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Chicken Soup for the Parent's Soul: 101 Stories of Loving, Learning and Parenting
     

Chicken Soup for the Parent's Soul: 101 Stories of Loving, Learning and Parenting

by Jack Canfield, Mark Victor Hansen, Kimberly Kirberger, Raymond Aaron
 

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Parents everywhere know the joys and sorrows, challenges and triumphs of raising a family. This special collection of inspirational stories has been created for you, the parents of the world. Whether you are expecting your first baby, busy raising a toddler, watching your teen grow into adulthood or have arrived at the grandparenting years, these wonderful stories

Overview

Parents everywhere know the joys and sorrows, challenges and triumphs of raising a family. This special collection of inspirational stories has been created for you, the parents of the world. Whether you are expecting your first baby, busy raising a toddler, watching your teen grow into adulthood or have arrived at the grandparenting years, these wonderful stories will remind you that parenting is possibly the most worthwhile and fulfilling role of your life.

With contributions from single parents, stepparents, foster parents, adoptive parents and parents of two-parent families with biological children, each story explores the rich and diverse range of family experiences. Whatever your situation is, these stories will speak to your heart, move you to laughter and tears, inspire, uplift and entertain you. They will help put the difficult times into perspective, renew your faith in yourself as a parent and remind you to cherish the moments.

Product Details

ISBN-13:
9781558747470
Publisher:
Health Communications, Incorporated
Publication date:
09/14/2000
Series:
Chicken Soup for the Soul Series
Pages:
400
Product dimensions:
5.50(w) x 8.50(h) x (d)

Read an Excerpt

An Excerpt from Chicken Soup for the Parent's Soul: The Pickle Jar

His heritage to his children wasn't words or possessions, but an unspoken treasure, the treasure of his example as a man and a father. --Will Rogers

As far back as I can remember, the large pickle jar sat on the floor beside the dresser in my parents' bedroom. When Dad got ready for bed, he would empty his pockets and toss his coins into the jar. As a small boy I was always fascinated at the sounds the coins made as they were dropped into the jar. They landed with a merry jingle when the jar was almost empty. Then the tones gradually muted to a dull thud as the jar was filled. I used to squat on the floor in front of the jar and admire the copper and silver circles that glinted like a pirate's treasure when the sun poured through the bedroom window.

When the jar was filled, Dad would sit at the kitchen table and roll the coins before taking them to the bank. Taking the coins to the bank was always a big production. Stacked neatly in a small cardboard box, the coins were placed between Dad and me on the seat of his old truck. Each and every time, as we drove to the bank, Dad would look at me hopefully. "Those coins are going to keep you out of the textile mill, son. You're going to do better than me. This old mill town's not going to hold you back." Also, each and every time, as he slid the box of rolled coins across the counter at the bank toward the cashier, he would grin proudly. "These are for my son's college fund. He'll never work at the mill all his life like me."

We would always celebrate each deposit by stopping for an ice cream cone. I always had chocolate. Dad always had vanilla. When the clerk at the ice cream parlor handed Dad his change, he would show me the few coins nestled in his palm. "When we get home, we'll start filling the jar again."

He always let me drop the first coins into the empty jar. As they rattled around with a brief, happy jingle, we grinned at each other. "You'll get to college on pennies, nickels, dimes and quarters," he said. "But you'll get there. I'll see to that."

The years passed, and I finished college and took a job in another town. Once, while visiting my parents, I used the phone in their bedroom and noticed that the pickle jar was gone. It had served its purpose and had been removed. A lump rose in my throat as I stared at the spot beside the dresser where the jar had always stood. My dad was a man of few words, and he never lectured me on the values of determination, perseverance and faith. The pickle jar had taught me all these virtues far more eloquently than the most flowery of words could have done.

When I married, I told my wife Susan about the significant part the lowly pickle jar had played in my life. In my mind, it defined, more than anything else, how much my dad had loved me. No matter how rough things got at home, Dad continued to doggedly drop his coins into the jar. Even the summer when Dad got laid off from the mill, and Mama had to serve dried beans several times a week, not a single dime was taken from the jar. To the contrary, as Dad looked across the table at me, pouring catsup over my beans to make them more palatable, he became more determined than ever to make a way out for me. "When you finish college, son" he told me, his eyes glistening, "you'll never have to eat beans again unless you want to."

The first Christmas after our daughter Jessica was born, we spent the holiday with my parents. After dinner, Mom and Dad sat next to each other on the sofa, taking turns cuddling their first grandchild. Jessica began to whimper softly, and Susan took her from Dad's arms. "She probably needs to be changed," she said, carrying the baby into my parents' bedroom to diaper her.

When Susan came back into the living room, there was a strange mist in her eyes. She handed Jessica back to Dad before taking my hand and quietly leading me into the room. "Look" she said softly, her eyes directing me to a spot on the floor beside the dresser. To my amazement, there, as if it had never been removed, stood the old pickle jar, the bottom already covered with coins.

I walked over to the pickle jar, dug down into my pocket, and pulled out a fistful of coins. With a gamut of emotions choking me, I dropped the coins into the jar. I looked up and saw that Dad, carrying Jessica, had slipped quietly into the room. Our eyes locked, and I knew he was feeling the same emotions I felt. Neither of us could speak.

--A. W. Cobb

Copyright �2000. All rights reserved. Reprinted from Chicken Soup for the Parent's Soul by Jack Canfield, Marc Victor Hansen, Kimberly Kirberger, Raymond Aaron. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, without the written permission of the publisher. Publisher: Health Communications, Inc., 3201 SW 15th Street, Deerfield Beach, FL 33442.

Meet the Author

JACK CANFIELD and MARK VICTOR HANSEN are professional speakers who have dedicated their lives to enhancing the personal and professional development of others. Their Chicken Soup for the Soul series includes sixteen New York Times bestsellers

JACK CANFIELD and MARK VICTOR HANSEN are professional speakers who have dedicated their lives to enhancing the personal and professional development of others. Their Chicken Soup for the Soul series includes sixteen New York Times bestsellers

KIMBERLY KIRBERGER is the coauthor of the Chicken Soup for the Teenage Soul Journal, the #1 New York Times bestsellers Chicken Soup for the Teenage Soul and Chicken Soup for the Teenage Soul II, and Chicken Soup for the College Soul. She is president of Inspiration and Motivation for Teens, Inc., and frequently speaks at high schools and youth organizations nationwide.

RAYMOND AARON is a professional speaker and

RAYMOND AARON is a professional speaker and business coach who has mentored thousands of people to achieve success. Through the Raymond Aaron Group, Inc., he offers a worldwide coaching service, The Monthly Mentor, which teaches how to double your income by doing what you love. He has been on almost every major radio and TV talk show, and has delivered over 4,000 seminars. He is featured in Canada's Who's Who and is the father of a teenage daughter.

Brief Biography

Hometown:
Santa Barbara, California
Date of Birth:
August 19, 1944
Place of Birth:
Fort Worth, Texas
Education:
B.A. in History, Harvard University, 1966; M.A.T. Program, University of Chicago, 1968; M.Ed., U. of Massachusetts, 1973
Website:
http://www.jackcanfield.com

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