Category: Whisper Down the Web

It was temporary ignorance and stupidity that overwhelmed me a week before the first day of school.  When I went to see my guidance counselor to select classes for my first year in Penn Manor, somehow I landed myself in CP journalism, just the place, I thought, for someone who doesn’t like to write.

You may be asking yourself  ‘how does that happen?’  Well, stupidity is the best word to describe how it happened. As I walked into the office that warm August morning, my mind was racing with both fear and excitement.  I would soon be going to a public high school.  This was huge coming out of my lonely lifestyle in cyber  school.

I was given two options, CP literature or CP journalism. I wasn’t very excited about either one, but I didn’t really think about exactly what we would be doing in either class.

It was more of a decision as to who would I be if I was in that class.  The first thing that came to mind when I heard the counselor say ‘journalism,’ was a line from the 1998 film “Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas.”  In the movie, the character Duke gave his reason for going to Vegas to a hitch-hiking stranger that they had picked up.  “I’m a doctor of journalism, man,”  said Duke.  That wasn’t much of  a line and not the best movie, but at the moment it was enough to convince me that CP journalism was the way to go.

As the first few days of school went by, I can honestly say that journalism was really agonizing. Remember, I’m someone who does not like to write.  But that eventually changed.  As time passed and my writing skills improved, I’ve come to not mind journalism so much. The only thing that I hate now, which I probably will suffer from forever, is that dreaded writers block.  I’m sure I’m not the only one that has a hard time with those first few sentences… right?

By Mike Stokes

Many people ask me ‘why chess team?’ When I tell them that instead of joining a winter sport like wrestling or basketball, I chose chess team.

Well, when I get right down to it, the main reason is that I will get out of school every Tuesday to go play a game. Maybe not the most action packed, epic game, but a game none the less.

I wasn’t even expecting to be slightly good at it. So, it was a pleasant surprise when I beat the fifth board player in Penn Manor. I was thinking that I might actually have some potential, even though I was creamed by the second board player 10 minutes later.

It’s not that I haven’t considered doing something else instead of chess. Two of my friends, who are on the wrestling team, try to convince me to join wrestling. I thought it through, but the thought of being put in an incredibly awkward position by a guy in tight clothes was enough to close that door for me.

Joining basketball crossed my mind a few times. I mean, I’m kind of tall, skinny, and look like I would make a good basketball player. However, after shooting a few free throws and remembering back to my elementary school years when I played basketball, I was reminded that I must lack hand-eye coordination, or the basketball hoop hates me.

Not knowing the vast sport options that Penn Manor has to offer, a friend suggested that I join the chess team. I didn’t have anything else to do after school, so I decided to go to the practices.

I’ve actually come to enjoy it too and, as incredibly nerdy as it sounds, I look forward to the end of the school day to play, learn, and improve my strategy.

By: Mike Stokes

Its last year.  I’m sitting on my grandma’s step waiting for the bus to go to school at 3:00 in the afternoon.

That’s right 3 p.m.

Unusual right?

But that’s a regular schedule for a night school student.

That’s right, night school.

Night school, where all the kids who don’t have their life on track go. Suddenly I was one of the those kids.

As a freshman, you are introduced to so many new things and you get so much more freedom than ever before. You think you’re unstoppable, well; at least that’s how it was for me and my friends freshmen year.

That year, I got mixed in with the wrong group of kids. I thought they were the popular kids and the ones that were having the best time. I wanted to be the popular kid. So I went and made the biggest mistake of my life just to be a popular kid in school. I bought drugs. Being a freshman, thinking that I was unstoppable, I showed the drugs off on the bus.

That next Monday, I was called to the office with no second thought about the drugs. I was sitting in the office getting interrogated by two principles. They started to tell me the disciplinary actions. The whole ordeal becomes a nightmare and I just wanted to wake up.

From being the kid that has never got into any real big trouble for anything to the kid who suddenly became a major screw-up.  When my dad walked in the office door, I couldn’t even look at him just because I knew he was so disappointed in me.  My parents were more disgusted than ever about everything.

This was the worst chapter of my life. I felt like there was never going to be an end to my punishment and that I was going to sit at home all summer long while my classmates were out enjoying their high school years.

It got to the point where I would live my life during the night.  This way I wouldn’t have to be around anyone. I ended my last ten days of freshmen year at my house and it still wasn’t over. I had a punishment of a minimum of 45 days in night school, 25 hours of community service, drug and alcohol classes and a chance of not being able to wrestle the next year. My whole life was wrestling.

That first day of night school, I was more nervous then the first day of elementary school, middle school and high school put all together. Not knowing anyone or what you were in for and not one person you had anything in common with, except your crime.

Night school was not as bad as I thought except I couldn’t see my friends; go to football games or homecoming.  But it changed my life around and made me smarter about my decisions. The good news was that, after 45 days, I returned to day school and was able to wrestle.

That’s right, I’m back on track.

