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Essay On Myself For Nursery

Curious and maze-like story behind this delightful essay about an atypical Mennonite childhood in southern Ontario: Rick Martin lives in Kitchener, Ontario (it used to be Berlin, Ontario, but was renamed after a famous English general—Lord Kitchener—during the First World War). He lives next door to dg’s old friends Dwight and Kathy Storring. Long ago in the Triassic or, maybe, the Cretaceous, Kathy was a reporter at the Peterborough Examiner while Dwight took photos and dg was the sports editor (yes, yes, we all have a secret, sordid past). Kathy showed Numéro Cinq to Rick and Rick got inspired by the NC Childhood series to write his own story. Kathy showed Rick’s essay to dg, and here we are. (Accept this is a peek into the byzantine editorial apparatus behind NC—if you want to get published here, it helps to move next door to the Storrings.)

Rick Martin  is a technical documentation and training consultant. He has taught technical and business writing at the University of Waterloo and York University. He has had dozens of technical manuals published and has written numerous essays and poems for his own pleasure and the enjoyment of family and friends.



Two years old.

“What is a true story? Is there any such thing?”  Margaret Laurence, The Diviners

I was a shy child and bewildered by almost everything around me.

My mother and father were born into horse-and-buggy Mennonite families in Waterloo County, Ontario. My father’s family were regular Old Orders, who eventually moved to the more modern Conference (or “red-brick”) Mennonite church so that my grandfather could have a truck to haul his produce to the Kitchener market. My mother’s family belonged to the more extreme Dave Martin Mennonite sect (founded by her grandfather), and when my grandparents were born again and joined the small Plymouth Brethren congregation in Hawkesville, they were completely shunned by their family and friends.

My father was a long-distance truck driver, so he was often absent. My parents’ first child died in his crib when he was four months old, so there was always a ghost in our lives. When I was 18 months old, my little sister was born several months premature and lived in an incubator at the hospital in Kitchener for months. With no means of transportation to the city and no one else to look after my older brother and me, my mother was stuck at our rented farmhouse near St Clements, unable to care for her fragile new baby.

Dad in 1958.

When I was still quite young, my mother, on the verge of mental collapse, had a spectacular conversion, in which Jesus appeared to her in a vision and assured her she was saved and going to heaven. This experience gave her strength to carry on through the adversities of near blindness from a childhood eye infection, too many kids (there were soon 5 of us), poverty, and a mostly absent husband who, she was convinced, was not saved: Dad drank and smoked and swore, had an explosive temper, and didn’t much like going to church.

When I was 5, my dad was transferred to Sault Ste Marie, 500 miles from family, friends, and any sense of security we had. We lived in a rented farmhouse about 5 miles west of the city for the first year, then bought an unfinished 3-bedroom house in a barely developed subdivision on the eastern fringes of town: gravel roads, no municipal water or sewers, roadside ditches, and no bus service for the first few years. Because my mother couldn’t see well enough to drive a car, we were stuck in the neighbourhood except on the weekends, when Dad was home.

Rick and siblings.

With her fundamentalist mixture of Dave Martin Mennonite and Plymouth Brethren beliefs, fed by radio preachers like Theodore H. Epp, my mother thought that TV, movies, card-playing, and dancing were all worldly, if not sinful. We grew up believing that everyone around us was a heathen, headed for hell, intent on tempting us into lives of sin. We could play with neighbourhood kids, but we understood they were different than us, and we shouldn’t get too close to them (in the summer, my mother held Daily Vacation Bible Schools in our yard, in an effort to convert our friends).

I knew, from the time I was conscious, that I was a sinner, headed for hell unless I accepted Jesus as my saviour. And I knew—from my mother’s and grandparents’ experience—that such a conversion was dramatic, that when you were saved, you knew it. Jesus never appeared to me, despite my nightly pleading, and I was never able to find the assurance that he lived in my heart.

Dad, of course, was a worry. I was pretty sure he wasn’t saved, and I knew he was in constant danger: fellow drivers were periodically killed in spectacular crashes, skewered by steel against some rock-cut on the winding road to Toronto. We prayed on our knees for his safety and his salvation, among other things, every night before bed.

And we believed in the Rapture, that Christ could appear at any moment and sweep true believers up into heaven, leaving the unsaved to a horrible stint with the anti-Christ. This was a concept invented by the founder of the Brethren, John Darby.

Four years old.

