Chicken Soup for the Kid’s Soul (24 page)

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

Putting My Best Foot Forward

D
estiny is not a matter of chance; it is a matter of choice. It is not a thing to be waited for; it is a thing to be achieved.

William Jennings Bryan

I could feel the sweat start to trickle down my back, right between my shoulder blades. There I was, standing in the hot sun, while the team captains chose who they wanted on their team for a baseball game during fourth grade recess.

There were only four of us left.

“I’ll take Sandy,” said one of the team captains.

“David,” said the other. The palms of my hands started to sweat.

“Rachel.” My heart sank.

“Alright . . . I’ll take Kathy.” I was sure everyone was looking at me . . . skinny Kathy, with the skinny legs and arms— Kathy, that no one wanted on their team. I wanted to crawl under a rock and hide. I was humiliated . . . once again.

I was a geek to most of the kids in school. I was shy, quiet, scrawny . . . and afraid to make friends.

At home with my parents, I always felt okay with myself. My folks were hard-working people who loved and supported me, and believed in my capabilities. They taught me to go for what I wanted no matter what it was.

In kindergarten, I had been invited to a birthday party. I wanted to get a really nice present for the girl who invited me, and my parents encouraged me to work for the money to buy the present. My dad said to me, “You have two arms and two legs and a brain, Kathy. If you want extra money, you can simply earn it.”

Because my parents believed in me so much, I believed in myself, too. To earn the money, I painted pictures on rocks and sold them door to door in my neighborhood, sold fruit and vegetables from our garden, and did yard work for our neighbors. Although I was just a small child, buying a gift for my friend with the money I earned myself gave me a tremendous sense of empowerment.

By the time I was in fourth grade, I was making enough money to buy my own clothes and toys, and whatever candy and treats I wanted from the ice cream man.

However, that was at home. When I got to school, I felt gawky and awkward. To the kids at school, I was just a skinny, dumb kid who couldn’t play baseball. More than anything, I wanted to feel just as successful and capable at school as I did at home. And I wanted friends . . . but no one would play with me.

One afternoon near the end of my fourth grade year, my teacher, Mrs. Sween, asked me if I would stay after school for a few minutes.

When I sat down in front of her desk, she started right in.

“I’ve noticed that you don’t hang around with any of the kids during recess, Kathy.”

“They don’t want to play with me, Mrs. Sween,” I answered.

“Do you think that is their fault?” she asked. “If you do, I have news for you. It’s not. It’s your fault. If you think it is someone else’s responsibility to make friends with you first, you are mistaken. They aren’t going to come to you, you have to go to them.”

I dropped my eyes from her face, and felt tears start to sting the corners of my eyelids.

“Look at me, Kathy.” I looked back at Mrs. Sween.

“I know you are a wonderful girl. But how are they going to know you if you don’t give them the opportunity? You have to be the one to make the effort, to be friendly, and to talk to other people. Don’t get caught up in your shyness. Take a risk! Be a friend, and you’ll make a friend.”

I don’t remember exactly how I made it out of the classroom that day. But I do remember lying on my bed that night, thinking about Mrs. Sween and the things that she had said to me. She had talked to me like my parents had always talked to me: like an equal, not like just a kid. Something sank in that night, and it changed my life. I made a decision. I decided to be happy, and to have a happy life. No one else could do it for me; I had to do it for myself.

Over the summer, I started watching baseball. I mean really watching. I watched baseball on television; I watched baseball on the street where I lived. I studied how the best players played—how they held the bat, and what they did to improve their game. I copied everything the best players did. And I got good at baseball.

When school started the following year, it was amazing that I was not picked last—I was picked first! I had worked to become a good player, and the teams wanted me. Not only that, but it was easier to make friends because I felt more confident about myself. Sure, I was still skinny tomboy Kathy, but now I had friends to laugh with and to share my stories with. I learned to have faith in myself and to know that God doesn’t make mistakes. I became more of what I wanted to be because I had made a conscious decision to step out and put my best foot forward.

Later in my life, when I began my modeling career, I realized that not all adults were like my parents and Mrs. Sween. It made me sad to see how some older people took advantage of young girls. My parents and Mrs. Sween wanted the best for me, but there were people out there in the world of modeling that only wanted the best for themselves—it didn’t matter who got hurt in the process of them getting what they wanted.

