Chicken Soup for the Teenage Soul II (39 page)

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Authors: Jack Canfield,Mark Victor Hansen,Kimberly Kirberger

BOOK: Chicken Soup for the Teenage Soul II
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Page 206
Making Dad Proud
It was about 7:30 as I pulled into the driveway on that hot July evening. I shut the door of my Jeep and packed my stuff into the house. I passed the ancient, brick-red Chevrolet with the cancerous case of rust. That meant Dad was home.
I opened the front door, dropped my bag on the floor and started to fix myself something to drink. As I thumbed through the mail on the kitchen counter, a faint rumbling from the backyard grew louder, then dissipated into near obscurity again. Dad was mowing the lawn.
From the paperwork on the couch, it was evident that he had not been home from work long. Sometimes I just don't understand how he does it. As if being a father and husband weren't enough, he manages a full-time job, church activities and carpentry jobs for friends and family. On most nights, he stays up later than I do and wakes up at the crack of dawn to leave for work. Nevertheless, he can tap his energy reserve when challenged to a game of Nintendo or the rare pickup basketball contest. Gray temples and a slight paunch season his thirty-five-year-old frame with traces of sagacity. If he is old before his time, it is because he has had so little time to be young.

 

Page 207
Dad's premature journey into the adult world was, in a way, my fault. There's not much a high school senior with a pregnant wife can do but grow up. Sacrificing the things and life to which he was accustomed, he took on a full-time job bagging groceries and stocking shelves at Sureway during the night. School took up his days. This might explain his tendency toward late-night television viewing. I mention all this so that you may better understand, or at least attempt to understand, May 22, 1994.
On that Sunday evening, I sat between my parents in a pew at First Assembly of God. We patiently waited as my youth pastor explained to the congregation the meaning of True Love Waits, a nationwide and nondenominational campaign for sexual abstinence until marriage. I had gone through about six weeks of sermons, videos and presentations about love, sex, dating and marriage. I was here to make a commitment to God, myself and my future spouse. The participants of the program were brought forward and presented with rings, symbols of our commitment that were to be presented to our husbands/wives on our wedding nights.
As I returned to my pew, hands folded and head bowed in prayer, I felt a weathered and callused hand close over mine. I looked at my father. This man, who had always remained stoic during emotional moments, had eyes that were glazed over with tears. A single tear fell, and then another, as he wrapped his arms around me. Without a single word, he communicated volumes. That moment told me that he was proud. I think it told him that he had not sacrificed all those things for nothing. That maybe it was a chance for him to start over. A chance, for a while, to be young.
Josh Nally

 

Page 208

 

Page 209
The Perfect Family
Divorce. That's a word I dreaded more than any other word in the English dictionary.
All my life, I thought I had the perfect family. Perfect parents, two great sisters and a younger brother. We all got along well. But during the last several years, my parents had started to fight more and more.
My dad came home less and less, working more hours than ever in Vermont. And now here we all were, sitting in the television room as a family, with my parents saying they had an announcement to make. I began to cringe.
There it was: that nightmare word, the one that made me sick to my stomach. They were, they announced, getting a divorce. The big D word. My sisters and brother and I gaped at each other. How many times had I asked my mom and dad: "Are you getting a divorce?" How many times had they assured me that would never happen and given me hugs and kisses?
"This is some sort of April Fool's joke, right?" I said.
My mom's eyes welled with tears and she held me in her arms.
"No, Marc, I'm sorry," she whispered.

 

Page 210
I felt betrayed. How could they do this to us? Most of all, I wanted to know what we had done wrong. What had
I
done wrong?
My mother could see the dread in my eyes, the fear, the hurt and the pain. It all welled within my belly and I felt sick. She promised she would take care of me, of us. All of us.
But how could I believe her now? My family had collapsed before my eyes. We were splintered. Shattered. There would be no more perfect family. And of course, things would get worse rather than better. They'd get a lot worse.
My mom told me that we would have to leave our home. The home I'd lived in all my life.
I felt like I was losing everything. My family. My home. My dad. The good news: My mother would have custody of all of us and my father wouldn't dispute it.
We moved into a tiny home with my mom's parents. At first, I wasn't very happy. The house was small. We were all squished in together. Sometimes I felt there wasn't enough room to breathe. There was one thing, however: We loved each other. My grandparents, Mom, sisters, brother and visiting aunts and uncles tried to do everything to fill the house with warmth and caring. My grandparents paid special attention to all us kids. I'd never felt so close to them in my life.
They asked me about school and were actually interested. They asked me about my friends, my grades. We sat at the kitchen table and talked often. They could never replace my father, but they spread their warmth to all of us.
Still, I carried a lot of guilt. I couldn't understand what bad thing happened to split up my parents. At times, I agonized over it, lying in bed, wondering in a cloud-like state what possibly could have been the reason that my parents quit loving each other. Was it something I had done?
And then more unexpected news: We learned my father was gay.

