If you have a teenager at home, you worry. When he’s not at home, you worry more. One April night three years ago, Kyle, my 14-year-old, was late coming back from a school trip. When the phone rang a woman said, “Is this Kyle’s mother?” “Yes.” I was trembling. “He’s okay,” she said. “But there’s been an accident. The kids are on their way back to the school. Kyle’s a remarkable young man.”

The phone clicked, and the woman and I were disconnected. My husband and I went to the school. Finally, after midnight, police cars and buses pulled up. Boys and girls poured out, and in the centre of it all was Kyle. Everyone was hugging him, thanking him and crying. They were calling him a hero. But I’ll let him tell the story.

“We did it!” I said to the driver, giving him a high five as I climbed into the rented tour bus. “Way to go!” he cheered, slapping my hand. Our Homewood Middle Sc-hool choir had just won an award at a competition and we were headed back home to Birmingham. There were 40 of us kids and three chaperones piling into the bus. We were all tired, and a 150-mile trip lay ahead.

Soon after we hit Interstate 20, I noticed that most of the kids were already asleep. Good idea, I decided to take a nap myself. WHAM! The bus bumped up and down hard. I reached for a seat back and held on tight.

Everything was pitch-black outside, but I could hear trees scraping against the bus as we ripped thr-ough the woods. — Beliefnet.com