But I never let myself be in a compromising position— I never had to take my top off to become a popular model; I could say no and mean it. No one was ever going to tell me how to run my life; if it wasn’t something I knew was the right thing for me to do, I didn’t do it.

I have been lucky to have my faith and the love of my family to support me throughout my life. Other girls around me in the modeling profession didn’t have what I have had: people like my parents and Mrs. Sween to encourage me. They have done self-destructive things and have been vulnerable to bad people. I have walked off modeling jobs when I didn’t like what was going on. My self-esteem gave me the freedom to do that. I always knew if a modeling job didn’t work out, there were lots of other interesting jobs out there for me. I could do anything if I set my mind to it, and made a conscious decision to excel.

All I’ve ever had to do was to step out . . . and put my best foot forward.

Kathy Ireland

Understanding

I
discovered I always have choices and sometimes it’s only a choice of attitude.

Judith M. Knowlton

My friend Jervais was fading away. He was a boy in my science class who had had a brain tumor removed. No one else really paid much attention to him, or seemed to care, but I always wondered what he felt like and what he’d been through.

I was going through a stage of deep depression. I was having a lot of family problems and feelings of very low self-esteem. I just hated myself—I have no idea why. I would joke about death to my friends, and a few times I would even talk about trying to kill myself. All I wanted to do was to go somewhere where I would feel no pain and no sadness.

One day I noticed that Jervais hadn’t been coming to school lately. About two days later, my adviser, Mrs. Baar, announced that Jervais had developed another brain tumor. I was so shocked that I started to cry. I felt as though I had a connection with Jervais. I spent the rest of the day thinking about how devastating it would be to know that at any hour, minute or even second you were going to die. His life was being ripped away from him, and he didn’t have a choice. I did. I had been thinking about taking my own life away.

One of my other friends told me that Jervais loved lizards. I remembered that my brother had recently taught me how to make toy lizards out of big plastic beads. Right then, I decided to make Jervais one for luck and hope. When I walked through my bedroom door that afternoon, I went right for my beads. I picked out the colors—yellow, green and clear. I took my time to make it special.

The next day at school, I made Jervais a card on the computer and wrote a little poem that told him he would always have a place in my heart. After the card was printed, I signed my name and gave it to my teacher. She was going to see him at the hospital the next day.

The next week I was walking to lunch, and as I passed the computer lab, I saw a lot of people sitting down inside. Being the nosy person that I am, I took a closer look. It was almost all of my teachers, Jervais and a woman I had never seen before. Then one of the teachers invited me to go in, and told me that the other woman was Jervais’s mom and she was asking about me. I started to cry, and then the teacher hugged me and said I didn’t have to go in if I didn’t want to. But I did want to—so I wiped my tears and walked into the room. I was introduced to Jervais’s mom. I looked at her and was amazed! She wasn’t crying or showing any sorrow at all. I admired her for being so strong.

I said, “Hi, I’m Jessica.” She smiled at me and told me that she had hung the lizard on the hospital bed so that Jervais was always able to reach it. I looked over at Jervais. He didn’t look like himself. He had a bandage over his eyes. Our teacher was kneeling down, talking to him, and I didn’t want to interrupt so I left for lunch. I never saw Jervais again.

That night I finally realized that I would have made a big mistake by killing myself. I felt so guilty. I thought of all the people I would have hurt if I had—all the people who care about me, whom I had overlooked. At that moment, I promised myself that I wouldn’t ever even think about doing something harmful to myself again.

As the rest of the school year passed, I became more clear about my life, and I have been much happier. I think of Jervais less often, but I never will forget what he did for me and my whole life. My life was just beginning, while his life was ending. He gave me the gift of understanding myself, and that is truly a gift from God.

