Stories
and Inspirational Messages:
OF
DOGS AND ANGELS:
During my years in animal welfare work
- I served as the president of the American Society for the Prevention
of Cruelty to Animals — I have heard wonderful stories about the power
of the human-animal bond. One of my favorites is about a girl and her very
special dog.
When the girl was born, her parents
were stationed with the U.S. Army overseas. The tiny baby spiked a fever
of 106 degrees and when they couldn’t help her at the military base, the
baby and her family were flown home to the United States where she could
receive the proper medical care.
The alarming fever kept recurring,
but the baby survived. When the episode was over, the child was left with
13 different seizure causes, including epilepsy. She had what was called
Multiple Seizure Syndrome and had several seizures every day. Sometimes
she stopped breathing.
As a result, the little girl could
never be left alone. She grew to be a teenager and if her mother had to
go out, her father or brothers had to accompany her everywhere, including
to the bathroom, which was awkward for everyone involved. But the risk
of leaving her alone was too great and so, for lack of a better solution,
things went on in this way for years.
The girl and her family lived near
a town where there was a penitentiary for women. One of the programs there
was a dog-training program. The inmates were taught how to train dogs to
1) foster a sense of competence and 2) as a job skill for the time when
they left the prison. Although most of the women had serious criminal backgrounds,
many made excellent dog trainers and often trained service dogs for the
handicapped while serving their time.
The girl’s mother read about this
program and contacted the penitentiary to see if there was anything they
could do for her daughter. They had no idea how to train a dog to help
a person in the girl’s condition, but her family decided that a companion
animal would be good for the girl, as she had limited social opportunities
and they felt she would enjoy a dog’s company.
The girl chose a random-bred dog
named Queenie and, together with the women at the prison, trained her to
be an obedient pet.
But Queenie had other plans. She
became a "seizure-alert" dog, letting the girl know when a seizure was
coming on, so that the girl could be ready for it.
I heard about Queenie’s amazing
abilities and went to visit the girl’s family and meet Queenie. At one
point during my visit, Queenie became agitated and took the girl’s wrist
in her mouth and started pulling her towards the living room couch. Her
mother said, "Go on now. Listen to what Queenie’s telling you."
The girl went to the couch, curled
up in a fetal position, facing the back of the couch and within moments
started to seize. The dog jumped on the couch and wedged herself between
the back of the couch and the front of the girl’s body, placing her ear
in front of the girl’s mouth. Her family was used to this performance,
but I watched in open-mouthed astonishment as the girl finished seizing
and Queenie relaxed with her on the couch, wagging her tail and looking
for all the world like an ordinary dog, playing with her mistress.
Then the girl and her dog went to
the girl’s bedroom as her parents and I went to the kitchen for coffee.
A little while later, Queenie came barreling down the hallway, barking.
She did a U-turn in the kitchen and then went racing back to the girl’s
room.
"She’s having a seizure," the mother
told me. The girl’s father got up, in what seemed to me a casual manner
for someone whose daughter often stopped breathing, and walked back to
the bedroom after Queenie.
My concern must have been evident
on my face because the girl’s mother smiled and said, "I know what you’re
thinking, but you see, that’s not the bark Queenie uses when my daughter
stops breathing."
I shook my head in amazement. Queenie,
the self-taught angel, proved to me once again how utterly foolish it is
to suppose that animals don’t think or can’t communicate.
-
Roger Caras Chicken Soup for the
Dog & Cat Lover’s Soul by Jack Canfield, Mark Victor Hansen,
Marty Becker, D.V.M. and Carol Kline Copyright 1999 Canfield and Hansen.
All rights reserved. (TOP)
(Back to Stories Index)
DOUBLE DUTY:
As a member of a "dog family," I had
long been conditioned to believe that cats simply didn't possess the ability
or desire to be loving companions. This belief was so deeply ingrained
that, while I didn’t actually dislike cats, I found them, for the most
part, uninteresting.
