The Tom Tom | March 25, 2019

THE STUDENT VOICE OF ANTIOCH COMMUNITY HIGH SCHOOL

the Fairy Tales issue

volume 57 . issue 6 . march 2019 sequoitmedia.com. @achstomtom. @sequoitsports 1133 main street. antioch, illinois. 60002

06

IN THIS ISSUE 04 | WHAT IT FEELS LIKE TO BE THE BOY WHO

20 | WHAT IT FEELS LIKE TO BE PART OF YOUR

CRIED WOLF

WORLD

06 | WHAT IT FEELS LIKE TO BE SLEEPING BEAUTY

22 | WHAT IT FEELS LIKE TO BE GOLDILOCKS

08 | WHAT IT FEELS LIKE TO TAKE OFF THE HOOD

24 | WHAT IT FEELS LIKE TO DEFEAT THE SNOW

10 | WHAT IT FEELS LIKE TO LAST A THOUSAND AND

QUEEN

ONE NIGHTS

26 | WHAT IT FEELS LIKE TO FALL DOWN THE RABBIT

12 | WHAT IT FEELS LIKE TO FIND BEAUTY IN THE

HOLE

BEAST

28 | WHAT IT FEELS LIKE TO BE MADE OUT OF

14 | WHAT IT FEELS LIKE TO BE HANSEL AND

WOOD

GRETEL

30 | WHAT IT FEELS LIKE TO NEVER GROW UP

16 | WHAT IT FEELS LIKE TO BE THE FROG THE

32 | WHAT IT FEELS LIKE TO STOP AT NOTHING

PRINCESS NEVER KISSED

34 | WHAT IT FEELS LIKE TO BE THE BIG BAD WOLF

18 | WHAT IT FEELS LIKE TO BE TANGLED IN TEMPTATION 2 | NEWS | January 2019 | The Tom Tom

THE TOM TOM | 2018-2019

EDITOR’S NOTE

ONCE UPON A DREAM The greatest fairy tales are all right here in antioch, ill.

The Tom Tom is a student-produced magazine that is distributed to students, faculty and staff of Antioch Community High School, as well as the members of the Antioch Community.

Members of the Tom Tom staff contribute to sequoitmedia.com, the Sequoit Media website, on a regular basis. The student magazine serves as a public forum and is supported by New Voices legislation in Illinois and policies of Community High School District 117. Opinions expressed in this publication are not necessarily those of ACHS or D117, nor Antioch Community High School’s faculy, staff or administration.

CONTACT INFORMATION Mailing Address: 1133 Main St., Antioch, Ill. 60002 // Phone: 847-395-9433 Website: sequoitmedia.com Email: thetomtom@chsd117.org MEMBERSHIP The Tom Tom belongs to the Kettle Moraine Press Association, National Scholastic Press Association, Columbia Scholastic Press Association and Quill & Scroll International Journalism Honor Society.

ADVERTISING Businesses and community members may sponsor the Tom Tom if their sponsorships adhere to guidelines. These can be found in the Sequoit Media Lab (room 263) or on our website (sequoitmedia.com).

EMILY M. TORRES editor-in-chief @emily_marilynnt

N

ot all fairy tales have happy endings, but people still feel the need to search for one. We all want a fairytale to feel like, well, a fairy tale. Throughout my year of being the Editor-in-Chief, I have felt like I have been in a constant fantasy. There have been many ups and downs that have resulted in a roller coaster of feelings, yet I am still looking for my staff and I’s happy ending. Through all of the changes and all of the struggles, my staff and I are still looking for the light at the end of the tunnel. Even though my staff and I may not get our happy ever after, we did learn a lot about each other from our fairytale.

These “dreamy” stories teach us to feel a certain way. They teach us that your true love’s kiss is waiting for you. They teach us that the evil queen won’t always win. Even with triumphs, they teach us that hardships must come in order to achieve that fairy tale ending we all crave. This year, my staff has gone through our own modern version of these stories. We have struggled, we have tried new things in order to improve. We have done just about everything to get our happy ending.

Fairy tales can always be found in the simplest of situations. Whether it be finding your Prince Charming, eating a poisonous apple, or falling down the rabbit hole, there is a fairy tale somewhere. Society can sometimes find these stories hard to relate to, however, my staff took on the challenge of forcing people to see the modern version of these fantasies that people write themselves.

Going along with our theme for this semester, we decided that we wanted to create a What It Feels Like magazine about fairytales. We took the main ideas from each of these stories and found a way to relate it to our small town of Antioch. Some of these stories embody the idea that not everyone can have a cheery ending, while others hone in on the idea that people will always try to find the happy ever after in their lives.

Our goal with this magazine was for people to be able to relate to some fairy tales that they may not have before. We wanted people to see the more modern components of these historical stories.

We hope you see that these stories are coming to life in this magazine through many different ways. Whether or not you learn anything from these stories, you can still see how others experiences have been.

Through this magazine, we hope that you find what it feels like to be living your own version of a fairy tale.

EDITOR-IN-CHIEF Emily M. Torres MANAGING EDITORS Diana Anghel Gianna M. Chiappetta PRINT DIRECTOR Benjamin J. Nauman DIGITAL DIRECTORS Alex L. Rapp Karley K. Rogalski SPECIAL PROJECTS DIRECTORS Jessica J. Nettgen Eleni A. Sakas CREATIVE DIRECTOR Merrick W. Foote ASST. DIRECTORS Joseph M. Kestian Avery J. Frasch ASST. CREATIVE DIRECTORS Kayla E. Grenke Emily Lara SENIOR EDITORS Jacob R. Leitza Shannon E. Price Alexander J. Riedel Kevin E. Tamayo Joseph Whittall

JUNIOR EDITORAL BOARD Emily A. Higgins Alex C. Johnson Madisen M. Krapf

Brandon R. Reynolds Jazzmyn J. Roman Valerie M. Rosek Grace A. Rowe

Valerie N. Rasmussen Alessia N. Rivera Sarah M. Smith Mollie T. Wagner Sierra M. Ward

Adrian Ruiz Rilee A. Schreiner Matt P. Soberano Cassidy A. Thomas Katelyn M. Vaskovsky Beatriz C. Warnes

TOM TOM STAFF Grace R. Acello Haley M. Aitken Kylar A. Arias Charlotte M. Bongratz Reagan C. Brewer Gavin R. Calabrese Kyle A. Christian Evan M. Day Lena M. DeVore Kara C. Galarneau Julia C. Hackeloer Kaitlyn A. Howe Robbie S. Hulting Izzy J. Hunter Jake T. Ilkka Athan A. Kaliakmanis Sofia C. Klem Avery A. Krizanovic Kyle A. Miller Madison R. McBride Bridget J. Nauman Alexis N. Olson Brandon R. Pinto Maggie M. Quirke

Walker A. Winkler ADVISER Patrick R. Johnson, MJE SEQUOIT MEDIA TEAM Iwona Awlasewicz, SBN Sarah Ogborn, Sequoia Sam Worden, Finesse ENGLISH DEPARTMENT CHAIR Dee Andershock ACHS ADMINISTRATION Eric Hamilton, Principal Aryan Haren, Assistant Principal for Curriculum and Instruction Scott Leverentz, Assistant Principal for Student Services Steve Schoenfelder, Athletic Director Teri Klobnak, Activities Director Patricia McGuigan, Dean Grant Murray, Dean DISTRICT ADMINISTRATION Jim McKay, Superintendent Brad Hubbard, Asst. Superintendent Brie Cederna, Asst. Superintendent Jennifer Nolde, Asst. Superintendent Ryan Miles, Chief Technology Officer

MISSION STATEMENT The Tom Tom seeks to not only be the premier source of student news, sports and lifestyles at Antioch Community High School, but it also aspires to do so with integrity, respect, responsibility and pride. The Tom Tom believes wholeheartedly in giving voices to the voiceless through unique engaging methods of storytelling, while engaging with the Antioch community to see diverse and challenging perspectives. In doing so, we choose to tell some of the more challenging or untold stories even when they can be controversial in order to make our community stronger, more caring, and more tolerant. This program envisions a holistic experience of quality journalism through print publications and digital content, as well as promotes student spirit and school culture through innovative and inspiring public relations and advertising campaigns. We are the Tom Tom. We are originals. It would be an awfully big adventure if you choose to come along with us and work as one community, one Sequoit.

RESPONDING TO THE TOM TOM Letters to the Tom Tom can be submitted through sequoitmedia.com or directly to the adviser’s email. All letters must be signed, must not contain personal attacks against an individual and may be edited.

CORRECTIONS AND CLARIFICATIONS The Tom Tom is committed to seeking the truth, minimizing harm and presenting the most accurate reporting as possible. If you notice any inaccuracies in this or previous issues, please contact the adviser at patrick.johnson@chsd117.org.

|3

WHAT IT FEELS LIKE TO BE THE

BOY WHO CRIED WOLF

BY REINO HILL AS TOLD TO CHARLIE BONGRATZ AND EMILY TORRES

T

hey always say the same thing. Over and over again, I hear their comments floating through the school. “He plays football, but look at how short he is,” they’d say. It’s not that I don’t know about my own height; I just don’t care. Why can’t I be treated like everyone else? Just because I am smaller than the average football player, that doesn’t mean that I’m any less passionate about the game.