By: Tyler Keith

Ah, Christmastime.  Everyone is in a great mood.  Even the strictest teachers put on a holiday grin.

Seriously, all the teachers are in such a good state of mind it seems like elves must have put a little Christmas cheer in all the morning coffee.

Having overly cheerful teachers is only the tip of the iceberg when it comes to the perks for students over the holidays.

One bonus is holiday food.  Oh my,  Christmas cookies are an unparalleled  perk of Christmas.   Even when you scarf down  a dozen cookies,  you don’t feel bad.  Just chalk it up to the holidays.

Another thing.  Your parents are probably so stressed with all the preparations for Christmas, they aren’t even going to notice the “D” you got on your progress report.

Ah, and what can compare to that glorious week off when the only thing you have to worry about is your supply of batteries, what size your new clothes are and when to use the bathroom during endless hours of video games.

The thing that makes Christmas really Christmas, is family – whether its your uncle, an organic farmer, who is oddly competitive at board games, or your dad yelling at your brother because he thinks that two beers certifies him as an alcoholic or even your 95-year-old great aunt who, when you ask her if she has her hearing aid in, replies, “What!?”

That is what makes Christmas so great- your family and the memories that you share with them.

So what is it about Christmas?  Is it the smell in the air, the Christmas lights, the candy canes or is it the mystique and anticipation of  Christmas Eve night? Maybe Christmas is the best time of the year because of all these reasons.  But whatever it is, the question remains: Why can’t we have Christmas all year long?

Well, because then it wouldn’t be Christmas.

So this Christmas let’s cherish it, because it only comes once a year.

By David Mohimani

“HappyChristmasMerryBirthday!”

That helps to sum up the chaos that ensued as the clock struck 12 a.m. on December 1.  Every year. That is the chaos that came along with having my birthday eight days before Christmas.  And I guess everyone who has a birthday over the holidays might feel the same way.

Each year, my mom would set out on Mission Impossible: Gift Version.  She would collect my list, do the shopping (online of course), and wait for the packages to arrive.

Then the real fun began. She would have to pick out at least two different wrapping papers (one birthday themed and one Christmas) because, goodness knows, she couldn’t use the same paper for both occasions.

Then the logistics of distributing the gifts got involved. My mom would have to pick which gifts I was going to receive when and then wrap them accordingly. She always had to make sure I had the same amount of presents on both days, so as to make sure I didn’t feel one day was more acknowledged than the other.

While the havoc of a near-Christmas birthday was plaguing my poor mother’s existence in December, I was content reading or playing in the snow, never knowing what went on behind closed doors. I never cared what paper my presents were wrapped in.  They could have been wrapped in newspaper or not wrapped at all.  I never even enjoyed unwrapping presents. I certainly didn’t care how many gifts I received when I would have been happy with whatever I got. To me, Christmas and my birthday have never been about getting “stuff.”

I have never felt a down-side to having my birthday so close to Christmas, but my family, especially my mom, may disagree with me.

By: Sarah Schaeffer

How were the roads this weekend? If you don’t drive, or if you refused to this weekend, you may be asking this question. And I can tell you just how winter wonderful they were.

I’m going to start by explaining my wonderful tank of a car. I drive a ’95 Volvo station wagon, it’ not exactly a looker. And it just so happens that, even though Volvo’s are well known for being safe, my car is absolutely indescribably not meant for a change in weather.

Now I need to explain how I put myself into the situation of being on the roads this weekend in the fifteen feet of snow we somehow came across when I believed with all of my being that we would hardly get a flurry.

I knew I needed to work on Saturday morning, and because of its “convenience” I convinced my mom to let me stay at a friend’s house which is much closer to my place of employment.

I woke up to a much appreciated phone call from my manager telling me I didn’t need to work, not believing the winter wonderland that developed outside of my friend’s window. Thinking I would basically be able to hibernate for the rest of the day, I fell back to sleep faster than a narcoleptic. Unfortunately, my mom decided to call me telling me I had to come home because there was apparently a deathly snow outside that I wouldn’t be able to drive through if I waited one more minute. I decided to scoop up a friend on the way home, anyway.

I’m not quite sure if that was one of my brightest ideas.

After picking up my friend on a road that I’m sure hadn’t been plowed and was invisible under 20 inches of snow already, I had to maneuver my big green car up a hill that was seemed more like a snowy mountain. I got to the top of the hill, the light was red, it turned green and I was on my way.

If only it could have been that simple.

My big green car wouldn’t move an inch after I stopped on the top of that hill. But somehow the man upstairs must have been looking down on me and magically there was a truck with a plow right behind me. So my friend waved him in front of us so he could plow my way out.

If only that miracle would have occurred.

Instead the plow man decided to turn the other way and completely ignore my situation in the blizzard.

So I took my only other option.

I decided to reverse the whole way down that hill, and that road so that I could turn onto a different road.

Did I mention before that I’m not the best driver (especially when my gigantic car is going backwards)?

