Monday, February 23, 2009

You Don’t Need to Have Super Powers to be Someone’s Hero

A hero is someone who does what is right even when it’s not popular. She values the truth and seeks to find it. She sees the good in every hardship and stays optimistic in the face of oppression. She thinks before she gives advice and admits that she doesn’t have all the answers. She wants to protect and shelter, but she knows when to let others receive their consequences. She is gracious and forgiving. She loves the "unlovable." Most often, she doesn’t even realize that she is someone’s hero.

Thursday, February 12, 2009

Addicted to Saki

Recently, a teacher of mine introduced me to a literary genius who happens to go by the name of Saki. Because of this teacher's generosity, I find it extremely difficult to sleep at night. You see, once I read one Saki story, the only thing that could keep me from reading another would be an earthquake or a fire in which case I would make certain that my book of Saki short stories was safe before trying to escape for myself.
Saki's stories are full of unexpected twists and turns. He tells of hunting tigers and teaching cats to talk and describes things in the most peculiar and interesting ways. It's as if I said to someone I cared about, "I love you more than not very much," instead of saying, "I love you a lot."
I highly encourage you to read his work, but I must warn you that you will get addicted.

Friday, February 6, 2009

Just a Random Story that I Wrote For Fun...

Once upon a time, there was a little girl named Sally Marie Jo May Weston, but most people just called her Sally. Sally was in love with a boy named Whit Waltman. Whit was two months older than Sally, and he was very smart. Sally had a twin brother named Wilber Parker Jo Weston. Wilber next to Whit in almost every class. One day, Whit caught Wilber cheating off of his test in Algebra II. Whit's first instinct was to tell their teacher Mrs. Comfort, but when he stood up to tell, Wilber whispered, "If you don't let me cheat, then I'm going to tell my dad that I saw you smoking behind the school; and he won't let you take my sister to JSB."Whit hesitated and stood there a while."Whit, do you need something?" Mrs. Comfort finally asked."Um - no, Mrs. Comfort," Whit reluctantly replied. "I just need to turn my test in."

Although Whit didn't know it, Mrs. Comfort had super rodent ears and could her even the quietest whisper. She had heard Wilber's threat, but wanted to see how long Whit would withstand the blackmail.

That night, Whit had a horrible dream:
In this dream, he had been in Mrs. Comfort's Algebra II class and received his test back with a 115% written in big handwriting on the top with smiley faces and stars drawn around it. Suddenly, the smiley faces turned into frowns and leaped off the page.
They circled around him and chanted, "You cheated! You cheated!"
"No! No! I didn't cheat; it was Wilber! He cheated off me!" Whit yelled.
Just then, an old man in an old-fashioned brown three-piece suit and a white powdered wig walked toward him from behind Mrs. Comfort's desk.
"Ed - Ed – you’re – you’re Edmund Burke," Whit stuttered.
"Yes, Lad, I am Edmund Burke," the old man replied. "And you are Walt Whitman.”
“Um no actually, it’s Whit Waltman,” Whit replied.
Oh right, you don’t change your name until after high school,” Edmund Burke muttered. “Anyway, Whit Waltman, I am here to give you a very important message. I am here to remind you that all it takes for evil to triumph is for good men to do nothing,” Edmund Burke continued.

The next day, Whit decided that he had to tell the truth even if it meant that he couldn’t take Sally Marie Jo May to JSB. Of course, he had to tell her first so that it wouldn’t be a shock to her when her brother told her father that Whit had smoked behind the gym. So, as soon as he arrived at school, he found her. Sally looked so nice in her purple dress and matching earrings. She saw him approaching her and flashed a pearly white smile.
“Hi, Whit,” she waved.
“Hi, Sally,” He replied. “I need to talk to you about something. It has to do with JSB…and Wilber.”
“What did my evil twin do this time?” Sally asked.
“Well…he – I – uh – I caught him copying my answers in Algebra II yesterday.”
“Not again. Did you tell Mrs. Comfort?” Sally sighed.
“Not yet, but I’m going to today and that’s why I can’t go with you to JSB,” Whit answered.
“What on earth do you mean? What does Wilber’s cheating have to do with JSB? And why on earth didn’t you tell Mrs. Comfort?” Sally interrogated.
“Well, Wilber said that he was going to tell your dad that he caught me smoking, which is a lie, but your - ”
Sally’s laugh interrupted Whit’s hurried explanation. “Whit, this isn’t the first time that Wilber has cheated. My dad will understand that Wilber is lying to him. Besides,” she smiled and squeezed his hand before walking away as she said, “I already got my dress, and your going to love it.”

In Algebra II that same day, Whit went up to Mrs. Comfort’s desk and said, “Mrs. Comfort, I need to tell you something.”
“Wow,” Mrs. Comfort replied, “Did you already tell Sally?”
“Uh?” Whit responded very confused.
“About Wilber’s threat…did you tell Sally?” Mrs. Comfort replied.
“How did you know about that?” Whit asked.
“I can hear everything,” Mrs. Comfort replied with an all-knowing smile. “But thank you for doing the right thing and telling me. You’re a good kid Whit Waltman.”
“Why thank you, but I do have to admit that I had some encouragement from Edmund Burke,” Whit smiled. “From now on, I’ll let my barbaric yawp be heard over all the roof tops.”

Wednesday, February 4, 2009

Ceramic Frisbees

When I was growing up, my brother and I didn’t have many toys; but we didn’t mind; we had plenty of branches and mud and rocks to make up silly games with.
One day, Teddy and I became bored of our silly games. For some reason, we really wanted to play Frisbee, but since we did not own one, we decided to make one. First we tried using paper, but it was too light. Then we tried using sticks taped together, but it was too hard to catch. Finally, my brother, two years my senior, came up with the best idea that my little six-year-old mind had ever heard. Though, I must admit that I was slightly apprehensive about getting caught, but I would never have told Teddy about my reservations.
Quietly, we sneaked into the kitchen; and I kept watch while Teddy climbed up onto the counter and took a small white plate from the top shelf of the cupboard. It would make the perfect Frisbee; it’s not too light and not too heavy.
Once outside again, Teddy told me to stand in front of the tree and he’d throw the “Frisbee” to me. I positioned myself exactly in front of the tree with my back up against it. The “Frisbee” came at me too fast and too high; it smashed into the tree right above my head and shattered into pieces of all sizes. One of the larger shards decided to make my head its home and wedged itself into my skin.
…Apparently…plates break…who knew?