Arriving home from work one afternoon,
I discovered a cat at my doorstep. I ignored him, but apparently he was
not offended, because he was there again the following day.
"I'll pet you," I told him, "but
there's no way you're coming in."
Then one night soon after, as the
rain beat down and thunder clapped, I heard a faint meow. I couldn't take
it anymore; I became a cat owner.
My new roommate, now named Shotzy,
quickly became more than just a stray cat to feed. I liked the way his
soft purring greeted me every morning and the way he nudged his head against
my leg when I came home each day. His playful antics made me laugh, and
soon Shotzy seemed more like a longtime friend than a pet I hadn't really
wanted. Although I suspected Shotzy had been an outdoor cat for a good
portion of his life, he seemed perfectly content to stay inside, except
for one remarkable exception. As if an alarm had gone off, at about 6 o'clock
every night he'd cry to go out. Then, almost exactly one hour later, he'd
be back. He did this for several months before I finally discovered what
he had been up to.
One day a neighbor who knew about
Shotzy showing up at my doorstep told me she thought the cat might belong
to an elderly woman who lived down the street. Worried that I had mistakenly
adopted someone's pet, I took Shotzy to the woman's house the next day.
When a white-haired woman opened
the door, Shotzy bolted from my arms, ran into the house and made himself
at home in a big recliner. The woman just threw her head back and laughed,
saying, "Jimmy always did love his chair."
My heart sank — my Shotzy was obviously
her Jimmy.
I explained I had taken him in and
only discovered the day before that he may have already had a home. Again,
the old woman chuckled. She invited me in and explained that the cat did
not belong to her.
"But, I thought you called him Jimmy,"
I questioned.
The woman, who said her name was
Mary, explained that Jimmy was her husband’s name. He had died about a
year before, just a few months after being diagnosed with cancer.
Before Jimmy died, he and Mary would
eat dinner at 5 o'clock every night. Afterward, they would retire to the
living room, Jimmy to his favorite chair, to talk about the day's events.
The couple had followed that routine every night for the 60 years they
were married. After Jimmy's death, with no other family nearby, Mary said
she just felt lost. And more than anything, she missed their nightly after-dinner
talks.
Then one night a stray cat meowed
demandingly at her screen door. When she cracked open the door to shoo
him away, he ran straight to Jimmy's chair and made himself comfortable,
as if he had lived there forever.
Mary, who had never had a pet in
her life, found herself smiling at the animal. She gave him a little milk
and then he cuddled on her lap. She talked to him about her life, but mostly
about Jimmy. At about 7 o'clock, at which time she normally turned on the
TV and made herself some hot tea, the creature slipped off her lap and
went to the door. At 6 o’clock the next evening, the cat was back. Soon,
Shotzy and Mary had their own routine.
"Now, I believe in the Good Lord,"
Mary told me. "I don't know about all that reincarnation stuff, but sometimes
it feels just like I'm talking to Jimmy when that little cat is here. I
know that sounds strange, and I guess it doesn’t really matter; what’s
important is that the cat is a real comfort to me. But it’s interesting
to think on, all the same."
So Mary and I continued to share
Shotzy. At my house, he revealed to me the many daily joys that come with
living with a cat. At Mary’s, his presence served to fill the six o’clock
hour with happy companionship.
Our marvelous cat seemed to have
an uncanny knack for always being in the right place at the right time.
-
Lisa Hurt Chicken Soup for the Dog
& Cat Lover’s Soul by Jack Canfield, Mark Victor Hansen, Marty
Becker, D.V.M. and Carol Kline Copyright 1999 Canfield and Hansen. All
rights reserved. (TOP)
(Back to Stories Index)
DOGS
JUST WANNA HAVE FUN:
My husband, Daniel, and I travel frequently.
When we first got our dog, Buddha-tu (we call him Buddhi), we were concerned
that he would be lonely or perhaps feel that we’d abandoned him when we
left him at home during our trips away.
