101 Stories of Changes, Choices and Growing Up for Kids Ages 9-13 Read online

  While I was there, I met two foster-care kids. They were two boys, and after getting to know them, I learned a lot about what foster-care kids go through. They told me that when kids go into the foster-care system, they don’t just lose their parents and their home, sometimes they are also separated from their brothers and sisters. Not every foster-care home wants to care for an entire family of kids. Foster-care kids also lose most of their toys and clothes. They told me that when the kids are picked up from their home by a social worker, they are given only a trash bag to put their few belongings into. This trash bag is what foster-care kids carry with them when they are moved from home to home.

  I felt really sad when I heard this. I couldn’t even imagine what life would be like without my family and home— much less what it would be like to have to live out of a trash bag. Trash bags are for trash, not for kids to carry their belongings in.

  After I came home from France, I saw an after-school movie that was about a girl living in foster care. It was just like what the boys had described to me at the Children’s World Summit, and it made me cry. Right then I decided that I wanted to help foster-care kids. These kids needed my help, because they were not being respected like they should be.

  My whole family is into volunteering. Brock and Cory had started a project after they saw a show on television about some kids who died in a fire. The kids had died because the fire department didn’t have this special camera that can see through smoke to find people in a burning house. My brothers began Project Rescue Vision in 1996 to raise needed money for our town’s fire department. Of course, I helped too. I was only four years old, and I was the “President of the Art Department.” My job was to hand-color all of the information envelopes that were given out. I helped them until I was seven. Then I began my own project for foster-care kids.

  I started by asking my mom to stop at garage sales when I saw suitcases or duffel bags for sale. I would tell the person who was having the garage sale what I wanted to do with the bags, and most of the time they gave me the bags for free. I tried to put myself into the mind of a foster-care kid, and I decided that the kids should have a stuffed animal in the bag, too. I figured that if I was in that situation I would want a cuddly friend to hug when I was sad and felt lonely for my parents. People often gave those to me for free, too.

  In October 1998, I helped organize a luggage drive during our local “Make a Difference Day.” Some congresspeople and senators showed up to give their support, and I came up with this idea for everyone to get their hand painted and then put their handprint on a big banner to show that they had made a difference that day. I got all these kids to help paint people’s hands. It was really funny to watch these important people have their hands painted.

  The senators and congresspeople went back to Washington and told other people about my project, and then a company named Freddie Mac set up a grant for me and donated fifteen thousand dollars. I am the youngest person they have ever granted money to. Because of this grant, I had a story about my project and me on the cover of the Washington Post. Then the most amazing thing happened. President and Mrs. Clinton read about me and wanted to meet me. I was really excited! They were so nice, and I gave the president one of my bags with a Beanie Baby in it to give to any foster kid that he may meet. A few days later, he sent some bags to me from his own collection to give to foster-care kids, so I did.

  My project really started growing because of all the media attention. Radio stations called me for interviews about what I was doing and some TV shows had me on. More people then heard about me from the TV and radio interviews and from word-of-mouth, and they called me to offer help.

  Every week I called my friends and family to see if they wanted to come and put together bags. I always had help from many people. My class even helped, too. My teacher announced to my class what I was doing, and everybody started bringing stuffed animals and duffel bags to school. One of my friends brought in ten big bags full of stuffed animals!

  On each bag, I put a luggage tag designed by me. On the front of each luggage tag is a picture of a girl and a suitcase with wheels on it. In each bag, I put a cuddly stuffed animal and a special note I wrote, letting them know that I love and care about them. My mom helped me type this note:

  Dear Friend,

  Hi, my name is Makenzie Snyder. I am nine years old, and I’m in the third grade. I collect suitcases and duffel bags as an act of kindness for those who are in need of them. God told me you could use a duffel bag and a cuddly friend so I sent this with love to you. I want you to always know that you are loved, especially by me. And, always remember to be positive, polite and never give up.

  Love, your friend,

  Makenzie Snyder

  After the bags are stuffed, I call social workers to tell them they can come and pick up the bags to hand out to the foster-care kids. I have had a lot of support from several big companies, schools, churches, organizations and individuals who have donated money, or sent me bags and stuffed animals. I’ve even been on the Rosie O’Donnell Show! Several thousand bags have been sent out so far, and right now I have five thousand more ready to go, sitting in my den. Those bags will go to kids in Maryland, Washington, D.C., and Virginia.

  I have had a lot of help from a lot of people, but most importantly from my parents and my brothers. My brother Brock came up with the name for my project. He said I should call it “Children to Children” since it was all about kids knowing what other kids want and helping them get it. My brothers have also given me good advice about always sending thank-you notes to the people who help me. They told me I had to work hard, call tons of people and to never give up . . . and I haven’t.