In many ways, the east end of Sault Ste Marie was a wonderful place to be a child. Just a block south of our house, on the other side of Chambers Avenue, there was bush all the way to the St Mary’s River, and on the other side of highway 17, a half mile north of us, it was bush pretty much all the way to James Bay.

The neighbourhood was all young families with lots of kids and not a lot of discipline. We ran wild, exploring and building tree-forts. We played baseball in empty lots and kick-the-can and hockey on the streets. At night, there were hide-and-seek games that ranged across the whole block of back yards.

We’d take day-long hikes back into the bush on the other side of the highway, cutting across the Indian Reserve and getting lost in the meanderings of the Root River. We built rafts in the drainage ditches and ponds down towards the river. We rode our bikes down to Belleview Park in the city and 7 miles out to Hiawatha Park to go swimming. In winter, we would hang onto the rear bumpers of cars and slide along behind them until they got going too fast and we rolled off into the snowbanks.

Mom often didn’t have a clue where we were or what we were doing; she just prayed constantly that we’d all get home safe and sound for supper.

Going to church.

Every Sunday, there were three services at Bethel Bible Chapel on North Street: 9:30 Breaking of Bread, 11:00 Family Bible Hour with a sermon for the parents upstairs and Sunday School for the kids in the basement, and 7:00 Gospel Hour. We rarely went to the first service, but almost always to the other two. If Dad was too tired, Mom would arrange for someone else to take the rest of us.

It was at Sunday School, we understood, that we could make real friends: these were Christian people, unlike our neighbours in the east end. So Sundays were the high point of the week. Often I would be invited to a friend’s place for the afternoon, between services. I soon realized that not all Brethren families were like ours. Most of them had much nicer homes and furniture and toys than we did, some of them had TVs, and many of them had a happy, easy-going, fun-loving approach to life. A few of the kids, whose parents had invited me, were selfish and nasty and treated me like dogshit on their shoes.

We’d often have Sunday School friends come home with us, too. Dad was the cook on Sundays, and he usually made a big mid-day meal of roast beef or pork and mashed potatoes and gravy and tossed salad. After dinner, we’d often go for a drive and a hike at Gros Cap or somewhere along the Lake Superior shore. I was always sad when the Sunday evening service was over and we’d pile into the car for the drive home to another week of school and neighbourhood friends.

Reading as a group activity.

Mom read stories to us every night before we said our prayers, things like The Five Little Peppers. It seemed our house was full of reading material (especially compared to those of our neighbours): the Bible, of course, but also novels, magazines, and newspapers. Mom was always reading, with her book held close to her nose, and—when he was at home and awake and not fixing something—Dad was often in his easy chair reading the Family Herald or National Geographic or some trucking journal. I can remember starting to learn to read, identifying letters and words, sitting on Dad’s lap while he read the newspaper.

At first, most of our reading material other than newspapers was religious in nature. Every Sunday, we got little pamphlets from Sunday School, and every Christmas our Sunday School teachers gave us story books and, later, novels with blatantly evangelistic aims. But when we got access to school and city libraries, we read the Hardy Boys, Enid Blyton’s several series, the Swallows and Amazons books, and all sorts of stuff: pretty much anything we could get our hands on. Eventually, in high school, I graduated to Steinbeck, Hemingway, Kerouac, and Kesey.


My older brother was always pursuing some hobby—stamp collecting, oil painting, magic, photography—with a passion that was infectious. I’d always end up doing what he did. I sent money off to some mail-order place in BC to get bags of stamps and bought an album to put them in. I got hold of an old Brownie somewhere. I helped my brother develop our film in the little dark room he carved out amongst the boxes in the tiny attic off our bedroom. But somehow, I could never generate the enthusiasm he had for these activities. It was always a borrowed interest, not strong enough to sustain me.

The one thing I did take up more or less on my own was a fascination with bicycles. I collected old frames and wheels in the annual spring clean-up, and from them I’d assemble strange bikes: I remember one that had a 28-inch front wheel and a 20-inch back wheel. About grade 8, I put together one of the first 10-speeds in town from parts I had lying around, parts I scrounged, and parts I bought at my friend George’s father’s hardware store. I would ride all over town, exploring every neighbourhood, and out into the countryside as far as Island Lake and St Joe’s Island.

