The Worst Friday and the Getting Better Weekend

Hannah Crosier


May 24,2011


Ms. Gurian


English 11


Period 2




The Worst Friday and the Getting Better Weekend

Have you ever felt like punching something because you had a day so nightmarish that you want you to die? I have! For what I'm about to say is depressing to read.

The day was a Friday in November. I wanted to stay home and be there for my dog, Max. But my parents insisted that I should go to school. My dad dropped me off in front of the school and said, "Make good choices." Then his car took off.

Okay, just one negative issue that has happened? Big deal! What else could go wrong? Oh yeah! Everyone had to go to the an assembly. Unless you had a good excuse why you can't watch the assembly, then you had to stay in the main office. Because of what was happening right now, I wanted stay in the office. My friend, however, insisted I should go. Of coarse, I changed my mind and went to the stupid assembly.

Normally, when upperclassmen shouted, " Go home Freshmen," I would've been offended, but I had my dog and getting this stupid required assembly over with. I can't remember much, but I believed I cried throughout the assembly. I even tried to cheer up for the guest speaker. Unfortunately, that made it worse because she talked about a loved one that she lost in a car accident.

After the assembly, everyone went outside to see the smashed car, which it looked like it was hit over a hundred times with wedged hammer.

After school, I walked home. I had to get ready for my Confirmation retreat at Santa Maria. It was required for high school students to go if they want to become adults in the Catholic church. The students would have to do religious activities such as picking a saint name in order to be confirmed.

At last, I arrived at home. I'll never ever forget what I had asked my mom, who was in the living room reading the newspaper, "Mom, where is Max?"

She looked up from the newspaper and replied, " Max died."

She and dad comfort me about the loss of my my childhood friend.

An hour later mom dropped me of at the church's youth group center. Before she left, mom told Karen, the person who was in charged of this trip, about my loss, for she was sorry. Every one else who heard what happened was, too, but they didn't didn't to be sorry.

After playing games, the bus came to get us. And we gathered our stuff and went on the bus. We watched The Princess Bride to and from Santa Maria.

After what seemed like hours riding on the bus, we arrived at Santa Maria. We put our stuff at our assigned cabins and went to the place where were supposed to meet. Then, we went to bed.

Saturday, we did various activities, had meetings and ate together all day. Then after our final meeting that night, we went to bed.

Sunday, we packed up and had one final meeting and went to the bus with our stuff.

We arrived back to the familiar Arvada church and went home.

My parents and I talked to each other on the way home.

Heidi Shoemaker
Ms. Gurian
English 11 - 2
11 may 2011

Most people live in a world where they know they will have a dad to scare away boys, help you move to college, walk you down the aisle, and have a special dance at your wedding. I live in a world were my mom will try to take over this specified role because my father was a coward and left. You never realize how much you rely upon the fact that your "daddy" will always be there. It never crosses your innocent and naive mind that he is incapable mentally of being your dad and caring about you. You are plunged into a world where "father" is filled with contempt and anger. How quickly your entire world can change.
Stress. It's like a parasite that feeds off of anxiety and fear. It grows and evolves taking on a new level with every passing day. This parasite makes people act weird and relationships hard but if you try and are dedicated enough the parasites can be cured or at least that is what we originally believed. My dad has lost his job yet again, another fight ensues, and secrets are brought to a new light.
A credit card! A stupid piece of plastic that holds too much meaning for what it is. There is denial and lies that flow so easily that you want believe it is true. My mother takes this plastic and calls only to find that he cheated and was using my mother's money to do it. Upon checking the computer this seemingly irrational fear is confirmed. Fighting and anger ruled our lives for many months till we reached a stand still. There was finally an agreement he could stay as long as he got counseling and we talked. However my mom always knew that he would never do it and that he would eventually crack. Every day she reminded him that he could leave and to go home to his mommy, however he took the cowards way out and decided to take actions that would affect us forever. He started smoking, locking himself in the basement for hours, and no longer showering or eating. All that rules his life is mountain dew and pain medication. The only way to draw him out of his hole is another fight. My mom, the one to always try so hard, makes yet another attempt at reuniting him to our little family. He ostracized himself in such a way that we never would have, we never believed in separating him from us and it was his always his choice alone.
I remember the time we were all huddled in the front room afraid to speak and afraid to move. The conversation began with a promise by everyone that we would listen to each other and understand what we could. My mom began and I soon entered. All I remember from that conversation was my dad with the coldest and cruelest face I had ever experienced it was filled with all the hatred and contempt in the world. Without warning that face turned flaming red and he jumped up like the devil were chasing him. Mean while my cat that had been in the wrong place and the wrong time ran by as well. My first instinct was, “Don’t hurt Lily!” and I ran closely at his heels. He stopped abruptly in the kitchen and my cat was smart enough to escape to the basement. “You care more about the cat then you do me!” he roared in my face. In the knife drawer to his left he fished around till he pulled out the longest and biggest butcher knife we owned. Fear and adrenaline raced through my body, I was prepared to run and prepared to protect. However it was never his intention to hurt me or my cat. No his intention was to harm himself in the hopes of making us feel guilty. He raised the gleam of silver to his stomach and placed it point first. “You don’t care about me! Now I am going to be gone so that you don’t have to deal with me anymore” he roared again applying a slight pressure to the knife. By this point the whole family had joined together. Yet again he applied more pressure, Natalie cried and pleaded for him to stop saying she loved him, Madi turned away not wanting to look at the fool in fear that he would be stupid enough to harm himself, and my mother stood stoically in the background staring him down like she did with her clients, people with developmental disabilities, when they had a behavior. All that went through my mind was he was so incredibly stupid and something was seriously wrong. My father then ran to the basement shouting behind him, “DON’T FOLLOW ME!” I never completely comprehended why he ran for the basement maybe he hadn’t gotten the reaction he wanted or maybe… at this point who knows. I did know however that my kitten was down there and I was sure as hell not going to let anything happen to him.
When I arrived in the basement the slam of a door indicated that my father had locked himself in the bathroom. The breath caught in my chest as my mind immediately went to him torturing my cat. However I knew that if my cat needed saving I had to gather my courage. I screamed at the bathroom door, “I am just getting Lily don’t worry.” Much like you would talk to a robber or a criminal. All I wanted was my cat. I began to search my room and the television room in hopes of finding my cat. I was literally swimming in fear that I wouldn’t find him however by some divine intervention it seemed I found my cat shoved behind the couch shaking. Never before have I been happier to see my cat. I snatched him up and ran upstairs.
An hour or two passed still no sign of him and we all began to question whether anyone should go down there. Finally my Mom went to the basement out of sight and ear shot. In the background we hear the pounding of a fist on the door. She began shouting and we all paused until we heard the response of the suicidal idiot. None of us had wanted to see him if he was dead and we didn’t want the world to know how he had failed us.
An hour or two passes and my mom emerges victorious with the knife in hand. She placed it in the kitchen sink and walks past us. My sisters and I stand in a circle in the kitchen unsure of where to go or what to do. My only relief was that fact that it was spring break and I wouldn’t be leaving Lily alone.
Another 2 months pass, we no longer have communication with the basement dweller as he began to be known. My sister Madison and I sleep on the couches afraid to sleep down there. A new fear has been instilled in us. We no longer trust this stranger that threatens with knifes and anger. Every day after school we hold our breaths when we enter the door, prepared to find death and blood in our once happy home. My days were ruled by fear and anger. I almost wished every day that he had been dead so I no longer had to be afraid and so that my cat would no longer be in danger of this crazy man’s moods. I’ve never despised anyone that much and I probably never will again.
One day something strange happened, if that were possible at this point, we came home and a fire was going in the fire place. We never lit a fire in our entire time of being there. I still remember the crisp, smoky smell that clogged your nose and filled the house. I hate fire. It’s dangerous and destructive, the smell is overwhelming, and all that comes to my mind was he was destroying papers or something of value. It was the first day he had emerged from the place we began to believe was the equivalent of hell and it was to light a fire, make cake, and clean the house? Why? Who knows maybe it was the beginning of saying good bye or maybe he was just covering his tracks. Whatever the reason we never ate the cake and we let the fire burn down to embers.
The next day we arrived home prepared for the worst and praying for it to be a eventless day. A ray of sunshine appeared when we noticed his car was gone. This wasn’t unusual but he usually did not go during the day, he preferred to leave at all hours of the night to smoke his cigarettes and waste gas. We entered the house slowly still afraid, perhaps that would stay with us forever. We entered the house and noticed that the house seemed somehow cleaner, somehow less evil. I went to the basement to check the computer and see if he had anything going when I noticed there was no computer. There was no computer, no television, and nothing of value left in the basement. I ran up the stairs to inform my mother of the bitter sweet news. We had gotten rid of the evil parasite but in the process we had lost electronics. But every time I almost start to regret losing those few material items, I realize that they were exactly that, material items. We no longer have to live in fear and we no longer have to worry about saying the wrong thing and thinking you would be tortured with the death of the innocent animal that you had promised to take care of always.
Though losing you father may seem like a punishment or bring sadness to someone, I believe it has shaped me to be the person I am today. Without him leaving I wouldn’t nearly be as strong as I am and I wouldn’t be as grateful for my real family. This experience has brought me to my lowest point so that I could see the bottom and never go back.

