poetry

How Santa Tackles a Sky Jam in Los Angeles

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This story is pulled from the archives as a celebration for the season edition.

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Presented by benandsteve.com By: Benjamin Groff II©

2–3 minutes

Santa Arrives In Los Angeles To A Bustling Scene:

Santa is cruising through a starry night, his sleigh packed with presents. The reindeer are soaring with precision, Rudolph’s nose shining bright as they approach the bustling skies over Los Angeles. Santa remarks on how the city glows more colorful each year, marveling at the dazzling lights below.

The Problem Arises:

Santa checks his list. He guides the sleigh toward his next stop. Suddenly, he encounters a startling sight: a line of airplanes backed up in the sky. The sleigh slows as Rudolph blinks in confusion, and Santa pulls out his magic map to see what’s going on.

The airspace gets crowded with jets circling LAX, cargo planes, and private airplanes. Santa tries to weave through the gridlock but quickly realizes he’s stuck in a “sky jam.”

Santa’s Reaction:

Santa, determined to overcome this unexpected obstacle, starts to worry. He’s never faced air traffic congestion before! His magical sleigh, while nimble, still must adhere to the rules of the sky to avoid being spotted. He radios an air traffic controller using a unique device from his sleigh—something he rarely needs to do.

The controller is startled but professional.

“Uh… Santa? Is that you?”

“Ho ho ho! Yes, indeed! And I’m afraid I need some assistance navigating this mess!”

A Helping Hand:

The air traffic controller, Mia, quickly gathers her colleagues. They realize the only way to clear Santa’s path is to redirect some planes. Mia cleverly uses holiday magic and persuasion to coordinate a temporary gap in the airspace.

Meanwhile, Santa and the reindeer entertain themselves by performing aerial stunts. They draw candy canes in the sky. They share cookies with passing pilots who radio in. Their voices are filled with disbelief and joy.

A Creative Solution:

Santa, ever resourceful, taps into his bag of tricks to make up for lost time. He uses his magic to make his sleigh move twice as fast once the path clears. He asks for help from local elves stationed in Los Angeles. They zip around on drones to deliver some gifts while he’s getting delayed.

Santa’s Resolution:

The airspace clears, and Santa takes off like a rocket. With a heartfelt

“Thank you!”

To Mia and the air traffic team, he speeds into the night. He catches up on his deliveries with minutes to spare.

Ending:

As Santa finishes his rounds, he reflects on the night’s chaos. He chuckles, imagining the stories pilots will tell about seeing a sleigh stuck in traffic.

“Ho ho ho!” 

He bellows as he heads back to the North Pole.

“Next year, I will just get a flight plan!”

Juniper and Luma: A Tale of Unlikely Friendship

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Presented by benandsteve.com By: Benjamin Groff II©s

1–2 minutes

The Fox and the Firefly

The trees hummed with the wind in the Whispering Woods’s heart. The moon painted silver on the forest floor. There lived a fox named Juniper. She was sleek, clever, and always alone. Other animals whispered about her, calling her a trickster, a thief. She had learned that being alone was more manageable than fighting their expectations.

One evening, a tiny glow flickered near her nose as she padded along the riverbank. A firefly, tiny and trembling, hovered in the air.

“You’re in my way,”

Juniper said, flicking her tail.

“I’m lost,”

The firefly admitted its light dimming.

Juniper sighed.

“Lost? How do you lose your way when you can fly?”

The firefly hesitated.

“I followed my friends, but the wind carried me away.”

Juniper should have walked on. She wasn’t the type to help. She had grown used to being alone, and companionship was foreign to her. But something about the firefly’s quivering glow made her pause.

“Fine,”

She said,

“I’ll help you, but only because I know these woods better than anyone.”

The firefly buzzed with gratitude.

“Thank you! I’m called Luma.”

For the first time in a long while, Juniper felt a glimmer of companionship. As they traveled together, Luma lit the dark paths. She guided Juniper through the thickest parts of the forest. Juniper used her sharp nose to avoid danger.

They spent the night talking. Luma didn’t fear or expect her to be anything other than what she was.

