This I Believe

I believe in laughter, especially when you can laugh at yourself. And, I’m not talking about a little chuckle or giggle. I am talking about the laughter that makes tears stream down your face, makes your abs feel like you just did 1000 sit-ups, and makes your smiling cheeks burn. My entire life I have been a complete klutz. If there is a ditch, I will turn my ankle in it. If there is a sign, I will walk into it. If there is something in front of me, I am bound to stub my toe on it.

After many episodes of stumbling and tripping throughout elementary school, I always wished for the day my klutziness would go away. I would turn a bright shade of red and hide anywhere I could. However, one day back in 8th grade, it all changed. I received a science award at an assembly and had to walk on stage to receive it. It was my ultimate nightmare – my entire junior high had reason to analysis and stare at my every move. I climbed the steps, picked up the award, and started to make my way down the steps back to my seat. And…I fell. Or rather, crashed. My body went flaring as I semi-circled down the flight of steps right onto the floor. The auditorium was silent. There was nowhere to hide. And then it happened – I started to laugh…uncontrollably. I basically have not stopped since.

Many people feel that klutziness is something you grow out of with age. Well, I am still waiting for that to happen. But while I’m waiting, I think I’ll embrace it. My uncanny ability to make a fool of myself happens at least three times a day. People pay money to have someone else make them laugh, while I get to entertain myself for free. In addition, I am pretty sure my close friends and family get quite the entertainment from me, especially because they “aren’t laughing at me, but with me.”

To me, the ability to laugh at yourself is a great gift. And nothing is better than having a gift be contagious. So the next time you do something embarrassing…just laugh. Trust me, it will work.
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I believe in the dwindling generation that some people call our greatest and others simply call “old people.” True, some of them may shuffle when they walk or need their driver’s licenses revoked, but some of my most treasured friends have been recruited from amongst their stoop-shouldered ranks.

I didn’t grow up fearing the elderly. A great-grandmother I can only vaguely remember baked apples filled with warmth, kindness and raisins, and graciously surveyed my clumsy kindergarten artwork. Until I left home I chuckled daily with her daughter, my grandmother, as we searched for silver linings to the clouds of embarrassment. We share a lack of athletic prowess and an awkwardness that once led her to trip down a flight of stairs in front of handsome GI she would have liked to impress, and me to bowl a 21 despite friendly efforts to cheat on my behalf. Years really don’t destroy what human beings have in common.

I marvel at my wise, patient and bright-eyed friends. They have worked hard, done without, and thanked God for the things they were given. They are simple people who split their infinitives, mispronounce for and nuclear, have lost digits in farm-related accidents, and know what it means to be neighborly. They have pinched pennies to buy their children and grandchildren the things they never had, whether they ought to or not. They faced terror and disillusionment in order to paste snapshots of fallen comrades and a genuine swastika armband in their scrapbooks. Many of them are lonely.

They leave a void when they’re gone, but I don’t mind the part of their funerals where you learn that Ruth once chased Max out of her store with a broom for attempting to usher livestock in, and Ephraim was fond of quipping that, “You ain’t never lived ’till you’ve kept a fat, drunk lady on her horse.”

I believe in holding doors open for them, helping them with their groceries, and listening attentively while they brag about long-absent grandchildren and reminisce about the good old days. Someday, I would like to model more than the physical effects of their aging. I hope that I too will have the courage and humility to smile at everyone I meet, and the sense to know what’s really worth worrying about.
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I believe in the dwindling generation that some people call our greatest and others simply call “old people.” True, some of them may shuffle when they walk or need their driver’s licenses revoked, but some of my most treasured friends have been recruited from amongst their stoop-shouldered ranks.

I didn’t grow up fearing the elderly. A great-grandmother I can only vaguely remember baked apples filled with warmth, kindness and raisins, and graciously surveyed my clumsy kindergarten artwork. Until I left home I chuckled daily with her daughter, my grandmother, as we searched for silver linings to the clouds of embarrassment. We share a lack of athletic prowess and an awkwardness that once led her to trip down a flight of stairs in front of handsome GI she would have liked to impress, and me to bowl a 21 despite friendly efforts to cheat on my behalf. Years really don’t destroy what human beings have in common.

I marvel at my wise, patient and bright-eyed friends. They have worked hard, done without, and thanked God for the things they were given. They are simple people who split their infinitives, mispronounce for and nuclear, have lost digits in farm-related accidents, and know what it means to be neighborly. They have pinched pennies to buy their children and grandchildren the things they never had, whether they ought to or not. They faced terror and disillusionment in order to paste snapshots of fallen comrades and a genuine swastika armband in their scrapbooks. Many of them are lonely.

They leave a void when they’re gone, but I don’t mind the part of their funerals where you learn that Ruth once chased Max out of her store with a broom for attempting to usher livestock in, and Ephraim was fond of quipping that, “You ain’t never lived ’till you’ve kept a fat, drunk lady on her horse.”

I believe in holding doors open for them, helping them with their groceries, and listening attentively while they brag about long-absent grandchildren and reminisce about the good old days. Someday, I would like to model more than the physical effects of their aging. I hope that I too will have the courage and humility to smile at everyone I meet, and the sense to know what’s really worth worrying about.

The Battle Of Hastings Game

This is a strategy game that re enacts the Battle of Hastings which took place on 14 October 1066. You have to choose between two armies. When you have chosen your side of the army and the level you can begin. In the game you can taunt move your soldiers archers and king the aim is to kill a large amount of people on the other team. I found the game difficult but very educating because it had an intro telling The Battle Of Hastings story and it also informed me about what type of medieval insults they taunted at each other during battle. The game enhances your skills it teaches you the best strategies of the game you also get to experience how it is to command an army. This game is very difficult but if follow the the techniques it will be very educating for you and others.