When we left, we always had someone
stay in our house and look after Buddhi, so we knew he was well taken care
of, but we still felt guilty. I even used to leave my husband’s T-shirt
for Buddhi to sleep with and made sure he got extra goodies each day we
were gone. Still, I used to wonder what he made of the whole thing — did
he miss his lovin’s, "his rub-a-dubs and belly pats," sleeping by our bed,
taking walks with us — and who was going to play ball with him while we
were away? Was our absence too traumatic for him? I supposed I would never
know.
But then one night when we called
home, Buddhi made it quite clear what he missed the most when we were gone.
We reached our housesitter, Barbara,
and had her put us on the speakerphone, so that we could talk to Buddhi.
He immediately started barking and howling when he heard our voices. We
were jabbering at Buddhi like a pair of fools, when we noticed we couldn’t
hear him anymore. Barbara told us that he had run out of the room.
"What was he doing?," I wondered
uneasily. Maybe it hadn’t been such a good idea to call home — perhaps
Buddhi was confused and was searching the house for us. When he couldn’t
find us, would he become upset and try to get outside to continue the search?
What if he tried to jump through a window? My imagination was running away
with me and I couldn’t stop it. I thought, "Poor baby, he misses us so
much, hearing our voices had just made it worse." I urged Barbara to go
and find him. My husband and I decided to try and coax him back into the
room by continuing to talk to him.
Barbara ran after him to see what
was going on and almost tripped over him as he raced back into the room,
holding something in his mouth. He bounded to the phone, where we were
still spouting endearments in a highly embarrassing manner.
We heard Barbara laughing in the
background and then she picked up the phone and told us that Buddhi had
approached the phone, and had stood for a moment, head cocked. Then he
carefully put his front paws up on the desk and set down the object in
his mouth. It was his favorite ball. He put it directly on top of the speakerphone
and stepped back — waiting for us to throw it.
-
Susan White Chicken Soup for the
Dog & Cat Lover’s Soul by Jack Canfield, Mark Victor Hansen, Marty
Becker, D.V.M. and Carol Kline Copyright 1999 Canfield and Hansen. All
rights reserved. (TOP)
(Back to Stories Index)
Gas
is cheap - A Reflection:
Submitted by Dave Singer
People have been complaining about
the rising price of gasoline recently, but I have always thought that gas
was a good value (especially if you were to take the $0.30, $0.40 per gallon
tax off at the pump)!
Obviously others need a little convincing.
So the article in this weeks "Autoweek" magazine brought it all to light.
What if you were to buy a gallon
of.......
* Diet Snapple 16 oz. for $1.29
= $10.32 per gallon
* Lipton Ice Tea 16 oz for $1.19
= $9.52 per gallon
* Gatorade 20 oz for $1.59 = $10.17
per gallon
* Ocean Spray 16 oz for $1.25 =
$10.00 per gallon
* Quart of Milk 16 oz for $1.59
= $6.32 per gallon
* Evian (water) 9 oz for $1.49
= $21.19 per gallon
* STP Brake Fluid 12 oz for $3.15
= $33.60 per gallon
* Vicks Nyquil 6 oz for $8.35 =
$178.13 per gallon
* Pepto Bismol 4 oz for $3.85 =
$123.20 per gallon
* Whiteout 7 oz for $1.39 = $254.17
per gallon
* Scope 1.5 oz for $0.99 = $84.84
per gallon
You get the idea. So next time you're
at the pump, be glad your car doesn't run on Nyquil or Scope!
(TOP) (Back to Stories Index)
Dumbing
Down Our Kids:
Submitted by Dave Singer
For you parents (and grandparents):
Charles Sykes is the author of DUMBING DOWN OUR KIDS. He volunteered for
high school and college graduates a list of eleven things they did not
learn in school. In his book, he talks about how the feel good, politically-correct
teachings created a generation of kids with no concept of reality and set
them up for failure in the real world. You may want to share this list
with them.
Rule 1: Life is not fair; get used
to it.
Rule 2: The world won't care about
your self-esteem. The world will expect you to accomplish something BEFORE
you feel good about yourself.
