Chrestomathy, January 2014

CHRESTOMATHY Chrestomathy (from the Greek words krestos, useful, and mathein, to know) is a collection of choice literary passages. In the study of literature, it is a type of reader or anthology that presents a sequence of example texts, selected to demonstrate the development of language or literary style.

“Think higher, feel deeper.� (Elie Wiesel)

A Look at Words, Malala Yousafzai, Philosophy, Life-Changing Moments, the World, and Liz Murray A Publication of the Calhoun Middle School January, 2014

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OPENING PAGE It’s all about the power of words. They speak of moments that changed their lives.

They look at philosophy and the meaning of their lives thus far. They look at the world through their eyes. They view the power of language and experience through the strength of Malala Yousafzai and Liz Murray. Our students offer perspective, insight, and creative fire in expressing themselves on these subjects. They can help us all understand a thing or two about living lives well. ‐Larry Sandomir

CONTENTS  What the World Looks Like

 The Power of Words (and Malala Yousafzai)

 My Philosophy: The Meaning of Life to Me

 A Moment That Changed My Life

 Letters to Liz Murray (excerpts)

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WHAT THE WORLD LOOKS LIKE (VIGNETTES

By Maleika S.

Words

Words Turn one small thought into a legendary movement.

Words Can take a molehill and turn it into a mountain.

Words can turn a boy into a man a girl into a woman.

Words can turn one girl in a big world into a women who talks to all brothers and sisters around the world.

Words from starting with, yes sir and I won’t say it again to my mouth, my words, you can’t stop me.

Words can turn a follower into a leader.

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Anonymous

Words

Words are like messengers They carry messages to open up and discover They can make you feel delighted or depressed They trigger your emotions.

Sometimes you need to ignore the cruel words And take in the kind ones.

Because words are just sounds And we all memorized the same ones.

Through the use of words Great things can happen One person Can change many people One person can change the way someone looks at things The way someone feels about things And the way someone talks about things.

Through the use of words Small things can happen too A smile A laugh A tear Or even a memory

Through the use of words One Person Can end this poem.

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Anonymous

Words as Weapons

I’m going to teach you something About life Since you seem to have had enough.

Don’t cry Just sigh And remember They are only the words of the lonely.

Anonymous

Friends for Never

First day. The first day. What I did first, I don’t know, but that was the day. Walking into class, one seat left at the table. They asked me to sit. I said no. I wanted to be there for her when she came. I didn’t want her to be alone. Sit by myself for her.

She comes, sees me. I say her name as she sits with them. Them, not me, them. They tell her what I did. When they tell her, it’s okay. They, them, they. Why them? Coming to sit with me now? How nice. I would do it for her. Why not for me?

That was the day I realized friends are not forever. They come and go. We find some for life and others who leave you for someone else. They don’t know you’re hurt. They don’t know they break your heart. You just know how you feel and lock it away.

But then you find that person, one who you trust, who believes in you, your dreams, who you are, and you do the same for her. Isn’t that just the best thing in the world? A place where you can be you without hiding anything.

Pants

They made me feel something more than myself, new and actually beautiful. Purple as a setting sun mixed with the crystal clear sea. I thought they would look at me as I looked at myself, but no. Once cat shirts got some attention. Nothing. Only jewels.

“Cute pants!” she said, looking as happy as always.

I don’t really care. I feel pretty and that’s what matters. This is the lie I tell myself. I want to believe it, but I can’t. Only when it’s just me. Alone. Then I will think, I’m more than who I am.

That’s when I know I can be really beautiful on the outside. That’s when I can truly be me. The whole me. Every part.

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Human Nature

The world of humans rotates around power. People who have more power are able to do more.

People listen to the ones with power. We need someone to lead. That’s what humans do: follow.

We are all sheep roaming around the field of the world. We are rounded up by a sheep dog, a leader, the one keeping us all in place, telling us what to do. In very few cases, you find a new leader, one who wants to break free to establish his/her own rules of life. Fly away and save the ones who can’t reach the sky. He/she wants to be his/her own person, not live just to follow the leader, but to change the wrongs other humans have left behind. These people do not let the power lust ever get close to them, just barely missing its grasp.