By dawn, they reached a clearing filled with twinkling lights—Luma’s family.

“Stay,”

Luma said.

Juniper almost did. But she was a fox, a creature of the earth, and Luma belonged to the sky.

Still, as she turned to leave, Luma promised,

“Whenever you walk the woods at night, look for my light. You’ll never be alone.”

And so, every night, as Juniper wandered, a tiny flickering glow followed her—an unlikely friendship that lit the darkness forever.

Loneliness and Connection: The Maple and the Crow

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Presented by benandsteve.com By: Benjamin Groff II©

2–3 minutes

The Maple and the Crow

In the quiet corner of Oakridge Park stood an old maple tree. Its branches stretched wide, offering shade to picnickers in the summer and a golden glow in the fall. 

It had seen many seasons pass and many creatures come and go, yet it always felt lonely. It never had a friend to share its days with.

Then came the crow.

The bird arrived one blustery afternoon, perching on the maple’s lowest branch with a ruffled look. Its wing drooped slightly, and its usual subdued sharp claws.

“Shoo!” 

The tree whispered as the wind rustled through its leaves. It was not quite ready to accept this new presence in its life.

But the crow did not move.

Day after day, the crow lingered. 

Caw Caw!

It hopped from branch to branch, picking at the bark, watching the world below. It cawed at passing dogs and tilted its head at children chasing kites.

“Why are you still here?” 

The maple finally asked.

“Nowhere else to go,” the crow replied. Its voice carried a hint of resilience. The tree had never heard this before.

The crow replied.

For the first time, the tree understood what it meant to be lonely. The Maple had never considered this feeling before. The sun rose, the rain fell, and its roots dug deep. But watching the crow, it felt something new—a quiet companionship.

The maple began to enjoy the crow’s presence. It let its leaves shiver in the wind to make music for the bird. When the crow felt strong enough to fly, it still returned, perching in the same spot.

Seasons passed. The maple grew older, and its branches were not as strong as they once were. But the crow remained. It brought stories of faraway places. These places had mountains that touched the sky and rivers that sang in the moonlight.

And when winter came, and the tree stood bare, the crow nestled close against its trunk.

“I will stay,”

 The crow promised.

“I know,”

The maple replied.

And so they remained, an old tree and a watchful crow, an unlikely friendship rooted in time.

Surviving the Darkness: The Krieger Family’s Courage – Shadows In The Dark

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Presented by benandsteve.com By: Benjamin Groff II©

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In the spring of 1942, the Krieger family vanished from the small town of Marburg, or so their neighbors believed. The truth, though, was a testament to their resilience. Ernst and Klara Krieger lived concealed behind a false wall. Their teenage daughter Lotte was with them in the attic of their modest home. They clung to a fragile existence beneath the ever-watchful eyes of the Nazi regime.

Before the war, Ernst had been a respected tailor, his shop bustling with customers seeking fine suits and dresses. The war machine tightened its grip on Germany, and Jewish families like the Kriegers became targets. They had no choice but to vanish from public view. Ernst’s friend, Herr Becker, was a trusted carpenter. He had built a hidden compartment in their attic. It was a space just large enough for the three of them to survive.

Each day, Klara prepared sparse meals from the dwindling stock of supplies. She rationed every crumb with the precision of a soldier. Lotte, once full of life and laughter, now spent her days in silence. She read the few books they had managed to take with them. Ernst, ever resourceful, repaired uniforms in secret. He exchanged this favor with Herr Becker for smuggled food. They also shared whispers of news from the outside world.

Life under the radar was a delicate balancing act, but the Kriegers refused to let go of hope. They learned to move only when the town slept, their footsteps carefully muffled. They endured bitter winters without fire, their breath hanging in the frozen air like ghosts. Klara kept their spirits up with whispered stories of better days. She spoke of summers at the lake and the scent of fresh bread filling their home. They lived in fear but also in quiet defiance, their hope a beacon in the darkness.

One night, in late 1944, as the war neared its end, a knock at the door sent their hearts racing. Herr Becker’s hushed voice broke through the silence. 

“The Americans are coming,” 

he whispered through the floorboards. 

“Stay hidden a little longer.”

