The Day The Sky Felt Blue
(Popular Folk Tale of South Africa)
Illustration by Ramya Varanasi
(Popular Folk Tale of South Africa)
Illustration by Ramya Varanasi
Once the sky was grumpy and annoyed. He rumbled around angrily, trying to find something or someone who would make him feel better again. But no one seemed to notice him except the grass.
"What's the matter, Mr. Sky?" asked the grass, craning his little neck as high as he possibly could.
Sky stopped pacing around for a little while to look down at the grass. He sighed, and the sound rustled through the trees and the bushes like a sad little draft.
"It's nothing, really..." he started. The grass waited patiently.
"Well, it's just that I have this itch right here in my side," Sky bent himself almost in two to point to the spot in his massive frame, "and I can't reach it to scratch it and it's driving me crazy."
The grass crouched down as another sigh swept through the area, almost flattening him and his little green companions.
"I wish I could help you, Mr. Sky, I really do, but there's no way I can reach that high," said the grass.
"I know, no one can. I guess I'm just doomed to move around with this itch in my side forever," rumbled Sky.
"Wait a minute," said the grass, "why don't you ask those trees over there to help you out?" He pointed over to a couple of tall oak trees standing nearby,
their branches reaching high into the sky.
Sky brightened up again at the thought. He bent down to the oak trees, nudging their leaves to get their attention. When they straightened up and looked toward him, the sky told them his problem and asked them if they could help. The oak trees reached up as high as they possibly could, lifting up their tallest branches, and tried to reach the itch in Sky's side.
But try as hard as they might, reach as high as they might, the spot seemed always just a little too far away. Finally their own sides aching with the effort, the trees had to give up.
"It's no use," wept Sky in frustration and his tears rained down in big plops onthe grass who came up with another idea.
"Why don't we ask one of those birds on the treetops to fly over and help you out?" he suggested.
Sky heaved his gigantic frame towards the little bluebirds on the oak trees and asked them if they could help him out. The birds twit-twitted enthusiastically. But hard as they tried and high as they flew, they just couldn't reach highenough.
The mountains couldn't reach high enough to help Sky out of his misery either, and the clouds turned out to be far too soft to be of any use.
With each defeat Sky sighed harder and harder until the whole earth shivered.
By evening, cold winds were blowing through the grass, the mountains and the trees, covering them in ice from top to toe, in the middle of July. Worried, they all got together to plead to the Sun to help them out. Sun shook his huge yellow head apologetically.
"You know I set in the West. Sky's itch is up there, in the North. I'm sorry, but I just can't go over there."
Cold and anxious, the grass, the trees, the birds and the mountains huddled up wondering what to do, staring up at the miserable darkening sky, waiting for the moon to come up. Perhaps he could help. But Moon seemed rather late tonight. They waited and waited until at last it hit Sky that it was New Moon night. It was the moon's night off.
As everyone shivered and thought and shivered and thought in the freezing silence, they heard a small voice say shyly, "Do you think I might be able to help?" They looked up to see who had spoken. It was the only star shining in the sky, Polaris, the North Star.
Polaris carefully scratched Sky's itchy spot, and scratched and scratched until Sky sighed in relief, a sigh that gently tiptoed through the trees like a tender summer breeze. The cold winds stopped blowing, and in the still summer heat the ice on the trees and the grass and the mountains began to melt. Everything was returning to normal and by the next morning the sky was well rested and happy again.
He was very grateful to Polaris and enormously relieved to hear that she stayed in the same spot every night, night after night, summer or winter, all the year round.
Once the sky was grumpy and annoyed. He rumbled around angrily, trying to find something or someone who would make him feel better again. But no one seemed to notice him except the grass.
"What's the matter, Mr. Sky?" asked the grass, craning his little neck as high as he possibly could.
Sky stopped pacing around for a little while to look down at the grass. He sighed, and the sound rustled through the trees and the bushes like a sad little draft.
"It's nothing, really..." he started. The grass waited patiently.
"Well, it's just that I have this itch right here in my side," Sky bent himself almost in two to point to the spot in his massive frame, "and I can't reach it to scratch it and it's driving me crazy."
The grass crouched down as another sigh swept through the area, almost flattening him and his little green companions.
"I wish I could help you, Mr. Sky, I really do, but there's no way I can reach that high," said the grass.
"I know, no one can. I guess I'm just doomed to move around with this itch in my side forever," rumbled Sky.
"Wait a minute," said the grass, "why don't you ask those trees over there to help you out?" He pointed over to a couple of tall oak trees standing nearby,
their branches reaching high into the sky.
Sky brightened up again at the thought. He bent down to the oak trees, nudging their leaves to get their attention. When they straightened up and looked toward him, the sky told them his problem and asked them if they could help. The oak trees reached up as high as they possibly could, lifting up their tallest branches, and tried to reach the itch in Sky's side.
But try as hard as they might, reach as high as they might, the spot seemed always just a little too far away. Finally their own sides aching with the effort, the trees had to give up.
"It's no use," wept Sky in frustration and his tears rained down in big plops onthe grass who came up with another idea.
"Why don't we ask one of those birds on the treetops to fly over and help you out?" he suggested.
Sky heaved his gigantic frame towards the little bluebirds on the oak trees and asked them if they could help him out. The birds twit-twitted enthusiastically. But hard as they tried and high as they flew, they just couldn't reach highenough.
The mountains couldn't reach high enough to help Sky out of his misery either, and the clouds turned out to be far too soft to be of any use.
With each defeat Sky sighed harder and harder until the whole earth shivered.
By evening, cold winds were blowing through the grass, the mountains and the trees, covering them in ice from top to toe, in the middle of July. Worried, they all got together to plead to the Sun to help them out. Sun shook his huge yellow head apologetically.
"You know I set in the West. Sky's itch is up there, in the North. I'm sorry, but I just can't go over there."
Cold and anxious, the grass, the trees, the birds and the mountains huddled up wondering what to do, staring up at the miserable darkening sky, waiting for the moon to come up. Perhaps he could help. But Moon seemed rather late tonight. They waited and waited until at last it hit Sky that it was New Moon night. It was the moon's night off.
As everyone shivered and thought and shivered and thought in the freezing silence, they heard a small voice say shyly, "Do you think I might be able to help?" They looked up to see who had spoken. It was the only star shining in the sky, Polaris, the North Star.
Polaris carefully scratched Sky's itchy spot, and scratched and scratched until Sky sighed in relief, a sigh that gently tiptoed through the trees like a tender summer breeze. The cold winds stopped blowing, and in the still summer heat the ice on the trees and the grass and the mountains began to melt. Everything was returning to normal and by the next morning the sky was well rested and happy again.
He was very grateful to Polaris and enormously relieved to hear that she stayed in the same spot every night, night after night, summer or winter, all the year round.
A Gift of Love
By Stephen From Moral Stories
Illustration by Ramya Varanasi
By Stephen From Moral Stories
Illustration by Ramya Varanasi
"Can I see my baby?” the happy new mother asked.
When the bundle was nestled in her arms and she moved the fold of cloth to look upon his tiny face, she gasped. The doctor turned quickly and looked out the tall hospital window. The baby had been born without ears.
Time proved that the baby’s hearing was perfect. It was only his appearance that was marred. When he rushed home from school one day and flung himself into his mother’s arms, she sighed, knowing that his life was to be a succession of heartbreaks. He blurted out the tragedy. “A boy, a big boy … called me a freak.”
He grew up, handsome for his misfortune. A favorite with his fellow students, he might have been class president, but for that. He developed a gift, a talent for literature and music. “But you might mingle with other young people,” his mother reproved him, but felt a kindness in her heart. The boy’s father had a session with the family physician. Could nothing be done? “I believe I could graft on a pair of outer ears, if they could be procured,” the doctor decided.
Whereupon the search began for a person who would make such a sacrifice for a young man. Two years went by. Then, “You are going to the hospital, Son. Mother and I have someone who will donate the ears you need. But it’s a secret,” said the father. The operation was a brilliant success, and a new person emerged. His talents blossomed into genius, and school and college became a series of triumphs.
Later he married and entered the diplomatic service. “But I must know!” He urged his father, “Who gave so much for me? I could never do enough for him.” “I do not believe you could,” said the father, “but the agreement was that you are not to know … not yet.” The years kept their profound secret, but the day did come … one of the darkest days that a son must endure. He stood with his father over his mother’s casket. Slowly, tenderly, the father stretched forth a hand and raised the thick, reddish-brown hair to reveal that the mother had no outer ears. “Mother said she was glad she never let her hair be cut,” he whispered gently, “and nobody ever thought Mother less beautiful, did they?”