Coming from the world of media, a good example of what I’m talking about is vampires. One reason I love to watch television shows and read books about vampires is because I see them trying to control their urges, attempting not to let their humanity slip away … control. It’s the next level in human nature. This is what will happen to the human race if we keep putting people with more power above us. Our control of ourselves will vanish. Letting them take control of us will end our worlds. In the Holocaust, if everybody in the world worked together as a group, and stood up to say this is not right, they would have made a bigger impact than just one person.

Humans like to stay in groups to follow. No one wants to be the odd man out. Starting something is very hard for us. It’s like pushing someone out in a snowstorm without any clothing. When you’re in a group you have your “clothing” with you. You’re not so alone anymore. That’s why it’s harder to start a revolution. First, you need to find a leader, the one who is brave enough to go out in the open without protection; the spark that starts the fire.

Then you need to get the rest of the group to join and this won’t happen unless you already have a smaller group because humans follow other humans.

Human nature is a difficult subject to think about because of all its different parts. Good parts and bad ones. You never really know what’s going to happen next, but that’s what also makes human nature so remarkable. You can always have hope for the future to be brighter than the past, that someone will stand up and be the leader the rest of the human race needs. And maybe, just maybe, that person will be you.

By Jesse F.

Human Nature Human nature can be many things It can be cruel or gracious It can be by choice or by force Human nature when bad is a disaster When people are bad they harm others and hurt people mentally and physically

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People whose human nature has turned on them are no longer part of good until they make up for it People who are good dedicate their lives to goodness They’re great, but they have to make mistakes Human Nature is a gift, yet a curse It curses you with the tragedies of life But it gifts you with the joys of life too

Anonymous

Trees

Both literally and figuratively, I look up to trees. The fact that they grow downwards and upwards continuously, and never stop until they are knocked down gives me hope. I’ve seen trees growing sideways, out of steep slopes, and yet they still manage to hang on. Trees are like the grandfather or grandmother I never had. They are wise and old. They listen and they live to be sometimes thousands of years old. They give me advice, whispering in the wind.

They know all the secrets and they tell me in the wind.

Trust

Trust is like an open flame unpredictable, hard to tame can’t forgive once I’ve burned the bridge can’t forget once I’ve inscribed your brain

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it will always be in the back on my mind something for me to protect and hide you won’t give up because it will let me know but when I fall do I make a sound?

Untitled

Black under my fingernails, smeared on my face, splashed on my boots and sprinkled in my hair. Bugs crawling in my clothes, bugs between my toes. Digging holes and watering, wiping sweat off my forehead and kissing each one I place into the ground, infinitely deep for the roots to grow, knowledge to gain. Every single one entwined with the next, holding themselves up like a family, leaning on each other. I run to the tree, old and wise, and I clamber up it; with each foothold I hug it, until I get to the top. “It’s finally complete!” I scream as loud as my mouth can manage, the sound echoing through the hilly landscape. My garden, secret and forbidden, all my own, along with the birds and the deer and the bugs and the frogs and the bunnies. Tears of joy flow down my black face, creating a line of my real skin color through the dirt, straight like a pair of scissors cut through the darkness.

Pesticides

Pesticides eat so many lemons, because they are so bitter. Destroy, destroy, destroy; the only thing they create is trouble. Kill, kill, kill, die, die, die – electronics are my pesticides. Screens and buttons are pesticides that destroy nature, killing our roots, cutting them up and burning them. With a click of a button, you can tell people you love them or loathe them. Nature dies, the power button flies. Can we cut its wings off or is it flying without wings? How are we living this way? Does anyone else realize what is really happening? What if we cut the cord, or is it wireless now?