Ever since the first time I stepped onto the field, all I’ve seen is the endzone. I don’t care that the other players are bigger than me; I am always determined to get as close as I can to the endzone whenever my hand makes contact with the ball. My coaches from middle school knew how hard I worked for my team and they gave me the playing time that I thought I deserved. My size never mattered to them. They saw me for my strengths instead of my weaknesses. They knew I was fast and that sometimes being small and agile was better than being big.

Since I was smaller than the others, my parents originally didn’t want me to play football. They were afraid I was going to get hurt, but they were the ones that really got me hooked on the sport in the first place. It was my dad, mostly.

With football always on my mind, I bided my time by playing baseball and getting really good at soccer, but I was always waiting to exchange my shin guards for shoulder pads.

After years of begging, my dad finally signed me up for the Antioch Vikings. In that moment, my entire world shifted.

My best friend was on my first football team and his dad was one of the coaches, so having someone to turn to made me feel more comfortable. There were a few other first year players besides me, so I wasn’t the odd one out of the bunch. I immediately started working towards proving myself. I ran as fast as I could and exerted my muscles even farther at every

practice, soon discovering my body’s full potential. Though I didn’t have the technique and experience that the others had yet, I was physically able to keep up with them. After a few weeks of hard work, my coaches began to notice my determination.

Standing on the side of the field during my very first game, everybody was constantly walking back and forth, the scent of grass and body odor fresh in my nose. I could hear a mix of parents, coaches and teammates screaming through the sound of padding and plastic colliding. Soon enough, I was sent into the fray. I was a safety at the time and I made my first tackle during that game. It may not have seemed like much, but it was my first big achievement in the sport I’d been dying to play for years. I was really starting to get into the new world that had been introduced to me.

During the next few years, I became a running back and scored 15 touchdowns in one season. My teammates began to feel like my brothers and we trusted one another to succeed no matter the circumstance. Nobody judged my ability based on my size and it felt amazing. We thought of ourselves as a brotherhood. We had an unbreakable trust in one another that made us feel unstoppable.

One year we even went undefeated and got to the Youth Superbowl. Even though we lost that game, we played as brothers and that is what I will always remember.

I played my first high school season this past fall. The high school football program was another new world to explore. It was like starting back at square one. The coach, as well as the rest of us, were new to the school.

The players were bigger, taller and tougher than before and I was still among the smallest of them. Because the freshman team coach didn’t know me, I had to work twice as hard to prove myself all over again. It felt as if all my hard work to get to this point had been erased.

The beginning of the season was just working out the kinks of the team. Players were placed

4 | WHAT IT FEELS LIKE | March 2019 | The Tom Tom

into positions based on their size and not based on their actual experience. During games, I was taken off the familiar smelling field whenever we were in a position to score because no one seemed to trust that I could get to the endzone. They thought my size was more important than my skill; this angered me, but I kept working. Fridays would roll around and the cheers for game day would fill the halls as different athletes walked from class to class in their uniforms. I didn’t feel that same excitement as my classmates. Being angry allowed me to hit harder and run faster, so Fridays were spent keeping to myself and brooding around the school. It got me ready to play until the buzzer sounded. Every Friday, that’s what I did.

Towards the end of the season, a few of my teammates got emails saying that they had been invited up to varsity for the playoffs. I wasn’t surprised that I didn’t get that invitation since I hadn’t gotten too many chances to show off my full potential. It didn’t make it easier; we all secretly hoped for that special notification. One day, my coach told me that someone wanted to talk to me. Being that it was the middle of practice, I was a bit concerned. Had I done something wrong? No. The varsity football coach told me himself that I was one of the few freshmen being brought up to varsity. I got the invitation I secretly had been hoping for. During my time with varsity football, I forged new friendships. These seemingly giant guys took me under their wings both literally and figuratively. They cared about my talent.

Spending the time that I did with the varsity football team validated that I was good enough and that my height doesn’t overpower my skills. I don’t expect that I’ll make varsity as a sophomore, but I am determined to work hard enough to get there. My reputation for being small has followed me for my entire life. I never let it bother me before, and I’m definitely not starting now. I am determined to be great despite what others say about me; I’m already on my way there.

Valerie Rosek

|5

WHAT IT FEELS LIKE TO BE

SLEEPING BEAUTY

BY CHASE BECKER AS TOLD TO BENJAMIN NAUMAN

I

was fifteen years old.

I spent my day like any other: I woke up, went to school, came home and got ready to go workout with my dad. Everything was normal. Why would I think that this specific Friday in December would be different than any other day?

My dad finally got home, which meant it was time to go to the gym, or so I thought.

He called me downstairs into his office.

Immediately when I walked in, I could tell he was not right. Why was he crying? This didn’t seem like he was going to ask me how my day was or what I learned today.

I was right.

My dad and I knew something like this would end up happening; we knew that her alcoholism would eventually catch up to her. It still did not feel real.

My mom cannot be dead.

I was struck with disbelief. Why would my grandparents not have told my dad and I that she’d fallen into a coma ten days ago? Why would they not give me the chance to see her?

There is no doubt in my mind that I would have been on the first flight to Florida had we known about her condition. But how was I supposed to know? My mom and I had very limited communication ever since she had moved away; I hadn’t talked to her in over a month.

I wish I had. I wish I had stayed more

connected with her. I wish I had said goodbye.

It is my biggest regret and it haunts me every day.

reason that I enjoy some of the things that I do.

Life is too short to take things for granted. After such a sudden change in my life, I learned that I have to make the most of every moment. I learned that even the smallest action can leave

Most people who know me think that country is my favorite genre of music, while they are not completely wrong, most people don’t know that I also like rock and roll, because of her.

That was her favorite kind of music and she was always playing it around the house and in

an incredible mark on someone’s life.

the car throughout my young life.

After her passing, I noticed that I had become a more caring person, always making sure everyone was all right, even before myself. I had never done that in the past. I was so used to focusing on my personal well being and mindset. It was strange.

She is the reason that I was able to find my passion in football. Without her convincing my dad to let me play, I would not be in the position I am today. I would not have been able to accept an offer to play a sport in college.

My dad is my best friend, but he wasn’t always. We used to have a relationship where he was just a father figure, we rarely ever bonded or talked about anything besides school and football.

After my mom passed, my dad and I became extremely close. We both realized that everything could be taken from us at any moment; we realized that if we do not take the time that we have now to build a better relationship, that we never would.

There are times in life where a mom is necessary, but now I no longer have that luxury. Even though I had lived without seeing her every day, I could still reach out and talk to her. Now she was gone, completely out of my life in every circumstance. It had felt like I had gone to Hell and back, but if John Constantine could handle it, so could I. I have a few pictures and my memories, that is all that I have to remember her. She is the

6 | WHAT IT FEELS LIKE | March 2019 | The Tom Tom

When I play sports, I do not focus on trying to accomplish things for myself. I want to make sure that I am helping everyone else to improve and enjoy what they are doing. I work hard for all the people around me. I work hard because I know that she would have wanted me to always do my best.

My tattoo is for her and everything about it means something. It is a tree and in the tree is a skull. It represents the tree of life and the skull represents her. Under the tree is a boy, sitting, thinking. This boy represents me, remembering all of the times that I shared with my mom and what life would be like if I had gotten to see her one last time.

That is always a thought that is in my head.

What if?

What if she hadn’t moved away to Florida?

What if I kept in better contact with her? What if my grandparents had told my dad and I earlier? What if my mom was still alive?

Benjamin Nauman

|7

WHAT IT FEELS LIKE TO

TAKE OFF THE HOOD

BY CAMILLE FLACKUS AS TOLD TO BEATRIZ WARNES

I

’ve gone through this before. I have gone through these exact motions twice before this moment. I have felt the cold metal of the door handle press against my palm as I walked into the building. I have seen these dark hallways that lead me to a stranger that’s somehow going to make me okay again, if that’s even possible. I have checked in and patiently waited for my name to be called.

I sign myself in as Camille, as my mom stands by my side; I’m not Camille any more.

Instead, I am Ash. I’m Ash: the girl with stress and anxiety who doesn’t know how to deal with any of it. Yet for now, for this purpose, I’m Camille.

Camille was me before middle school. She was the girl who didn’t fear talking to new people.

She didn’t lose weight and skip meals because everything was too much to handle. But that’s who Ash is and therefore who I am now.

I walk the halls at school with my friends and my boyfriend, but behind my hood I’m nothing but a little girl, scared of what the day will bring.

Today, brings therapy, a place I’ve been too many times before.

I just want this time to work; I need it to.

I need to be able to go through my everyday life without the crushing weight of stress that I can’t seem to shake. I don’t want to feel stares on me constantly as they watch my leg bounce and my hands tremble.

My necklace constantly finding its way into my hands as I use it as a reason to have my mind on literally anything else. Were it to wander, my mind would find itself in a place of confusion.

Confusion derived from a path I have yet to walk. I don’t want to go down that road. Deep down, I don’t know if I would ever find my way back.

That’s why I’m here. That’s why I walk down these long, narrow hallways that lead me to the same person that should help rid the feelings of stress that I can’t get rid of myself. I find myself sliding into the couch, looking anywhere that isn’t a pair of eyes. I know I shouldn’t be scared and I know I shouldn’t be nervous, but that’s my reality. The stress and anxiety that I’m here to get help for is what’s stopping me from getting it in the first place.

