Chicken Soup for the Teenage Soul on Tough Stuff by Jack Canfield Read Free Book Online Page B

for a nearly fifty-year-old man to find a new job. For a year and a half he remained unemployed, and his situation seemed more and more desperate. He continued to be a big part of my life, though. No longer stuck at work, he attended all of my basketball games and kept our relationship as strong as it ever was.
    Finally, he got a job—in the next state. In a few months, my father was settled in his new home and job, while I was left to try and adjust to life without him. He managed to turn his financial situation around, but I was worried about him. He didn’t make any new friends and, when he wasn’t with me, he was in his apartment alone. He seemed lonely.
    When it was my dad’s weekend to pick me up, he would drive three hours to get me and we would stay in a hotel. I loved those weekends together, but as time went on my dad seemed to cancel his time with me more and more frequently. He always seemed to get a “stomach flu,” and when we did spend the weekend together, he was often in the bathroom vomiting. We all noticed how emaciated he had become; his legs were even thinner than mine. But although he was physically deteriorating, my dad was determined to maintain his relationship with his family. He called his daughter every day.
    One night my dad didn’t call. I was worried, but my mom calmed me down. We reasoned that he was probably out too late to call and didn’t want to wake me. But when he didn’t call the next night either, I was really worried.
    The next morning, my mom and I decided that we should look into the situation. She told me she would call his office and tried to reassure me on the way to school. I felt strange that day laughing with my friends, like I shouldn’t be so happy. I had this weird feeling that something bad had happened.
    When I got home, I immediately asked her what his office had told her. As it turned out, they, too, had not heard from him. They got suspicious and went to his apartment to see what was going on. My father never answered the door, so they got someone to break in. They found my dad lying on the bathroom floor in a pool of blood. The police later said that he had died two days before he was found.
    After hearing the news, I was in bad shape. I felt like there was no point to life. I took a few days off school and spent them looking at photo albums and going through my dad’s old stuff. My father was not a perfect man— sometimes he was insensitive, sometimes unfair, sometimes unforgiving or hurtful or unreliable. My father disappointed me a lot. But when I look back at the man my father was, I am not disappointed. My father was only human. He did teach me how to throw a ball, to wash a car, to appreciate music, to play golf, to love to read, to argue intelligently, to do crossword puzzles, to play the guitar and to be proud of myself. Some children never even get to meet their fathers; I was fortunate enough to know mine for fourteen years.
    My father’s death is now a part of me, embedded deep within me. I am growing stronger every day. My mother has taught me, rather than forget about my father’s problems and struggles, to learn from them. My mother is there whenever I need her; her support has been the anchor that has kept me from drifting away.
    As I place the flowers next to my father’s ashes, I say a silent prayer and wait there for just a moment. I recall everything about my dad—the good and the bad alike— and I remember the man my father was.
    Kristine Flaherty

A Sobering Place
    L earn from the mistakes of others—you can never live long enough to make them all yourself.
    John Luther
    â€œWhat will you have?” the waiter asks.
    â€œA Shirley Temple,” I shoot back. When I go out I always order the same drink. The sparkling Sprite with grenadine and a maraschino cherry allows me to pretend, to fit in with my friends somehow, to cast aside the hurt of my childhood.
    I don’t