I was shocked. My brother, Garrett, not play sports? That was impossible. But it was true. For months, all he could do was watch. I felt horrible for him and couldn’t even imagine how I would feel if the doctors had told me the same thing. I think I even felt a little guilty that I could still do everything that we had once done together, and he couldn’t.
Then, to the amazement of us all, Garrett went into remission. He was back to his old self, and the doctors gave him the go-ahead to play ball again. Garrett went out for baseball and I was so glad to see him on the field again. We all were. Life became normal again.
Garrett was fine for several years until he had a relapse when I was eighteen. During the next six years he moved to California to live with our grandmother and to go to college. While on a trip home to Texas to visit our mom, he met the woman who was to become his wife. They had a son, Dillon. Garrett also spent those years fighting for his life. He had to have several series of very painful treatments, but he never gave up. During that time, whenever I would think that I had it rough during training, I would remember what Garrett was going through. I thought if Garrett could go through what he was experiencing, I could tough it out, too. His determination gave me the strength to excel during my games. Garrett was able to come to Atlanta in 1996 and see me play in the Olympics where we won the Gold Medal.
In February 1997, the doctors attempted a bone marrow transplant on Garrett. The transplant itself was successful, but Garrett had many complications. In April 1997, my brother Garrett died at the age of twenty-eight.
In honor of my brother, Garrett, I started a foundation. Once a year, the foundation stages the Garrett Game, an all-star soccer game that raises money for bone marrow research. In 1999, during the half-time celebration, we brought together bone marrow recipients with their donors. It was the first time any of them had met each other and everyone was crying and laughing. It was one of the most rewarding experiences of my whole life and one of my best memories.
Although Garrett didn’t live to see us play the World Cup in 1999, I felt his spirit with me every step of the way. I know that he is with me during all of my games, encouraging me to do my best. In my heart, my brother will always live on. In my mind, I can still see him playing— running hard, with that look of determination on his face. With him as my example, I have been inspired to never give up, to always play to win, to work hard with my teammates and to have my heart in the game. Garrett was one of the best athletes that I have ever known, but he was much more. He was my hero, my friend, my inspiration and my brother . . . forever.
Mia Hamm
Supper David
David is the baby. Ginny is the oldest, then Johnny, and then me. Sometimes, we have to help watch David. He plays quietly for Ginny and Johnny but not for me, even when I try to get him to watch cartoons. He will sit still for a little while, but then he’ll drag out a book and ask me to read it to him.
David always smells like mustard. His favorite sandwich is mustard on plain hard bread. The smell makes it hard for me to concentrate on reading a book to him. And David sucks his thumb. His thumb is in his mouth for so long that it stays wrinkled, shriveled and wet all the time. It sticks to the paper when he tries to help me turn the pages of a book. When I can’t read the words, I make up stories to match the pictures. David doesn’t know because he is too little to read.
David loves costumes—he will wear anything. Ginny and Johnny dressed him up in Ginny’s fancy green flower-girl dress. They put a yellow dust mop on his head to make him look like a princess. David became “Davaleena” as he twirled around the kitchen and sang in a squeaky voice.
My mother made a costume for David out of a pair of blue long underwear, a blue undershirt, a red dishtowel and red underpants. With his arms straight out in front and the dishtowel flapping behind, David becomes Superman. I made a sign for his chest that reads “Supper David.” Johnny told me that I spelled “super” wrong, but I don’t care. David can’t spell either.
David never keeps his clothes on. He runs around the house naked. My mother says that David is going through a stage and that children have to learn how to take their clothes off before they can learn how to put their clothes back on. I don’t remember that I learned to get dressed that way.
David likes to show off. In the middle of one of my parents’ dinner parties, David took off his clothes and ran out the back door. When we caught up with his naked little self, David was busy jumping up and down on top of the car, waving good-bye to the company. My father laughed so hard that he snorted and tears streamed down his face. When the grown-ups were done laughing they went inside. I stayed outside to watch David.
My mom yelled, “Grandma’s on the phone!”
“Vroom, vrroom!” said David.
“Mo-om! David is jumping up and down on the front seat of the car!”
“Barbara, please! Not now! Yes, Grandma, the children eat their vegetables.”
“Honk, honk,” said David.
“Mom, David is pretending to honk the horn in the car.”
“Barbara, I’ve told you that I’m talking to Grandma. I can’t talk to you right now. Yes, Grandma, the children are always in bed by eight.”
“Wrr, wrr,” said David.
“Mom, David is turning the steering wheel in the car!”
“Barbara! Yes, Grandma, the children are always polite.”
“Ert, ert,” said David.
“Mom, David is moving the handles next to the steering wheel!”
“BARBARA! Yes, Grandma, the children are healthy. Thank you.”
Then I noticed that our car was moving. David was backing the car down the hill of our driveway!
“MO-OM, DAVID IS DRIVING THE CAR!”
I have never seen my mother run so quickly. She leaned into the car as it was moving down the hill—picking up speed as it went—pulled David out through the car window, smacked his bottom, and then hugged him tightly. The car hit a tree and stopped half way down the hill. They both started to cry. So did I.