The Arch

The gravel crunched under the van’s tires bumping and jostling the crammed people inside. The tires slipped spitting up showers of rocks as the engine screamed slowly grinding up the hill. The van crested the hill and turned the corner sliding to a stop in the parking lot. As the group of 20 boys piled out and began to unpack the camping equipment I noticed how the skinny twisting trail was slightly overgrown and wet from the intermittent rain…
2 years earlier.
The crunch of the gravel had become a background noise; I stared out the window as we rounded the final bend into a gravel square designated as the trailhead parking lot. As the car rolled to a stop we threw open the doors anxious to stretch after the long car ride. We were glad for the break in the heavy rain that had accompanied us on our drive up as we dawned our packs and set off down the twisting overgrown trail. It immediately dove steeply downhill cutting strait to the floor of the valley before curving out of sight behind the thick growth. We slowly worked our way down switchback after switchback until the trail leveled out. Our pace quickened as the path weaved lazily through the trees and thick plants. Crossing a small creek our path turned sharply to follow alongside it. Several minutes later the overcast sky again began pouring its torrent of water upon us so the five of us dug out our rain gear of ponchos and coats and sat down to wait it out.
Ten minutes later the water let up and allowed us to continue are the trek. the trail became steeper as it wound toward are goal. Then all of a sudden the trail ended leaving us wondering where to go next. Me and another broke off and began searching for the trail if it picked back up. After awhile we gave up and cut straight at the arch followed at a distance by the other three. The clouds cleared as we emerged into the open of a massive rock plateau. After weaving around a few crevices and boulders we finally arrived at Harmonica Arch.
On the walk back the rain resumed soaking us again so we quickly loaded back into the van and began t he long drive downward. Looking out the back window the last view I say was a slightly overgrown trail wet from the rain.

My brothers Wedding in England

My Brother’s Wedding
A few years ago my brother Thomas met a British girl named Charlotte here in the U.S. They turned out to really like each other but she had to go back to England. So eventually my brother went to England to live with her for a while. I thought that he wouldn’t stay there for long but I was wrong. He came back to the states twice before he asked her to marry him. The last time he came back to Colorado he bought an engagement ring and my family was very surprised about his decision. Nobody ever thought that he would be the one to settle down and get married at the young age of 20. When he went back to London with the engagement ring he took her to Tower Bridge in London and when they got to the middle of the bridge he popped the question. She said yes and they set the date of the wedding for July 4th, 2009. They set it on this date because it was the date my brother flew out to London the first time to see Charlotte. There was a lot of work to be done for the wedding because many of the family from both sides lived in the U.S and had to have their dresses and suits fitted. This was hard to do over dozens of e-mails. But it all worked out and they planned everything out very well.
My other brother Wes and I were planned to go out here 10 days before the wedding to meet the family and see England. The first few days we spent exploring London and going to skate parks all over England which was strange because everyone rides bikes in England. We visited castles and drank dark beer in my brother’s flat. Then we went to Brighton on the coast were Charlotte grew up and we got our suits fitted. Around his time my brother's best man Colin and groomsmen Kyle arrived and so did my dad. The day of the wedding was very busy but fun. The guys stayed at my brother’s and got dressed and took pictures while the girls did the same. The church were they got married was right across the street and was built some 400 years ago and was were Charlotte’s parents got married. We got an awesome shot of the guys crossing the street to the church that looked like the Beatles cover to Abbey Road. We prepared everything in the church and when everyone was seated Charlotte arrived in a 69' Chevy Impala which was very rare to see in England. Then we took our seats and the wedding started and was really beautiful. After the wedding we went to the reception on a big bus while my brother and wife took wedding photos in a field. At the reception the fun really started. My brother's best man had a really funny speech and when the speeches were over we started to party. We gathered all the wine from the tables and set in a circle with a bunch of people and drank them all. When the band started playing I just started going to the bar to get coronas and shots. Our band stopped playing at 1 am but we still wanted to dance so we crashed another wedding in the hotel. But the English guys at that wedding didn’t like that a bunch of Americans crashed their wedding. So they told us to leave and we did. That’s when my mom came over to me and told me my brother Wes wasn’t felling good. So I went to check on him and took him into the forest so he could puke. It was hilarious and the best man Colin took a bunch of photos. I still have yet to see the photos but I hear that they are hilarious. This is about the time we went to bed around 4 in the morning.
The hardest part of the trip was the next morning. We had to wake up at 7 am and go to the airport and fly back to America. Running on 3 hours of sleep and the worst hangover I’ve ever had it was not a good experience. The first thing Wes and I did was go to a restaurant and order the biggest cheeseburger we could find and we grubbed down. But it didn’t help much and when we got on the plane we couldn’t sleep because of the noise. When we got to Denver we immediately went home and slept for what seemed like a whole day. But overall I’m very glad I had the opportunity to see England and meet new people from another part of the world. It is so interesting to see the ways people live in other parts of the world.

Tones

Mark Schleske

5-18-11

Per. 2

Tones

A big factor in my life is music. It’s everything I stand for, and more. So many people list music as their raison d’être, and for different reasons. It’s the definition of influential. So, as much as I appreciate originality, it’s time for me to go with the flow. I suppose when something is so essential to your character, you can’t afford to let the opinions or actions of others change you negatively. More and more it is a part of me, and life would be much harder without it. Music is one of my passions, and I believe that the world would be a better place if we all shared those things that ignite us. It’s always genuinely interesting to hear someone talk about their fascination.

I can’t say when my personality changed beyond the point of no return. Perhaps, with luck, I have not yet fully developed my musical appreciation. What I can state is the first time I started playing music. In the 5^th grade, at Fairmount Elementary, we proudly retained an amazing music teacher who instilled in us a greater respect for our instruments. She was the one who helped us play our first individual notes. It was like opening up some new form of life, a different way of living. For some of us, it was our first experience with life itself.

Practicing, for me, has always been difficult. I didn’t enjoy hearing myself play alone, and, in my defense, the violin is not the most forgiving of instruments. This might sound like a trivial hardship, but it brought about some of the lowest mental conditions of my life. After 6^th grade, I moved onto middle school, where I stopped playing in an orchestra. I still took private lessons, so I hadn’t quit the art entirely, and I joined the school orchestra for 8^th grade. The violin is the first instrument I ever learned, and I have stuck with it ever since. There’s some quality in the tone of stringed instruments that I find fascinating and unique, and I hope to keep with it as long as possible.

