A Day at the Park

Blair Marie Hammett

Memior Response



               Ever since I can remember he was the one I looked up to. He could take chairs and blankets and turn them into amazaing tents. He could climb the tallest trees faster than anyone I knew. He could draw amazing pieces of artworks. He had the biggest and most caring heart of anyone that I knew. He was the kind of person I wanted to be when I grew up. Therefore, I made sure whatever he did, I was right behind him copying his every move. However, I shortly learned that there were just some things I couldn't do.

             My parents had recently filed for divorce and my dad was currently living with his parents. It was a hot summer day and my brother, Brad, my cousin, Marshall, and I were outside sitting on the grass. "It is so hot outside and there is nothing to do!," said marshall as he threw his arms up and fall back on the soft grass. Suddenly Brad's eyes lit up. "I have an idea! Let's go to the park. I'll go inside and convince my dad to take us." Brad was always good at convincing people to do things. After all, he once convinced me to trade him my dollar for his two quarters by telling me that the number 2 was bigger than the number 1.

            Minutes later, Brad came out of the hosue and behind him was my dad with his car keys. We all piled into the car and headed for the park. When we arrived, there weren't too many people around. Therefore, we got to have the whole playground to ourselves. We didn't have to worry about waiting for an empty swing or waiting for the slide. When we were done playing, Brad had the most brilliant idea, so I thought at the time. "Let's go walking in the creek and play in the water!"Marshall and I thought it was a good plan because after all it was very hot outside and the creek would cool us off. However, my dad didn't think the idea was very good but at the age of 8 no child ever listens to their parents.

            We took off our shoes and socks as fast as we could and jumped into the creek. While I was busy making the best mud pies ever, Brad and Marshall decided to leave me and walk futher up the creek. I tried to catch up with them but with every step I took, my feet kept sinking into the mud. I was trying to watch where I walked but the creek was too murky. I was almost caught up with them when I felt something sharp on the side of my foot. At first I thought it was just a stick that scratched my foot. Suddenly, I felt a sharp stinging pain. As I was lifting my foot up through the water, I saw blood, which I knew couldn't be good at all.

            Brad and Marshall quickly ran to where I was and helped my dad lift me out of the creek. There was a fire station nearby and instantly my dad thought to take me there. Marshall took his sock and wrapped it around my foot to try to stop the bleeding. We arrived at the fire station where the firemen tried to clean up the deep cut but unfortnately they told my dad that he would need to take me to the hospital because I was going to need stitches.

           On the way to the hospital, my dad called my mom and step-dad and told them to meet us at Lexington Hospital. I don't remember arriving at the hospital so much as I do actually getting the stitches. The doctors informed my parents and me that the cut was an inch deep and I would need four stitches. I laid back on the table and prepared myself for the pain that was to come. My mom covered my face so I couldn't see anything and with one deep breathe I felt the needle go through my skin. The pain was bearable. I had to be on crunches for two weeks.

           To this day, I still have a scar on the side of my right foot that sets as a reminder of the summer day.



My School

Walking through the hallways you see dancers stretching, students reciting monologues, and gorgeous sketches on the wall.  In the background you can hear people singing opera, instruments tuning, and a piano playing music from Swan Lake.  This is the Governor's School for the Arts, my high school.

In the cafeteria is Barbara, the main cook.  All the cereal you can imagine line the walls.  The courtyard is the most relaxing place to eat, with all your friends surrounding you on a summer day.  There is an amphitheater which has been often used for practicing monologues and plays when spring peaks around.

You can tell when it is performance time.  Every one in the school becomes stressed and serious, practicing day and night.  Once the performance ends, however, smiles fill each and every student (including the audience).  There is a certain passion at this school that is rare to find. 

Our get-away is the reedy river park.  Peeking out through the dance studio window, you can see all the "Govies" making their home in downtown Greenville.  Memories take up the park, restaurants, and streets of this downtown area.  Having this school is extremely special to me.  It makes sure every student can pursue their dream and make best friends while doing it. 