Rule 3: You will NOT make 40 thousand
dollars a year right out of high school. You won't be a vice president
with a car phone until you EARN both.
Rule 4: If you think your teacher
is tough, wait until you get a boss. He doesn't have tenure.
Rule 5: Flipping burgers is not
beneath your dignity. Your grandparents had a different word for burger
flipping; they called it "opportunity."
Rule 6: If you mess up, it's not
your parents' fault, so don't whine about your mistakes. Learn from them.
Rule 7: Before you were born, your
parents weren't as boring as they are now. They got that way from paying
your bills, cleaning your clothes, and listening to you talk about how
cool you are. So before you save the rain forest from the parasites of
your parents' generation, try delousing the closet in your own room.
Rule 8: Your school may have done
away with winners and losers but life has not. In some schools they have
abolished failing grades; they'll give you as many times as you want to
get the right answer. This, of course, doesn't bear the slightest resemblance
to ANYTHING in real life.
Rule 9: Life is not divided into
semesters. You don't get summers off, and very few employers are interested
in helping you find yourself. Do that on your own time.
Rule 10: Television is NOT real
life. In real life people actually have to leave the coffee shop and go
to jobs.
Rule 11: Be nice to nerds. Chances
are you'll end up working for one.
(TOP) (Back to Stories Index)
Be
A Kid Again:
Submitted by Jay Berkshire
Those of you who really know me,
know also that I am still a kid. :-)
"Be A Kid
Again..."
Give yourself a gold star for everything
you do today.
Grow a milk mustache.
Open a pack of cupcakes and give
one to a friend even though you wanted both of them for yourself.
Have a staring contest with your
cat.
Kiss a frog just in case.
Make a face the next time somebody
tells you "no."
Ask "Why?" a lot.
Believe in fairy tales.
Have someone read you a story.
Wear your favorite shirt with your
favorite pants even if they don't match.
Do a cartwheel.
Hide your vegetables under your
napkin.
Make a "slurpy" sound with your
straw when you get to the bottom of a milkshake.
Sit really still for as long as
the dog (or cat) is asleep in your lap.
Find some pretty stones and save
them.
Stick your head out the car window
and moo if you see a cow.
Walk barefoot in wet grass.
Giggle at nude statues in a museum.
Make cool screeching noises every
time you turn.
Count the colors in a rainbow.
Fuss a little, then take a nap.
Take a running jump over a big
puddle.
Giggle a lot for no real reason.
Do that tap-someone-on-the-shoulder-while-you-stand-on-their-opposite-side
-and-they-turn-around-and-no-one's-there thing.
Enjoy your all-time favorite candy-bar.
(Forget you've heard of calories!)
Throw something and when it lands
make a cool exploding bomb noise.
Squish some mud between your toes.
Buy yourself a helium balloon.
Put an orange slice in your mouth,
peel side out, and smile at people.
Be a kid again...
(TOP) (Back to Stories Index)
Drawings:
Submitted by Carl Graham
A kindergarten teacher was observing
her classroom of children while they drew. She would occasionally
walk around to see each child's artwork. As she got to one
little girl who was working diligently, she asked what the drawing was.
The girl replied, "I'm drawing God."
The teacher paused and said, "but
no one knows what God looks like."
Without missing a beat, or looking
up from her drawing the girl replied, "They will in a minute."
(TOP) (Back to Stories Index)
All
Good Things:
Submitted by Dave Singer
He was in the first third grade
class I taught at Saint Mary's School in Morris, Minn. All 34 of
my students were dear to me, but Mark Eklund was one in a million.
Very neat in appearance, but had that happy-to-be-alive attitude that made
even his occasional mischievousness delightful.
Mark talked incessantly. I
had to remind him again and again that talking without permission was not
acceptable. What impressed me so much, though, was his sincere
response every time had to correct him for misbehaving - "Thank you for
correcting me, Sister!" I didn't know what to make of
it at first, but before long I became accustomed to hearing it many times
a day.
