them another thought.

That summer, Grandma’s little garden grew and grew. The neighbors would stop to admire her huge crop of vegetables and puzzle over why their own gardens weren’t doing as well. No matter, because Grandma had enough to give some away. Of course, everyone who came to visit was treated to a meal of good things from the garden.

One day, Grandma’s brother Frank visited from Arizona. As Grandma made Frank a delicious lunch of squash pancakes and homemade applesauce, she told him the story about the swarm of bees.

Frank said, “In Arizona, the farmers often hire beekeepers to set up beehives near their fields. The bees pollinate the crops and help them to grow.”

That was when Grandma realized that her bees had helped with the garden all summer.

“So that’s why my little garden had such a big crop!” she exclaimed.

From that time on, Grandma always believed that since Grandpa couldn’t be there with her to help that summer, he had sent the bees to take his place and make Grandma’s little garden grow and grow.

Barbara Allman

“If the bees make honey, do butterflies make butter?”

Reprinted by permission of Bil Keane.

The Flying Fish

Y
our big opportunity might be right where you are now.

Napoleon Hill

One summer my family and I went on a vacation to Sunriver, Oregon. We rented a cabin and a small powerboat at Big Lava Lake and were ready for a week of serious fishing. Our first morning, we packed a big picnic lunch, fishing poles and Mom’s camera. She loves to take a picture of the proud person with his or her catch, a rare thing in our family of unlucky anglers. We went down to the lake with high hopes of catching “the big one.” Little did we know just
how
big our catch that day would be.

It was a really bright, sunny morning. The sky was pale blue and full of big, fluffy white clouds. The blue-green lake sat in the middle of the surrounding mountains like a spoonful of gravy in the middle of your mashed potatoes. The entire area, including the lakeshore, was covered with huge, dark green pine trees, which filled the air with their beautiful smell. You could see their giant reflections on the quiet surface of the lake.

We motored as far away from the other boats on the lake as possible. After anchoring the boat, we set up our fishing lines in five different directions. Then we opened up our picnic lunch, passed out sandwiches and started to relax.

“There’s nothing like a peaceful day on the lake,” Dad said, enjoying his peanut butter and jelly sandwich. “Your Uncle Pat would say, ‘The family that fishes together, stays together.’ What a beautiful day.”

After a while, we realized that the reason our end of the lake was so uncrowded was because our end had no fish.

“Hey, how come we always seem to pick the side of the lake where we’re never gonna catch anything?” my brother Ethan asked.

“Just be patient. You guys will catch something. You always do,” Mom said, trying to encourage us.

“Something big enough for a family of five would be nice,” grinned my brother Colin. “I think I’ll just relax while I wait for those
big
fish down there, just lining up for my bait . . .”

The loud buzz of a small plane overhead interrupted him. Above the engine noise, Mom cried out, “Look, everybody. This will be so exciting. It’s a pontoon plane that’s about to land on the water!”

“No, it’s not, Trish. That pilot’s in trouble!” Dad shouted.

Dad was right. The plane that Mom thought was able to float on the water was actually a plane that needed to make an emergency landing, and the pilot had chosen our lake to land on! Within seconds, the plane crashed on its belly, as though it were doing a giant cannonball.
Splash!!!
Huge waves filled the lake. The nose of the plane was pointing downward—the plane was sinking fast!

Dad, who knew right from the beginning that the pilot was in trouble, immediately tried to start the motor of our boat. The boat jerked forward, throwing our bits of sandwiches on the deck and tangling up all of our fishing lines. Food and fishhooks were flying everywhere! We were hurrying and scurrying as our parents called out commands and our family charged into action. At first, it was like a comedy movie. But my parents were great. They kept their cool. “Everybody stay calm! Don’t stand up! Pull in your lines! You guys sit down! Grab the extra life jacket! Let’s go! Let’s hustle! This is an emergency!”

Dad gave the engine full throttle, and its ten horsepower puttered as fast as it could. We only had to go a few hundred feet, but it seemed to take forever. We could see the pilot—a gray-haired man wearing a checkered shirt, blue jeans and cowboy boots. He had climbed onto the plane’s wing while the nose was sinking and the tail was pointing straight up. He was standing on the wing, holding an old brown suitcase, waiting for us to come to his rescue. He seemed so calm, just standing there, like he was waiting outside at a bus stop.

When we finally reached the pilot, Mom grabbed a life jacket and threw it out onto the water for him. By that time, the plane had sunk. The pilot was clinging for dear life to his suitcase, which he seemed to be using as a life preserver. He seemed to have difficulty swimming and couldn’t get to the life jacket that was only five feet away from him. After several tries, Mom and Dad hoisted the pilot by the belt loops of his jeans onto our boat. He was safely on board.

“Oh my gosh. . . . Thank you, thank you!” The pilot’s face was frozen with fear. “My goodness, thank you. . . . My name’s Wave, Wave Young. . . . I’ve been flying for over forty years . . . ” he stammered. He seemed out of breath and really shaken up.

“Hi, I’m Mike; this is my wife, Trish; our children, Megan, Ethan and Colin,” Dad said, trying to put the pilot at ease.

“I knew I had engine trouble and knew I was coming down, so I tried to land on the lake. A couple years back, another pilot landed in those beautiful pines and started a big forest fire. I didn’t want to do the same!” Wave’s voice was shaking.

“Did you say your name is Wave? I can see why. . . . ”

“Colin!” I whispered under my breath. We all laughed a little nervously, even Wave.

“Well, thank God you people were here. I don’t know what I’d have done without you. I was in such shock I couldn’t even swim! Thank God you were here to rescue me.”

Once he was comfortably seated on the boat, we rushed the pilot ashore to let the waiting paramedics and other emergency crews take care of him. Even though we still had rental time left on the boat, we turned it in early because, as Dad said, “I think we’re done fishing for the day.” We said our good-byes, and as a crowd formed, we decided to sneak out of the way, get into our car and head back for the day.

“I’m really proud of you kids. You were terrific. You handled that emergency really well,” Dad told us, his face beaming with pride.

“What do you think you guys learned from all this today?” Mom asked as she turned back toward us in the car.

“We were on the wrong side of the lake again for fishing, but this time it turned out good,” Ethan answered shyly.

“We learned how important it is to be ready for emergencies,” Colin added.

“And you never know when God will use you to help someone,” I said to my family. “We were there for a reason. We were the only people on that side of the lake. The pilot was so scared that he couldn’t swim. If we had gone to the other side of the lake, we couldn’t have reached him in time to save him.”

That night we saw video coverage of Wave’s plane crash on the evening news. Amazingly, Mom had also snapped an awesome picture of Wave standing on the wing of his plane, right before we reached him. She gave the photo to the local paper, which printed it the next morning on the front page.

We still need to frame that photo of “the big one.” We could hang it somewhere in our home to keep our memory of that day alive. And maybe we wouldn’t have a picture of a fish, but we would have a picture of a pilot we fished out—and that would sure be the biggest “flying fish” anyone had ever seen!

Megan Niedermeyer, age 12
with Killeen Anderson