Guts and Glory on Friday Nights
Friday nights is typically the favorite night of the week for all high school kids, and quite frankly, the favorite night for most adults as well. We look forward to Friday nights because on Friday nights, the work week or school week has ended. The weekend is a little time for rest and relaxation, a time to let loose and celebrate. For me however, my Friday nights were much more than getting a couple days off from school. My Friday nights started in the locker room shortly after school and were filled with grid iron: blood, sweat, and a few tears.
During my senior year, there was a game with a cross town rival and I was always hyped up and mentally prepared for the cross town rivals they were the Warren Central Dragons. This particular school always did something to our school right before we were playing them in a game. This particular game, they took week killer and killed the grass to where it burned their school initials on the 50 yard line of our field. So I was fired up and ready to get revenge in this game. The whole team was fired up.
As a defensive lineman, nose guard was my position on my high school football team. I was lined up straight across from the ball. My job was to try and tackle who ever had the ball, but at the very least, stop the run up the middle. There is not a lot of glory when you are a lineman whether it is defensive or offensive. The glory goes to the quarterbacks, the running backs and the receivers. They are the players that always have the ball and make all of the scores. The guts however, come from the lineman. They do the hitting, the clashing, the tackling and most of the bleeding.
This night was pretty typical from the start. We huddle in to our team meeting, going over last minute play instructions, before we file out of the locker room strutting to the field. I was one of four captains that night so the four of us arms locked together to meet the officials and the captains for the Dragons at mid field. We knew the night would be good as we won the toss. We elected to defer the ball to the Dragons and we would receive the kick off at the beginning of the second half. We held them scoreless on their first possession and then we took over the ball. As the first half advanced, we held them scoreless and we were up 21 to 0 personally I thought that we should be up even more I wanted to beat them as bad as we possibly could with no mercy considering what they did to our field.
After half time, we rolled back out to the field to start our usual warm up drills so we could put this team away for the season. The third quarter we started strong and again held them scoreless, but we scored two more touchdowns to end the quarter 35 to 0. It was about midway thru the fourth quarter, we were all getting a little tired and sluggish. The sound of helmets banging together, and pads and equipment hitting together had just become a buzz. The grunting of the players, the yelling and cheering of the fans, I had just tuned out. I was completely zoned in on the football. About that time, the football was stripped from the Dragons running back and it fell to the ground about two feet from me. As focused as I was, I scooped the ball up and tucked it under my arms. I ran as fast and as hard as I could, my heart was racing and sweat was dripping down into my eyes, never looking back until I had reached the end zone. I looked around in disbelief as there were no penalty flags on the ground. I had scored my first touchdown ever.
It probably seems like not such a big deal because most teams have several players who score touchdowns all of the time. But when one considers the guts and the glory, the linemen usually have all of the guts and none of the glory. Defensive players play most all of their football careers and never actually touch a football. That night during that game, I had both guts and glory and the most memorable night of my high school football career.
By: Ben Spencere
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Not What its hyped up to be
Not what it’s hyped up to be.
One of the worst days of my life occurred on a day which for most high school students, is hyped up to be an amazing experience and a so called rite of passage that will be remembered forever. My original plan was to not even attend the prom at all, therefore avoiding the hassle of finding a date worth the outrageous cost of the event, and even worse dressing up something I hated doing. Luckily enough for me I ended up asking a cute girl from a different school to prom; I was actually excited to go. It was the night before prom I had my last track meet before the state meet; I had qualified for state the previous night and I was super excited to run again. I was about to run my last race of the meet and didn’t think much of it and didn’t really warm up at all. That turned into one of the worst decisions of my life, and pretty much ruined the next twenty-four hours of my life. The race starts I get the baton; sixty meters into the race my leg tightens up I take a stride then my leg made a popping noise and my left leg collapsed. I finished the race and only made it worse; I walked off the track in immense pain and find out that I partially tore my hamstring. To make matters worse when I called my date to tell her the news she was disappointed and angry, a mood which would continue throughout the next twenty-four hours.
The next morning I was relieved to wake and find that my leg didn’t hurt quite as bad as I expected, or so I thought as I lay in bed. When I attempted to walk to the bathroom however, I find that the pain truly is as bad, if not worse than I had expected and I struggled to walk the few steps out of my room. As the day progresses, the pain only begins to worsen, and I am forced to take pill after pill of pain medication and basically bathe in Icy Hot as I contemplate if I am even going to prom. The sole reason for choosing to go at this point was nothing more than the incredible amount of money I had already spent preparing for this day; a day that should have been one of the best of my life. When my date finally arrived, I was completely stunned by how amazing she looked and thought to myself maybe this won’t be so bad after all. That all changed quickly when her crabby demeanor only made my own attitude worse as we posed for picture after picture, neither one of us enjoying the moment in any way. After the photo shoot finally ended, I was so immersed in leaving that I forgot the directions to the prom. The drive there became the most awkwardly silent car ride of my life.
I finally arrive to my senior prom extremely late, only to find that my friends had not saved my date and me a seat at their table, forcing me to eat with people I didn’t care for as my date texts on her phone and replies to all our table’s questions in an extremely condescending tone. I find solace for the night lying in the promise of an epic after party where I can drink my sorrow away. As the food arrives at our table, I’m disappointed and even slightly disgusted at its quality, but I am still forced to eat by myself due to my date’s refusal to eat the food. While the dancing begins, I sit at the table with my date desperately trying to talk to her about anything, since I was in too much pain to dance. After what feels like several hours of coercing minimal conversation out of her, I decide to risk the unavoidable pain and ask her to dance. I ask my date to dance but I’m shocked and humiliated when she rejects me, stubbornly remaining in her seat, silently, for another hour. I start thinking to myself how this night could get any worse. After that agonizing hour I finally decide to leave and go home with my date and wait for the after party. So I say goodbye to all my friends who are all pissed at my date for being such bitch.
When we got back to my house we both changed our clothes and just hung out in my basement for awhile watching TV, there was nothing good on so I told her to pick a movie and am immediately regretful when she chooses Grease. Twenty minutes later I get the call I was waiting for, but unfortunately my friend TC told me this “Hey, what’s up? Yeah the party has to get cancelled the cops know about it and called my dad and said they would be monitoring the party and if any drinking was going on they would bust it” I don’t think I have ever been so mad and disappointed in my life. In a fitting end to my disaster of a day, I pop a few more pain pills and fall asleep around midnight. They say that senior prom should be one of the most memorable experiences of your time in high school, and I am positive that night will surely be a memorable one but not for the reason I had hoped.
By Aaron Gingerich
One of the worst days of my life occurred on a day which for most high school students, is hyped up to be an amazing experience and a so called rite of passage that will be remembered forever. My original plan was to not even attend the prom at all, therefore avoiding the hassle of finding a date worth the outrageous cost of the event, and even worse dressing up something I hated doing. Luckily enough for me I ended up asking a cute girl from a different school to prom; I was actually excited to go. It was the night before prom I had my last track meet before the state meet; I had qualified for state the previous night and I was super excited to run again. I was about to run my last race of the meet and didn’t think much of it and didn’t really warm up at all. That turned into one of the worst decisions of my life, and pretty much ruined the next twenty-four hours of my life. The race starts I get the baton; sixty meters into the race my leg tightens up I take a stride then my leg made a popping noise and my left leg collapsed. I finished the race and only made it worse; I walked off the track in immense pain and find out that I partially tore my hamstring. To make matters worse when I called my date to tell her the news she was disappointed and angry, a mood which would continue throughout the next twenty-four hours.
The next morning I was relieved to wake and find that my leg didn’t hurt quite as bad as I expected, or so I thought as I lay in bed. When I attempted to walk to the bathroom however, I find that the pain truly is as bad, if not worse than I had expected and I struggled to walk the few steps out of my room. As the day progresses, the pain only begins to worsen, and I am forced to take pill after pill of pain medication and basically bathe in Icy Hot as I contemplate if I am even going to prom. The sole reason for choosing to go at this point was nothing more than the incredible amount of money I had already spent preparing for this day; a day that should have been one of the best of my life. When my date finally arrived, I was completely stunned by how amazing she looked and thought to myself maybe this won’t be so bad after all. That all changed quickly when her crabby demeanor only made my own attitude worse as we posed for picture after picture, neither one of us enjoying the moment in any way. After the photo shoot finally ended, I was so immersed in leaving that I forgot the directions to the prom. The drive there became the most awkwardly silent car ride of my life.
I finally arrive to my senior prom extremely late, only to find that my friends had not saved my date and me a seat at their table, forcing me to eat with people I didn’t care for as my date texts on her phone and replies to all our table’s questions in an extremely condescending tone. I find solace for the night lying in the promise of an epic after party where I can drink my sorrow away. As the food arrives at our table, I’m disappointed and even slightly disgusted at its quality, but I am still forced to eat by myself due to my date’s refusal to eat the food. While the dancing begins, I sit at the table with my date desperately trying to talk to her about anything, since I was in too much pain to dance. After what feels like several hours of coercing minimal conversation out of her, I decide to risk the unavoidable pain and ask her to dance. I ask my date to dance but I’m shocked and humiliated when she rejects me, stubbornly remaining in her seat, silently, for another hour. I start thinking to myself how this night could get any worse. After that agonizing hour I finally decide to leave and go home with my date and wait for the after party. So I say goodbye to all my friends who are all pissed at my date for being such bitch.
When we got back to my house we both changed our clothes and just hung out in my basement for awhile watching TV, there was nothing good on so I told her to pick a movie and am immediately regretful when she chooses Grease. Twenty minutes later I get the call I was waiting for, but unfortunately my friend TC told me this “Hey, what’s up? Yeah the party has to get cancelled the cops know about it and called my dad and said they would be monitoring the party and if any drinking was going on they would bust it” I don’t think I have ever been so mad and disappointed in my life. In a fitting end to my disaster of a day, I pop a few more pain pills and fall asleep around midnight. They say that senior prom should be one of the most memorable experiences of your time in high school, and I am positive that night will surely be a memorable one but not for the reason I had hoped.
By Aaron Gingerich
No title yet
It was three in the afternoon and I had just been released from school. A soon as I went out the door I felt my phone vibrating in my pocket. When I checked the screen to see who was calling a number I didn’t know was scrolling across the screen. I answered the phone with a confused “Hello?” to see who was calling, and I was answered by the familiar voice of Jeff, a friend of the family.
“Hey matt I just wanted to let you know that we had to take your dad to the hospital.”
“What is it?”
“The doctors think he has appendicitis.”
“Ok, I’ll have to go back to the house first then I’ll come up there.”
“Alright, your sister already knows, and she will be looking for you.”
We ended the conversation so I turned my head to look for my sister. She had already spotted me and was on her way. We walked to my car together and I let her know that I wasn’t worried because appendicitis was a common thing. So we threw or things in the backseat of my car and headed off.
At the hospital we were in the ambulatory surgery waiting room. My sister, mom, and aunt were in the secluded area of the waiting room with me. Come to find out what I thought was a common ailment was a little more. His appendix had burst and perforated his colon. His insides were a mess and he would be in surgery for a while. Jeff was on his way while I thought about the way my dad acted for the past week.
Not exatly sure how to word the body yet so this is all I have.
Matthew Graham
“Hey matt I just wanted to let you know that we had to take your dad to the hospital.”
“What is it?”
“The doctors think he has appendicitis.”
“Ok, I’ll have to go back to the house first then I’ll come up there.”
“Alright, your sister already knows, and she will be looking for you.”
We ended the conversation so I turned my head to look for my sister. She had already spotted me and was on her way. We walked to my car together and I let her know that I wasn’t worried because appendicitis was a common thing. So we threw or things in the backseat of my car and headed off.
At the hospital we were in the ambulatory surgery waiting room. My sister, mom, and aunt were in the secluded area of the waiting room with me. Come to find out what I thought was a common ailment was a little more. His appendix had burst and perforated his colon. His insides were a mess and he would be in surgery for a while. Jeff was on his way while I thought about the way my dad acted for the past week.
Not exatly sure how to word the body yet so this is all I have.
Matthew Graham
My Ozzy.
On a Tuesday night in late August, I spent the night at my Dad’s small Jerry Seinfeld apartment in Tennessee. Like many times before, my dad shows me a rough audio recording of his band, mixed just the night before. During the listening session I found myself fighting sudden aches of hunger, so acting as any needy daughter would, I got up and looked for something to eat. As I make my way through the small, groggy, living room I found myself in a maze of music equipment. Stumbling over guitars, drums heads, and huge half stack amps, I made it to the kitchen with just a stumped toe this time. I limped the rest of the way making animal like sounds. Relief finally struck when I got to the pantry. When I swung the door open, my findings were a box of saltine crackers, a can of tomato soup, two bags of Lays Chips, some cherry Koolaid packets, and a box of Jew Jew Bee’s. I closed the pantry door. Next I stepped over to the refrigerator, and its contents were no more promising: a half a pound of hamburger meat, a can of mushrooms and a gallon of 2 percent milk. I looked through the kitchen into the living room where my dad still remained in the same position on the couch listening closely to his songs booming on the speakers. I looked closer and noticed that dad looked frail, swollen and looked as though he’d been beaten. For some reason this image made me feel like crying. This kind hearted man, never got to live his dreams, my dad, the smartest man I know, trudges through each week making enough to cover only a small percentage of what he owes to this economy. I wanted to just make everything okay for him. My dad’s only problem isn’t that he wasn’t talented, but he never properly planned for life. He tells me to take his life as a lesson. Contrary to the ever so popular belief that one should set high goals, keeps optimisms and hopes strong toward their dreams, I believe that in order for one to fulfill their dreams, that they must first work hard, and for Pete’s sake have a backup plan.
During high school you would find my dad not in school, but at home playing guitar. My grandmother tried with all her might to get him on the right track. Little did she know, my dad’s grungy rock attitude feed upon his mothers bickering as motivation to question authority further. My dad spent his high school nights partying with whoever was willing. He jumped from rock bands to garage bands, and even to metal bands. Music was his only true friend, and his only legal escape. His dependency on it had become increasingly strong, and seemingly success borne.
In October of 1986 my dad met my mom at a house party in their hometown. My mom had played bass for one of the bands playing at the party. My dad had told me she sat down beside him talking to her friends. Dad said he recalls having a lot to drink that night, but not enough to be unnervous about sitting beside beautiful, talented lass. Dad said he burped obnoxiously without meaning to, and turned hot red in the face. With shame he scooted his body the other direction and let out a faint, shaky “excuse me.” He told me that this beautiful girl, now 2 feet away turned around and looked at him with a funny facial expression and said “wow that was at least an eight”. Thus starting a conversation, and creating a Mark and Jenny world, only they could enter. How romantic.
As time went by my dad grew content with life, he had the girl of his dreams, he had a band, he was unemployed, and he had talent. He was so content that he had decided to quit school.
From this point Dad settled down with a seemingly solid dedicated band. With his girl playing bass and his brother on the drums, he had no doubt in his mind that success was just around the corner. High hopes arouse when a heavy set, British gentleman promised a record deal in Nashville at one of their bar shows. For days Dad rubbed it in parents’ face, his teachers face and even some of his friends’ face.
The big night dad Dad found himself at his closet unsure of what to wear, being that he was soon to be the biggest rockstar, what better to wear a grungy flannel t-shirt and ripped up jeans. Right?
Later that night dad drove his little 1982 Toyota truck to Nashville praying that the hunk of metal would get him there and back. He prayed that there would be no rain so his equipment wouldn’t drown. He prayed for the best, that this would be the big come through. He was beginning to see the light. He started to think about the crazy things he would demand backstage before each show. He thought about where he would live. God had a different plan for him.