During my sophomore year of high school, my sister found a deal on a studio style piano that she could not resist. And as I passed that piano day after day, I naturally began to gravitate near the keys. Both my sister and I were self-taught, and it wasn’t long before we had built up our respective repertoires of pieces. In hindsight, it probably would have been better for me to start on piano, as most people do. Few things I have experienced are as rewarding or as satisfying as taking a new song and conquering it. Piano is really where I hit my stride, and it took my veneration of the musical world to a new level. Suddenly it was like I could hear everything, and I was able to follow it wherever it lead me. Life turned out to be so much easier than I had originally thought.

This is where I become slightly (more) ethereal and frivolous. There’s an entire world symbiotically linked with ours. It’s in the air, surrounding us; cohabitating, if you will. Some people know it, some don’t. But the ones who do tend to see a brighter world, full of possibility and life. My journey here has only started, but I have great expectations.

bike ride with lucy

Jamie D. Akens
Gurian
English 11B
5-12-11
A Day Without Gas
We were somewhere outside of Wheat Ridge when our thirst began to take hold. Our destination… unknown. We had merely stumbled upon a path directing us out of our normal boundaries. We had been riding for a few hours now, and our water supply was nearly empty. All we had left was one water bottle full and we needed to ration it. We didn’t want to venture off of the trail, for we weren’t familiar with the neighborhoods. We find its best when we just go with the flow and follow our instincts. This was proved to be true once again on our bicycling quest.
It all started out at our local bead hookup my mother used to labor at. I had matters of discussion to take care of with my mother while Jonas, my companion armed with his trusty camera for this bicycling adventure, browsed the bead selection. From that point we headed through the sketchy apartments. We rode by with our colorful tie dyes and the inhabitants of these housing developments stared on. We were the colorful crazies riding bikes down the path in their eyes. When really, we are much more than that. In reality we are doing this to set an example, reducing carbon emissions, a day without gas.
After a few miles of riding my compadre and I came upon a bridge. It was a marvelously architected bridge. We took a rest before we set of on this journey to the unknown. There we ate a small snack of granola, praised jah, and drank some water to give us the proper energy to complete the ride. The day was only just beginning. We hopped on our bike and headed westbound down the trail. We headed down the trail with a steady pace so we could cover good distance. As we traveled the trail we went under roads, over bridges, and we saw many animals. About an hour into the trip we both began to feel this Euphoria. A euphoric feeling only achieved by pushing your body to the limit, we rode hard.
We came up on an underpass of Wadsworth. The overpass towered over us and you could hear the roar of the vehicle above us. The sound of cars polluting and constricting our beautiful earth, the one that we hope to not hear anymore. At this massive man-made structure we took a brief pause in our journey to observe our surroundings. We walked around and we saw some amazing street art. We took some pictures with the art and took it in knowing that it would either be removed or painted over by another artist of the night. Off we went down the trail again. We rode and rode knowing we had nowhere to be this evening so we didn’t care how far we went. We were somewhere in Wheat Ridge when we ran out of water to drink. We were balls deep in the trail. We were faced with a question. The question of, “Do we go off trail to an area unknown, or do we continue on the trail and hope for a drinking fountain?” We only had one choice and that was to go off the trail to find a business with a drinking fountain. Too bad for us in this day in age we live in a pre-bicycle friendly time. Our society isn’t as accommodating for cyclers as we’d hope. This keeps people from making the switch to forms of transportation not harming to the environment. Yes, we have bike paths next to our rode, but we need water stations along our bike paths. We need mobile first aid stations to help fallen riders. If these were provided I think it would help make the switch. That’s why my friend Jonas and I like to ride around on our bikes in the nicer months rather than drive. It not only saves gas, but it sets an example.
We ended our journey and headed back with more knowledge for the future. More ways to make a difference. We knew now to pack much more water and snacks so we can go farther. The farther we go the more people we can show that riding bikes isn’t bad. It’s good for the environment, our health, and is fun. If a couple of hippies can ride their bikes around and have fun while doing it, why can’t biking be the main local transport for America. It all started out with us just going on a bike ride. The future is in our hands.

Ray Robitschek
Ms. Gurian
English 11-1
15 May 2011
Working at the Arvada Press
Knock! Knock! Knock! One morning during the summer before 8th grade, my mom banged on my bedroom door and asked me to get up. I was frustrated with my mom for waking me up. Even though it was 8:30 am I still wanted to lounge in my bed and rest a little while longer. But, when she mentioned that blueberry pancakes was for breakfast I decided to get out of bed. I got dressed and went up stairs to stuff down the delicious pancakes my mom had fixed.
After eating about 8 pancakes I felt satisfied. Then I looked outside and noticed what a beautiful day it was going to be. I thought about how much fun it would be to take a bike ride to the park. So, I asked my mom if she had anything for me to do around the house, and if I could go to the park. I prepared my bike and headed out into the sunshine. It felt great being on my bike again; plus it was a nice change from being held up indoors most of the morning. As I continued to ride I realized that I had to much free time and needed something to occupy my time. So I rode home to search for different job opportunities online.
When I got home my dad called me upstairs and said, "I found something you'll want to see in the newspaper." So I rushed to my dad expecting something exciting like a car show, discount amusement park tickets, or an amusing comic. What I didn't expect though, was that it was just an ad for a job with the Arvada Press. I thought about it and, honestly, it sounded pretty lame. My dad told me that I could ride my bike to deliver the newspapers, and I guess I just went along with my dad. When I got to the headquarters in Golden, I met with the hiring supervisor who told me I had the job. I got a bag, a map, and directions for folding the papers.
After school, I came home to find two huge heaps of papers to fold and stuff into the plastic bags. I let out a long sigh and got to work. After the newspapers were stuffed, I placed them into my delivery bag and hopped onto my bike. After riding down to my section of houses, I started my work, and tossed the papers towards the porches. After just about 10 houses I soon discovered that you could not get the papers on the porch nicely. So I got off my bike and began delivering them on foot. By walking up and down the streets, I got to have a more personal relationship with the people that I was delivering to.
Week after week I placed newspapers neatly on the porches of the 85 houses in my delivery route. I would still deliver on foot in deep snow and heavy rain, trying my best not to get my papers wet. After a while I began to respect my work, and I felt like I did my best to leave a good image for Arvada Press. Most of the delivery boys around my area just delivered the papers at the end of the driveway, in the snow, rain, or mud. I felt bad for the people they were delivering to, and wished that they showed the same level of care that I showed.
By the end of the year, I was unexpectedly laid off. The note said that I was laid-off because of the lacking economy, which I really didn't understand. Overall though, I learned a great deal about how to do a great job with your work. It didn't even matter that the pay was just $7.00/week. Since my experience with the Arvada Press, I try to always do my best at work, and I would really miss not having this opportunity.

Unforgettable

It was a beautiful fall evening that has stained my life permanently. To me it just seemed like any other ordinary day. Friday, the day we always count down to because we know that the weekend is ahead. Everyone is hurrying to go home and get some rest. I got home from school that day and I immediately knew something was wrong.
Many of my brothers and sisters gathered at my parent’s house and had a look of devastation on them. I started to question them “what has happened?” After a few minutes my mom responded with tears running down her face, saying that my uncle has fallen of a ladder and got seriously injured. My dad wasn’t home when I came from school, but later on I was informed that he has left with my brother to the scene. When my dad was headed to the scene, his boss gave him a call stating that his brother passed away.
It was shocking news to everyone because he was only in his forties, no one believed that this has happened because they weren’t expecting this to happen or they didn’t want to believe that this has happened. It was so hard for many of the relatives, but especially for my dad because they worked together and spoke with each other daily. The same day my uncle passed away my dad spoke with him a couple hours before, which was the last time.
After this has happened I became really grateful for what I have. This made me thankful for my parents because they help me when I need something, I could always go to them and they will provide me with good advice because they love me. This also taught me to be thankful for my friends and family because they won’t be with me forever. We never think of our friends leaving us because they might be young and healthy, but who can guarantee us that they will be with us tomorrow.
This event made everyone emotional for maybe a month, but after that nobody changes. Everyone does what they were doing before. We all forget to thank each other, then the hatred comes back between the family members/relatives. We start to forget that our friends are here for a short amount of time and we don’t value them until there gone.

