Tag: Christmas season

The Candlelight Mystery

by Aaron Aaronsen

The living room of the Monti family’s home glowed warmly with the soft flicker of candlelight. It was the third Sunday of Advent, and Monti J. Monti sat cross-legged on the floor, watching his mother light the third candle on their Advent wreath. The delicate scent of pine needles mixed with the sweet aroma of the cookies cooling on the kitchen counter.

As his mother placed the match aside, Monti tilted his head. “Why do we always light them in this order?” he asked, pointing to the three glowing candles, two purple and one pink.

His mother smiled. “It’s a tradition, Monti. Each candle has its own meaning. The first is for hope, the second for peace, and the third is for joy.”

Monti nodded slowly, but his curiosity wasn’t satisfied. “Why do we need to light candles for those things? We could just talk about them, right?”

His father chuckled from the armchair. “It’s not just about the candles. It’s about what they remind us to do and feel. But I think your grandmother could explain it even better. She has wonderful stories about our traditions.”

Monti’s face lit up. He loved hearing his grandmother’s stories.

That evening, Monti joined his grandmother in the cozy kitchen upstairs. She was kneading dough for Zimtsterne, her famous cinnamon star cookies, while Pilatus lay snoring at her feet.

“Grandma,” Monti began, pulling up a stool. “Why do we light the candles in a certain order on the Advent wreath?”

His grandmother wiped her floury hands and smiled. “Ah, Monti, the Advent candles are very special. They help us prepare for Christmas, not just with gifts and treats, but in our hearts. Would you like to hear the story behind them?”

Monti nodded eagerly.

His grandmother began, “A long time ago, people wanted a way to focus on the true meaning of Advent. They chose four candles to remind them of the most important things during this season. The first candle is hope, because it reminds us to always look forward to brighter days. The second is peace, to remind us to be kind and calm, even when life gets busy. The third candle is joy, to celebrate the happiness we share with others. And the fourth candle is love, the greatest gift of all.”

Monti listened intently, picturing the meanings in his mind.

“But why do we light them one at a time?” he asked.

“Because each week brings us closer to Christmas,” his grandmother said. “It’s like taking small steps toward something wonderful. And by the time all four candles are lit, we’re ready to celebrate together.”

The next day at school, Monti couldn’t stop thinking about the Advent candles. When his teacher asked if anyone had ideas for a craft project, Monti raised his hand.

“Can we make paper Advent wreaths?” he suggested.

The teacher loved the idea, and soon Monti and his classmates were busy cutting out paper circles and decorating them with hand-drawn candles. Monti carefully labeled each one with its meaning: hope, peace, joy, and love.

“Why does the third one look different?” Leo asked, pointing to Monti’s pink candle.

“It’s for joy,” Monti explained, recalling his grandmother’s story. “It’s supposed to stand out because it’s about celebrating the happiness we share.”

Leo nodded thoughtfully as he added glitter to his own wreath.

That Sunday, Monti sat with his parents around their Advent wreath, staring at the flickering candles. As the flame of the third candle danced, he felt a warm sense of joy in his chest.

“I shared the story of the candles with my class,” Monti said proudly. “And we made paper Advent wreaths!”

His mother smiled. “That’s wonderful, Monti. Sharing the meaning of these traditions helps them stay alive for others, too.”

Monti grinned. He had always thought traditions were just something people did without much thought. But now he understood that they were like little treasures, carrying stories and lessons from one generation to the next.

As the candles burned brightly, Monti felt closer to Christmas than ever, not because of the gifts waiting under the tree, but because of the hope, peace, joy, and love the season brought into their home.

The Chocolate Catastrophe

by Aaron Aaronsen

The chocolaterie was filled with the sweet scent of cocoa as Monti J. Monti stood in the kitchen with his parents. It was a big day—tonight, the entire neighborhood would gather for the annual holiday party, and Monti’s family was in charge of bringing the dessert.

“This year, we’re making chocolate snowflakes,” Monti’s mother said, setting down a tray of intricate molds. “They’re always a favorite.”

Monti’s eyes lit up. “Can I help? I want to make them extra special this year!”

His father chuckled. “Of course. But remember, chocolate-making is all about patience and precision. Follow the steps carefully, and don’t rush.”

Monti nodded enthusiastically. He’d helped in the chocolaterie before and felt confident he could handle the task.