  I know that this is just the beginning. There are 530,000 foster-care kids in the United States. My dream is for all the foster-care kids in the entire United States to receive a duffel bag and a cuddly friend. I know it can be done if everyone helps out. It is a lot of work but I never get tired of it. I remember the girl in the movie that I saw. If she had been given one of my duffel bags, she would have known that someone out there cared about what happened to her. I don’t want any kid, anywhere, to go through what she or the two boys did. Kid to kid, Children to children— that’s what it’s all about.

  Makenzie Snyder, nine

  [EDITORS’ NOTE: If you would like more information about Children to Children, go to Makenzie’s Web site at www.children tochildren.org.]

  Run with It

  Do what you can, with what you have, where you are.

  Theodore Roosevelt

  The first time I saw Jeff was when my best friend, Brian, and I were in the fourth grade. When our teacher introduced Jeff to the class she explained that he was sick and that he might not be able to be in class all of the time.

  Jeff was completely bald from cancer treatments, and he wore a hat. That was one reason that he and I bonded right away. Being the tomboy that I was, I liked wearing a hat—only I wasn’t allowed to wear one in class. Jeff was allowed to wear his hat all of the time. Other than that, he was a normal friend to both Brian and me. Some things he couldn’t do as well as the other kids because he had tubes in his chest for his treatments, but we never thought of him as sick because he didn’t act that way.

  The only time that we would realize that Jeff was sick was when he went for his chemotherapy treatments. We’d notice the difference, but we’d just sort of think, Yeah, Jeff’s not feeling really well now, and then it would pass and things would be back to normal. Jeff, Brian and I were really sports-oriented, and we became best buds. We would swim, run and jump on the trampoline. As fourth grade progressed, Jeff got better and better. By the end of the school year he went into remission; the cancer was all gone.

  Brian, Jeff and I spent tons of time together during the summer between fourth and fifth grades. We loved being outdoors, running everywhere and staying over at each other’s houses. Before school started, Jeff went away on vacation with his family for a few weeks.

 
Then came the night that I will always remember. We were eating dinner when the phone rang. It was Jeff’s mom, calling to say that Jeff was in the hospital. The cancer had come back. My reaction was, Wait a minute. What’s going on?

  Jeff and I talked on the phone the next day and he sounded like his normal self. I couldn’t really imagine him being back in the hospital. Then, a few days later, my mom took me to visit him. When I walked into his room, Jeff looked really weak. His mom was talking about a trip to California for a bone marrow transplant operation, and how important it would be for Jeff. Even though everyone looked very serious and sad, the thought of losing Jeff never crossed my mind. I just thought he would get better.

  During the next few weeks, before the operation, Jeff was allowed to play with Brian and me but he had to wear a surgical mask because he had to be careful of infections. I realize now that his parents wanted him to experience as much of life as possible while he could. One night, they took Jeff and me to this really fancy restaurant up in the mountains, and it felt sort of like a date. We both dressed up—which was weird for me, because I never wore anything but shorts and hats.

  When Jeff left for California to have his operation I told him, “Bye, see you in a month or so,” as if nothing much was happening. I wrote to him while he was there, and the letters that he sent to me talked about the things that we would do together when he returned home. It didn’t even cross my mind that I might never see him again.

  Then, one night, I went to a skating party. Brian was supposed to be there but I couldn’t find him. When I got home, my dad was out in the garage working on a project. When Dad spotted me, he opened the door to the house to let my mom know that I had arrived. I walked into the house, and Mom said, “I need to talk to you alone in your bedroom, Susie.” I grabbed some chocolate chips off the counter and bounded off to my room. “Jeff’s mom called . . .” was all she had to say. I knew. The chocolate chips turned sour in my mouth, and I cried as my mom held me tightly. I’ve never been an emotional person, but my heart just sank and I felt empty. It was too hard to believe. Brian had heard about it just before the skating party, and that’s why he hadn’t been there.

  That evening, Brian and I talked for hours. We had never talked much on the phone before, because we had always been doing things, but that night we talked and talked, reminiscing about Jeff. We started worrying about Jeff’s parents and if they could handle the medical expenses. And that was the beginning of our idea. We wanted to do something, but we didn’t know what.

  When we figured out that Jeff’s parents didn’t need the money, we started thinking instead about something that would help everybody remember Jeff, something to honor him. Brian and I thought about the time the three of us did a run together. Jeff had loved running, but it had been hard for him to finish the run. He was really happy when he was able to cross the finish line, and so were we. Why not do a run for Jeff?

  It seemed like a good idea. We knew that we would have to advertise in order to have enough runners, and that we’d have to get sponsors for food and drinks. We even thought we knew what the forms needed to look like for sign-ups.

  I know now that all of this planning was part of our grieving process. All through it, we told each other stories about Jeff. Right around that time, his parents donated a tree to the school and we all planted it in Jeff’s memory. It was tough on his parents, but it really helped all the kids. Everyone got to shovel some dirt around the tree, and Jeff’s parents held hands with each other and cried.