One morning my patience was growing
thin when Mark talked once too often, and then I made a novice-teacher's
mistake. I looked at Mark and said, "If you say one more word, I
am going to tape your mouth shut!" It wasn't ten seconds later when
Chuck
blurted out, "Mark is talking again." I hadn't asked any of the students
to help me watch Mark, but since I had stated the punishment in front of
the class, I had to act on it. I remember the scene as if it
had occurred this morning. I walked to my desk, very deliberately
opened by drawer and took out a roll of masking tape. Without saying a
word, I proceeded to Mark's desk, tore off two pieces of tape and made
a big X with them over his mouth. I then returned to the front
of the room. As I glanced at Mark to see how he was doing, he winked at
me. That did it!! I started laughing. The class cheered as I walked
back to Mark's desk, removed the tape, and shrugged my shoulders.
His first words were, "Thank you for correcting me, Sister."
At the end of the year, I was asked
to teach junior-high math. The years flew by, and before I knew it Mark
was in my classroom again. He was more handsome than ever and just as polite.
Since he had to listen carefully to my instruction in the "new math,"
he did not talk as much in ninth grade as he had in third. One Friday,
things just didn't feel right. We had worked hard on a new concept all
week, and I sensed that the students were frowning, frustrated with themselves
- and edgy with one another. I had to stop this crankiness
before it got out of hand. So I asked them to list the names of the
other students in the room on two sheets of paper, leaving a space between
each name. Then I told them to think of the nicest thing they could
say about each of their classmates and write it down. It took the
remainder of the class period to finish their assignment, and as the students
left the room, each one handed me the papers. Charlie smiled.
Mark said, "Thank you for teaching me, Sister. Have a good weekend."
That Saturday, I wrote down the
name of each student on a separate sheet of paper, and I listed what everyone
else had said about that individual. On Monday I gave each student
his or her list. Before long, the entire class was smiling.
"Really?" I heard whispered.
"I never knew that meant anything to anyone!" "I didn't know others liked
me so much."
No one ever mentioned those papers
in class again. I never knew if they discussed them after class or with
their parents, but it didn't matter. The exercise had accomplished
its purpose. The students were happy with themselves and one another again.
That group of students moved on.
Several years later, after I returned from vacation, my parents met me
at the airport. As we were driving home, Mother asked me the
usual questions about the trip - the weather, my experiences in general.
There was a lull in the conversation.
Mother gave Dad a side-ways glance
and simply says, "Dad?" My father cleared his throat as he usually
did before something important. "The Eklunds called last night,"
he began. "Really?" I said. "I haven't heard from them in years. I wonder
how Mark is." Dad responded quietly. "Mark was killed in Vietnam,"
he said. "The funeral is tomorrow, and his parents would like it
if you could attend."
To this day I can still point to
the exact spot on I-494 where Dad told me about Mark.
I had never seen a serviceman in
a military coffin before. Mark looked so handsome, so mature. All
I could think at that moment was, "Mark I would give all the masking
tape in the world if only you would talk to me."
The church was packed with Mark's
friends. Chuck's sister sang "The Battle Hymn of the Republic."
Why did it have to rain on the day of the funeral? It was difficult enough
at the graveside. The pastor said the usual prayers, and the bugler
played taps. One by one those who loved Mark took a last walk
by the coffin and sprinkled it with holy water. I was the last one
to bless the coffin.
As I stood there, one of the soldiers
who acted as pallbearer came up to me. "Were you Mark's math teacher?"
he asked. I nodded as I continued to stare at the coffin. "Mark talked
about you a lot," he said.
After the funeral, most of Mark's
former classmates headed to Chuck's farmhouse for lunch. Mark's mother
and father were there, obviously waiting for me. "We want to show
you something," his father said, taking a wallet out of his pocket.
"They found this on Mark when he was killed. We thought you might
recognize it."