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Head Down

Time after time, the ball slamming onto the ground, me shaking my head, the others rolling their eyes. Adjusting my clothes, afraid I looked like a deer caught in headlights. Thoughts rolling through my mind like a bulldozer, my eyes darting away from the court to my team. My team. Some looked disappointed, others looked angry, and some looked annoyed. But teams are supposed to be supportive, so I smiled and didn’t get one back. The whistle blew and suddenly I was sitting on the sidelines, watching the game improve because I wasn’t playing in it. I sat on the first bleacher, soaking up the death rays my teammates were glaring onto my back. Head down, tears welling up in my eyes, threatening to spill over like a glass too full. Do not cry, I told myself. But I did. The quick kind where you wipe it away casually and pretend it was never there. You pretend your eyes aren’t red and your skin isn’t raw. You pretend like it doesn’t hurt. But it does.

Anonymous

She

She walks onto the stage Her heart beating out of her chest All her friends are watching Her dance class mates are waiting

for the music to start The notes begin She hits the first dance pose.

2 minutes and 41 seconds later, the music stops The dancers are in their finish poses Sweat running down their faces Breathing heavily This was her first recital It won’t be her last.

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By Crosby S.

The Mountain

The cold rain fell On our bare skin Our skin was mauled by bugs.

The eighteen miles of pure terror.

We couldn’t turn back; The blood seeped through our clothes.

It was the end.

By Joseph D.

Something of My Own

A thirty‐five‐year‐old baseball bat of my dad’s, only 29 inches long, but heavy for its length, sits in my room, holding all my hopes and thoughts. One big crack down the center of the bat stands for my dad hitting the ball like an angry monster. My dad hit a home run in a baseball game with it back when he was my age. Its color is light brown, like dirt.

It carries my hopes to hit a home run too. I want my bat to be like this, to be the one I will hit a home run with. I want my bat to be cracked like my dad’s. Someday, I will have my bat lined up together with his, cracked and well‐used.

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By Nia H. F.

The Naked Eye

The naked eye Oh, if it could only see the good It will only see what it wants to see If we, as people, were to demolish the naked eye as we destroy all else We would be destroying our own chances to recover it

We, the people, always try to cover up what we don’t want the eye to see But the eye sees all It sees all You see it when you look in the mirror It sees you when you close your eyes

If we don’t allow it to see, We destroy the mirror that tries to see faith in us, Through its naked eye We destroy the loved ones We destroy the Earth We destroy what was once there We destroy human nature Whatever that may be We destroy our hearts We destroy ourselves We destroy the naked eye

And then At the end We wish we could see again We wish we would have thought before destroying We wish that everything didn’t happen And all the eyes can now see The damage that was done

The eye tells me, you choose your path You are you You are us You are we You are now You are past, present, and future Can you see now?

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Anonymous

Human nature is a strange thing, really People always say they are going to change But it never really happens.

When the time comes they say They are not going to be mean To their sisters, they are going to eat healthy, To try to stop talking back to teachers, Stop getting into trouble, But it never really happens.

Sometimes people say they Will be your best friend and never tell Anyone who you like and always Keep your secrets But it never really happens.

People say they are going to Grow up to be superstars or Football players or tennis players Or maybe own a restaurant But it never really happens.

On the rare occasion it really Does happen that they change, That they won’t be mean to their sisters, That they live up to their promises And try to become someone, Then you know you have a True friend.

By Lucia P.

A Human’s Nature

A human’s nature The nature of humans Some happy, some yippy, some nippy.

Some stand tall, some lay low.

My feelings about humans seem to grow Grow and grow.

Tall, fat, small, short

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They go on and on.

Each human is born with a destiny Even if it’s just raising a child …

A child – short, tall, fat, small.

Every human has a destiny, but it is up to them To fulfill it.

Not all succeed, not all complete.

Not all raise high, not all can fly.

Humans are savages, animals, demons.

Humans are caring, sweet, and daring.

Some stand tall and some fall.

A human’s nature The nature of humans Grip, grab, hold, unfold Humans are different It is impossible to tell all Of a human’s nature The nature of humans

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By Charlie S.

The Pedestal

As long as time’s moved, here the pedestal’s been, Showing our town’s men their spirit within As the host spins tales of amazement and horror While we gaze upon him and stroke our chins.