Jessica Stroup, age 14

Nine Gold Medals

The athletes had come from all over the country
To run for the gold, for the silver and bronze
Many weeks and months of training
All coming down to these games

The spectators gathered around the old field
To cheer on all the young women and men
The final event of the day was approaching
Excitement grew high to begin

The blocks were all lined up for those who would use
  them
The hundred-yard dash was the race to be run
There were nine resolved athletes in back of the starting
  line
Poised for the sound of the gun

The signal was given, the pistol exploded
And so did the runners all charging ahead
But the smallest among them, he stumbled and staggered
And fell to the asphalt instead

He gave out a cry in frustration and anguish
His dreams and his efforts all dashed in the dirt
But as sure as I’m standing here telling this story
The same goes for what next occurred

The eight other runners pulled up on their heels
The ones who had trained for so long to compete
One by one they all turned around and went back to help
  him
And brought the young boy to his feet

Then all the nine runners joined hands and continued
The hundred-yard dash now reduced to a walk
And a banner above that said “Special Olympics”
Could not have been more on the mark

That’s how the race ended, with nine gold medals
They came to the finish line holding hands still
And a standing ovation and nine beaming faces
Said more than these words ever will

David Roth

Without a Nightlight

W
hatever failures I have known, whatever errors I have committed . . . have been the consequence of action without thought.

Bernard M. Baruch

The moon shone down on the lake like a spotlight. It was a warm summer evening, and I found the night sky, with its glistening stars, relaxing to watch. Five of us were sitting on the dock, wishing we could go for a swim. Paul asked Chelsea and me if we wanted to get on a big yellow tube and go across the cove. It sounded like fun.

We were on the tube, paddling across the lake, when Chelsea said that she was having doubts. Was it safe crossing the lake in this tube? Paul said that he had done this before and that there was nothing to worry about. The boat speed limit was five miles an hour and all boats needed to have at least two lights on.

We were cruising along when, suddenly, Kari started yelling from the dock, saying she heard a boat coming. We didn’t think anything about it, figuring we were on the opposite side from where the boat would be. Then suddenly, the noise became loud enough for us to hear over our splashing feet. We all began to panic.

We yelled back to the dock, asking them if they could see a boat, but no one could. So we kept going until the roar was louder than our voices. Then, all of a sudden, Kari started screaming, “Come back!” Her voice sounded scared, so we desperately started looking for a boat. Out of nowhere, over the roar of the engine and the kicking of our feet, Kari yelled, “Oh my God, there’s a boat!” The way she said it terrified me and I started to cry. None of us knew what to do.

We stayed as still as we could. Chelsea and I were on the tube. She was on my left and Paul was on my right, floating in the water. Once we were still, all I could hear was my heart pounding, the yelling all around me, and the roar of a boat coming closer and closer every second. Then suddenly, right in front of me, was my worst nightmare. There, just a few feet away, was the boat. It was coming right at us!

Chelsea froze right in her spot, screaming. I pushed her into the water and jumped in after her, just in time to save my own life. As I went under water, I felt the boat skidding over my shoulder like a jet.

I looked up through the water, but at first I could not find the surface. Finally, I got to the top and took the biggest breath I’ve ever taken. But the terrifying situation was not over. The boat came back, looking for what it had struck, and almost hit us again.

Chelsea was above the water by the time I came up, and I could hear her yelling for Paul and me. I answered her, but Paul did not. It seemed as though we were calling for Paul forever, but thinking back, it was only about twenty seconds. At last, Paul came to the surface, and we made it back to the dock. Kari had to pull me in with the life rope because I felt like I could not move. Once we all got onto the dock, one of the men who was in the boat brought our tube in for us.

Paul kept saying that it was his fault and that he was to blame for us almost being killed. We assured him that we had made the decision to go and that he was not to blame. We sat on the dock telling our own versions of what had happened. The only way that our stories differed was the way the boat hit all of us. The boat hit me on the shoulder while I was trying to push off the bottom of the boat. Chelsea pushed off the boat with her hands; Paul got hit on the head. Everyone agreed that I had saved Chelsea by pushing her off the tube.

The next afternoon, which was Father’s Day, my parents and I went over to Paul’s house to have a cookout. When we were all sitting on the dock, we told them our story. I spent a lot of the day thinking about how lucky we were just to be alive. That moment gave me nightmares for almost a year. To this day, I can still see the color of the waves and feel the way my heart was beating when I finally came up for air. That was one experience that I will never forget.

Without a doubt, the next time we go out on the lake at night, we’ll bring along a light!

Jessica Harper, age 14