  If we’d been old enough to know what was really involved, we probably wouldn’t have started it. But we were just some kids with a great idea, so we went for it. We took the phone book and started calling Coors, Pepsi and Mile-High Yogurt—anything we could find. “We want to do a run, and we’re looking for sponsorship,” we would say to whoever answered the phone. “Who can we talk to?” I wonder if the people on the other end could tell that we were only fifth-graders!

  Then one day, Mom came to me all excited. “A man from Pepsi called and asked to talk to you. What’s going on?” I guess we’d been persuasive enough! After I called him back and got his pledge of support, I told my parents about the run and they promised to help. The vice-principal got involved and he brought the plans for the run to the gym teacher, who was a runner. All of the adults in our lives were encouraging us.

  We started writing letters to lots of companies, which was pretty funny because Brian has the worst handwriting in the world. I don’t know how anyone ever read what he was trying to say. But somehow it worked because we started receiving all kinds of gifts. The yogurt place gave us five hundred free yogurts, and other companies donated money.

  The plans for the run were growing so big that we needed a professional organizer. Someone came along and donated this service for free, and that’s when things really started to roll. The entire community became involved: stuffing packets, raising money, writing numbers on racing bibs, holding meetings. Pretty soon, the whole city knew what was going to happen.

  The day of the run finally came, and it was huge! Tons of people ran, ReMax donated T-shirts and there were awards for anyone who could beat the gym teacher’s time. The park where the run was held was near Jeff’s house, which was where the processional had gone after his funeral. Because of where it was held, the run had even more of a special meaning to Brian and me. And, we raised ten thousand dollars! We donated the money to the Leukemia Society in Jeff’s name.

  Even now, I think about Jeff quite a lot. If something’s going on in my life that feels bad, I tell myself, Come on, get over it. Stop feeling sorry for yourself. If Jeff were still alive, he would be glad just to have the opportunity to deal with this.

  The run made such an impact on my life. The biggest thing was (and I credit the adults for this) that no one ever told us “No.” We kept hearing, “If you want to do it, you can do it!” It has helped me in everything I’ve done since, and I’ve had a “Go for it!” attitude about things.

  There’s a big bike ride I’ve heard about that goes from Los Angeles to Orlando, and I’m thinking about riding in it. Some of my friends think I’m crazy and they ask me, “Is that even possible?” Of course it is! You’re alive, you’re here—so run with it!

  Susan Overton

  The Back of David’s Head

  Have a belief in yourself that is bigger than anyone’s disbelief.

  August Wilson

  I couldn’t stand fifth grade. I didn’t like the milk that was warm by lunchtime from sitting near the radiator all morning. I didn’t like recess because I could never get a turn on the swing. But most of all I didn’t like my teacher, Mrs. Kelly, because I was sure that Mrs. Kelly didn’t like me.

  Mrs. Kelly never let me pass out books or collect papers. Mrs. Kelly made me sit in the last seat of the sixth row behind David Abbot, the biggest kid in the whole class. David was bigger than most of the eighth-graders, and he never, ever took a bath. The only thing I could see all day was the back of David’s head.

  At the beginning of fifth grade, Mrs. Kelly had explained all the classroom rules including the one about being excused for the rest room. She told all the students that they had to raise their hand with one or two fingers when they wanted to be excused. Then she would know what they were going to do in the restroom, and how long they would be gone from the classroom. The whole class would laugh whenever anyone held up two fingers to be excused.

  One Monday in October, Mrs. Kelly said, “Clear your desks and take out your composition books. Today I want you to write a composition called ‘Something Interesting’ about something you have personally seen. Do not repeat any topics.”

  “Can we write about Disneyland?” Maureen Murphy asked. Everyone in the class knew that Maureen had been to Disneyland more than anyone else in the whole school.

  “That would be perfect, Maureen,” Mrs. Kelly answered with a smile.

  I opened my black and white composition book. I tried to ignore the huge re
d U for “unsatisfactory” that partly covered the title, “My Summer Vacation.” I remembered Mrs. Kelly’s comments without even looking at them.

  It has been brought to my attention that this composition is about your last year’s summer vacation, and you have already written about the same trip for a composition last year during the fourth grade. Therefore, this assignment is unsatisfactory. Your penmanship is also unsatisfactory.

  I didn’t care about the penmanship comment. That was on every assignment I turned in. What bothered me was that Mrs. Kelly would not accept my composition about my train trip to Denver. The only trip I had ever gone on in my whole life had been the trip to Denver. In the fourth grade, my composition had been about all the things I had seen from the train windows on the way to Denver. For the fifth grade, I wrote a whole new composition about the hotel in Denver with the glass elevators.

  Mrs. Kelly wrote an outline on the blackboard. One paragraph for an introduction, then three paragraphs to describe the topic in detail. A final paragraph for a conclusion. I knew that Maureen Murphy had a composition book filled with E’s for excellent and even S’s for superior while my best grade had been an F. In spite of Mrs. Kelly’s red marks, I really liked to fill the pages of my composition book with words and ideas. I frowned and stared at the back of David’s head.