Every day somebody fresh graces the top Of the pedestal, and with him a new crop Of wonder and mystery graces his name Along with his life, which could come to a stop.

After viewing his life on the large screen, The gathering crowd is asked if they are keen On killing the man they see before their eyes, And truth be told, the vote is quite mean.

Some of the pedestal’s men in the past Have been innocent, and you can see the last Look on the man’s face as a rather saddened one That can be seen wherever the pedestal’s view is cast.

If one man were to speak otherwise, The crowd would say, “We clearly advise Not to break the host’s rule on stage As he might be displeased.” They respond concisely.

However, only the host knows That in fear they vote; “It’s what they chose,” Said the host. “All because of me, My authority, that’s why this way it goes.”

The innocents who have shown Are in all cases by the pedestal’s crowd known, Yet, with one unanimous vote they nix that poor man’s life For punishment that we fear would happen, that our voices would be lone.

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THE POWER OF WORDS (and Malala Yousafzai)

At the beginning of this school year, the seventh graders read and learned about Malala Yousafzai, the Pakistani teen who was shot in the head by the Taliban for encouraging girls to get an education. Her recovery, remarkable both in its physical and intellectual dimensions, was a powerful lesson in being an up stander and in the power of language to move people.

The following represents some of the grade’s responses.

By Maleika S.

Malala Yousafzai Who is …

The girl who knew what was right and what was wrong The one voice that stood out from all The girl who survived a bullet that hit the left side of her forehead The girl who addresses people by brothers and sisters, instead of Mr. and Mrs. or Ms. The girl who says she doesn’t even hate the horrible people who shot her The girl who only wanted an education, not all this violence and miscommunication The girl who will still stand for what she believes in, no matter what happens to her The girl who will die saying, “No one can stop us.”

The girl who, if put in front of the gunman and she holds a gun as well, will not shoot The girl who never once did break under the stress of death threats being brought upon her family The girl, no, the woman who should be known as “The Voice that was Heard.”

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Anonymous

There are a lot of reasons why words matter. They help us express our opinions and ourselves.

They help us communicate with other people. They also help us stand up for what we believe in, which is what Malala Yousafzai is doing. Without words, Malala wouldn’t be able to stand up for her rights and share her thoughts with the world. Once something’s said, it’s never forgotten and it leaves people wondering, thinking, and asking questions. If one person stands up for what she believes in and uses words to express her thoughts, then she can get millions of people doing the same.

I often hear people say, “Use your words,” while trying to solve a conflict (usually between younger children). I have come to realize that words make the world a safer place. If we didn’t have words, then we wouldn’t be able to communicate, which means we would have to use aggression and physical fighting to solve our problems – and this wouldn’t be safe at all. Then again, words don’t always help us if we use them in a wrong way or make poor decisions while using them. If we think before we speak, then words probably wouldn’t make the situation worse. Words are very helpful to the world, every though some people may not realize it.

Malala is one of the bravest girls I’ve ever heard of. It’s amazing that she risked her life so that she could stand up for what she believes in. She still continues to do so, even after she got shot in the head, which she says only made her stronger. I wish I was brave enough to do what she did and be like her, but I don’t think I’ll ever be able to. Not many people are as brave as she is and are so passionate about their rights that they would risk their lives to stand up for them.

When she used her words and told the world what she thought about women’s education, she got so many other people standing up for her and what she believes in. Many people don’t have the courage to stand up for their beliefs by themselves, and Malala helped them by standing up for herself. That encouraged many people to stand up with her and for her.

At first, I didn’t understand why Malala wasn’t angry with the man who shot her, but now I realize that it’s because he only helped her by doing so. So many more people have found out about her and have stuck up for her after the incident. So many more people have thought and asked questions about what she believes in, which means that more and more people will be helping her stick up for women’s education. This whole situation with Malala also makes people realize how lucky they are to have an education and the right to speak their beliefs. So many kids dread going to school every morning and wish they didn’t have to; meanwhile, people are being killed because they want an education. Many people don’t realize what they have and how lucky they are to have it – until it’s gone.

