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  New Beginnings after a tragic ending

“Tick Tock Tick Tock” my body froze, motionless I can hear the hands on the clock ticking so softly but roaring loudly in my ear. My head turned slowly towards the clock “2:00pm”.

“Key what the hell is wrong with you?”

“Oh uh nothing” that was weird.  I was walking with friend home from school since we got out early. It took us a while to get to her house but once we got there we were exhausted. After we got something to eat we sat on her porch and laughed for hours and hours, that’s when it all began. Instantly I realized I had 14 missed calls I quickly called my cousin.

“Hey wassup,” silence.

“Hello” I repeated caught of guard by the silence.

“Key, where you at? We been calling you, you need to get home now!”

“Wait, what’s wrong?”

“We’re coming to get you. Your brother died in a car accident.”

I didn’t know what to say my vision blurred, palms began to sweat. Crash, my phone fell from my grip and for once in my life I couldn’t speak.

         “Dang Kev you always cheating in something!”

         “Dang lil sis you always losing in something!” my brother laughed hysterically mocking my anger. I stared cold-heartedly at him I didn’t find a damn thing funny. I was 7 years old and he was 12 at the time. We just got done playing Street fighter 4 times and I lost each round. The thought of losing to my brother made me cringe and him rubbing it in only made it worst.

“Its not funny!”

“Your right it’s not funny key” I smiled

“Its Sad!”

“Housed!!” my cousin yelled cracking up on the floor. My smile faded quickly,

Thump, thump, thump, I stormed up the steps flushed with embarrassment.

“Aw key you know I love you and don’t worry sis ima teach you how to strategize that way when you older you can take on anybody well except me of course.”

“Chill cuz now you know aint no girl playing video games it’s a man thing that aint no girl ready for.”

I proceeded to my room as I glanced at my cousin one more time and smirked we’ll see bout that.

         Everything around me grew black and cold. None of this was making any sense how could my brother die, I just saw him yesterday? I stared at the sky reminiscing about old times we had. I could feel a storm coming and before I knew it my vision began to blur as the liquid formed into my eyes and then it rain. Tears began to drop from my eyes flooding my cheeks with streams of sorrow. Each teardrop represented the time I’d have to spend without my brother until the tears stopped symbolizing that my pain and time would be gone and I’d see him again. Just then my cousin drove up the block and signaled me to get in the car I glanced at my friend who understood it was time for me to go. I hopped in the car and drove home with my cousin silently except for the small talk about how my whole family was inside my house. Staring out the foggy window spotting families sitting on porches and little kids playing I suddenly realized my life would never be the same. We parked the car down the street from my home and began walking up the block. I signaled him to go ahead of me because I was in no rush to go home. I walked slowly to my house as people stared at me to see my reaction. I began walking up my steps as I stood frozen on my porch breathing slowing reaching for the doorknob I slowly turned it open entering my home knowing that it was time to face my reality.

Through my brother’s death I realized that the world is REAL.  Life is short my brother died at 19 and for the times I have on earth have I’m going live it to the fullest and do things I’ve never done before, be spontaneous and adventurous but most importantly have fun!  Life never goes the way you may plan it to but you have to deal with the cards you’re dealt with. I learned to never hold grudges for a tomorrow that may never come and to tell the people that matter the most to me that I love them because it maybe the last chance I get. I realized that you only get one shot at life and every minute counts no matter who you are. That person who thinks they’re above everybody (your not), or that shy boy or girl who always feels misplaced and or unwanted (your not), jus let go of all insecurities and negatives and have fun besides like Drake said, “Everybody dies but not everybody lives” 

It was a great day for cookout I spent the whole day with my family .It was fun even the ride home was a funnier then the usual. When I got home I  sat down and watched television, then I happened to noticed that no one had let my dog Misty in from the backyard. So I went to the backyard to let her out, but this seemed to be only a failed attempt because she was not  sitting outside the door from hearing the rattle of the door. I began to look around the backyard for her but she was nowhere to be found .Then, I noticed in the left corner of the gate there was a huge  opening big enough for more then a dog to go under. So my family and I quickly assumed that someone had broken to are backyard and either set my dog free to roam in the cruel world or try to take her for themselves. This seemed to be one of the  worst days of my life  because I could be losing a long time friend that I have known since I was just 4 years old.

Shortly, after we began our long search for the family dog we came to believe that our seem futile. A month had gone by there has been no citing of her around the neighborhood and we haven’t received any calls from anyone who have seen our flyers. Perhaps its because we only had a picture of Misty at 3 years old when she was now 7. After about a month of searching my parents found that there was no point invest any more money or time to continue the search. So we began “the waiting game” it seem like I have been waiting by the phone  each day for years  and yet its only been a couple weeks.