 

Page 211
I was sure as word got around that the other kids would laugh and make fun of me. Some did. But, there were a lot of kids, however, who didn't say a word. They still hung around me and could care less what my dad did. They liked me before and they liked me still. I had learned who my real friends were, and the ones I lost were not the kind of people I wanted in my life anyway.
I also learned that I was really loved by my family. They supported me. They cared about me. My grandparents adored me. Eventually, we were able to move out from their home and get a condominium. I started junior high school and started doing well.
I have since learned to redefine that funny concept I had about a perfect family.
Maybe a perfect family really means a lot of love and a lot of support. Maybe it really means giving, sharing and caring. Maybe I still have a perfect family after all.
Marc St. Pierre

 

Page 213
6
LEARNING LESSONS
I am always ready to learn; but I do not always like being taught.
Winston Churchill

 

Page 214
Making Sarah Cry
He stood among his friends from school, 
He joined their childhood games 
Laughing as they played kickball 
And when they called poor Sarah names. 
Sarah was unlike the rest; 
She was slow and not as smart, 
And it would seem to all his friends 
She was born without a heart. 
And so he gladly joined their fun 
Of making Sarah cry. 
But somewhere deep within his heart, 
He never knew just why. 
For he could hear his mother's voice, 
Her lessons of right and wrong 
Playing over and over inside his head 
Just like a favorite song. 
''Treat others with respect, son, 
The way you'd want them treating you. 
And remember, when you hurt others, 
Someday, someone might hurt you." 
He knew his mother wouldn't understand

 

Page 215
The purpose of their game 
Of teasing Sarah, who made them laugh 
As her own tears fell like rain. 
The funny faces that she made 
And the way she'd stomp her feet 
Whenever they mocked the way she walked 
Or the stutter when she'd speak. 
To him she must deserve it 
Because she never tried to hide. 
And if she truly wanted to be left alone, 
Then she should stay inside. 
But every day she'd do the same: 
She'd come outside to play, 
And stand there, tears upon her face, 
Too upset to run away. 
The game would soon be over 
As tears dropped from her eyes, 
For the purpose of their fun 
Was making Sarah cry. 
It was nearly two whole months 
He hadn't seen his friends. 
He was certain they all must wonder 
What happened and where he'd been 
So he felt a little nervous 
As he limped his way to class. 
He hoped no one would notice, 
He prayed no one would ask 
About that awful day: 
The day his bike met with a car, 
Leaving him with a dreadful limp 
And a jagged-looking scar. 
So he held his breath a little 
As he hobbled into the room, 
Where inside he saw a "Welcome Back" banner 
And lots of red balloons.

 

Page 216
He felt a smile cross his face 
As his friends all smiled, too 
And he couldn't wait to play outside 
His favorite thing to do. 
So the second that he stepped outdoors 
And saw his friends all waiting there, 
He expected a few pats on the back 
Instead, they all stood back and stared. 
He felt his face grow hotter 
As he limped to join their side 
To play a game of kickball 
And of making Sarah cry. 
An awkward smile crossed his face 
When he heard somebody laugh 
And heard the words, "Hey freak, 
Where'd you get the ugly mask?" 
He turned, expecting Sarah, 
But Sarah could not be seen. 
It was the scar upon his own face 
That caused such words so mean. 
He joined in their growing laughter, 
Trying hard to not give in 
To the awful urge inside to cry 
Or the quivering of his chin. 
They are only teasing
, 
He made himself believe. 
They are still my friends
; 
They'd never think of hurting me
. 
But the cruel remarks continued 
About the scar and then his limp. 
And he knew if he shed a single tear 
They'd label him a wimp. 
And so the hurtful words went on, 
And in his heart he wondered why. 
But he knew without a doubt

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