My First Hair Cut

Snip, snip, snip.  Maria, my best friend, had just gotten a haircut.  She was very excited; I was jealous.  May hair was so long, it touched my butt.  It always got in the way.  I wanted more than anything to have shorter hair like Maria.

                Just our luck! My mom had parent-teacher conferences, so Maria’s mom was watching my younger sister and me.  We scurried into the basement to assume out positions.  We climbed over couches and boxes to get to the perfect little nook to set up shop where no one could see us.  We made a sign for Maria’s salon on her chalkboard easel and set up couch cushions as Maria’s work station.  Maria was the four year old hair cutting genius, and I was her three year old client.  Now, since Maria knew what she was doing, she lifted my hair up and cut it really short underneath. 

                My hair looked beautiful…if you asked me.  We knew we had to hide the evidence, so we raided the family filing cabinets full of her dad’s research.  He has a super-secret office that we were not allowed to enter.  We didn’t care, we had to hide the hair!  We hid the hair and sighed because we were in the clear.  No one would ever notice my new do!

                Next up—the dog.  Jordy looked beautiful when Maria was done with him.  But that hair had to go, too.  We sprinted to the deepest, darkest corners of the basement to get rid of the evidence.  Maria’s basement had A LOT of stuff in it, so we found some wonderful hiding places.  We opened boxes and lifted carpet corners, anything we could get our hands on, to hide the hair.  No one would know what had happened if there wasn’t any evidence, right?

                Just as Ms. Margie, Maria’s mom, was wondering what we were up to Stephanie, my younger sister, took her place in the chair.  We didn’t get too far on her hair, but wow was my mom in for a treat!

                As we heard Ms. Margie coming down the stairs I made sure that I sat up super straight against the wall.  Obviously, no one would notice my shorter look if it was hidden by the wall.  Boy were we wrong!  Ms. Margie knew something was up right away.

                She was beyond mad!  And so was my mom.  “Tracy Nicole, you get in the car right now!!”  That’s how I knew my mom was mad; she used my middle name.  She marched me to the salon.  It smelled nice and clean and looked pretty, but I did NOT want to be there.  What was wrong with my hair? It looked perfect!  The nice hair cutting lady saved my “disastrous” hair…barely.  I looked like a little boy!  To save my hair, she had to cut it super short.  Man, oh man, was I mad.

                At three years old I cried over my hair for the first time.  However, it would certainly not end up being the last time tears were shed over a haircut.  As Maria and her family packed to move, they were finding Tracy and Jordy hair everywhere.  Four years later my mom received a present from Maria and her family… a baggy of my hair.

I learned a few valuable lessons that day: don’t let four year old cut your hair, and it’s just hair…it’ll grow back.

Kappa Kappa Gamma

               When I came to college, I had no idea what I was getting myself into.  I went to the same school from seventh through twelfth grades with the same 36 people in all of my classes.  I had never been to a public school, let alone a public college.  I decided to sign up for sorority recruitment as a way to meet girls that were around my age, little did I know I was going to meet some of the best people I would ever meet in my lifetime.  

Recruitment was a struggle for me.  There were roughly 1700 freshman girls fighting to be a member of one of the nine sororities.  The days were long and the nights were short, full of anxiety because you did not know what houses were going to ask you back.  There were a lot of life lessons learned that week about everything happening for a reason, staying humble, and most importantly, being yourself.   

When it was finally Bid Day, every girl that made it through recruitment gathered on the Horseshoe where we received our bid cards. My Pi Chi lined us all up and had us put our hands behind our backs and close our eyes.  She placed our t-shirts and bid cards in our hands and counted to three; every girl in the group went silent. It felt like she was taking years to finally get to "three," but when the word came out of her mouth, there was a brief pause, and then mass chaos erupted. There were so many emotions on the Horseshoe that day; there were sad girls, mad girls, happy girls, and girls that were just glad that recruitment was finally over.  Words cannot explain how happy I was when I opened my eyes and saw that Kappa Kappa Gamma had invited me to become a new member in the Fall 2008 pledge class.  I felt a sense of joy, comfort, and relief wash over me as I ran to the 200+ girls that would soon become my sisters. 