After about 2 months of Misty had been lost we finally got a call from a man saying he had found our dog on a corner,  and had taken her to his house around 40^th and market where she had been staying for a couple of days. Until he noticed that she had a collar with her name and our phone number incase she gotten lost. So I told him we would be there to pick her up as soon as my mother gets  home from  work. Later that day when my mom returned home I told the great news and her mans address. We left out right then and there so I could be reunited with my dog and I thanked the man  for his kindness and for helping us find our dog. Ultimately it all ended great, and I had a totally different perspective on the world and nice society might  actually be.

I was frozen in shock. No one I knew personally had ever died before. I always heard about it on the news, but it had never been anyone I knew. I was devastated, I had never really thought about people dying. It scared me. After a few days my initial shock disappeared, replaced by a deep feeling of how fragile life is. For the first time I thought about every time that someone had died and everyone around them who had been affected by it. I began to think with a sense of purpose and sympathy.

The day my neighbor died I matured, the day my neighbor died a lot of things started to change in my head. Things can happen so unexpectedly that you don’t know how to handle it. We were in the middle of a game of chess (he was winning, but I had a better set up for later). You have to be prepared for as much as possible even though you have to live your life to he fullest.

When people die, their life on this planet ends. They no longer exist in this world and the only thing left behind is their memories and their legacy. What you do with your life is vital because I believe that you don’t get a second chance.

I never thought so deeply about a subject before. This must be what they call, a “revelation” because I have never felt like I felt right then. I started to look at the world differently and thought back a lot on the best and how horrible an unexpected death is.

One of the first things that crossed my mind is the day of 9/11/01. So many people were killed during this event. None of them had a say and the majority of them probably never got to live out a full and happy life. It is terrible to think of a life as wasted but dying unexpected makes me think exactly that. Especially when it is someone who hasn’t reached adulthood yet. You have to have a purpose in life, something to strive for, to hope for, to dream for. Without it your life is truly meaningless. If you have never had anything like that then your life goal should be to find one and find it quick. Even if you die before you achieve it. That won’t mean that your life was wasted but that it was a constant struggle for that sense of ultimate achievement.

I know exactly what I want to do with my life and I have been striving for that goal since about 7^th grade. I have always loved to take apart and build things. I want to be an engineer and possibly even run my own company. I want to have a name people know for a having a vast intellectual capacity. I would like to invent things that help the world and not just weapons to “protect it” That is what I want out of my life. That is my personal goal.

I have a great amount of sympathy for everyone who has wasted there life or has had it stripped from them unwillingly before their time. It is a crime even if it is an accident.

A life is important, not only what you do but also what you leave behind. What will you leave behind for the next generation? People mostly learn from those who are older and more experienced. What you leave behind for someone else is what the next generations will be like. You should leave behind a positive message so that you can continue to make the world a better place even after you die. Sort of like Martin Luther King, he is the leader of the non-discrimination in the world (my opinion). He did what he believed was right, and even though he died prematurely, his legacy will live on until all racial barriers are gone. That is a life well spent.

In conclusion, I know that I have said a lot. I know that there will be someone who will read this paper and not get my message. I know that for the people who do, it will hopefully change you. I hope that you will make your life worth something more than just getting through to the next day. You have to have a life of meaning. You have to have a purpose in life, something to strive for, to hope for, to dream for. Without it your life is truly meaningless.

9/14/11

Unbearable Pain

What do they mean, when they ask

“How old are you?” 

“What grade are you in?”

“How tall are you?”

The first time I got asked these horrible questions was my first day of 6^th grade. It began when I walked into my homeroom class; there was a nice breeze of cool air, and a strong vanilla scent coming towards me as I entered. I felt enthusiastic and happy to be there. I Sat down at the closest seat I saw and I started to have a conversation with some of my friends. After a few minutes of being in class my teacher called my name to ask me something.

My teacher ms. Barks said, “I think you got the wrong class? 3^rd grade is down stairs with Ms. James”.

I responded with a confused look on my face and I said, “No, I’m in your class,” then I showed her my paper. She looked at it then immediately she got a shocked look on her face. It was an amazed look that a person would have when they win the lottery. She apologized to me with that same look on her face.

She said “I’m sorry for doubting you, you just look younger they others kids your age”. “Its cool” I said but I was still wondering how I looked younger then everybody else. I pounded for a little bite wondering how I was different from other boys in my class. But I couldn’t think of anything.