Real beauty lies not in the physical appearance, but in the heart. Real treasure lies not in what that can be seen, but what that cannot be seen. Real love lies not in what is done and known, but in what that is done but not known.
When the bundle was nestled in her arms and she moved the fold of cloth to look upon his tiny face, she gasped. The doctor turned quickly and looked out the tall hospital window. The baby had been born without ears.
Time proved that the baby’s hearing was perfect. It was only his appearance that was marred. When he rushed home from school one day and flung himself into his mother’s arms, she sighed, knowing that his life was to be a succession of heartbreaks. He blurted out the tragedy. “A boy, a big boy … called me a freak.”
He grew up, handsome for his misfortune. A favorite with his fellow students, he might have been class president, but for that. He developed a gift, a talent for literature and music. “But you might mingle with other young people,” his mother reproved him, but felt a kindness in her heart. The boy’s father had a session with the family physician. Could nothing be done? “I believe I could graft on a pair of outer ears, if they could be procured,” the doctor decided.
Whereupon the search began for a person who would make such a sacrifice for a young man. Two years went by. Then, “You are going to the hospital, Son. Mother and I have someone who will donate the ears you need. But it’s a secret,” said the father. The operation was a brilliant success, and a new person emerged. His talents blossomed into genius, and school and college became a series of triumphs.
Later he married and entered the diplomatic service. “But I must know!” He urged his father, “Who gave so much for me? I could never do enough for him.” “I do not believe you could,” said the father, “but the agreement was that you are not to know … not yet.” The years kept their profound secret, but the day did come … one of the darkest days that a son must endure. He stood with his father over his mother’s casket. Slowly, tenderly, the father stretched forth a hand and raised the thick, reddish-brown hair to reveal that the mother had no outer ears. “Mother said she was glad she never let her hair be cut,” he whispered gently, “and nobody ever thought Mother less beautiful, did they?”
Real beauty lies not in the physical appearance, but in the heart. Real treasure lies not in what that can be seen, but what that cannot be seen. Real love lies not in what is done and known, but in what that is done but not known.
What goes around comes around
By Stephen from Moral Stories
Illustration by Ramya Varanasi
By Stephen from Moral Stories
Illustration by Ramya Varanasi
One day a man saw an old lady, stranded on the side of a road, but even in the dim light of day, he could see she needed help. So he pulled up in front of her Mercedes and got out. His Pontiac was still sputtering when he approached her.
Even with the smile on his face, she was worried. No one had stopped to help her in the last hour or so. Was he going to hurt her? He didn’t look safe; he looked poor and hungry. He could see that she was frightened standing out there in the cold. He said “I’m here to help you ma’am – why don’t you wait in the car where it’s warm? By the way, I am Brian Anderson”
Well, all she had was a flat tire, but for an old lady, that was bad enough. Brian crawled under the car looking for a place to put the jack, skinning his knuckles a time or two. Soon he was able to change the tire, but he had to get dirty and his hands hurt.
As he was tightening the lug nuts, she rolled down the window and began to talk to him. She told him that she was from St. Louis and was only just passing through. She could not thank him enough for coming to her aid.
Brian just smiled as he closed the trunk of the car. The lady asked how much she owed him, any amount would have been right for her. She already imagined all the awful things that could have happened had he not stopped. Brian never thought twice about getting paid. This was not a job to him; this was helping someone in need. God knows there were plenty who had given him a hand in the past – he had lived his whole life that way and it never occurred to him to act in any other way
He told her that if she really wanted to pay her back, the next time she saw someone who needed help, she could give the person the assistance they needed, and Brian added “And think of me”
HE waited till she drove off, - it had been a cold and depressing day, but he felt good as he headed for home, disappearing into the twilight.
A few miles down the road, the lady saw a small café. She went to grab a bite and take the chill off before she made the last leg of her journey. It was a dingy looking restaurant. Outside were two old gas pumps. The whole scene was unfamiliar to her. The waitress came over and brought a clean towel to wipe her wet hair. She had a sweet smile, one that even being on her feet the whole day couldn’t erase. The lady noticed the waitress was nearly seven months pregnant, but she never let the strain and aches change her sunny attitude. The old lady wondered how someone who has so little could be so giving to a stranger – then she remembered Brian.
After the lady finished her meal, she paid with a hundred dollar bill. The waitress quickly went to get a change for her hundred dollar bill, but the old lady had slipped out of the door – the waitress wondered where the lady went – but then she noticed something was written on the napkin.
There were tears in her eyes when she read what was written. The lady wrote “You don’t owe me anything – I have been there too. Somebody once helped me out, the way I’m helping you. If you really want to pay me back, do not let this chain of love end with you”. Under the napkin were nine more hundred dollar bills.
Well, there were tables to clear, sugar bowls to fill, people to serve but the waitress made it through the day. That night when she got home from work and climbed into bed, she was thinking about the money and what the lady had written. How could the lady have known how badly she and her husband needed it? With the baby due soon, it was going to be hard… She knew how worried her husband was, and as he lay sleeping next to her, she gave him a soft kiss and whispered soft and low “Everything is going to be all right, I love you, Brian Anderson”
There is an old saying “What goes around comes around”.
Even with the smile on his face, she was worried. No one had stopped to help her in the last hour or so. Was he going to hurt her? He didn’t look safe; he looked poor and hungry. He could see that she was frightened standing out there in the cold. He said “I’m here to help you ma’am – why don’t you wait in the car where it’s warm? By the way, I am Brian Anderson”
Well, all she had was a flat tire, but for an old lady, that was bad enough. Brian crawled under the car looking for a place to put the jack, skinning his knuckles a time or two. Soon he was able to change the tire, but he had to get dirty and his hands hurt.
As he was tightening the lug nuts, she rolled down the window and began to talk to him. She told him that she was from St. Louis and was only just passing through. She could not thank him enough for coming to her aid.
Brian just smiled as he closed the trunk of the car. The lady asked how much she owed him, any amount would have been right for her. She already imagined all the awful things that could have happened had he not stopped. Brian never thought twice about getting paid. This was not a job to him; this was helping someone in need. God knows there were plenty who had given him a hand in the past – he had lived his whole life that way and it never occurred to him to act in any other way
He told her that if she really wanted to pay her back, the next time she saw someone who needed help, she could give the person the assistance they needed, and Brian added “And think of me”
HE waited till she drove off, - it had been a cold and depressing day, but he felt good as he headed for home, disappearing into the twilight.
A few miles down the road, the lady saw a small café. She went to grab a bite and take the chill off before she made the last leg of her journey. It was a dingy looking restaurant. Outside were two old gas pumps. The whole scene was unfamiliar to her. The waitress came over and brought a clean towel to wipe her wet hair. She had a sweet smile, one that even being on her feet the whole day couldn’t erase. The lady noticed the waitress was nearly seven months pregnant, but she never let the strain and aches change her sunny attitude. The old lady wondered how someone who has so little could be so giving to a stranger – then she remembered Brian.
After the lady finished her meal, she paid with a hundred dollar bill. The waitress quickly went to get a change for her hundred dollar bill, but the old lady had slipped out of the door – the waitress wondered where the lady went – but then she noticed something was written on the napkin.
There were tears in her eyes when she read what was written. The lady wrote “You don’t owe me anything – I have been there too. Somebody once helped me out, the way I’m helping you. If you really want to pay me back, do not let this chain of love end with you”. Under the napkin were nine more hundred dollar bills.
Well, there were tables to clear, sugar bowls to fill, people to serve but the waitress made it through the day. That night when she got home from work and climbed into bed, she was thinking about the money and what the lady had written. How could the lady have known how badly she and her husband needed it? With the baby due soon, it was going to be hard… She knew how worried her husband was, and as he lay sleeping next to her, she gave him a soft kiss and whispered soft and low “Everything is going to be all right, I love you, Brian Anderson”
There is an old saying “What goes around comes around”.
The Child Who Saw Santa Claus
Author: Carolyn Sherwin Bailey
Illustrator & Contributor: Ramya Varanasi
Author: Carolyn Sherwin Bailey
Illustrator & Contributor: Ramya Varanasi
There was, once upon a time, a child who wanted very much to see Santa Claus; just as every other child has always wanted to see him.