Since joining Kappa, I have truly become the woman I always wanted to be.  Through the leadership positions that my sisters have elected me for, I have become more responsible and confident, and challenged myself in more ways than I can count.  I know that if I am ever having a bad day or just need to talk to someone, I just have to walk through those double doors on the huge front porch and there will be a sister willing to drop what she is doing to help me with whatever I am going through. The friends that I have made in Kappa truly are my sisters.  We share a ritual and a bond that have tied us together for the rest of our lives, and I couldn't ask for anything better.

Houdini

Houdini

He wakes up from a deep warm sleep all alone. Startled at first, but nothing is around him. His bright eyes slowly open to scan the room. He lets out a huge yawn; one that would make a giant exhausted, and then begins to stretch. Out goes an arm, then the other. His fingers open and stretch as far as possible. Like he’s reaching for something a mile away. Next come his legs followed by his toes. Slowly he stands for he is in no hurry. He stretches his back high to the sky and sits down again; all the while observing the room. Corner to corner, ceiling to floor, left to right.

He gets out of bed and makes no sound. His footsteps are quiet- that is until he reaches the stairs. The wood on the stairs is weathered. They have been there much longer than he. He scurries down them. Thump, thump, thump, thump. His feet on the wood resemble rain on the roof.

He looks around to see if he is still alone. He is. He is the king and this is his castle. He wanders with grace in every step. His bright green eyes examine everything carefully. He hears something in the distance. What was that? The wind softly making its way through the leaves on a distance tree. His body is still- stiff with fear- his eyes larger- his heart racing.

He approaches the window. (This is his favorite view). He carefully observes the birds and squirrels. He sees the trees swaying with the wind. The details he notices are incredible. He watches a veiny leaf fly across the ground. He hears the birds chirping to one another. He watches a butterfly hoover over tulips on the ground. He observes the squirrels running around on the ground then up the tall oak trees. He wants nothing more than to be outside with them but he knows he is confined to stay inside his quarters.

All of the sudden he hears a loud rumble. He jumps. He knows he has company. Then he sees her. She is tiny. Is she an orphan? Where did she come from? Why is she here? Is she friend or foe? Something he will have to decide. She wants to be friends but he wants nothing to do with her- he is too regal to waste his time with a small wiry peasant. Neither make a sound, only watch each other’s every move.

She walks around him as he watches her. She jumps at the thought of having a new friend and instead frightens him. He has made his decision- she is no friend of his.

Quickly he hurries back upstairs, thump, thump, thump, thump, trying to escape. She follows. Quickly. He is tense. This time she stays away but both watch each other. He wonders where she came from and why she is in his kingdom. This has always been his kingdom and he has never had anyone come into his space. He positions himself in a corner where he can still see her clearly.

His lair is brightly lit. There is not a cloud in the sky as the sun creeps through the windows. Everything is oversized but this is very typical for a king. The walls are rich in color and the furniture is royal. Whenever he is needed, he can always be found in his corner.

As he curls his body, his grey hair shimmers with sun shining through the window. The warm air in the room relaxes him. He begins to fall back asleep. While drifting off, he wonders, “Who is this in my domain?” “When will she be leaving?” “Will we one day get along?”. His last thought before falling asleep, “No, I will always be the king and she will never replace me.”