Days passed like years until, at last, the sound of foreign voices filled the streets. The Kriegers dared to peek from their hidden vantage point. What they saw made their hearts swell with cautious hope. They observed Allied soldiers marching through the town. Their uniforms were different, and their faces were filled with determination rather than cruelty.

The danger had finally passed. Ernst and Klara stepped out into the light of a new morning. They held Lotte’s trembling hand. Their survival was a quiet miracle. It was a testament to the resilience, cunningness, and kindness of those who risked it all to help them. Their hearts were filled with gratitude for these unsung heroes.

Life was difficult in the next years, but the Kriegers rebuilt what they had lost. Ernst reopened his shop. Klara baked bread that once again filled their home with warmth. Lotte found her laughter in the sunlight. Though they had lived in the shadows for so long, they emerged stronger and free.

And in the attic, behind the false wall, they left a small inscription: 

We survived. We endured. We are free.

Finding Peace in a Day of Upset

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Presented by benandsteve.com By: Benjamin Groff II©

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Maggie sat on her porch swing. The soft creak of the old chains was the only sound in the still afternoon air. The sun hung low, casting golden hues across her small Arizona town, but inside her chest, a storm raged. The day had been a whirlwind of mishaps. She missed deadlines at work. She had an argument with her sister. She also nagged worry about her aging father’s health. Each problem was stacked like bricks on her shoulders, weighing her with unresolved concern. She was in the midst of a battle for her Peace.

She sipped her tea. She hoped the warmth would soothe the ache. Yet, peace felt distant, like a mirage on the desert horizon. Her mind churned with “what-ifs” and “should-haves,” a relentless cycle that robbed her of the quiet she desperately craved.

Maggie took a deep breath and closed her eyes. She listened to the distant rustling of mesquite trees. Occasionally, she heard the bark of a neighbor’s dog. The natural sounds around her conveyed a message of resilience and adaptability. Slowly, she exhaled, reminding herself of her grandmother’s words: “You can’t stop the wind, but you can learn to bend.”

She stood and walked to the edge of her yard. Her fingers brushed over the delicate petals of the wildflowers. They had sprung up after last month’s rare rain. Their resilience struck her—fragile yet persistent, thriving even in the harsh desert soil.

Realizing she couldn’t control everything, Maggie focused on the now. She let the day’s stress settle, acknowledging it but not giving it power. She watched the sky darken into twilight. The first stars peeked through. She felt a little lighter with each breath. It was the power of being here, of living in the moment, that brought her Peace.

She realized Peace wasn’t about escaping the chaos but finding a quiet place. And tonight, as the desert cooled and the cicadas began their evening song, she finally let herself rest. The relief was palpable, like a weight lifted from her shoulders, as she surrendered to the tranquility of the night.

Meeting Mendez

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A Story By: Benjamin Groff© Groff Media 2024© Truth Endures

Ralph and Kevin had been friends for over twenty years, sharing a modest two-bedroom apartment in a cozy part of the city. Both were in their fifties and lived parallel lives, working different jobs—Ralph as a graphic designer and Kevin as a financial advisor—but always finding time for each other. They joked about finding “the one” someday, but their hope had always been tinged with sarcasm. At their age, they felt the ideal guy might never show up.

But then something shifted.

It started on an ordinary Monday morning. They sat at the kitchen table, sipping their coffees, when Kevin casually mentioned he had met someone the night before. “His name is Mendez,” he said, a sly smile across his face. “And Ralph, he’s… everything.”

Ralph’s stomach did a somersault. He had indeed met someone, too. Just last night, after his art gallery event, he found himself in a dimly lit bar, the kind that seemed to exist in a world of its own. And there, perched at the corner of the bar, was Mendez—a man who could only be described as strikingly handsome, with dark eyes that seemed to hold a universe of secrets, a soft-spoken charm that was as disarming as it was alluring, and a smile that could light up the darkest of rooms.

“Funny you say that,” Ralph replied. “I met someone, too. His name’s also Mendez. We hit it off.”

Kevin chuckled, taking a long sip from his coffee. “What are the odds?”