So the Child listened at the chimney for Santa Claus, and watched for him when sleighs flew by over the snowy streets, and wanted to touch his rosy cheeks and his red cloak trimmed with white fur.
"I am old enough now to see Santa Claus," the Child said. That was quite true, because he was seven years old. "Show him to me, mother," he begged.
"Oh, I cannot do that," the Child's mother said. "I can tell you about Santa Claus but I cannot show you his face."
"May I go out and look for Santa Claus, myself, then?" the Child asked. "This is the day before Christmas and if I do not see him to-day, you know I shall have to wait a whole year."
"Yes, you may go out and look for Santa Claus," the Child's mother said, and she brought him his warm coat and cap and his red mittens; "but do not go too far away from home, for Santa Claus stays very close to the homes where there are children on Christmas Eve," she added.
So the Child started out. He was very sure that he would know Santa Claus when he saw him. Ever since he was a very little boy he had seen pictures of Santa Claus. He would be a jolly, fat little old man with twinkling eyes and a nose like a cherry. He would wear a long red cloak and, perhaps, he would be in his toy shop making toys, of which he would give the child a great many. Or he would be driving his sleigh full of toys through the city, and the Child would know that he was coming by the tinkling sound of his silver bells.
At the gate the Child met his grandfather. He was a very old man with white hair and spectacles. But he could play horse as well as the Child, and all the Child's nicest toys, the stone blocks, and the train with tracks, and all the rest, his grandfather had given him. Now, his grandfather's arms were full of fat, mysterious parcels. One parcel bulged as if it were a toy fire engine, and another parcel bulged as if it were a baseball mask, and a ball, and gloves.
"Where are you going?" the Child's grandfather asked.
"I am going to see Santa Claus," the Child answered.
The grandfather smiled until his blue eyes shone. "Will you know Santa Claus when you see him?" he asked.
"Oh, yes," the Child said. "Santa Claus is an old man with white hair, and twinkling eyes, and a nose like a cherry--" but the Child suddenly stopped.
"Oho!" his grandfather laughed, and the Child listened in surprise. He had never heard such a merry laugh before. His grandfather rubbed his nose that the cold had painted as red as a cherry. Then his grandfather was gone, and the Child went on, wondering.
The streets were full of people, their arms crowded with big white parcels tied with red ribbon. Some of them carried great green wreaths and bunches of holly. There were so many grocery teams, and toy shop teams, and flower shop teams that the Child was afraid to cross the street. He went part of the way across. Then he saw the horses coming, and he did not know which way to go. He might have been hurt, but a kind hand took hold of his and helped him safely across the street. He looked up at the man, who wore a long red cloak trimmed with white.
"Who are you?" the Child asked.
"One of the Christmas helpers," the man said. "I stand here at the street corner and ring a Christmas bell, and people who pass by give me money for my poor ones. And where are you going?" he asked the Child.
"I am going to see Santa Claus," the Child answered.
"Will you know Santa Claus when you see him?" the man asked.
"Oh, yes," the Child said. "Santa Claus wears a long red cloak trimmed with white--" But then the Child stopped.
The man pulled his red cloak about him. It was very cold and he had no fire. Then he took his place at the street corner again. The Child watched him and then went on, wondering.
A little farther on, there was an old man, sitting in a shop, and making toys. Once he had been a soldier, but now he was able to do nothing but sit at his work bench carving, and gluing, and painting playthings for children. The Child went in and watched him work. There were wooly lambs that would bleat, and toy horses with harnesses on the shelves of the toy shop. There were dolls with blue eyes, and dolls with brown eyes, and dolls that could talk, and dolls that could walk, all waiting there for Christmas Eve. The toyman, himself, was fitting wheels on wooden carts and wheelbarrows, and as he worked he sang a quaint little tune with these words,
"A little green tree,
From a far white hill,
Made a Christmas tree,
By my merry skill--"
Then the toyman, who used to be a soldier, turned to the Child who was just going out of the shop. "Where are you going?" the toyman asked the Child.
"I am going to see Santa Claus," the Child answered.
"Will you know Santa Claus when you see him?" the toyman asked.
"Oh, yes," the Child said. "Santa Claus will be making toys--" but he did not say any more, for the toyman got down from his bench and put a box of quaintly carved little wooden animals in the Child's happy hands. It was a good gift, for each animal was different, and it had taken the toyman many evenings to cut them out.
"Merry Christmas to you from Santa Claus!" said the toyman, as the Child thanked him and went on, wondering.
Now it was Christmas Eve, and so the Child started home. The lights from the Christmas candles shining from many windows made a bright path for him, and he felt very happy indeed. He knew how pleasant it would be at home. The Christmas tree would be set up, waiting for the gifts that each one was going to give the others. There would be a fire of new logs in the fireplace, and holly wreaths at the windows, and he would hang up his stocking. The Child felt as glad as if Santa Claus were walking home by his side through the snowy street, but he thought, just before he reached home,
"I wish that I could hear Santa Claus' bells!"
Then the Child stopped, and listened. He heard, coming toward him on the frosty air, the sound of many silver-toned bells. The Christmas star had shone out in the sky as soon as the sun set. Now the church bells were ringing, some near and some far, to welcome the Holy Child of Christmas Eve. Their chiming was as wonderful as the sound of the strings of silver bells on Santa Claus' sleigh.
"I shall know Santa Claus by the sound of his bells," the Child repeated to himself.
Then he came home, and his mother was very glad to have him back.
"Did you see Santa Claus?" she asked.
"Oh, yes!" the Child answered, for he was quite sure about it now. "I saw him when I met grandfather, and I saw him standing in a red cloak at the street corner and helping the poor. I saw him in the toyman's shop, and I heard his bells ringing just now. I saw Santa Claus everywhere," the Child said.
And so may every child see Santa Claus, wherever love and goodness are at the blessed Christmas time.
A Wonderful Thanksgiving Story
A blind boy sat on the steps of a building with a hat by his feet. He held up a sign which said: "I am blind, please help."
There were only a few coins in the hat.
A man was walking by. He took a few coins from his pocket and dropped them into the hat. He then took the sign, turned it around, and wrote some words. He put the sign back so that everyone who walked by would see the new words.
Soon the hat began to fill up. A lot more people were giving money to the blind boy. That afternoon the man who had changed the sign came to see how things were.
The boy recognized his footsteps and asked, "Were you the one who changed my sign this morning? What did you write?"
The man said, "I only wrote the truth. I said what you said but in a different way." I wrote: "Today is a beautiful day but I cannot see it."
Both signs told people that the boy was blind. But the first sign simply said the boy was blind. The second sign told people that they were so lucky that they were not blind. Should we be surprised that the second sign was more effective?
Moral of the Story: Be thankful for what you have. Be creative. Be innovative. Think differently and positively. When life gives you a 100 reasons to cry, show life that you have 1000 reasons to smile. Face your past without regret. Handle your present with confidence. Prepare for the future without fear. Keep the faith and drop the fear.
The Witch Who Was Frightened of Halloween
(This story is taken from Story Nory)
(This story is taken from Story Nory)
Once upon a time, there was a girl called Katie. Katie was seven and she lived in a nice house with her mum and a dog called Muffin.
It was all quite normal really except for one thing. They were witches. Well, except for Muffin, who was a D-witch, which is a dog who casts spells. Anyway being a witch wasn’t so bad.
Mum would just twitch her nose and all the cleaning would get done. Dad would wave his stick, and the lawn would cut itself.
Muffin would click his paws, and a few dog treats would tumble out of the sky. They’d even taught Katie some magic.. She knew how to make her homework do itself and her room got tidied just by twitching her ear. But there was just one thing Katie really didn’t like. Halloween.
Once a year, when the leaves were falling off the trees, and the nights were getting longer, all the children in her school and along her street would get terribly excited about Halloween.
They made costumes of horrible looking witches with long pointy noses and spots, nasty black hats and broomsticks.
Katie said in school: “Witches aren’t like that, really. My mum looks quite nice.”
All the other girls fell down laughing.
“Katie thinks she’s a witch,” they laughed. “She’s ugly and horrible, just like a witch.”
When Katie went home that day, she was really upset. She cried and cried and cried. When her mum asked her what the matter was, she said: “Everyone hates witches. They especially hate them at Halloween.”
Her mum tried to explain that although some people didn’t like witches, it was also quite useful sometimes, like when the washing up got done all by itself.