That Old House

That Old House Lindsey Selph Some of my fondest memories took place in my old house. The house was small and filled with the warmth of a loving family. It was a place where imagination took flight. There were always exciting things happening at that house. I remember the smell of a home cooked meal bringing us closer, around the family table. From what I remember the atmosphere was very playful, which often times led to dress-ups, performances, dance parties, and much more. I have so many great memories of that house. One of the things I can vividly remember was my sister and I playing dress up. We are three years apart in age but we were glued to the hip when we were younger. My mom made a costume box for us with some of her old clothing. In that cardboard box there were hats, dresses, high heel shoes, jewelry, scarves, and a whole lot of other accessories. My mom would help my sister and I put on make-up and jewelry. Then we would proceed to walk around the house as if we owned the place, modeling our new look. We had so much fun playing dress-up and mom and dad always went along with whatever the theme was for the day. My sister and I would drag our little brother into the action, which I know he is not very proud of now but back then he seemed to have a laugh or two about it. Another memory that sticks out to me had to do with laundry baskets… yeah I said it, laundry baskets.  My brother, sister and I used to play with laundry baskets, the kind of baskets that were long and rectangular. I remember climbing in them with our bankies (what we called our blankets) and take turns pushing each other around the house. I am not sure how we got to this point but I do remember my dad having a big part in it. He was the one who invented the game in the first place. Some other major moments that I remember taking place in that house were: my mom’s water breaking and my baby brother being born, our back porch being built with the help of my grandfather, by brother backing our car into the neighbor’s house when he was 5 years old, and much more. I could go on and on about that old house and the memories that I have of my childhood in it but I would be writing for a lifetime. When my parents decided it was time to move in to a bigger house it was a very hard for me to hear. I loved that house and never wanted to leave. Soon after though I realized that with a new home comes new memories to be made. Sometimes I still drive by my old house just to see how the new owners are taking care of it. Every time I pass by it I think about all the things that I remember about living there. Almost everything is the same from what I can see on the outside. The door is still that dark blue color that always stuck out to me, the bushes in the front still line the sidewalk, and the small lamppost is still at the foot of the driveway. Although not everything is today what it was in the past, our memories of those things keep us attached in ways that we can never explain. There is a quote from a show called The Wonder Years that says, “Memory is a way of holding onto the things you love, the things you are, the things you never want to lose.”

Why My Favorite Color’s Orange: A Memoir of a Friend

Orange is the color of many things in the world; pumpkins, candy corn, construction cones, leaves in the fall, Reeses cup wrappers, and the sun that continually rises and falls. Orange was also the favorite color of my friend Lucas Pfander.

Lucas Pfander changed my life. He was so many things; a son, a brother, a Catholic, a student, a lifeguard, a swimmer, a runner, the National Honor Society President, and most importantly to me, a friend. I’ll never forget the day I met him. It was the first day of high school and coming from a non-feeder grade school I was entering uncharted territory. I didn’t know anyone. I walked into first period terrified and for some reason I may never know, Lucas came in and sat right next to me. Even though there were plenty of people in the room that he knew and could have talked to, he chose to introduce himself to me. Here started a lifelong friendship. 

Through the next three years of high school Lucas and I were good friends. We had classes together, worked together on school projects, and even competed side by side for our school’s swim team. He was always there for me and anyone else when they had a problem. Some of my best high school memories like advancing to the district swim meet in the 2008 season, dancing it up at Homecomings and Prom, and hanging out on random Friday nights, revolve around Lucas. 

It would go without saying that when I heard that Lucas was going on vacation with a close friend and his family in mid July, I fully expected to see him again in early August. I was wrong. On the night of July 10th, 2008, Lucas Ryan Pfander drowned in a boating accident. His death devastated not only me but the hundreds of friends and family members he left behind. The following five days were the hardest days of my life. Emotions ranged from numbness to shock, guilt to fear, and denial to disbelief. Simply stated, I didn’t know how to live in a world were Lucas didn’t. 

As the days and weeks moved on, my friends and I were left with many unanswered questions. Questions that will never have real answers. What we found in place of these answers were memories. Memories that even death cannot take away from us. He showed me what it was to be a good friend. He led by example: always working to include others and attempting to make sure no one was left out. Talking to me on that first day of school was typical Lucas, he worked hard to make sure everyone had a friend. 