the first time i went river rafting

Jarrett Jochum
5/10/11
Block 1
The First Time I Went River Rafting
It was such a beautiful day. The crystal blue sky on a mild summer day, with a temperature pushing about 75 degrees Fahrenheit. It made you think it was going to be one of those days that nothing could possibly go wrong. As I was sitting in the car, waiting to get out I thought to myself what I could get myself into trying to conquer this untamed river. As I walk in the rafting store I quickly figure out that I am under age and that the people that work there shouldn’t legally allow me to go white water rafting. At this time any rafter should be 16 of age but I was 12. Even though I was under age, they still let me raft because the people there felt bad that we drove all the way up there for nothing. We got on a bus and we slowly approached the top of the river. Me, my mom, my dad and three other people including our instructor anxiously awaited to attempt to attack this beast. Our instructor was speaking to us very slowly, with loud expressions. It didn’t matter how loud he spoke because I couldn’t stop thinking about what could happen to me if I fell off the raft. The rapids this year were also particularly high, almost doubling the size from last year. Getting into the raft was one of the most frightening events of my life. This is when my intuition kicked in, telling me that it was not okay for me to get into that raft. But I did it any way and I thought what could go wrong, especially since I had both of my parents with me. Nothing goes wrong when you’re with your parent’s right? Wrong, and the bad thing was that I could see it coming. As we were going down the river, I was easing my way into this whole river rafting idea. Everything seemed okay, and I felt like that maybe I could conquer this challenge that I was up too. The guide we had was nice and good at what he did, and every time we needed to paddle he would let us know. His Australian accent really enhanced this whole rafting experience. There was nothing like a young Australian guy telling you what to do. It was classic. It was a pretty calm ride for most of the time until we got farther down the river. Our guide let us know that the farther we went down the river the more intense the white rapids would get. There was so much water, so much that I barley had a chance to catch my breath. We made it down the river with a struggle and with everyone in shock because no one had a clue what we were up for, but we made it. It got way more intense, and our guide was informing us that there was this vortex monstrosity in the river that could possibly get us stuck if we didn’t paddle fast enough. We were coming up to it and our guide was telling us that this was the most challenging part of the journey. He told us to paddle and to paddle as fast as we possibly could, but it wasn’t good enough. We didn’t have much muscle on the raft, me, my mom, my dad, these two small ladies who never rafted before, and our guide. You couldn’t be able to pus over a little kid with that much muscle. We got trapped in this monster and it felt like we were stuck in the worst earthquake you could ever imagine. I tried saving our guide, but the force of the water shook the raft so hard that the guide fell off. Soon after the guide fell off, my mom did too. I couldn’t see her in the water but all I did know was that she was no longer on the raft. I panicked frantically and did my best to help keep a hold on my dad and the other people on the raft. We finally got out of this vortex, and I was trying to find my mom. Looking downstream I see this head pop up, and I see my mom on the side of the river standing on the gravel in the shallow water. I knew it was going to be okay and that my mom was also going to be okay. She listened well to whatever our guide told us on the bus and it saved her life when she was caught under the Colorado rapids. This was the scariest day of my life, and I knew at this point that I would never go white water rafting ever again.

Growing up

It was a normal day even a normal week. I was half way through my freshman year of high school. I never really did great in school but I didn’t do horrible, I would say I was average. This year was different for some reason I didn’t care about my grades, I didn’t care that my parents were disappointed. I guess my life outside of school was so crazy I couldn’t focus on school. My life was normal for most of my life well it still is pretty normal but it seemed perfect I know that is saying a lot because no family is perfect, but when I was little I didn’t see all the things going on behind the scenes. I grew up in a normal neighborhood with two parents; we had plenty of money to support us. In other words we were the typical family. It took me a couple years to realize that my family wasn’t perfect that my family was far from perfect. Growing up it seemed like it was just me my mom and brother. My father was never really around, he would come home late with the smell of alcohol on his breath and leave early for work. He wasn’t the best dad but he supported us and no matter what I still loved him. Even when things got out of control and my mom would pack up our stuff and we would leave the house and go to a hotel. I still loved him. I started getting better at lying. My friends and teachers would ask why I wasn’t in school I would lie and say “I had a doctor’s appointment” or “I didn’t feel good” or “my alarm didn’t go off” the list goes on and on. The summer before I started 9th grade we lost our house my family started falling apart right before my eyes it didn’t happen over night or anything but it was still a shock. My mom and I moved into my grandparent’s house in Westminster and my brother moved in with my dad in Arvada in hope that he would fix his relationship with him. Things were going pretty good for a while. The relationship between my dad and me and my brother was better. The week it happened I didn’t see him that much I remember he called me but I didn’t answer. I wish I answered. The weather outside was nice but not warm the wind cooled it down a lot. I was in Mrs. Bashfords math class. I wasn’t that fond of math I never was. I was most likely talking to my friend Salina. Once in a while they students that help the office with passes would come in I didn’t think anything of it because I never got a pass. Usually only really good kids or really bad kids got those passes, but I’m in the middle I’m not great but I’m not bad. There was one red pass and guess what? It was for yours truly. I had to leave my class right away. I made my way down to the attendance office; I took my time because I thought it wasn’t important. On my way down this adult women stopped me and tapped me on the shoulder and said I’m so sorry. That confused me I thought she got me mixed up with another student. When I opened the door I saw my grandpa and my brother and before I could speak, they asked me if I had my things. I said no. So they told me to hurry back and get them. I knew something was wrong now this time I didn’t waste time. By the time I got back to my math class I was on the verge of tears. Mrs. Bashford asked if everything was alright. All I could say was I don’t know. When I got back to the office now I was really crying but I still didn’t know what was happening. I kept asking what’s wrong. I had to say it like nine times before I got an answer. My grandpa looked in to my eyes and said, “Your father passed away”. The odd thing was that the tears stopped I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t say anything I just walked to the car silent. When I got to the car my mom and grandma were crying, still there was no emotion. I put in my headphones and turned up music as loud was I could when we got home I went straight to my room. I told one friend and the word spread like wildfire. Soon my mom told me we had to go to Arvada and start cleaning out my dad’s house. Before we went I had to know what happened. She said your father died of a heart attack sometime yesterday. She said my brother found him. I couldn’t believe it. I feel bad for my brother. I told her I didn’t want to go to my dad’s house I want to be with my friends. So she dropped me off at the school and my friends ran to me saying how sorry they are. Campbell one of my best friends gave me a sticker that said, “Put on a wild smile”. I loved it that was the first thing that made me smile all day. I still have it. Before I knew it, it was a day before the funeral and my dad’s mom wanted an open casket. I waited for everyone to leave before I went to go see him. I wanted to be there alone. When I saw him it all hit me. I broke down in tears so many emotions hit me at once. I guess I had to see him to realize he was really dead. The next day was hard. There were people I didn’t know coming up to me saying sorry. It seemed like the speeches lasted forever. It was the first memorial service I’ve been to. I never want to go to another one. It’s been two years now almost three and I still miss him every day. Things are better now but they still aren’t the same. It seems like this is still a dream and I’m going to wake up any minute and see him again, but I know that it’s not a dream and that will never happen.

Hockey

Memoir
Hockey whether you win or lose it is fun. Life with hockey is great and without it, it would be a lot different. I have a couple of times I have gotten either really happy or really sad. There were games were I had to prove myself but unfortually we would lose. Or there are other times where it is just a fun overall trip/ game.
One time I and my team were in the state championship for our division. The previous weekend we lost to the same team Littleton 4-2 in our league. But we had made it to the state finals and we had to play the number one team in the state. I was in net and we got out played but I stood on my head and we ended up winning the game. The next day was the finals and it was a rubber match with Littleton the same team that beat us previously. I wasn’t expecting to play because I played the game before and we usually switch off games at goalie but my coach decided to put me in net that game and I was really nervous. We got down one to nothing early on in that game and that would be all it would take. This probably the saddest I have ever been after a game because I was mad at myself because we had lost the game.
Now to a time where I was really happy happened the same year earlier on in the year. We had a tournament in Las Vegas and by far it was the most fun tournament I have ever been to yet. We ended up winning the whole tournament which was basically icing on the cake to a very fun tournament.
Another time I was really happy because of hockey is my silver stick regional’s in Dallas. Silver sticks is a tournament where a bunch of different teams go to from all around and the winner goes to Michigan for nationals. Our team was doing really good in the tournament and we started 4 and 0 and we had made it to the championship. We won the championship game and that was a time when I was really happy because we went to nationals. Our team went to nationals and we ended up getting killed but it was a fun experience.
When I wasn’t playing hockey It was a lot different with me. I started when I was 8 so I was really young so I am basically accustomed to it and it was basically a routine for me. I have had many expiernces with hockey both good and bad and I hope you enjoyed it.