“I don’t ever want to have anything to do with witch-craft again,” said Katie angrily. But on Halloween night, all the girls from her school were organising a trick or treat tour of the street. Katie didn’t want to go, because she’d decided she didn’t want to have anything to do with witch-craft.
Never, never, never…. But her mum said she had to because a witch can hardly stay in on Halloween.
She whispered something in Katie’s ear.
Do you know what it was?
Well, I’ll tell you in a minute.
Anyway, Katie went to join the other girls. Some of them started laughing at her.
“Katie doesn’t have to dress up, because she’s already a witch,” they laughed. Katie felt cross and embarrassed. But she decided to say nothing.
At the first house, they got a load of sherbet lemons.
At the second, a jumbo pack of sweeties.
At the third, loads and loads of crisps.
And at the forth, a giant packet of chocolate biscuits.
But at the fifth house, there lived a man called Mr Bones. Mr Bones didn’t like children.
He certainly didn’t see why he should give them any treats.
“Buzz off, you stupid kids,” he said when they knocked on the door.
“Trick or treat, trick or treat…” cried the girls.
“Yes, well, I think I’ll take the trick, if it’s all the same to you,” said Mr Bones. A horrible smile creased up his face. “Because you’re just a bunch of stupid little girls, and you don’t scare me.”
“But one of us is a real witch,” said Amelia, the biggest of the girls.
“Yes, yes, Katie’s a real witch,” they all cried. But Mr Bones just laughed and laughed. “That’s the stupidest thing I ever heard,” he said.
“Go on, Katie,” said Amelia. “Let’s see if you really are a witch.”
So Katie stepped forwards.
“You don’t look scary to me,” said Mr Bones. “You’re just a stupid little girl.” But Katie remembered what her mum had whispered in her ear.
Do you know what it was? A special spell.
So right then, Katie recited the magic words and she wriggled her ear.
All the girls gasped in amazement because suddenly Mr Bones wasn’t Mr Bones anymore.
He was a little brown, fluffy hamster inside a cage running around and around on a wheel.
All the girls laughed and laughed.
Katie leaned into the cage. “Is it fun being a hamster?”
The little creature squeaked and shook its head. Katie spun the wheel, so that he had to run faster and faster. Then she recited the magic words and Mr Bones was turned back into a man again.
“I’ll get you some treats, girls,” he said very quickly and nervously. He came back with tons of chocolate bars, fizzy drinks, biscuits, and even a new Barbie DVD for each girl.
“Please come back next year girls,” he said. “I’ll have even better stuff for you.” He went back inside, looking very nervous.
As they went down the rest of the street, everyone had heard that there was a real witch out trick and treating tonight, so they all gave the girls even more candies and biscuits than usual, and even some toys.
Katie beame the most popular girl in her class.
“You know, maybe it’s not so bad being a witch after all,” she said when she got home. “ I think I’m going to enjoy Halloween from now on.”
It was all quite normal really except for one thing. They were witches. Well, except for Muffin, who was a D-witch, which is a dog who casts spells. Anyway being a witch wasn’t so bad.
Mum would just twitch her nose and all the cleaning would get done. Dad would wave his stick, and the lawn would cut itself.
Muffin would click his paws, and a few dog treats would tumble out of the sky. They’d even taught Katie some magic.. She knew how to make her homework do itself and her room got tidied just by twitching her ear. But there was just one thing Katie really didn’t like. Halloween.
Once a year, when the leaves were falling off the trees, and the nights were getting longer, all the children in her school and along her street would get terribly excited about Halloween.
They made costumes of horrible looking witches with long pointy noses and spots, nasty black hats and broomsticks.
Katie said in school: “Witches aren’t like that, really. My mum looks quite nice.”
All the other girls fell down laughing.
“Katie thinks she’s a witch,” they laughed. “She’s ugly and horrible, just like a witch.”
When Katie went home that day, she was really upset. She cried and cried and cried. When her mum asked her what the matter was, she said: “Everyone hates witches. They especially hate them at Halloween.”
Her mum tried to explain that although some people didn’t like witches, it was also quite useful sometimes, like when the washing up got done all by itself.
“I don’t ever want to have anything to do with witch-craft again,” said Katie angrily. But on Halloween night, all the girls from her school were organising a trick or treat tour of the street. Katie didn’t want to go, because she’d decided she didn’t want to have anything to do with witch-craft.
Never, never, never…. But her mum said she had to because a witch can hardly stay in on Halloween.
She whispered something in Katie’s ear.
Do you know what it was?
Well, I’ll tell you in a minute.
Anyway, Katie went to join the other girls. Some of them started laughing at her.
“Katie doesn’t have to dress up, because she’s already a witch,” they laughed. Katie felt cross and embarrassed. But she decided to say nothing.
At the first house, they got a load of sherbet lemons.
At the second, a jumbo pack of sweeties.
At the third, loads and loads of crisps.
And at the forth, a giant packet of chocolate biscuits.
But at the fifth house, there lived a man called Mr Bones. Mr Bones didn’t like children.
He certainly didn’t see why he should give them any treats.
“Buzz off, you stupid kids,” he said when they knocked on the door.
“Trick or treat, trick or treat…” cried the girls.
“Yes, well, I think I’ll take the trick, if it’s all the same to you,” said Mr Bones. A horrible smile creased up his face. “Because you’re just a bunch of stupid little girls, and you don’t scare me.”
“But one of us is a real witch,” said Amelia, the biggest of the girls.
“Yes, yes, Katie’s a real witch,” they all cried. But Mr Bones just laughed and laughed. “That’s the stupidest thing I ever heard,” he said.
“Go on, Katie,” said Amelia. “Let’s see if you really are a witch.”
So Katie stepped forwards.
“You don’t look scary to me,” said Mr Bones. “You’re just a stupid little girl.” But Katie remembered what her mum had whispered in her ear.
Do you know what it was? A special spell.
So right then, Katie recited the magic words and she wriggled her ear.
All the girls gasped in amazement because suddenly Mr Bones wasn’t Mr Bones anymore.
He was a little brown, fluffy hamster inside a cage running around and around on a wheel.
All the girls laughed and laughed.
Katie leaned into the cage. “Is it fun being a hamster?”
The little creature squeaked and shook its head. Katie spun the wheel, so that he had to run faster and faster. Then she recited the magic words and Mr Bones was turned back into a man again.
“I’ll get you some treats, girls,” he said very quickly and nervously. He came back with tons of chocolate bars, fizzy drinks, biscuits, and even a new Barbie DVD for each girl.
“Please come back next year girls,” he said. “I’ll have even better stuff for you.” He went back inside, looking very nervous.
As they went down the rest of the street, everyone had heard that there was a real witch out trick and treating tonight, so they all gave the girls even more candies and biscuits than usual, and even some toys.
Katie beame the most popular girl in her class.
“You know, maybe it’s not so bad being a witch after all,” she said when she got home. “ I think I’m going to enjoy Halloween from now on.”
Grandfather Learns to Read
By Karen Beth Lucket
(This story is taken from the book Chicken soup for kid's soul)
Anyone who stops learning is Old, whether at twenty or eighty. Anyone who keeps learning stays young. Greatest thing in life is to keep your mind young.
-Henry Ford
Joey sat down at the kitchen table reading the sports page of the morning paper. He heard his grandfather coming down the stairs. When his grandfather came into the kitchen Joey could see he wasn’t his usual happy self.
“Morning, Grandpa” he said. His grandfather sat across the table, looking glum. He didn’t pick up the paper to read and asked “Joey, is there anything happening in town today? “
“There’s a ball game between Doraville Middle School and my school tonight,” Joey told him. “It’ll be a close race but I think we’ll win. Would you like to go? “
Joey felt bad for his grandfather – he knew grandfather couldn’t read. His grandfather told him often “I didn’t have the chance to go to school regularly. Looking after the animals and tending to crops on the farm were much more important those days than learning to read”
Joey always listened carefully when his grandfather told him how proud he was to have lived on a farm. He told him about caring for animals and taking trips to the market to sell produce from the farm. Joey could see his grandfather’s hands were rough and callused since he had worked from sunrise to sunset. Joey noticed how sad grandfather looked when he said “I would have liked to go to school more often but there wasn’t much time”
One day Grandfather took Joey to the grocery store. In the store, Joey’s grandfather walked up and down the aisles looking at pictures on the cans. When he saw a can without any picture he asked “What’s in this can?” Joey read the label and said “It’s chicken soup”. Grandfather walked to the meat and dairy counter but could not read labels there. Finally he handed the grocery list to Joey and stomped out of the store. Joey thought “I wish I could help him out but I wouldn’t know where to begin. I wouldn’t have any idea how to start”
The next day was Sunday – Joey and his grandfather always took a walk to the town on that day to attend church. Joey stopped at the library to look through some books while his grandfather went down the street to talk to old friends. Joey was unhappy because he knew grandfather wouldn’t even be able to read the street signs. Going into the library Joey saw a notification “Do you know someone who can’t read? We can help – just call this number”.