The first time I felt that feeling, I was in a room similar to this one. The only difference was the person sitting across from me. They had not only the same profession, but the same desire to help me. Yet, I couldn’t bring myself to stay there for more than a few scant weeks. I knew she wanted to help me and I knew I wanted her to. She was my first therapist. As I sat in that chair, none of it felt right.

Sitting here now makes me realize what it’s supposed to be like. This second therapist I’m with now is, supposedly, better than my last.

It was hard for me to build up the courage to leave then, but I did and that’s why I’m here now.

I didn’t know what I was doing; all I knew was that I had to do something.

I wasn’t content then, but I am now. It’s new to me to be content with where I’m sitting.

Obviously, my hands will still find their way to my cuticles to pick at them continuously and obviously, my mind is still screaming at me to get up and walk out.

Yet, my feet never hit the ground. I never grab the handle of the door that’s been staring me down.

Instead, I stay. I sit back into the couch and push those thoughts away, like I have done with so many others before them. I didn’t walk out of this session, but I have before. That therapist and I just didn’t connect. I felt safer with the people that told me to go to therapy

8 | WHAT IT FEELS LIKE | March 2019 | The Tom Tom

in the first place; the group counseling in the school is the reason I’m here.

They saw right through me better than I ever have. When I looked into the mirror all I saw was steam, like I had gotten out of a hot shower. Written in that steam was denial, something I was hesitant to overcome. When walking into that group session the first day, it was ingrained in me that I shouldn’t have been there.

There’s a seed planted into my head that those who get help are weak. I can’t be weak because what would that mean for me? That would mean that I couldn’t face my own problems and I’ve been taught for years and years not to be that person.

Yet, I found myself being that person. I continued going to group. In the beginning it was hard, like every step through that door was quicksand, locking my feet to the ground, a feeling of stress sucking me in. With each pass I was handed and each friend I told it became easier. I’d look into people’s eyes, seeing a thin veil of acknowledgment instead of judgement, which I had been so scared of.

When that moment finally happened, it gave me the push I needed to set off on my original search for help.

That help now is different than it has been in the past. Instead of staying quiet while others speak of their own problems, I’m forced to share mine. I shouldn’t be nervous, this is what I asked for.

I asked for help, but now that I’m here, with my mother and someone across from me, I can’t help but reach for my necklace that has become my safety net.

It’s a couple minutes before my hands start to falter and they find their way back to my lap.

My leg stops bouncing and my eyes finally meet hers.

Beatriz Warnes

|9

WHAT IT FEELS LIKE TO

LAST A THOUSAND AND ONE NIGHTS

BY ALLISON HOFFELDER AS TOLD TO ALEX RAPP AND KARLEY ROGALSKI

S

he is my best friend.

with her. My best friend, one of my favorite people to talk to, the person I thought would always be there for me vanished like she was never there in the first place.

We go to the Antioch Theatre every Friday to see all the latest movies. We give each other meaningful gifts. We tell each other secrets no one else knows— things if anyone else heard, we’d be ruined.

During the first week back at school, I talked to her and the weirdest thing happened: she was friendly. It was as if the entire summer had never happened, as if I was never abandoned.

Was I in an alternate timeline?

We met freshman year. We sat next to each other in math class. When I wasn’t solving problems, I was looking at her. She was everything I aspired to become. After being partnered up for a project we talked and clicked almost instantly, like two puzzle pieces.

I had finally found the platonic soulmate I always wanted. We were perfect together, or so I thought. We went from school-friends to friend-friends after that— hanging out and spending all of our time together.

Everything was back to the way it was. Except how I felt. I was heartbroken by how she dropped me like day-old coffee. I called her and asked her to meet up with me to get the explanation I needed. I cried the entire time.

She didn’t.

Of course we had issues. What friendship doesn’t? They seemed insignificant at the time; they were just disagreements about school projects, but those problems created bigger issues.

The first time we had an issue was because of another friend. Lines were drawn and sides were chosen. The message was clear: she and I were no longer friends.

She sent me an email that I still remember. She still wanted to be friends with me, despite her other friend not liking me.

So we got together and apologies were exchanged. I said sorry more than I should have, more than anyone should have to with their best friend. It worked. Freshman and sophomore years we stayed best friends.

When summer came around I said goodbye with every intention of seeing her again. We weren’t the kind of friends who wrote “See you soon!” in each other’s yearbooks and disappeared for three months.

I tried contacting her any way I could, but she wouldn’t respond. She cut off all communication. That summer was spent home alone; I had no one else. My soulmate ripped herself away from me, taking half of my heart

In fact, she hardly seemed upset. She had the same expression as always: a porcelain mask, devoid of all emotion. I asked her why she did this and why she left me. She gave me a nonsense excuse: she didn’t just stop talking to me, she stopped talking to everyone.

Against my better judgement I decided to forgive and forget.

My best friend and I were together again.

That’s all that mattered. My soul returned and my heart was sewn back together.

We began doing everything we had done before all over again: sleepovers where we whispered in the dark, Friday movie nights; I even threw her a birthday party. We had it all, and we stayed together that summer. We both got jobs at the Renaissance Faire and everything was perfect; we would be tavern wenches together. I thought we were golden, but nothing can last forever.

She started getting mad at the drop of a hat.

She’d stop talking to me for three or four days at a time to get her point across. It was like little doses of the previous summer, the worst time of my life.

I figured maybe she wanted her space and I should respect that; God knows I like my space. So, I dealt with it because I was so afraid of losing her again. No matter what she wanted, I did it. I thought it would help maintain our relationship. But I thought wrong.

One day she stopped talking to me again out

10 | WHAT IT FEELS LIKE | March 2019 | The Tom Tom

of nowhere, reopening the scars on my heart that I thought had healed. One minute we were working on a project together and the next minute, nothing, nothing that night, or the next morning.

Here I was, living my worst nightmare all over again, trapped in a personal hell. I tried calling, texting, or even confronting her in class. It was complete radio silence once again.

Giving her the weekend to cool off seemed like the best course of action. One weekend turned into two, two weekends became a month and a month became three. Suddenly, it was the end of first semester.

She was graduating early; after that, she was going to disappear forever. My soulmate would no longer be with me. I wasn’t going to let that happen, not again. I needed closure for the breakdown of my strongest relationship.

I cornered her at least three times. I wanted to fix it. She said she didn’t want to fix this. She said she would never want to fix this.

My heart dropped out from under me. She said she has hated me since sophomore year. What was she saying? I forced friendship on her? I felt lost in a haze, a ship without my lighthouse to guide me.

My best friend and I were a lie.

After a round of finals I barely remember, I tracked her down. I needed answers. I must have looked so desperate. I felt like tearing out my hair and throwing things, anything to get her attention. I begged for an explanation. I told her I deserved a response because she was half of my soul. She smiled. Was it funny? Had I ever mattered to her?

She said, “No,” laughed in my face and walked away.

She had ignored me over summer breaks, gotten mad at me for no reason and said I was worth nothing to her; but I can’t regret this friendship. If I were to regret it, then I would regret most of my high school experience.

She was my best friend, someone who I gave half of my soul, a part of my past that I will never forget.

Valerie Rosek

| 11

WHAT IT FEELS LIKE TO FIND

BEAUTY IN THE BEAST

BY AMBER PODGORSKI AS TOLD TO SHANNON PRICE

I

don’t remember much of my parent’s marriage. I remember that we were together.

I don’t remember much of anything else because I was far too young, but we were a family. My mom, my dad and all of my relatives all in one place, and we were happy. My parents owned a mobile home at a campground and we would sit around a campfire like a happy family. It’s one of the only memories I have of my parents together. Long story short: that didn’t last long.

Neither of my parents had charmed childhoods. My dad was always a hard worker; he wanted to make something of himself and prove to the world that he was more than his West Chicago upbringing. My mom didn’t want to do work. Beyond taking care of me and my brother, she didn’t work. She would lie about using my dad’s money and writing checks in my dad’s name. Finally, they filed for divorce.

The custody agreement resulted in equal rights to visitation. After the divorce, it wasn’t long before my mom found someone new that walked into our lives; his name was Mike.

If you could roll up every horrible human trait into one person, you’d get Mike. My brother and I had to witness the bruises he left on my mother; he constantly got into trouble with the cops. Only God knows what other things he did. Because of the conflicts he caused, along with the law-breaking, there was a warrant out for his arrest.

My mother frantically packed up everyone’s things, stuffed them in the car and the four of us drove together to Kentucky. She made us promise not to tell our dad that we were leaving. I didn’t know if she wanted to avoid the backlash of defying the custody agreement from the divorce or if she just wanted to avoid him; either way, we drove off, away from everything we knew.

We never really settled anywhere and we rarely stayed in the same place for very long. Mike had court dates that he couldn’t miss back

in Illinois, so we would move back and forth constantly. My brother and I were never in the same school for more than a year. I was never able to make friends. I didn’t have a life-long pal in whom I could confide. I guess that’s why I really don’t connect with people now.

Eventually, my mom and Mike settled in Alabama and it seemed like we were finally going to stop running. My mom got a job and was working all the time and Mike was a deadbeat, so I was left to take care of my four younger siblings. I had to grow up really quickly; I had no time to be a kid.

