Stories

Frogs

By Daniel Adams

Let me tell you a story from my childhood.

When I was seven years old, I walked about a mile to school. Along the way, I liked to explore the neighborhood, especially the wooded area along its edge. Going through the neighborhood meant dealing with mean dogs and bigger kids, so the wooded route suited me just fine.

One week, we had so much rain that great puddles formed among the trees. To a seven-year-old, they looked like ponds.

One particular morning, I was walking past those newly formed ponds when I spotted a frog.

Whoa! I liked frogs!

I picked it up. Then I saw another. And another! Before long, I realized there were frogs everywhere in those shallow ponds.

I forgot all about school.

I ran home, got our garbage can, emptied it, and hurried back to my treasure trove of frogs. It was amazing! I caught about a hundred and put every one of them into that can. I was mighty proud of all my new pets.

School? Well, tomorrow would be another day for school.

I dragged the can home. Now I had to figure out where to keep the frogs. My mother and father were both at work, so I pulled the can into the house and dumped every frog into the bathtub.

Good choice, I thought. I could raise them right there in the bathroom!

I was right proud of my accomplishment. Surely Mom would be proud of her son for bringing home such delights!

It didn’t quite go over as I’d hoped.

I wasn’t in the house when she came home and went into the bathroom. What happened in there can only be imagined. But from what I could hear, my mother’s words were coming out so fast you’d have thought they were racing one another.

Apparently, a bathtub full of frogs was not her idea of a good time.

My mother told me in no uncertain terms that every one of those frogs had to be released.

So I gathered them up, refilled the garbage can, and hauled it out to the backyard. Then I tipped it over.

Frogs scattered everywhere!

I had lost my bathtub full of pets, but we now had the best-stocked frog habitat in the neighborhood.

The Fight in the Florida Sun

By Daniel Adams

It was a bright, sunny summer day in Florida—the kind an eight-year-old boy could enjoy despite the sweat dripping from his brow. I was shirtless, getting a little red from the sun, and having a wonderful day.

Then Mark showed up.

Mark was ten years old and the neighborhood bully. Luckily, my sister, who was also ten, was nearby. I don’t know whether it was the Florida heat or whether we were simply tired of being pushed around, but that day, my sister and I decided we’d had enough.

The two of us took him on, and together we were getting the best of him. Somewhere in the commotion, though, my confidence got ahead of my good sense.

I told my sister to back off. I had this under control.

She stepped away, and I immediately discovered that I did not have this under control.

Mark was bigger than I was, and without my sister’s help, things weren’t going nearly as well. It didn’t take me long to realize that our original arrangement had been much better.

My sister jumped right back in, and before long, Mark surrendered.

We were victorious, sweaty, and probably a little redder than when we’d started. Best of all, Mark never bothered us again.

And I learned something that afternoon: when your sister is helping you win a fight, don’t tell her to back off.