Chicken Soup for the Kid’s Soul (8 page)

All I Would Ever Need

L
ots 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.

Katie Short, age 12

3
ON FAMILY

T
hank you
For teaching me wrong from right and
  
encouraging me to keep my dreams in sight
For showing me to not let obstacles keep me
  
down
And for creating a smile from of my frown
For saying that you care about me
And for showing just how special love should be
For wiping my tears away when I’m feeling sad
And for calming me down when I tend to get mad
For helping others with the good that you do
And for teaching me that I should help others, too
For hugging me when I am feeling blue
And whispering into my ear “I love you”
Thank you, family, for all that you do
I don’t know where I would be if it weren’t
  
for you.

James Malinchak

No Dad?!

It was early on a stormy winter morning in Northern California. We were making our way along icy roads to the airport, and from there to our weeklong vacation in the warm Hawaiian sun. My dad had worked the night shift at our local hospital, and he was tired from his long hours of work. He was sleeping in the backseat of our van. This was a typical occurrence as we often tried to maximize vacation time by having Mom drive and allowing Dad to sleep en route to our destination.

My younger brother and I were half asleep. My older brother, Jesse, was absorbed in his latest book. He spends most of his waking moments reading. Whenever Jesse reads, he loses touch with everything except whatever he is reading. He could probably read right through a bomb dropping on us.

After several hours on the road, Mom pulled the car into a rest stop. We could hear Dad snoring as we all got out to stretch and yawn—well, everyone except Jesse and Dad. Dad was still asleep in the back, under the blankets, and Jesse was right in the middle of a “very interesting chapter.”

When we had all done the usual business that you do at a rest stop, we hopped back into the car and drove on. The time went by slowly, and I kept peeking at my watch and then at the sky. Would we ever get to the airport?

After about thirty minutes, I stretched my arms and caught a glimpse of the seat behind me. I looked again. I pulled back the blankets and even looked under the backseat.
That’s funny,
I thought.
Where’s Dad?
I glanced back again, expecting to find him where we had left him. Still no Dad. Certain that there was an explanation for all of this, I questioned my mother.

“Do you know where Dad is?”

“Yeah, he’s in the back.”

I sat in bewilderment and glanced back one last time, but he simply wasn’t there.

“In the very back, with the luggage?”

“No, just the ba . . . ”

Screeeech!

The car roared to a sudden stop, followed by a 180-degree turn that sent us back the way we’d come. Mom had looked in the back and confirmed my suspicions. Dad was missing!

Mom frantically questioned each of us about whether we knew the location of our missing father—first my younger brother, then me, then Jesse. Jesse had been reading through all this excitement, but he suddenly awakened to the panic.

Calmly he remarked, “Don’t worry. He told me to tell you he was going to the bathroom and he’d be right back.” My mother pointed out that we had left the rest area half an hour ago. Jesse just blinked.

An hour after we had left the rest stop, we picked up our now freezing father. He had been trying to keep warm by pressing the blow-dryer in the bathroom over and over again.

Dad spent the rest of the trip wide awake.

And did we make it to the airport on time for our flight? Absolutely. The plane had been delayed because of a bomb threat. Were we shocked or surprised? Naaaw. It was all part of our typical family vacations.

Jason Damazo, age 12

Terror on Route 83

“
Rodney!
Where is Aunt Emily?” Jenny asked for the third time as she walked into the living room drying her hair.

Rodney kept his eyes glued to the video screen. “How am I supposed to know?
Jennifer!
” He really hated it when his sister called him “Rodney.” That’s why he had ignored her the first two times when she had asked him about Aunt Emily.

“C’mon, Rod!” Jenny was getting concerned enough to plead a little. “I asked you to watch Aunt Em while I took a shower.”

“You did?” he asked, offering her his best “who, me?” look.

“Rod, please! When I got into the shower, she was in the kitchen cleaning the sink—like she does at least ten times every day. Now she’s gone!” Jenny was moving around the room looking out all the windows.

“Honest, I dunno, Jen,” Rod answered, pulling himself up off of his elbows. “I don’t remember you asking me to watch her.”

“I can’t find her anywhere and Mom should be home from the dentist in less than an hour,” Jenny wailed.

“Where do you think she would go?” he asked.

“I don’t know!” Jenny said. “But we have to find her. She could get hurt or something.” Now Jenny was sounding borderline frantic.

Rod raced to the back door. Aunt Emily’s blue fall coat was hanging on a hook right next to his faded jean jacket. “Jenny, look!” he said. “We’d better take her coat.”

As he opened the back door, a gust of cold November wind whooshed into the house. “Aunt Em could get really sick if she’s outside too long,” Jenny said.

“You check the yard and the garage. I’ll go down the block. She might have tried going to the beach again,” Rod said as he took off running.