The next day I came to school I notice a new girl in the class. I found her very pretty so I thought I should introduce myself to her. I began to walk up to her when I notice that she was taller than me. I worried about for a little bite. I started thinking to my self “do I want a girl that taller then me”. Never the less I still went up to her and started talking. I started off by having a normal conversation with her, I said hello and introduce myself. Then I asked her for her number.

She replied back to me by saying, “ how old are you? Are you even in this grade?”

 I said I’m 11 years old and I’m in 6^th grade. She then embarrasses me by saying “your to short and you don’t look 11”. I began to tear up when I said, “I’m not short”. She said, “ You look like a midget. How tall are you anyway?” I screamed at the top of my lungs and poured down tears of anger. I ran out the classroom at my top speed, I went straight to the bathroom. Since my eyes were so blurry I accidently ran into the females bathroom. I didn’t notice it at first.

But then I heard a little girl scream, “there’s a boy in here”.

I turned around then someone else said, “he’s a midget”. I was heart broken. I felt as if someone shot me five times with a shotgun at my heart. This is the unbearable pain I felt. I just drop to the ground and laid there until the teacher came for me.

The next day of school came. I didn’t want to go, I begged my mom not to send me to school but it didn’t work she still made me go. So I figured since I had to go I should make the best of it. So I tried on things to make myself look taller. I put on some very thick pair of socks and some boots with the highest soul. I also put on a hat. I walked out the house looking kind of dumb because it was still summer it the temperature was 88º, but I didn’t care because I looked taller. I got to the school and walked in the class thinking I’m the “big man on campus.” I looked for the same girl that called me short yesterday; I wanted to see if see still felt the same way.

After I found her I walk to her and said “Hi.”

She said “hey”.

So I then asked “can I get your number now that I’m taller.”

She laughed and said “you don’t look taller at all; you still look like a seven-year-old midget.”

I cried for a little bit. But then I stopped because I realized that crying is not going to make anything better because people are always going to judge you by your physical appearance and I cant do anything to stop them.

“Excuse Me?”

“Like What Are You?”

These are the type of questions I get all the time. It all started when I entered a new school, outside of my region. I was mad but more upset that I was entering a school where I felt like I didn’t belong. It was still in Olney, but I knew no one. First day of second grade I came into the room, thinking “Why did my mother put me in here?” The feeling stuck with me for a while.

This girl named Sydney, came up to me and said, “What are you?” this was the first I ever heard this, I was shocked but more like disrespected. I just answered, “What?” she repeated the question over and over again, till I couldn’t take it anymore and I said “Rican!” She chose not to believe me and yet it didn’t bother me or affect me the way I thought it would. I mean I was mad that it concerned her that much what my nationally was, but it shouldn’t have mattered to her. She wasn’t me nor a friend at the time. She went and told all her friends about it, they ambushed me. It wasn’t a big deal. Her “friends” and I became real close while she chose to be difficult. It took one strike in fourth grade, when someone called me “FAKE”; I have never been called anything in my life.

Hearing that made me think that I didn’t have to prove myself to anyone, I am who I am and no one can tell me. I spoke Spanish to prove to them that I was a Puerto Rican, but not for their approval but more to prove to myself that nothing can affect me.

While I was walking to the Chinese Store around the corner from my house with one of my closest friends, some man stopped me as I was crossing the street “I don’t mean to be rude, but I noticed you walking and I have to know what you are?” I just stared at him, lost. Took me a while to think of what to respond to him. I just answered nicely, “Rican”. I was irritated and tired of it. I hate it when people and try and tell me who I am. Like you have the right to.

He just stared at me until he realized we were about to get hit by a car. As I was about to enter the Chinese Store, he said, “You can’t be, you’re to pale to be Rican, most have some color. So what are you really?” This is what made me tick, like how are you going to tell me what I am? I didn’t know what to say to him, I just stared at him.

I felt insulted but more disrespected. I walked away, felt like he didn’t even need an answer either way he was going to have an opinion about me and think what he wanted to. Through out the rest of the day, that’s what I was focused on. The way people speak to others is a shame; I know parents taught their kids manners.

Last year during the summer, I was heading to mothers job after my job. My headphones were on loud. I was in my own little world, paying attention to no one. I was a stop away from my mom’s job, as I was rising, this young lady stopped me and said, “Oh My God, you are very beautiful, skin and all. I don’t mean to be rude but what are you? Like your race.” This was the one and only time I did not feel any type of way.

I smiled and said, “Thank You, and I’m Rican.” She just looked at me, like she had something to say but just didn’t know what to say. “I can see it.” I was beyond shocked; it was like a miracle had occurred. She was the first person to ever say that and not start an argument. Right when I was getting ready to answer her, the bus had reached my stop. “Have a blessed day,” she said.