Anonymous

Words are what created everything. Words are what everybody, everywhere uses to create, build, discover, write, and teach. Everything starts with words. They give meaning. To take words away from someone is a horribly evil thing to do. When you are born, you immediately

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start to learn words. Even before the person who told your parents you were a boy or a girl, words mattered. When you hear your name for the first time, even if you don’t remember, that’s the first moment words really impact your life. There is no way in the world that words do not matter.

Words are important to me because they teach me to think about not just me, but about everyone. I feel lucky to see things in different ways from other people. Even if nobody knows what we are talking about, we have your own words. Words can comfort us and make us feel better when we are sad. They make us laugh when someone says something funny. Without words, what would we have?

If we couldn’t say anything, what would happen? The world would fall apart. We would be living in a place where no one had freedom of speech or expression. No one could say if they didn’t like something. You couldn’t be completely happy without words.

I’m using words right now. I’m using them to tell you how I feel; I use them to tell you what I want and need. We use them to help people in need, to show someone we care, to show I believe I use words for everything I do. There would be very few things without words. If there were no words, there would be almost nothing because there is a word for everything. The sun wouldn’t be the sun because the word would not exist. The sun would still be there, but we could not say it. Words are crucial.

Malala Yousafzai showed us that words are powerful. She demonstrated with words we’ve had to do something. She revealed that education for women is important, that if we don’t teach or get the chance to learn something, we cannot do anything. She let us know that we can change anything in a nonviolent way. She inspired millions to people by using her voice to teach us about what was happening and she used important, meaningful words to do it. She was so young to do something so big. She started a movement.

This is her time. This is everybody’s time, everyone who never got an education, who never got to use their voice, to stand up and say, as Malala did, “All I want is education and I’m afraid of no one.” She proves words are important because they lead to action. Words are critical, but if you add the action, they are even more powerful together, side by side. Working in a peaceful way to make this a better world is how Malala’s bravery spoke to me. She showed me this is our chance and together we can peacefully educate the world on how to be brave and speak up for what we believe. This is our chance and we should take it.

By Charlie S.

Words can be either spoken or writ, You can make them seem bright or seem dimly lit, But one thing’s for certain, so don’t you fear, When you use words, people will always hear.

Even if people plead to ignore them, They will always know what you have said,

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Because somehow they care about how you use your words, As they cherish them like a golden thread.

Words are an essential part of communication, Without them there would be immense frustration, Because words are part of our creation, As the human race, words are our unification.

Anonymous

They’ve got their guns and knives and swords Scary men with big loud roars And they try to silence us

But we’ve got something soft and sweet, Demanding, rude, or nice and neat Modest, vain, insecure, We will show you, that’s for sure

Words matter because they can show any emotion we are feeling. Words help us express ourselves and define our thoughts. They give names to objects, places, animals, and people.

Words can be used roughly, but unlike weapons, they can only hurt us on the inside – and if used softly, they can mend us there too. Words can be clever or foolish; it all depends on how and what we use them for. A special thing about words is that we have the ability to control how much power we are trying to give them. For those who think words are but a sound, you are wrong. Words are meaning itself.

Anonymous

Words Are important, helpful, brilliant Knowledge of people Part of education, books and life Who is the most powerful weapon Who goes against violence, hate, and crime Who got people through hard times Wants to change the world Matter

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By Nia H. F.

Malala: Our Voice

Malala is the incredible voice of hope The non‐stop argumentative voice of beliefs and rights And the powerful voice of education.

She represents children and women who are depending on her Who have had their voices silenced and now must fight for THEIR OWN RIGHTS. Malala wants an education She yearns for equality and fairness She wonders where the voice of women and children are hiding She lives in a country where women have been deprived of making decisions and speaking out Malala is the leader of chances for women and children around the world She is the Northern Star that people will follow, A symbol of bravery and determination.

She has taught many people that ONE CHILD ONE TEACHER ONE BOOK AND ONE PEN CAN CHANGE THE WORLD

By Lucia P.