Rod and Jenny lived five miles from the closest beach, but Aunt Emily grew up living only a block away from Rainbow Beach in Chicago. A few months ago she had slipped out of the back door with her bathrobe on. She said that it was her beach jacket and that she was going for a little dip.

Aunt Emily was Grandma Berniece’s oldest sister. Rod used to have fun with Aunt Emily because she had been an elementary school teacher for forty years. She definitely understood kids. Whenever she used to come to visit, they would play Monopoly. Aunt Emily had been the best Monopoly player Rod had ever met. Lately though, she hadn’t been able to play Monopoly at all because she couldn’t remember the rules, and then she would get upset.

Aunt Emily forgot things on a regular basis—like where she was or what day it was. The doctor said she had Alzheimer’s disease. She didn’t look sick or anything, but she said weird things and sometimes she didn’t know who Rod and Jenny were. One day when Rod came home from school, she had locked the door. She kept shouting and asking him who he was.

“Rodney,” he said.

“Rodney who?” she asked.

“Rodney Schuler; I’m your sister’s grandson.”

“Grandson!” Aunt Emily said with a laugh. “Don’t be ridiculous! Berniece is only twelve years old!”

“Yeah, that would be pretty funny wouldn’t it.” Rod laughed, too, because that was the only way to handle Aunt Emily when she said things like that.

Last Christmas, Aunt Emily went to live with Grandma and Grandpa. Every Tuesday, she would come to stay at Rod and Jenny’s house for the day—to give their grandmother a rest. Most of the time their mom was there to watch Aunt Em, but on this day Mom had to go to the dentist.

Rod and Jenny’s house was on a dead-end street, so checking their block for Aunt Emily didn’t take long. Jenny was in the front yard holding Aunt Emily’s coat. She looked like she had just swallowed a whole red pepper. Her eyes were red and watery.

“Rod, Joey Nicholas said he saw Aunt Em about five minutes ago. She was headed toward Devon Road.”

A huge lump formed in Rod’s throat and stuck there when he tried to swallow. He could hardly squeak out the words, “Let’s go!”

They sprinted about ten steps when Jenny grabbed Rod’s arm. “Rod, we should pray about this.”

“You’re right, but I think today we pray while we run,” he answered.

It was only three blocks to Devon Road, but Rod had plenty of time to pray. He asked God to please protect Aunt Emily and to help them find her.

As they turned the corner onto Devon Road, Rod could see Aunt Emily about a block away. She was standing on the cement island in the middle of the four-lane highway. Cars were whizzing by at fifty-five miles per hour on both sides of her. She had her hand up as if she thought the cars would stop.

Rod was just about to yell when Jenny grabbed his arm. “Rod, don’t yell! And pray she doesn’t see us. She might just step off the island right in front of a car.”

“What are we going to do?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” Jenny said. She covered her face with her hands, crumpled into a heap, and started to sob.

Rod stood there looking at her for a second, dumbfounded and desperate. “Aunt Em belongs to you, Lord,” he reminded God again. “Please, help us!”

He snatched Aunt Emily’s blue coat and rushed along the roadside. When he got directly across from her, he crouched down. He was praying she wouldn’t see him.

Then Rod waited. It seemed like forever. Cars, vans, pickup trucks and huge semitrailers zoomed past, between Aunt Emily and him. She just kept standing there with her hand up. In spite of the cold wind, warm air from the heavy traffic swirled around Rod’s legs. He licked his lips. They tasted like exhaust.

Finally Rod saw a break in the traffic. He lunged across the highway and grabbed Aunt Emily firmly by the arm.

Rod said as calmly as he could, “Boy, Aunt Em, you must be cold. Here’s your coat.”

Aunt Emily looked at him with a blank expression on her face. Inside of his head he was crying,
Please God, make her know me!

Slowly a familiar smile stretched across her face.

“Why thank you, Rodney. It is getting chilly out.”

A feeling of relief and gratefulness rushed through his entire body. Rod took Aunt Emily’s arm, trusting God to help him with the next step. “This is a really busy road, Aunt Em. Can you help me cross and get home?”

“Hold my hand, Rodney,” she said with a confident smile. “I’ll take care of you.”

Aunt Emily clutched his hand tightly as they waited for a break in the heavy traffic. “Be careful, Rodney; this is a very busy street, Dear.”

When they had safely reached the other side of the street, Jenny was anxiously waiting for them. “Jennifer, what are you doing here?” Aunt Emily asked. “I had better get both of you home before your mother finds out you have been near this busy road.”

As they walked home, Aunt Emily chattered away happily. Jenny leaned behind her and whispered, “Thanks, Rod.”

“Don’t thank me, Jenny,” he said, pointing one finger toward heaven. “Thank him.”

Mary Ellyn Sandford