It amazed me how a stranger like herself, was able to keep a smile on my face all day. I was more thankful for the fact that she didn’t argue with me, but the fact that she believed me when I said, “I was Rican”. The compliments were just extra. I just felt the need to tell my mom, she didn’t seem to understand why I was so happy, but that wasn’t going to change my mood.

I think why is it that I’m the palest person in my household, and everyone else looks like they belong. Time passed and the questions continued and so did the people. I still get the question everywhere I go, but people start to believe and see that I am “Rican and NOT White”. I’ve grown to love myself for how I look and who I am.

• What are you especially proud of?
  I'm proud of the uniqueness try to put two different types of music together(even though it probably won't work).
• What do you anticipate having to change before recording your song?
  I probably will change some of the lyrics to make it work with the music. 
• What did you talk about in your song?  Why did you choose to talk about those things in talking about where you come from?
  When I first thought about the question I thought of my ancestors and how they might have come over. Also, I think explaining my heritage will help in explaining me.

Filadelfia

Es mi ciudad

Filadelfia

Es mi casa

Filadelfia

Tiene la vida

Filadelfia

Tiene mi amigos.

Verso Uno:

Soy de Fila, soy de Fila,

El gente es loco.

Soy do Fila, soy de Fila

Porque es bueno.

La comida grasa,

El gente extraño,

Las casas lindas,

Y los carne rojo.

Yo no tengo más

No amigos

O lugares iré.

Pero no importante

El ciudad da abundancia

Todo ésa quiero.

Filadelfia

Es mi ciudad

Filadelfia

Es mi casa

Filadelfia

Tiene la vida

Filadelfia

Tiene mi amigos.

Verso Dos:

Cuando yo lluegué,

Tuve mi madre

Nadie más,  

Hasta no mi padre

El ciudad habló

Habló a mi

Dijo estuve tranquilo

Estuva libre

El diversión, la vida

Sólo comenzaré

Está Filadelfia,

Cuando pasar todo

Encontré amigos

Encontré amor

Encontré peligros

Encontré emocións

Encontré familia

Encontré mascota

Encontré una gata

Encontré una perra

Filadelfia

Es mi ciudad

Filadelfia

Es mi casa

Filadelfia

Tiene la vida

Filadelfia

Tiene mi amigos (x2)

1. I'm just happy I managed to get this song done, especially having as long as it is. It could've been longer, I guess, but it could've been way shorter. I also love the music I have to go along with these lyrics.
   
2. I am definitely expecting having to make some changes to the lyrics both grammar wise and flow wise. Some lines may have to many syllables to make the song sound natural. If that comes up, I'll have to find a way to make that line shorter.
3. I chose to talk about why I love Philadelphia so much, mostly associated with the things it gave me that I didn't have in other states, at least not in this kind of quality.
   
4. I made the music myself. I don't know what kind of genre it would fit under, but it's pretty slow compared to what I had originally planned. It's sort of melodic, combining piano with drums. I like what I got. 
   

Vengo de donde sonrisas, comida de la alma, y risa

Los árboles altos en el cielo tiene ramas brazos abiertos

Siempre buscando

Basta con buscar

El futuro y el pasado están en mi presente

No sé donde mis ancestros, pero yo entiendo mi familia presente

Ellos dijeron mis ancestros de África

Ellos son esclavos

No tuvieron una vida para ustedes

Supieron vida en los hijos de futuro

En una día brillante

El día es ahorita

Vengo de donde sonrisas, comida de la alma, y risa

Los árboles altos en el cielo tiene ramas brazos abiertos

Siempre buscando

Basta con buscar

El futuro y el pasado están en mi presente

Soy de los forestales pino de Nueva Jersey

Tiene muchas aventuras y misterios

Estoy perdido en la belleza los misterios, en la transparencia 

Yo sueño

Soy una árbol fuerte con ramas crece rápido

Vengo de donde sonrisas, comida de la alma, y risa

Los árboles altos en el cielo tiene ramas brazos abiertos

Siempre buscando

Basta con buscar

El futuro y el pasado están en mi presente

I am proud of myself for simply completing this song, because I initially saw it as a challenge.  I am also prod of my interpretation of answering the question. I think that I answered the question in a less physical way. Prior to recording this song, I think that I may need to find synonyms for some of the words so that they flow better. In my song I talk about how I don't know  much about my families history, but I know who they are now and the pieces of stories I've heard. I also talk about being from nature and my place in my world. My life began in the pine lands of New and what I experienced there lives on through me. I'm thinking about using a negro spiritual for music.

¿De dónde vengo yo?