The longer we lived there with Mike, the more violent he got. He had a short temper and almost always resorted to abuse as a way to express his frustration. He would leave bruises on me and my mom; he broke my brother’s arm; and, in all that time, I just told myself that it’s fine, that I’m old enough to handle it. I was nine… I didn’t know anything different.

The first time I realized that this behavior was abnormal was when he beat my one-year-old sister. She was crying for our mom’s attention and she wouldn’t stop, so he picked her up and spanked her until she learned to stop.

It wasn’t until a Department of Children and Family Services worker came to our school to talk about abuse that I had the courage to talk to someone about my home life. I talked to the DCFS worker about my stepdad’s behavior and she launched an investigation into our household situation, which resulted in a restraining order. He threatened me saying “You really f*cked up this time, Amber. You’ve caused too much trouble,” and almost as if it were on cue, my dad appeared.

He came to take my brother and I back to Illinois for the summer. Honestly, going back was like going to Disney World. He spoiled us and loved us and gave us a home where we could feel safe. It was the best summer of my life, but the weather got colder and it came to be time for us to return to Alabama.

My brother and I cried, screamed and pleaded

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to our dad for him to let us stay. I would have done anything to not go back to that place. He applied for temporary emergency custody of us until he could take my mom to court and get custody for good. We were so happy to be in a home where we felt wanted. Sadly, this was far from my happy ending.

Things with my dad were going really well until I started thinking about college. I wanted to go to college in the city, but he wanted me to stay here and go to the College of Lake County. I guess it was because he had missed so much of my childhood that he didn’t want to lose any more time with me, but little spats here and there turned into full-blown fights. I could feel our relationship deteriorating; it was like our love for one another as a father and daughter was slipping unceasingly away like sand in an hourglass.

He was a very conservative guy, as was my stepmom. He would constantly be angry about something I was wearing or someone to whom I was talking. He had so many rules that if I stepped even the slightest bit out of line, he would dish out severe punishments.

He threw away and broke my dance trophies; he burned every pair of shorts I owned; he threatened to break my guitar. The only refuge I could find was in dance and even that was snatched away from me. I couldn’t live like this anymore.

I started keeping some of my things at friends’ houses just in case I needed a place to go.

After a particularly violent fight, I left my dad’s house, ran to my friend’s and never turned back. They gave me a place to stay, a place to call home. I don’t have the words to explain how thankful I am for them and their kindness.

My friend’s parents gave me the opportunity to pursue my dream of going to Loyola University, becoming a lawyer and helping kids like me with families that abuse or neglect them. If anything good came from my childhood, it’s the ability for me to offer my wisdom to other children who really need it. I know it sounds cheesy, but it does get better. I swear.

Jessica Nettgen

| 13

WHAT IT FEELS LIKE TO BE

HANSEL AND GRETEL

BY ANDREW AND EDWARD TINDELL AS TOLD TO JOSEPH KESTIAN AND ALEXANDER RIEDEL

H

e is my brother.

I am his brother. Without each other we would be incomplete.

Instead of two, we are one.

Some like to think that there has to be something to dislike about your sibling. Yeah, we get annoyed with each other, but we wouldn’t trade our relationship for the world.

Not many people can say that they’re best friends with their brother. As kids we always wore the same outfits, had the same friends and, at the end of the day, we always came home to the same house. There is no better feeling than knowing you have a right-handman at your side at all times.

Having a brother is something special we hold close to us, especially since we’re twins. There is always a shoulder to cry on, an extra helping hand, and a listening ear. There came a time in our lives when we only had each other. Our father is a veteran and he served in the military for most of our childhood. He would leave on his missions and be gone for weeks, months, and even years at a time. It was a separation that we couldn’t control and that was hard for us to accept. There were so many times when we questioned our father, wondering why he would leave us.

Are we not good enough?

What did we do wrong?

We had always been really close before, but it was during his absence that we grew closer than ever. Instead of having him as a shoulder to cry on, we had each other, and that is what really made the bond and dependence grow deeper.

Our father gave us a small pillow when we were young; it was his sentimental gift to us before he left. It was white with a picture of our

family embroidered on it, and a small yellow ribbon wrapped around it. The pillow sat on our beds, awaiting our arrival everytime we got home. It was dad waiting for us to come say goodnight and then to say good morning when we woke. No matter what, dad was always with us, even when he was across the world.

One time, it had been a year since we saw dad last. Everyday began with waking up in hopes that he would be there and at night we would come home from games or practices wishing he would be in the living room waiting for us.

We sat in class one day, daydreaming as the teacher stood in front of us teaching history.

The intercom went off, asking for the two boys by the names of Eddy and Andy. We looked at each other confused but our innocent minds had no idea what to think. We walked down the hallway towards the office with our teacher.

As we walked in we saw a man standing there with a huge grin on his face.

Who is this man?

Why is he smiling at us?

The strange man said our names. We couldn’t believe our eyes. It was dad. We sprinted towards him with our hearts racing. He opened his arms and hugged us, making us squeeze against each other nearly suffocating us.

Smiles came across our faces as the tears began to run down our cheeks.

Dad is home.

We were overcome with emotion. The man we had dreamed of everyday, the man we had missed so much was finally home with his family. It wasn’t all sunshine and roses though.

He missed a whole year of our lives. He wasn’t there for our sports games, or to make us breakfast in the morning. When he came home, there were so many things he had to re-learn, and so many things we had to adapt to in our lives.

We can’t recall how long it took Dad to get

14 | WHAT IT FEELS LIKE | March 2019 | The Tom Tom

back in to the rhythm of being home. We were so happy to have him back.

We are firm believers that everything happens for a reason. Dad left for a reason; he left to serve his country and to provide for his family.

We didn’t comprehend the fact that he was helping us.

Having him gone for short to long periods of time taught us to appreciate every second we have with each other and our family. Since then our bond with one another is greater than ever before. We do so much with our dad and bond over just about everything.

That separation, though it was hard, brought us closer. Life isn’t easy when your household is split up like it was for us. Dad leaving for his mission wasn’t a bad thing, and we didn’t know that. We had moments where we would blame ourselves as individuals. As we went through this, we remembered that we were never alone. No matter what, we learned to support each other through everything. We helped each other. We spent time with one another. We told each other everything that was happening to us or what we were thinking at all times. As a result we found many similar passions and interests that we still bond over today.

Having a twin brother is a blessing for both of us. There are times when we want to rip each other’s heads off, but then those frustrations are followed by a bro hug that is more meaningful than it seems. We went through a time where we could have been separated.

Our relationship could have been jeopardized.

The thought of ever losing each other keeps us up at night. It’s absolutely horrifying.

That time in our lives taught us that each other’s presence is everything to us.

Instead of two, we became one.

We are brothers.

Jessica Nettgen

| 15

WHAT IT FEELS LIKE TO BE THE

FROG THE PRINCESS NEVER KISSED

BY ALLISON BECKMAN AS TOLD TO MADISON MCBRIDE AND MAGGIE QUIRKE

R

elationships are supposed to be about giving and taking. Everyone gives a portion of themselves to those they

love. They hope that the space left empty will be filled with a portion of their partner.

I met him at a point in my life where I didn’t have much left to give. I was lost and depressed; I drifted through most days with a cloud of smoke separating me from the rest of the world. I was dissociated from everything happening in my daily life; I spent all of my time focusing on intangible dreams and ignoring everything I knew I was supposed to care about. During the few weeks leading up to the beginning of our relationship, I forgot how to be a human being.

But then it happened. It was one of those rare days where the smoke surrounding me from humanity thinned out: I showered for the first time in days, I finished a few of my homework assignments and I felt awake and actually alive. It was then that I realized I wanted more than the bleak solitude I had melted into. I wanted excitement and something new. This overwhelming desire to change my life took me over, and I made a series of impulsive decisions.

The next thing I knew, there was a puppyeyed boy following me. At first I liked having him around. He helped me with everything I needed: giving me rides, buying me food, helping me finish all of my responsibilities that had been slipping through the cracks. He gave

me everything I wanted. We listened to my favorite music, we hung out with the people I liked and we went wherever I wanted to go.

His presence was always a comfort to me, his warm hands covering my cold ones, his melodic laugh mixing in with the music. At first,

I was content with the way things were. He was a reminder that I was part of this world on the days that I didn’t feel like I was. At first everything was laughter, speeding through conversations for hours. He complimented me constantly, telling me everything he loved about me. This, paired with the genuine care in his face every time we were together, made him an important aspect of my self confidence.

It was relieving knowing he would always be there unconditionally. He was someone I could go to whenever I needed to feel good about myself. Through all my questionable choices and irreversible mistakes, he supported me.

Anytime I got bored or sad I knew that he would be there to make things easier for me.

I never had to be alone if I didn’t want to be, because I knew he would drop any obligation to dedicate all of his time to me.

Everytime he looked at me his eyes lit up in the sweetest way. I couldn’t be the one to extinguish his hope. It wasn’t hurting anyone; he got to love me and I got to let him. I wanted to get the most out of the time I spent with him because I knew there wouldn’t be much of it.

The way that he cared for me was endearing at best and exhausting at worst. I was fine being with him when everything was light. He gave me pieces of himself, and I readily accepted them. I never gave him any pieces of myself, though. I didn’t want to. I knew I wouldn’t be happy losing a part of myself. Instead I

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accepted everything he gave to me and I used it to make myself better. He wanted me to be better; he wanted me to be the person he already saw within me.