When he and his band arrived at the address given to him, he got out of his truck and looked around. He saw a troubled neighborhood, one that looked as if a dark cloud always hung around it, or is that rain?
He looked for a bigger building. To his surprise he found himself looking at a rundown place that looked just like a drug dealers house, but he was sure that this was his destination because a little sign out in the yard read ”Danny’s studio”. Alright! The band started to make their way up the broken pavement, and up wobbly steps to the front door. Before they could even knock they heard a weak voice say “he’s not there”. “what?” said dad as he looked in the direction from which it came from. He saw an old lady who seemed to have almost popped out of the bushes beside them. “Yes” she said, “He’s not there”. “well, where is he?” Said dad. She paused for a second and said “he went to jail for selling crack”. “Well, that’s Promising” said dad as he high stepped it off the porch, looking around for hidden cops. He got to his truck almost crying. All the way home, it rained.
Just a couple of years later, Dad’s band became tight and each of the band members became better musicians. But news from my mom made the band come to a screeching halt with the words “I’m Pregnant”. So like any young teenage guy my dad paused for the longest time and came back with the words “it’s not mine”. My grandparents listened as my mom and dad fought in the back bedroom. Two hours later my mom ran out of the room crying and dad followed soon after.
“I can’t believe you’re still worried about our stupid band” said my mom.
Only time changed my dad. As months went by, he saw my rump in mom’s belly though hard about things as they were, he turned himself around. He got his first job at sunbeam in Portland Tennessee, and worked 12 hours shifts in order to support his soon to be family. Before you knew it he was just about excited as mom was about having a little version of him running around.
On January 23, 1991, I was born to my parents during the worse time possible for them both. We all lived with my grandparents who showed the biggest amount of support. Dad loved us, mom and I soon became his life, we were all he’d ever thought about. Yet he still had a strange desire to play music, and a positive feeling that his music career wasn’t over. He yet again quits his job.
One year later, the band reunites my parents played shows at every bar in Nashville. And years following, the band changes with replacements of drummers and singers, and 2nd guitarist. In the middle of this chaos my grandparents had pretty much adopted me since mom and dad were on the road a lot.
In, 1994 my parents had made enough money to buy them a house, and placed just a few feet away from my grandparents. Though they never stayed in it, it was still theirs and not mom and dads.
After many attempts and failure my parents never grew tired of music.
In summer of 1997 my dad’s life and crumbled under his feet when he discovers my moms disfaithfullness to the guitar player in the band. With little time my dad packs up and leaves to his parent’s house. He had lost his wife, his baby girl, and he was once again broke.
It’s disheartening how life bites the nicest people in the ass. My dad turned his life over to God, he tries to see me every weekend, he has a job at the bottom of the pyramid, and he stills lives with his parents most of the time.
Music is played on the side now, only when he gets time. He plays music with people who are old enough to be his father.
Music has always helped my daddy cope, yet it tore his life apart in the end.
Haley Jones
During high school you would find my dad not in school, but at home playing guitar. My grandmother tried with all her might to get him on the right track. Little did she know, my dad’s grungy rock attitude feed upon his mothers bickering as motivation to question authority further. My dad spent his high school nights partying with whoever was willing. He jumped from rock bands to garage bands, and even to metal bands. Music was his only true friend, and his only legal escape. His dependency on it had become increasingly strong, and seemingly success borne.
In October of 1986 my dad met my mom at a house party in their hometown. My mom had played bass for one of the bands playing at the party. My dad had told me she sat down beside him talking to her friends. Dad said he recalls having a lot to drink that night, but not enough to be unnervous about sitting beside beautiful, talented lass. Dad said he burped obnoxiously without meaning to, and turned hot red in the face. With shame he scooted his body the other direction and let out a faint, shaky “excuse me.” He told me that this beautiful girl, now 2 feet away turned around and looked at him with a funny facial expression and said “wow that was at least an eight”. Thus starting a conversation, and creating a Mark and Jenny world, only they could enter. How romantic.
As time went by my dad grew content with life, he had the girl of his dreams, he had a band, he was unemployed, and he had talent. He was so content that he had decided to quit school.
From this point Dad settled down with a seemingly solid dedicated band. With his girl playing bass and his brother on the drums, he had no doubt in his mind that success was just around the corner. High hopes arouse when a heavy set, British gentleman promised a record deal in Nashville at one of their bar shows. For days Dad rubbed it in parents’ face, his teachers face and even some of his friends’ face.
The big night dad Dad found himself at his closet unsure of what to wear, being that he was soon to be the biggest rockstar, what better to wear a grungy flannel t-shirt and ripped up jeans. Right?
Later that night dad drove his little 1982 Toyota truck to Nashville praying that the hunk of metal would get him there and back. He prayed that there would be no rain so his equipment wouldn’t drown. He prayed for the best, that this would be the big come through. He was beginning to see the light. He started to think about the crazy things he would demand backstage before each show. He thought about where he would live. God had a different plan for him.
When he and his band arrived at the address given to him, he got out of his truck and looked around. He saw a troubled neighborhood, one that looked as if a dark cloud always hung around it, or is that rain?
He looked for a bigger building. To his surprise he found himself looking at a rundown place that looked just like a drug dealers house, but he was sure that this was his destination because a little sign out in the yard read ”Danny’s studio”. Alright! The band started to make their way up the broken pavement, and up wobbly steps to the front door. Before they could even knock they heard a weak voice say “he’s not there”. “what?” said dad as he looked in the direction from which it came from. He saw an old lady who seemed to have almost popped out of the bushes beside them. “Yes” she said, “He’s not there”. “well, where is he?” Said dad. She paused for a second and said “he went to jail for selling crack”. “Well, that’s Promising” said dad as he high stepped it off the porch, looking around for hidden cops. He got to his truck almost crying. All the way home, it rained.
Just a couple of years later, Dad’s band became tight and each of the band members became better musicians. But news from my mom made the band come to a screeching halt with the words “I’m Pregnant”. So like any young teenage guy my dad paused for the longest time and came back with the words “it’s not mine”. My grandparents listened as my mom and dad fought in the back bedroom. Two hours later my mom ran out of the room crying and dad followed soon after.
“I can’t believe you’re still worried about our stupid band” said my mom.
Only time changed my dad. As months went by, he saw my rump in mom’s belly though hard about things as they were, he turned himself around. He got his first job at sunbeam in Portland Tennessee, and worked 12 hours shifts in order to support his soon to be family. Before you knew it he was just about excited as mom was about having a little version of him running around.
On January 23, 1991, I was born to my parents during the worse time possible for them both. We all lived with my grandparents who showed the biggest amount of support. Dad loved us, mom and I soon became his life, we were all he’d ever thought about. Yet he still had a strange desire to play music, and a positive feeling that his music career wasn’t over. He yet again quits his job.
One year later, the band reunites my parents played shows at every bar in Nashville. And years following, the band changes with replacements of drummers and singers, and 2nd guitarist. In the middle of this chaos my grandparents had pretty much adopted me since mom and dad were on the road a lot.
In, 1994 my parents had made enough money to buy them a house, and placed just a few feet away from my grandparents. Though they never stayed in it, it was still theirs and not mom and dads.
After many attempts and failure my parents never grew tired of music.
In summer of 1997 my dad’s life and crumbled under his feet when he discovers my moms disfaithfullness to the guitar player in the band. With little time my dad packs up and leaves to his parent’s house. He had lost his wife, his baby girl, and he was once again broke.
It’s disheartening how life bites the nicest people in the ass. My dad turned his life over to God, he tries to see me every weekend, he has a job at the bottom of the pyramid, and he stills lives with his parents most of the time.
Music is played on the side now, only when he gets time. He plays music with people who are old enough to be his father.
Music has always helped my daddy cope, yet it tore his life apart in the end.
Haley Jones
The Last Time Through The Air Lock
Some of my fondest memories from high school came from my involvement in marching band. One of my favorite memories was the final marching band competition during my junior year. This was the first year that we had ever gone to the Bands of America Grand Nationals in Indianapolis, Indiana. In the world of competitive high school marching band this is the equivalent of the Super Bowl. In November bands from all over the country, some as small as sixteen members while others numbered over three hundred, compete for a national title and bragging rights for a year. Until this last year the event had taken place at the RCA Dome. This venue was unique in that the material that made up the roof of the dome was held up by air pressure and a long standing tradition at Grand Nationals is for all competing bands to pass through the “air lock” to get to the field. Though it was necessary to do this because of how the Dome was designed, it became a rite of passage for all competitors.
The day before the last performance of my junior year started early for us. We had left school at around seven o’clock the night before and had got to the motel at around one o’clock in the morning. Taking into account that the last game of the World Series was on and the usual getting settled in to a new place, no one got to bed before two thirty, and we had to be up a five for breakfast and at the practice site by seven. The day dawned cloudy with light rain, high winds, and a forecasted daily high of thirty-three degrees without the wind chill. I had the presence of mind to bring warm clothing and to dress in layers, but my friends weren’t as well prepared, and as a result morale suffered. To say practice started off badly would be putting it mildly. There were people not paying attention, not being prepared, and just not caring what they were doing. Not four days before we had just won our fourth state title and I’ll admit we all felt pretty cocky going into this competition and the first half of practice reflected this. It got to the point where our band director, Mr. Harris, called us all off the field and told us to “get it together or we were going to withdraw from the competition get back on the busses and go home.” After that little “pep talk” we started to get our act together and practice started to turn for the better.
It should be understood that while it was mostly our state of mind and our lack of energy that contributed to the morning practice going the way it did, the adverse weather conditions did play a part in it as well. One of the most prevalent difficulties we as a band faced that day as far as the weather was concerned was the temperature. Thirty-three degrees is considered cold by most people but add to that almost constantly gusting winds with light rain mingled with sleet and it becomes ten times worse. I had on several layers of warm clothes and when the wind hit me I might as well have had a tee-shirt on, there were times it seemed like the wind was going through me. We were all thankful when we broke for lunch and got the chance to warm up, and adjust our attitudes.
After a break for lunch we found a second wind and were able to turn the practice around and end the day on a high note. We all knew that if the next day’s practice went the way it did that day we wouldn’t have a prayer of holding our own in the competition.
The next morning everyone seemed to move with a purpose and practice that morning went much better than the one that took place the previous day. Even the weather seemed to cooperate with us. The biting cold and the almost constant wind gusts had been replaced by bright sunny skies and temperatures that topped out in the upper fifties. We all took this as a sign of good things to come. During the bus ride the mood was light. At one point someone started singing their part of the show and slowly everyone started joining in with their parts. With both drum majors conducting us “sang” the entire show from the first down beat to the end of the show. To this day I do not know who it was that started it, but I’m glad they did because it allowed us all to cut up a little bit and relax our nerves because going into a competition like Grand Nationals, there is no room for nerves.
Once we arrived at the Dome we went immediately into warm-ups. While the musical and physical warm-ups were important, our mental warm up is the one that meant the most to us. I cannot fully put into words the full impact that the mental warm-up had on all of us. It is something that one has to be a part of to truly understand but at the same time, have no explanation for. The closest I can come to describing what took place is the funneling of all our emotions fear, joy, pride, and a host of others into one small tightly compacted form leaving only pure focus and determination to show on our faces, in our eyes. With that ritual completed we left the warm-up area and stepped into the air lock.
The first performance seemed to take just a second, eight minutes and fifty-two seconds compressed into an instant, one second the show started and the next I was playing the last notes of the show. When I experienced this I knew at that moment that I had held nothing back and had put myself into my performance. And looking around as we walked off the field I knew that all eighty-eight of us had done the same thing. We had taken all of our emotions that we had packed away and then released them using the performance as a vehicle to convey them to the audience. The emotions written into the music mixed with those being given off by us, the performers, creating an experience that no one will ever forget.
After the run we went into the stands to await the announcement of the semi-finalist bands. Our performance marked the end of preliminaries in which ninety-four bands participated; most of them were three to four times our size. Of these bands only thirty-two would get a place in semi-semi finals and only twelve of those thirty-two would get a spot in finals. As the announcing began we all counted down until only one slot remained. The announcer paused for dramatic effect lasting only a few seconds, but to us it felt like hours. Then we heard what we had all been hoping for, we were in semi-finals.
The warm-up process repeated itself but this time there were tears in our eyes. The upcoming performance marked not only the end of our season, but the end of our senior’s involvement with the band. Young men and women who we have developed close bonds with, had less than ten minutes left in a program that they had poured their hearts and souls into for the last four years. It was also the end of an era. We had been given the honor of being the last Bands of America Grand Nationals semi-finalist band to ever pass through the air lock and take the field at the RCA Dome.
Our semi-finals run went as well as the first, but like I said there’s only room for twelve bands in finals, and Bands of America doesn’t really like bands of less than one hundred members. On the bus ride home that night when most of the others had fallen asleep I allowed myself some time for reflection. A big theme that we always pushed for was having no regrets. And looking back on the season, each competition, every practice, and even all the way back to band camp remembering the highs and the lows, chuckling to myself at the funny moments and sniffling at the sad I had a smile on my face when I fell asleep.
Arriving back at school at four thirty in the morning after a week that started out with nearly freezing to death at some random high school and ended with memories and experiences that I will never forget, I got my duffle bag and walked out to my truck in the parking lot. After tossing my stuff in the bed and climbing into the cab, I recalled what I had been thinking about on the bus. As I pulled out of the parking lot I knew that I had no regrets.
By Adam Wilck
The day before the last performance of my junior year started early for us. We had left school at around seven o’clock the night before and had got to the motel at around one o’clock in the morning. Taking into account that the last game of the World Series was on and the usual getting settled in to a new place, no one got to bed before two thirty, and we had to be up a five for breakfast and at the practice site by seven. The day dawned cloudy with light rain, high winds, and a forecasted daily high of thirty-three degrees without the wind chill. I had the presence of mind to bring warm clothing and to dress in layers, but my friends weren’t as well prepared, and as a result morale suffered. To say practice started off badly would be putting it mildly. There were people not paying attention, not being prepared, and just not caring what they were doing. Not four days before we had just won our fourth state title and I’ll admit we all felt pretty cocky going into this competition and the first half of practice reflected this. It got to the point where our band director, Mr. Harris, called us all off the field and told us to “get it together or we were going to withdraw from the competition get back on the busses and go home.” After that little “pep talk” we started to get our act together and practice started to turn for the better.
It should be understood that while it was mostly our state of mind and our lack of energy that contributed to the morning practice going the way it did, the adverse weather conditions did play a part in it as well. One of the most prevalent difficulties we as a band faced that day as far as the weather was concerned was the temperature. Thirty-three degrees is considered cold by most people but add to that almost constantly gusting winds with light rain mingled with sleet and it becomes ten times worse. I had on several layers of warm clothes and when the wind hit me I might as well have had a tee-shirt on, there were times it seemed like the wind was going through me. We were all thankful when we broke for lunch and got the chance to warm up, and adjust our attitudes.
After a break for lunch we found a second wind and were able to turn the practice around and end the day on a high note. We all knew that if the next day’s practice went the way it did that day we wouldn’t have a prayer of holding our own in the competition.
The next morning everyone seemed to move with a purpose and practice that morning went much better than the one that took place the previous day. Even the weather seemed to cooperate with us. The biting cold and the almost constant wind gusts had been replaced by bright sunny skies and temperatures that topped out in the upper fifties. We all took this as a sign of good things to come. During the bus ride the mood was light. At one point someone started singing their part of the show and slowly everyone started joining in with their parts. With both drum majors conducting us “sang” the entire show from the first down beat to the end of the show. To this day I do not know who it was that started it, but I’m glad they did because it allowed us all to cut up a little bit and relax our nerves because going into a competition like Grand Nationals, there is no room for nerves.
