A Hole in the Wall

            Our seventh grade algebra class was divided into three groups. There were the smart kids, who raced through their problems, the slower kids, who asked a million questions, and then there were the hall kids, who liked to figure things out on their own. I was a proud hall kid, and I spent every day sitting in the hallway working out problems with my two best friends Abby and Kelly Jo. It was a perfect arrangement, because we were up on the third floor where there was never anyone around, and there was this little ledge in front of the long windows that was the perfect size for three. We always tried to work on our math, but there always seemed to be distractions. Our middle school building was very old, often mysterious, and across from where we sat there was this weird crawl space that looked like it hadn’t been used for decades. We were always puzzled by it, never sure if it was really a crawl space or just a hole that was never covered, and we often discussed what we would find if we crawled into it.

            One day, I was dared by my friends to crawl into the hole and, of course, I couldn’t disappoint. Then I had to fight through cobwebs that were thicker than cotton balls as I inched into the creepy hole. I kept looking back over my shoulder for reassurance, and my friends kept giving me encouraging nods. Once inside the crawlspace, I felt into the total darkness above my head and realized that I could fit my body into a chimney like structure and stand all the way up. I heard Kelly Jo laughing hysterically. I called through the wall and asked why there were laughing, and they said I looked funny because only my feet and the bottom of my legs were still showing.

            The joke was over and I was ready to get out, but I was having the hardest time trying to maneuver myself back out of the little hole. I started to get a little panicked, because I had no idea what was above my head and I realized that all the cob webs were probably owned by a couple of massive spiders. Abby and Kelly were getting a little panicky as well.

            After about ten minutes Abby yelled at me to stand back up, and I told her she was crazy. But in a strained whisper she explained that the school psychologist had just come out of his office and was walking down the hallway towards us. I jumped back up and stood perfectly still, holding my breath. The rest of the hall kids scurried back to work, and I was left there all alone, trapped in a wall with just my phantom feet visible in the crawlspace. The school psychologist walked past and I was almost in the clear, but then he did a double take and well… let’s just say that the next time I chose to do something that’s considered “strange behavior,” I remembered not to do it while the school shrink was watching.

Sestina

Ever since you have gone

and joined the army, you feel so far away,

so distant, and even though I love

our letters to one another, they don’t replace

our talks, those long walks; do you remember,

when we’d laugh till our cheeks were stained with tears?

I try to get rid of my sad thoughts and replace

them with  memories; like those afternoons away

at the lake when you taught me how to fish, and I loved

to catch them but made you throw them back. I didn’t want to tear

one fish away from her family. We’d be gone

all day and come back with no fish, but you didn’t mind. I remember

all those times I took for granted: now you’re away

and I’d give anything to get back those moments and replace

some of my harsh words for words of love,

but those moments are gone

and I’ll always just have to remember

the times I hurt you, every tear.

I hate it that you’re gone.

You told me to look up at the moon and remember

that even though we are far away

we’ll both see it every night; it doesn’t replace

anything. You said it’d make us feel close, and I’d love

to feel it but it’s hard to see the moon when my eyes are filled tears.

But I’m so proud of you. Proud that you’ve gone

to do great things, that you honor and love

your country enough to tear

yourself from the familiar life you remember

to go to such a scary place.

I’m so proud but the fear doesn’t go away.

I know I told you I would wait for you, and I remember

my promise but I never realized the war was so far away place.

I could miss you and cry every day waiting, but my tears

would be wasted. My world if filled people who are not gone

for four years, and filled with people to meet and people to love.

My life can’t be put on hold while you are away.

The war may have torn us apart, taken you away,

but whatever place you chose to go, always remember

that my love may feel lost but it will never be gone.

 

Wisconsin Spring

           The wonderful thing about Wisconsin is that you can find yourself outside on the first day of spring, looking at a half foot of freshly fallen snow. Earlier that day, snow was falling hard the on cornfield in my backyard, sparkling in the high sun. Between the thick falling flakes floating around me and the blue dome above me, I felt like I was in a wintery snow globe that someone had just grabbed and shook up.