Lucas taught me to find joy in mundane things. Whatever he was doing Lucas threw himself into it whole-heartedly. Whether it was figuring out an impossible math problem, DOMINATING a game of Scrabble, or completing a difficult set at swim practice, Lucas did it happily. So whenever I’m faced with a challenge that seems too difficult or day that seems impossible, I remember Lucas and how he taught me to find joy in these simple things. 

Most importantly though, Lucas taught me to live out each day the best I can. In his life and through his death, he showed me how often times life is too short, and that we can never be guaranteed a tomorrow. He showed me how important it is to love myself and others whole heartedly and to never take anything for granted. 

Everyday still hurts and the grief is real; especially when faced with thoughts of moments which Lucas would have been a part of if he were still here. But notice before how I related to Lucas as a life-long friend. Even though his life is over, mine continues on, and his presence is still a very real part of my life and in a way, Lucas is still here. He is here in the laughter of his friends who live on despite the daily struggle, in the spirit of the Chaminade-Julienne Catholic High School student section of every game, in the hearts of all who knew him, and in the vibrant orange sunsets that remind us all how much joy can still be found in each and every day we are given. 

A Surprise Birthday

By:  Hillary Stone

When I stepped out of my car on January 30 the air was cool and crisp.  It was dark, with only the street and sidewalk lights lighting up the parking lot.  I smelled something very familiar in the air.  It was a comforting smell.  I knew what it was right away.  It was the smell of shrimp, little red potatoes, spicy sausage, and corn boiling in hot and tangy spices.  This is the smell of a Lowcountry Boil.  This is one of the many smells of the Lowcountry of South Carolina.  This is one of my favorite meals.  It is something my dad cooks for our family at home. 

            As I walked closer to the red brick apartment complex I noticed that I recognized the people standing around the tailgates of two white Ford trucks.  I first noticed my tall boyfriend, Tyler, stirring a big metal pot.  I then see his two roommates helping with food preparation.  In another direction I recognize some of my girlfriends laughing and talking. 

            Walking closer to the group of people I can feel the heat from the propane cooker and everyone gathers around and yells, “Surprise!”  I am sure I turned blood red because I got a little embarrassed and I did not know what was going on.  I do not necessarily like to have all the attention focused only on me.  Tyler comes over and gives me a big hug and says, “Happy Birthday!”

            I could not believe it!  I did not know what to say.  My mind was a little confused because I could not understand why everyone was gathered for my birthday.  My birthday was actually three days before.  Everyone was so happy to be there for me. 

            After the initial shock was over, Tyler came over to me and put his arm around me and whispered in my ear, “I love you.”  He was the one who did all the planning, food preparation, and organizing.  I could not believe it!  My boyfriend, of almost three years, threw me a surprise birthday dinner.  Up until that day I had never had anyone do something so special for me.  Tyler had contacted all of my friends, bought and prepared all of the food, and cleaned his apartment just to surprise me and make me happy.

            What a great evening!  Tyler brought two things that I love together:  close friends and the Lowcountry.  For me, these two things are so important. 

            Isn’t this what bring in love is about?  Isn’t this what being in a relationship of any kind is about?  When you love someone there is always give and take.  This, to me, was a big give.  No one has ever thrown me a surprise birthday dinner before.  This is probably one of the nicest and caring things anyone has ever done for me.  I am so lucky to have friends who care so much for me, but I am especially thankful for a boyfriend who puts me before himself, even if it is just for one night, and wanted to make me happy.  My 22^nd surprise birthday dinner is something I will never forget.  I will always be thankful for Tyler’s kindness and love.