Vengo de el ciudad pequeño

Famosa comida y museos

Es gran... lugar... estar. 

Verso Uno

Soy de Filadelfia.

Vivo en Wynnfield

Es la zona bien

Es tranquilo y bonita

Las personas es amable.

Es gran lugar estar

¿De dónde vengo yo?

¿De dónde vengo yo?

Vengo de el ciudad pequeño

Famosa comida y museos

Es gran... lugar... estar. 

Verso Dos

Vengo de grande familia

Mi familia es especial para mi

Mucho talento y inteligente

Y mucho cariñosa

¿De dónde vengo yo?

¿De dónde vengo yo?

Vengo de el ciudad pequeño

Famosa comida y museos

Es gran... lugar... estar. 

Taylor Thomas Silver.

It felt like a few seconds of sleep until my eyes crusted open. I looked around not knowing what was going on. I couldn’t remember how I got to where I was or what happened. The anesthesia still hadn’t worn off. I looked down, and saw a big purple cast on my foot. I started to remember what was going on. This was the beginning of a long cycle of surgeries. This was only one of four.

I was in fifth grade. My foot started to hurt when I walked on it. I told my parents and they just told me that I probably hurt it in gymnastics somehow. After a couple weeks of it hurting, they finally took me to get it checked out. It turned out that I had an extra bone in my foot. The medical term for it is a calcium deposit. When I first found out I was scared, I didn’t know how to take this information. I knew that I should have been sad or upset, even scared, but for some reason I was almost excited. I mean, I never had anything major in my life before, it was exciting to know what it felt like to have the attention.

I missed out on three summers, and three months of a school year because of having surgeries. It always bummed me out because I couldn’t go swimming with my friends or even take a walk with them in the summer sun. I could only sit in the house and watch movies, because I didn’t have the energy to get up. I felt dizzy just walking from the couch to the bathroom. I needed help every step of the way.

I remember when I found out that I was going to have my second surgery. I was with my dad in the doctor’s office. He told us that I had the same thing happen to my left foot that happened to my right foot. I was kind of disappointed because it meant I would have to miss out on another summer. When I got home my mom asked me what the doctor said, so I told her. She started to cry because she didn’t want me to have to go through it again. I told her that I didn’t mind it that much. I was stupid for saying that, because the last two surgeries I had were just terrible.

My cousin Bridgid came down the shore with me about two days after my third surgery. I had so much fun just sitting in the room with her. It was nice just to have someone with me instead of being trapped in the house all day. When I was with her, she could push me around in my wheelchair at the boardwalk. She did a lot for me that week too. I am so grateful for her. She would get me a water or soup if I needed it. She even made sure that I was comfortable before I fell asleep.

I could never walk by someone who has a disability, and they look like they are struggling. When I see someone in a wheelchair, or on crutches I always ask if they need any help with anything, because I have been there. I know what its like to not be able to do anything for your self. I know what it’s like to not even be able to take a shower with out help, or get dressed by your self. I can honestly say that there were a few times in my life when I was completely helpless, besides when I was a baby. I have been in that position in a store, where I could either chose to walk on my crutches or sit in the disabled motor scooter. I am very thankful to my doctors, my parents, and my friends who have helped me through my difficult times. The reason I always want to help people who are in wheelchairs or on crutches, is because I have been there. I know what its like. It sucks and there is nothing you can do about it. The only thing you can hope for is a little bit of help. That’s what I try to give it. 

Una casa de amor.

Vengo de la musica

Y bailar.

Vengo de la familia de Smith.

Un nombe común

Pero con rasgos ünicos.

Vengo de donde los ladrillos son ponían

Alto suficiente a cubrian.

Vengo de un lugar tranquillo.

Una casa de amor.

Vengo de la musica

Y bailar.

Soy De Filadelfia.

Donde edificios brillantes suben.

y carros moscas.

Vengo de dónde todos vivan para sueños.

Pero todos no llegan los sueños.

Vengo de un lugar tranquillo.

Una casa de amor.

Vengo de la musica

Y bailar.

Verso 1

De donde yo vengo

Hay mucho amor

Una gran familia

Todos mis amigos me conocen desde la infancia

No hay nunca un momento aburrido

Yo vengo de un lugar

Donde puedo ser libre

Deporte y fraternidad

Un pequeño país en el mapa

Pero este es un país donde la felicidad vidas.

Refrán

Vengo de donde hay las playas

Las granjas y el sol hermoso

gente amable y deliciosa comida.

Verso 2

Un lugar donde reina la libre

No Estados Unidos, sino que funciona de la misma

Mi casa para siempre

No es perfecto

El lugar para estar

Mi casa Jamaica.

