Giant Stories for Kids

Boom was the biggest giant on the hill. His shoulders were wide, his hands were huge, and his footsteps went thud, thud, thud as he walked. But Boom had a secret that he never told anyone. He was scared of thunder. One evening the sky turned dark, and a deep rumble rolled over the hill. Boom pulled his blanket up to his chin and shivered. The rain tapped on his roof, and he hid his face. Then he heard a tiny voice from the floor. "Excuse me," said Pip the mouse. "Are you crying?" "No," Boom sniffled. "I am just a little scared of the thunder. It is so loud, and I am so big. A big giant should not be scared of anything." Pip climbed up onto Boom's shoulder and sat near his ear. "Thunder is just the sky talking," she said. "Here is a trick. When the rumble comes, we count together. By the time we reach ten, the sound has already moved away." Another rumble rolled in, big and low. "Count with me," said Pip. "One, two, three." "Four, five, six," Boom said in his deep, shaky voice. "Seven, eight, nine, ten." By the time they finished, the rumble was gone, and the rain sounded soft again. "It worked," Boom whispered. "It really worked." They counted all night long. Every boom turned into a counting game, and soon Boom was smiling and even laughing a little. "You are very small," he told Pip, "but you made a very big storm feel small." Pip yawned and curled up in the pocket of Boom's shirt. "Being brave is easier with a friend," she said. And the two of them slept right through the rest of the storm, safe and warm together.

Gromm the giant loved his garden. He had rows of daisies, a patch of carrots, and one little flower bed by the door. But Gromm had a problem. His hands were very big. Every morning he tried to help. He would pull one weed, and out came three flowers with it. He would pat the soil, and a pot would tip over. "I am too big to be careful," Gromm sighed. One day he saw a tiny green sprout poking out of the dirt. It was the smallest plant in the whole garden. Gromm reached down with one huge finger to touch it. Snap. The little sprout bent over. "Oh no," Gromm said. "I broke it." He ran to get a cup of water and a soft leaf to wrap around the stem. He held the sprout up with two fingers, as soft as he could, and whispered, "I am sorry, little one. I will be more careful now." The next morning, the sprout stood up tall and green. Gromm smiled so wide his cheeks hurt. From that day on, he moved slowly in the garden. He touched each leaf like it was a sleeping baby bird. He learned to water with a small spoon, to dig with a little stick, and to hum while he worked so the flowers would know he was there. The garden grew stronger than ever. His neighbors came to see the flowers and said, "Gromm, your garden is the most beautiful on the hill." And Gromm just smiled and touched a petal with the very tip of his finger. Big hands do not have to be heavy hands. Gromm learned that being gentle is a strength all its own.

Gulliver packed the biggest lunch any giant had ever packed. There were six loaves of bread, a tub of berry jam, three wheels of cheese, and a jar of honey as tall as a stool. He loaded it all into his wagon and set off up the hill. Halfway up, he sat down to eat. He spread out his red picnic cloth and laid the food in neat rows. Just as he reached for the first loaf, he heard a soft chirp. A little brown bird sat on the wagon handle, looking at the bread. Then another landed. Then five more. Soon a whole flock was watching him with round, hopeful eyes. "Well, hello," Gulliver said. "Are you hungry too?" The birds all nodded together. Gulliver looked at his huge lunch and then at the little birds. He broke the bread into small pieces and scattered them on the cloth. He dropped little dabs of jam and crumbled the cheese into crumbs. The birds hopped in and began to peck, cheeping happy little songs. "This is much better than eating alone," Gulliver laughed. He saved one loaf for himself and one slice of cheese, and gave the rest away. The birds ate until they were full, then they perched on Gulliver's shoulders and sang for him. He had never heard a sweeter song. "Thank you for sharing," chirped the little brown bird. Every day after that, the birds met Gulliver at the bottom of the hill. He would bring extra bread, and they would bring their songs. The wagon was always full, and Gulliver's heart was full too. A lunch is nicer when it is shared. Gulliver learned that the more you give away, the more friends you have to eat with.

Tumble the giant lived alone on the hill. Every day he watched the children play in the village below. They ran, they laughed, and they rolled a big red ball across the grass. Tumble smiled, but he never went down. "They might be scared of me," he said to himself. "I am so big, and they are so small." So he sat on his hill and only watched. One day, a little girl named Maya kicked the red ball too hard. It bounced up the hill, over the rocks, and rolled right to Tumble's big feet. Maya ran after it and stopped. She looked up, and up, and up. "Hello," said Tumble in his softest voice. "Is this your ball?" He held it out with two careful fingers. Maya smiled. "Yes. Do you want to play with us?" Tumble's eyes went wide. "You want me to play?" Maya nodded. "We need someone big to roll the ball far!" Tumble walked down the hill with the softest steps he could manage. He sat in the grass and rolled the red ball so gently it stopped right at Maya's feet. The children cheered. All afternoon they played. Tumble was the goal, the mountain, and the biggest fan in the whole game. He caught the ball with one finger and rolled it back with the lightest push. When the sun went down, the children waved. "Come back tomorrow, Tumble!" they called. Tumble waved back with his whole arm, and his smile stretched from ear to ear. He was not lonely anymore. All he had needed was one brave hello.

