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Modeling after the radio program "This I Believe", FUMA 7th grade cadets recorded statements of their own beliefs and values.  Please click on the links below to listen to their stories. 

“Lost in the Mall” – by Cadet Michael S.
Back and forth, side to side the young boy’s head swayed, in fact it seemed to be the only part of his motionless body that was showing any clues that he was still even alive, faces seemed to become stranger and stranger, people getting closer and closer, his body temperature increasing at a drastic rate, perspiration wildly and abundantly voyaging down his forehead like the rapids of Angel Falls and pitter-pattering on to the shiny granite floor, his eyes transforming into light blue pools of water, tears start to mix with sweat making the drops of water larger and larger, he stiffened up not knowing where to go, what to do, until he was grabbed by someone from behind, his heart suddenly dropped, he then turned around to find out that it was just his Mom.

“Tornado!” – by Cadet Shane M.
As I walk home on the vast prairie of Kansas, the wind lifts me off my feet and throws me to the ground, while dark funnel clouds spin above, and as another gust of wind knocks me over I think: “Tornado!” and run for home, but turning back for a better look I see a massive, twisting twirling, vicious cloud dip down and touch the earth, while grass is swaying, leaves and dust are flying, and soon I am too; feeling myself being picked up and launched towards the funneling monster, grasping for anything to hold on to, and then everything starts spinning in dizzying circles with dust flying everywhere, I am spun to the middle of the vortex looking down at a vast almost hollow funneling whirlwind of junk, dust, wind, and utter destruction and chaos, then a gust of wind pushes me out of the tornado, and almost as soon as it started it ends, and I am tossed like a rag doll to the ground, awed and almost unharmed.

“Dog Chases Cat” – by Cadet Jonathan H.

“The Butterfly Effect” – by Cadet Michael S.
A story about a father and son’s ride and visit to Wintergreen Ski Resort

January 16, 2008 12:00 o’clock
“Dad, what in the world are you listening to?” the man’s son questioned, in an offensive tone of voice. “Just a little bit of the music from my day,” the father replied, making a face as if old memories were rehearsing through his head. “Well it sounds horrible; it sounds like it was sung by some really old guy with lung cancer.” “Well it’s my car, and I can listen to whatever I want.” “So are we still picking up your lame old friends?” the man’s son asked him. “No, not one of them can get out of work.”
“Finally we are here!” the son said, as they pulled into the ski resort. “I remember coming here when I was your age son.” “OH cool, the room has a hot tub!” “What are we waiting for, let’s go in.” “Can you turn down the heat it’s getting pretty hot in here?” “Sure.” “OH noooo!”

January 16, 1982
“Wow, what just happened?” “OH my, I think we just went back in time.” “Why do you think that?” “Because from what I remember, this is exactly where I was at 16 years ago.” “So where are we?” “We’re at the Denver Broncos Super Bowl game.” “Let’s go inside, I guess.” “OH man, I only have one ticket.” “Well, we will have to just sneak into the back door then.” “Fine whatever, let’s just hurry up and get inside I’m freezing.”
In the process of them sneaking into the stadium through the back door, they let a squirrel run right pass them and into the stadium.

Same day, but at a local bar inside the stadium, where Steve Jobs, a small town man is sitting, just as the final play of the game approaches.

“A Thanksgiving Memory” – by Cadet Micah G.
I remember when my dad told me about Thanksgiving at his house when he was about 12 or 13, living in New York. His Mom, my Grandma, was making giblet gravy on the stove. Giblets are the inside of the throat of the turkey; they are used to simply add taste. He told me that he thought the pot looked like a bubbling cauldron with eyes and poison. My dad laughed as he explained the part of the story where he dumped almost all of the pot out into the sink, but the giblets wouldn’t fit through the drain. He thought that nasty pot couldn’t possibly be food, just dirty water. Just as he was finishing washing out the pot with soap and water, his sister came and said, “Todd! That was Mom’s gravy for the potatoes!” “What, Oh no! I thought it was dirty water!” he said. My dad told me that, as best as he could, he put all the stuff back into the pot from the sink. When he put the pot back on the stove, he said that he had forgotten to wash out the soap. So now watery giblets were boiling, and he was running back and forth trying to scrape off the suds that were practically pushing the lid off the pot.
That night, the table was set, candles were lit, the table cloth was laid, and his poor mother was the only one eating the potatoes – with gravy anyway. “Todd, do you want some giblet gravy?” his Mom asked. “Uh, not this year,” my dad muttered. I recall that he never actually told his Mom until I was born, many years later.

“A Thanksgiving Memory” – by Cadet Michael S.

“Hypocrisy” – by Cadet Michael S.
“Get out of the road!” I said furiously to my little brother. “Do you remember what Mom said about riding your bike in the road, how the cars come zipping through like maniacs?” I then ran up to my house and charged in the front door, telling my mom about how my brother had been riding in the road. “Anthony, get inside right now! You’re done for the rest of the day!” my mom said to him.
He was barely inside before I jumped right on his brand new bike and gracefully rode through the wind. My hair, long and brown, flew all through my eyes. Then all of a sudden: “Mommy, mommy, I told you he was riding on the road,” I heard my younger brother say, whining. I pedaled down a steep hill. I was about a hundred feet away from turning onto Elmwood Drive; until I looked back and saw my brother running behind me like I’ve never seen him run before. My mom slowly walked behind his lead. I then came to a sudden halt and my mom said, “Now you go inside as well, you’re done for the evening.” As I approached the front door my brother just shook his head and laughed.

“Hypocrisy, Two Stories” – by Cadet Micah G.
I have this rule about how you’re not allowed to go through my desk. I mean, it’s not like I have a hand grenade stashed in a secret compartment, it’s just kind of invasive. Sometimes my little brother decides that this rule doesn’t apply to him, and digs through anyway. However, if I don’t have a pencil, I feel free to dig through my mom’s desk and borrow one.

At my old school, third grade and above unlocked a new golden privilege: monkey bars: green, swinging monkey bars. On these monkey bars there was one rule: no climbing backwards. One girl took it upon herself to enforce this rule. She would yell at, scream at, and tattle on anyone who went backwards. After a while, it seemed that she was the only one going backwards. She failed to obey her own rules.