Refrán

Vengo de donde hay las playas

Las granjas y el sol hermoso

gente amable y deliciosa comida.

Vengo de donde hay las playas

Las granjas y el sol hermoso

gente amable y deliciosa comida.

Mi Reflexión

• I'm really proud that its easy for me to think what I want to say to my song. So far people like my lyrics and I guess thats a good start!
• I just want people to look over my lyrics and ask some advice if I need to change anything before I start to record my song. 
• In my song I was just describing what my country looks like. I was talking about the mountains, the ocean, and the corn fields. I also talked about the kids laughing, the cars, and the birds singing. Just to give the listeners some picture and audio image of what I'm talking about. 
• I'm planning to have a mellow or kind of a lullaby.  

How many streetlights do you need on one street? I kept asking that myself during my brisk walk to the 69^th Street Terminal.  Small traces of the sun’s warmth seemed to catch my stride. I started to hear a faint but familiar tune. I wandered to the source of the sound to find that a man, just about my height, was playing Sir Duke on his saxophone. I let the music surround me for some time, tapping my feet to the rhythm. I tossed a $5 bill in his case and moved about my business after a while. I found a spot to relax and waited when a lady in a red white and green walked and stood in front of me.

Ever since childhood I’ve been known as a nice guy. Although some people might confuse it with gullibility, I just consider it hard to say no. If family, or a close friend, asks for money, I’d oblige to it without thinking. If I don’t have what they’re asking for, then I’ll ask them if what I have would suffice. I don’t know why, but I’m obsessed with seeing people happy. Now don’t get my wrong, I’m not feminine or mushy or any of that, but seeing people upset around me makes me not operate right.

“Wassup Nuri!”

“Watsup Na’im?”

I don’t even know why I asked this question. I knew what would come from my 19-year-old brother Na’im.

“Can I borrow $10 for gas?”

Of course I said to myself! Now I had no idea if that was what is was really going to, but I had just received my first paycheck so I was happy to give him some money. That was just how it went. It didn’t matter if they paid back, or if it was just a giveaway, I don’t let family go without. Friends on the other hand are just a little different. For them, their must be reason, and its not usually more than 5$ if its money.  I never pondered over them, but those have always been the rules I set on loans/gifts.

One time, my mom even questioned me on my kindness. We were in the kitchen cooking, about 5:30pm. I was pouring bacon bits in to a searing pan, careful of the grease trying to fight me. Out of the blue, she asks a puzzling question

“Why do you give away your hard earned money to people who’ll spend it on God knows what?”

I looked up from my flaming pan, gave her a big smile and said “Cause I’m a nice person.”

“Look out child, that’s going to hurt you when you get older”

That was one of the only sayings I pondered before. Half of me thought she was right, but the other half thought that there couldn’t be any consequences of being polite. I really disagreed with what she said since I haven’t been penalized or effected negatively by giving money.

The last time someone asked me for money was not too long ago. I was in my English class on a warm morning, sitting next to my “bro” Octavious. I was tapping a beat on the table when my teacher walked around selling notebooks needed especially for this class. He turned to me, face stricken with hope, and asked for 1$ dollar to purchase one. Seeing that it was for school, and he was one of my bro’s, of course I said yes. It wasn’t the first time he asked for a monetary supplement, but he always pays back so it’s was ok. That’s how it is for almost everyone, I never ask, but they always return.

I make sure that people understand that I’m not gullible. People may not see on the exterior, but there are rules to this money system. If people see that I give away money to my friends, some of my lesser friends/acquaintances start to ask. That’s when I firmly and adequately refuse. To me its not a bad habit, just me being nice. I’m not getting overpowered, and I know how to say no. That’s probably why for the first time in my life, a stranger in a red, white, and green Rita’s apron moving towards me rewarded my kindness with a gelati and a warm smile on a warm summer night.

9/15/11

                                              The Physical Attack From The TV And Dresser

I came home from of school. At that time I was in the third grade and I was tired of doing math problems, vocabulary words and other things so I felt the weekend fever. Sit back, relax and watch a movie was going through my brain. I decided to watch ANT’s, my favorite childhood movie. So I threw my book bag in the floor and sped up stairs to my room. I headed to my book case to go find my ANT’s movie. I groped desperately for the movie on the top shelf. Finally I found it. I quickly opened the case to the video and took the movie out of the box. My next step was to turn the TV on which was located at the top of my dresser. My TV was too high for me to reach but I attempted to try and turn the TV on.  I pulled the drawers open to try and make steps so that I could climb the dresser. I placed both of my feet on the first drawer and all hell broke loose.  