Monti’s job was to pour the melted chocolate into the snowflake molds and decorate them with sprinkles, sugar pearls, and edible glitter. His parents showed him how to smooth the chocolate and remove air bubbles by gently tapping the molds on the counter.

At first, Monti followed their instructions. He poured the chocolate slowly and added just the right amount of decorations. But as he got more excited, he decided to try a new technique to make his snowflakes stand out.

“What if I swirl two kinds of chocolate together?” he thought aloud. Without asking, he grabbed some white chocolate and started mixing it with the dark chocolate in one of the molds.

His parents were busy tempering more chocolate and didn’t notice as Monti worked quickly, eager to finish his batch. He added extra glitter and sprinkles, thinking they would make the snowflakes look magical.

When the first tray of snowflakes was ready, Monti carefully popped them out of the molds. But instead of smooth, shiny snowflakes, they looked lumpy and uneven. The white and dark chocolate hadn’t swirled properly, and the decorations were clumped in odd places.

“Oh no,” Monti whispered, staring at the messy shapes. He tried to fix one by adding more glitter, but it only made things worse.

His mother walked over and gasped softly. “Monti, what happened here?”

“I… I wanted to try something different,” Monti admitted, his cheeks turning red. “I thought it would make them look better, but now they’re ruined.”

His father inspected the tray. “They’re not ruined,” he said kindly, “but they don’t look like snowflakes anymore.”

Monti felt a lump in his throat. “I just wanted them to be special. Now they look terrible, and we don’t have enough time to make more.”

His parents exchanged a glance, then his mother put a hand on Monti’s shoulder. “Mistakes happen, especially when you’re trying something new. But chocolate-making isn’t about perfection—it’s about learning. Let’s see what we can do to fix this together.”

His father smiled. “How about we turn these into something different? These don’t have to be snowflakes. Maybe they can be… chocolate clusters?”

Monti hesitated, then nodded. “Okay. I’ll try again.”

This time, Monti followed his parents’ instructions carefully. He poured the chocolate slowly, tapped the molds gently to smooth the surface, and used just enough decorations to make the snowflakes look elegant. As he worked, he realized that taking his time made the process more enjoyable.

Meanwhile, his parents helped him rework the lumpy chocolates by melting them down and shaping them into bite-sized clusters. They sprinkled them with nuts and crushed candy canes, transforming the mistake into a delicious new treat.

By the time the party started, Monti was proud of what they’d created. The chocolate snowflakes looked perfect, and the chocolate clusters were a hit.

“These are amazing!” one of the neighbors said, biting into a cluster. “What a creative idea!”

Monti grinned, feeling a mix of pride and relief.

That evening, as they cleaned up the chocolaterie, Monti’s mother smiled at him. “You did a great job today, Monti. I’m proud of how you didn’t give up.”

His father added, “Mistakes are just opportunities to learn, and sometimes they lead to something even better.”

Monti nodded. “I think I get it now. It’s okay to mess up, as long as you try to fix it.”

As he climbed into bed that night, Monti thought about the chocolate catastrophe. It had started as a disaster, but it had taught him something important: every mistake is a chance to grow, and sometimes, even the messiest moments can turn into something sweet.

The Snowball Mix-Up

by Aaron Aaronsen

The snow-covered park was alive with laughter as Monti J. Monti and his friends gathered for a snowball fight. Bundled up in warm coats and scarves, they built forts and stocked up on snowballs. Monti and Leo were on one team, while a group of their classmates formed the opposing side.

“Ready, aim… fire!” Monti shouted, throwing a snowball toward the other fort.

Snowballs flew back and forth as the kids laughed and ducked behind their snowy defenses. Monti loved the thrill of dodging and landing a perfect throw.

As Monti peeked out to launch another snowball, he spotted a figure near the edge of the park—a younger boy, about six years old, who wasn’t part of the game. He was building a small snowman with his mittens, completely unaware of the chaos around him.

In the heat of the moment, Monti threw his snowball hard, aiming for the opposing team. But just as he let it go, the younger boy stood up, directly in the snowball’s path.

Thwack!

The snowball hit the boy squarely on the shoulder. He gasped in surprise, then began to cry, clutching his snow-covered jacket.

Monti’s stomach dropped. “Oh no,” he whispered, frozen in place.

Leo ran over to Monti. “I think you should go check on him,” he said quietly.

Monti hesitated. He didn’t know what to say, and guilt gnawed at him.