Lynzee Szabo
12 May 2011
Block 1
Gurian

When I was twelve years old, and in seventh grade, I went on a retreat with my class. Retreats were something that everyone looked forward to; weather it was getting away from the family for a little, sleeping in a huge room with your ‘besties’ ( boys in a different cabin of course), or just the crisp mountain air. Repelling, rope walking, nature hikes and bonding activities were among the many activities we got to partake in: so you’d think I would have gotten my infection in a cool way like, a snake bite or a very rare mushroom grazed my ankle. But here is how it actually happened.
It was eleven o’clock and ‘lights out’ time, I was crawling into my top bunk, my best friend Taylor insisted she had bottom, and bang! I kicked the side of my bunk with my right ankle. Yeah, it stung a little but no comparison of what was to come.
The next morning I pulled on my jeans and T-shirt, ran across the hall into the girls crowded bathroom to put on make- up, ran back down the hall, threw on socks and shoes, and went to eat breakfast. The only time that I remember my ankle bothering me was during and right after the nature hike. In which, our instructor had informed us that he could tell what gender a deer was from eating its feces, and warned us of the ‘wild llamas,’ in the woods that we could only pet if he was around.
I honestly don’t remember a lot after that other than complaining and asking my mom to take me to the doctor’s. The next real memory that I have concerning this event was about two weeks later. My mom had let me stay home because it was getting tough to walk with my ankle twice the size that it was normally. I decided to take a bath to try and relax and all of a sudden the phone rang. I remember rushing to grab a towel and to go answer it because it was only in the other room and I knew that my mom likes to call to check on how I am doing. On the way to the phone, that was lying on its side on the counter of the bathroom, I tripped over me towel and landed right on my right ankle. I pushed talk on the phone and forced out a, “hello?” The second that I heard that I was right and it was just my mom I started crying with each throb of my ankle. The next thing I knew I was hopping across the vented floor through the glass automatic doors; and we were in the doctor’s office at about three o’clock in the afternoon.
I have always loved the smell of Kaiser and when I hopped in I remember letting the cool air fill my lungs through my shallow breathes and comfort me as much as it could. The receptionist saw my ankle and immediately gave me a wheel chair so my mom could roll me the rest of the way. I remember my mom trying to lighten up the situation and push me fast or slow and spinning me but I was in no mood to giggle. Looking back on those moments I feel bad because I understand that she was going through a hard time too. After passing the little kids crying to their mom, because the flu was hurting their little throats, the doctor called to see me. He didn’t even have to look at me long to decide that I needed an x-ray.
I will never forget the x-ray room. A small and enclosed room accompanied with a way too high bed that is as comfortable as lying down on hardwood floor, the menacing computers and screens that refuse to speak in a language you understand.
The lady that took my x-ray appeared to be nice; tired from a long morning shift perhaps, with brown hair. Her cold hands pinched my swollen ankle as she tried to adjust it to the right angle for the camera to get a good picture: seeing as how I had been trying to keep my ankle as still as long as possible I thought that she was crazy for moving me so freely. Each finger shot pain to my heart shortening my breathing and daring tears to fall.
Next we wait. We had been waiting three hours when, finally, the doctor was ready with the results. This doctor was Asian and a very happy looking man. In his mid-forties, I assumed, and he made fun of the nail polish on my toes. I had painted them a teal green color at the retreat. It was actually a nice contrast to the tired interns avoiding eye contact. My mom wheeled me into a secluded room where he would tell me in the happiest way one could, that there is a slight chance that I have strep in my ankle. What this meant was that if I had waited any longer to come to the doctors I would have had to get my leg amputated from the knee down because it was spreading into my calve muscle. The next instruction was the beginning to a long night. I was to go the Hospital and into the ER room to get my ankle drained and tested; because either way, there was a liquid in my ankle that should not be.
At this point, I was starving and resorted to crying until I got food. We drove through McDonald’s around six at night.
The drive to the hospital was quiet despite the radio playing familiar country tunes and the murmur of assurances from my mom every now and again.
When we arrived at Good Samaritan they handed me a wheelchair that could fit three of me. My mom got off the phone to tell me that my dad was on his way and if I waited here she’d be back: she just had to check me in. I watched those automatic doors like my life depended on it. Thirty minutes later he came walking in and I wanted to run to him but I was confined to the wheelchair by the wall. A few moments after my dad arrived, a girl a little older than me, arrived in a soccer jersey screaming and crying about what I assumed was her leg because she was not using it. Immediately my dad told me to get up out of my wheelchair and he gave it to her; which, the doctors wheeled her away in.
Finally, they called me in and my parents and I were all relieved. First thing was first and they needed to check my vitals. What is your weight, even deep breathes, etc. Soon I was transferred into an ER. This room was not what I expected at all for an ER. The walls were covered in a continuous mural of a depiction of the ocean. A huge grinning sea turtle hovered over my parents as fish swam by as if exchanging good morning hellos. A nurse followed us in holding a gown and before I knew it she had it thrown over me and I was lying on the bed. I watched her closely as she prepared the IV and began to insert the needle into the crease inside my elbow. When she left I watched the liquid travel from the bag and begin to enter the needle, and eventually me arm. I could feel the cool saline enter my bloodstream and flow up my arm. I got chills and when I shook them off a stranger walked casually into the ‘underwater’ room. He was wearing a white overcoat and an unreadable expression, it intimidated me. He first asked how I was, I answered, fine; and then he began to talk to my parents about my condition while his hands expertly shuffled through cabinets searching for the right equipment for my treatment.
As he turned towards me, I have to admit, my breathing became shallower. In his hands were two, two inch needles connected to two tubes, one empty one full of clear liquid. He informed me that the full one was to numb my ankle so that he could drain it.
As he stuck the first needle in I could hardly feel the sting until he forced the liquid into the muscle and the nerves startled awake by the newly added crowding. He smoothly took it out and put the now empty vile on a tray that the nurse had prepared aside for his use. After about thirty seconds he asked me if I could feel my ankle when he touched it. At the moment all I felt was a light brush as if a feather had brushed up against me so I thought I was numb. I told him no. A mistake I realized as soon as he sent the next needle in with less care and began rotating the angle of the needle to get all the liquid out of my ankle that he could. At this point my most vivid memory is of me attempting to kick him while screaming I hate you. This was also a mistake because kicking a doctor while he has a needle in your half- numbed ankle is an awful idea.
When he was finished he slowly pulled the needle out and showed me what he had taken from my ankle. It looked foreign to me and I don’t want to describe it to you. He told us he would be just a minute and then he left. The second he left, and the latch clicked on that door, I let out a deep breath that I didn’t realize I had been holding.
A few minutes later the sting of my ankle had faded away until I couldn’t feel any part of my ankle, heel, or toes. A nurse came in with a silver portable DVD player. She had put the movie Shrek 2 in it to lighten the news that it would be a little while longer.
Two hours and a land, “far far away” later, my doctor came back in without the test results. They would not be ready until tomorrow but the safest card to play, he explained, was surgery first thing in the morning weather the results were positive for strep or not. I was to spend the next seven days in one room in that hospital, and my life would be changed.