I enjoyed our time paddling in the shallow end of feelings until one day I realized he was pulling me further into the pool, dragging me twelve feet under and using his love as cement boots. That was when I started to lose interest.

I liked him; I liked the way he smiled at me; I liked the wrinkles around his eyes when he laughed; I liked how easily he forgave me; I liked how eager he was to spend time with me. But I wasn’t interested in drowning with him. I knew he wanted more than I did, I knew he thought he was gonna change my mind.

I knew my interest in him had an expiration date. It was around this time that I started to feel disgusted with him. The sweetness of his validation was overshadowed by the bitter taste of his disappointment. I found myself wishing he would get angry, that he would scream and cuss and denounce me from his life. It wasn’t fun anymore. I didn’t want to be around him, so I started canceling plans last minute and doing all the little things I knew would make him angry.

I wish I could say I was surprised the day that he decided he was done with me. I wanted to act like I was heartbroken and incapacitated by the loss of someone that had been with me for so long. But I wasn’t. I felt relieved. I no longer had to masquerade as the person he thought he saw in me. I no longer had to swallow my disgust with his once endearing traits. I got everything I could have hoped from him, and then I got a clean cut.

Madison McBride

| 17

WHAT IT FEELS LIKE TO BE

TANGLED IN TEMPTATION

BY ROB SILVA AS TOLD TO KARA GALARNEAU

M

y life was normal. From the outside you would never assume my life would lead to what actually happened. Nothing traumatic needs to occur for someone to be put in my position; you just need to be human. We all have our insecurities, things we don’t like about ourselves, but mine just compacted into one perfect storm. As I grew up, my sense of how others viewed me heightened. I never felt good enough. I wasn’t who society wanted me to be. I wasn’t manly enough. I wasn’t strong enough. I would ask myself what the perfect image of a man should be and I never matched up to that. Everything I did or said just felt stupid. The only thing that could numb my constant doubt with myself was drugs.

I walked up to my friends house on that chilly October night. I was nervous, shy and not comfortable with my friends yet. I just moved to Antioch. We all stood around the bonfire when they sparked up a joint. I was scared, not knowing what to do with it. It was passed around from person to person. When it finally got to me, I took a hit. I didn’t want to be the odd man out; I wanted to belong. When the weed finally kicked in I told myself I wished I could feel like this everyday, with no cares in the world; and for the years to come, I did.

That night I smoked and it felt good. I laughed.

I enjoyed myself and I forgot what other people thought of me. Then the next day I wanted to do it again. The day after that: again. Almost instantaneously weed became a part of my everyday life. As I slipped further and further into my addiction- weed before and after school became an everyday thing. It wasn’t an issue to me until weed wasn’t enough anymore. By sophomore year I was using pills. Later on it became cocaine, then heroin.

My whole time in high school was just a blur

of drugs, constantly trying to stay high. That was my goal in life, to stay high for as long as I possibly could. When I was high it was an escape from my reality of not feeling good enough and an escape from my insecurities.

When I was high nothing mattered; I had no worries and I didn’t care what people thought of me. Without drugs, reality set in and all my problems flooded back to me. I became the most evil person on the planet. I became a full blown junkie when I started using needles and there was nothing I wouldn’t do to get my next fix. It didn’t matter if I was taking change from my niece’s piggy bank; if it had value, then I would take it to buy more drugs. In reality, it was just a full time job to get high and I didn’t make any money. It all just funneled into me getting high again. There was no career direction for me. I didn’t think 30 years down the road; I would only think about being high right then and there.

I graduated from Antioch in June of 2010.

Soon after I started shooting drugs. From then on, I was either getting out of jail or leaving rehab. Three months after I left rehab, I was sent to prison for a year. There were barbed wire fences everywhere and I was put in a small cell for over 20 hours a day. I’d live with two meals a day and one hour to go in the courtyard. I got into a few fights and that led me to solitary confinement.That means separation for 24 hours a day, for as long as they tell you to be in there. The longest I was there was a week- left with nothing but my thoughts, losing track of time, nothing to do but think and maybe push ups. It was as awful as it sounds; rehab was even more difficult. In prison you’re trapped and there’s no way of leaving to get high, but in rehab the doors are always there. I always had that choice in the back of my mind, that I could leave and go get high. The worst pain I’ve ever felt in my life was the withdrawals after quitting cold turkey. It’s

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the worst feeling, mentally and physically; it’s literal hell. Hell is crawling out of your skin and not being able to sleep or eat. The only way to make it stop is to get high.

When I finally hit rock bottom- homeless with no family, no friends and nowhere to hang my head- that’s when I decided to try something different. Life beat me down so much that I was willing to at least try to change for myself.

I tried to get sober many times before because my mom told me countless times I was killing myself. I tried to get sober for my ex wife, my family, the court system and my job; it just never worked. At that time I always had this thought that I can get high and not face the consequences. There’s a very fine line between trying to keep fighting and death. That’s the point: I was willing to try something different, to try something that wasn’t my idea and do it for myself, not anyone else. I was ready to change.

I went to treatment in West Dundee and there I was told I needed to start a 12-Step program.

Immediately, things started to change. How I felt started to change and the part of me I lost started to reappear. I’ve been sober for three years now and my relationships have slowly started to rebuild again. I’m not going to lie, there are times in my life when things get rough and I have a brief thought that getting high would take away these feelings.

Then I remember it doesn’t take them away, they just disappear for a few hours and come back. As long as I continue to work through my program, I will be less likely to fall back into those issues I had. I am not ashamed; I don’t regret what happened to me. My experiences have made me into who I am today and I have a deep appreciation for life that I couldn’t have gotten if I didn’t go down that path. Crossing the line between life and death led me to sit here and share my story. Inspiring others is my way of making amends.

Valerie Rosek

| 19

WHAT IT FEELS LIKE TO BE

PART OF YOUR WORLD

BY GISSELLE MARTINEZ AS TOLD TO SARAH SMITH AND KATELYN VASKOVSKY

I

’’ve always known how to have a positive outlook on life and everything that it throws at

me. If I’m having a bad day, then I ask myself how I can grow and learn from that negative day or experience. Bad things do not always have to have an unsatisfactory ending. I know people who doubt my happiness, wondering how I could be so optimistic all the time, but I don’t know how to be anything else but positive. Although it can be difficult to stay happy when others around me have a negative attitude, I always look at the positive side of everything.

My mom was the one who fostered my optimistic outlook. She would always tell me that anybody could grow from a negative experience. My mom is my biggest role model; she’s like my best friend. She always does her best to make my brother and I happy, even if she is having a bad day herself. My family means so much to me; they keep me sane and I can always find myself smiling around them, especially when I am with my mom. However, she has not always been as happy as she is now. My mom went through her fair share of hard times, but because of those struggles, she has become the person she is today. Her perseverance inspires me to be the person I am on a daily basis. I know others do not always have a strong foundation with their family, but it is the most important thing to me.

We are able to enjoy one another’s company and always be honest about how we are

feeling with one another.

When a friend is having a hard time at home or with another person, I remind them that they can always find a way to grow from this experience instead of letting it ruin their day. If they grow from this problem, then they will be mentally prepared in case it is to happen again.

When people acknowledge that I am trying to help them it brings me happiness.

However, my true feelings are not always evident. I do not normally find myself getting upset, but there are things that irritate me and ruin my day in the snap of a finger, such as when someone degrades my family. Hearing one of my brother’s friends even make a joke about him lights a fuse in my eyes. The smallest rude remark about my family can set me off because nobody has the right to talk about my family in any negative way.

There are small things that make me happy though, one being my love for Spanish music.

When I talk about the music that I love, it always brings a smile to my face and gets me excited. But, since I moved schools, it has been difficult to find people who enjoy what I love so much. Antioch is not as diverse as Grant. Before, I had so many people to share my music with, but now I feel almost embarrassed to talk about it.

One of my favorite things to do is to bowl.

I’ve been bowling since the beginning of high school at Grant and I have continued pursuing my passion at Antioch. People often ask me in shock and confusion if I really am a part of

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the bowling team, as if I do not fit the type of person you have to be to bowl. The sport brings me a great deal of happiness and I know that no matter what others have to say about it, bowling will always be something I love deeply. It has brought me countless good memories and new friends that will be with me forever.

Change is not always for the better. A big change in life at such a sensitive, emotional and fragile time on top of being a teenager makes life’s changes even more difficult to handle. In this case, transferring schools as a junior in high school was very hard for me. At the beginning of the year, I seemed to always be consumed with sadness and drowning in my own tears. Adapting to my new life was very difficult and in no way a fun experience, but I have since found myself again and regained my bubbly and happy personality.

Being happy has never been a difficult task for me. Finding the positives in every situation, good or bad, all depends on how you look at the world and the problems life throws at you. No matter what happens, everyone can find their own happiness even in the smallest things if they look hard enough.

When someone acknowledges that I am doing something for them or for someone else, it brings me happiness, although it might not bring happiness to others. Since I have realized that I can make others happy through my own actions, I try to be as positive as I can. The smallest things can make anyone smile.

Valerie Rosek

| 21

WHAT IT FEELS LIKE TO BE

GOLDILOCKS

BY JENSEN HORNER AS TOLD TO ALESSIA RIVERA

I

had a lot of time to myself.