Before Monti could decide, the boy’s older sister appeared, crouching down to comfort him. She looked up and saw Monti standing there, still holding a snowball.

“Did you throw that?” she asked, her voice firm but not angry.

Monti swallowed hard and nodded. “I… I didn’t mean to hit him. I was aiming for someone else.”

The sister’s gaze softened. “Then maybe you should tell him that.”

Taking a deep breath, Monti approached the boy. His heart raced, but he knew he couldn’t leave without making it right.

“I’m really sorry,” Monti said, his voice trembling a little. “I wasn’t paying attention, and I didn’t mean to hit you. Are you okay?”

The boy sniffled, rubbing his eyes. “It hurt,” he mumbled.

Monti nodded. “I understand. I would feel the same way. Is there anything I can do to make it better?”

The boy glanced at his snowman. “You could help me finish this,” he said quietly.

Monti smiled with relief. “Deal.”

For the next ten minutes, Monti and Leo worked alongside the boy to build the snowman. They made a tall, sturdy base and shaped a small snowball for the head. Monti found some twigs for arms and helped the boy use a carrot for the nose.

When the snowman was finished, the boy’s face lit up. “Thank you,” he said, his earlier tears forgotten.

“You’re welcome,” Monti replied. “And I’m really sorry again about the snowball.”

The boy nodded. “It’s okay. I like my snowman now.”

As Monti rejoined the snowball fight, Leo grinned at him. “That was nice of you, Monti.”

Monti shrugged but smiled back. “It felt good to fix things. I didn’t want him to stay upset.”

Later, as Monti walked home, he thought about how easy it had been to apologize once he faced his mistake. He realized that saying sorry and making amends wasn’t as scary as it seemed—it actually made him feel lighter.

That night, as he warmed up with a mug of hot milk, Monti made a mental note: Next time he played in the snow, he’d be more careful. And if he made a mistake, he’d know just what to do.

The Mountain Rescue

by Aaron Aaronsen

The crisp mountain air filled Monti J. Monti’s lungs as he stepped out of his grandparents’ cozy farmhouse. Snow blanketed the peaks, glistening under the winter sun, and the world seemed quiet and magical. Pilatus, the family’s big Swiss Mountain Dog, bounded ahead, leaving paw prints in the snow.

“Stay close to the farm, Monti,” his grandmother called from the barn. “We’re expecting more snow this afternoon!”

“Okay!” Monti replied, tugging his beanie snugly over his ears. He loved visiting his grandparents in the mountains, where everything felt so peaceful. Today, he planned to help his grandfather with the goats and explore the trails around the farm.

Monti was carrying hay to the barn when he noticed something odd. One of the baby goats, Zimi, wasn’t in her usual spot. He checked behind the hay bales and peeked into the barn’s corners, but there was no sign of her.

“Grandpa, have you seen Zimi?” Monti asked, setting the hay down.

His grandfather frowned and adjusted his woolen cap. “She must have wandered off again. That little goat has a curious spirit.”

“I can help find her!” Monti offered eagerly.

His grandfather hesitated. “The snow is starting to fall, Monti. It’s not safe to go far. But if you stay near the farm and take Pilatus with you, I trust you to look.”

Monti nodded seriously. “I’ll be careful. Pilatus and I will bring her back.”

With Pilatus trotting at his side, Monti started following the faint goat tracks in the snow. The prints led away from the barn and toward the forest edge. Monti remembered his grandfather’s advice about staying on the trails and using landmarks to avoid getting lost.

“Come on, Pilatus,” Monti said, scanning the ground for more clues. The falling snow made it harder to see, but Pilatus’s keen nose seemed to pick up Zimi’s scent.

The tracks led to a small hollow surrounded by fir trees. Monti’s heart leapt when he spotted Zimi—her tiny figure was half-buried in snow, stuck in a shallow ditch. She bleated weakly as Monti approached.

“Zimi! I found you!” Monti exclaimed, hurrying to her side. The ditch wasn’t deep, but the snow had made it slippery. Monti carefully climbed in, brushing snow off Zimi’s back.

“It’s okay, girl,” he said softly. “We’ll get you home.”

With a firm grip, Monti lifted Zimi out of the ditch and onto solid ground. Pilatus wagged his tail and barked, as if cheering Monti on.