I was also infatuated with cars and knew the year, make, and model of almost everything on the road by the time I was 5 or 6. Dad subscribed to Mechanics Illustrated, and I’d avidly read Tom McCahill’s car reviews every month. We would go to the annual Auto Show at the Memorial Gardens, and I’d drool over the new models. I remember the first Mustang I ever saw and the first MGB. I thought I’d gone to heaven when my dad’s friend took me for a ride in the ’66 Dodge Charger he bought with insurance money from the truck he’d crashed on highway 69.

Home built bike.

Our family was always short of money, usually running up a bill at Jean’s Handy Store for bread and milk between pay-cheques. Among other methods of getting cash, we’d pick wild blueberries in the late summer and sell them door-to-door in the neighbourhood for 10 cents a quart.

When he was still pretty young, maybe 10 or 11, my older brother got a paper route, delivering the Toronto Telegram across the whole East Side, and I was conscripted as his helper. The first night was miserably cold and snowing, and we wandered about through the snow drifts looking for addresses on Boundary Road and Trunk Road, a mile or more from home. We split up to find the last few houses, he in one direction and me in the other, and I never did find the one I was looking for. I arrived home what seemed like hours later, freezing and wet and miserable, feeling a failure.

When I was 12 or so, I landed a Sault Star route, and my dad loaned me the $50 to buy a brand new Super Cycle 3-speed, electric blue, with chrome fenders. I had about 50 customers spread along a 3- or 4- mile route that wound through the neighbourhood and ended up at the Husky Truck Stop down the highway at the very edge of town. For awhile, I had several customers across the tracks on the Rankin Reserve. I cleared about 5 dollars per week.

In the summer, I’d strap the paper bag on the back of the bike and race through the route in just over an hour, but in the winter, it was a long, slow slog in the dark, with the bag biting into my skinny shoulder and my hands freezing. When I got home, everyone else would have already finished supper, and I’d eat alone while Mom washed the dishes and my younger sibs dried them and put them away.

One year—1966, I think—as a bonus for signing up new customers, I won a trip to Toronto with a bunch of other carriers and some crusty old newspaper types as chaperons: it was the first time I’d been away from home with strangers. We stayed at the King Edward Hotel. We saw the Toronto Maple Leafs play the Detroit Red Wings, the first time I’d seen a professional hockey game (no TV, remember). And we went to see the movie Fantastic Voyage. It was the first time I’d ever been in a movie theatre, and my lack of familiarity with the conventions of either film or science fiction rendered the narrative completely unintelligible. The whole weekend was equally surreal and disturbing.

Sunday Afternoon at Grandma’s in Waterloo, 1963.

Mom always put a very high value on education (she and Dad had only gone as far as grade 8), and I did well in school, usually at the top of my class. But there was really little competition, given the sub-working-class character of our neighbourhood, and there was only one other boy, Roger, who did anywhere near as well as I. The other boys were all rough and rowdy, bigger than me and barely literate.

I was lousy at sports and a wimp on the playground. I was always in the Crows in singing class. I had to stand out in the corridor with the Jehovah’s Witnesses when the class sang God Save the Queen and recited The Lord’s Prayer. I had to sit out while they learned to dance in Phys. Ed. and learned about sex in Health. I was entranced by the girls, but afraid to speak to—let alone play with—them. I hung around the edges of things, much like my ghostly eldest brother.

Family reunion, 1966.

We often went to my grandparents’ place in Waterloo for our vacations—Christmas, sometimes Easter, and usually a couple weeks in the summer. If my dad couldn’t get off work, Mom would somehow find a ride with somebody who was heading down that way: she and her 5 kids crammed into the back seat for the 10- or 12-hour journey “home.” Our times in Waterloo County were usually a whirlwind of visits with all the relatives. Unlike my siblings, I had no cousins my age, and I wasn’t really close to any of them, but I’d often end up spending a few days in the home of some aunt and uncle I barely knew, homesick and struggling to decipher the strange habits and rhythms of my cousins’ lives.

Dad’s latest catch.

Every summer, Dad would take some time off to go camping. He loved the outdoors, and he loved fishing. We had a big orange canvas tent that we’d pitch at Echo Lake or Twin Lakes on St Joe’s Island. Dad would rent a boat, put his old 5-horse Johnson outboard on it, and go out fishing, taking any of us who were willing to go. My mom and the others would hang around the campsite, reading, paddling in the water, or playing on the beach.

Ice fishing.