When grandfather returned to the library, Joey pointed out the sign and told him that somebody can help him to learn how to read. Joey jotted down the phone number and they hurried home.
Several days later, Grandfather put on his best suit and arrived at the library an hour early to meet his teacher. During the first class he was worried and nervous and could hardly concentrate. He couldn’t remember anything the teacher said. A few weeks later grandfather told Joey “I am too old to learn all this” and closed his book in frustration.
Joey encouraged him and they started reading together and worked hard on Grandfather’s lessons every day. Joey took over the daily chores and asked his grandfather to study in Joey’s room, which will be quitter.
Months later grandfather Joey into his room and said “I got a letter from Aunt Agatha. Let me read it to you”. Grandfather pronounced each word slowly as he started reading the letter. His eyes were wet and by the time he finished reading, Joey was also crying. Joey was so proud of his grandfather for overcoming a lifelong obstacle that his chest felt as if it would burst with joy.
Grandfather looked up from the page and locked his tear-filled eyes with Joey’s. Joey said “Grandfather, you have achieved a miracle, I am so proud of you”. Grandfather broke into a wide grin – so big and wide as if he was saying “I am proud of me too”
-Henry Ford
Joey sat down at the kitchen table reading the sports page of the morning paper. He heard his grandfather coming down the stairs. When his grandfather came into the kitchen Joey could see he wasn’t his usual happy self.
“Morning, Grandpa” he said. His grandfather sat across the table, looking glum. He didn’t pick up the paper to read and asked “Joey, is there anything happening in town today? “
“There’s a ball game between Doraville Middle School and my school tonight,” Joey told him. “It’ll be a close race but I think we’ll win. Would you like to go? “
Joey felt bad for his grandfather – he knew grandfather couldn’t read. His grandfather told him often “I didn’t have the chance to go to school regularly. Looking after the animals and tending to crops on the farm were much more important those days than learning to read”
Joey always listened carefully when his grandfather told him how proud he was to have lived on a farm. He told him about caring for animals and taking trips to the market to sell produce from the farm. Joey could see his grandfather’s hands were rough and callused since he had worked from sunrise to sunset. Joey noticed how sad grandfather looked when he said “I would have liked to go to school more often but there wasn’t much time”
One day Grandfather took Joey to the grocery store. In the store, Joey’s grandfather walked up and down the aisles looking at pictures on the cans. When he saw a can without any picture he asked “What’s in this can?” Joey read the label and said “It’s chicken soup”. Grandfather walked to the meat and dairy counter but could not read labels there. Finally he handed the grocery list to Joey and stomped out of the store. Joey thought “I wish I could help him out but I wouldn’t know where to begin. I wouldn’t have any idea how to start”
The next day was Sunday – Joey and his grandfather always took a walk to the town on that day to attend church. Joey stopped at the library to look through some books while his grandfather went down the street to talk to old friends. Joey was unhappy because he knew grandfather wouldn’t even be able to read the street signs. Going into the library Joey saw a notification “Do you know someone who can’t read? We can help – just call this number”.
When grandfather returned to the library, Joey pointed out the sign and told him that somebody can help him to learn how to read. Joey jotted down the phone number and they hurried home.
Several days later, Grandfather put on his best suit and arrived at the library an hour early to meet his teacher. During the first class he was worried and nervous and could hardly concentrate. He couldn’t remember anything the teacher said. A few weeks later grandfather told Joey “I am too old to learn all this” and closed his book in frustration.
Joey encouraged him and they started reading together and worked hard on Grandfather’s lessons every day. Joey took over the daily chores and asked his grandfather to study in Joey’s room, which will be quitter.
Months later grandfather Joey into his room and said “I got a letter from Aunt Agatha. Let me read it to you”. Grandfather pronounced each word slowly as he started reading the letter. His eyes were wet and by the time he finished reading, Joey was also crying. Joey was so proud of his grandfather for overcoming a lifelong obstacle that his chest felt as if it would burst with joy.
Grandfather looked up from the page and locked his tear-filled eyes with Joey’s. Joey said “Grandfather, you have achieved a miracle, I am so proud of you”. Grandfather broke into a wide grin – so big and wide as if he was saying “I am proud of me too”
Grandpa and the Fairies
Story by Carolina Mora Arevalo
Picture illustration by Ramya Varanasi
Story by Carolina Mora Arevalo
Picture illustration by Ramya Varanasi
The fairies are flying around when they see grandpa. He is a nice man who has always believed in giving love and affection to his family.
When he looks for calm amongst the flowers and fruits in his vegetable garden, he discovers that he is picking the fairies´ unconditional love, the same values that he instilled in his family.
One of the fairies called Shanna represents generosity. She flaps happily towards grandpa but does not find the moment to offer him her presents.
The second fairy is called Sissi, she is solidarity. She is always ready to support, not just Grandpa, but also everybody who is around her.
Shelly, is the commitment fairy. She is always ready and does not leave things undone. Shelly is a fairy who always accompanies Grandpa and takes care of him.
Camila is the next, a naughty and lively fairy, who is happy climbing the trees to collect her own fruit, but she always shares them with everybody near grandpa.
Pippi is the cooperative fairy, a little fairy who makes every effort to leave everything perfectly in place before flying away.
And the youngest fairy is called Carol, a fairy full of love and tenderness who represents the value of friendship. She appreciates all the other fairies´ company and grandpa´s. She always hugs them to show her affection.
When the colorful fairies arrived little by little into grandpa´s life, he grew so fond of them, and he realized that they were also attracted to him as he gave them values that each of them developed to a greater extent.
Nowadays, they wait for each other in the vegetable garden to live together and enjoy sowing, picking, walking, talking and learning more from grandpa´s experience.
When he looks for calm amongst the flowers and fruits in his vegetable garden, he discovers that he is picking the fairies´ unconditional love, the same values that he instilled in his family.
One of the fairies called Shanna represents generosity. She flaps happily towards grandpa but does not find the moment to offer him her presents.
The second fairy is called Sissi, she is solidarity. She is always ready to support, not just Grandpa, but also everybody who is around her.
Shelly, is the commitment fairy. She is always ready and does not leave things undone. Shelly is a fairy who always accompanies Grandpa and takes care of him.
Camila is the next, a naughty and lively fairy, who is happy climbing the trees to collect her own fruit, but she always shares them with everybody near grandpa.
Pippi is the cooperative fairy, a little fairy who makes every effort to leave everything perfectly in place before flying away.
And the youngest fairy is called Carol, a fairy full of love and tenderness who represents the value of friendship. She appreciates all the other fairies´ company and grandpa´s. She always hugs them to show her affection.
When the colorful fairies arrived little by little into grandpa´s life, he grew so fond of them, and he realized that they were also attracted to him as he gave them values that each of them developed to a greater extent.
Nowadays, they wait for each other in the vegetable garden to live together and enjoy sowing, picking, walking, talking and learning more from grandpa´s experience.
Grandfather's Coins
Story by Pedro Pablo Sacristan
Picture Illustration by Ramya Varanasi
Story by Pedro Pablo Sacristan
Picture Illustration by Ramya Varanasi
Every month, Julia and her cousins would go for the big family meal at their grandparents' house. They would always wait excitedly for the moment their grandfather would give them a few coins, "so you can buy yourself something." Then all the children would run off to buy chewing gum, lollies or candy. The grandparents, aunts, uncles, and parents commented that, behaving like this, the children would never learn to manage their money. So they proposed a special test, in which the children would have to show, over the course of a year, just what they could manage to get with those few coins.
Some of the children thought that they would save their money, but Ruben and Nico, the two smallest kids, paid no attention, and they continued spending it all on sweets. Every time, they would show off their sweets in front of the other children, laughing and making fun of their cousins. They made Clara and Joe so angry that these two could no longer stand to keep saving their money. They joined Ruben and Nico in spending whatever they had, as soon as possible, on sweets.