Opening the billfold, he carefully
removed two worn pieces of notebook paper that had obviously been taped,
folded and refolded many times. I knew without looking that the papers
were the ones on which I had listed all the good things each of Mark's
classmates had said about him. "Thank you so much for doing that," Mark's
mother said. "As you can see, Mark treasured it."
Mark's classmates started to gather
around us. Charlie smiled rather sheepishly and said, "I still
have my list. It's in the top drawer of my desk at home." Chuck's
wife said, "Chuck asked me to put his in our wedding album." "I have
mine too," Marilyn said. "It's in my diary." Then Vicki, another
classmate, reached into her pocketbook, took out her wallet and showed
her worn and frazzled list to the group. "I carry this with me at all times,"
Vicki said without batting an eyelash. "I think we all saved our lists."
That's when I finally sat down and
cried. I cried for Mark and for all his friends who would never see
him again.
- - - Written by: Sister Helen P.
Mrosla
The purpose of this letter is to
encourage everyone to compliment the people you love and care about.
We often tend to forget the importance of showing our affections and love.
Sometimes the smallest of things,
could mean the most to another. I am asking you, to please send this letter
around and spread the message and encouragement, to express your love and
caring by complimenting and being open with communication.
The density of people in society
is so thick that we forget that life will end one day. And we don't
know when that one day will be. So please, tell the people you love and
care for, that they are special and important. Tell them, before it is
too late.
(TOP) (Back to Stories Index)
Two
for the Price of One:
"Where's Jamie?" screamed my cousin
Lee Ann. "Oh my God, where is Jamie?" I thought, as we were standing in
the pool at my parents' house. The question about my five-year-old son's
momentary disappearance sent shock waves through my body.
The entire pool has a safety ledge
around the inside of it and gently slopes to a deep end of only four feet.
It was very common for us to let the younger children splash their afternoons
away in Grandma's pool while we stood beside them and got totally soaked
with their enthusiasm and the water.
On that scary afternoon when Lee
Ann yelled, it seems that Jamie had been walking near the safety ledge
and slid down into the deeper part. We had taken our eyes off him for only
a split second, and then he was gone! I quickly spotted him and reached
down to pull him up.
As I yanked him up, he came out
kicking and screaming, crying and fearful, and yelling that he wanted to
get out. My guilt wanted to take him out and grant him his wish, but my
fatherly instincts told me to stay in the pool with him. Both of us were
shaking as I talked to him and reassured him that water can be scary and
we must respect it. I held him close as we gently walked around the pool.
After a couple of minutes he said he wasn't afraid anymore and he started
to splash around again.
I was feeling guilty and sorry for
myself for being such a bad father. "Good fathers don't let their sons
almost drown," I was telling myself. Just at the height of my personal
pity party, Lee Ann walked by and said, "You are a terrific dad and I really
admire the way you handled that. He will never be afraid of the water again!"
Lee Ann saved two lives that day.
She saved my son's life when she yelled "Where's Jamie!" and she saved
my life, as a father! She took me from pity to pride with her nurturing
comment. It's amazing what can happen when you look at yourself through
someone else's eyes.
By Barry Spilchuk from A Cup of
Chicken Soup for the Soul Copyright 1996 by Jack Canfield, Mark Victor
Hansen & Barry Spilchuk
(TOP) (Back to Stories Index)
A
Soldiers Christmas:
Submitted by Phil Sheldon
'TWAS THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS,
HE LIVED ALL ALONE,
IN A ONE BEDROOM HOUSE MADE
OF
PLASTER AND STONE.
I HAD COME DOWN THE CHIMNEY
WITH PRESENTS TO GIVE,
AND TO SEE JUST WHO
IN THIS HOME DID LIVE.
I LOOKED ALL ABOUT,
A STRANGE SIGHT I DID SEE,
NO TINSEL, NO PRESENTS,
NOT EVEN A TREE.
NO STOCKING BY MANTLE,
JUST BOOTS FILLED WITH SAND,
ON THE WALL HUNG PICTURES
OF FAR DISTANT LANDS.