Dad was not a patient man, and I could never get the hang of casting. I never caught a fish and couldn’t see the point of just sitting in a small boat in the sun all day, bothered by mosquitoes, worried about storm clouds. But it was better than the ice fishing, when we’d be huddled out on Lake Superior in our thin ski jackets and rubber boots and home-knit mittens, freezing as the sun set in the late afternoon behind the rim of ice. In both cases, I endured the misery only for the opportunity to be doing something with Dad.


Perhaps it is because they are relatively rare that I remember my times with Dad so vividly. He gave me access to a different world than my mother’s. It was Dad who helped me realize I could fix things. I remember one evening helping him disassemble and repair the coaster brake from one of my bicycles on the back porch. He showed me how the parts went together and where to put the grease (probably Vaseline) and explained how the brake worked. Later, he showed me how to change spark plugs and set the points on his car.

I would sometimes hang around the garages where he worked on the trucks he drove: changing the oil, fixing the brakes, or overhauling an engine. Because he worked for fly-by-night operators during the 60s, most of the garages were awful places, old warehouses with dark puddles in the corners and rats scurrying around in the trash piles. He and the other drivers worked on the trucks under feeble lights, getting me to fetch tools or rags, swearing and laughing, and drinking beer when they took breaks. They were always friendly with me, giving me bottles of Coke and teasing me.

Once in awhile, I was allowed to go on a trip with Dad in his truck. It was wonderful, heading out into the night way up in the cab of that roaring machine, stopping in truck stops for hot hamburger sandwiches, going to places I’d never been before: Hamilton, Windsor, Muskegon, Grand Rapids. But it was also terrifying, being away from the familiar rituals of Mom and home, conscious of the 50 tons of steel or lumber on the trailer behind, worried that Dad would fall asleep or enter a curve too fast. And I always had to pee, but was afraid to tell Dad, to force him to pull over on the soft shoulder of the highway.


As it turned out, we got home safely every time. Both Dad and I survived my childhood, perhaps thanks to Mom’s prayerful intervention.

I somehow managed, out of all of this, to cobble together a persona: about grade 6, I adopted the role of class clown, with little respect for rules or authority and with what I thought was a clever and cynical wit. That carried me, not especially happily, through high school.

—Rick Martin



By Christina, 14, NY, USA

What is it? Some people ask me.

I tell them, 'It is six little dots all stuck tougher making a rectangle.'

Then people ask me, 'How do you read it?'

I answer this question by saying, 'I slide my fingers across the page of dots from left to right and I go down the page. Reading the dots.'

Some people also ask me, 'How do you remember what all those dots mean?'

I answer them by saying, 'I remember them the same way you remember your letters.'

I love Braille and think it is unique. Next time you are somewhere look for little dots on signs or maybe a classmates paper and you will know that it is Braille.
(August 2008)

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All about me

By Marco, 11, Hong Kong

My name is Marco and I am 11 years old. There are 4 people in my family: my mum, dad, sister and me. I have three turtles, three sharks and 5 tropical fish.
I live in Hong Kong. It is sunny and there are lots of mountains. There are lots of interesting places in Hong Kong such as Ocean Park and Disneyland. People often go up to Victoria Peak to see the view of the city. Later this month the Ngong Ping 360 cable car will open and it is from Tung Chung to the big Buddha statue on Lantau Island.
I like swimming and I have a certificate for swimming 250m freestyle. I play cricket and I am on the school biathlon team. At school I like doing Maths, English and I.S (Integrated Studies).
I enjoy playing with my friends and listening to music by Simple Plan and Oasis.

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Something Beautiful

By Emma, 10, Congleton, UK

I am different. Everyone stares at me when I walk onto the playground every morning. Their white, sad faces stare at me and their blonde or red long hair quivers in the wind. I'm different. I have dark brown skin and black hair. My hair doesn't quiver in the wind, it's too short. I'm not plump and well-fed like them. I'm different. I'm skinny and tall and have big, green eyes. My accent is different to theirs but I don't care. I thought everyone stared at me because they thought I was weird but it's because I'm beautiful. I'm different but I'm something beautiful.
Robbie Williams and Xtina have encouraged me to write this.
Even though some people are different they're all beautiful.

