Free Chicken Soup for the Ocean Lover's Soul by Jack Canfield Page A

decided to “surf” on a tiny plastic lawn table that was meant to hold a few drinks rather than a six-year-old boy. Or when he came up with a new magic trick that included making his older sister disappear. Geordi had just begun learning about the ocean in school and was surprisingly fascinated by it. We lived in Delaware, so any discussion about the ocean usually included horseshoe crabs, which swarmed our coasts to mate in the late spring.
    As part of the lesson, Geordi’s teacher brought horseshoe crab shells to school for the children to touch and examine. When the teacher told the class that horseshoe crabs had been around for over 300 million years, even before the dinosaurs, Geordi thought that was officially the coolest thing he had ever heard. He could not stop talking about it for days, and I decided it was time for us to take a drive.
    We arrived at a quiet area along the Delaware Bay. As we stepped out from the car, huge gusts of wind nearly blew my poor forty-five-pound child to the ground. Being six years old and always looking for an excuse to be goofy, Geordi saw this as an opportunity to showcase his amazing talents, which included falling down, getting up, falling down and, yes, getting up again. This, of course, was always complete with sound effects, such as, “Whoa, I’m falling . . . !” and “Help me . . . !” with giggles and snorting included. An Academy Award–winning performance as one would expect. The drama came to an abrupt halt as Geordi spied the dozens of army-truck-looking creatures in the sand. The next sound effect was “Wow!” as his body froze and his eyes widened with wonder.
    Geordi ran around frantically, not knowing which one to check out first. He settled on a horseshoe crab that was on his back, legs flailing in the air. “Mom, look at this one!” he yelled. “He’s cool!” I pointed out the different body parts of the crab for him, and he listened quietly and absorbed the information. Then I picked up the crab, turned it over to its proper position and placed it at the edge of the water. Geordi asked what I was doing. I explained to him that if the crab got stuck on its back and could not get back to the water soon, it would die. Horseshoe crabs, I told him, are very important in many ways. Their eggs are a great food source for birds, and their shells and blood have special medical properties that can help many people. Besides, it didn’t seem right to let a species that had survived so long just shrivel up in the sun. So we watched the horseshoe crab slowly make his way back into the ocean and Geordi said, “I really liked him. I think I will name him Spike because he had all those really cool, spiky things on his back.”
    Geordi spotted many, many more horseshoe crabs on their backs and decided that we should help them all. Without fear or hesitation, he began picking up stranded horseshoe crabs and flipping them over, and I carried them to the water. He even assigned a name to each of them. “This one is Fuzzy, like our cat . . . this one’s name will be Crazy Crab because he’s moving around so much . . .” Geordi said as he flipped them over. He was extra careful and gentle, worried that he may hurt one.
    When the job was done and it was time to leave, Geordi asked, “Do you think we will ever see Spike again?”
    “Maybe,” I said, “but now that we have helped him, we know he will be okay even if we don’t see him again.” Looking satisfied with that answer, Geordi said, “Yeah, that is the most important thing.” And, suddenly, my son who was usually cavorting like a maniac, looked to me like a grown boy for the first time.
    Jennifer Zambri-Dickerson

Ebb and Flow
    The sky was blue with billowing clouds. My friend Jeni and I strolled along the beach talking and enjoying the day. Unlike summer days when the sea is calm and inviting, a chilly wind had churned up the water, making it murky and far less tempting. As we gazed at the sea, Jeni