My days were boring. The after school excitement that most people look forward to wasn’t there for me. All of my free time was spent daydreaming about romance: going on adventurous dates, casual intimacy and sharing my life with another person.

I wanted someone to make my everyday routine worthwhile.

My first relationship gave me a taste of what it was like to love someone. I was a freshman and we were both so young. We spent so much time together and being with him was my favorite part of my day. He was the first boy I ever said “I love you,” to; I thought it was something so real.

But I was wrong.

It was another weekend that I had been anticipating since the last. My significant other spent his days at our crosstown rival, so all I had to look forward to were the two free days we had every week: Saturday and Sunday.

They were reserved for him and me.

As our relationship progressed, his priorities shifted. My weekends slowly became the saddest part of the week. I stopped looking forward to the week that I had ahead of me. It was always him and someone else; I was never really in the picture. I felt as if I wasn’t important to him. I felt lonely, even if I wasn’t alone, but maybe this is what love was? I shouldn’t be worried because he loves me, that’s what he told me anyway. Eventually I realized that the love I thought I had with him wasn’t enough for me. Ending things with him felt like I was giving up on love, but I still had dreams of romance.

Months had passed since my last relationship.

I always believed in love, but at that point I felt

like it was going to take awhile for me to find it. I didn’t think I would find the person I was dreaming about so soon.

But then I met him.

It was my sophomore year, in the middle of October. The air was crisp. As my friend and I walked into the local grocery store, the air felt lighter. We walked down the aisle and I felt the urge to look twice. I saw him. I thought he was the cutest boy I ever saw. Being the extroverted person that I am, I decided to approach him. He worked at the store so I asked him to help pick out a candy for my sweet tooth.

From the first time we met, I thought we were going to be forever. I had my doubts, but he made me feel something that I thought I would never find. By the time he asked me out, he made sure that he was going to treat me as best as he could.

He wanted something special and so did I. My most cherished memory with him was the first time we said “I love you,” to each other.

We were sitting on the couch at his house, enjoying each other’s company. I remember the quickening of my heart as the emotions flooded my mind and body. We both were holding back, but when we said it, it just felt right.

After six months of dating, we were getting ready to go our separate ways in just a few short days.

He was leaving for college.

Those six months of dinner dates, movie nights and so much more were something that I took for granted. In a few days, I wouldn’t have them anymore. No more listening to “Sea of Love” during every car ride. I won’t be able to text him everyday to ask if he wants to come

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over or go get food with him when I’m bored.

I didn’t know what I was going to do. I had my friends her, but sometimes he was the only one that I wanted to spend time with. Having him hours away was going to be hard for me.

I’m going to miss the unforgettable masculine scent that he gave off.

Now that he’s gone, some days are fine. We try to FaceTime every night and if we both find ourselves to be unoccupied, we FaceTime right after school for hours at a time. But, there are some days where it is an uphill battle.

Days when we don’t feel like talking. Days when sadness overpowers us because of the argument we had last night. Days when I’m just helpless without him. Days when I want to feel loved, but it’s not an option. Nonetheless, I am extremely happy.

The smile on my face never fades.

The positives and negatives are worth fighting for. The impact distance has left on our relationship is indescribable. The trust is there. When he comes home to visit, when we meet again, it’s like the rough patches never existed, it’s all beautiful once more. I would do anything for him and I know the feelings are reciprocated.

I believe in true love. I believe it is a good thing to want the love you give in return. Just an influx of small things and reassurances that you love and care about someone.

I want him in my life forever. He’s one of the best things that has ever happened to me. I couldn’t imagine my life without him now that he’s in it. I’m not alone anymore, he is my person. I know we are still young and people think it’s all antics, but we want to be together forever.

He’s my Mikey.

He’s my soulmate.

Jessica Nettgen

| 23

WHAT IT FEELS LIKE TO DEFEAT

THE SNOW QUEEN

BY KARINA STEITZ AS TOLD TO HALEY AITKEN AND GIANNA CHIAPPETTA

I

took being a kid for granted.

When I was young and wild, it seemed as if I had the world at my fingertips; I could do anything, be anyone and go anywhere I could have imagined. The possibilities seemed endless, and they were, at least at the time.

My dad was my best friend, and still is my best friend; we do anything and everything together.

When I was younger, he would take me out to the marina and we would go boating. The cold water would hit my skin, the sun would beam on my face and not a single thought crossed my mind; I was on cloud nine. In the winters, we would go skiing; I learned when I was two-years-old. As a child, I was always doing something new and was never sitting around waiting for adventure to come to me. I wish I could freeze time. If I only had one more day to live that simplistic lifestyle, I would.

As a child, my life was picture perfect. Anyone would agree that they would have to search to find a flaw. And even then, it was rare to find one. My imagination was as real as my reality.

It was as if I was living in a dream; everything was perfect.

But everyone has to wake up from their dream at some point.

When I was five years old, my parents got divorced and my life completely changed.

I remember it like it was yesterday, as cliché as it sounds. My brother and I were eating at the dinner table like we would be doing any other night. I remember sitting there and enjoying being with my family, unaware that those would be the final moments of my family being one.

Just when things seemed perfect, the cat was out of the bag. My world got flipped upside

down. My stomach dropped.

I couldn’t help but think how much my life was going to change. Would I have to celebrate two birthdays? Would I have to choose who to live with? Are they getting divorced because of something I did? I didn’t know how to cope with everything, so I went to my godmother for help. She is definitely the person I’m closest with outside of my immediate family.

Even though it was only my parents who were getting divorced, it felt like everyone was involved. Growing up in a town as small as 14,000 people, and going to school where my graduating class was less than 45 kids, everyone knows everyone and everything.

Even if my friends didn’t completely understand what was happening—and, to be honest, neither did I—they understood that I needed them at that moment more than ever.

Don’t get me wrong, my friends were supportive, but there were also times where they felt more like my enemies. Like most girls are when they are young, my friends and I fought. A lot. Most times there wasn’t even a valid reason as to why we were causing drama, I just think we found it fun. Once in awhile I would get disappointed in myself for letting the drama control me, but when everyone knows your business at all times, it’s hard to avoid. No matter what I did, someone was always getting offended.

As I continued to get older, life started getting better again. I wasn’t back on cloud nine, but I started to find myself smiling more and being genuinely happy. Once I reached high school, I drifted away from some of my childhood friends and found myself involved in new groups. Not that I disowned my old friends, I was just walking down a different path than they were.

I have found the right group of friends in high

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school. I’ve become more positive and aware of my surroundings and I always talk out my problems with the people that I trust. Knowing that my parents don’t get along is always a negative thought on my mind, but I find ways of staying positive and keeping my head held high.

Even though I used to be the girl who would rather fly than fight, I’ve learned how to plant my feet down and take on a battle. I don’t let others walk over me because I deserve better than that. I have met some great friends and they accept me for who I am. We get into arguments sometimes, every friendship does, but I now understand how to deal with a problem rather than ignore one.

I have found comfort within myself and I know everything is not meant to work out.

As my high school years continue, the situation between my parents has yet to get better. They still don’t get along. They continue to argue and I’ve decided to take my mind off of all the drama and focus on my future.

I’m going to school in Indiana for sports and after that my dream is to live in Colorado. The thought of being in Colorado takes away all the stress; I love it there. My dad used to take me to Colorado when I was younger. In a way, it reminds me of home, almost like I’m back on cloud nine.

I have found ways to live with my struggles; learning how to live with negativity is important.

I feel like a better person when I have a positive mindset. I feel like I can finally put all of my problems behind me and focus on making my dreams come true. We all have our inner demons; the ice cold voices that tear us apart, the relationships we know we can’t change.

But despite all that, I think I do a pretty good job defeating them.

Jessica Nettgen

| 25

WHAT IT FEELS LIKE TO FALL

DOWN THE RABBIT HOLE

BY EMILY LEWIS AS TOLD TO LENA DE VORE AND MOLLIE

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What to wish for? My dreams of fairy lights and a new lipstick collection were achieved quickly after my thirteenth birthday, and now as I blow out the candles embarking on my fourteenth year on this little planet, I seem to have everything I need: my family, my friends, everything is perfect. I am starting my life, a newly 14-year-old girl, on the right foot.

Or so I thought.

That was what washed through my mind the night of my fourteenth birthday. Life seemed perfect for a girl like me. I blew out my candles and felt the world at my fingertips. Everyone I love surrounded me with flashing lights and big cameras; it was my day, and it was all about me. I was thankful for that last birthday when everything felt normal.

I woke up sad. Maybe it was my turning of age, or maybe it was the clouds swirling over my little town; I didn’t know. All I did know was that day was different. I woke up later than usual and crawled out of bed, expecting my mom to comment on my new teenage attitude.

Maybe that’s just what being 14 was all about: being in a funk.

Rain fell on that Thursday afternoon, the day after my birthday. I walked into the kitchen and didn’t see any of my family members. I patted my hair down and spun leftover streamers between my fingers. I watched them curl as I released my grip; they were blue and white— my dad’s favorite colors. My mom called my brother and me into the family room where she and my dad were already sitting. It was odd, just like that day. As I took my place, I felt a wave of uneasiness seep into my ears and sink down to my toes. They quickly began to tingle.