A Letter to Malala

Dear Malala,

Your words about education move many people and you are very strong in what you say and do. You have a strong heart and stand up for what you believe in, no matter what. I have been moved by what you said at the United Nations about education for women and how we should stand up for ourselves and other people. You are a very brave person to keep on believing, even when you got all those death threats from the Taliban. You inspire millions of people in hundreds of countries to raise their voices. You have shown me that the voice is such a powerful thing because it can affect all of what you do.

Your voice is louder than a gun and much stronger. And now you have lost all fear of the Taliban and others who might try to stop or hurt you. In your speech you explained how when you got shot, all fear and worry melted away, and only strength was left. Now, no one can stop you from doing what is right. You are one of the bravest people I know and I admire the way

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you keep pushing on. I support you, like many others, in achieving your goal of having women’s education possible in your country. I know one day it will happen and there will be education for children, women, and all people.

From your friend, Lucia Prinzi

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MY PHILOSOPHY: THE MEANING OF LIFE TO ME

Anonymous

The reason I love this question is because everyone’s meaning of life is completely different. No matter what race, gender, or religion, everybody has their own special meaning of life and it’s special to every person in different ways. Here’s mine.

My philosophy would be to learn from your mistakes. Everyone makes mistakes. It is what makes us human. There is no way to avoid making them. Things just happen. However, the best thing about a mistake is that you learn amazing lessons from them and you take away meaningful ideas from your mistakes that you will have with you for the rest of your life.

I have made plenty of mistakes in my life. I think I am so much of a better person since I have made them. I would not be the person I am today without the life lessons I’ve gained over the years. I’ve learned to be more cautious and aware of my surroundings and I think I am just a kinder person in general.

I always deal with my mistakes absolutely horribly. I freak out over every last detail about everything. I get really anxious and I feel guilt really easily, which is a burden and a gift. Yet, I feel I wind up handling them pretty well. I say my apologies and get done what I need to get

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done. In the aftermath, I feel better than I did before because in a way, I grew just a little bit more and learned from a bad thing that happened.

My other philosophy is to like your reflection, meaning to like the person you are and the one you are becoming. If you were to look in a mirror, do you like what you see, physically and personality‐wise? If you don’t, then change what you see. We should always like the person we are because society can give us distorted images of ourselves. Be the person you would want as your best friend, as your ally, as your role model. We should be able to say that we are proud of who we are, no matter what!

Making mistakes is a bad thing, but not horrible. No matter how bad or big the mess, we can almost always clean it up and learn something along the way. And, always like who you are, no matter what happens or what anybody says.

Anonymous

Rules of Life

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Don’t take anything from anybody.

When you think you’re cool, you’re not.

Crap is crap.

Do what you think is right and not what other people tell you to do!

Follow the leader is just a game, not something to live by.

You don’t need a lot to make it great.

Best friends are family you choose/adopt, are not born with.

Creativity is not a chore.

You just have to laugh! It’s good for you! It’s good for the world!

You can never come back if you don’t go.

Don’t plan every step of the trip – just enjoy the ride!

Things sometimes look better or worse than they are. Looks can be deceiving.

If you’re shy, do what you want in public first, because you will probably never see those people again.

Weirdness is a good part of life.

You get what you get (even if you get upset!)

Differences are what bind us together.

There’s nothing wrong with everything and there’s something right with everything, too!

Rules are life’s suggestions.

Nothing is perfect!

Even if you can’t do, you can always hope.

Nothing is always true.

Sometimes things just suck.

Don’t play by the other guy’s rules. Play by your own! (And mine!)

Nothing’s a competitive competition until you make it one.

You need to love where you’re at.

It doesn’t have to be clear to everyone – just you.

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Want is different than will.

What is perfect? (Think about it.)

Real is better than fake, most of the time.

Try to learn something new every day! If you don’t, what’s the point?

One’s victories are created by others’ failures.

Sometimes you just have to roll the dice.

Stick with what you believe.

Patience is the key to everything.

Try, because if you don’t like it, you don’t have to do it – most of the time.

Think out of the shape.

Science is the poetry of reality. (Richard Dawkins) Use your words, not your body parts.

Don’t focus on the next – be the now!