Well I ended up driving backwards on the other side of the road, luckily no other idiots like me were driving on snow death street.

FINALLY, I got to that road I was supposed to turn on, you know the one that was supposed to be my alternative route. Well that one ended up being covered in about three feet of snow already.

At this point I was heated, and all I wanted to do was get home and get some hot chocolate and watch Fear.net. I drove as fast as I could in the new tundra that was developing over my little farmland of a town. I decided to confront the hill again, and I also decided that road rules didn’t apply. Right on red? Sure, if cars aren’t coming the other way. Well that rule was thrown away because the only way I could turn at the top of that same hill I was stuck on before was if I kept my momentum going enough to get over a patch of ice that was laughing at me from the top of the hill. Well guess what? I defeated that patch of ice and I was on my way home when I realized how long all of this had taken.

Oh dear.

My mother probably thought that I was stuck somewhere covered in snow, and she would never find me, which is never a good thing to have my pookie thinking. So I had my friend call her and what do you know? She wants me to go to the grocery store! So I did. And that was an adventure, one that I definitely want to go through again.

And who would have thought that my dear old mom, the one that didn’t even want me driving in the snow in the first place, would have me go BACK with a shopping list?

Not me.

But I went.

By: Abby Wilson

No job no money no wheels no life.

15 is probably the worst age for  teens.

It might be the worst age for anyone.

You are right in between everything important.

You are too young to get a permit but yet too old to get discounts and child prices.  You are too old to be cute yet they still ask you if you want a kiddie menu.

Old enough to get a job but not old enough to get a good job.

16 may seem close but you are still waiting at least six months more to get your license.

You can’t drive and are envious of almost anyone who can. You want to get a car, pay for insurance, and get gas, but you are going to need a job.  In most cases, however, a decent job isn’t an option for a 15 year old kid.

You are of an age where people expect things of you but don’t want to give you the respect you think you deserve and the cute girl in your 3^rd block won’t even look your way.

You don’t have the right friends, the right look and you’re not in the right clique.

Your parents don’t love you, your coach is out to get you and you can’t remember for the life of you what an endoplasmic reticulum is.

15 is the epitome of teenage angst and self loathing sorrow.  Everybody thinks the world is out to get them and they are the target of every teacher’s cruel joke and that pimple on their nose can be seen from a Google Earth sattelite.

Well get over it. Your life isn’t over and no one is out to get you.

Yeah, you can’t drive but don’t worry you’re almost there and you will be driving your whole life. Yeah, you might not get a great job but who has a great first job. By the way, that pimple on your nose can be treated with a healthy dose of Proactive and that girl in your third block is probably going through a sexual identity crisis anyway.

Still, 16 does seem sweet.

By David Mohimani

I pulled into a parking spot in the team member parking lot, fake ducks floating in the pond and the fall leaves leaving the trees almost completely bare. I fobbed past the door and began the trudge up the stairs, hung up my track jacket and walked to the time clock. Not much of a surprise to find that I was section two, yet again, I began lining the bread baskets with the tan napkins that always happen to be in twenty different shades.

My supervisor called us for stand-up, which is a version of a two minute debrief that, in reality, turns into twenty minutes of the same repetitive reminders we all hear every day we work. But this day was different.

As usual, I stand there and suddenly I hear the six words that would forever change my life: “The Thanksgiving turkeys have been cut.” And I do not mean cut, as in the birds have been carved and are waiting for our personal enjoyment, but I mean cut, as in we are not getting one at all.

At this moment, my eyes bulged out of my head and my jaw dropped to the floor. My attention shifted, like a goldfish eyeing up the cat, which was suspiciously walking around its fishbowl.

My supervisor went on to explain that with the uncertainty of healthcare, the upper management had decided that they had to make some cuts.

They cut our turkeys.

It was obvious to me that the upper management had underestimated the ability of a Thanksgiving turkey to brighten up our lives. Like the sun to the world, the turkey is a big benefit, especially to part-time employees. A resident appreciation gift, otherwise known as a Christmas bonus, a free birthday cake, and the gift of a turkey are three benefits that employees can claim.

Days later, reality hit me like a meteor crashing into the earth.

Yes, I may be losing my twelve pound turkey, but that turkey only holds the value of twenty to thirty dollars, but the value of better health benefits to those that I work with every night is worth so much more.

Reality can be hard to accept at times. It creeps up behind us and hits like a cold cement block. But reality is something that we all must accept at some time.

While talking to a fellow employee this past Monday, I realized that her health benefits actually included a switch in their health insurance company. Needless to say, the company offered many pros that the previous had not. It is also the health insurance company that my family and I are a part of and we enjoy it quite well.

I have come under the realization that there are times that the world is not fair. Maturity allows us to realize that the world will continue to rotate around the sun, and that world does not rotate around ourselves. The feeling that you have sacrificed something that brings benefit to others is a feeling that more people should experience. And it is that feeling that I will carry in to the Thanksgiving holiday.

By Tyler Barnett