My dad took my mom’s hand, her shoulders relaxed as she acknowledged him and took a breath. My brother’s eyes darted toward me, but I didn’t break eye contact with my mom.

Her curls were more deflated and the bags under her eyes were deeper than usual, she

sat stiffly on the cream colored chair. As the words crept out of her mouth I heard them hit the floor with a thud.

of us knowing when the other’s would snap or what would set them off. Every step I took in my own home was like walking on eggshells.

Or maybe that was my heart falling into my stomach.

Throughout his diagnosis and battle with cancer, I experienced all seven stages of grief.

I didn’t want to believe that someone like me could go through something like this, I don’t think anyone in my family did. He lost over 100 pounds and his skin hung loosely over his bones. As his disease started to spread to his lymph nodes, he was given a permanent feeding tube. I thought his time was slowly

As my eyes remained locked with my mom’s, I could hear in the shakiness of her voice that the news was bad...really bad. She gently tiptoed around what she was actually trying to say, but I listened to every word. When she finally choked out that my dad was diagnosed with stage four head and neck cancer, I saw the past 14 years crumble in front of my eyes. I couldn’t see my mom anymore; I couldn’t see anything.

I was upset and angry.

I didn’t want to believe what was now spewing out of my mom’s mouth. My brother got up from his chair and walked out of the room, my mom wept into her hands and I sat there staring at the mess in the middle of our now broken circle. I felt faint, numb and out of body.

This wasn’t what I wished for; this wasn’t anyone’s wish.

I don’t like thinking about that day or any day after.

School was hard. As my grades began to plummet, so did my dad’s health. I spent as much time with him as possible, soaking in every memory—remembering him and recognizing his strengths in light of all the weakness he was experiencing.

I woke up and kissed his cheek goodbye as two men escorted him out of our house. By the time I got home from school he would be back in his bed, on the brink of consciousness.

Whether he was responsive or not, I told him about my day. I told him about my eighth grade girl drama, trying to give my life a sense of normalcy.

All of the treatments and chemotherapy he was going through weren’t cheap. Dad couldn’t work anymore and mom’s income wasn’t stable enough, so money was scarce.

Everyone’s pots were starting to boil over, none

26 | WHAT IT FEELS LIKE | March 2019 | The Tom Tom

coming to an end.

Until the day finally came.

I woke up again with a pit in my stomach, this time anxious, like I was supposed to be anticipating something. The trees dancing outside my window, almost like they were begging me to dance with them, dragged me out of bed. As soon as I walked down the hallway I was greeted by my mother, who would put her hand on my back and guide me to the family room. My dad already sitting in the cream colored chair, an empty one next to him for mom.

Those stupid chairs.

I hadn’t sat across from them like that since the day after my birthday six months earlier. What was wrong this time? I thought I could blow out the candles again in just six months. I’ll fix this mess, dad. I promise. My brother held my hand as I sank into the couch, seeing my dad in that bony, broken condition. You could hear a pin drop in our little home as the four of us studied one another. Mom finally moved first, she reached behind her and put a folded piece of paper on her lap. I watched my dad’s eyes fill with tears as he stared at my mom unfolding the paper and reading it out loud.

To this day, that was the most emotional day of my entire life: my father’s clean bill of health.

My brother fell into my arms, my mom into my dad’s, until we all wrapped our arms around one another. Our family wasn’t broken anymore. We sat there for a long time like that, in our newly fixed circle.

Jessica Nettgen

| 27

WHAT IT FEELS LIKE TO BE

MADE OUT OF WOOD

BY NIK MIELKE AS TOLD TO DIANA ANGHEL

head, legs and arms. So after all, my body was different from everyone else’s.

ne day when I was about four on a warm, sunny summer day, I went to a pool in Chicago with my family. I was minding my own four-year-old business, when I noticed a random lady staring at me.

After a long time, she came up to me and started asking my parents questions. I looked up puzzled. I really couldn’t understand what they were talking about, but the next thing I remember is that woman praying over me and touching my shoulder. For the first time I truly felt different, like my body as made out of something stranger than everyone else around me. In my innocent mind, I actually found it kind of cool: she was trying to help me.

It’s difficult for others to see me for who I

O

That was my first experience in this world that made me wonder why I was different.

Time went on; I kept asking my parents what made me so special. Their replies confused me to the point that I just learned to live my life without wondering. When I was in the fourth grade, I was finally old enough to somewhat understand my life and my parents’ explanations.

They told me that when I was two months old I was diagnosed with Alopecia, a medical condition which causes my immune system to attack my hair follicles. That means most of my body cannot grow hair, such as on my

am; it’s almost like we, as human beings, are naturally trained to jump to conclusions.

People see something they haven’t before and it scares them. When people see me, they don’t think about the possibility of me being passionate about “normal people” things. They don’t think about my dreams. They don’t think about the fact that I’m completely normal.

Instead, they think about the way I’m different and that almost instantaneously comes with a negative connotation. I’ve experienced this way too much because the condition I have is rarely found.

Alopecia has never defined me. It’s never affected my life in extreme measures. After all, it’s just hair. I’ve never had a haircut, so what?

I’m sure I’m not missing out on too much, right?

Half-way through sixth grade, I moved to Antioch Upper Grade School. That’s where things started to get a little rough. At the time, there was a meme going around that went viral. Some guy posted a video of grabbing someone else’s bald head while screaming “Michael Jordan!” That’s where the harassment started. A lot of random people came up to me and did that, trying to be funny. I never said anything back; I’m not one to start an

28 | WHAT IT FEELS LIKE | March 2019 | The Tom Tom

argument with people. There were some instances where I ended up in the principal’s office explaining how people harass me. It was pretty uncomfortable because I didn’t want anyone to get in trouble. I don’t really get hurt by what others do because I’ve already accepted who I am, and I’m okay with it.

My high school career has had its ups and downs, just like any other. The harassment has mostly stopped. Now, it’s typically my friends cracking a joke here and there. I laugh along because I know that they don’t have bad intentions. The only time I feel the slightest pinch is when they’re talking about how they’re going to style their hair or when they’re going to get a haircut.

A couple years ago, I was considering getting a wig. That way, no one would know, I thought.

It was a temporary solution for a permanent problem, but it was so appealing. Eventually, I decided it wasn’t the best idea. It would give me an excuse to not come to terms with my condition. I didn’t want that. It took a lot for me to accept everything about myself, but I couldn’t be more comfortable at this point. I’m very open about my condition, my head, and everything else.

I don’t bite. Some are curious about my condition and that’s okay, but I shouldn’t have to ask for people to respect my personal space.

Valerie Rosek

| 29

WHAT IT FEELS LIKE TO

NEVER GROW UP

BY JERIANNE BONAGUIDI AS TOLD TO JULIA HACKELOER

I thought to myself, will I be able to keep up when I reach high school?

rowing up comes with its perks and its downfalls, just like everything else we have to go through in our lifetimes.

My whole life I looked at my friends growing up faster than me and I realized how I never wanted to be the same as them. At the end of every school year, my friends would be itching to move up a grade level and onto the next chapter of their lives without a care in the world. From time to time, I find myself looking back on memories with my grandmother when life was but a dream.

I was scared, realizing how it is just going to keep getting harder and harder as I grow up.

G

I was gazing up at my grandmothers face, sitting upon our grass green family room carpeting. To most young children, you only actually focus on what is right in front of you.

For most people, it’s your mother or father’s face smiling down at you, but to me, that face was my grandmother. She was always there when my parents couldn’t be. Since she passed I’ve found myself looking back at that memory because it immediately takes me back to simpler times.

The purest moments of innocence: my older sister riding her tricycle on our perfectly paved sidewalk, her hair bouncing in pig tales, me trying to keep up with her, mesmerised in that moment when time felt like everything was perfect. When I was younger, I often dreamed that I could just hit the pause button on time because I just couldn’t keep up with the real world expectations. I wanted to hold onto being young forever.

My whole life I had enjoyed math, it was my favorite subject. In about fifth grade I was learning algebra at a higher level then most kids in my grade. I worked hard, I stayed in during my recess’ for help. I watched my older sister struggle with high school homework and

Fast forward a few years to my junior year in high school. When I was going through my freshman and sophomore year I didn’t really worry about graduating from high school. As I realize my junior year is coming to an end, I watch as all of my senior friends are about to graduate then, it really hit me. Suddenly I realized that there is no more being called a kid anymore. Next year I turn 18, I’ll be considered an adult. I’ll be someone who is able to legally vote and someone who will have complete control of the rest of my life put onto my shoulders. I came to the realization that soon it is going to be 100 percent me. I will be the one who is hours away, I will be the one who has to worry about how much money I am spending in one night, all of my responsibilities and all of the fault will be put on me.

Seeing that I have my whole life ahead of me is a scary thought. I take deep breaths, knowing that if I truly want to fly, I cannot be afraid to in order to reach my dreams.

Throughout the younger years of my childhood, my parents were constantly making home videos, trying to capture the everlasting memories on tape for us to enjoy later on.

Whenever I am feeling a bit down or off, I turn on the videos of memories from my simple life back then and a rush of instant clarity comes upon me.