Once we arrived at the Dome we went immediately into warm-ups. While the musical and physical warm-ups were important, our mental warm up is the one that meant the most to us. I cannot fully put into words the full impact that the mental warm-up had on all of us. It is something that one has to be a part of to truly understand but at the same time, have no explanation for. The closest I can come to describing what took place is the funneling of all our emotions fear, joy, pride, and a host of others into one small tightly compacted form leaving only pure focus and determination to show on our faces, in our eyes. With that ritual completed we left the warm-up area and stepped into the air lock.
The first performance seemed to take just a second, eight minutes and fifty-two seconds compressed into an instant, one second the show started and the next I was playing the last notes of the show. When I experienced this I knew at that moment that I had held nothing back and had put myself into my performance. And looking around as we walked off the field I knew that all eighty-eight of us had done the same thing. We had taken all of our emotions that we had packed away and then released them using the performance as a vehicle to convey them to the audience. The emotions written into the music mixed with those being given off by us, the performers, creating an experience that no one will ever forget.
After the run we went into the stands to await the announcement of the semi-finalist bands. Our performance marked the end of preliminaries in which ninety-four bands participated; most of them were three to four times our size. Of these bands only thirty-two would get a place in semi-semi finals and only twelve of those thirty-two would get a spot in finals. As the announcing began we all counted down until only one slot remained. The announcer paused for dramatic effect lasting only a few seconds, but to us it felt like hours. Then we heard what we had all been hoping for, we were in semi-finals.
The warm-up process repeated itself but this time there were tears in our eyes. The upcoming performance marked not only the end of our season, but the end of our senior’s involvement with the band. Young men and women who we have developed close bonds with, had less than ten minutes left in a program that they had poured their hearts and souls into for the last four years. It was also the end of an era. We had been given the honor of being the last Bands of America Grand Nationals semi-finalist band to ever pass through the air lock and take the field at the RCA Dome.
Our semi-finals run went as well as the first, but like I said there’s only room for twelve bands in finals, and Bands of America doesn’t really like bands of less than one hundred members. On the bus ride home that night when most of the others had fallen asleep I allowed myself some time for reflection. A big theme that we always pushed for was having no regrets. And looking back on the season, each competition, every practice, and even all the way back to band camp remembering the highs and the lows, chuckling to myself at the funny moments and sniffling at the sad I had a smile on my face when I fell asleep.
Arriving back at school at four thirty in the morning after a week that started out with nearly freezing to death at some random high school and ended with memories and experiences that I will never forget, I got my duffle bag and walked out to my truck in the parking lot. After tossing my stuff in the bed and climbing into the cab, I recalled what I had been thinking about on the bus. As I pulled out of the parking lot I knew that I had no regrets.
By Adam Wilck
Machine Shop Disaster
Performance test was the only thing racing through my mind as I walked slowly to my CAD and CNC programming class, computer controlled machine tools, Friday afternoon. I was in no hurry for the test, but the slower the pace the more anxiety built in me. I opened the door to the class at two o’clock and was struck by the smell of oil and cutting fluid. I kept out of the way of the running machines and entered into the computer room. It looked more like a surgical operating room: clean, swept, and all the tools placed in order for the tasks of the day.
Then I placed my book bag by my computer and grabbed a piece of butter board, a block of plastic, and sat back in a chair waiting for my turn at the machine. I ran my fingers up and down the smooth yellowed butter board trying to calm myself. The mini mill, a small computer controlled mill, would only take fifteen minutes to complete the part, but it felt like an eternity sitting in front of the blank computer screen. The minute hand slowly ticked by.
After staring at the black screen, I went over the operating procedure in my head a thousand times, forwards and backwards. The machine was going to cut a rectangular journal, shave the right side of it down by two inches, and then drill four quarter inch holes in the short side. I had studied the procedure religiously the night before and asked my teacher every question about the mini mill imaginable. Still nervous, I cycled through the procedures and checked them again for accuracy, just like one of these computers in the room.
Soon as the clock read two fifteen, the teacher called for the next student. I entered the mini-mill room and heard the door close shut. A man could have heard a pin drop in the room. I was completely isolated from the entire class with the machine.
At the same time as the door shut, I swept the surgically cut pieces of butter board form the keyboard of the computer. The pieces littered the floor and air. I placed the block tightly in the vise and inserted the cutting tool into the collet (tool holding device). I opened my file on the computer and slowly pressed the go button, but the mini-mill sat there lifelessly for a moment.
“Error!” the computer shouted in bold red letters.
Immediately, I shoved my face right up to the screen to read the remark. The computer had found unreadable code in line ten. I had already checked the program but scrolled to line ten and saw the problem. Two plus signs sat at the end of the code. I had put them there by accident when I added lengths to find the origin of the part. I deleted them and went on. It was odd that marks meaning positive accomplishment were causing me trouble. The machine started again. Two twenty ticked by on the clock.
At the same time, the whistle of the cutting tool echoed through the room, and the machine hummed to life. I thought “finally success.” The arm of the mini-mill slowly moved the cutting tool in small increments towards the part. The bit began slicing the correct pattern, but it was just trimming air. The mini-mill had moved the cutting tool seven inches off the block. I slapped the emergency stop button, and scrolled through the code again, but my untrained eye found nothing wrong. I looked at the clock over my shoulder and saw two fifty, ten minutes left of class. Simple mistakes had devoured priceless time.
Meanwhile, my heart raced, and sweat rolled over my face fogging the lenses of the safety glasses. I took them off and looked at the block without the film of anxiety. With shoulders hunched, I lowered my head.
“Okay,” I thought nervously, “Let’s reset the cutting tool’s starting position.”
I carefully redid the math and set the bit back in position. The clock stated 2:55, five minutes remained of class. Again, I slowly pushed the start button.
For the second time, the machine buzzed and rapidly moved the cutting tool to the right side of the block to mill the first journal. My pride rose then suddenly fell with the mill’s next movement. The tool bite into the part like a dog on a bone and sliced through the middle of the block. I punched the emergency stop. My body was drained and limp. I stood in the mini-mill room staring at my deformed block. It was three o’clock, and class was over. I wandered out of the room with the deformed block in my hand towards the teacher’s desk.
“Finished?” he asked.
I looked him in the eye and confidently stationed my misshapen part on his desk.
By Jarad Williams
Then I placed my book bag by my computer and grabbed a piece of butter board, a block of plastic, and sat back in a chair waiting for my turn at the machine. I ran my fingers up and down the smooth yellowed butter board trying to calm myself. The mini mill, a small computer controlled mill, would only take fifteen minutes to complete the part, but it felt like an eternity sitting in front of the blank computer screen. The minute hand slowly ticked by.
After staring at the black screen, I went over the operating procedure in my head a thousand times, forwards and backwards. The machine was going to cut a rectangular journal, shave the right side of it down by two inches, and then drill four quarter inch holes in the short side. I had studied the procedure religiously the night before and asked my teacher every question about the mini mill imaginable. Still nervous, I cycled through the procedures and checked them again for accuracy, just like one of these computers in the room.
Soon as the clock read two fifteen, the teacher called for the next student. I entered the mini-mill room and heard the door close shut. A man could have heard a pin drop in the room. I was completely isolated from the entire class with the machine.
At the same time as the door shut, I swept the surgically cut pieces of butter board form the keyboard of the computer. The pieces littered the floor and air. I placed the block tightly in the vise and inserted the cutting tool into the collet (tool holding device). I opened my file on the computer and slowly pressed the go button, but the mini-mill sat there lifelessly for a moment.
“Error!” the computer shouted in bold red letters.
Immediately, I shoved my face right up to the screen to read the remark. The computer had found unreadable code in line ten. I had already checked the program but scrolled to line ten and saw the problem. Two plus signs sat at the end of the code. I had put them there by accident when I added lengths to find the origin of the part. I deleted them and went on. It was odd that marks meaning positive accomplishment were causing me trouble. The machine started again. Two twenty ticked by on the clock.
At the same time, the whistle of the cutting tool echoed through the room, and the machine hummed to life. I thought “finally success.” The arm of the mini-mill slowly moved the cutting tool in small increments towards the part. The bit began slicing the correct pattern, but it was just trimming air. The mini-mill had moved the cutting tool seven inches off the block. I slapped the emergency stop button, and scrolled through the code again, but my untrained eye found nothing wrong. I looked at the clock over my shoulder and saw two fifty, ten minutes left of class. Simple mistakes had devoured priceless time.
Meanwhile, my heart raced, and sweat rolled over my face fogging the lenses of the safety glasses. I took them off and looked at the block without the film of anxiety. With shoulders hunched, I lowered my head.
“Okay,” I thought nervously, “Let’s reset the cutting tool’s starting position.”
I carefully redid the math and set the bit back in position. The clock stated 2:55, five minutes remained of class. Again, I slowly pushed the start button.
For the second time, the machine buzzed and rapidly moved the cutting tool to the right side of the block to mill the first journal. My pride rose then suddenly fell with the mill’s next movement. The tool bite into the part like a dog on a bone and sliced through the middle of the block. I punched the emergency stop. My body was drained and limp. I stood in the mini-mill room staring at my deformed block. It was three o’clock, and class was over. I wandered out of the room with the deformed block in my hand towards the teacher’s desk.
“Finished?” he asked.
I looked him in the eye and confidently stationed my misshapen part on his desk.
By Jarad Williams
Keep Me Posted
Parents always want their kids to keep in touch with them. They want to know where their kids are and that they are safe at all times. My parents are the same way, they need to know that I am in a secure area and surrounded by either people I know or people that aren’t going to attack me. If I keep in touch with the they are in the know and feel comfortable letting me do what I want, but when they are uniformed, situations begin to spiral out of control.
After work one night, around 9:30ish, I had made plans to go out with some friends to a field party. One of those parties that I should have probably worn a good sturdy pair of and pair of shoes that I really didn’t care to see the true color of after the night was said and done. I told my dad where I was going: “to a party somewhere in West Nashville”; also that I was going to be with my best friend Matt, who, at times, I think my parents love more than me, and our go-to-guy friend Chris; therefore I’d be well protected. My dad agreed, finishing our little phone conversation with his I’m-being-a-good-parent-phrase, “you shouldn’t stay out all night”, but I took that as more of a suggestion, rather than a command; as most teenagers would. All summer I had been coming in at around 4 or 5 am, so I thought this night was not going to be an exception. After clocking out, locking up and hopping into Matt’s car we were on our way. Forty-five minutes later, after watching the darkness get darker on the way to this “party”, we came across what was said to be the entrance to the field: a space in the trees, gravel path, marked with a small American flag stuck in the ground. How patriotic. We turned in thinking that the party was going to be just around the corner, but instead we drove for about eight more minutes through what looked like scenes from Jurassic Park: a huge barn, abandoned cars, turned over boats, a couple of broken down trailers, all surrounded by intense foliage.
I said, “If we break down we’re calling 9-1-1, and no ones opening the doors to this car until day light”.
Finally we started to see cars, ones that weren’t sitting on blocks, lots of them. Once parked, we walked to the main clearing. There we found about 250 plus drunken kids, stumbling about, laughing and chattering away with friends. To the left: a huge generator in the back of a fire-truck-red Jeep Wrangler truck with a spot light shined directly at the party, and at the small bonfire, as if the heat itself wouldn’t keep the drinkers from wobbling towards it; loud speakers blasting top 40; and to the right: two huge coolers filled with a mixture of who-knows-what punch, surrounded by half empty cases of beer. We couldn’t walk ten steps without crunching on one of those all-too-familiar and way-inconspicuous red cups. It had rained almost all that week, so the ground was extremely muddy and slick. While attempting to mingle gracefully I lost a flip-flop to the brown grassy gook more than a couple times and the bottom half of the legs to my jeans were soaked all the way through. Oh, the outfits we ruin to be able to say, “We were there”. After a couple cups of the bitter red juice, I was definitely networking my way to the top of the party, too bad I wouldn’t remember anyone’s name I shook hands with. I met a couple of Vandy kids, some from UT Knoxville, Chattanooga, some from Brentwood and Franklin, and some were just too drunk to function and could barely state their names.
After stumbling and stuttering a tad myself we decided the party was dying down and that it’d be a really great idea if we headed out before some of the other dizzy kids decided to try their luck at escaping the jungle. Matt, being the only sober one, was our driver. With Chris in the back-seat, and I riding shotgun we were off over the rocky bumps and slushy turns, back through entrance of Wrong Turn to Dead End; luckily escaping any run-ins with inbreeds and the sound of banjo music. On the long ride back to civilization, I wore Matt’s sunglasses while we all tried a butchered attempt at a Jackson Five song. I remembered that my phone had died earlier at the party, I think I remember something about Matt’s dying too. Oh well, I thought, as long as my parents knew I was with Matt then I didn’t think they’d care. We dropped Chris off, and decided to just leave my car at the studio where I worked; I’d get it tomorrow, since I was working again. We then went to Matt’s house, where I guess we thought we would sit out my intoxication. We turned on Law and Order SVU, our favorite show, and that was the last thing I remember.
I pulled my eyes open as a very pale blue peeked through the window. Oh my God. It was morning; I must have fallen asleep on the floor. I felt my face grow hot, my heart pumping faster, my ears rang, and a vein pulsated in my temple. I jerked up and ran over to the chair where Matt was sprawled on, his head hanging slightly. I shook him and yelled.
“It’s morning! Oh my God, my parents are going to kill me; they’re going to kill us both! We have to get back to my car!” He started to move, but I was already waiting to go. My phone was still dead, no telling how many times my dad had probably tried to reach me; and with Matt’s phone dead too; oh God, this could not end well. We rushed to the studio to get my car; I was definitely more than awake and aware enough to operate a vehicle. In our separate cars we both rushed to the end of the parking lot. It was times like these where I truly wish my car could teleport. I was half way home before I realized my music was on, but when I did I immediately shut it off; I felt even more nervous with it playing the songs from last night. When I pulled into my driveway I half expected to just be able to just sneak in through the garage and my parents to still be asleep, but I was horrified to see my that my dad’s car was missing. Was he out looking for me? Could this get any worse? I turned my key in the lock to open the door and then walked through the threshold of doom. I heard my mom upstairs give a loud huff. She walked to the top of the stairs and glared down at me, saying nothing, and then finally,
“I don’t think you know how much trouble you’re in. You’re father has been trying to get a-hold of you on the phone since 3am, and he’s been out looking for you since four.”
Oh shit. It was six now. I ran into the kitchen there my phone charger lay on the table; I plugged in my phone and turned it on. Oh no. Seven texts, 23 missed calls, and 2 voicemails! My life was officially over. My phone started to vibrate in my hand. It was Matt.
“Yeah?”
“I just passed your dad on Cloverland; he looks pissed.”
“Awesome! Thanks for the good news. I’ll call you back after the beating.”
I hung up as I heard the front door open, then I felt my lungs depress and my stomach bottom out. Here it comes, the yelling, the screaming, the total imprisonment for the rest of the summer and maybe even my life, goodbye world, hello Alcatraz. Then I saw my dad walk in the kitchen. He did look really mad, good call Matt.
“Have you lost your mind? What the hell were you thinking? Your mother has been crying all morning, she’s sick to her stomach. We thought you had been abducted, Sinclair. I went to the studio and saw your car, but you weren’t there. I drove to Matt’s and his car was there, but there were no lights on in his house. I was on my way back there to beat down his door and get him to tell me where he thought you might be. I was about to call the police. We thought you were dead somewhere.”
