When I was in the hospital they gave me apple juice every

Hear, O children of laughter and wisdom, the words of Alan King, who spoke with mirth and cunning: “When I was in the hospital they gave me apple juice every morning, even after I told them I didn’t like it. I had to get even. One morning, I poured the apple juice into the specimen tube. The nurse held it up and said, ‘It’s a little cloudy.’ I took the tube from her and said, ‘Let me run it through again,’ and drank it. The nurse fainted.” At first, these words bring laughter, for they paint a scene absurd and shocking. Yet beneath the jest lies a deeper truth, that humor is both a weapon and a shield, a way of facing the indignities of life with wit rather than despair.

For what is the essence of this tale? A man in weakness, confined to the hospital, subject to rules and routines beyond his control, finds himself given apple juice he does not desire. Many would grumble, complain, or endure silently. But King, with the spirit of the trickster, chose another path: he turned frustration into comedy, mischief into power. In a world where he could not control much, he seized control through laughter. His jest, shocking the nurse, reminded all present that even in frailty, the human spirit can still triumph with wit.

This wisdom echoes the ways of the ancients. Recall the story of Diogenes the Cynic, who mocked the pretensions of the mighty by living in a barrel, eating in the streets, and carrying a lantern in daylight “seeking an honest man.” His actions, like King’s joke, were absurd—but they struck deeper truths, reminding the powerful of their folly and the world of its absurdity. Both Diogenes and King wielded humor not as idle play, but as a form of philosophy—a way to reveal hidden truths and endure life’s trials.

The story also teaches of perception. The nurse, holding the specimen tube, saw only what she believed it to be, and her body betrayed her in fainting. King, however, knew the truth—that it was only juice—and so he drank it boldly. In this reversal lies a lesson: appearances deceive, and often our reactions are not to reality itself but to the story we attach to it. The nurse fainted not at the liquid, but at her belief about the liquid. How often in life do we faint at shadows, while the truth is harmless?

Yet deeper still is the wisdom of resilience. Life will hand us apple juice we do not desire, routines that wear us down, indignities we do not choose. The question is how we respond. Shall we drown in bitterness, or shall we, like King, turn it into a story that leaves others laughing? Humor transforms pain; it redeems what is unwanted by turning it into joy for others. In the face of hardship, laughter is a form of victory, a declaration that the world may wound the body but cannot conquer the spirit.

Think also of Winston Churchill, who in the darkest days of war used wit as his weapon. When facing despair, he jested, lifting the spirits of his people, showing them that courage could be carried not only with swords and speeches, but also with laughter. King’s hospital jest is but a smaller reflection of this same truth: humor can be a balm, a weapon, and a beacon all at once.

Therefore, O listeners of tomorrow, take this lesson: when life hands you what you do not desire, whether apple juice or burdens far heavier, choose not despair. Find a way to laugh, to play, to transform the moment into one of power. Do not faint at appearances, but seek the truth. And above all, remember that humor is not weakness—it is strength, for it lifts the heart and turns sorrow into story.

Thus let King’s words be remembered not only as jest but as teaching: that in life’s hospital, when the days are bitter and routines are tiresome, a spirit that can still laugh is a spirit unconquered. Drink the apple juice, even from the specimen tube, and show the world that you are still alive.