Category Archives: Humor

Still A Student?

Still A Student?

By Emra Woldearegay, originally from Ethiopia, now teaching in Missouri.

Here I am, still a student.
Oh, why, after so many decades?
Aren’t you tired? They ask
What’s the point, they ask.
You better start earning tons
because time’s running out.
But for whom? I ask.
How could time run out when
I’ve so much to learn
about things & skills that make me more adept.
Why should that matter
When what I love is asking questions,
I am curious, like the cat.
They jump on me, snarling like an angry cat
And declare-gleefully: “Curiosity killed the cat.”
I would rather be like the cat killed for curiosity
after living nine lives, learning, and relearning eight times.
NINE lives!
What a way to go; it is the best way.

By Emra Woldearegay, originally from Ethiopia, did her graduate studies at the University of Oregon. She is now teaching journalism in Missouri.

It Never Rains in California

It Never Rains in California

By Jada Ying King, grade 11, California

 

“There is no chance of rain. Zero, zip, zilch. Don’t worry!”

—Jada King, White Stag patrol counselor (PC) to the Tunde patrol. Afternoon of June 22, 2022. Approximately… two hours away from regretting those words.

4:30 P.M.
Light cloud cover hung over the sky. To anyone anywhere except the dry valley that is Piney Creek, Monterey, that signified rain coming. But as I, my nine fellow PCs, and the rest of middle to southern California knew, it does not rain in California in the summer.

Confident in my knowledge, I turned back to look at my seven sweaty little lieges. “Faster we make it up this hill, faster you can get cooking!”

Immediately, all the boys perked up, picking up their pace with shouts of, “Aw yeah!” and “Great!”

We remained ignorant of the coming storm.

5:45 P.M.
“Don’t the clouds look pretty dark?”

Ethan, a particularly persnickety 13-year-old camper, pointed up to prove his point. “The sky’s weirdly yellow. And I think I heard a grumble.”

“Where are we?” I chuckled. But more seriously, I added, “I talked with Tim. He said, and I quote, ‘In the past thirty years, it hasn’t ever rained here in the summer.’ We’ll be fine.”

At that exact moment, a BOOM echoed through the valley below, followed by the quiet patter of raindrops. My heart rate rocketed—we youth counselors planned for basically every situation except rain.

Mind whirring, I barked, “Get out the tarps and take cover; stay low as much as possible! Cover your packs and the cooking equipment if you can.” I took a deep breath, telling myself to remain calm. I trained for these moments; I was the PC here. I had control over the situation. So maybe the second leg of our hike was going to be delayed. But once the rain died down, we’d head for our outpost.

Thunder filled the sky. I shivered again.

9:30 P.M.
The rain continued to pour, although the barrage of lightning had stopped earlier. Unfortunately by then, the sun had already set.

“You sure you’re good with going down first?” asked Ethan, PC of the Attila patrol. The adult staff had called an emergency PC meeting, and because the Tunde patrol was stationed the closest to the route to the outpost, I nominated myself as the forerunner.

I rolled my shoulders and shook out my dripping, stringy hair. Although I wore my water-resistant staff jacket, I was soaked to the bone and freezing cold after standing around in the downpour for half an hour. “Not a problem,” I said. “Plus, it’s only gonna get darker from here on out.”

I trudged up the hill to the Tunde patrol. “Pack up, guys, we’re going down to outpost!” I said, maintaining my energetic facade to lighten up the situation.

But when I brought my seven kids to the pitch-dark, rocky, near-vertical slope down to outpost, my fake cheer faltered. No, I told myself. I could not let myself fall to self-doubt in this sort of situation. Behind me, my patrol whispered uncertainties to each other.

I turned around, my heart running a million miles an hour. “Okay, kiddos. I bet this is going to be the most difficult night of your week.” Murmurs of agreement. “But hey, we’re going to make it down, we’re going to finish this hike, and we’re going to do this together. So get out your flashlights!”

The trip down the hill was terrifying, to say the least. Quite a few times, my shoes slid and skidded on the muddy rocks. I caught one of my kids from falling over once, and figuring out where their patrol site was in the dark and the rain was an entirely different challenge, even with flashlights.

But by 11 P.M., in the utter darkness of the Monterey wilds, in the biting wind and my sopping clothes, I managed to get my patrol in bed, free of injuries, and now with an exciting story to tell to their parents.

Of course, the fact that the staff site was overgrown with poison oak was something we never told our kids. Nor did we tell them that we youth staff only crawled into our sleeping bags at 2 A.M. because we looked for somewhere to sleep for two hours. We just magically showed up at our patrols the next morning with as much energy as we did before, ready to make more enchanting outdoor memories for them.

After all, as a PC, I was there to give them the experience of a lifetime. And isn’t it more fun at summer camp when your counselor’s always giving everything their 110 percent?

Author’s Note:
“I am a Chinese-American 11th grader at Palo Alto High School who enjoys drawing, writing, and hiking—which is why in 2022, I served as a youth counselor for the White Stag Leadership Academy, an accredited outdoors summer program dedicated to enriching youth from the ages of 11 to 17 in outdoorsmanship and leadership.

Our program is entirely youth-led. From September to May, youth counselors train in first aid, outdoors skills, and effective leadership, as well as plan a full week of summer camp for incoming White Stag candidates. Unfortunately, the one thing we didn’t plan for was rain!

I hope that my true story can both inspire individuals to go outside and experience the great outdoors, but also not feel disappointed when nature rains on us. Sometimes the most inconvenient situations that the sky throws at us lead to the most inspiring personal growth—and the most entertaining stories!”

—Jada Ying King, grade 11, California.