I stood there just listening to him, I didn’t say anything. Then something weird happened: He came up to me and gave me a hug.
“We didn’t know where you were, your phone was off, and we had no idea what happened to you,” he said still holding me. “We want to know where you are.”
Then I realized that, even though I was still in major trouble, it wasn’t that I was just getting yelled at for doing something stupid. My dad was just glad to know that I was safe. If I had called to tell him where I was none of this would have happened. If I had just kept in touch with them like they wanted, I wouldn’t be in the trouble I was in. From then on, I was going to always have my phone charger with me and always let my dad know where I was. For the rest of the summer I had better be in that house at or before 11:59 pm, from then on I would always always always keep them posted.
by sinclair dotson
After work one night, around 9:30ish, I had made plans to go out with some friends to a field party. One of those parties that I should have probably worn a good sturdy pair of and pair of shoes that I really didn’t care to see the true color of after the night was said and done. I told my dad where I was going: “to a party somewhere in West Nashville”; also that I was going to be with my best friend Matt, who, at times, I think my parents love more than me, and our go-to-guy friend Chris; therefore I’d be well protected. My dad agreed, finishing our little phone conversation with his I’m-being-a-good-parent-phrase, “you shouldn’t stay out all night”, but I took that as more of a suggestion, rather than a command; as most teenagers would. All summer I had been coming in at around 4 or 5 am, so I thought this night was not going to be an exception. After clocking out, locking up and hopping into Matt’s car we were on our way. Forty-five minutes later, after watching the darkness get darker on the way to this “party”, we came across what was said to be the entrance to the field: a space in the trees, gravel path, marked with a small American flag stuck in the ground. How patriotic. We turned in thinking that the party was going to be just around the corner, but instead we drove for about eight more minutes through what looked like scenes from Jurassic Park: a huge barn, abandoned cars, turned over boats, a couple of broken down trailers, all surrounded by intense foliage.
I said, “If we break down we’re calling 9-1-1, and no ones opening the doors to this car until day light”.
Finally we started to see cars, ones that weren’t sitting on blocks, lots of them. Once parked, we walked to the main clearing. There we found about 250 plus drunken kids, stumbling about, laughing and chattering away with friends. To the left: a huge generator in the back of a fire-truck-red Jeep Wrangler truck with a spot light shined directly at the party, and at the small bonfire, as if the heat itself wouldn’t keep the drinkers from wobbling towards it; loud speakers blasting top 40; and to the right: two huge coolers filled with a mixture of who-knows-what punch, surrounded by half empty cases of beer. We couldn’t walk ten steps without crunching on one of those all-too-familiar and way-inconspicuous red cups. It had rained almost all that week, so the ground was extremely muddy and slick. While attempting to mingle gracefully I lost a flip-flop to the brown grassy gook more than a couple times and the bottom half of the legs to my jeans were soaked all the way through. Oh, the outfits we ruin to be able to say, “We were there”. After a couple cups of the bitter red juice, I was definitely networking my way to the top of the party, too bad I wouldn’t remember anyone’s name I shook hands with. I met a couple of Vandy kids, some from UT Knoxville, Chattanooga, some from Brentwood and Franklin, and some were just too drunk to function and could barely state their names.
After stumbling and stuttering a tad myself we decided the party was dying down and that it’d be a really great idea if we headed out before some of the other dizzy kids decided to try their luck at escaping the jungle. Matt, being the only sober one, was our driver. With Chris in the back-seat, and I riding shotgun we were off over the rocky bumps and slushy turns, back through entrance of Wrong Turn to Dead End; luckily escaping any run-ins with inbreeds and the sound of banjo music. On the long ride back to civilization, I wore Matt’s sunglasses while we all tried a butchered attempt at a Jackson Five song. I remembered that my phone had died earlier at the party, I think I remember something about Matt’s dying too. Oh well, I thought, as long as my parents knew I was with Matt then I didn’t think they’d care. We dropped Chris off, and decided to just leave my car at the studio where I worked; I’d get it tomorrow, since I was working again. We then went to Matt’s house, where I guess we thought we would sit out my intoxication. We turned on Law and Order SVU, our favorite show, and that was the last thing I remember.
I pulled my eyes open as a very pale blue peeked through the window. Oh my God. It was morning; I must have fallen asleep on the floor. I felt my face grow hot, my heart pumping faster, my ears rang, and a vein pulsated in my temple. I jerked up and ran over to the chair where Matt was sprawled on, his head hanging slightly. I shook him and yelled.
“It’s morning! Oh my God, my parents are going to kill me; they’re going to kill us both! We have to get back to my car!” He started to move, but I was already waiting to go. My phone was still dead, no telling how many times my dad had probably tried to reach me; and with Matt’s phone dead too; oh God, this could not end well. We rushed to the studio to get my car; I was definitely more than awake and aware enough to operate a vehicle. In our separate cars we both rushed to the end of the parking lot. It was times like these where I truly wish my car could teleport. I was half way home before I realized my music was on, but when I did I immediately shut it off; I felt even more nervous with it playing the songs from last night. When I pulled into my driveway I half expected to just be able to just sneak in through the garage and my parents to still be asleep, but I was horrified to see my that my dad’s car was missing. Was he out looking for me? Could this get any worse? I turned my key in the lock to open the door and then walked through the threshold of doom. I heard my mom upstairs give a loud huff. She walked to the top of the stairs and glared down at me, saying nothing, and then finally,
“I don’t think you know how much trouble you’re in. You’re father has been trying to get a-hold of you on the phone since 3am, and he’s been out looking for you since four.”
Oh shit. It was six now. I ran into the kitchen there my phone charger lay on the table; I plugged in my phone and turned it on. Oh no. Seven texts, 23 missed calls, and 2 voicemails! My life was officially over. My phone started to vibrate in my hand. It was Matt.
“Yeah?”
“I just passed your dad on Cloverland; he looks pissed.”
“Awesome! Thanks for the good news. I’ll call you back after the beating.”
I hung up as I heard the front door open, then I felt my lungs depress and my stomach bottom out. Here it comes, the yelling, the screaming, the total imprisonment for the rest of the summer and maybe even my life, goodbye world, hello Alcatraz. Then I saw my dad walk in the kitchen. He did look really mad, good call Matt.
“Have you lost your mind? What the hell were you thinking? Your mother has been crying all morning, she’s sick to her stomach. We thought you had been abducted, Sinclair. I went to the studio and saw your car, but you weren’t there. I drove to Matt’s and his car was there, but there were no lights on in his house. I was on my way back there to beat down his door and get him to tell me where he thought you might be. I was about to call the police. We thought you were dead somewhere.”
I stood there just listening to him, I didn’t say anything. Then something weird happened: He came up to me and gave me a hug.
“We didn’t know where you were, your phone was off, and we had no idea what happened to you,” he said still holding me. “We want to know where you are.”
Then I realized that, even though I was still in major trouble, it wasn’t that I was just getting yelled at for doing something stupid. My dad was just glad to know that I was safe. If I had called to tell him where I was none of this would have happened. If I had just kept in touch with them like they wanted, I wouldn’t be in the trouble I was in. From then on, I was going to always have my phone charger with me and always let my dad know where I was. For the rest of the summer I had better be in that house at or before 11:59 pm, from then on I would always always always keep them posted.
by sinclair dotson
Monday, September 28, 2009
Living With The Regret
Lacey Hutchison
Professor McCaffrey
ENG 100
October 6, 2009
As the song Watching Airplanes by Jason Aldean was playing on my voicemail, my eyes started tearing up because I knew it was Jamie. We were fighting once again. I couldn’t keep going back and forth with him. Either we were together or not. But, we could never make up our minds to be apart. We were never happy apart. So, these fights always ended happily together. A week of contemplation went on.
On October 8th, a week later, I was sitting in a Glasgow High School cheerleading meeting discussing nationals. The meeting started at 5:30 pm and was suppose to be over an hour later. Of course it was now 6:50. We were finally leaving. Saying my goodbyes my phone was receiving call after call, but I kept pushing the ignore button. That conversation could wait.
Obviously, Brittni needed to talk to me because she called my moms phone when we were on our way home. I was driving down the road and I could hear Brittni crying on the other side of the phone. Mom handed me the phone because she couldn’t understand her. Being as close as sisters I could usually make her sentences out. Putting the pieces together, I heard her say car wreck, Jamie, and not making it. Enough was said. My stomach dropped. Tears started flooding my eyes. I lost it. Pulling into the house, I was numb. I couldn’t breathe. I didn’t have the strength to walk. I couldn’t think of what I needed to do. I couldn’t function. My step dad had to remove me from the car and place me on the couch. I laid there mute with tears rolling down my face. The only thoughts were this couldn’t be true, and I had to get to him.
Moving me back to the car, now in the back seat, I had to be at the hospital. I was reciting everything in my head and what needed to be said. (Jamie you are everything I want and more. You are my first, true, and only love. I couldn’t imagine being without you.) As we were pulling up to the hospital I felt like I saw the whole town of Glasgow standing around just waiting for answers. I just wanted to hear that he was alive. He couldn’t leave me with a little fight. It was so stupid and pointless. I just wanted to be hardheaded. But now in my situation I am trying to remember the point of being hardheaded. I walked through the double doors of horror to find Momma Sue, Papa Jack, and Jackie. Nothing could ever explain the dismay I saw in their teary eyed faces with the sounds of hysterical screams. The coroner was standing outside of his room. I wanted reasons, answers, and explanations. I wanted to know why my Jamie wasn’t here with me to help me through this like he always had. Trying to pull myself together, the coroner starts to tell me that two guys called in…
“One driver swerved to miss the impact. Jamie swerved the opposite. At that very moment, the wheel was taken over, unfortunately not by his hands. Jamie’s vehicle began a series of flips and turns. While the vehicle was crashing in on him, he was thrown out and forced onto the ground. When his body skidded across asphalt, and tumbled through the grass it made it hard to recognize his facial area. From all the flips in the vehicle, then being ejected from the vehicle, it had crushed his skull. He didn’t have a chance at life.” Jamie was demolished finally after the world stopped turning around him. The coroner pronounced Jamie Adams dead on scene at 6:36pm on October 8th, 2007.
Once again in tears, I didn’t know where to begin. In less than a two hour period I saw my whole life crumble before me. This all came about over an unconscious fight. Five years of my life just disappeared in an instant. The thought of that stupid fight just kept flashing in my head. The thought of never being able to take that fight back. Life was short and taken so soon. Now, two years later, I still live with the memories, the hurt, and the regret.
Lacey Hutchison
Professor McCaffrey
ENG 100
October 6, 2009
As the song Watching Airplanes by Jason Aldean was playing on my voicemail, my eyes started tearing up because I knew it was Jamie. We were fighting once again. I couldn’t keep going back and forth with him. Either we were together or not. But, we could never make up our minds to be apart. We were never happy apart. So, these fights always ended happily together. A week of contemplation went on.
On October 8th, a week later, I was sitting in a Glasgow High School cheerleading meeting discussing nationals. The meeting started at 5:30 pm and was suppose to be over an hour later. Of course it was now 6:50. We were finally leaving. Saying my goodbyes my phone was receiving call after call, but I kept pushing the ignore button. That conversation could wait.
Obviously, Brittni needed to talk to me because she called my moms phone when we were on our way home. I was driving down the road and I could hear Brittni crying on the other side of the phone. Mom handed me the phone because she couldn’t understand her. Being as close as sisters I could usually make her sentences out. Putting the pieces together, I heard her say car wreck, Jamie, and not making it. Enough was said. My stomach dropped. Tears started flooding my eyes. I lost it. Pulling into the house, I was numb. I couldn’t breathe. I didn’t have the strength to walk. I couldn’t think of what I needed to do. I couldn’t function. My step dad had to remove me from the car and place me on the couch. I laid there mute with tears rolling down my face. The only thoughts were this couldn’t be true, and I had to get to him.
Moving me back to the car, now in the back seat, I had to be at the hospital. I was reciting everything in my head and what needed to be said. (Jamie you are everything I want and more. You are my first, true, and only love. I couldn’t imagine being without you.) As we were pulling up to the hospital I felt like I saw the whole town of Glasgow standing around just waiting for answers. I just wanted to hear that he was alive. He couldn’t leave me with a little fight. It was so stupid and pointless. I just wanted to be hardheaded. But now in my situation I am trying to remember the point of being hardheaded. I walked through the double doors of horror to find Momma Sue, Papa Jack, and Jackie. Nothing could ever explain the dismay I saw in their teary eyed faces with the sounds of hysterical screams. The coroner was standing outside of his room. I wanted reasons, answers, and explanations. I wanted to know why my Jamie wasn’t here with me to help me through this like he always had. Trying to pull myself together, the coroner starts to tell me that two guys called in…
“One driver swerved to miss the impact. Jamie swerved the opposite. At that very moment, the wheel was taken over, unfortunately not by his hands. Jamie’s vehicle began a series of flips and turns. While the vehicle was crashing in on him, he was thrown out and forced onto the ground. When his body skidded across asphalt, and tumbled through the grass it made it hard to recognize his facial area. From all the flips in the vehicle, then being ejected from the vehicle, it had crushed his skull. He didn’t have a chance at life.” Jamie was demolished finally after the world stopped turning around him. The coroner pronounced Jamie Adams dead on scene at 6:36pm on October 8th, 2007.
Once again in tears, I didn’t know where to begin. In less than a two hour period I saw my whole life crumble before me. This all came about over an unconscious fight. Five years of my life just disappeared in an instant. The thought of that stupid fight just kept flashing in my head. The thought of never being able to take that fight back. Life was short and taken so soon. Now, two years later, I still live with the memories, the hurt, and the regret.
Lacey Hutchison
Pessimism at its Finest
My second semester of senior year was a bit of a joke. My first block, I aided for a gym teacher who had a free period first block. Meaning I could come in late and when I did get there, I could watch sports center for an hour and a half. My second class of the day was a cooking class in which participation was the grade. My third class of the day was basically a student run psychology class where we could virtually talk the teacher out of giving us any work whatsoever, and my last class of the day was my only "real" class, and unfortunately was calculus.
On thursday I received an unusually large amount of homework one night and decided to put it off until my free hour and a half at the beginning of the day the following morning. There was my first mistake. I stroll into the gym the next day only to find out that there is a school wide assembly going on and was scheduled to take up all of first block. No problem, I think to myself, I'll just do it during second block. Wrong. I forgot we were cooking a big meal for one of our exams that day, which also took up the whole block. Now onto psychology where, first thing, my teacher collects the writing assignment that we were supposed to do last night. Needless to say, I didn't have it. So now, over the weekend, I had to finish the assignment that was due, and do ANOTHER one due to the fact that I didn't turn the first one in on time. Awesome. Now onto calculus where, again, my teacher collects homework first thing. I get a zero on the assignment and she proceeds to pass out tests from last week, which I found out that I failed. After receiving the tests, she gives us a new one to take. I didn't know this at the time, but I would end up failing that one as well. Now so far my day has consisted of a plethora of late grades on homework and two failing test grades. And I haven't even been to wrestling practice yet...
Now that you've seen my day through the school aspect, I'll walk you through my day through a wrestling perspective. The first thing that hits me this morning, and every morning, is the hunger. The last thing I ate was a granola bar at 8pm the night before. I get to have two pieces of bread for breakfast today, which needless to say, does absolutely nothing to help my hunger. All day I am hungry and dehydrated and tired and keep losing the little focus I have. At lunch, I'm forced to sit and watch my friends eat from the taco bar, which is absolutely superb by the way, while I eat my canned chicken and an apple.