The snow was falling more heavily now, and Monti knew they had to hurry back. Cradling Zimi in his arms, he followed Pilatus’s lead, retracing their steps through the deepening snow.

By the time they reached the barn, Monti’s cheeks were pink with cold, and his arms ached from carrying Zimi. His grandparents rushed out to meet him, their faces full of relief.

“Monti! You found her!” his grandmother said, taking the little goat and wrapping her in a warm blanket.

“You did a brave thing today, Monti,” his grandfather said, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “You took responsibility and stayed calm, even in the snow. That’s not easy.”

Monti smiled, feeling a mix of pride and exhaustion. “I just wanted to make sure she was safe.”

“And you did,” his grandmother said. “Caring for others, even when it’s hard, is what makes the mountains—and our family—so special.”

That evening, Monti sat by the fire with a steaming mug of milk, watching Zimi nap in a cozy corner of the barn. Pilatus lay at his feet, snoring softly.

Monti thought about the day’s adventure and what his grandfather had said. Being responsible didn’t always feel easy, but it felt good to know he had done the right thing.

As the snow fell outside, Monti smiled, knowing he had learned something important: caring for others, no matter how small, could make the world just a little warmer.

The Lost Scarf Adventure

by Aaron Aaronsen

The Christmas market buzzed with holiday cheer as Monti J. Monti strolled through the rows of twinkling stalls with his parents. The scent of roasted almonds, cinnamon, and gingerbread filled the frosty air, and Monti’s breath puffed out in little clouds as he admired the festive decorations.

“Can we stop for roasted chestnuts?” Monti asked, tugging at his red-and-white striped scarf. It was his favorite scarf, a special gift from his grandmother.

His father nodded. “Let’s grab a bag. We still have time before the choir starts singing.”

The market was bustling with people, and Monti loved the sights and sounds—the carousel spinning in the distance, the cheerful music from a nearby stall, and the laughter of children enjoying their treats. He munched on a warm chestnut as they wandered toward a stall selling handmade ornaments.

“Look at this one!” Monti said, pointing to a tiny goat ornament carved from wood. It reminded him of his family crest, and he couldn’t help but smile.

But as they moved on to another stall, Monti felt a cold breeze on his neck. He reached up and froze. His scarf was gone.

“I must have dropped it!” Monti exclaimed, panic creeping into his voice.

“Don’t worry,” his mother said gently. “Let’s retrace our steps. We’ll find it.”

They started backtracking through the market, stopping at each stall they’d visited. But the scarf was nowhere to be seen. Monti’s heart sank as they reached the carousel, the last place they had been.

“It’s not here,” he said, his shoulders slumping.

“Maybe someone found it and turned it in at the lost and found,” his father suggested.

Monti nodded half-heartedly, but before they could head that way, he heard a soft sobbing nearby.

Monti turned to see a little girl sitting on a bench, tears streaming down her cheeks. Her parents were kneeling beside her, trying to comfort her.

“Are you okay?” Monti asked, walking over.

The mother looked up and sighed. “We lost one of her mittens. It was a gift from her grandmother, and she’s very upset.”

Monti’s chest tightened. He knew how it felt to lose something special.

“I can help look,” he offered.

The father smiled gratefully. “That would be wonderful. We’ve already checked most of the stalls nearby.”

Monti thought for a moment, then remembered passing a stand selling mittens and scarves. “Follow me,” he said.

The group weaved through the busy market until they reached the mitten stand. Monti scanned the area but didn’t see the missing mitten.

“Is this it?” the shopkeeper asked, holding up a mitten with a similar design.

The little girl shook her head. “No, but it’s close,” she said, her tears slowing.

The shopkeeper smiled kindly. “How about this—you can have this pair on the house. They may not be the same, but I hope they’ll keep your hands warm.”

The girl’s face lit up, and she hugged the mittens tightly. “Thank you!”

Monti grinned. “I’m glad we found something.”

As Monti walked back with his parents, he felt a little better despite still missing his scarf. Helping the girl had filled him with a warmth that even the winter chill couldn’t touch.

“Monti!” his mother said suddenly, pointing ahead. “Isn’t that your scarf?”

Monti looked up to see his scarf hanging neatly on a hook at the roasted chestnut stand. The vendor smiled as Monti approached.

“Forgot something, young man?” the vendor said with a chuckle.

Monti laughed. “Thank you so much!”