As Life Goes On

Charlotte Kingett
Ms. Gurian
11th grade Language Arts period 1
12 May 2011

It was four o’clock pm as my family and I were eating dinner to celebrate our new lives in Colorado. “Counseling is the best we can do; do you want to work this out or not?” “Of course I do Stan but not from counseling!” The screams exchanged from each of my parents across the table was not what I had in mind for our new and improved lives. It was seven years ago when my mum drove away from my dad at the restaurant. After sixteen years of my dad cheating on my mum and lying to her, I suppose she had enough of him. Both my parents put up a fight as my dad drove after my mum, my brothers and I back to our house, this separation was not going to be a peaceful exchange of words.
At the time, I was just nine years of age so I was not aware of what this was all about. The chaos that soon ensued at my house soon painted a too vivid description of what was happening; the suitcases thrown, the clothes torn and the blow for blow cussing soon encapsulated my house. My two older brothers and I sat in my room scared out of our wits, shivering from the bad vibe running through my house. Tears, screams and fighting were what our house was made out of that night. I was frightened, like a lost puppy trying to find his way home. The only thing that was comforting me was my brothers huddled at my side telling me over and over “It will be okay, everything will be fine”, unfortunately I couldn’t believe that could be true. Little did I know I was subconsciously teaching myself something new, something that I wouldn’t realize I had taught myself until I was a teen. Self-defense- that was what it was, I would not be treated how my mum was, I would be my own women, call the shots, “wear the pants” and be unafraid of any man. This self-defense mechanism would be a life changing lesson for me as I grow older, I would hold my ground and never let myself be walked over like dirt.
Ultimately my parents’ separation was a massive tragedy for my family, especially living in a new country and having nothing here but pain. For me the divorce carried a lesson that I would not exchange for anything. If I could change things and change the way that night played out, I don’t think I would. In the end the divorce was for the best of everyone and their happiness. It was a life-long lesson and something that will hold in my personality and heart forever. Without the self-defense I have accounted for through my parents’ divorce I would not be able to push through the hard times in my relationship, the fights with my family and friends and the troubles throughout school. In a way, I’m thankful for my parents’ divorce and the lesson it ended up giving me.

Part of my life

You might be thinking this is another memoir just like all the others. It might be interesting, or it might be boring, but it’s just another stretched out memory. Well this one is different. There will be many memories, about one thing, but they won’t be connected. If you want to read them all, go ahead, if you want to skip some, you can do that too.
The first memory I have of ghosts, spirits, or whatever you want to call them, is when I used to live in Denver. I’ve always seen shadows all over the place. I’m not talking about shadows that come from light being shined on someone, but shadows of people. I always saw them running around between the rooms of our house. This is when I saw the most of just one ghost all the time every day. As I got older, these encounters became rarer or just less frequent over the years. These encounters were rarer, but they didn’t leave completely.
The next instance in my life where this has occurred is at the house I live at currently. Here, more things have happened to my family and me than any other place we’ve ever been. The first thing that we all experienced was noise at night. It might not sound like much, but it changed all our viewpoints on the paranormal completely. Before this, everyone had said the shadows I saw were my overactive imagination, because I was the only one that ever saw them. They always just brushed it off when I talked about it, but now they got to experience it firsthand. I finally gained some credibility. Coming back to the sound, it might sound like it isn’t that scary, but at the time something like this had never happened. So, it always only happened at night. What happened was if anyone was awake late at night, around 11:30 to midnight either by not being able to sleep or getting up for water, you’d be able to hear all the pots, pans plates, silverware, EVERYTHING in the kitchen, just come clattering to the floor. Every time this happened, we’d go to see and try to pick up the mess, only to find everything in place. This happened for years, until it just stopped. I guess, at the time, it was the “special” residents’ way to welcome us to our new home.
Another of these early encounters happened at a flower nursery. This place is also owned by the same company my dad works at. Now, that day, we were going to get some flowers for somebody’s party, when my sister and I saw a man. We know he wasn’t physically there, because it was obvious he wasn’t really there. This man was dressed in a nice white suit. That’s the only detail we could really get on him, because as soon as my sister pointed him out, he disappeared. It wasn’t that scary of an experience, more on the weird side, but it made us more aware of what was going on because nobody has seen him again.
Now, for the most commonly seen “residents”, well, they’re both kids. The first time we saw one was when we were playing hide and seek in the house the year we moved in. So what happened was that my sister opened the door, thinking it was me hiding behind it. So when she opened the door, a blond, white kid, the same age as her at the time which was like 8 or 9, ran right through her, and into the bathroom. She didn’t realize what had happened at that moment, and when she did she freaked out, but he’s appeared to each of us at least once. Another of the kids was seen by my grandma when she came to visit. She didn’t see much, all she saw was a boy, about the same age as the other one, and that he looked like a Mexican dressed like a cowboy getting ready for work. The other one was American.
There have been other instances, but of minor note. It’s not that they weren’t interesting, they were weird moments, but the problem is that they were brief. For example, one of these brief ones was late at night. I was getting ready to get to sleep, when I see a floating head with a top hat on. It was weird and kind of interesting, but brief. Another time was when I was taking a shower. What happened was I heard the bathroom door open. I thought it was one of my sisters trying to pull a prank on me. So I look out through the shower curtain, to see who it was to yell at them, but there wasn’t anyone there. Since I use glasses because I’m nearsighted, I squinted my eyes to see more clearly, and I saw a head in the mirror. That’s all it was. There were no facial features at all, just the head and hair. It was a creepy moment, so I’m glad I’ve never seen that again.
What I’ve been talking about mostly about, is just sightings. That’s because there haven’t been many times when it’s more than that. The first time one of these happened was in sixth grade. The only ghost we knew about at the time was the ghost my little sister had seen, so we just called him “El Niño”. So, since at the time I slept on the couch, I’d sometimes get weird feelings, like I was getting watched. This usually happened in the middle of the night, so I woke up. One day, or actually night, I just got fed up, and told the ghost to leave us alone for a while. I take it he didn’t like it very much, because five minutes afterwards, I suddenly snap out of sleep and I swear I saw the boy floating there, and then kicking my leg. I know I was awake when it happened because I could feel the foot going through my leg, and then my leg started twitching. It would have been completely fine if it would have been just that, but then my leg cramped up, and I was in intense pain for about twenty minutes. Again, I was completely awake when all of this happened because I didn’t wake up afterwards. After that night, let’s just say he’s been doing whatever he wants.
After that night, there have been two recent things that have happened, the first and most recent, was when one of my aunts was visiting us. So we were all sitting around the table, except for my little siblings and cousins, when we hear a kid yelling that they needed some toilet paper from the bathroom. We all thought it was my little brother, but when I got there to give him a roll of paper, well, the bathroom was empty. I went looking for my little brother, to ask him why he left, but he was outside. When I asked him about it, he said he hadn’t been inside at all for a while. The second encounter is on the top of my list of when I’ve been the most scared. I don’t know if you believe in evil spirits, but if there are any, this is one of them. This took place a year and a half, to two years ago. I was sleeping on the couch, when my dad woke me up accidentally when he left for work. I didn’t think much of it, because that’s what usually happened, and turn around to try to go back to sleep. Then I heard the door open and shut, telling me my dad left. Not a minute later, I hear the door open and close again. I thought it was my dad that forgot something, so I ignore it. Then I hear a deep, raspy voice say “Pablo” right next to my ear. I turn around and there’s absolutely nothing. It was the first time I’d heard that voice, and it’s the first time I’d been completely afraid of a ghost. When I heard him say my name, my body got really, really cold, from just him saying my name. I’d never minded any of the other ghosts, because they’ve left us relatively alone, but this one came out of nowhere, and I’ll find a way to make it leave.
These are only the times that have stuck out form my memory. I’m positive I’ll have many more encounters before long. I don’t know if it’s me, or the houses I’ve lived in, but I have never been left alone. If it’s for a reason, I have no clue what it is, but as long as I’m allowed a peaceful life, I don’t mind this too much.

