Teenage Musings

He stares at me from a distance, assessing my description of himself.

He's tall, I guess, much tall- er than I would have expected, but shorter than me. His nose flares with the tiniest smidge of sass, and a line of brilliant white teeth parade beneath it. There's a black spot square in the center of his forehead. In fact, he's covered with black spots. And he's blue. Very blue.

He is a wooden giraffe, hand-carved and hand-painted in Zimbabwe. For the purpose of clarity, I will call him Blue. Blue has to be at least a footand a-half tall. He will eventu- ally be a present for someone I know whose home décor is a smidge too tame for my taste. I bought him at Hometown Christmas.

Blue caught my eye as I unpacked my mandolin case for my band's performance at Ye Towne Hall. He towered over a table covered with more domestic artifacts, doilies, pin- cushions and whatnot. There was another giraffe next to him in the traditional yellow coloring, but something stood out about Blue. It could have simply been his height, as he was just a smidge taller than his counterpart. It could have been that he was blue, an elec- tric shade of deep sky blue, in a sea of warm tones. But there was something about him, a certain primitive grace that he radiated, that made him stand out in my mind.

After our playlist was fin- ished, I stepped off the stage and began shopping around. Yet no matter where I was in the room, my eyes riveted back to the blue giraffe.

Finally, I gave up on focus- ing on my other shopping and wandered over to the booth. To my surprise, it was manned by the mother of a dear friend of mine. We exchanged pleasant- ries before I grabbed Blue and scouted for a price tag.

There was none.

Then I noticed a pink sign lettered in red ink: "Prices are by donation. All proceeds go to feeding hungry children in Zimbabwe."

I asked the lady for at least a suggestion of a price. She would give me none.

Feeling charitable, I flipped open my purse and scouted for the $20 I just knew would be there. There was only a $5 and a crumpled one.

So I took out a $20 loan from the Bank of Mom and purchased Blue. As I did so, I learned a little more about where my money would go. There is an orphanage in Zimbabwe that cares for 32 children, 10 of whom are babies, provides schooling for even more kids, and feeds as many as 5,000 hungry people each week. Every cent of the booth's income went to help those people.

I guess it was really for the best that I didn't have the money in my purse, because as Mom paid for Blue she found a small, colorful painting at the same booth that she ended up buying. It, like Blue, had been hand-painted by an artist in Zimbabwe.

And yet another minor miracle occurred as I prepared to leave Towne Hall with Blue tucked under my arm. Mom stopped to chat with a friend of hers. As they did so, a fel- low Waitsburg High School student walked up and asked me where I'd purchased my giraffe.

I pointed toward the table, thinking that she was just be- ing politely curious. But her next question was about the price. I explained the booth's concept to her and told her that there was still a yellow one left.

"Are you going to buy it?" I asked her.

"Of course," she said. "I've always loved giraffes."

Emma Philbrook is a soph- omore at Waitsburg High School.