On the way home, Monti wrapped the scarf tightly around his neck and thought about the little girl and her new mittens. Losing his scarf had been frustrating, but it had also given him the chance to help someone else.

“You were very kind to help that family, Monti,” his father said.

Monti smiled. “It felt good to help. I guess Christmas isn’t just about the lights and treats—it’s about being kind and taking care of others, too.”

As they walked through the snowy streets, Monti felt a deeper warmth inside. This Christmas market visit had taught him that sometimes, even a small act of kindness could make the season brighter for everyone.

The Diving Board Dilemma

by Aaron Aaronsen

The warm air of the indoor swimming pool wrapped around Monti J. Monti as he stepped inside with Leo and a group of classmates. The sound of splashing water and cheerful laughter echoed off the high ceilings. Monti adjusted his red-and-white swim cap, already feeling excited about the day ahead.

“Let’s go to the big pool!” Leo said, leading the way.

Monti followed eagerly, but as they passed the shallow pool and rounded the corner, his eyes locked on something that made him stop in his tracks: the diving board.

It stood tall above the deep end of the pool, and one by one, kids climbed the ladder and jumped into the water with whoops and cheers. Some performed daring cannonballs, while others simply stepped off, creating smaller splashes.

“Are you going to try it?” Leo asked, nudging Monti.

Monti forced a grin. “Uh, maybe later,” he said, his stomach twisting at the thought.

The group spent the next hour swimming and playing games, but Monti couldn’t stop glancing at the diving board. Every time he looked, it seemed to grow taller.

“Come on, Monti!” Leo called out from the deep end. “Let’s try it!”

Monti hesitated, then swam to the edge. He climbed out of the pool and walked toward the ladder, his heart pounding. He gripped the cold metal rungs but froze as he looked up. The board felt impossibly far away, and the thought of jumping made his legs feel like jelly.

Pretending he had forgotten something, Monti stepped back. “Maybe later,” he muttered, his face red.

As Monti sat on the edge of the pool, watching other kids take turns jumping, frustration bubbled inside him. Why was it so easy for everyone else?

Leo climbed out of the pool and sat next to him. “What’s wrong, Monti?” he asked.

Monti shrugged. “Nothing. I just don’t feel like jumping.”

Leo raised an eyebrow. “You sure? I used to feel the same way.”

Monti looked at him. “Really?”

Leo nodded. “I was scared the first time too. But I learned to take it step by step. I told myself I didn’t have to be perfect. I just had to try. Want me to go first and wait for you in the water?”

Monti hesitated but finally nodded. “Okay… but just once.”

Leo climbed the ladder and leapt into the pool with a big splash. He surfaced and waved. “Your turn, Monti! I’ll be right here!”

Monti took a deep breath and grabbed the ladder. He climbed slowly, his hands gripping the rungs tightly. When he reached the top, the board wobbled slightly under his feet, and the pool below looked far away.

“You’ve got this!” Leo called from the water.

Monti closed his eyes, took another deep breath, and stepped forward. Before he could think too much, he bent his knees and jumped.

For a brief moment, Monti felt weightless. Then the cool water rushed around him, and he surfaced with a gasp.

“Monti, you did it!” Leo cheered, swimming over to high-five him.

Monti laughed, the tension in his chest melting away. “I did! It wasn’t as bad as I thought.”

Before they left the pool that day, Monti climbed the ladder again. This time, he jumped with more confidence, creating a big splash that made his friends laugh and cheer.

On the way home, Monti felt a warm glow of pride. “Thanks for helping me, Leo,” he said. “I don’t think I would’ve done it without you.”

Leo grinned. “That’s what friends are for. And now you know—it’s okay to be scared. But when you face your fears, you get to do amazing things.”

Monti smiled. Leo was right. Courage didn’t mean not being afraid—it meant trying, even when you were. And as Monti thought about the diving board, he couldn’t wait to jump again next time.

The Giving Tree

by Aaron Aaronsen

The town square was alive with holiday cheer. The tall Giving Tree stood proudly in the center, its branches draped in twinkling lights. Beneath it, gifts of all shapes and sizes were being stacked, ready to be given to families who needed them most this Christmas. Monti J. Monti stood nearby with his parents, watching as people carried brightly wrapped packages to place under the tree.

“Look at all those presents,” Monti said, tugging at his red-and-white beanie.

His father nodded. “It’s a beautiful tradition. The Giving Tree reminds us to share what we have with others. It’s about helping those who might not have as much to celebrate this year.”