The Giant Leap

The Giant Leap
The ground is coming at me a lot faster than I had originally planned. Get away from his feet! Curl up in a ball and get your arms next to your body. Shit be faster, get away from his feet, you’re still too close. Those were the thoughts that were running through my head when Timer launched me into the air.
Laying there I know I landed head, shoulder, and then hip, but there was nothing I could do about how I had landed when I was flying through the air. I regrouped my thoughts trying to remember what had happened and making sure nothing was broken. I could move my fingers and my toes but my head hurt pretty bad and I was dizzy. I could hear them running toward me; they were worried, I could tell. Whenever I used to fall off I would give my mom some kind of signal saying I was alright but I wasn’t going to move until I knew I was in one piece.
Timer was at the other end of the arena scared that he had done something wrong, really it wasn’t his fault he was just mad at himself for hitting the fence so he leaped into the air. I got to talk to the judge after the show and she was amazed that I was walking around she said, “I had looked down at my paper to put a “K” on the sheet for the knock on the rail but when I looked up you were still in the air and your horse was across the arena.” “Wow,” I thought, “I can’t believe I’m not more hurt than I am.” I am pretty sure I have at least a minor concussion, I don’t remember the accident really at all, I just know what happened from what people tell me. I’m worried about getting back on to Timer I know he won’t try to hurt me but we are both nervous about it and we start out slowly just walking around making sure I won’t get dizzy when I am on him.
It’s not hard to stay on him. I know that’s the only way I am going to be able to trust him again, and the longer I am working him the more comfortable I get. My mom is still worried about me. She knows I’m really good at hiding what I am truly feeling and I was a lot dizzier than I was letting on. The EMT checked me out a couple of times and said my pupils were dilated but I should be just fine. I showed in the flat class and felt just fine, a little dizzy here and there but other than that I was good.
After the accident I was really worried about doing anything with Timer that might make him leap into the air again. I didn’t trust him at all and for me that is a big issue. With how big I jump its extremely important for me to trust the horse I am riding, if I don’t trust them I am not as bold as I need to be. As my mom worked on my trust with Timer, I had to ride all the other horses I am in charge of too. The more horses I was able to get on, the less stressed I was when I got back on Timer. After a couple of months I trusted him like nothing had happened. We were jumping around courses at home and doing everything we needed to do perfectly. Even though we were good at home, showing at horse shows was a whole different story. The old memories of him launching into the air came back and I froze up, I wasn’t riding like I should have been. It was like I was riding that same ride every time I went to go jump a fence and I was just second guessing everything I asked him to do. I felt bad but I couldn’t get the fall out of my mind and I wasn’t letting the horse do his job. It took a lot of work for me to just be able to chill out and let the horse do his job. I would get worried and start picking on him, he would get frustrated and start throwing a fit and I would remember I had to relax. After more practice I was able to relax and know that he wasn’t going to leap into the air again. When we first got Timer he didnt trust his riders he would just get violent when he was frusturated. Now six months after the fall we have true trust in eachother now.

My Darkness Before I Found My Light

Suicide… A word I have come to hate. I know hate is a strong word, but so is love. Every time I hear the word suicide, I cringe. I feel the pain from these dark deeply depressing nights. People ask me, “Why are you that way? What triggered it? Why so depressed? My answer is always, I don’t know but I do know shit happens. My therapist wonders why as well.
“Do you need to be hospitalized?
“I don’t think so...”
“Do you know how and why you got to this point?”
“No.”
“Who talked to you before this episode?”
“No one. I was alone in my room just thinking, where did I fuck this up? Do I deserve to be here? I started feeling more and more worthless every second an evil thought passed through my brain. I’m not worthy of even this awful sick world.”
All of these questions are not completely clear for me to answer.“ These thoughts come to my mind and, recently these thoughts could not be pushed out of my mind. I couldn’t shake them. I could not get rid of them, they just lingered, tearing me apart shred by shred. These thoughts were tearing me apart… I felt as if I was on the path straight to sure insanity, but then the consideration came… It came and felt like the only solution to my problems. I felt worthless and absolutely powerless in a power hungry world. I picked up the knife… opened it… placed it upon my ice cold wrist. I came so close that now I cannot help but feel sick every time I see that knife. I threw it as hard as I could… I’m so glad I did. I don’t know what stopped me, but I am eternally grateful that I stopped. “
My therapist is completely silent for a moment. She tells me I am surely not insane, am confused and need help. I agreed with this statement. “ You just need to realize that you aren’t alone. Even when you get to that dark point, you NEED TO TALK with someone, no matter how badly it hurts.”
“It does hurt, but it can’t hurt as bad as bad as I was hurting in that dark point that night.”
“Please don’t do it. If you need to be hospitalized, we will do what is needed to keep you safe.”
“No. If I am hospitalized, people will ask what happened and I don’t want to go around telling people my pathetic story.”
“It isn’t pathetic. It is very important that you are safe. That is our top priority.”
“I am terrified, but if I am hospitalized I won’t proceed to get better, I feel as if I would get worse...”
“Does anyone but your family know about what happened?”
“Yes… people do know. I wish they didn’t because some people’s opinions hurt. Some people say, wow what a fuck up, people that are that depressed don’t realize how selfish they are being, whoever tries to commit suicide is a pussy and should just grow up. They absolutely DON’T understand what kind of pressure is behind the lines of suicide! They have no fucking clue! I hate people that judge and don’t have the experience to back it up. It really hurts. Some people I thought I knew and loved had those kinds of responses’.” I am now in tears. “ I wish people could understand the hurt that was afflicted. I wish, I wish, I wish. Not all wishes come true. I just need support from people but I don’t get that because we live in such a judgmental world with hate. I just need a few days to be with family and people willing to support me rather than criticize. Those people that are judgmental can leave me alone and find out how to deal with their issues like I did. ”
“OK, well I need you to be safe. Can you stay safe until you feel better. As I said before, you are not alone and you need to stay with your family 24/7 until these thoughts leave your mind. We can’t stress enough how worried we are about you.”
I will be safe. I give you my word. I don’t break promises. I don’t want to not be here I am just terrified. I do have people that can help me. And I will listen and absorb all of the positive words. I give you my word I will be ok. I am not going anywhere. Imma give ‘em hell!”