My mother turned toward me, and gave me a hug, too. We all stood like that for awhile, and I thought how much I really loved David even though he is a pain sometimes, and how I would have missed him if anything had happened to him. I made up my mind that Mom was a hero.
I decided to go to my room and pull out my construction paper and crayons. Then I made another sign. It said, “Supper Mom.” Somehow, I didn’t think my mother would care if I didn’t spell it right.
Barbara Lage
I Flushed It
It was a hot day in Florida. The school year had just ended and it was time for summer vacation. We had just gotten a little black dog who we named One-Eyed. We chose that name because he could only see out of one eye.
Everybody wanted to do something for the dog: feed him, teach him tricks and take long walks with him. Everybody was so happy to have this active, playful, shaggy, sable-coated new addition to our family. Everybody, that is, except my mom and me.
All my mom saw when she looked at the dog was someone else to clean up after. Shedding, messy, muddy, he pounced all over the house. All Mom seemed to care about was getting the house cleaned. My mom began to put Clorox in the tub. There was no messing with Mom when she started cleaning, so I decided to move out of the way. Actually, getting out of the way is a move I’d been practicing for a long time.
Being the youngest in my family has had its advantages, of course. I won’t deny that. More than a few times I was spoiled or everyone was convinced that I was the cutest. It wasn’t all bad to get this attention.
But being the youngest also came with its fair share of troubles. I was often told what I couldn’t do and why. I realize that I practiced getting out of the way because most of the time I was being pushed out of the way. “You’re too young!” “You’re too little!” “You’ll mess this up!” they’d often say.
I also knew that my family loved me. They always tried to protect me, help me and take care of me, but I could
n’t wait to show them I could do things by myself.
Every time I asked my brother or my sister if I could pet One-Eyed, they would shout, “No!” or tell me that I had germs. Once, they even convinced me that I had so many germs, if I touched One-Eyed he would die! I really believed them and was scared that something terrible would happen to the dog. Once I even confessed to my mom that I touched the dog when no one noticed. At first, my mom seemed very confused about what I was telling her, but then she realized that they were playing a joke on me to keep me away from the dog. My mom scolded my brother and sister, “You better stop teasing your little brother!” Little brother! That’s exactly what I was. That really got my blood boiling. I was so mad, I wanted to break something!
I wasn’t going to let them make me move out of their way this time! I took one look at the dog and decided, “I’ll show them what a little kid can do!” I took the dog into the bathroom. “I’m going to give you a bath!” I said. One-Eyed looked at me strangely; he obviously didn’t understand what I was saying. I looked at the sink. Too small, I thought. I looked at the tub. “It stinks like Clorox.” Then I saw it. The perfect place for a dog bath—the toilet!
I took my sister’s shampoo and poured it into the toilet. Then I put the dog in. I was scrubbing all the dirt off the dog with our towels. The finishing touch was to pull down the lever, which I did. But the sound of the toilet made the dog panic like crazy! He tried to escape, but the shampoo was too slippery. While the water was going down, One-Eyed’s legs were going down with it. I was scared, and I didn’t want One-Eyed to get hurt. I didn’t want to get into trouble or for anyone to find out. I went running down to the garage.
My mom was standing there and laughing, as if she was expecting me. I didn’t know what to say. I tried to catch my breath. Then I told her what just happened. I thought she would punish me. I didn’t expect my mom would be . . . laughing!
As it turns out, I later discovered that my mom knew what was happening all along. She always seemed to be a pretty good spy, I guess.
Oh, and if you’re wondering, One-Eyed was fine: but he did stay away from me for a while. Even though we never actually had a conversation about my being the youngest, I think Mom understood what I was trying to do. I was trying to make my own place in our family . . . trying, maybe sometimes in a weird way, to declare my independence. Flushing the dog down the toilet might not sound like a Declaration of Independence, but for a six-year-old, well, it was my best shot!
Pier Novelli, twelve
Calvin and Hobbes
by Bill Watterson
CALVIN AND HOBBES © Watterson. Reprinted by permission of UNIVERSAL PRESS SYNDICATE. All rights reserved.
This Old Chair
The meaning of things lies not in the things themselves, but in our attitude towards them.
Antoine de Saint-Exupery
“Mom! I’m home!” John slammed the door and dropped his books on a nearby chair. “Something smells good.” With his nose in the air, he followed the sweet aroma into the kitchen.
“Hi, John, home already?” His mom turned around. She had just placed a sheet of fresh-baked cookies on the counter near the open window.
John reached for a cookie and looked outside. Shafts of sunlight slanted through the clouds, tempting the flowers to bloom. And a robin sang a bubbly song. It was the kind of day that made John feel warm inside. Pop-Pop, John’s grandpa, who lived with them since Grandma had died, came shuffling through the door. With his face to the floor as if looking for something he mumbled, “When the robin sings . . .” He paused trying to remember what he had started to say.
“Spring is here,” John’s mom finished the sentence. “And you know what that means.”
“Sure,” John volunteered. “Our annual fishing trip is coming up.”
Amused, Pop-Pop winked at John while heading straight for the cookies.