Finally, school lets out and it's time to go to wrestling practice. I wrestle in 171 pound weight class, meaning that on saturday morning I have to weigh 171 pounds exactly or less in order to be qualified for the tournament. It's kind of an unspoken rule that if you don't make weight, coach beats your ass in practice the following week, and let's just say you never miss weight again. So before practice, I weigh myself hoping to see maybe 174 or 175 pop up on the red and black digital screen. When I saw the number, my stomach dropped. I weighed in before practice at a staggering 178.2 pounds. My coach peeks as the scale and just laughs. I had to lose 7.2 pounds before the following morning. Man, this day just keeps getting better and better. I layer myself in sweats and start running before practice begins. Then, a two hour practice ensues, and I stay after for about forty-five minutes and jumprope non-stop. When I'm done jump roping, I just lay down on the mat. I'm pretty sure I was paralyzed for a couple minutes. I had been running on empty all day and was ready to quit wrestling and school forever. As I was looking up at the fluorescent lights, I was wondering why I put myself through all this, and if it was worth it. I strip down and walk slowly over to the scale. 171.2. Good enough for me, I'll lose two pounds in my sleep.
I have can of chicken and a small glass of water for dinner, and as I'm laying in bed, pondering the universe, thinking about the fact that I have to wake up at five the next morning, I realized that the best thing that happened today was that I was only .2 pounds overweight at the end of wrestling practice, what a shitty day...
By Kyle Knight
To Have Loved and Lost
It was the day I had been looking forward to yet seriously dreading for the past few months. I honestly don’t really remember that day very well. I’m not sure what I did, ate, or anything of that matter. That night, on the other hand, is very vivid in my mind.
I had plans to hang out with the guy I had been seeing for the past nine months. The doorbell rang three minutes before he said he would be there, but I was ready and excited about our evening out together. I smiled as I opened the door to see his beautiful face and looked into his gorgeous green eyes. He hugged me and came in and talked to my parents for a few minutes even though I was ready to leave and have some alone time.
“It was the polite thing to do,” he said.
Finally, it was time to leave. He opened the light blue Cadillac CTS passenger door, and I climbed in. We went to a nice restaurant called The Winter Garden, and sat down to a candle lit dinner. We hadn’t actually been out to do something nice on our own in a while, and it was nice to be “alone together” even though we were in a restaurant with several other people. Our waiter came to take our order and even though my date could have told him exactly what I wanted, he let me order a water and shrimp alfredo and just smiled as if to say, “you’re so predictable” since I always ordered some kind of alfredo. He ordered water, which was predictable, and chicken alfredo which I would have never guessed since he always changed up what he ordered. He wasn’t nearly as predictable as I was, but in my opinion that was part of the reason our relationship worked as well as it did. He kept me on my toes, and I loved it.
Our food came out as the live band started to play music. Halfway through our dinner a slow song came on, and he asked me to dance. We had never danced together, not once in the entire nine months that we were together. As the band played “For the Good Times” we danced, and I gazed into his soft eyes and realized that in that moment I was happier than I could ever remember being. I wanted to freeze time and spend forever in that moment, but I knew I couldn’t do that, and it hurt because I also knew that I wouldn’t have another moment like the one I was having for a long time.
The next morning I was supposed to be leaving for college nine hours away, and I had no clue what would happen to us after I left. Would we try to make things work or would we grow apart and never speak to each other again? I forced those thoughts out of my mind as we shared the most amazing chocolate cheesecake and an order of delicious tiramisu, which I had never tried before. As the desserts melted in my mouth, I made sure I didn’t think about the negative things. On my last night at home, all I wanted to do was be happy with this amazing man that I had only one more guaranteed night with.
Time flew by, and before I knew it, it was time for me to go home. He drove me home and when we arrived there he came into the house with me. After making our presence known so my parents wouldn’t worry, we sat on the couch hand in hand watching House, one of our favorite shows to watch together. We sat there for what seemed like an extremely short period of time and all too soon he said, “I need to be going. You have to drive a long way tomorrow, and you need to get some sleep so you won’t be tired.” I didn’t want to let him go, but we walked out onto the screened-in front porch of my house anyway. As he went to leave I asked him to stay with me for a little while longer. I practically begged him to stay until uncontrollable tears fell from my eyes. I felt as though I was having to say goodbye forever, and my heart was breaking into a trillion tiny pieces. It was the most horrific feeling ever. I hated watching him leave even when I knew I’d see him the next day, but this feeling, the uncertainty of whether or not I’d ever see him again, was unbearable. I stood there pulled into his chest, and cried on his shoulder as he held me tight.
I continually tried to stop the sobs and repeatedly failed. After what seemed like an eternity of crying, the man of my dreams took me inside and put me into my bed. I continued to ball my eyes out as I lay in my bed. He stood at my bedside, and his presence was enough for me. It was all I really wanted.
It had been nine months since the start of our relationship, nine long yet amazingly short months, and things weren’t supposed to be the way they were in that moment.
“I wasn’t supposed to be able to fall in love with you!” I said through tears as my voice cracked. “I wasn’t supposed to be able to fall in love with you.”
I wasn’t supposed to, but I did and the pain of the doubt that things would ever be the same was excruciating as I sobbed. He had been standing there at my bedside for what seemed like at least an hour. He promised to come see me in the morning before I left, and I could finally control my tears. There was at least one more time for me to see him and be held in his muscular arms as he hugged me. One more guarantee of slight happiness.He and I talked for a little while longer, and he kissed me goodbye for the night.
The night seemed to pass by extremely slowly. I tossed and turned in bed trying to get some sleep, but I couldn’t succeed at the task. Everything was going through my mind. There were so many uncertainties, and so much to wonder. What would the future hold for me? I had no idea, and I was like a small child trapped in a nightmare—helpless and afraid.
I finally fell asleep, and the morning arrived very shortly afterwards. The love of my life arrived at my house as he said he would to see me off. The two of us sat down in the dining room with my parents and my fourteen-year-old sister. We all discussed my future, and they all seemed assured that I would do great at Western Kentucky University, the place I had signed myself away to when I accepted my softball scholarship. The only thing I was certain of on the other hand was the fact that I would miss every single person sitting in that room with me.
It was time to leave even though I didn’t want to go quite yet. We walked out to the front yard. My little packed Scion tC sat in the driveway awaiting my departure. As I received the last kiss from the most amazing man that I would ever be sure of, I desperately wanted to stay and not leave for college, but I knew that I had to leave otherwise I would regret it.
“I meant everything I said last night,” I told him.
“I did too,” he said.
“I don’t like the ‘L’ word,” I said. “It scares me.”
“I don’t like it either. It’s ok.”
“Well, I ‘L’ word you,” I said with a grin.
“And I heart you,” he told me with a smile which made me grin even harder.
We both laughed at the childish comments that were made, and it felt good to laugh in the last moments of being with him. Neither of us wanted to cry so it definitely beat that.
I climbed in my Scion and drove away, leaving behind the only man that I have ever loved besides my father, and although it felt so wrong, it didn’t seem that awful. There seemed to be some hope for the two of us and even a little more hope for my future. I had never believed in a love so strong that it would last through anything, but in that moment, whether it was out of pure desire for something like that fairytale ending or something else, I felt as though there was such a thing as true love always.
Nine hours later I arrived at the Western Kentucky University campus. It was where I would be for the next four years. It was my new home, and surprisingly I liked it even more this time than the last two times I visited. I settled into my room, getting everything unpacked, and met my roommate who was also a softball player. Some of the other freshman girls on the softball team were also on our floor. I met them all, and somehow, by pure luck I guess, we all got along well. It was really nice because now I at least somewhat knew some people.
The next week, Master Plan week, was fun. It was the week before classes started when a majority of the incoming freshmen came in to meet new people and get to know the campus. I met a ridiculous amount of people that week, and every one of them was kind and welcoming. I met all the girls on my floor that week, and made some friends that would last forever. Western was a place that I was starting to feel comfortable in, and I enjoyed that comfort as much as I was starting to enjoy the school.
It’s been about a month and a half, and I’m still here at Western. Even though at times I wish I was home with my family and the most amazing man I’ve ever known, I can’t imagine myself anywhere else. I find myself enjoying my time here rather than disliking it more every day. I’m chasing my dream of playing Division I softball, and I’m glad none of the people I love asked me to give that up for them. I still keep in touch with all of them even though it’s hard to do sometimes because of my crazy schedule, but every time I talk to them it brightens my day and gives me hope for the next. I keep taking it one day at a time, and although I still don’t know what my future holds, I do know that no matter what, the people I love will always be there to support me.
by:Kimi Wagner
I had plans to hang out with the guy I had been seeing for the past nine months. The doorbell rang three minutes before he said he would be there, but I was ready and excited about our evening out together. I smiled as I opened the door to see his beautiful face and looked into his gorgeous green eyes. He hugged me and came in and talked to my parents for a few minutes even though I was ready to leave and have some alone time.
“It was the polite thing to do,” he said.
Finally, it was time to leave. He opened the light blue Cadillac CTS passenger door, and I climbed in. We went to a nice restaurant called The Winter Garden, and sat down to a candle lit dinner. We hadn’t actually been out to do something nice on our own in a while, and it was nice to be “alone together” even though we were in a restaurant with several other people. Our waiter came to take our order and even though my date could have told him exactly what I wanted, he let me order a water and shrimp alfredo and just smiled as if to say, “you’re so predictable” since I always ordered some kind of alfredo. He ordered water, which was predictable, and chicken alfredo which I would have never guessed since he always changed up what he ordered. He wasn’t nearly as predictable as I was, but in my opinion that was part of the reason our relationship worked as well as it did. He kept me on my toes, and I loved it.
Our food came out as the live band started to play music. Halfway through our dinner a slow song came on, and he asked me to dance. We had never danced together, not once in the entire nine months that we were together. As the band played “For the Good Times” we danced, and I gazed into his soft eyes and realized that in that moment I was happier than I could ever remember being. I wanted to freeze time and spend forever in that moment, but I knew I couldn’t do that, and it hurt because I also knew that I wouldn’t have another moment like the one I was having for a long time.
The next morning I was supposed to be leaving for college nine hours away, and I had no clue what would happen to us after I left. Would we try to make things work or would we grow apart and never speak to each other again? I forced those thoughts out of my mind as we shared the most amazing chocolate cheesecake and an order of delicious tiramisu, which I had never tried before. As the desserts melted in my mouth, I made sure I didn’t think about the negative things. On my last night at home, all I wanted to do was be happy with this amazing man that I had only one more guaranteed night with.
Time flew by, and before I knew it, it was time for me to go home. He drove me home and when we arrived there he came into the house with me. After making our presence known so my parents wouldn’t worry, we sat on the couch hand in hand watching House, one of our favorite shows to watch together. We sat there for what seemed like an extremely short period of time and all too soon he said, “I need to be going. You have to drive a long way tomorrow, and you need to get some sleep so you won’t be tired.” I didn’t want to let him go, but we walked out onto the screened-in front porch of my house anyway. As he went to leave I asked him to stay with me for a little while longer. I practically begged him to stay until uncontrollable tears fell from my eyes. I felt as though I was having to say goodbye forever, and my heart was breaking into a trillion tiny pieces. It was the most horrific feeling ever. I hated watching him leave even when I knew I’d see him the next day, but this feeling, the uncertainty of whether or not I’d ever see him again, was unbearable. I stood there pulled into his chest, and cried on his shoulder as he held me tight.
I continually tried to stop the sobs and repeatedly failed. After what seemed like an eternity of crying, the man of my dreams took me inside and put me into my bed. I continued to ball my eyes out as I lay in my bed. He stood at my bedside, and his presence was enough for me. It was all I really wanted.
It had been nine months since the start of our relationship, nine long yet amazingly short months, and things weren’t supposed to be the way they were in that moment.
“I wasn’t supposed to be able to fall in love with you!” I said through tears as my voice cracked. “I wasn’t supposed to be able to fall in love with you.”
I wasn’t supposed to, but I did and the pain of the doubt that things would ever be the same was excruciating as I sobbed. He had been standing there at my bedside for what seemed like at least an hour. He promised to come see me in the morning before I left, and I could finally control my tears. There was at least one more time for me to see him and be held in his muscular arms as he hugged me. One more guarantee of slight happiness.He and I talked for a little while longer, and he kissed me goodbye for the night.
The night seemed to pass by extremely slowly. I tossed and turned in bed trying to get some sleep, but I couldn’t succeed at the task. Everything was going through my mind. There were so many uncertainties, and so much to wonder. What would the future hold for me? I had no idea, and I was like a small child trapped in a nightmare—helpless and afraid.
I finally fell asleep, and the morning arrived very shortly afterwards. The love of my life arrived at my house as he said he would to see me off. The two of us sat down in the dining room with my parents and my fourteen-year-old sister. We all discussed my future, and they all seemed assured that I would do great at Western Kentucky University, the place I had signed myself away to when I accepted my softball scholarship. The only thing I was certain of on the other hand was the fact that I would miss every single person sitting in that room with me.
It was time to leave even though I didn’t want to go quite yet. We walked out to the front yard. My little packed Scion tC sat in the driveway awaiting my departure. As I received the last kiss from the most amazing man that I would ever be sure of, I desperately wanted to stay and not leave for college, but I knew that I had to leave otherwise I would regret it.
“I meant everything I said last night,” I told him.
“I did too,” he said.
“I don’t like the ‘L’ word,” I said. “It scares me.”
“I don’t like it either. It’s ok.”
“Well, I ‘L’ word you,” I said with a grin.
“And I heart you,” he told me with a smile which made me grin even harder.
We both laughed at the childish comments that were made, and it felt good to laugh in the last moments of being with him. Neither of us wanted to cry so it definitely beat that.
I climbed in my Scion and drove away, leaving behind the only man that I have ever loved besides my father, and although it felt so wrong, it didn’t seem that awful. There seemed to be some hope for the two of us and even a little more hope for my future. I had never believed in a love so strong that it would last through anything, but in that moment, whether it was out of pure desire for something like that fairytale ending or something else, I felt as though there was such a thing as true love always.
Nine hours later I arrived at the Western Kentucky University campus. It was where I would be for the next four years. It was my new home, and surprisingly I liked it even more this time than the last two times I visited. I settled into my room, getting everything unpacked, and met my roommate who was also a softball player. Some of the other freshman girls on the softball team were also on our floor. I met them all, and somehow, by pure luck I guess, we all got along well. It was really nice because now I at least somewhat knew some people.
The next week, Master Plan week, was fun. It was the week before classes started when a majority of the incoming freshmen came in to meet new people and get to know the campus. I met a ridiculous amount of people that week, and every one of them was kind and welcoming. I met all the girls on my floor that week, and made some friends that would last forever. Western was a place that I was starting to feel comfortable in, and I enjoyed that comfort as much as I was starting to enjoy the school.
It’s been about a month and a half, and I’m still here at Western. Even though at times I wish I was home with my family and the most amazing man I’ve ever known, I can’t imagine myself anywhere else. I find myself enjoying my time here rather than disliking it more every day. I’m chasing my dream of playing Division I softball, and I’m glad none of the people I love asked me to give that up for them. I still keep in touch with all of them even though it’s hard to do sometimes because of my crazy schedule, but every time I talk to them it brightens my day and gives me hope for the next. I keep taking it one day at a time, and although I still don’t know what my future holds, I do know that no matter what, the people I love will always be there to support me.
by:Kimi Wagner
Legally Wrong
It was the spring break of my senior year and I was so excited for the week ahead of me. I had been working so hard in school that I was ready for a break and I was definitely ready for some fun. My friends and I knew that this had to be the best spring break ever because it was our last one of high school.