(July 2006)

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By Georgia, 10, Sheffield, UK

Hiya my name is Georgia and I originally come from the north of Italy but when my parents divorced I had to move to England. I felt torn apart after leaving the past but also in a way felt very glad to move on. I was only young and didn't understand at the time but I kind of knew that my parents were angry at each other. My dad met a new woman and my mom was totally upset. I have a little brother but he was only 2 years old when this event happened. I really didn't like to live so far away from my dad. I miss him a lot but felt really mad at what he had done.
I now live in Sheffield and have a massive number of friends. I am happy and have really succeeded in my English.
As I am writing this I am on my mom's shop computer and I am glad that my life has gone so well. I have a baby step sister and I love her to bits. My mom has a boyfriend and I am more responsible than I ever thought I would be. I get to see my dad in the holidays but it is still not the same.
Let's hope my life will carry on as I want it to be.
Thank you very much for reading my short piece. (July 2005)

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My Life

By Cassidy, 12, Crowslanding, CA, USA

My name is Cassidy and I am 12 years old. I may be small in age, but I have so much on my mind that is weighing me down. Well, it all started when I was one to two years old. My parents didn't get along, and I was put through divorce. I hated it. I couldn't see both of my parents at the same time. So my dad, my younger sister, Alexis, and I went to go live with my grandma and papa. We lived with them for almost six years. My mom, on the other hand, lived in Oklahoma.(with her fiance Michael). My life was really good, but the times when my mom called to check up on my sister and I, I cried myself to sleep. I missed her so much. I thought I was the only little girl who had it hard. My life at my grandma and papa's house was really nice. And then on Friday, November 15, 2002, my papa died of cancer. I cried for seven days straight. I was even taken out of school because I couldn't calm my self down. So, I just kept crying and crying. My dad and step-mom were worried about me. After he died, I was getting sick and going into emotional meltdowns. So they took me to the doctor and they said that I was too depressed and that I needed to find happy and healthy stuff to occupy me during the day. So, I was doing really well with that. I prayed to God every night saying that I'm sorry for getting myself sick and to take care of my papa. I still pray to this day. And now, at my mom's house, she has a four year old girl, my half-sister, Macie. And I have my step-dad, Michael, there for me. I really like Michael. He's is really good to me and my sister. And at my dad's house, I have two little brothers, Blake and Justin. Blake is two years old and Justin is ten months old. I have so much stuff to be thankful for, but I'm still looking for more. I'm writing to KIDS ON THE NET because I can't express my true life story or my feelings to any other person. My papa is gone. I used to tell him everything. But I have moved on since then and have started a new life. I now live with both my mom and dad and they are working hard to make me happy. But just a couple months ago, on September 23, 2004, my Aunt died in a car wreck. She was killed instantly and now I'm back sad again. My cousins, her daughters, are so lost they look like two blind kids trying to find there way through an obstacle course full of dangerous courses that they could only beat when their mother was there to help them. So I still get sad a t times and have strange emotional meltdowns. But at least I know I have a good life and that I couldn't ask for more! (January 2005)

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By Mina, 13, Novi Sad, Serbia

My name is Mina. I am 13 years old. I don’t have any special nickname, because my name is short. I was born in Novi Sad and I live here now. My mum Dragoslava is a teacher and my dad Miodrag is a doctor. I have two older brothers, Vuk and Petar who are very good students of medicine and law.
I am interested in volleyball and music. My favourite group is Blink 182 and my favourite singer is Avril Lavigne. My favourite food is pizza and I like to drink Cola. I also like to sing, dance and read books.
If there is something that I adore, it’s shopping. I can shop all day and I won’t be tired.
When I have free time, I like to be with my friends. Then we usually play volleyball and badminton.
I like creative works and when I get an job I going to be a fashion designer.
I hope that my wish is going to be true, because that’s me. Write me back if you want! :-)
(December 2004)

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By Yarden, 12, Moshav Mashen, Israel

My name is Yarden. I am 12 years old, I was born in 1992.
I am in grade 6, in school Nitzanim. I live in Moshav Mashen in Israel.
I speak Hebrew and English.
My hobbies are: dancing, playing on the computer and watching t.v.
My favourite song is "Everytime" (Britney Spears).
My favourite singer is Britney Spears, she is the best!!!
My best friend is Ela. (December 2004)

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Things that revolve around me.