WITH MEDALS AND BADGES,
AWARDS OF ALL KINDS,
A SOBER THOUGHT
CAME THROUGH MY MIND.
FOR THIS HOUSE WAS DIFFERENT,
IT WAS DARK AND DREARY,
I FOUND THE HOME OF A SOLDIER,
ONCE I COULD SEE CLEARLY.
THE SOLDIER LAY SLEEPING,
SILENT, ALONE,
CURLED UP ON THE FLOOR
IN THIS ONE BEDROOM HOME.
THE FACE WAS SO GENTLE,
THE ROOM IN SUCH DISORDER,
NOT HOW I PICTURED
A UNITED STATES SOLDIER.
WAS THIS THE HERO
OF WHOM I'D JUST READ?
CURLED UP ON A PONCHO,
THE FLOOR FOR A BED?
I REALIZED THE FAMILIES
THAT I SAW THIS NIGHT,
OWED THEIR LIVES TO THESE
SOLDIERS
WHO WERE WILLING TO FIGHT.
SOON ROUND THE WORLD,
THE CHILDREN WOULD PLAY,
AND GROWNUPS WOULD CELEBRATE
A BRIGHT CHRISTMAS DAY.
THEY ALL ENJOYED FREEDOM
EACH MONTH OF THE YEAR,
BECAUSE OF THE SOLDIERS,
LIKE THE ONE LYING HERE.
I COULDN'T HELP WONDER
HOW MANY LAY ALONE,
ON A COLD CHRISTMAS EVE
IN A LAND FAR FROM HOME.
THE VERY THOUGHT
BROUGHT A TEAR TO MY EYE,
I DROPPED TO MY KNEES
AND STARTED TO CRY.
THE SOLDIER AWAKENED
AND I HEARD A ROUGH VOICE,
"SANTA DON'T CRY,
THIS LIFE IS MY CHOICE;
I FIGHT FOR FREEDOM,
I DON'T ASK FOR MORE,
MY LIFE IS MY GOD,
MY COUNTRY, MY CORPS."
THE SOLDIER ROLLED OVER
AND DRIFTED TO SLEEP,
I COULDN'T CONTROL IT,
I CONTINUED TO WEEP.
I KEPT WATCH FOR HOURS,
SO SILENT AND STILL
AND WE BOTH SHIVERED
FROM THE COLD NIGHT'S CHILL.
I DIDN'T WANT TO LEAVE
ON THAT COLD, DARK, NIGHT,
THIS GUARDIAN OF HONOR
SO WILLING TO FIGHT.
THEN THE SOLDIER ROLLED OVER,
WITH A VOICE SOFT AND PURE,
WHISPERED, "CARRY ON SANTA,
IT'S CHRISTMAS DAY, ALL IS
SECURE."
ONE LOOK AT MY WATCH,
AND I KNEW HE WAS RIGHT.
"MERRY CHRISTMAS MY FRIEND,
AND TO ALL A GOOD NIGHT."
This poem was written by a Marine
stationed in Okinawa Japan. The following is his request. I think
it is reasonable..... PLEASE. Would you do me the kind favor of sending
this to as many people as you can? Christmas will be coming soon and some
credit is due to our U.S. service men and women for our being able to celebrate
these festivities. Let's try in this small way to pay a tiny bit of what
we owe. Make people stop and think of our heroes, living and dead, who
sacrificed themselves for us. Please, do your small part to plant this
small seed.
(TOP) (Back to Stories Index)
ROOM
AT THE TABLE!
Have you ever noticed that dining room
tables seat six, eight, or twelve-not seven, nine, or thirteen? I've been
single all my life, usually not thinking much of it. But on holidays even
the place-settings conspire against me, rendering a silent rebuke against
my single status.
You can endure holiday dinners two ways
if you're single: 1) Bring someone you don't particularly care for; 2)
Hear the awful words "pull up an extra seat," a euphemism for either a
collapsible chair or one that is too high or too low for the table. Either
strategy leaves you uncomfortable.