            But later that day the snow had settled, the sun was dipping down below the tree line and the bright colors of the morning had faded to rich blues and purples. The wind had set some of the snow drifting, revealing brown peaks of the rows of dirt. The scene in front of me was so peaceful that I forgave the snow for postponing my spring weather.

            A familiar hum cut through my silence, followed by a harsh blinking light. There is an airport out of view, just beyond the tree line, and planes fly over my house several times a day. Even though I’d seen so many, I’ll never get used to those thunderous engines flying so close above my head, a feeling like the chills I get from a fly buzzing in my ears, and the blinking lights painted an afterimage in my retinas.

            The plane cut across my scene, overshadowing all the beautiful qualities of the night, and left me in a tense state. I realized how easy it was for this one small interruption to dominate my attention and take over my whole outlook on the things in front of me.

            I guess this happens a lot. One small problem can take over, worry me to no end, and put me in a negative mood. Insignificant setbacks can blind me from all the wonderful things I have in front of me.

            The plane landed, revealing my peaceful scene once again. And just like the plane, my everyday dilemmas were resolved and life went on. What I took from this night is that bad things happen, but behind the bad there is always plenty of good to be found. The snowy scene was much more pleasant when I could see around all the disturbances, just as my life will be more positive if I can see around the small problems and focus on the things that I’m grateful for.      

A Swimming Lesson

          One day at swimming lessons I was feeling ambitious, and I asked my students to swim the entire length of the pool—a huge undertaking for level two students. Each one of them set out into the pool determined, and each one lifted themselves out on the other side, beaming with pride and excited by the stunned looks on their parent’s faces. All of my students completed the challenge, except one little boy who watched from the edge of the pool. I was not surprised that he did not join his classmates, because was still afraid to put his face in the water. I was ready to move onto the next part of our lesson when the little boy tapped me on the shoulder. He told me he was ready to do it. My heart fluttered. In my mind I imagined the boy jumping in the water and swimming the entire length of the pool. 

            But he did something much different than that. He lowered his little body slowly into the pool, took a gulp of air, and plunged his face into the water. His mother started crying. Even though her son was the least talented of the swimmers, she was by far the most proud parent in the room.

            The boy lifted his face out of the water, wiped the water from his eyes, and gave me a big, toothless smile. His classmates looked at him, waiting for him to try swimming his lap. But I knew he was done for the day. He’d put his face in the water, and that was enough for one day.

            That boy made me stop and think about what it meant to be successful. He surely wasn’t the most skilled of my students, but he was the most satisfied with his accomplishments. Maybe it’s not the outstanding things you achieve, the gold metals, the shining awards, but rather the small things that add up that make you truly successful.

Up and to the Right

The trick to finding an answer

I was told

is to look up and to the right.

I try till my eyes hurt,

but the fog of my thoughts are in the way.

All the things I need to remember,

like where my car is parked, who’s mad

at whom, what kind of cake she wants for her birthday.

That one song we sang today

blares, shwee oot doot dot doo dot da

bad do bop dwee bah doo dah,

a cacophony of scatting,

my alto harmony singing out the loudest,

The things I try to forget.

My eyes keep wandering back

to the back wall, to behind

where a string of  posters scream inspiration

at me, to back on that day

when the man with no arms talked to us

about following our dreams and all of that.

Up and to the right,

to the right, to the right

take it back now ya’ll. Two hops this time

One-- STOP IT—two, three, four,

I declare a thumb war.

My mind is loud, without much sense,

like those modern paintings they call abstract.

Breaking through the wall of noise

is like breaking through a defensive line.

Maybe below all this noise are the real answers.

Like who we are or why we’re here.

Or maybe I will just find a few answers,

Like the formula for the inverse of cosine.

Up and to the right.

Or maybe it’s left.

I don’t know how she expects me to finish,

this test with all the noise in here.

The Lake

           And there we were, walking down a gravely road barefoot in bathing suits, swatting at mosquitoes and carrying our big red canoe. 

            We’d had perfect day. Sleeping in well past ten, we’d woken up to a big breakfast of pancakes and bacon. My cousin Sarah and I were on dish duty today, leaving my sister Meg and younger cousin Kalen to get the boats ready. The four of us were up at our family cabin, along with aunts, uncles, grandparents, and several other little cousins. As by tradition, and our little group spent the entire day proceeding the 4th of July out on the lake “fishing” on our red canoe, an escape from the hectic cabin.