To Darkness and Back

A time in my life that has shaped me as a person was a particularly dark time that I don’t revisit very often. These events occurred from the beginning of my freshman year to the end of my sophomore year.
High school is coming up, this summer has gone by faster than I expected and to be honest I’m really nervous. I don’t know anyone and I don’t know what to expect from high school. The high school youth group isn’t going very well, these kids don’t know me and I don’t think they care to get to know me. Maybe thing will get better as time goes on, but I really don’t see that happening.
“Those kids have better things to do and my parents are too preoccupied with my brother. No one will miss me. Wait. Why am I thinking this? I would never even consider killing myself, but it wouldn’t be the worst thing. I mean what’s the point of going on when no one cares.”
Looking back my reasoning was definitely flawed and I had no idea how it got so bad, but I’ve moved on and I feel much better and I know that people care about me.
One innocent thought lead to another and then another and more after that, until the thoughts became not so innocent anymore. I wonder if school will make things better. High School is so much bigger than Bethlehem, the school I went to for elementary and middle school, and there’s so much more people. I don’t belong here; I don’t know why I’m here. English is my favorite class, there’s a nice girl in that class. She says hi to me every day and I walk to German and she walks to Spanish and we walk together after English. This is so perfect.
I’ve decided I want to tell her about the thoughts I’ve been having and now she’s really worried about me. I can’t believe I did that, if I would have just kept these thoughts to myself she wouldn’t be so worried. No one is here to tell me I shouldn’t have done that or punish me for what I did. Maybe I should just hurt myself if no one else will. I’ve decided to start out easy and use scissors. I drew the scissors wide open and sliced numerous cuts into the top of my left forearm. I don’t know why I did it there because people can see it there. I’ll just where a sweatshirt it will be ok.
If I knew what I know today, I would stop right there and say that hurting myself won’t solve anything, but I didn’t know what I know now. The person I am today wasn’t there to rip the scissors from my hand. I couldn’t stop myself because I didn’t know any better. The person I am today will hold that frightened boy while he cried. I would comfort him until he fell asleep and woke up to a better tomorrow.
Throughout this time only two of my friends really knew what was going on and what I was going through, but I didn’t want them to understand. These are my problems and I’ll deal with them the way I want to.
These awful thoughts keep coming to me, I can’t stop them. The idea of taking a rope to the tree in the backyard or the plentitude of pills and alcohol we have. I can’t believe I was so selfish what would my parents do if they found me not breathing. How could I even think about doing that to them?
The months go by and things are getting worse. I find myself standing in the kitchen with a handful, but I get angry and slam them into the pill bottle and throw it. “Something is keeping me here, God doesn’t want me to give up, but I don’t know why. I’m worthless, I can’t do anything right. I just make people sad and worried. If I weren’t here they wouldn’t have to worry.” These were the thoughts running through my head day and night.
I think it’s time to move on from the scissors. There’s a razor in the garage, but I’m really nervous. I don’t think I can do this. After sometime I work up the courage. I feel that this time I’ll do it on a place no one can see. How about the chest? I take off my shirt and start the first cut, but that’s as far as I get. The blood is too much. The blood is everywhere and it won’t stop. Luckily I’m in the bathroom. I’m scared I call Leslie and Meghan. I put Neosporin on it because the razor was rusty and I don’t’ want to get an infection. I put a band-aid on it and meet them in the park. Leslie is worried and Meghan is furious. Leslie hugs me and I start to cry. The cut’s not bad, but this is the breaking point, where I’m just tired of everything and I look around and see these people that care about me and I know that I want to go on. This is a time that changed everything in my life and formed who I am as a person. I am not proud of this time in my life, but I know without it I wouldn’t be the same. A lot of time has passed and I’m living my life. I have been blessed with many friends and a loving family. I’m not giving this up for anything.

My Father's Battle

Cancer is a word I ever thought would ever touch my life or anyone in it. There is no other word a person could say that has affected my life more. I never thought it would happen to me, like every other adolescent, I was naive. When my father was diagnosed with cancer my sophomore year, there were no signs or warnings. He was a healthy 50 year old. To me my father was invincible, but last year I found out how fragile life really is for everyone.
My father is the kind of man that people are drawn to. He is the sun in a "solar system" of a community. I’ve never met a person who didn't like my dad, or didn't think he was a superb human being. He always goes out of his way to make sure everyone in his life is okay before making sure he himself, is. There was never a time when my father wasn’t there for me. He’s supported me in everything I’ve done. We have always been really close and I’ve always been a "daddy's girl." When my mother said no, my father never failed to say yes. There was not a doubt in my mind that my father loved me and there was no doubt that I loved my father.
One night last year, after eating dinner with my family, my parents told my brother and I they needed to talk to us. We stood in the kitchen as my father stood there hesitating to what he was about to say. Dave and I, had no idea what was about to be said but there wasn’t even a hint in my mind about what was about to come. "It’s not for sure yet," he said as tears started to fill my mom’s eyes, “But doctors say I probably have cancer.” The kitchen went quite and I had started to cry. I had the biggest lump in the back of my throat; like I had dry swallowed a pill the size of a quarter. I felt like this wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. “How bad is it?” I managed to choke out. “We don’t know.” My mother said. I looked up at my dad as I pictured my life without him. Who would I go to talk to when I needed help? Who would walk me down the aisle at my wedding? How is a daughter supposed to grow up and live a good life without her father?
That night I cried more than I had in my whole life put together. I didn’t know what was going to happen or if I was going to lose one of the most important people in my life. All I knew was that it was prostate cancer. One in six men will get it in their lifetime. I didn’t know if my father would win this inner battle or if I would lose him forever.
Three months later, my father went into surgery to try to remove the cancerous cells. They were using new technology, surgery by robot which was extremely accurate and successful. This procedure and gotten rid of 90 percent of patients cancer completely and we were hoping it would do the same for my father. I missed two finals to wait in the hospital while my father was under the knife. My mom, brother, and I waited five hours and then an hour more while he was in recovery before we could see him. Doctors told us the surgery went well and after he was healed, they would run tests to confirm the cancer was terminated. My father spent the night in the hospital and then a week in bed. We did whatever we could to make him feel better but we could tell the pain was unbearable.
One week later, my dad went back to the hospital and the doctors ran tests. We got the results and found out the surgery did not remove the cancer completely. My heart was broken, that was the hardest thing to hear. Not only did my father still have cancer, but it had spread to nodes around the area. The only thing worse than cancer, is hearing that cancer has spread. I spent most of my time with my family that summer while my father started hormone therapy and radiation treatment. It felt like almost every day my father was in and out of the hospital. But even throughout the painful treatments and therapy, my father was the same funny, smart, and heroic man he had always been.
In the fall I started school. My father was still undergoing treatment. August and September came and went, and my father was due for another test to check the progress of the treatments. In late October my parents sat my brother and I down again for another talk. My father was finally cancer free. I felt a huge wave of happiness and relief crash over and overcome me. This was the happiest moment for me and my whole family. I wasn’t going to lose my father, he was here to stay.

Mexico

Mexico
Waking up at 2:15am to take pictures and say good bye for a week. The bus pulled away with a tear and I’ll miss you. The smell of the beach set in as soon as we landed. We knew we weren’t in the states anymore. The air was misty and the humidity was over welcoming. All the things that could go wrong did. There were 25 of us that went on the trip of a lifetime. The changes of driving traffic, food and culture were almost enough to make the tears return.
The plane ride that started an adventure, that both taught me what how to another country works. There customs were different and the food was different. Taking 50 suitcases through immigrants and customs in Mexico was kind of scary. Walking through looking like an AMERICAN, I was getting looks of you don’t belong. Walking to the scary button that was just chance if you got searched or not. Me, of course got a red light which meant that I had to have everything searched, suitcases included. I take the long walk of oh no… Trying to put my suitcases on the platform was a task in its self. The suitcases weighted 35 pounds each and I am just a little girl. Finally, after 5 minutes of struggling, I got them both up on the platform and the search began. Going through each bag throwing things around in the suitcases my heart dropped when he pulled an item out that I didn’t even know what it was. He asked me very politely what it was I replied… Nail polish remover and nail polish. He said ok, well next time make sure they are not opened. I apologized and he said I was free to go. 30 minutes of searching was finally over.
Waiting at the airport for our buses for 4 hours to take us to our home for a week, finally the buses arrived and we loaded the suitcases and we were off. Sitting next to my best friend, who had taken this trip for the last three years, we were talking, and when we almost got hit due to the fact of Mexico driving is crazy. This was one of the many times that we almost died to the fact of Mexico’s crazy drivers and roads. Finally getting to the hotel we settled in and we were off to our rooms to take showers and get ready for dinner.
Dinner was yummy, and then it was off to bed because we had to get up super early the next day to start the reason why we came. There are 3 things, I must tell you before I go any farther. 1st this trip was a mission’s trip. 2nd the room, I was in was the if you got sick room go here (which people did, every single night, but that’s a different story.) 3rd I have never been out of the country and I was scared out of my mind. Ok, so now that we have those on the table. We can continue so the first night we were in Mexico, another room of girl’s ac was broken and the guy could not come fix it till the morning. So… we had a sleep over in one room, 8 girls, 2 beds, 3 chairs and no sleep later. The work began, building houses and repairing others, painting walls and running bible studies this week was the best week of my life. The plane ride home was one that made me hate flying.
1 week in Mexico… $1,500
100 people lives were impacted… sweat and tears
Memories that will never be forgotten… priceless

Introduction

Ms. Gurian's 11th grade students will post the final draft of their Cornerstone Genre Study Memoirs on this blog. Students are expected to post a polished copy of one memoir and respond thoughtfully to at least three student memoirs on the class blog. Remember that this is a public site and that all posts are open to the public eye. Plese consider your audience as you post your memoirs and comments. Happy memoir writing!