Hometown fair

Austin Powell

Childhood Memoir

April 10, 2012

            Every summer my hometown has a fair the weekend before the 4^th of July.  The fair has everything you would expect a fair to have like games, rides, music, and most importantly food.  The smell of smoked turkey legs, buttered popcorn, and funnel cakes fills the air around the small town.  Flashing light bulbs of all colors and the ping of ringing bells are also a part of this event.  My family and I are entertained by the fair even when we don’t go.  Every year, 20 to 30 hot air balloons are brought to the fair to offer rides.  If the weather permits, the hot air balloons lift off around 6:30 in the evening and you can see them slowly rise about the tree horizon.  We all pile up into the back of our pick-ups and follow the balloons.  The shifting breeze decides their direction and determines which roads we travel.  As we follow the balloons driving down curvy country back roads, the sights and sounds remind me that I am home.  I enjoy feeling the force of the warm air as I poke my head out from behind the cab of the truck.  I love to see the lines of grass and hay bales as we pass freshly cut fields, and listen to the sounds of cicadas and crickets as we drive by in the summer heat.  Eventually the balloons have to land, and so they choose the closest open field to touch back down.  The astounded facial expressions of the riders always leave me to imagine what the view is like from above in a hot air balloon.  All of my little cousins love to run up to the balloons after they land and help fold the masses of cloth back into a transportable size.  I look forward to this event every year, because it always provides me with great and funny memories and reminds me of all of the small things I love about home.        

New House, New Life

I live in a cul-de-sac at the end  of a road that no one goes down unless you live there or you’re the mailman.  Dad says we are the first people to live in this house.  It was built just for us.

As we turn into the neighborhood, we twist and turn with the road. When what seems like an eternity passes by, we're finally there.  We pull into the driveway of a large gray house with black shutters and a white balcony and porch.  There are trees out in front of the house but one stands alone.  It is quietly shedding its leaves and dropping gumballs.  We pass the silent trees and walk into the house.  Suddenly, I am hit with a mixture of fresh paint, wood and something else I can’t quite put my finger on.  The kitchen counters are smooth and white like they have never been used (well, because they hadn’t).  I walk up the stairs feeling the smoothness of the banister, smelling the crispness of new paint and seeing the long, never ending hallway. The two bedrooms are across from one another and just by looking at the first one, I know which room I want.

                My room faces the street. One window looks out onto the balcony and the other onto the street.  The afternoon sun warms up my room nicely because there are no blinds on the windows yet.  The room seems as large as a castle in one of those fairytales that the princesses and princes and magical creatures live happily ever after in.  How in the world will I ever be able to live in a castle-sized room? It’s awfully big for a five year old.  Well, maybe it’s so large because there isn’t any furniture in it yet.  Either way I think I’ll be able to manage.
               
               I make my way back downstairs and outside and I notice the outline of a new house being built at the end of the cul-de-sac.  It looks like a skeleton because it’s nothing but wood nailed together.  You can even smell the sawdust all the way down the street.  After looking at the skeleton house I notice a little girl walking down the street.  That reminds me, I saw her car pull into their house just after we arrived.  She’s walking towards me so I decide to meet her halfway.  When we meet, she introduces herself saying her name is Jenny.  So I told her mine is Lauryn and we went off to play.  At that moment I made my first friend in South Carolina.


-Lauryn McDonough

Thanksgiving Day with a Shot Gun and Snake!

My favorite time of the year has always been Thanksgiving. I believe it is the perfect season to one, celebrate my birthday, and two spend the holiday with my family. As long as I can remember, my mother’s side of the family always spent Thanksgiving together at my great-grandmother Ruby’s house. Ruby for short we call her, lived in a tiny white cottage with a large red barn and shed in the back. The house had 2 small bedrooms and 1 bathroom, a kitchen, family room, and den. Imagine 25 people every Thanksgiving trying to squeeze in such a tiny place. Somehow we managed! It was always especially exciting for me to visit Ruby’s house in November, because all of my cousins from Utah would come up for the week to visit. We were all very close in age, my brother and I were the two youngest. It would get pretty rowdy with 14 grandchildren running around outside at Ruby’s before the big Thanksgiving meal.