By Sarah, 17, Moreno Valley, CA, USA

Hi, My name is Sarah and I'm seventeen years old.
I like to sing, dance, sometimes read when I'm bored. My favorite subject in school is Health Science. When I get an job I'm going to be an Cosmetologist. I live with my beutiful Mom named Karen and two sisters. As I've gotten older I realized that I'm not an kid anymore and I'm about to turn eighteen. And I wish I could start all over again and enjoy my childhood because I miss it. Being an adult has a lot of responsibilities and you have to take care of them. Now I'm seventeen me and my mom has problems because I'm all grown up and I act my age. She wishes I were little again. I can't change that because I'm seventeen and I'm about to be eighteen and be an adult and be a parent one day. I just wanted to tell every kid to have fun and enjoy being a kid as you can.
(Dec 2004)

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Living in Africa

By Stella, 9, Leicester, UK

In Africa, there is plenty of sunshine and a nice community. In some parts of Africa such as the North, people are rich but there is war. Whereas in the South, where I come from, people are neither rich nor poor.

People are dying of HIV in Africa. A number of children have lost people who were close to them. A lot of people have to work and live on the streets. There is no fun and games for them.

There are lots of beautiful animals in Africa such as lions, tigers, monkeys, scorpions, reptiles, chickens and antelope.

Some children die before their eighth birthday. Many people walk all the way to the well to get water. Sometimes it is dirty. People get diseases such as cholera and bilharzia.

Although life was difficult I was happy because I had all my family.

If I had not come here I would not have a good education. (November 2004)

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Who am I?

By Ki, 13, Ontario, Canada

Ni Hao! My name is Siyu, you can call me Kitty. In the early spring, when the earth began to awake, the flowers began to bloom, and the light rain sprinkled all over the town, that was the day I was born, so my parents named me Siyu, which means drizzle in the spring in Chinese.
I grew up in a small town called LiaoYang, in the northeast of China. Even though it is a small town, it is one of China's biggest petrol chemical and fibre production base. The climate there is almost the same as Guelph.
I came to Canada when I was at the age of 10, it's almost 4 years now since I immigrated to Canada with my mom and dad. I lived in Toronto and Mississauga for the past 3 years, and I've visited many places in Canada. I think Canada is extremly beautiful and attractive.
I'm pretty much the happy, cheerful and bit shy kind of girl. I have enough friends to keep me company, but of course, there's always a room for another friend.
During my spare time, I like to draw, read and listen to music. I find it very enjoyable to listen to music, especially classic Chinese music.
I have a lot of hobbies, but drawing is the best of all, it helps me to calm down and relax. Collecting stamps is also my favourite, it's very interesting to look at all the little images on the stamps. I get most of my stamps from the letters that my relatives sent me.
I love festivals and holidays, one of my favourite festival is called the Moon festival, it's on August 15th on the Lunar Calendar. On this day, everyone in the family gathers and celebrates together for the family reunion. This year's Moon Festival is almost here, unfortunately I can't go back to join the family reunion, this is my only regret for coming to Canada, but I still love Canada!
Hope you enjoyed reading my story! :D
(October 2004)

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Hello. Would you like to make friends with me?

By Sterling, 13, Nanjing, Jiangsu, China

Hi, everyone. I'm glad to be here. I am a Chinese girl. I want to improve my English. I also want to make friends with English people. So I welcome all the English students to be my friends. I need your help and encourage. Please come on.
(September 2004)

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Freda and Nora.

By Romina, 14, Durres, Albania

Hey I'm Romina and I'm from Albania I've two friends that are my sisters, Anisa and Osida. I love them very much. Anisa is in the university of medicine, meantime Osida is in the 3rd year of high school. We are excellent students. I'm from a seaboard city that is very charming. I have friends from America: "the life without friends is like a life without sun". This is a German proverb. "Friendship is a plant you must water frequently." I've other friends from France and Italy because I speak very well the languages. In afternoon I stay with some American friends that are here in Durres and we speak English. I love English. I like to have other friends. (September 2004)