Each year we did a little less fishing and a little more sunbathing, and by this year we didn’t even bother bringing along a tackle box. We packed a lunch, suntan lotion, and a few People magazines before we pushed off our boats off onto the lake.

            As planned, the day went beautifully. The four of us were draped out across the bottom of the boat, and as we lay out in the sun, my cousin Sarah told us about her big career plans and about her excitement for graduation. We gave advice to little Kalen, who was having some problems with her third grade love life, and my sister Meg entertained us with her silly stories and impersonations. I just took it all in. We were as far from our usual cares as we could get.

            Time had slipped away from us, the food was gone, the smell of banana suntan lotion only lingering, and the sun was setting just past its three o’clock glory, preparing itself for a vibrant twilight. The sun’s reflection off the lake was so bright that, for a moment, we lost our sense of direction, until a cool breeze sent ripples through the water, reminding us which was water and which sky.

            We opened our eyes to see massive clouds rolling in, the sky that had just been a lovely shade of pink turned a nasty dark blue, and our peaceful afternoon was gone. The sky evolved so quickly that I felt like we were on the ominous set of a horror film, the weather cueing the entrance of the bad guy. The waves and the wind became so forceful that are canoe was being pushed further and further away from our cabin, and even when paddling with all our effort, we couldn’t get any forward momentum.  After a brief and frazzled conversation we decided to land as soon as we could and walk the rest of the way back to the cabin.

           Great idea. It was about a two mile hike back to our cabin, and we had no phones, no shoes, and no bug spray. We were stuck walking down a gravely road barefoot in bathing suits, swatting at mosquitoes and carrying our big red canoe. Little Kalen started crying because her feet were hurting, so we took shifts, with two carrying the canoe and one giving a piggy back ride. We walked in bitter silence, all a little mad at each other for not thinking this through.

           At the wrong moment, the sky opened up and within seconds the downpour had turned the dusty road into mud. I braced myself for more tears, but instead all I heard is my sister Meg hysterically laughing. My cousin Sarah and I just stood there staring at her, failing to see the comedy in the situation. But Kalen’s pursed lips quavered, and curled into a smile, causing all of us to lose our angry composure and fall into a fit of giggles. By this time Meg was rolling around in the mud laughing, gasping for breath. We looked absolutely ridiculous, but the thought didn’t cross our minds.

            This is the true beauty of family. Sometimes we love each other, sometimes we drive each other crazy, but the end of the day we are always there for each other. Just for this moment I didn’t have to worry about anyone watching me, anyone judging me, because I knew I was with my family, the people who love me unconditionally. Even in the rain, even in the rain this is as close to happiness as I could ever get. We finished off the last half mile of our hike, singing and laughing the whole way.

Air Glory

I really wanted that i-pod.

         My sister and I were carelessly leaning up against a fencepost, anticipating the six o’clock drawing for an i-pod nano at the 2007 Lifest Christian Music Festival. I stared up at kids swinging through air on the “Air Glory”, a giant crane that harnessed in two riders at a time to free fall from high up, set up in the middle of a dusty horse arena. We listened to the screams of the fallers and the nervous giggles of those getting harnessed. It was an odd looking contraption that towered 100 feet above us, designed to give riders the thrill of a lifetime. As its metal beams reflected the glimmer of the setting sun onto my face, I had not a care in the world. But then a sudden scream filled the air, so potent that it grabbed the attention of everyone in the area. I waited for the harness to catch, for the girl to be swung back up into safety.

        But the rope never caught her.

        The terrifying thud left the entire arena silent. One second… two seconds… No one was moved. No one made a noise. I stood there in complete horror, my mouth gaping in disbelief. As the dust settled the crowd suddenly began to panic. Doctors quickly identified themselves and ran in to help, security ordered ambulances, and all I could do was stand there, numb.