With all my weight being on the drawer, the dresser couldn’t hold me, so it tipped over. Everything came down on top of me. I woke up on the floor. My chest and my arms were aching. I couldn’t get up because my body was pinned to the ground by the massive TV and dresser. I  raised my left and right arm just to see if they weren’t broken. I noticed that on my right hand middle finger I had a broken nail. My finger was bleeding profusely because of the broken nail. Three minutes later after the accident my parents ran upstairs to see what happened. 

I couldn’t tell them what happened because I was shaken from everything that happened. Then finally I told them. “ I tried to watch ANT’s but I couldn’t reach the TV and the VCR so I decided to climb the drawers to the dresser to get to the TV and turn it on.” My mom screamed “Are you crazy!!!”  I felt so bad. My mom saw my bloody hand and she panicked. “ We are going to probably have to take you to the doctors so that you can get some treatment.” I agreed and we headed off. We finally reached our destination, the doctors office. A place where I did not want to be. Every time I went into a doctors office I always had to get a shot but I knew that this time I didn’t have to get a shot because I had a broken finger and a broken nail. “ Jalen Smith” the nurse yelled. “Come follow me”  We entered the examination room and my mother and I sat down waiting for a doctor. 

“Knock Knock Knock” the door slowly opened and it was Dr. White. “ Jalen what happened to you?” I had told him my story while he observed my broken finger and nail. Soon after he put medicine on my wound and he placed a splint on my finger Dr. White said “Next time you should ask mommy or daddy for help rather than doing it by your self because you can get hurt, ok”. “Take care Jalen”. You too doctor” I replied. When we got back home my family and I had cleaned up the mess and we made brownies. After the brownies were made everyone went into the living room and we watched ANT’s and ate our delicious brownies. Even though the end of the day was horrible because of the accident, the bonding with my family was very important and really memorable. I actually thank god for that day because there’s nothing better than family bonding.  

The one thing I learned from this experience was that it is good to ask for help whenever you need it. If you know you can’t do something you should always ask someone to help you. Sometimes when you try to do something on your own you may fail to do it and it could lead to something very bad, like a broken arm, damage to something thats not yours, or even being severely injured. So thats why its so important to ask for help.

“Are you doing this for a reason?” I turned my head to look at my mom from where I was sitting in the passenger seat. I could see our destination as we approached the hair salon.

“Excuse me?” is my immediate reaction

“Because,” she continues “you know we’ll support you no matter what.” Now I understood, but it didn’t make what she said any less wrong.

“Mom, I’m not a lesbian.” I clarified, feeling the situation getting very awkward, very fast. What she said got me to thinking…is that what people would automatically assume? I’m a girl getting a short haircut, so obviously it must mean something about my sexuality. I understood that’s what some people would think, people on the street perhaps, even a few of my friends had wondered when I told them about it, but I hadn’t expected my own mother to judge. I know people have certain standards and classification, and apparently girls with short hair fall under the category ‘Gay’.

My first encounter with this type of judgment was actually before I decided to cut my hair. Emma Watson had gotten her long, gorgeous hair cropped off. One of my friends had made a comment,

“She was so pretty, did she want to look like a boy?” The comment instantly had me getting defensive. One, because I like Emma Watson, two, because I don’t think people should be judged by their appearance.

“No. Maybe she just wanted some change, I think she looks great either way.” I didn’t really want to get into a fight about it, and my friend simply shrugged it off, but it kept bothering me. Obviously Emma’s intent wasn’t to look like a boy, she still dresses and looks like as much of a girl as she ever has. I thought about it, and found it to be quite empowering. It’s pretty much saying ‘look at me! I can be a beautiful female without the obvious sign of femininity!’ I was wondering what it would be like it I cut my own hair; it was getting a bit hard to take care of, after all.

“You look like a dude.” Lucia, my sister said as soon as I walked through the door. I brushed my newly cropped bangs away from my face to raise an eyebrow at her.

“No, I don’t.” I said simply, and promptly walked into my room to change out of my baggy jeans and jersey, and into my new white shorts and a pink shirt.  I felt bad; I had just gone against everything getting my haircut stood for. Admittedly, I was worried; I thought ‘if I don’t wear feminine clothing with this new haircut, people would think I’m a guy.’ Even the next day, when I didn’t wear particularly ‘girly’ clothing, considering it was field day, I still wore makeup, which I rarely ever did.