Everything is completely changed. From the time when I did not know left from right to now is so weird to look back at. As I look back I see a different house, people who have aged and look different, my sister and I are not just two little girls riding down the street wearing pigtails anymore and some people are gone. I watch

30 | WHAT IT FEELS LIKE | March 2019 | The Tom Tom

those videos and although not everything is the same, I try to hold onto those memories for as long as I can. I am about to graduate high school and move onto the rest of my life. It is crazy to think that I am the same kid that I was 10 years ago. I tend to think that I was a whole separate person, but deep down it has always really just been me.

Sometimes It makes me sad when I realize that we only get to experience childhood once. We get one chance to make the best of it and it all comes down to what you end up doing. I’m the only one who watches our home videos because I’m the only one who is still attached to them. It is a part of me that I hope I get the chance to hold onto for a very long time.

My best friend and I were always the ones who did not stick to the teenage norms where you sit and watch a movie for hours upon hours or stare at your phones instead of spending precious, limited time with your real friends surrounding you. My best friend and I did not want to be those kinds of people, we wanted to be adventurous and not be afraid to just be our normal goofy selves.

I believe that growing up doesn’t necessarily go hand in hand with aging, although that’s what many people seem to put it as. Staying young at heart in today’s society is seen as unattractive, it’s thought that if you are doing certain things that are categorized to a specific age group you are seen as immature. Age doesn’t give you maturity, inevitably we all grow up at some point.. Every morning, I wake up with a choice. That choice is whether or not I choose to live that day being afraid to grow up or not.

Inevitably, the hours pass, the days pass, the weeks pass and the years pass. Even as time goes on and we age, we can all choose to stay forever young at heart.

Valerie Rosek

| 31

WHAT IT FEELS LIKE TO

STOP AT NOTHING

BY IAN GUGLE AS TOLD TO JACOB LEITZA

T

Hickey actually ended up liking it enough that he offered me a position in A Capella, Antioch’s highest level choir. Being someone who’s never really sung before, I thought he was joking, so I just laughed and didn’t think about it again.

A few days later, Mr. Hickey came up to me at

I actually got a named role, so now I have to work even harder to make sure I don’t let the people down who believed in me enough to give me it, and because I know there are other people who practiced just as hard or even harder than me and didn’t get a role. I don’t

lunch and asked if I’d talked to my counselor about adding A Capella to my schedule, and since I hadn’t, he told me that he had actually already had her add it for me. From that moment forward, I was officially a choir kid. To be completely honest, I was pretty nervous.

What if they didn’t accept me and I was just the annoying loner? What if I couldn’t sing as well as Mr. Hickey had expected me to?

necessarily like to think that if I get a part I’m “beating” someone else, because that’s not what I’m trying to do. I’m not trying to break everyone down and become the ultimate choir kid, I’m just trying to have fun. I would love it if everyone who auditioned could have a role with me, but sometimes hard decisions just have to be made. I’m just lucky that they’ve gone in my favor.

I was left wanting more out of life by the end of last year. I knew I was leaving high school in a year and hopefully entering the Air Force.

I wouldn’t have as much time to do the things I love as I do now. I didn’t want to look back, be it 20 or 100 years from now, and regret not experiencing all that life had to offer me.

Entirely by accident, I ended up finding just the right thing to try.

All those what ifs melted away as soon as school actually started. I didn’t suck at singing as much as I thought I would, and the choir kids were unbelievably accepting of me and have been so supportive of me as the year progressed. I continued to become more and more comfortable with singing. I started to get less nervous when I sang in front of other people, though I still get those butterflies in my stomach, I definitely have loads more confidence than I did before joining choir. By the time January rolled around, I had let some of my choir friends convince me to audition for the musical and it started all over again.

Maybe I am just really lucky that everything has worked out in my favor. If fortune really does favor the bold, then I would be one of the luckiest people out there. But no matter how hard I try to make it seem effortless, I do put in the work to get where I am now. In my mind, nothing I do is just a product of playing the odds, it’s a result of the hours of practice I put it that most people don’t see. Sure, I play varsity soccer, but I also spend all summer running and making sure I’m as strong as I could be for the season to come. Sure, I’m not scared of public speaking, but it’s taken me years to find the right things to say. Obviously, trying new things is an essential part of life, but it’s important to play to your strengths.

Find what you’re good at and work it until you’re great, then you have a great chance to succeed. Fortune may favor the bold, but even more importantly, it favors the self-knowing and well-practiced. You’ll never know if you don’t try.

hey say that fortune favors the bold.

For me, that is great news, because for better or for worse, I’m probably one

of the boldest people I know. Anyone who’s known me could tell you I’m just about as extroverted as possible. Anything you would associate with extroverts, I’ve got it: loud, argumentative and occasionally annoying.

But aside from just being loud, I’m also highly involved in my school and community. Most of what I do, I’ve done since freshman year or even earlier. Whether it be drumline or soccer, I’ve had plenty of time to practice my skills and make sure I’m as good as I possibly could be by the time I reached my final year of high school; however, this year I took a decidedly different approach to how I spend my time.

Before this year, if you ever heard me sing, chances are I would be singing “Your Man”

by Josh Turner. I never thought I was really that great at singing; I only thought it was fun hitting all of the low notes. One day, some of my friends in band had me sing the song to Mr. Untch. Then Mr. Untch had me sing it to Mr. Hickey. Somehow, I don’t know how, Mr.

This time, not only would I have to sing, but I would also have to dance and act, two other things I’ve never really done. I worked a lot on the music, but I didn’t expect much going into it. I mean, why would I get a part when there’s all of the people that have done the musical for years auditioning? To my suprise,

32 | WHAT IT FEELS LIKE | March 2019 | The Tom Tom

Jessica Nettgen

| 33

WHAT IT FEELS LIKE TO BE

THE BIG BAD WOLF

BY MERRICK FOOTE

S

ometimes I wonder if I enjoy hurting people. I put everyone around me in pain so often that it seems as if there couldn’t possibly be an explanation for it other than that I like it. And I don’t mean the typical punches and kicks that are usually associated with pain; no, I mean the words that cut like knives, stabbing emotions of sadness and anger into the minds of those I see throughout my day; I mean the betrayal and manipulation that permeates from my breath; I mean the ruination of other people’s days for seemingly no reason other than that I take pleasure from it. Though I do consider the possibility that I truly find hurting people fun, I always come to the same conclusion: I hate myself for not allowing others to be happy.

Of course, the usual culprits are still to blame in my case; fear, anger and jealousy all play a role in why I target others the way I do. While much of that is taken out on those who are better than me at certain things, just as much is released on those I subconsciously deem to be unworthy of my attention. I attack everyone around me, regardless of whether I judge them as better or worse than myself. Even though I inwardly compare them to my own personal standards, I still realize that in reality nobody is any better or worse than anyone else. It’s not that I just hate everyone; to the contrary, deep down I care very much for almost every person I talk to on a daily basis. It’s more that I’m simply incapable of outwardly showing how much I really care. No matter how hard I try

to let people in and tell them how much they mean to me, I can never get myself to do that.

It all stems from the pit of turbulent emotions inside me. Unfortunately, it’s revealed as a deep unhappiness that radiates outwards, infecting everyone around me with the same joylessness I feel. I know that me being unhappy with my own life does not mean that everyone else has to be the same way, and yet I still instinctively try to drag people down to my level.

At my core all I want is to make people happy.

There are times when I successfully show how much I care. It manifests in little things like tying somebody else’s shoes, giving them a few encouraging words or making sure they’re alright after a hard day. But for every one of those moments, there are ten others in which I tear someone down. I try my best to be a good person but I almost always fall short of that goal. Many people dislike or even hate me for it, but I know that the disappointment I have for myself will always be stronger than their disappointment towards me is.

I have never been a risk taker. Vulnerability is too much for me to handle, and so I never allow anyone to really know who I am. I’ve lost those who I’ve been closest to simply because I could not find it within myself to let them know how much they meant to me. Instead I put up my walls and pretend like I don’t care because in my mind, the alternative was risking their betrayal. Even if there is a 99 percent chance that I won’t get hurt, I’m still so deterred by that remaining 1 percent that I choose to just

34 | WHAT IT FEELS LIKE | March 2019 | The Tom Tom

hurt them first and avoid the risk.

In all honesty, over time I’ve come to accept this as my role in people’s lives. Of course, I strive to be a better person than I am, but I always remember that in every story there is both a hero and a villain. One cannot exist without the other.

In movies I almost always find myself taking the villain’s side. The rationales behind what they do are so much more interesting and thoughtprovoking than the classic “it’s the right thing to do” motivation of the hero. Whether it’s Thanos, Principal Rooney or the Big Bad Wolf, I’m always secretly rooting for them to beat the good guy. It’s not that I have anything against the heroes, it’s just that the villains’ motivations are more logical than their counterparts.

Thanos just wanted to protect the universe from famine. Rooney was sick of kids ditching class. The Big Bad Wolf needed to eat. I can’t fault them for any of that; however, the hero running around and doing things just because they want the world to follow their own skewed moral compass is ridiculous to me.

I’ve realized that if I am the villain, then maybe there’s a reason for it. The villain always pushes the hero to be better than they were before, and maybe that’s what I need to do as well.

The third little pig never would have realized that he needed to build a strong house if the Big Bad Wolf had not come along and eaten his brothers. So I’ll continue to huff, puff and blow houses down, just as long as it means that someone else is learning to be better. After all, not everyone can be the good guy.

Benjamin Nauman

| 35

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