Monti thought for a moment. “Can I donate something too?”

“Of course,” his mother said, smiling. “Think about what you’d like to give, and we’ll help you wrap it.”

Back home, Monti went to his room and opened his toy chest. He rummaged through piles of cars, action figures, and board games. At first, he grabbed an old puzzle that was missing a few pieces. “This should be fine,” he muttered. But as he looked at the worn box, a pang of guilt hit him. Would anyone really want a broken puzzle?

He set it aside and picked up a stuffed animal he hadn’t played with in years. It was fine, but it didn’t feel… special. Monti frowned, realizing he didn’t want to give away something meaningless. But the thought of giving up something he cared about made his stomach twist.

“Why does this feel so hard?” he muttered, flopping onto his bed.

The next day at school, Monti spotted Leo carrying a neatly wrapped gift box.

“What are you donating?” Monti asked.

Leo smiled. “One of my favorite books. It’s about a boy who goes on adventures with his dog. I’ve read it so many times, I know it by heart. I think another kid would love it as much as I did.”

Monti blinked. “But it’s your favorite. Doesn’t it feel weird to give it away?”

Leo shrugged. “A little. But it also feels good. I know it’ll make someone happy.”

Monti nodded slowly. He thought about his own belongings. Was there something he could give that would really matter to someone else?

That evening, Monti sat in his room, staring at his small silver compass. It had been a gift from his grandfather and had guided Monti on countless hikes and adventures. He loved it, but a voice in his heart whispered, Someone else could love it too.

He turned it over in his hands, feeling the weight of his decision. “Okay,” he said finally. “This is what I’ll give.”

The next morning, Monti showed the compass to his parents.

“Are you sure?” his father asked, surprised.

Monti nodded. “I think it’s time for this compass to guide someone else. It’s special to me, and I want it to be special to whoever gets it.”

His mother smiled, her eyes glistening. “That’s a beautiful choice, Monti.”

At the Giving Tree, Monti carefully placed the wrapped compass under the glowing branches. As he stepped back, a warmth spread through his chest. It wasn’t the kind of happiness he felt when receiving a gift—it was deeper, quieter, and somehow brighter.

Nearby, Leo waved at him, pointing to where he’d placed his book. “We did it!” Leo said.

Monti grinned. “Yeah, we did.”

That evening, Monti thought about his compass and how it might be in someone else’s hands soon, leading them on their own adventures. He realized that generosity wasn’t about giving what was easy to part with—it was about giving something meaningful, something that could bring joy to someone else.

As he drifted off to sleep, Monti felt proud. The Giving Tree had taught him something important: the joy of giving came not from what you gave, but from the love and thought you put into it.

The Big Advent Concert

by Aaron Aaronsen

The notes of “O Come All Ye Faithful” floated through the rehearsal room of the music school as Monti J. Monti focused on guiding his bow across the strings of his violin. Next to him, Leo sat with a concentrated expression, adjusting his trumpet. They were part of the school orchestra, preparing for the big Advent concert where they would perform for the entire community.

“Good, good!” called Ms. Sommer, the music teacher, clapping her hands. “But remember, we play together. Listen to each other!”

Monti nodded, turning his attention back to his sheet music. But as the rehearsal continued, he grew increasingly nervous. The piece included a fast solo that he had to play alone, and every time he tried, his fingers stumbled on the strings.

“Monti, focus,” Ms. Sommer said gently but firmly.

Monti sighed. It felt like he would never get it right.

After the rehearsal, Monti and Leo packed up their instruments.

“I don’t think I can do it,” Monti muttered.

Leo nodded. “Me neither. I keep messing up my entrance. Ms. Sommer must have told me a hundred times. Maybe we shouldn’t even play at the concert.”

Monti looked at Leo in surprise. “You can’t just quit! We’re a team.”

“Yeah, but if I keep making mistakes, I’ll ruin it for everyone else,” Leo said quietly.

Monti fell silent. A part of him understood how Leo felt. He was also close to giving up on his solo.

The next day was the final rehearsal before the concert. Ms. Sommer asked everyone to form a circle.

“I can see that some of you are nervous,” she began. “That’s normal. But remember, it’s not about being perfect. Music is about teamwork. If you listen to each other and play with heart, no one will notice the little mistakes.”