Monty was a clever boy, and he decided to start managing his money by exchanging it: buying and selling things, or betting it with other children, in card games. Soon he had surprised the whole family. He had accumulated a lot of money for little effort. The way he was going, he would end up almost a rich man. However, Monty was not being very careful, and he got involved in more and more risky deals. A few months later he hadn't a single penny left, after placing a losing bet on a horse race.
Alex, on the other hand, had a will of iron. He saved and saved all the money he was given, wanting to win the competition, and at the end of the year he had collected more money than anyone. Even better, with so much money, he managed to buy sweets at a reduced price, so that on the day of the competition he was presented with enough sweets for much more than a year. And even then, he still had enough left over for a toy. He was the clear winner, and the rest of his cousins learnt from him the advantages of knowing how to save and how to wait.
Some of the children thought that they would save their money, but Ruben and Nico, the two smallest kids, paid no attention, and they continued spending it all on sweets. Every time, they would show off their sweets in front of the other children, laughing and making fun of their cousins. They made Clara and Joe so angry that these two could no longer stand to keep saving their money. They joined Ruben and Nico in spending whatever they had, as soon as possible, on sweets.
Monty was a clever boy, and he decided to start managing his money by exchanging it: buying and selling things, or betting it with other children, in card games. Soon he had surprised the whole family. He had accumulated a lot of money for little effort. The way he was going, he would end up almost a rich man. However, Monty was not being very careful, and he got involved in more and more risky deals. A few months later he hadn't a single penny left, after placing a losing bet on a horse race.
Alex, on the other hand, had a will of iron. He saved and saved all the money he was given, wanting to win the competition, and at the end of the year he had collected more money than anyone. Even better, with so much money, he managed to buy sweets at a reduced price, so that on the day of the competition he was presented with enough sweets for much more than a year. And even then, he still had enough left over for a toy. He was the clear winner, and the rest of his cousins learnt from him the advantages of knowing how to save and how to wait.
There was also Julia. Poor Julia didn't enjoy the day of the competition, because even though she had had a wonderful secret plan, she had spent her money without giving her plan enough time to work. However, she was so sure that her plan was a good one, that she decided to carry on with it, and maybe change the expressions on her relatives' faces, who had seemed to be saying "What a disaster that girl is. She couldn't manage to save anything."
When she was about to complete the second year of her plan, Julia surprised everyone by turning up at the grandparents' house with a violin and a lot of money. What was even more impressive was hearing her play. She did it really well.
Everyone knew that Julia adored the violin, even though the family couldn't afford to pay for her to have lessons. So Julia had got to know a poor violinist who played in the park, and she offered him all the coins her grandfather had given her, if he would teach her how to play. Although it wasn't much money, on seeing Julia's excitement, the violinist agreed, and he taught her happily for months. Julia showed so much desire and interest that a little after a year the violinist loaned her a violin so they could play together in the park, as a duo. They were so successful that gradually she managed to buy her own violin, with quite a bit of money to spare.
When she was about to complete the second year of her plan, Julia surprised everyone by turning up at the grandparents' house with a violin and a lot of money. What was even more impressive was hearing her play. She did it really well.
Everyone knew that Julia adored the violin, even though the family couldn't afford to pay for her to have lessons. So Julia had got to know a poor violinist who played in the park, and she offered him all the coins her grandfather had given her, if he would teach her how to play. Although it wasn't much money, on seeing Julia's excitement, the violinist agreed, and he taught her happily for months. Julia showed so much desire and interest that a little after a year the violinist loaned her a violin so they could play together in the park, as a duo. They were so successful that gradually she managed to buy her own violin, with quite a bit of money to spare.
The Little boy Luke!
Story by Miara Miles
Picture Illustrations
by Ramya Varanasi
Story by Miara Miles
Picture Illustrations
by Ramya Varanasi
Luke was born on October 1st,2006! But Luke had a twin brother born with him his name was Jake! Jake and Luke had a special bond between them no one could break. Luke and Jake loved going surfing! They grew up Right on the beach so they could go surfing everyday if they wanted to! One day there parents allowed them to actually go surfing by themselves they where so excited! They decided to go way out in the ocean even though they were told never to go that far because of the sharks. Man where they having a blast but then Luke hit a very bad wave. Luke ended up getting really hurt. Jake rushed him to shore and called 911. Jake and Luke's parents all rushed to the hospital.
The doctors told Luke's parents he may loose a leg and
he's lost a lot of blood. Luke needed blood really soon but they couldn't find a match anywhere. Then Jake said
Hey I will give him some blood. Jake ended up saving his brothers life. Luke did end up loosing his leg and was
so sad and wondered if he would pever get to surf again. Luke finally came home from the hospital a month or so later. Luke was having a really rough time with this for a couple weeks.
After Luke was feeling better he was still very scared of the ocean. But Jake kept pushing him to go back and be brave.
he's lost a lot of blood. Luke needed blood really soon but they couldn't find a match anywhere. Then Jake said
Hey I will give him some blood. Jake ended up saving his brothers life. Luke did end up loosing his leg and was
so sad and wondered if he would pever get to surf again. Luke finally came home from the hospital a month or so later. Luke was having a really rough time with this for a couple weeks.
After Luke was feeling better he was still very scared of the ocean. But Jake kept pushing him to go back and be brave.
Because of Jake doing this Luke now has a prosthetic (artificial) leg and is a professional surfer because of all Jake's pushing. Just because
of what you go through at first doesn't mean you can't
achieve high!
of what you go through at first doesn't mean you can't
achieve high!
A True Story Inferiority Complexes
(This story is taken from the book Be Positive, Think Positive, Feel Positive By: Dr. Orly Katz)
When I was in fifth grade my school decided to start up a choir. This choir would meet to practice twice a week an hour before school started. Everyone who wanted to join the choir had to audition for the music teacher and she sorted us into two groups, voice A and voice B.
I‟m sure that you must be wondering who would be crazy enough to want to come into school an hour early for choir practice.
However, it turned out that choir was the most popular club of all and every single member of the class turned up for the auditions.
We knew that the choir members would miss quite a few lessons rehearsing for special concerts and that
the choir would sing at all the special occasions at school and at other places too, like hospitals and old
people‟s homes.
The teacher played a song on the piano and the pupils took it in turn to sing with her.
Then the teacher determined the pupil‟s fate: Voice A (for the high voices) or voice B (for the low voices).
It turned out that everyone passed their auditions and we were all sorted into voice A or voice B, with all the girls being voice A and all the boys... and Orly being voice B. I was the only girl who was supposed to sing voice B!
I often used to have sore throats and get a little hoarse, but to be told straight out that I had a boy‟s
voice was another story all together.
I was the odd one out. I didn‟t want to be the only girl singing with the boys. I didn‟t know whether to quit the choir or whether to keep on going???
This isn‟t the end of the story. I carried on going to choir practice.
We were rehearsing for the Christmas concert which we would sing at the following month. We turned up at the crack of dawn. We were practicing singing a medley of carols in two voices… „Silent Night‟ , „O come all ye faithful‟, „Away in a manger” and all sorts of other carols. Then, the day before the concert IT
happened.
We were in the middle of „Silent Night‟ ( I was only singing la la la as voice B was only singing the
background voices, or should I say background noises, while voice A was singing all of the words), when I
suddenly felt that the teacher had fixed her eyes on me with a piercing glare and without take her eyes off me was heading straight towards me. She then said the following words which became engraved on my heart in a loud voice which everyone could hear. The teacher said:
“Orly, can‟t you hear that you‟re singing out of tune? In the concert tomorrow I want you just to move your lips without singing.”
Excuse me .. .had I heard right? I couldn‟t believe that this was happening to me. I had never thought there was a problem with my voice, but I did now.
Needless to say I left the choir (only after I had stood on stage just moving my lips throughout the entire
Christmas carol concert...) and I started to develop a serious inferiority complex about my voice. I stopped
singing out loud in public all together. Whenever there was a school assembly or any other reason to sing
together I only moved my lips...
After a while my mother shared a story about a complex she herself had experienced.
When she had been a small baby she had fallen out of her pram, had cracked her skull open and had, ever since then, lived with a scar across the centre of her forehead.
Her mother (my grandmother) had told her that she should always keep her scar hidden by wearing her hair with long bangs.