Monday rolled around; the first official day of break. I picked up my two friends Krissy and Kate and we headed to Starbucks to make plans for the day. It was a beautiful sunny day in Cincinnati, Ohio and my friends and I were probably the happiest girls in Starbucks that early afternoon. We decided that even though we didn’t have very much money we would go to the mall and look around anyways.
The first store we went to was Dillards. As we entered the store we passed the shiny merchandise and went to the escalators. We headed to the second floor, which was the juniors department. The second floor of Dillards had become our new favorite place because we had shopped there for several occasions that year. We began picking up silky shirts and beautiful spring dresses. Even though we knew we couldn’t afford them we still wanted to experience the fun of seeing what we looked like in them. After gathering several articles of clothing my friends and I headed back to the dressing room.
Torturing ourselves, we stood and admired the beautiful clothes that were on our bodies. I had on the prettiest white silk shirt that was held up around my neck by a silver chain. Krissy had on a lacey tank top with the perfect flowing skirt to match. Kate had on a dress that hung perfectly on her body. We loved how we looked in the clothes and I knew that it was pointless to have even tried them on; but then Krissy said something that had never even crossed our minds. Krissy whispered, “You guys, we should just take the clothes!” Coming from a very religious family, I knew that stealing was wrong, but at the time all I could think about was how much I wanted that shirt.
Standing is the dressing room the three of us began whispering different strategies of how we could take the clothes. “We can just put on the clothes and then put our own clothes over them!” Kate whispered. “I’ll just stuff these shirts in my purse.” I said with a low voice. Lucky for us there were no sensors on the shirts so we didn’t have to worry about any alarms going off when we left the store. I ripped the tags off the shirt and shoved it in my purse. Krissy kept the tank top on and slipped her own shirt over to hide it; then put the skirt in her purse. Kate did the same thing as Krissy. She ripped off the tags and put on her own shirt over the beautiful new piece of clothing. My stomach was in knots. Even though there were no sensors I was still so scared that we would get caught. We opened up the dressing room door and walked out. We took the escalator back down to the first floor and headed towards the exit into the mall. My heart was pounding. I had never done anything like that before and I didn’t know if we were going to get away with it. We approached the exit. We were out. We were safe. Suddenly a rush of excitement went through me. Krissy and Kate began laughing; I joined them. I couldn’t believe we had gotten away with it, but in the back of my mind I could feel the guilt. We decided that since the previous mischief had been so easy, we might as well go to Macy’s and see if we saw anything we liked.
We entered Macy’s and went directly to the juniors’ section. This was much different than earlier in the day. We weren’t just looking anymore. We were looking to conquer because now we knew that the clothes could be ours; or at least we thought. We began gathering different articles of clothing. At this point it didn’t seem like we were doing anything suspicious; so we felt safe. Once we had gotten several items we headed towards the dressing room. In the dressing room I put two shirts in my purse while Kate and Krissy put more shirts on underneath the clothes they already had on along with the stolen shirts from the store before. “Do you guys have everything you want?” Krissy asked. “Yeah, yeah let’s just get out of here!” Kate whispered as she walked towards the door. We were ready to leave and that’s when the terrible knotting feeling in my stomach began again. We opened the door and walked out. An older female who was standing in the dressing room followed us with her dark eyes. I figured I was just being paranoid. We drew near the exit and once again we made it out safe. After about ten seconds of being out of the store a lady came up to us and pulled out a badge. “Good afternoon girls. I’m an undercover working for Macy’s,” she said sternly. “I’m going to have to ask you to come with me.” At that moment my heart dropped. I had a huge lump in my throat and I desperately wished that I could take everything back.
The three of us followed the woman to the back of the store. She put Kate and I in a room together and put Krissy in a room next to us. I began crying and all I could think about was how disappointed my mom was going to be. I could barley handle it. I knew from the moment I put that first shirt in my bag that I was doing something wrong. The older woman from the dressing room came in, took our purses, and began pulling out the stolen clothes. She told us that if we were wearing anything to take it off because we were already in a lot of trouble. She started asking us questions; what our names were, how old we were, what our parent’s telephone numbers were and so many more questions that I can’t even remember because I was so scared and upset. After being interrogated they told us that they were going to call our parents. I felt absolutely horrible. Not only did I feel bad because I did something that I knew was wrong, but I knew that this would crush my parents. I come from a very religious family so situations such as this are a very big deal. Once the phone calls were made the undercover worker and the older woman came back into the room that Kate and I were sitting in. They told us that we were going to be fined for the clothes that we stole and that we weren’t allowed in that Macy’s for two years. When we were finally allowed to leave the undercover worker walked us out of the mall.
I called my mom when we got in my car and she said that we would talk when I got home. I dropped Krissy and Kate off at their houses and headed home. I walked in my front door and my parents were waiting for me in the living room. I started crying immediately and then tears filled my mom’s eyes. We sat in my living room for about an hour talking about the whole situation. The hardest part was that they weren’t even mad; they were just deeply disappointed in me. I had done something that was so out of character for me that it was going to take a long time for them to trust me again.
I was grounded for about two weeks. My spring break was completely ruined all because I thought I had the right to take something that wasn’t mine. It didn’t matter that I was grounded or that I didn’t get to have the spring break that I had hoped for. All that mattered was that I had let my parents down and I knew that I never wanted to hurt them again.
Kristi Genton
Monday rolled around; the first official day of break. I picked up my two friends Krissy and Kate and we headed to Starbucks to make plans for the day. It was a beautiful sunny day in Cincinnati, Ohio and my friends and I were probably the happiest girls in Starbucks that early afternoon. We decided that even though we didn’t have very much money we would go to the mall and look around anyways.
The first store we went to was Dillards. As we entered the store we passed the shiny merchandise and went to the escalators. We headed to the second floor, which was the juniors department. The second floor of Dillards had become our new favorite place because we had shopped there for several occasions that year. We began picking up silky shirts and beautiful spring dresses. Even though we knew we couldn’t afford them we still wanted to experience the fun of seeing what we looked like in them. After gathering several articles of clothing my friends and I headed back to the dressing room.
Torturing ourselves, we stood and admired the beautiful clothes that were on our bodies. I had on the prettiest white silk shirt that was held up around my neck by a silver chain. Krissy had on a lacey tank top with the perfect flowing skirt to match. Kate had on a dress that hung perfectly on her body. We loved how we looked in the clothes and I knew that it was pointless to have even tried them on; but then Krissy said something that had never even crossed our minds. Krissy whispered, “You guys, we should just take the clothes!” Coming from a very religious family, I knew that stealing was wrong, but at the time all I could think about was how much I wanted that shirt.
Standing is the dressing room the three of us began whispering different strategies of how we could take the clothes. “We can just put on the clothes and then put our own clothes over them!” Kate whispered. “I’ll just stuff these shirts in my purse.” I said with a low voice. Lucky for us there were no sensors on the shirts so we didn’t have to worry about any alarms going off when we left the store. I ripped the tags off the shirt and shoved it in my purse. Krissy kept the tank top on and slipped her own shirt over to hide it; then put the skirt in her purse. Kate did the same thing as Krissy. She ripped off the tags and put on her own shirt over the beautiful new piece of clothing. My stomach was in knots. Even though there were no sensors I was still so scared that we would get caught. We opened up the dressing room door and walked out. We took the escalator back down to the first floor and headed towards the exit into the mall. My heart was pounding. I had never done anything like that before and I didn’t know if we were going to get away with it. We approached the exit. We were out. We were safe. Suddenly a rush of excitement went through me. Krissy and Kate began laughing; I joined them. I couldn’t believe we had gotten away with it, but in the back of my mind I could feel the guilt. We decided that since the previous mischief had been so easy, we might as well go to Macy’s and see if we saw anything we liked.
We entered Macy’s and went directly to the juniors’ section. This was much different than earlier in the day. We weren’t just looking anymore. We were looking to conquer because now we knew that the clothes could be ours; or at least we thought. We began gathering different articles of clothing. At this point it didn’t seem like we were doing anything suspicious; so we felt safe. Once we had gotten several items we headed towards the dressing room. In the dressing room I put two shirts in my purse while Kate and Krissy put more shirts on underneath the clothes they already had on along with the stolen shirts from the store before. “Do you guys have everything you want?” Krissy asked. “Yeah, yeah let’s just get out of here!” Kate whispered as she walked towards the door. We were ready to leave and that’s when the terrible knotting feeling in my stomach began again. We opened the door and walked out. An older female who was standing in the dressing room followed us with her dark eyes. I figured I was just being paranoid. We drew near the exit and once again we made it out safe. After about ten seconds of being out of the store a lady came up to us and pulled out a badge. “Good afternoon girls. I’m an undercover working for Macy’s,” she said sternly. “I’m going to have to ask you to come with me.” At that moment my heart dropped. I had a huge lump in my throat and I desperately wished that I could take everything back.
The three of us followed the woman to the back of the store. She put Kate and I in a room together and put Krissy in a room next to us. I began crying and all I could think about was how disappointed my mom was going to be. I could barley handle it. I knew from the moment I put that first shirt in my bag that I was doing something wrong. The older woman from the dressing room came in, took our purses, and began pulling out the stolen clothes. She told us that if we were wearing anything to take it off because we were already in a lot of trouble. She started asking us questions; what our names were, how old we were, what our parent’s telephone numbers were and so many more questions that I can’t even remember because I was so scared and upset. After being interrogated they told us that they were going to call our parents. I felt absolutely horrible. Not only did I feel bad because I did something that I knew was wrong, but I knew that this would crush my parents. I come from a very religious family so situations such as this are a very big deal. Once the phone calls were made the undercover worker and the older woman came back into the room that Kate and I were sitting in. They told us that we were going to be fined for the clothes that we stole and that we weren’t allowed in that Macy’s for two years. When we were finally allowed to leave the undercover worker walked us out of the mall.
I called my mom when we got in my car and she said that we would talk when I got home. I dropped Krissy and Kate off at their houses and headed home. I walked in my front door and my parents were waiting for me in the living room. I started crying immediately and then tears filled my mom’s eyes. We sat in my living room for about an hour talking about the whole situation. The hardest part was that they weren’t even mad; they were just deeply disappointed in me. I had done something that was so out of character for me that it was going to take a long time for them to trust me again.
I was grounded for about two weeks. My spring break was completely ruined all because I thought I had the right to take something that wasn’t mine. It didn’t matter that I was grounded or that I didn’t get to have the spring break that I had hoped for. All that mattered was that I had let my parents down and I knew that I never wanted to hurt them again.
Kristi Genton
The Troubles of Imperfection
I’ve always been a major perfectionist. When I was in Kindergarten, my teacher pointed this fact out to my mother. Mrs. Brown showed my mother where I had erased so much on my paper that it had holes. My mother worried that I would take this to an extreme and be a “worrier” in the future. She was correct. I’ve always worried myself to a frenzy over any little problem. I’ve tried to solve the problem, but it’s hard because of my grandmother. I’ve always felt like I had to “walk on eggshells” around her because she is always judgmental of everything I do. Since I have a very tenderhearted personality, it’s hard for me to let her know my thoughts and feelings.
“Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve seen you?” she shrieks.
“No, Grandmama.”
“Five weeks! Five! You’re staying too busy. What have you been doing every night? You need to be staying at home and getting rest. It’s not good for you to be running around all the time!” My grandmother was completely serious when she said that. She really thought that everyone should sit at home all the time unless it was necessary to be out. I was actively involved in high school with cheerleading and other extra-curricular activities, not to mention I had a social life as well. It didn’t matter though, nothing was ever good enough for her.
“Kelsey, you’re acting right aren’t you? You know right from wrong. You know you’re not supposed to sleep with boys before you’re married. How much time are you spending with this boy? Is he going to be able to take care of you?” My grandmother asked as she passed the mashed potatoes and gravy around the table. I always thought grandparents were supposed to spoil you and love you unconditionally. I suppose every family is different, but my family isn’t one to be harsh natured.
“Yes, Grandmama, I’m acting right. I’m spending enough time with him, but not too much that I can’t get my work done. If I was planning on marrying him I would worry about whether or not he could take care of me. Since I have no plans of getting married right now, I’m not going to worry about that.”
“Hmph” was the only response I got from her. However, that didn’t mean her speech was over.
“Well, I know you’ve been talking about going to college. You don’t need to. You just need to find a good husband that will be good to you and take care of you.” How do you respond to something like that? I would never choose to be taken care of by my husband. Moreover, I definitely would not lose the opportunity to go to college and get an education. Even though my parents told me to be respectful of my grandmother, I couldn’t let that one go.
“I want to go to college. I don’t want to have to depend on anyone else to take care of me. Who knows if I’ll even get married? Who’s to say that if I do get married, I won’t end up getting a divorce and having to provide for myself and two or three kids? Women can do more than be housewives.” Needless to say, that didn’t please her. Her eyes on me felt like needles piercing my skin. I could tell that my parents were mortified, and I was nervous. I could feel the beads of sweat building on my forehead. It felt like an eternity until she finally responded to me.
“You need to be saving your money. Any extra money you have needs to be put in savings in case you ever need it. I know you’re wasting all you make on running around and eating out. Eating out all the time is expensive. You’re living beyond your means. Just because other people are doing that doesn’t mean you have to.”
By this point, I was tired of the lecturing and complaining. I wanted to sprint out of that house as fast as I could. My temper was flaring and my heart was racing. Her beady eyes stayed on me the entire time. My parents were staring down at their plates waiting for my next move. I wanted to tell her how I hated her attitude and constant rants. How she made me feel like the scum of the earth every time I went to see her. I wanted to let it all out at that point. But, of course, I let it go.
“Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve seen you?” she shrieks.
“No, Grandmama.”
“Five weeks! Five! You’re staying too busy. What have you been doing every night? You need to be staying at home and getting rest. It’s not good for you to be running around all the time!” My grandmother was completely serious when she said that. She really thought that everyone should sit at home all the time unless it was necessary to be out. I was actively involved in high school with cheerleading and other extra-curricular activities, not to mention I had a social life as well. It didn’t matter though, nothing was ever good enough for her.
“Kelsey, you’re acting right aren’t you? You know right from wrong. You know you’re not supposed to sleep with boys before you’re married. How much time are you spending with this boy? Is he going to be able to take care of you?” My grandmother asked as she passed the mashed potatoes and gravy around the table. I always thought grandparents were supposed to spoil you and love you unconditionally. I suppose every family is different, but my family isn’t one to be harsh natured.
“Yes, Grandmama, I’m acting right. I’m spending enough time with him, but not too much that I can’t get my work done. If I was planning on marrying him I would worry about whether or not he could take care of me. Since I have no plans of getting married right now, I’m not going to worry about that.”
“Hmph” was the only response I got from her. However, that didn’t mean her speech was over.
“Well, I know you’ve been talking about going to college. You don’t need to. You just need to find a good husband that will be good to you and take care of you.” How do you respond to something like that? I would never choose to be taken care of by my husband. Moreover, I definitely would not lose the opportunity to go to college and get an education. Even though my parents told me to be respectful of my grandmother, I couldn’t let that one go.
“I want to go to college. I don’t want to have to depend on anyone else to take care of me. Who knows if I’ll even get married? Who’s to say that if I do get married, I won’t end up getting a divorce and having to provide for myself and two or three kids? Women can do more than be housewives.” Needless to say, that didn’t please her. Her eyes on me felt like needles piercing my skin. I could tell that my parents were mortified, and I was nervous. I could feel the beads of sweat building on my forehead. It felt like an eternity until she finally responded to me.