Renowned Cartoonist Robb Armstrong

By Nicole Borgenicht, California. www.nicoleborgenicht.com

Once the youngest syndicated cartoonist at 27, now Robb Armstrong’s comic strip JumpStart runs in 300 newspapers. JumpStart is the best-known black comic strip that follows the Cobb family, and includes several multi-racial associates and friends.

His autobiography, Fearless, tells the story of Armstrong’s early years in the ghetto, where he lived with two brothers, one of whom sadly died in an accident, two sisters, and their single mother. A great role model, their mother had been a community leader and the first black trustee at the private school Robb Armstrong attended. As his mother saw Robb Armstrong’s exceptional creative talent, she engendered her graceful guidance, and subsequent mentors during his further education.

Later Charles Schulz, the creator of Peanuts, became a mentor and friend who added ‘Armstrong’ for a last name to his own comic black character Franklin. In Armstrong’s recent book, On A Roll!: A JumpStart Treasury, he shows JumpStart character’s thoughts and actions with inventive humor, spinning his unique yet universal perspective, enhancing readership lives.  

One Example of Robb Armstrong’s JumpStart Strip, Sept. 24, 2020

Prior to JumpStart, Armstrong created the popular comic strip Hector at Syracuse, and later received two advertising awards working at an ad agency after college, while continually developing Hector. He met Wee Pals cartoonist creator Morrie Turner, who introduced Armstrong to cartoon collector Mark Cohen resulting in a reference to United Feature Syndicate where Hector had previously been rejected. Finally, Armstrong’s cartoon was accepted with a couple of adjustments, and the new title: JumpStart. Next, he befriended Charles Schulz who told Armstrong his JumpStart characters are strong, and suggested he always focus on character (rather than topic) to have a long-lasting syndicated strip.

During my interview, Armstrong shared how JumpStart characters are three dimensional as in real life. An example is the football player Marcus who represents a superstar, millionaire “cheapskate – a trait for the sake of humor,” says Armstrong. However, when a community Thanksgiving holiday banquet will be cut due to lack of funds in one comic strip story, Marcus steps up and pays for it.

A resident of Los Angeles, Robb Armstrong is happy to interact with many creatives, while living his syndicated cartoon dream and working the everyday challenges it entails. He says, “JumpStart is character driven rather than topic driven. The characters build at a snail pace, but pack a punch in time while the reader is being charmed by them.”   Receiving an Honorary Doctorate as a motivational and educational speaker, Armstrong gives back to the community, inspiring young people. Through JumpStart, Armstrong communicates emotions on controversial points, by allowing readers to respond naturally, while viewing real life circumstances with levity and love.

Illustrations and photo credit: Robbarmstrong.com. Please visit: ROBBARMSTRONG.COM or follow Robb Armstrong on Instagram at: @ROBBTARMSTRONG

The Sock Problem

The Sock Problem

By Karena Christen, 12, lives in Riga, Latvia.

Most people lose socks, but not in my family. No, we find socks! First, we’d find one sock lying here or there throughout the house. They never seemed to match any of our other socks, which were mostly plain white cotton. Under my pillow, I found a pink sock with purple triangles. My youngest sister, Laurie, found a yellow sock with an orange cat on it in her closet. Every couple of days, someone would find an odd sock in their bed, their drawers, or on their chair. But one night, the socks seemed to get bolder. Mother had made borsch, and when she ladled a portion of beet soup for me, a blue sock with white sailboats stained pink flopped into my bowl. The next day at school, I dug into my bag to grab my permission slip and pulled out a brown sock with green horses on it. Everyone laughed. When I got home, the floor was littered with bright socks, none of which looked familiar.

At dinner that night, my family agreed we had to do something about this sock problem. People weren’t able to come over to our house because we were afraid they’d walk in the front door and see all our socks in high piles around the house. So the next day, we started leaving the house with bags of socks. We’d go around town leaving a sock here or there, hoping someone would take them. Soon, we realized no one wanted the socks. But the house was getting fuller and fuller, and the socks seemed to follow us. When I got off a tram, I had to grab the handful of socks that had appeared on the seat next to me.

Eventually, my parents told us we’d just have to move. The house was making the socks appear, they decided. So we bought a house on the other side of town. We were all excited because we were sick of the socks, and because our new house was so cool. It was a lot bigger than our old one, and it even had a hot tub!

One night, I was sitting in the hot tub, which was my favorite place in the whole house. Suddenly, I felt a tapping on my leg. I looked down and realized it was a sock being knocked against me by the jets. Right away, I got out of the water, grabbed the sock, stormed upstairs to my parents’ room, and held out the blue sock with purple donuts. My parents were furious. We were supposed to be free from our curse. We called a family meeting. Everyone gathered around the kitchen table. I picked up my glass of water and was about to take a sip when I saw a sock floating in it. It was yellow, with black smiley faces. I felt like that sock was laughing at me.

“What can we do about this?” Father asked, holding up a sock that he had slipped on going down the stairs.

“We could just throw them away,” I offered.

“That won’t solve the problem,” my older brother, Jeff, said.

“What if we sold them?” Laurie asked. We all looked at her. Why had we not thought of that?

“I could build a website,” said Marzie, my middle sister.

“We could pair them up so people who like weird socks will buy them,” Jeff said.

“We’ll make a bunch of money!” shouted Laurie. That night, Marzie started working on the website. Jeff, my parents and I rounded up all the socks we could find while Laurie shouted directions at everyone. Soon, we were up and running, the most successful sock-dealer on the Internet. And, we never had to worry about finding socks again.

—Karena Christen, 12, lives in Riga, Latvia. She enjoys reading, math, and pastries. She has lost many socks in her days, much to her distress.