My mother dutifully always had heavy bangs which completely covered her scar. Whenever any of the
hair‟s in her bangs moved ever so slightly my mother was careful to put them back in place straight away.
When my mother met my father he suggested that a different shorter hairstyle without bangs may suit her better. My mother refused to listen and when my father asked why she insisted on having bangs my
mother looked him straight in the eye, parted her bangs and said “Because of this”...
“Because of what?” my father asked, not understanding what she was trying to hint at. “Because of this” My mother replied, pointing to the scar on her forehead.
My father still had no idea of what she was talking about, until she explained the whole story to him. He replied that she had all the proof she needed today to realize that the whole thing was in her head. The only person who could see the scar was my mother herself.
My mother was finally convinced, parted with her fringe and forgot about her scar.
Then my mother turned to me, looked me in the eye and said, “Orly this inferiority complex is all in your
head. No one pays any attention at all to whether or not you can sing, except for you yourself.
(This story is taken from the book Be Positive, Think Positive, Feel Positive By: Dr. Orly Katz)
When I was in fifth grade my school decided to start up a choir. This choir would meet to practice twice a week an hour before school started. Everyone who wanted to join the choir had to audition for the music teacher and she sorted us into two groups, voice A and voice B.
I‟m sure that you must be wondering who would be crazy enough to want to come into school an hour early for choir practice.
However, it turned out that choir was the most popular club of all and every single member of the class turned up for the auditions.
We knew that the choir members would miss quite a few lessons rehearsing for special concerts and that
the choir would sing at all the special occasions at school and at other places too, like hospitals and old
people‟s homes.
The teacher played a song on the piano and the pupils took it in turn to sing with her.
Then the teacher determined the pupil‟s fate: Voice A (for the high voices) or voice B (for the low voices).
It turned out that everyone passed their auditions and we were all sorted into voice A or voice B, with all the girls being voice A and all the boys... and Orly being voice B. I was the only girl who was supposed to sing voice B!
I often used to have sore throats and get a little hoarse, but to be told straight out that I had a boy‟s
voice was another story all together.
I was the odd one out. I didn‟t want to be the only girl singing with the boys. I didn‟t know whether to quit the choir or whether to keep on going???
This isn‟t the end of the story. I carried on going to choir practice.
We were rehearsing for the Christmas concert which we would sing at the following month. We turned up at the crack of dawn. We were practicing singing a medley of carols in two voices… „Silent Night‟ , „O come all ye faithful‟, „Away in a manger” and all sorts of other carols. Then, the day before the concert IT
happened.
We were in the middle of „Silent Night‟ ( I was only singing la la la as voice B was only singing the
background voices, or should I say background noises, while voice A was singing all of the words), when I
suddenly felt that the teacher had fixed her eyes on me with a piercing glare and without take her eyes off me was heading straight towards me. She then said the following words which became engraved on my heart in a loud voice which everyone could hear. The teacher said:
“Orly, can‟t you hear that you‟re singing out of tune? In the concert tomorrow I want you just to move your lips without singing.”
Excuse me .. .had I heard right? I couldn‟t believe that this was happening to me. I had never thought there was a problem with my voice, but I did now.
Needless to say I left the choir (only after I had stood on stage just moving my lips throughout the entire
Christmas carol concert...) and I started to develop a serious inferiority complex about my voice. I stopped
singing out loud in public all together. Whenever there was a school assembly or any other reason to sing
together I only moved my lips...
After a while my mother shared a story about a complex she herself had experienced.
When she had been a small baby she had fallen out of her pram, had cracked her skull open and had, ever since then, lived with a scar across the centre of her forehead.
Her mother (my grandmother) had told her that she should always keep her scar hidden by wearing her hair with long bangs.
My mother dutifully always had heavy bangs which completely covered her scar. Whenever any of the
hair‟s in her bangs moved ever so slightly my mother was careful to put them back in place straight away.
When my mother met my father he suggested that a different shorter hairstyle without bangs may suit her better. My mother refused to listen and when my father asked why she insisted on having bangs my
mother looked him straight in the eye, parted her bangs and said “Because of this”...
“Because of what?” my father asked, not understanding what she was trying to hint at. “Because of this” My mother replied, pointing to the scar on her forehead.
My father still had no idea of what she was talking about, until she explained the whole story to him. He replied that she had all the proof she needed today to realize that the whole thing was in her head. The only person who could see the scar was my mother herself.
My mother was finally convinced, parted with her fringe and forgot about her scar.
Then my mother turned to me, looked me in the eye and said, “Orly this inferiority complex is all in your
head. No one pays any attention at all to whether or not you can sing, except for you yourself.
If you stop worrying about it you‟ll see that it stops being important.
I decided to accept what my mother had to say, and while I‟m never going to be a famous opera singer,
there‟s nothing wrong with singing in the shower and I enjoy singing from time to time.
I‟ve stopped letting my inferiority complex control me!
How about you?
I decided to accept what my mother had to say, and while I‟m never going to be a famous opera singer,
there‟s nothing wrong with singing in the shower and I enjoy singing from time to time.
I‟ve stopped letting my inferiority complex control me!
How about you?
Struggles of our Life
By: Maya
Once upon a time a daughter complained to her father that her life was miserable and that she didn’t know how she was going to make it. She was tired of fighting and struggling all the time. It seemed just as one problem was solved, another one soon followed. Her father, a chef, took her to the kitchen. He filled three pots with water and placed each on a high fire.
Once the three pots began to boil, he placed potatoes in one pot, eggs in the second pot and ground coffee beans in the third pot. He then let them sit and boil, without saying a word to his daughter. The daughter, moaned and impatiently waited, wondering what he was doing. After twenty minutes he turned off the burners. He took the potatoes out of the pot and placed them in a bowl. He pulled the eggs out and placed them in a bowl. He then ladled the coffee out and placed it in a cup.
Turning to her, he asked. “Daughter, what do you see?” “Potatoes, eggs and coffee,” she hastily replied.
“Look closer”, he said, “and touch the potatoes.” She did and noted that they were soft.
He then asked her to take an egg and break it. After pulling off the shell, she observed the hard-boiled egg.
Finally, he asked her to sip the coffee. Its rich aroma brought a smile to her face.
“Father, what does this mean?” she asked.
He then explained that the potatoes, the eggs and coffee beans had each faced the same adversity-the boiling water. However, each one reacted differently. The potato went in strong, hard and unrelenting, but in boiling water, it became soft and weak. The egg was fragile, with the thin outer shell protecting its liquid interior until it was put in the boiling water. Then the inside of the egg became hard. However, the ground coffee beans were unique. After they were exposed to the boiling water, they changed the water and created something new.
“Which one are you?” he asked his daughter. “When adversity knocks on your door, how do you respond? Are you a potato, an egg, or a coffee bean?”
Moral: In life, things happen around us, things happen to us, but the only thing that truly matters is how you choose to react to it and what you make out of it. Life is all about leaning, adopting and converting all the struggles that we experience into something positive.
By: Maya
Once upon a time a daughter complained to her father that her life was miserable and that she didn’t know how she was going to make it. She was tired of fighting and struggling all the time. It seemed just as one problem was solved, another one soon followed. Her father, a chef, took her to the kitchen. He filled three pots with water and placed each on a high fire.
Once the three pots began to boil, he placed potatoes in one pot, eggs in the second pot and ground coffee beans in the third pot. He then let them sit and boil, without saying a word to his daughter. The daughter, moaned and impatiently waited, wondering what he was doing. After twenty minutes he turned off the burners. He took the potatoes out of the pot and placed them in a bowl. He pulled the eggs out and placed them in a bowl. He then ladled the coffee out and placed it in a cup.
Turning to her, he asked. “Daughter, what do you see?” “Potatoes, eggs and coffee,” she hastily replied.
“Look closer”, he said, “and touch the potatoes.” She did and noted that they were soft.
He then asked her to take an egg and break it. After pulling off the shell, she observed the hard-boiled egg.
Finally, he asked her to sip the coffee. Its rich aroma brought a smile to her face.
“Father, what does this mean?” she asked.
He then explained that the potatoes, the eggs and coffee beans had each faced the same adversity-the boiling water. However, each one reacted differently. The potato went in strong, hard and unrelenting, but in boiling water, it became soft and weak. The egg was fragile, with the thin outer shell protecting its liquid interior until it was put in the boiling water. Then the inside of the egg became hard. However, the ground coffee beans were unique. After they were exposed to the boiling water, they changed the water and created something new.