Monti glanced at Leo, who was nervously fiddling with his mouthpiece. Ms. Sommer’s words made Monti think. Maybe it wasn’t such a big deal to make mistakes. Maybe it was more important to try his best and enjoy the music.

After rehearsal, Monti stayed behind with Leo. “You know what? Let’s practice together. I’ll help you with your entrance, and you can help me with my solo.”

Leo gave a shy grin. “Really? Okay, deal.”

The two met every afternoon to practice. Monti played Leo’s entrance on the violin so he could better feel the rhythm, and Leo tapped his foot to help Monti stay steady during his solo.

“That’s sounding so much better,” Leo said one evening after Monti played his solo flawlessly.

Monti smiled. “That’s because of you. Your rhythm helps me stay calm.”

Leo laughed. “And you’re like a living conductor. I think we can do this.”

On the evening of the concert, the music school was beautifully decorated, and the hall was packed with people. Monti sat with his violin in the front row, while Leo took his place further back with the brass section.

As the orchestra began to play, Monti felt his heart pounding. His solo was coming up soon. He glanced over at Leo, who gave him a thumbs-up.

Monti took a deep breath and started his solo. The bow glided smoothly across the strings, and this time his fingers didn’t falter. When he finished, there was soft applause, and Monti felt a wave of relief wash over him.

Later, during “Jingle Bells,” it was Leo’s big moment. His entrance was spot on, and Monti could see the pride shining on his friend’s face.

After the concert, Monti and Leo high-fived.

“You were amazing,” Leo said.

“So were you,” Monti replied. “You know, I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“And I couldn’t have done it without you,” Leo said.

On the way home, Monti thought about what Ms. Sommer had said. Music really was teamwork, and it didn’t have to be perfect to be beautiful. By supporting each other, he and Leo had not only played better but also had more fun.

With a smile, Monti looked up at the clear, starry sky, already looking forward to the next concert. This time without fear but full of excitement.

The Power of a Simple Hello

by Aaron Aaronsen

It was a crisp December afternoon, and Monti J. Monti was walking through the bustling city center with his parents. The streets were lively with holiday shoppers, and the scent of roasted chestnuts mingled with the cool winter air. Monti’s father carried a large paper bag filled with chocolate boxes for holiday gifts, while his mother admired the beautifully decorated shop windows.

Monti shuffled along beside them, kicking at the occasional pile of snow on the pavement. He wasn’t in the best mood, and it showed.

“Monti, look who’s over there!” his mother suddenly said, pointing ahead.

Monti looked up and saw Emma, one of his classmates, walking with her mother. Emma waved cheerfully when she spotted them, her breath forming little clouds in the cold air.

“Hi, Monti!” she called out with a smile.

But Monti just scowled and looked away, pretending not to hear her.

His parents exchanged glances but said nothing until Emma and her mother had walked past. Then his father crouched down to Monti’s level.

“Monti,” he said quietly, “that wasn’t very kind. Emma said hello to you, but you ignored her. Why didn’t you say hello back?”

Monti kicked at the snow again. “I don’t want to talk to her,” he muttered. “We had a fight at school. She called my drawing silly.”

His mother placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “I see. That must have hurt your feelings. But does that mean you can’t be polite to her now?”

Monti shrugged, avoiding his parents’ eyes.

His father sighed and stood up. “Monti, do you know why saying hello is important?”

Monti shrugged again. “I don’t know. It’s just a word.”

His mother smiled softly. “It’s more than just a word, Monti. Saying hello is a way to show kindness and respect. It’s like opening a door—it invites someone into your world, even if just for a moment.”

“Think about this,” his father added. “When someone says hello to you, it means they’ve noticed you. They’re reaching out. Ignoring that is like closing the door in their face. How would you feel if Emma did that to you?”

Monti frowned, thinking about it. He imagined waving at Leo or Emma and them looking away without a word. It felt… cold.

They walked in silence for a bit before Monti finally spoke. “But what if I’m still mad at her? Doesn’t that make it okay to ignore her?”

His mother shook her head. “No, Monti. You can feel upset and still be kind. Saying hello doesn’t mean you’ve forgotten what happened or that you’re not hurt. It just shows you’re willing to treat others with respect, no matter what.”

His father chimed in, “And sometimes, a simple hello can be the start of fixing things. It shows you’re open to making things better.”

Monti chewed on his lip, considering their words.