“You need to be saving your money. Any extra money you have needs to be put in savings in case you ever need it. I know you’re wasting all you make on running around and eating out. Eating out all the time is expensive. You’re living beyond your means. Just because other people are doing that doesn’t mean you have to.”
By this point, I was tired of the lecturing and complaining. I wanted to sprint out of that house as fast as I could. My temper was flaring and my heart was racing. Her beady eyes stayed on me the entire time. My parents were staring down at their plates waiting for my next move. I wanted to tell her how I hated her attitude and constant rants. How she made me feel like the scum of the earth every time I went to see her. I wanted to let it all out at that point. But, of course, I let it go.
A Cancerous Evening
Blake Allen
Dr. Molly McCaffrey
ENG 100-6
5 October 2009
A Cancerous Evening
It was an early summer morning. When my father a thirty-one year old man who looked to be in the best shape of his life, left for the hospital (Sometime during the summer of 2000).I was just nine years old, and had not known the purpose of this visit, maybe a simple check-up I wondered. My siblings and I imagined the things he might be doing whether it was intense surgery, or maybe the doctor is letting him ride around in an ambulance. In the back of my mind I thought perhaps something was wrong. That possibly it wasn’t just a check-up. I didn’t say anything about it. My siblings always thought I worried too much so i kept to myself.
Hours went by, and still no sign of my parents. I suddenly heard the rocks crumbling in the driveway and the doors of the car close softly. We all ran to the door as we used to do, when mom or dad would arrive home. Mom had an upset look on her face but also scared, as for dad he walked in quiet and nervous like he had something to say. Immediately this worried all of us kids because dad was never the one to be quiet. They told us to go into the living room and sit on the couch, and that they would join us in a minute. We had a big couch that took up most of the room, so we all jumped on and took a seat. We would usually go to this couch whenever there was an important announcement for the family. But those minutes I sat there seemed like hours. As I sat on that couch I wondered what was so important to tell us. Finally my dad walked into the room with my mom right behind, and said
“Guys you may or may not know the meaning of what I’m about to tell you, or what it is that is wrong. But I have cancer, non Hodgkin’s lymphoma to be exact. I’m going to be ok” he said in a voice of what seemed like horror.
I looked at everyone after he said those last words and nobody really knew what to do or say.
I thought to myself
“What if he’s not ok?”
So there I sat for a few minutes quite confused with all these thoughts soaring throughout my head. The house had been at a dead silence for while. I sat waiting for mom or dad to do something or maybe one of my brothers to react. But nothing happened. Everyone had been staring at the ground not knowing how to take the news. When dad suddenly started to cry. Almost immediately after, it seemed everyone was crying and I had felt tears running down my face like never before. I could not control it. Never had I experienced something like that moment. I stood up and ran to my father. I wrapped my arms around him and then felt everyone else join in. For that moment in time we all forgot about the cancer, for we were a family, stronger than any other.
As everything started to settle down mom and dad had started a movie for the family to watch together. The movie went on and one by one it seemed everyone was falling asleep. Except me, I could not bring myself to the realization that dad would be ok. I had heard so many things about cancer at my young age, and had never heard a success story. I had been looking over at my father trying to be secretive when he spotted me. He had gotten up and walked towards me, and held me. Rocking me back and forth. I then told him simply that I was scared. He looked down to me then told me repeatedly
“Blake I know this is scary. But I will be ok there is nothing you need to be worried about.”
I didn’t say anything. I sat there thinking of everything he had done for me and all that he meant to me. Again I broke down. He kissed my forehead as I looked up at him and saw a tear rolling down his face. I had started to fall asleep. When he told me,
“Never forget how much all of you mean to me, I love each and every one of you and will die for all of you. I will always be here. ‘This family is stronger than anyone person or thing in this world and no matter what happens we will be there for each other.”
When I heard these words it gave me a certain comfort that I cannot explain. But I felt at that moment everything was going to get better and all would be fine. I then fell calmly asleep in dad’s arms. Not worrying about anything or anyone. Almost as if I had no care in the world.
Dr. Molly McCaffrey
ENG 100-6
5 October 2009
A Cancerous Evening
It was an early summer morning. When my father a thirty-one year old man who looked to be in the best shape of his life, left for the hospital (Sometime during the summer of 2000).I was just nine years old, and had not known the purpose of this visit, maybe a simple check-up I wondered. My siblings and I imagined the things he might be doing whether it was intense surgery, or maybe the doctor is letting him ride around in an ambulance. In the back of my mind I thought perhaps something was wrong. That possibly it wasn’t just a check-up. I didn’t say anything about it. My siblings always thought I worried too much so i kept to myself.
Hours went by, and still no sign of my parents. I suddenly heard the rocks crumbling in the driveway and the doors of the car close softly. We all ran to the door as we used to do, when mom or dad would arrive home. Mom had an upset look on her face but also scared, as for dad he walked in quiet and nervous like he had something to say. Immediately this worried all of us kids because dad was never the one to be quiet. They told us to go into the living room and sit on the couch, and that they would join us in a minute. We had a big couch that took up most of the room, so we all jumped on and took a seat. We would usually go to this couch whenever there was an important announcement for the family. But those minutes I sat there seemed like hours. As I sat on that couch I wondered what was so important to tell us. Finally my dad walked into the room with my mom right behind, and said
“Guys you may or may not know the meaning of what I’m about to tell you, or what it is that is wrong. But I have cancer, non Hodgkin’s lymphoma to be exact. I’m going to be ok” he said in a voice of what seemed like horror.
I looked at everyone after he said those last words and nobody really knew what to do or say.
I thought to myself
“What if he’s not ok?”
So there I sat for a few minutes quite confused with all these thoughts soaring throughout my head. The house had been at a dead silence for while. I sat waiting for mom or dad to do something or maybe one of my brothers to react. But nothing happened. Everyone had been staring at the ground not knowing how to take the news. When dad suddenly started to cry. Almost immediately after, it seemed everyone was crying and I had felt tears running down my face like never before. I could not control it. Never had I experienced something like that moment. I stood up and ran to my father. I wrapped my arms around him and then felt everyone else join in. For that moment in time we all forgot about the cancer, for we were a family, stronger than any other.
As everything started to settle down mom and dad had started a movie for the family to watch together. The movie went on and one by one it seemed everyone was falling asleep. Except me, I could not bring myself to the realization that dad would be ok. I had heard so many things about cancer at my young age, and had never heard a success story. I had been looking over at my father trying to be secretive when he spotted me. He had gotten up and walked towards me, and held me. Rocking me back and forth. I then told him simply that I was scared. He looked down to me then told me repeatedly
“Blake I know this is scary. But I will be ok there is nothing you need to be worried about.”
I didn’t say anything. I sat there thinking of everything he had done for me and all that he meant to me. Again I broke down. He kissed my forehead as I looked up at him and saw a tear rolling down his face. I had started to fall asleep. When he told me,
“Never forget how much all of you mean to me, I love each and every one of you and will die for all of you. I will always be here. ‘This family is stronger than anyone person or thing in this world and no matter what happens we will be there for each other.”
When I heard these words it gave me a certain comfort that I cannot explain. But I felt at that moment everything was going to get better and all would be fine. I then fell calmly asleep in dad’s arms. Not worrying about anything or anyone. Almost as if I had no care in the world.
Eye Problems?
Eye Problems?
I was thirteen years old, just a seventh grade kid. I was an honor student, an athlete, and a student council member. Never really had any history of medical problems, only a broken bone or two, nothing at all serious through my life.
One day in religion class, our teacher was lecturing and writing on the dry erase board. Religion class was always very easy no matter what age group or grade, so it got quite boring. This particular day was one of those boring days. So as my teacher was writing on the dry erase board I was day dreaming and thinking about what I was going to do when I got home. Then I began reading what was on the board, but I wasn’t really paying attention to exactly what it was I was reading. So I got bored and randomly closed one eye to read and then the other. I noticed my vision was not nearly the same in both my eyes. I turned to the girl next to me; Rachel was her name. I asked, “Can you see clearly with both of your eyes?”
She replied back to me, “Well… yeah!” as if I were joking.
I sat there and kept checking both eyes. Right and then left, over and over to make sure this was correct. I came out with the same result every time; that my right eye was definitely a lot worse than my left.
As I came home that day I told my mom of course what I had noticed. When I first told her she did not believe me. So it was time to test it out and prove I wasn’t making it up. She wrote with big letters on a piece of computer paper, and stood on the other side of the kitchen as I sat at the bar. I covered my right eye, and could read everything perfectly, all the words without hesitation. Then covered the left; this time however, I could not read it at all. We knew something wasn’t right, but didn’t know how to treat it at first. Do we go to the doctor right away, who do we tell, who can help? Those types of questions went through our heads all day.
About a week later I had practice for my travel baseball team. I hadn’t seen a doctor yet. I was always a good hitter as well as defender when it came to baseball. In fact in every sport I never had any noticeable vision problems. My coach, who happened to be my best friends’ dad, was giving soft toss. Soft toss is when somebody is on one knee and while on one side of you they underhand a ball for you to hit; a very easy, routine drill that we did at almost every practice. It was my turn and I was ready to hit. The first ball goes, I swung and missed. Then the second, third, fourth, I missed every single one. He looked at me and I looked at him with disbelief. I took a deep breath to settle down and clear my head. We soon started again, but with the same results missed every single one.
As one would guess my mom and I were in the eye doctors’ office within the next week. I took so many tests; I had never been to the Optometrist before. So we had to do everything that first visit. After not doing so well with the reading from a distance portion of the tests they had to take pictures of my eyes. Unfortunately the pictures did not turn out well for me. He had never seen anything like it; he had no idea what it was. He had told my mom and me that I would never be a pilot, or never be able to drive and possibly never be able to participate in athletics. This obviously freaked my mom out. I was worried but I told myself long before this had happened that no one or anything was going to bring me down and keep me down.
We traveled the entire state for the next few months looking, searching for an eye surgeon or Opthamologist, who would be willing to operate without worry or hesitation. Everyone we talked to would not do it. Imagine going to see the best of the best doctors and have them tell you they don’t know exactly what it is and they cannot help you.
In about three months time my mom had found a doctor in Cleveland, Ohio who seemed like he could help. So on to Cleveland we went. We finally get there and this hospital is very nice, The Cleveland Clinic it was called. As we walked in, it definitely boosted our spirits because it looked like a top of the line establishment. It is our turn to see the doctor, I cannot recall his name. We do all of the tests. It became routine for me, I found myself doing things they needed before they would ask because I had done it so many times before. After the tests he left to examine everything. He returned and regretfully told us he will not attempt the surgery because he is uncomfortable with it. He did not want to make a mistake because me being so young it could be a very fragile area of the eye. But all was not lost with this doctor. He recommended us to an Opthamologist near us. His name is Dr. Anthony Capone, the guys’ mentor. He tells us he is the best doctor in the country when it comes to dealing with these things.
We go see Dr. Capone a few weeks later. The hospital where he worked was in Beaumont. Beaumont is about two hours from where I live. He comes in to see us and of course we go through all the routine procedures. After everything he tells us exactly what it is. A condition called F.E.V.R, where a person has too many blood vessels in their eye. This causes blood to leak onto the eye creating a scar over it. On top of that scar blocking my vision I also had a detached retina. But he didn’t shy away from anything. He spoke directly to me and told me what he could do for me. I was one hundred percent comfortable with him and the overwhelming confidence and reassurance he gave me. I had seven eye surgeries with that man. He helped my vision increase immensely and I could not thank him enough. Dr. Capone uses my story, pictures, and medical history as examples for teaching about the disease overseas and in the United States.
I have very minor vision problems now. Although I do not have any depth perception, doctors have told me that I am just used to it so I compensate for it. They told me I would never play any kind of sport especially contact sports or a sport like baseball where one would obviously need exceptional depth perception and vision. They all said this, all but one Dr. Capone. I was a three sport Varsity athlete in the following sports, football, baseball, and basketball. I had All-League honors in each and was a three year lettermen, two time District Champion, two time Regional Champion and a League Champion, in the sport they said “I would not be able to excel in,” baseball. I am proud of this not because of the accolades but because I proved to myself what I can do and what others can do if they keep going in life with a positive attitude, and they surround themselves with good, positive people as well.
Myles Allen
I was thirteen years old, just a seventh grade kid. I was an honor student, an athlete, and a student council member. Never really had any history of medical problems, only a broken bone or two, nothing at all serious through my life.
One day in religion class, our teacher was lecturing and writing on the dry erase board. Religion class was always very easy no matter what age group or grade, so it got quite boring. This particular day was one of those boring days. So as my teacher was writing on the dry erase board I was day dreaming and thinking about what I was going to do when I got home. Then I began reading what was on the board, but I wasn’t really paying attention to exactly what it was I was reading. So I got bored and randomly closed one eye to read and then the other. I noticed my vision was not nearly the same in both my eyes. I turned to the girl next to me; Rachel was her name. I asked, “Can you see clearly with both of your eyes?”
She replied back to me, “Well… yeah!” as if I were joking.
I sat there and kept checking both eyes. Right and then left, over and over to make sure this was correct. I came out with the same result every time; that my right eye was definitely a lot worse than my left.
As I came home that day I told my mom of course what I had noticed. When I first told her she did not believe me. So it was time to test it out and prove I wasn’t making it up. She wrote with big letters on a piece of computer paper, and stood on the other side of the kitchen as I sat at the bar. I covered my right eye, and could read everything perfectly, all the words without hesitation. Then covered the left; this time however, I could not read it at all. We knew something wasn’t right, but didn’t know how to treat it at first. Do we go to the doctor right away, who do we tell, who can help? Those types of questions went through our heads all day.
About a week later I had practice for my travel baseball team. I hadn’t seen a doctor yet. I was always a good hitter as well as defender when it came to baseball. In fact in every sport I never had any noticeable vision problems. My coach, who happened to be my best friends’ dad, was giving soft toss. Soft toss is when somebody is on one knee and while on one side of you they underhand a ball for you to hit; a very easy, routine drill that we did at almost every practice. It was my turn and I was ready to hit. The first ball goes, I swung and missed. Then the second, third, fourth, I missed every single one. He looked at me and I looked at him with disbelief. I took a deep breath to settle down and clear my head. We soon started again, but with the same results missed every single one.
As one would guess my mom and I were in the eye doctors’ office within the next week. I took so many tests; I had never been to the Optometrist before. So we had to do everything that first visit. After not doing so well with the reading from a distance portion of the tests they had to take pictures of my eyes. Unfortunately the pictures did not turn out well for me. He had never seen anything like it; he had no idea what it was. He had told my mom and me that I would never be a pilot, or never be able to drive and possibly never be able to participate in athletics. This obviously freaked my mom out. I was worried but I told myself long before this had happened that no one or anything was going to bring me down and keep me down.
We traveled the entire state for the next few months looking, searching for an eye surgeon or Opthamologist, who would be willing to operate without worry or hesitation. Everyone we talked to would not do it. Imagine going to see the best of the best doctors and have them tell you they don’t know exactly what it is and they cannot help you.
In about three months time my mom had found a doctor in Cleveland, Ohio who seemed like he could help. So on to Cleveland we went. We finally get there and this hospital is very nice, The Cleveland Clinic it was called. As we walked in, it definitely boosted our spirits because it looked like a top of the line establishment. It is our turn to see the doctor, I cannot recall his name. We do all of the tests. It became routine for me, I found myself doing things they needed before they would ask because I had done it so many times before. After the tests he left to examine everything. He returned and regretfully told us he will not attempt the surgery because he is uncomfortable with it. He did not want to make a mistake because me being so young it could be a very fragile area of the eye. But all was not lost with this doctor. He recommended us to an Opthamologist near us. His name is Dr. Anthony Capone, the guys’ mentor. He tells us he is the best doctor in the country when it comes to dealing with these things.