“Which one are you?” he asked his daughter. “When adversity knocks on your door, how do you respond? Are you a potato, an egg, or a coffee bean?”
Moral: In life, things happen around us, things happen to us, but the only thing that truly matters is how you choose to react to it and what you make out of it. Life is all about leaning, adopting and converting all the struggles that we experience into something positive.
The Key to the Power of Thought
(Taken from the book Be Positive, Think Positive, Feel Positive By: Dr. Orly Katz)
This Key helps us to understand how to control (or at least as far as possible) our thoughts, so that we start thinking positively instead of negatively.
The Key to “The Power of Thought” helps us to understand that the things we think and feel not only
affect our own self image and our self confidence, but they also affect the way that other people see us too.
Our thoughts show on our faces and in the way we behave. Other people react to the way we are and
treat us exactly as our own self image makes them see us. Our own thoughts and feelings dictate how other people relate to us, for better or for worse!
A True Story - A Positive Attitude
(This story is taken from the book Be Positive, Think Positive, Feel Positive By: Dr. Orly Katz)
The hero of this story is none other than a hand .... yes, you got it right and you read it correctly- a hand!
When I was in fourth grade at school I made a very special friend, a girl who had just moved to the area where we lived. She was very pretty, smiled all the time, had sparkling blue eyes, was full of the joys of life and made friends with everyone very quickly because it was fun to spend time with her. Her name was Jane.
Jane had been born without a hand. Actually her right arm stopped at the elbow were she had two stumpy fingers with which she managed, believe it or not, to do everything: she wrote, she drew, she could scratch an itch, and could even peel tangerines.
When Jane first joined our class we could all see that she didn't have a hand but we soon forgot about it because she didn't make a big deal about it. She wore really cool clothes and wasn't embarrassed to wear sleeveless tops or T-shirts in the summer. She joined in with everything, she danced at parties and swam in the pool and did everything without feeling sorry for herself or trying to hide the fact that she only had one hand and without making out that she was in any way different to the rest of us.
And because Jane didn't make an issue of it, no one else did either.
My story starts on my birthday. It was the fashion in those days to have birthdays at sports centers in the gym. This gym was huge with all sorts of equipment including trampolines, vaulting boards, balance bars, hoops, ropes, climbing bars and lots more. The whole class arrived for the party and the sports coaches who were helping with the party divided us into small groups and the competitions started. Each group was supposed to complete as many exercises as possible on each set of equipment in the set time before moving on to the next piece of equipment. The winning team was the one who scored the most points over all.
Jane was in my group. When we came to the hoops which were suspended from the ceiling of the gym we
were supposed to hang from them, holding on with both hands and swing backwards and forwards a few times. When it was Jane's turn the coach said “You don't have to go up on the hoops, it doesn't matter.” She gave him a cold, hard stare and her reply always gives me the goose bumps when I remember what she said: “I know that I only have one hand but that shouldn't make any difference. I would like you to help me up to the hoops and I'll manage somehow to swing on them, you'll see.”
The coach was stunned by Jane's determination and mental strength and said, “I see that you only have one hand, and I apologize for thinking that you can't swing on the hoops, I'm sure you'll be great.” Having spoken, he lifted her up to the hoops. She held on to one hoop with her healthy hand and put her short arm through the second hoop. She managed to swing backwards and forwards and came down with a big grin on her face. Yes, Jane had managed to swing on the hoops even though she was missing a hand, just through her will power.
Do you want to hear the best part of my story about Jane?
We were having a real heart to heart discussion when I asked her “Jane, if you could have a hand now, what would you do?” She replied “What exactly do you think I‟m supposed to do with a hand?”
Indeed, when her mother bought her a “gift” of a prosthetic hand- an artificial forearm and hand so she
could look like everyone else, Jane took the plastic limb and threw it in the bin pointing at her elbow “This is my hand, and I will decide just what I wear on top of it. Right now the only thing I am going to wear on it is a shirt...”
(Taken from the book Be Positive, Think Positive, Feel Positive By: Dr. Orly Katz)
This Key helps us to understand how to control (or at least as far as possible) our thoughts, so that we start thinking positively instead of negatively.
The Key to “The Power of Thought” helps us to understand that the things we think and feel not only
affect our own self image and our self confidence, but they also affect the way that other people see us too.
Our thoughts show on our faces and in the way we behave. Other people react to the way we are and
treat us exactly as our own self image makes them see us. Our own thoughts and feelings dictate how other people relate to us, for better or for worse!
A True Story - A Positive Attitude
(This story is taken from the book Be Positive, Think Positive, Feel Positive By: Dr. Orly Katz)
The hero of this story is none other than a hand .... yes, you got it right and you read it correctly- a hand!
When I was in fourth grade at school I made a very special friend, a girl who had just moved to the area where we lived. She was very pretty, smiled all the time, had sparkling blue eyes, was full of the joys of life and made friends with everyone very quickly because it was fun to spend time with her. Her name was Jane.
Jane had been born without a hand. Actually her right arm stopped at the elbow were she had two stumpy fingers with which she managed, believe it or not, to do everything: she wrote, she drew, she could scratch an itch, and could even peel tangerines.
When Jane first joined our class we could all see that she didn't have a hand but we soon forgot about it because she didn't make a big deal about it. She wore really cool clothes and wasn't embarrassed to wear sleeveless tops or T-shirts in the summer. She joined in with everything, she danced at parties and swam in the pool and did everything without feeling sorry for herself or trying to hide the fact that she only had one hand and without making out that she was in any way different to the rest of us.
And because Jane didn't make an issue of it, no one else did either.
My story starts on my birthday. It was the fashion in those days to have birthdays at sports centers in the gym. This gym was huge with all sorts of equipment including trampolines, vaulting boards, balance bars, hoops, ropes, climbing bars and lots more. The whole class arrived for the party and the sports coaches who were helping with the party divided us into small groups and the competitions started. Each group was supposed to complete as many exercises as possible on each set of equipment in the set time before moving on to the next piece of equipment. The winning team was the one who scored the most points over all.
Jane was in my group. When we came to the hoops which were suspended from the ceiling of the gym we
were supposed to hang from them, holding on with both hands and swing backwards and forwards a few times. When it was Jane's turn the coach said “You don't have to go up on the hoops, it doesn't matter.” She gave him a cold, hard stare and her reply always gives me the goose bumps when I remember what she said: “I know that I only have one hand but that shouldn't make any difference. I would like you to help me up to the hoops and I'll manage somehow to swing on them, you'll see.”
The coach was stunned by Jane's determination and mental strength and said, “I see that you only have one hand, and I apologize for thinking that you can't swing on the hoops, I'm sure you'll be great.” Having spoken, he lifted her up to the hoops. She held on to one hoop with her healthy hand and put her short arm through the second hoop. She managed to swing backwards and forwards and came down with a big grin on her face. Yes, Jane had managed to swing on the hoops even though she was missing a hand, just through her will power.
Do you want to hear the best part of my story about Jane?
We were having a real heart to heart discussion when I asked her “Jane, if you could have a hand now, what would you do?” She replied “What exactly do you think I‟m supposed to do with a hand?”
Indeed, when her mother bought her a “gift” of a prosthetic hand- an artificial forearm and hand so she
could look like everyone else, Jane took the plastic limb and threw it in the bin pointing at her elbow “This is my hand, and I will decide just what I wear on top of it. Right now the only thing I am going to wear on it is a shirt...”
What can we learn from the story about Jane?
It all boils down to self confidence...
Even if you have some kind of problem, disability or difficulty if you believe in yourself and have self confidence you will go a long way. If you make a big deal out of something that is bothering you, you can be rest assured that other people will make a bigger deal out of it, and blow it up out of all proportion until it bothers them too. On the other hand if you don't feel sorry for yourself and don't behave as if it bothers you, then others will follow suit and will appreciate you and will stop paying attention to the problem and believe it or not ... it will stop bothering you too.
It all boils down to self confidence...
Even if you have some kind of problem, disability or difficulty if you believe in yourself and have self confidence you will go a long way. If you make a big deal out of something that is bothering you, you can be rest assured that other people will make a bigger deal out of it, and blow it up out of all proportion until it bothers them too. On the other hand if you don't feel sorry for yourself and don't behave as if it bothers you, then others will follow suit and will appreciate you and will stop paying attention to the problem and believe it or not ... it will stop bothering you too.