(Q).
So many kids, so many stories. Parents die, leaving kids devastated and unable to speak for days. Parents get deported, leaving kids despondent and hopeless. Children endure emotional, sexual, physical abuse. And more. The saddest story I ever heard was from the kid in my AP Lit class who had taken her senior year to accept invitations from education reform groups to speak around the country, which she did, without doing any of her homework. She waited until after grades were turned in at the end of the year to contest the "D" on her report card because it meant not going to UC Berkeley. She brought her mother with her, and her two sisters. After going around and around for a while with me and the principal, her mother said that her divorce had really affected this girl, and she had been fighting so hard all her life to get into Berkeley, and what did I have against her daughter? She deserved to go to Cal! They were all in tears. The principal found a way to change her 64% to a 70.01%, and off she went. This young woman full of potential and energy, learned from her mother and my boss, that excuses rule the day. She appears to think that "social justice" means fighting to get your way because the deck is stacked against you, instead of doing the right thing. This is sad. I know this isn't what you were after, and that this memory says more about me than it does about her. Many other kids I have counseled, who are getting through something life-changing, seem to understand that life is in session, there will always be challenges to rise above, and that focusing in the classroom is a great way to get one's mind off one's troubles, if the environment is supportive and the spirit is willing. The dispute over the "D" on the girl's report card probably lasted: Pick the correct answer from the following options: A. 10 minutes B. not enough information C. Over an hour D. 5 minutes
(A).
C

(Q).
My Pa disappeared somewhere in the wilds of 1975, when I was just fourteen years old. He was the Ambassador to 1975, but back home in 1898, in New Jerusalem, Utah, they all thought he was Ambassador to France. When he disappeared, Mama and I came back through the triple-bolted door that led from our apt in 1975 to our horsebarn in 1898. We returned to the dusty streets of New Jerusalem, and I had to keep on reminding myself that I was supposed to have been in France, and 'polly-voo' for my chums, and tell whoppers about the Eiffel Tower and the fancy bread and the snails and frogs we'd eaten. I was born in New Jerusalem, and raised there till I was ten. Then, one summer's day, my Pa sat me on his knee and told me we'd be going away for a while, that he had a new job. 'But what about the store?' I said, scandalised. My Pa's wonderful store, the only General Store in town not run by the Saints, was my second home. I'd spent my whole life crawling and then walking on the dusty wooden floors, checking stock and unpacking crates with waybills from exotic places like Salt Lake City and even San Francisco. Pa looked uncomfortable. 'Mr Johnstone is buying it.' My mouth dropped. James H Johnstone was as dandified a city-slicker as you'd ever hope to meet. He'd blown into town on the weekly Zephyr Speedball, and skinny Tommy Benson had hauled his three huge steamer trunks to the cowboy hotel. He'd tipped Tommy two dollars, in Wells-Fargo notes, and later, in the empty lot behind the smithy, all the kids in New Jerusalem had gathered 'round Tommy to goggle at the small fortune in queer, never-seen bills. 'Pa, no!' I said, without thinking. I knew that if my chums ordered their fathers around like that, they'd get a whipping, but my Pa almost never whipped me. Who rode the weekly Zephyr speedball to the town? Pick the correct answer from the following options: A. The Saints B. James H Johnstone C. not enough information D. Tommy Benson
(A).
B

(Q).
The Transylvanian city of Brasov is usually just a day trip from Bucharest. People spend maybe an hour or so to wandering around the town square, and buy a drink before hopping back on their transport back to the capital city of Romania. But, thanks to an epic tip-off from the travel ninja Shikha at Why Waste Annual Leave and a few other Brasov devotees, instead of following the crowds, we booked a couple of leisurely nights there. At the end of our day trip, instead of returning to Bucharest and getting stuck in the Sunday evening traffic, we checked into our hotel and waved our guide off. Yes, you can easily 'do' Brasov in an afternoon it's a popular stop off at the end of a day trip after visiting the "home" of Dracula Bran castle, and the beautiful Peles castle but having the leisure to linger was exquisite. In addition to trying local dishes, we also ate lunch at McDonalds. Yes, yes, as a blogger we shouldn't pretend to eat anything other than caviar washed down with champagne and unicorn tears, but we were hungry and couldn't be bothered to find somewhere. (For the record, we both opted for a Big Mac and a diet coke.) For the first half day, we wandered around whilst the skies were beautifully blue learned a lot of local history, admired the Hollywood style sign in the hills slipped into a couple of churches (not to mention dodged giggling kids racing around on miniature cars) some hidden, and some hidden in plain sight and admired the sign from our cosy hotel, as it lit up at twilight Our only full day dawned fairly murky for the most part, it was a Sunday so a lot of things were closed, so after hitting 20,000 steps and getting lost a few times in the less pretty corners of the city Who is the author? Pick the correct answer from the following options: A. a wife B. a travel blogger C. a tourist D. not enough information
(A).
D