Hugo was a giant with a very loud voice. When he said hello, the windows rattled. When he laughed, the birds flew out of the trees. And when he was excited, the whole village could hear him for miles and miles. One morning Hugo came to the village to say good morning. "GOOD MORNING!" he boomed. A baby woke up and began to cry. A cat jumped straight into a tree. The baker dropped his whole tray of rolls. The villagers put their hands over their ears. "Hugo," said the baker kindly, "your voice is wonderful. But it is very, very loud." Hugo's face fell. "I am a giant," he said. "Giants are just loud. I do not know how to be quiet." An old woman smiled at him. "Being big does not mean you have to be loud," she said. "Try this. Take a big slow breath, and let your words out gently, like a soft wind through the trees." Hugo took a big, slow breath. Then he whispered, "Good morning." It came out like a warm breeze. The baby stopped crying. The cat climbed down from the tree. The baker smiled and picked up his rolls. "That is lovely," said the old woman. "Now everyone can hear you, and no one is scared." From that day on, Hugo practiced his soft voice every morning. He still laughed big, but he learned to laugh low. He learned that the kindest giants speak so everyone feels safe enough to listen. And whenever he felt like shouting, Hugo remembered the warm breeze, and he whispered instead.

Rumble was a giant. He was very, very big. His shoes were as big as boats. But Rumble had a secret. He was scared of bugs. "Do not tell anyone," he said to his friend. "A big giant who is scared of bugs is silly." One day Rumble sat in the grass. A tiny ladybug landed on his nose. "Ahh!" Rumble yelled. "A bug! A bug is on my nose!" He jumped up. He waved his big arms. The ladybug held on tight. "Please do not shake so much!" said a tiny voice. "I am scared of falling!" Rumble stopped. "You can talk?" he asked. "Yes," said the ladybug. "I am Lulu. I am very small. You are very big. I am more scared of you than you are of me." Rumble blinked. "You are scared of me?" "Of course," Lulu said. "One sneeze and I would fly far away. Please be gentle." Rumble went very still. He held out one big finger. Lulu stepped onto it. "See?" Lulu said. "I am just a little bug. I will not hurt you." "You are right," Rumble said. "I was scared for nothing." "I was lost," Lulu said. "Can you put me back on my leaf?" Rumble carried Lulu to a green leaf. He set her down so softly. "Thank you, kind giant," Lulu said. Rumble smiled. "Thank you, little bug. You taught me that small things are not so scary." From that day, Rumble was still big. But he was not scared of bugs. He waved hello to every one he saw.

Greta was a giant. She had a big garden. One day she found a tiny seed in her pocket. "What is this?" she asked. "It is an apple seed," said a bird. "Plant it and water it. Then wait." Greta dug a big hole. But the seed was so small. She dug a little hole instead. She put the seed in and covered it with dirt. "Grow, seed, grow!" Greta said. She waited one day. Nothing. She waited two days. Still nothing. "This takes too long," Greta said. "I want a tree now." "Good things take time," said the bird. "Water it and wait." Greta sighed. She got her giant watering can. She gave the seed a little water. Then a little more. "I will wait," Greta said. She waited and waited. She checked the spot every morning. Dirt. Dirt. More dirt. "I do not think it will grow," Greta said one day. "Keep waiting," said the bird. "The seed is working under the dirt." Greta waited one more week. Then one morning she saw it. A tiny green sprout was poking up. "It grew!" Greta yelled. "Look, bird! It grew!" "Yes," said the bird. "Good things grow when you wait and care for them." Greta watered the sprout every day. It grew taller and taller. One day it had leaves. Another day it was as tall as her knee. "Someday it will be a big apple tree," Greta said. "Someday," said the bird. "But not yet. And that is okay." Greta smiled at her little tree. It had taken a long time. But it was worth the wait.

Otto was a giant. He had a big wooden swing. It hung from a tall, tall tree. Otto loved to swing on it alone. "Wheee!" Otto said. He swung high. Up, up, up he went. The whole swing was his. One day some small children came to the tree. "What a big swing!" said a boy. "Can we swing too?" Otto stopped. "It is my swing," he said. "I do not want to share." The children looked sad. "Please?" asked a girl. "Just one turn?" Otto thought about it. He could swing alone. Or he could share. He looked at the sad faces. "Okay," Otto said. "You can have a turn." The boy climbed on the swing. But the swing was too big for him. His feet did not touch the ground. "I cannot make it go," the boy said. "I can push you," Otto said. He gave the swing a soft push. The boy went up, up, up. "Wheee!" the boy laughed. Then the girl had a turn. Otto pushed her too. Then another child. Then another. They all laughed and smiled. "This is fun!" Otto said. "Sharing is more fun than swinging alone." The children took turns all day. Otto pushed them high and soft. Everyone was happy. "Thank you, Otto," the children said. "You are a kind giant." "Thank you for sharing my swing," Otto said. "It is more fun with friends." The next day the children came back. Otto was waiting with a big smile. "My swing is your swing too," he said. "Come and play!" And they all swung together under the big, tall tree.