 When I was 8 years old, one Thanksgiving Day at Ruby’s, my cousins and I decided to explore the barn just out back. We were always told to never play in the barn, because my great-grandfathers tools and tractors were out there and we could get hurt playing on them. This year we did not listen and snuck around back while the parents were inside the house cooking. My oldest cousin Travis led the way up to the second floor of the barn. I remember it being very dusty and I couldn’t breathe well, but I was not about to leave. No one had ever been to the second floor of the barn and it was exciting to finally see and look around without anyone knowing, especially the parents. After about 10 minutes of exploring, my cousin Travis screamed at the top of his lungs and told us to go back down and get out quickly. I only being 8, screamed at the top of my little lungs as well all the way back in the house. When I rushed through the door with my other cousins following behind me, my father asked what was wrong, but I really did not know what was wrong. All I knew was Travis screamed, so I screamed and ran inside! Shortly after, Travis came bolting through the door yelling, “SNAKE !” Apparently, on the second floor of the barn, was a large black and yellow snake two inches from our feet!  Ruby quickly asked where and Travis told her in the barn on the second landing. My mom became upset, because we were not supposed to be in the barn in the first place. Next thing I know, my 90 pound, 88 year old great-grandmother Ruby grabbed a shot gun and her bedroom slippers and ran outside. Yes, ran. A few seconds later, a loud bang was heard from inside the house.  Shortly after, Ruby walked in, cleaned the gun, put it back, and walked over to the oven to check on the bread. No one said a single word. We were all speechless of what Ruby just did. Who knew an 88 year old women had so much spunk in her or a shot gun! Needless to say, my cousins and I never, not once, went back into the barn, because if we did we were afraid Ruby come after us!

Not your typcial T Rex

Imagination is one of the many qualities of childhood that I miss. Though as an adult I can picture things in my head, nothing is as vivid as the curiosity and creativity of my childhood.

When my brother and I were in elementary school, we attended an afterschool program until my Dad could pick us up. One afternoon, my brother and I along with our friends began playing and exploring near a patch of dirt on the playground. The playground was covered in sunshine, but we were being protected from the afternoon rays by the expansive branches of the tree that shaded our area of interest. With shovels and containers galore, we decided to start digging to see what we could find. As we dug deeper and more furiously, the earth began to cake and cling to our hands, clothes, and most infuriatingly to our parents, under our nails. Soon, the smell of victory filled the air as we uncovered the beginning of what was to be our hidden treasure. A smooth, but hard surface began to peek its way out of the ground. We couldn't believe our luck! Frantically, we cleared to ground to make way for our discovery. It was apparent to us that we had unearthed something that was so rare, so valuable; we had to be careful how we treated it. Teachers soon began to gather, concerned with the fervor of our digging. After a thorough explanation of the importance of our excavation, they let us proceed. A dinosaur fossil is not something you come across every day. All too soon, it came time for our dad to pick us up. We begged him to come see our amazing discovery, in the hopes that he would help us carefully remove this artifact. As my father got closer to our digging site, the more excited I became. Just think, all of the education about history going on in the school behind us, and yet here we were finding a true piece of history in the back yard!

When my dad began to smile, I thought it was over his excitement, as me and my brother have developed our love of history from him, but soon his smile turned into muffled laughter. He did not understand the magnitude of our discovery. "Kids, I think you should clean up and head to the car. We wouldn't want this water pipe to burst from all of your vigorous digging." Water pipe!? It seemed like a cruel joke for our adventure to come to such an abrupt and unfortunate end.

Although our discovery wasn't quite what we expected, the memories of a day filled with wonder and excitement have not left me after all of these years.

-Ashley Secrest

Italy, Italy, Italy

             I believe that living in a new culture is one of the most difficult, yet rewarding things a person can do. This summer, I moved to Rome, Italy for six weeks. Leaving the United States completely alone and fully immersing myself in Italian culture was one of the most terrifying experiences of my entire life.