We go see Dr. Capone a few weeks later. The hospital where he worked was in Beaumont. Beaumont is about two hours from where I live. He comes in to see us and of course we go through all the routine procedures. After everything he tells us exactly what it is. A condition called F.E.V.R, where a person has too many blood vessels in their eye. This causes blood to leak onto the eye creating a scar over it. On top of that scar blocking my vision I also had a detached retina. But he didn’t shy away from anything. He spoke directly to me and told me what he could do for me. I was one hundred percent comfortable with him and the overwhelming confidence and reassurance he gave me. I had seven eye surgeries with that man. He helped my vision increase immensely and I could not thank him enough. Dr. Capone uses my story, pictures, and medical history as examples for teaching about the disease overseas and in the United States.
I have very minor vision problems now. Although I do not have any depth perception, doctors have told me that I am just used to it so I compensate for it. They told me I would never play any kind of sport especially contact sports or a sport like baseball where one would obviously need exceptional depth perception and vision. They all said this, all but one Dr. Capone. I was a three sport Varsity athlete in the following sports, football, baseball, and basketball. I had All-League honors in each and was a three year lettermen, two time District Champion, two time Regional Champion and a League Champion, in the sport they said “I would not be able to excel in,” baseball. I am proud of this not because of the accolades but because I proved to myself what I can do and what others can do if they keep going in life with a positive attitude, and they surround themselves with good, positive people as well.
Myles Allen
Fitting In by Not Fitting In
I applied to the Xposure Journalism Workshop in March, was accepted in April, and attended from June 10 to 21 2007. It used to be called the Dow Jones Minority Journalism Workshop, but the program lost its sponsorship, changed names, and started accepting everyone. When I arrived on the Western Kentucky University campus, for registration and a meet-and-greet, I wasn’t paying attention to the other workshop participants. At the barbeque party the workshop directors threw for us I noticed, amidst the smoke of the grill and the plates of hotdogs and hamburgers, something that immediately set me apart from everyone else: my lack of melanin.
It’s okay, I thought. I can get along with anyone, no matter the race.
After the barbeque party, we made the trek to the residence hall we would call home for two weeks. I hung back from the rest of the group, silently contemplating how I would try to fit in. I used to have this habit of developing personas based on the people around me, so that I would be accepted. As I combed through all the personas I had used in the past, I came across one I had never used: myself. Over the course of the workshop, I came to the realization that this “persona” was the best I had ever used.
When my roommate, Johnathan, and I got to our room, we unpacked and talked. His heritage was black and Hispanic; mine wasn’t. We had so many similar interests though: a common affinity for Japanese culture, similar musical tastes, and a shared appreciation for writing. We were different, but nobody would be able to tell if they had heard us talking that night.
The next day, I became more acquainted with the other workshop participants. We talked over eggs and bacon in the morning, in the class room in between lectures, and in the cramped rooms of the residence hall. That first official day of the workshop was an almost non-stop gabfest. The workshop directors thought it was because we had to write profile articles on one another, but it was more than that.
The following day, during the time I wasn’t listening to a lecture or writing, I talked to Johnathan and two girls. Nirasha and Tiffany were their names, and just like with Johnathan, I learned we had similar interests.
A few days later, after a week of nonstop listening and writing, we used our Friday evening to go to the mall. Johnathan and I, along with another boy I had come to talk with frequently named Daniel, traversed the mall together. We looked like the strangest mixture of people but we knew that we were really one homogenous group. We were different, but nobody would be able to tell if they had seen who we really were.
Two days later, on Sunday, Johnathan, Nirasha, Tiffany, Daniel, and all the other workshop participants decided to hold a prayer service, in lieu of going to church. I didn’t attend because I didn’t normally attend church or other prayer services. That fact didn’t alienate me from them, or lower their respect for me. Everyone understood that even in a group as tight as ours, we wouldn’t always be exactly the same.
As the workshop was coming to a close we began preparations for our goodbyes. We could hear them rattle around in our brains; they kept coming close to our lips, but we didn’t let them out yet. Our bodies started bracing themselves for embraces, and our eyes dammed up our tear ducts for the eventual torrent.
Before the workshop I had rarely truly been myself. Johnathan, Nirasha, Tiffany, Daniel, and everyone else in the workshop brought out who I really am. We had shared interests, common experiences, and similar personalities, but we were different in several ways. Race was the difference I had immediately noticed at the barbeque, but there were other diversions. Those differences didn’t matter though, because those differences are what made us get along so well. We all managed to fit in by not fitting in with each other.
And in the end, we were different, but nobody would be able to tell if they had watched us those twelve days.
By Noah Frederick
It’s okay, I thought. I can get along with anyone, no matter the race.
After the barbeque party, we made the trek to the residence hall we would call home for two weeks. I hung back from the rest of the group, silently contemplating how I would try to fit in. I used to have this habit of developing personas based on the people around me, so that I would be accepted. As I combed through all the personas I had used in the past, I came across one I had never used: myself. Over the course of the workshop, I came to the realization that this “persona” was the best I had ever used.
When my roommate, Johnathan, and I got to our room, we unpacked and talked. His heritage was black and Hispanic; mine wasn’t. We had so many similar interests though: a common affinity for Japanese culture, similar musical tastes, and a shared appreciation for writing. We were different, but nobody would be able to tell if they had heard us talking that night.
The next day, I became more acquainted with the other workshop participants. We talked over eggs and bacon in the morning, in the class room in between lectures, and in the cramped rooms of the residence hall. That first official day of the workshop was an almost non-stop gabfest. The workshop directors thought it was because we had to write profile articles on one another, but it was more than that.
The following day, during the time I wasn’t listening to a lecture or writing, I talked to Johnathan and two girls. Nirasha and Tiffany were their names, and just like with Johnathan, I learned we had similar interests.
A few days later, after a week of nonstop listening and writing, we used our Friday evening to go to the mall. Johnathan and I, along with another boy I had come to talk with frequently named Daniel, traversed the mall together. We looked like the strangest mixture of people but we knew that we were really one homogenous group. We were different, but nobody would be able to tell if they had seen who we really were.
Two days later, on Sunday, Johnathan, Nirasha, Tiffany, Daniel, and all the other workshop participants decided to hold a prayer service, in lieu of going to church. I didn’t attend because I didn’t normally attend church or other prayer services. That fact didn’t alienate me from them, or lower their respect for me. Everyone understood that even in a group as tight as ours, we wouldn’t always be exactly the same.
As the workshop was coming to a close we began preparations for our goodbyes. We could hear them rattle around in our brains; they kept coming close to our lips, but we didn’t let them out yet. Our bodies started bracing themselves for embraces, and our eyes dammed up our tear ducts for the eventual torrent.
Before the workshop I had rarely truly been myself. Johnathan, Nirasha, Tiffany, Daniel, and everyone else in the workshop brought out who I really am. We had shared interests, common experiences, and similar personalities, but we were different in several ways. Race was the difference I had immediately noticed at the barbeque, but there were other diversions. Those differences didn’t matter though, because those differences are what made us get along so well. We all managed to fit in by not fitting in with each other.
And in the end, we were different, but nobody would be able to tell if they had watched us those twelve days.
By Noah Frederick
Learning Truth
Jacob Turner, or Joo Sung Lee, was born in Seoul, South Korea on June 1, 1996. On November 18, 1996, I along with the rest of the Turner family welcomed this little boy as an addition to our home in Louisville, KY. Nothing ever seemed different to me growing up as a child. Jacob was never seen or treated differently than any other member of the family. He was Asian, but nationality was never a factor to us. He was a Turner, my brother, my friend. And to that little boy, I was not only a member of the family; I was his protector and role model.
Everything I did, he would copy, and continue doing over and over again until he too, could do it. But then there came a point in life, when he was about six or seven years old, where things started to seem odd. When Jacob spoke, he could not pronounce any vowels, only consonants. He also had a particularly hard time remembering the alphabet, writing, and reading. My mother put him through speech therapy and tutoring from that point on. Eventually, he transferred to a local public elementary school that had teachers that specialized in learning disabilities. All seemed under control until the first week of school started.
It was strange; Jacob would come home from school every day and run up to his room and cry. I was the only one in the family that ever noticed it. He never wanted to play or talk to anyone, which was not like him. He just seemed miserable. So one day after school, I followed him to his room and asked him what was wrong.
He then began to say, “Jordan, I have no friends. Nobody likes me there. I sit alone at lunch, play alone on the playground, and get tripped and pushed just because I am Korean. They always tell me I am dumb because I cannot read, and Asians are supposed to be smart. I am the retarded Asian. Jordan, what is wrong with me? I hate this.”
Then he just started crying, and would not stop for hours.
The next day was a Friday. Every Friday my brother had tutoring at an elementary school walking distance from our house. It just so happened I was off school for a long weekend, so I volunteered to take him to his tutoring lesson.
I only had to have been there for about twenty minutes before I saw my brother walk out into the hallway, where I was sitting, to go find the restroom. I had placed myself comfortably in the hallway right across from the water fountain, and on either side of me were the men and women’s restroom. My brother walked past me and disappeared behind the closed door to the boy’s bathroom.
The next thing I heard was a scream. That’s all I heard; the sound of my younger brother screaming from behind that closed door. Without even thinking, I ran in.
When I walked around the corner of the bathroom of this elementary school, I saw my brother curled up in a ball in the corner of the bathroom covering his head with his hands. Hovering over him was a slightly taller boy who looked about the same age as I was.
He was yelling at Jacob telling him, “Go back to where you came from. You can not even talk right! What is wrong with you? Asians are supposed to be smart; you’re just the dumb Asian kid who cannot read or even talk! You are such a loser!”
Well, to this kid’s surprise, he had a much unexpected visitor in the room with him. Without hesitation, having only the picture of my brother huddled in the bathroom corner completely helpless, I went after him. I had never been so brave and tough in my life. I had a rush of adrenaline going through my veins that could have allowed me to lift cars or run through burning buildings. Whatever I had to do to make sure my brother was safe. I ran up to this kid, I never caught his name, grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and spun him around so fast I am sure I gave him whiplash. I towered over him and pushed him up against the wall.
I glared at this boy with such disgust. I hated everything about him. I hated the little smirk he had stretched across his chubby, sun-burned face, and I despised the fact that he thought he was so much more superior to everyone else walking those school halls. Well, I felt this would be the perfect opportunity for a reality check.
I looked at him and said in a very stern, quiet voice, “Get the hell off my brother. Not so big and tough now, are you? How would you feel to get beat up by a girl? Bet all your friends would love that.”
He replied in a shaky voice, “Dude, please don’t do that! I would never live it down.”
I just looked at him. I stared at him for a couple minutes and then finally said, “Then step away. Back down and never even look my brother in the eye again, or I will make sure to invite all your friends to watch me kick your butt. You think you can make fun of my brother? Yeah well, I guess you must feel really cool beating up a kid half the size of you. Walk away.”
The kid ran out, and I never saw him again.
My brother never went back there after that day in the bathroom. I told my mom everything that had happened. I could not get it through my head why everyone was so mean and cruel to my brother, but they acted normal towards me.
I grew up that day in the bathroom. I learned boys cry too, even the tough ones. That a child’s biggest fear is what their friends will think of them. I also realized something else, no one is perfect. We all have our flaws, and there is nothing we can do to escape it. Life is in no way an easy thing to get through, but as my dad always told me, “If everything in life came easy, a person could never become stronger.” And through my little brother, I discovered the misunderstandings about stereotypes.
BY Jordan Turner
Everything I did, he would copy, and continue doing over and over again until he too, could do it. But then there came a point in life, when he was about six or seven years old, where things started to seem odd. When Jacob spoke, he could not pronounce any vowels, only consonants. He also had a particularly hard time remembering the alphabet, writing, and reading. My mother put him through speech therapy and tutoring from that point on. Eventually, he transferred to a local public elementary school that had teachers that specialized in learning disabilities. All seemed under control until the first week of school started.
It was strange; Jacob would come home from school every day and run up to his room and cry. I was the only one in the family that ever noticed it. He never wanted to play or talk to anyone, which was not like him. He just seemed miserable. So one day after school, I followed him to his room and asked him what was wrong.
He then began to say, “Jordan, I have no friends. Nobody likes me there. I sit alone at lunch, play alone on the playground, and get tripped and pushed just because I am Korean. They always tell me I am dumb because I cannot read, and Asians are supposed to be smart. I am the retarded Asian. Jordan, what is wrong with me? I hate this.”
Then he just started crying, and would not stop for hours.
The next day was a Friday. Every Friday my brother had tutoring at an elementary school walking distance from our house. It just so happened I was off school for a long weekend, so I volunteered to take him to his tutoring lesson.
I only had to have been there for about twenty minutes before I saw my brother walk out into the hallway, where I was sitting, to go find the restroom. I had placed myself comfortably in the hallway right across from the water fountain, and on either side of me were the men and women’s restroom. My brother walked past me and disappeared behind the closed door to the boy’s bathroom.
The next thing I heard was a scream. That’s all I heard; the sound of my younger brother screaming from behind that closed door. Without even thinking, I ran in.
When I walked around the corner of the bathroom of this elementary school, I saw my brother curled up in a ball in the corner of the bathroom covering his head with his hands. Hovering over him was a slightly taller boy who looked about the same age as I was.
He was yelling at Jacob telling him, “Go back to where you came from. You can not even talk right! What is wrong with you? Asians are supposed to be smart; you’re just the dumb Asian kid who cannot read or even talk! You are such a loser!”
Well, to this kid’s surprise, he had a much unexpected visitor in the room with him. Without hesitation, having only the picture of my brother huddled in the bathroom corner completely helpless, I went after him. I had never been so brave and tough in my life. I had a rush of adrenaline going through my veins that could have allowed me to lift cars or run through burning buildings. Whatever I had to do to make sure my brother was safe. I ran up to this kid, I never caught his name, grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and spun him around so fast I am sure I gave him whiplash. I towered over him and pushed him up against the wall.
I glared at this boy with such disgust. I hated everything about him. I hated the little smirk he had stretched across his chubby, sun-burned face, and I despised the fact that he thought he was so much more superior to everyone else walking those school halls. Well, I felt this would be the perfect opportunity for a reality check.
I looked at him and said in a very stern, quiet voice, “Get the hell off my brother. Not so big and tough now, are you? How would you feel to get beat up by a girl? Bet all your friends would love that.”
He replied in a shaky voice, “Dude, please don’t do that! I would never live it down.”
I just looked at him. I stared at him for a couple minutes and then finally said, “Then step away. Back down and never even look my brother in the eye again, or I will make sure to invite all your friends to watch me kick your butt. You think you can make fun of my brother? Yeah well, I guess you must feel really cool beating up a kid half the size of you. Walk away.”
The kid ran out, and I never saw him again.
My brother never went back there after that day in the bathroom. I told my mom everything that had happened. I could not get it through my head why everyone was so mean and cruel to my brother, but they acted normal towards me.
I grew up that day in the bathroom. I learned boys cry too, even the tough ones. That a child’s biggest fear is what their friends will think of them. I also realized something else, no one is perfect. We all have our flaws, and there is nothing we can do to escape it. Life is in no way an easy thing to get through, but as my dad always told me, “If everything in life came easy, a person could never become stronger.” And through my little brother, I discovered the misunderstandings about stereotypes.
BY Jordan Turner
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