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Rock & Roll

By Barbara, 15, Romania

Hello great big world, how are you today?
I am fine, writing these words for you :). If you are interested who I am, read the next lines.
I am a dreamy girl from Romania. Yes Romania, a country far far away, where no hollywood stars run from the papparazi, no terror and crime all the films and songs are about. No FBI and CIA work "together" on secret missions and no theology or god. Here everything goes on normally for me, cultures of ancient times are kept, kids know each other well and go biking or in the cinema, do not ewen know how a drug looks like. Yes everything is peaceful I think because that's how I see it. I have a boyfriend since one and a half years, I think that's some kind of record for a 15 year old. And I know what love means. That is also a big word for a child :)
I think I said dreamy, everybody is dreamy, I say dreams are the most precious thing, if we can call it that way, that we possess. They are the mirror of what we are inside. All people hide behind a mask and are afraid to show what they are or how they feel. And that's the biggest mistake of mankind. I tried to show people what I am, but it went wrong. People used my kindness, my trust, or didn't like what they see and wanished from my life. I am also afraid to open my mind, take the red pill (The Matrix).
so lets go on, hmmmmm, my family, yes. I am a very lucky girl, my parents are the best. They talk to me, listen, pay attention. Not all parents are like them, some are too busy with their own and let the child unprepared and naked in the great big world and all its divine secrets. My parents gave me all the hope, strength, happiness etc., that I ever need, probably to much of it. So I don't have anything to complain. Just that I don't have any brothers, and have to carry the goodness of my parents alone :)
Pets I do not have. But I had A zoo in my house once.
Girls I do not trust so I have many male friends. They are somehow friendlier and you can trust them. No offence girls but's the truth.
I love school...just kidding :) Sometimes it's very cool but its boring. I think all kids think the same way.
My country I really like, the fact is I don't have anything to do with it. My mom is Hungarian and my dad German so....Romania ..but it's great. Everybody is friendly and happy, peaceful. Somtimes the contrary but it's not so bad.
So that's it for today, see or read you later .
With love Barbara

ps: Sorry for the bad spelling and grammar but we do not learn so much English, we focus more on German.
(September 2004)

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All about me

By Charlene, 15, Blackpool, UK

Hi my name is Charlene
I am 15 years old.
I live with my new mum and Dad and I live with my brother and my sister.
My favourite hobby is Table-Tennis, swimming, Badminton.
I go to the transplant games because I have had a kidney transplant.
My favourite subject at school is English.
My best friend is ?
(September 04)

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All about Me

By Carlotta, 21, Killeen, TX, USA

I was born in Germany with Down's Syndrome and a seizure disorder, and developed a thyroid disorder. I am a very happy kid. I love to eat and love to hear Music. I have one sister and two dog and a Momma. My Father died when I was five year old but I have a adopted dad name Robert he is overseas right now so all I have is my mother and two dogs, they're poodles. My sister live in Florida with her husband and three children. I need help to take care of me because of my Medical disability. I try to help by not being fussy when you are helping me. I like to be to myself and not be around a lot of people. When I travel places I do sometime get tired real easy so it better to have my wheelchair near by so I can sit and be comfortable in my surrounding. Well there is so much more about me but it will have to be on a separate piece of paper this is to be continue to learn more all about me.

Love Carlotta
(September 04)

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Me and myself against the facts

By Ashley, 12, Malaysia

Hello my friends... My name is Ashley. Just call me Asha. I was 12 years old in year 2003. My favourite artist is Britney Spears. I also like writing facts and mailed them to my friends who need the facts. (January 2004)

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Hello, best friends!

By Mindaugas, 13, Kaunas, Europa, Lithuania

I like friends. I have a lot of friends in Lithuania.
I find best friends in the world. I'm waiting for best friends! Write to me!

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Is it all about me?

By Tiara, 12, London, UK

Hello, My name is Tiara, and I am 12. I have loads of pets which I adore. I live with my mum and dad, and I have always had an admiration for acting, my true dream would be to act. I believe that people should believe in themselves, that they can be whatever they want to be. I have been to several acting schools and they are too easy, they recommend that I go to Silvia Young's, yet that's too much money. If you have any tips or websites I could visit, reply to me. Please and never doubt yourself believe... Improvise and never be afraid. (March 2003)

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Hello! I love Beanie Babies

By Koutaro, 6, Aomori, Japan

I am 6 yrs old boy. I like to play the TV game and I love Beanie Babies. Most time I playing Nintendo Game and Game Cube. My mom keeping tell me, don't play game too long!, I cannot study too much. Do you play any games?

Koutaro Dec 2002

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Use Your Imagination!

By Alexandra, 9, London, UK

Right now I am not sure quite what to write. I know that I want to have my writing published on this website, so I can show it to my two best friends Nicole and Gabriela - the question is, what CAN I write? I've already written about witches, trolls, fairies and pixies. Writing about pets and other animals would be too BORING, and to write about families ... well, everyone will be doing that, won't they?

I want to write about something original, funny and exciting - perhaps even scary, if I can fit that in will all the others. Maybe I could try to write a horror story...? No, the last time I wrote one of those I gave both my sister and I nightmares for a week! So, what CAN I write? Got any ideas? No? Well, I'll just have to use this then. Dec 2002

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