        On that day, sixteen year old Elizabeth Mohl died, and I had to watch. I cried about it for days, not able to make sense of it. Why did this happen? How could someone so seemingly invincible be gone in an instant? That fall changed the way I view my life. It is not a burden, an obligation, or a responsibility, but rather it is a gift. I have been gifted with so many talents and opportunities. Every day I embrace what it means to be alive, and on those days where everything seems to be a chore, I remind myself how very fortunate I am to be living in this beautiful country, healthy and young. This experience has taught me to set goals and reach for my highest expectations, because I never know if today is going to be my last.

       Suddenly that i-pod didn’t seem all that important.

The Biggest Problem

           The citizens of today’s society should be extraordinary people. The genes we carry have been hand picked across thousands of years by natural selection, so that we have the traits of our most success ancestors. But what if success thousands of years ago and success today have completely different meanings? I do not think that there is one global issue that holds more importance than the rest, but I am proposing the idea that the instincts we’ve gained through evolution are actually the cause of the problems in our world today.    

            In ancient times, food was scarce and the individuals who were drawn to foods high in fat were the ones who survived food shortages and famine. Today some countries have an ample supply of food, but many people still carry genes that make them crave fatty foods. Instead of being a survival advantage, it is causing widespread obesity and health problems.

            It was also necessary for ancient people to form tight clans, to conform to the thinking of their group, and to be hostile towards opposing groups. Those who behaved in these ways were the most likely to survive, and we are now genetically inclined to think in similar ways. Adolescents are likely to conform for their friends and are influenced by popular media. Conflicting countries turn to war because it is a natural instinct to be violent against people outside of their clan. And some research even suggests that the ancient instinct to be threatened by people from other tribes has resulted in genes that spark racist thinking.  

            The bottom line is that humans have evolved to become very egocentric individuals, looking out for their own survival ahead of all others. But in today’s world, our problems are much more complicated than basic survival, and we need to start working together to solve them.  The biggest problem that faces us is debatable, but the solution to any problem will require a generation of individuals who are willing to fight their natural instincts, and put the needs of others before their own.

Money in the Classroom

         Governor Scott Walker has proposed a budget repair bill that will require government workers to contribute fifty percent more to their pensions, pay at least twelve percent of their annual health insurance premiums, and will take away all union bargaining rights, except for the right to negotiate wages. Essentially, the bill will save the state $300 million over the next two years, but on average, public workers will take a cut of about $3,000 take home pay annually.

            I feel sympathy for all of the public workers who will suffer from this bill, but I especially am concerned about the pay cuts for state educators. As a high school student and the daughter of a kindergarten teacher, I will see first hand the affects of this bill.

            It is common knowledge that teachers will not be getting rich anytime soon. They have very low salaries, especially considering that they have gone to college for four or more years, they are required to take additional classes for recertification every three to five years, and they put in many hours off the clock to grade papers and plan lessons. Many teachers say that they come to school every day for their students, but at the end of the day even the most selfless teacher needs to bring home an income to support themselves and their family. To take away another $3,000 take home pay from our state’s educators means that Scott Walker is taking away the value of teachers in Wisconsin, and taking away value from the people our state trusts its youth with for thirteen years of their lives.

            I am graduating this year, I have wonderful teachers, and I am not predicting that this bill will have any affect on my education. But I am scared of what this bill will mean for education in the near future. If the occupation of teaching is being devalued and there is no motivation for the future workforce to peruse a job as a teacher, where is the education system going to be in ten years? In twenty? I understand that in light of our current economic situation, budget cuts are necessary. What I don’t understand is the fact that so many cuts are being made in education, the thing that is most important for the future of our state. In recent news we have been hearing that the United States has been falling behind other countries in education, especially in math and science. Right now, education should be a top propriety if our country wants to remain competitive in the global economy. 

            In Scott Walker’s address to educators, he underlined the fact that the bill “will keep more money in the classroom,” but what he doesn’t understand is that the tangible is not the most important thing in a school system. New textbooks, shining facilities and fancy computers have no value to a student if there is not a motivated and inspiring teacher there to use them. I hope that in the next few days Governor Scott Walker sees the obvious flaws in his budget repair bill, because otherwise he will be seeing the affects of his bill in the education system for many years to come.