At Thanksgiving two years ago, while
my calves cramped from straddling the leg of my brother's dining room table,
Aunt Nell took the opportunity to ask for details about my love life, which
was seriously lacking at the time. The event was excruciating.
Though I enjoy singlehood in the main,
there have been times when I've worked myself into a mad frenzy looking
for someone to fill a void I thought I couldn't satisfy on my own. Someone,
anyone with a pulse would do. Over the years, I dated quite a few guys
I liked-I was even engaged once but "till death do we part" seemed a very
long time. I always ended up alone again.
So holidays, especially with the Aunt
Nells of the family, can weaken my confidence, leaving me a little bereft.
One day, noting my frustration surrounding the holidays, a friend of mine
suggested we try something different on the next such occasion.
"How `bout you and I go down to a homeless
shelter and help out? Then maybe we'll be grateful for what we have," she
proposed. I had a thousand reasons why this wasn't a good idea, but my
friend persisted. The next Christmas I found myself in an old downtown
warehouse, doling out food. Never in my life had I seen so many turkeys
and rows of pumpkin pies. Decorations donated by a nearby grocery store
created a festive atmosphere that uplifted even my reluctant spirit. When
everyone was fed, I took a tray and filled a plate with the bountiful harvest.
After a few bites, I knew what everyone was carrying on about; the food
was really good.
My dinner companions were easy company.
Nobody asked me why I didn't have a date or when I was going to settle
down. People just seemed grateful for a place to sit and enjoy a special
dinner. To my surprise, I found I had much in common with my fellow diners.
They were people just like me.
My experience that Christmas brought
me back to the shelter the following year. I enjoyed helping others so
much that I began seeking more opportunities to serve. I started volunteering
for the Literacy Foundation once a week. I figured I could sit in front
of the TV, or I could use those evening hours to help others learn to read.
Caring for others has abundantly filled
the void in my life that I had sometimes interpreted as a missing mate.
When I stopped trying to so hard to fit in, I realized I was single for
a reason and found my own special purpose.
There is room at the table for a party
of one. And sometimes "just one" is the perfect fit.
by Vivian Eiseneche, Jack Canfield,
Mark Victor Hansen, Jennifer Read Hawthorne and Marci Shimoff Copyright
1999 Canfield and Hansen. All rights reserved.
(TOP) (Back to Stories Index)
G-o-o-o-a-a-a-a-l-l-l-l!
Running as fast as my small legs could
carry me, I concentrated on the black-and-white object spinning ahead,
and realized that this was my chance. This was my dream come true. I had
a jump on the others, and it was all up to me! I looked behind me and saw
the yellow jerseys and green shorts of my teammates, the National Auto
Glass Dinosaurs. They looked like a swarm of bees, all headed toward the
soccer ball. I saw the faces of my opponents and could tell that some of
them were running really hard. They wanted the ball, but it was mine, "all
mine!"
I ran up to the ball and gave it a tremendous,
four-year-old kick. It scooted farther down the field, and again I sprinted
after it. The other players gained on me, but I was nearing the goal. The
confused look on the goalie’s face told me that he wasn’t ready to make
a save. The rooting section on the sideline was chanting, "Kick it! Kick
it! Kick the ball!"
I wound up and toed the ball as hard
as a four-year-old ever could. It bounced into the net, past the scrambling
goalie. I went wild! I had just scored my first real goal!
I ran back to my teammates. Some were
cheering and celebrating with me, but most of them had their arms crossed,
with scowls on their faces and annoyed looks in their eyes. "They" wanted
to score that goal, but "I" had! Ha! Ha!! I looked to my mom and dad on
the sideline. They were laughing with some other parents. This is just
too cool! I’d scored my first ever goal - "for the other team!"
by Heather Thomsen, age 13 from Chicken
Soup for the Kid’s Soul Copyright 1998 by Jack Canfield, Mark Victor Hansen,
Patty Hansen and Irene Dunlap
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