 Busy streets, people everywhere. As I first wandered through the antiquated city, I found my senses on high alert. Surrounded by wonderfully detailed Renaissance churches, buildings, statues, and homes, I didn’t even want to blink my eyes for fear of missing something extraordinary. The eternal city brings with it not only beauty, but depth as well. My nose was daily met with the smells of fresh cheeses, breads, and vegetables, crowds of people, and yes, sometimes garbage. These smells, though occasionally putrid, are a part of the city’s personality.

As the local Romans passed by, hurrying down the sidewalks chattering quickly in Italian or scooting by honking the horns of their mopeds and Smart Cars, I was easily caught up in the hilarious, unique, loud mess that is Rome, Italy.

I was immediately thrown into this crazy Italian culture the moment I stepped off the plane. From the beginning of my trip all the way until the bitter end, I experienced a surge of emotions. At first, I was fearful of loneliness and the unknown. Because I chose to enter this journey on my own, I knew that only I was responsible for getting myself through it. As the fear began to subside, my emotions transformed into pure excitement. Because I was becoming more comfortable in this new environment, my enthusiasm to learn more about the people, food, art, and history continued to grow. Once the familiarity of the city set in, I absolutely fell in love. I loved the craziness in the streets. I loved the delicious food. I loved the beautiful language. I loved the old charm. I simply loved it all. As the last days of my trip quickly approached, I was struck by a constant feeling of sadness. I couldn’t imagine leaving the amazing friends I’d made, the unique city I’d grown to cherish, and the unforgettable journey on which I had traveled so far.

All of these emotions have left me with an unmistakably treasured memory of my time in Italy. From this journey, I learned more than I could ever put into words, both about myself and other people. I learned that every person, culture, and history has something to offer, if you simply look deep enough and remember to keep an open mind. Living in a new culture can allow a person to grow, provides chances to learn, and most importantly, change a person forever.

Smoke Follows Beauty Lucy Spence

Smoke Follows Beauty

Lucy Spence

“Smoke follows beauty,” Mother said, watching Cynthia batting at the smoke. An old pine board cracked on the campfire and sent a spray of orange sparks into the cool night sky. The children’s skin glowed with warmth and their rubber-soled shoes grew soft, propped upon the rocks. Tomorrow, they would smell smoke on their pillows, carried home on their hair and clothes.

Cynthia was having fun, in spite of the smoke. Her bent coat-hanger, with the gooey marshmallow at the end suddenly burst into flame.

“Oh, no!” she yelled, swatting the sweet torch through the air. She blew hard on the marshmallow, then stared disappointedly at its black crust. She walked out of the smoke and over to a table where she smashed the crusty marshmallow between two graham crackers and a piece of Hershey’s chocolate bar.

“Let’s sing a song.” said Cynthia’s mother.

“What should we sing?” little Emily asked.

“I’ll teach you a song that all my friends used to sing when we were teen-agers. Then we can sing it in parts.

                “Down by the old—

                                Not the new, but the old. (Mother changed her voice for the echo effect).

                Mill stream—

                                Not the river, but the stream.

                Where I first—

                                Not second, but first.

                Met you—

                                Not me, but you.

                With your eyes—

                                Not your ears, but your eyes.

                So blue—

                                Not green, but blue.

                It was then—

                                Not now, but then.

                I knew—

                                Not guessed, but knew.

                That I loved—

                                Not hated, but loved.

                You true—

                                Not false, but true.

Down by the old—

                Not the new, but the old

Mill stream—

                Not the ri—ver, but- the- stre--eam.

Cynthia’s mother finished off with a flourish while they all giggled at the silly love song.

 “Now I’ll start off, and  you all sing the silly parts.”

Cynthia and her little sister Emily, her brother Doug,  and their gang of friends joined into the singing with laughs and shouts. The sky grew darker and the stars began twinkling above. Mrs. Urton’s head popped over the fence.

“Candy, com on home now.”

“Aw, Mama!” Candy and the rest of the gang slowly and reluctantly left the campfire and dawdled home. And the smoke followed each of them all the way through their front doors and into their beds.