Their conversations in the following days were filled with similar stories of their encounters with Mendez. Kevin would describe how they had shared a romantic evening stroll by the river, and Ralph would excitedly mention how they had gone dancing the same night. Their descriptions of this enigmatic Mendez were eerily similar—his chiseled jawline, his gentle laugh, the way he seemed to know exactly what to say to make them feel like the only person in the room. Yet neither of them suspected anything was off. After all, Mendez was a common enough last name, right?

But as the weeks passed, their mutual friends noticed something strange. At morning coffee with their usual crowd, Ralph and Kevin would each gush about their dates from the night before. They discussed romantic dinners, late-night jazz clubs, and private rooftop moments. Their stories mirrored one another so closely that their friends couldn’t help but wonder—were they seeing the same man?

“Wait a minute,” said Lisa, a close friend, during one of their coffee meetups. “You both met this guy named Mendez? And you’re telling me he took you both to the same jazz club on different nights?”

The group laughed, but the tension between Ralph and Kevin grew. Were they falling for the same guy? They started to second-guess every detail—his favorite wine, his weekend plans, the way he called them “his secret muse.”

Still, neither wanted to believe it. Kevin would ask, “Did your Mendez talk about his job?”

Ralph would reply, “Yeah, he mentioned something about being in real estate.”

“Same here. But, come on, we’re seeing different guys. That’s impossible.”

Finally, the tension reached a breaking point. One Saturday night, the two friends finally agreed to go out together to introduce themselves to their respective Mendez. They picked a lively nightclub known for its cool vibe and easy conversation. Ralph’s heart raced as he considered the possibility of confronting the truth.

When they arrived, they scanned the crowd, both eager and nervous. And then, there he was—Mendez, standing by the bar, smiling warmly at them.

Only to their utter surprise, there were two of them.

Ralph and Kevin exchanged bewildered glances as the two men, identical except for subtle differences, made their way over. The Mendez brothers—Marco and Luis—stood side by side, charming as ever.

Kevin burst into laughter. “You’ve got to be kidding me!” he exclaimed, his amusement contagious.

Ralph shook his head, grinning in disbelief. “Twins? Really?”

The four sat down, exchanging stories and laughing about the coincidence. As it turned out, Marco had met Kevin at one bar, and Luis had met Ralph at another. They had no idea their new romantic interests were roommates.

It wasn’t the love triangle they had feared—it was something far better, a delightful twist that brought them closer.

And just like that, Ralph and Kevin realized that sometimes, the universe works in mysterious—and surprisingly humorous—ways, leaving them and their friends in fits of laughter.

There Once Was A Clown Named Ho Ho!

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A True Story By Benjamin Groff© Groff Media 2024© Groff Media 2024© Truth Endures

Ho-Ho the Clown, known to Oklahoma City children from the 1960s to the 1980s, was more than a TV character. Born Edward Birchall on July 16, 1923, in Colchester, Connecticut, he carried a heart of gold beneath his red nose and clown makeup. After serving in the Army Air Forces during WWII, Ed pursued his love of entertainment, eventually becoming the beloved Ho-Ho on KOCO-TV.

Behind the character, Ed Birchall was a regular dad raising six kids in Bethany, Oklahoma, with his wife, Beebe. Regina, one of his daughters, recalls him coming home with clown makeup smeared after a long day, trying to balance the unusual demands of being a full-time clown and father. His work often kept him away from family, but they later realized the personal sacrifices he made and how many lives he touched, instilling a deep sense of gratitude and respect.

For 29 years, Ho-Ho brought joy to children with shows like Lunch with Ho-Ho and Ho-Ho’s Showplace. His bright personality and whimsical sidekick, Pokey the Puppet, lit up local TV screens, helping him become a household name. Yet his role as an entertainer extended beyond the studio—Ed frequently visited children’s hospital wards, delighting patients with his warmth and humor. It wasn’t just his clowning that touched people; his kindness, dedication, and how he made every child feel seen.

When Ed passed in 1988, his funeral was a testament to his impact. It took three services to accommodate the thousands of well-wishers, including an honor guard of clowns. Ed Birchall’s legacy, carried on by his children and remembered by the community, continues to bring smiles to those who grew up with Ho-Ho’s charm, fostering a sense of belonging and shared memory among us all.