“I was thinking more of our annual spring cleaning,” John’s mom suggested. “Tomorrow, John, you have no school and I can use some help, okay?”
“Okay, okay,” John agreed reluctantly.
The next day John and his mom cleaned the house. They cleaned upstairs, downstairs, inside, outside, until everything was spotless. Exhausted, they sank into the couch. Wearily pointing to Pop-Pop’s chair, John’s mom exclaimed, “Oh my! That old chair has got to go. We’ll buy Pop-Pop a new one.”
It was true, John had to agree. The chair was unsightly. It was faded and worn and in some places even torn.
“John, come and help me.” John’s mom sprang to her feet. “We’ll take the chair to the curb. Tomorrow the garbage truck is picking up on our block.”
As they attempted to move the chair, Pop-Pop worked his way through the door. Seeing what was happening, he quickly blocked their way. “Oh, no!” he protested. “You can’t take my chair.”
“It’s old. . . . It’s worn. . . .” John’s mom argued, a slight edge to her voice.
“No,” Pop-Pop persisted, trying to push his chair back into place.
“But Pop, we’ll buy you a new one,” John’s mom tried to persuade the old man.
“I don’t want a new one,” Pop-Pop’s voice trembled.
“I give up.” John’s mom let go of the chair. “We’ll discuss it tonight when Matt gets home.” Matt, John’s dad, was still at work. With a sigh of relief, the old man sank into his chair and closed his eyes.
“Pop-Pop, why won’t you let us get rid of the chair?” John asked when his mother left the room. “It’s so old.”
“You don’t understand, John.” Pop-Pop shook his head from side to side and after a long pause he said, “I sat in this chair, with your grandma right here, when I asked her to marry me. It was so long ago, but when I sit in this chair and close my eyes I feel she is near.” The old man tenderly stroked the arm of the chair.
It’s amazing, John thought, how Pop-Pop can remember things from the past. In the present, he forgets almost everything. John sat down on the floor by Pop-Pop’s feet and listened as the old man went on.
“And the night your father was born, I sat in this chair. I was nervous. I was scared when they placed the tiny babe into my arms, yet I was never happier.” A smile now flashed across his old face.
“I think I’m beginning to understand,” John said thoughtfully.
“Many years later,” Pop-Pop’s voice broke and he paused a moment before he continued, “I sat in this chair when the doctor called and told me that your grandma was ill. I was lost without her but the chair gave me comfort and warmth.” The old man’s sadness seemed to grow as he recalled that fateful day.
“I’m sorry, Pop-Pop.” John looked at his grandfather and said, “I do see now. This is not just any old chair. This chair is more like a friend.”
“Yes, we’ve gone through a lot together.” Pop-Pop fumbled for his handkerchief, and trumpeted into it.
That night, however, when John and Pop-Pop were asleep, John’s mom and dad carried the chair out to the curb. It was a starless night. Spring had retreated and snow fell silently from the black sky and covered Pop-Pop’s chair with a blanket of white.
The next morning, when John came downstairs, Pop-Pop stood by the window and looked outside. A tear rolled down his hollow cheek. John followed the old man’s gaze and froze. Snow-covered, the chair stood at the curb out on the street. The clamor of the garbage truck pulling up to the house shocked John into action. He ran outside. “Wait! Don’t take that chair,” he shouted, flailing both arms in the air as he rushed to stop the men from hauling the chair away. Then he ran back inside and faced his mom. “Look at Pop-Pop, Mom. You can’t throw out his chair.” John swallowed hard before going on. “This is not just a chair. This chair has been with Pop-Pop for a very long time. This chair is like a friend.”
John’s mom turned and looked at the old man. Slowly she walked towards him. With her middle and ring finger, she wiped away a tear. And then she took the old man’s face into both her hands and said, “I’m so
rry, Pop-Pop. I guess . . . I just didn’t realize how much the chair meant to you. John and I will bring your chair back inside.”
They brushed off the snow with their hands and heaved the chair back inside. They placed it next to the fireplace so it could dry. John’s mom stepped back then, and as if seeing the chair for the very first time she mused, “Mm, I guess it does give the room a certain touch of character.”
And John and Pop-Pop wholeheartedly agreed that the living room had been rather dull without this old chair.
Christa Holder Ocker
Mom
I was only two and a half when my real mom died. One morning, my brothers and I went to wake her up, but she wouldn’t answer us. When she didn’t respond to our calls, my oldest brother, Shane, got my dad. The last thing I remember about my real mom was watching the ambulance taking her away from us. Although I was too young to really understand what was going on, somehow I knew that she was gone forever.
After my mom died, my dad started abusing my brothers and me. We were sent away to live with relatives. My brothers were sent to live with their real dad, but their dad didn’t want me. I was sent to live with one relative after another. I was miserable almost all of the time. I thought that no one would ever want me. Finally, when I was four and a half, my mom’s sister, Bonnie, and her husband, Jesse, said that they would take me, and they became my legal guardians.
From then on, they became my family. I called Aunt Bonnie “Mom” and Uncle Jesse “Dad.” I felt really lucky because they also had two older kids that became my older brother and sister, and I didn’t miss my brothers as much. I finally felt at home, with a family again.