I began to wear sweatpants and t-shirts again, more out of laziness than anything else. Some people commented, but I didn’t really care. People had referred to me as ‘butch’ before I got my hair cut. That was mostly due to my tomboyish nature, and it didn’t bother me until people started using it to judge me by my appearance. I ‘looked butch’ not just the way that I acted. That’s when the confusion came back, people just assumed that I was something that I wasn’t based on how I dressed, and how I styled my hair. Their image of a female was obviously different from mine, their image of a lesbian was obviously different from mine. In some cases, yes, it’s true that you can guess someone’s sexuality by the way that they dress, but it doesn’t mean that you should go around deeming every girl with short hair a lesbian.

Victoria Yarbrough

September 14, 2011

English Essay

     “You should have told me before hand, I’m your friend, I wouldn’t do you like that.”

“I didn’t think you cared, and it just came up,” I said nonchalantly. I knew I was being silly but I shouldn’t have to tell him everything that’s going in my life. This argument was so stereotypical, He’s mad because I want to go to another friend’s birthday party instead of coming to his house and doing nothing. Sounds like a teen movie doesn’t it? It’s not like he wasn’t invited. Why do I have to be anti-social just because he is?

“If you’re my friend you’ll let me go, I’m not going to the moon and it’s not like you’re not invited.”

“ I don’t care how you try to put it, you’re wrong. Dead wrong, you said you were coming to my house and now you turn around and ditch me? Not cool Torre.” He’s screaming now and me, well I’m just rolling my eyes.

“Mike, we hang out all the time and for you to try and keep me captive isn’t cool. Now move aside.”

He was pissed but before he could say anything I bolted for the exit and began mentally preparing for the party. Which sucked. I felt a little dumb. But Mike didn’t need to know that, I figured that I’d just talk to him at lunch and all would be normal. Mike and I have been friends since 2^nd grade, and if he gets upset over something like this, then he’s crazy.

     Well apparently he’s crazy. He walked right past me the morning after the argument. I went to the restroom and looked in the mirror.

“Well that’s strange because I don’t look invisible.” I said with a questioning tone.

I head to the first class of day, science; I hated that class. The smell of bleach and dead frogs in jars was not how I liked to start my mornings. But at least I sat next to Mike; I could ask him why he ignored me. So I get there and I’m literally 45 seconds late, thanks to a previous bathroom trip.  My science teacher Mr. Ashworth starts freaking out and hands me one of those stupid hot pink tardy slips. I spot Mike and sit next to him and stare at him with the widest of eyes. It takes about 3 minutes before he turns around gives me the evilest of looks. And then out of nowhere he gets up and moves to the other side of the room. Ok, now I’m confused, I start sniffing my armpits. Do I offend? No, it isn’t that. And then I think about the day before, and I’m like “Ooohhh,” He’s still mad about that? Without thinking I blurt,

“Really, you’re still on that? Grow up and come off it.”

He just gives me that look again and I of course get in trouble for “calling out”. What am I seven? I guess this means Mike is truly mad and wants to play “cold shoulder”, but two can play that game. He’ll crack before I do.

    2 weeks passed, and Mike and I were still not speaking. I was beginning to question our friendship from the start. It’s sad because I was getting used to us not talking. I didn’t want it to be that way anymore, but I couldn’t find in me to apologize. I rarely apologize for anything. I had other friends but Mike was my “Homie”, I started to miss him. I waited for him at his locker the next day; I was ready to talk it out. And this time instead of avoiding me, he began walking toward me. I was anxious, and then I did something really stupid, I ran away. I don’t know why I did it. I didn’t even have anything to say, but I went to his locker. Maybe I was being stupid. And then the realization hit me like a brick to the face. I should have never ditched Mike, no matter how unimportant our plans were. However, I also realized that Mike was indeed being a little silly. All of this came to me on a Friday night, and I resolved to go to Mike’s house the next day and talk things over. And this time I wouldn’t run away.

     Saturday afternoon, I rode my bike to Mike’s house. I get there and knock on his door. Someone is always home at Mike’s house so this was odd that there was no answer. Surely not all of family was avoiding me. I’m still knocking when his neighbor peeps out of his door and says

“Who are you looking for?”

I say, “I’m looking for Michael Bernson.”

“I’m sorry but the Bernsons moved out yesterday.”

“Excuse me?”

“Yeah, they moved out yesterday” He says with a nonchalant tone. And then goes back inside his house. I, on the other hand am trying to process what I’ve been told. They moved out? What does he mean they moved out?  And then came the water works. I rode my bike all they way over there to get my friend back, and he left. Not like a 3-day vacation left, he’s gone. And it hurt.  We’ve been friends for almost 7 years or have we? It was a horrible feeling, and I did cry, but I sucked it up and took it as a lesson: Putting your pride aside may be hard, but what if it’s for your best friend? Take it from me, you should always end thing on good note with the people you care about.