The Puppeteer Bill Howard Passed away On January 9th, 2013. Bill Howard, who entertained children as “Pokey the Puppet” on the Ho Ho the Clown show on KOCO in Oklahoma City, has died.

Fight Today For A Better Tomorrow – Saving America – Coming Home

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A Report By: Benjamin Groff© Groff Media 2024© Truth Endures

A Nation’s Call

It was the fall of 2024, and the country had never seemed more divided. Political upheaval had peaked, with protests echoing through city streets, harsh words hurled in homes, and debates erupting at family dinner tables. The election season had become more than just a contest of policies; it had morphed into a battle over the nation’s soul, pitting neighbor against neighbor.

At the heart of this turmoil was a young senator named Jacob Randall. A man of few words but deep conviction, he had saw firsthand the devastating effects of division. Randall had grown up in a small town where his mother and father, though from opposite sides of the political spectrum, had found common ground in their love for family, faith, and community. That shared foundation had always given him hope that unity was possible.

However, as he stood before Congress, he wondered if that hope had been misplaced. The chamber was restless, with representatives glaring at one another across the aisle, the tension palpable. Randall chose to speak at what many called a last-ditch effort—a desperate attempt to heal the nation before it tore apart.

Taking a deep breath, he began.

“Fellow citizens, colleagues, I stand before you not as a Democrat or a Republican but as an American. Our great nation is facing a challenge unlike any other. We have become so entrenched in our political camps that we no longer see each other as fellow countrymen. We see enemies where once we saw neighbors. And that division is killing the very fabric of our society.

“My parents did not always agree on politics. Mother was a staunch conservative, Father a proud progressive. But they understood something we have forgotten: that compromise is not a weakness but the cornerstone of democracy. They believed that every person, no matter how much they disagreed, had something valuable to contribute to the conversation.”

Randall’s words caught the attention of some. A few heads began to nod slowly. He pressed on, feeling the weight of the moment.

“Our founders, too, were divided. They had different visions for this country and ideas about what liberty and justice should look. Nevertheless, they knew that to create something lasting, they had to pull together to find common ground. And they did. That is the spirit that created America. Moreover, that is the spirit we need to rediscover today.”

As Randall continued, he saw a shift in the faces before him. Some were hard, unmoving, but others softened, listening with new ears. He was not offering easy solutions but calling for something more complicated: humility.

“When we look across the aisle, we must not see enemies but partners in this great American experiment. We have different ideas about achieving a better future, but we all want a better one. And if we cannot even agree on that, we have already lost.”

He paused, letting the gravity of his words settle in the room.

“In every crisis, there is opportunity, an opportunity to rise above the noise, the hatred, and the division. It is an opportunity to remember that we are bound together not just by the laws of this land but by the ideals it represents. Life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness—for everyone. Not just for those who agree with us.”

Randall stepped away from the podium and glanced up at the gallery above. It was filled with citizens from across the country, watching with anxious eyes, waiting for anyone to bring clarity to the chaos. He saw young activists clutching signs, older veterans with tears in their eyes, and families holding hands.

“I am not asking you to abandon your beliefs. Listen to those who see the world differently. Not to argue but to understand a call for uniformity, but for unity because we cannot get found without uniting.”

The silence in the chamber was deafening. No one was shouting for the first time in what seemed like years. No one was trying to outdo the other with statistics or soundbites. They were listening.

Randall’s speech ended with a simple message: “America is not a perfect nation, but it is a nation built on the belief that we can pursue perfection together. Let us, as a people, return to that pursuit—not as adversaries, but as Americans.”

As he stepped away from the podium, the room erupted—not in protest, but in applause. Representatives stood on both sides of the aisle, clapping not just for Randall’s words but for what those words represented: a glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, the country could pull itself back from the brink.

It would take work. It would not happen overnight. But in that moment, something had shifted. For the first time in a long time, there was a shared sense of purpose— a belief that even in the darkest of times, unity was possible—and that together, the nation could find its way back to the light.