Later, as they passed the market square, Monti saw Emma again. She was holding a big gingerbread cookie shaped like a reindeer, chatting happily with her mother.

This time, Monti hesitated, then called out, “Hi, Emma!”

Emma turned, surprised at first, but then she smiled. “Hi, Monti!”

As she waved back, Monti felt a strange warmth spread in his chest. It was as if the heavy knot he’d been carrying all day had started to loosen.

On the way home, Monti’s parents smiled at him. “That was very nice of you, Monti,” his mother said.

“It felt… good,” Monti admitted. “I was still a little mad, but when I said hello, it didn’t feel so bad anymore.”

His father nodded. “That’s the magic of kindness. It doesn’t just make others feel good—it can help you feel better, too.”

As they walked up the snowy path to their house, Monti thought about how small things—like a simple hello—could open the door to something better.

When he went to bed that night, he felt lighter, knowing he had done something kind, even when it wasn’t easy. And maybe, just maybe, tomorrow would be a little brighter because of it.

The Diving Challenge

by Aaron Aaronsen

Monti J. Monti stood at the edge of the swimming pool, adjusting his red and white swim cap. The water sparkled under the bright lights of the indoor pool, and the air smelled faintly of chlorine. Next to him, Leo was tying the strings on his goggles, his face a mix of excitement and nervousness.

“Today’s the day,” Leo said, glancing at Monti. “We’re finally learning to dive for rings!”

Monti nodded, feeling a flutter of excitement in his chest. He loved swimming lessons, but diving to the bottom of the pool sounded like a real challenge.

Their swim instructor, Frau Meier, blew her whistle and called everyone to the edge of the pool. “Alright, everyone! Today we’re practicing diving. I’ve placed rings on the pool floor at different depths. Your task is to dive down and bring them back. Take your time, and remember: it’s not a competition. Everyone dives at their own pace.”

The first few rounds were easy. Monti and Leo dove for rings placed near the shallow end of the pool. Monti loved the rush of water against his face and the feeling of grabbing the colorful plastic rings.

“Great job, Monti!” Leo said, high-fiving him as they placed their rings on the poolside.

But then Frau Meier moved the rings to deeper parts of the pool. Monti took a deep breath and dove down. The water grew cooler as he went deeper, and his ears popped slightly, but he managed to grab a ring and kick his way back up. When he surfaced, he saw Leo struggling to reach the bottom.

Leo climbed out of the pool, coughing a little, and sat on the edge. “It’s too deep,” he said, looking frustrated. “I can’t hold my breath long enough.”

Monti felt unsure of what to say. He wanted to encourage Leo but didn’t want to sound like he was bragging about his own dives.

Frau Meier knelt next to Leo. “Diving takes practice,” she said gently. “Not everyone can dive as deep right away, and that’s okay. Why don’t you try again at a slightly shallower spot? We’ll build up from there.”

Leo nodded slowly. “Okay. I’ll try.”

Monti decided to stay near Leo, diving at a spot where the rings were closer to the surface. “I’ll grab the blue ring, and you go for the red one,” Monti suggested.

Leo smiled faintly. “Deal.”

They both dove down together. Monti reached the blue ring easily and watched as Leo grabbed the red one just a little higher up. When they resurfaced, Leo looked triumphant.

“I got it!” Leo exclaimed, holding up the red ring.

“Nice work!” Monti said, grinning.

As the lesson went on, Monti tried some of the deeper dives again, while Leo focused on the shallower rings. By the end of the session, everyone had gathered a pile of rings, and Frau Meier called them all together at the poolside.

“Great work today, everyone,” she said. “Remember, diving isn’t just about how deep you go. It’s about knowing your limits and improving at your own pace. What matters is that you keep trying and enjoy the process.”

Monti looked at Leo, who was twirling one of the red rings in his hand. “You did awesome,” Monti said.

Leo shrugged. “I couldn’t go as deep as you.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Monti replied. “You kept trying, and you got better. Plus, we had fun, right?”

Leo smiled. “Yeah, we did.”

As they left the pool, Monti thought about how not everyone could dive the same way or at the same depth, and that was okay. It didn’t make anyone better or worse—it just meant they were all learning in their own way.

“Hey, Monti,” Leo said, nudging him. “Next time, I bet I’ll be able to dive a little deeper.”

Monti grinned. “And I’ll be right there with you.”

With that, the two friends headed to the locker room, already looking forward to their next lesson in the water.