Your heart is not where you feel and love. The brain is.

Be who you want to be.

The ending is always better than the end.

We never know what’s coming next. If we did, what would be the point?

You have to fail to succeed.

Be the change you want to see. (Gandhi) Be yourself and don’t let anybody take that away from you.

By Maleika S.

The meaning of life for me is to reach for the stars. What I mean by that is to always push my hardest, never give up, always say, “Yes, I can,” and never, “No, I can’t.” I feel it is necessary during every part of my day to think in the positive and never in the negative. As a young teen, I think we are always so concerned about what everyone is wearing, who is wealthy, and who has a better house. However, what we should be focusing on is what tomorrow is going to hand us.

How will tomorrow be different from today? What should I work on? Who gave me something to think about that I should put into action? Did I upset anyone with my actions?

You are asking me what my purpose in life is, but what you should be asked is what do I intend on doing with this purpose? My answer is that I’m going to take this purpose and use it to help me, to teach people, to understand others better. I will use this to help me focus on the positive parts of life. I will use this to help me through college.

Anonymous

Life is living, surviving, observing, visualizing, casting our eyes on opportunity, to take a chance.

Life is taking the little things you have and making them into tools, to build bridges and to move people, to make livings and create new life.

Life is giving and taking, learning and teaching, good and bad, yin and yang.

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Life is joy and life is sorrow, waking up to see tomorrow for the light we only borrow from above.

Life

Life is you and life is me. Life is any entity.

Anonymous

Poem

Violence is a rip in human innocence.

Nonviolence is a plea for safety.

Violence changes us and slams us to the floor and breaks us.

Nonviolence makes us immune to frustration.

Violence doesn’t help or fix.

Nonviolence can fail and win.

Two things collide and break. They are broken forever, like when we use violence.

Violence has happened, one way or another.

Red. The most hostile color, violent and bright.

White. Undemanding and simple.

Physical, Lyrical and Facial statements can be violent.

Nonviolence is best only in words.

Words last forever. Violence is only remembered with disgust.

Yet, if not for violence, how would we question what is right or wrong?

Nonviolence is harder to accomplish than violence.

But yes, it is better.

Silence is the sound of peace and suspense.

A break from harsh noise.

Yet, our thoughts are never silent. Our heads are more noisy than anything else.

We know when we are thinking when we start wondering if we are thinking.

Thinking and I have a love‐hate relationship.

I hate that it’s always rushing. But my thoughts can be an escape.

Prose

I often find myself questioning why we are here. Why am I myself and why others are others?

Why do I have long, curly brown hair that’s too dry at the tips because I dyed it? Why does the shoelace on my sneaker always untie and others tell me to tie it, but I’ve never tripped over it, so I just keep it untied. Why am I making a run‐on sentence like this one and the one before it?

Because I’m thinking on paper and this is my way to try to give you a look inside my mind. So, in a way, it’s me introducing my philosophy. The girl with the curly hair with dry ends and the shoelaces that never stay tied.

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The inside of my head resembles what my room looks like when my mom is away for a few days. In other words, messy with clothes all over the floor and a few soda cans on top. Or maybe it looks the way it does when my mom cleans my room. I don’t know where everything is, so I end up making it messy again. Not that I’m comfortable with my mom cleaning inside my head, but you get the idea.

The question I always ask myself is, what will come next? I’m not very good at predicting things, or even playing memory games and remembering something, especially if I don’t like the thing. I always tell my friends to not let me guess anything. People probably try to guess things about me, and I about other people – in other words, stereotyping somebody by looks. I make it hard for people to guess about me, or that’s what I can guess about myself.

In school, I am known as the girl who’s good at art, or recently good at singing. I suppose everyone has a different opinion of me. I don’t really want to know all of them, to be honest.

It’s hard to find out people’s true opinions of you; there could always be something bad. I don’t like learning bad things about myself from anyone. I never do. It’s the same thing as reading a bad report card on your schoolwork. It’s hard to get perfect grades, but even harder to score in everyone’s eyes.

We all strive to be perfect; even if you claim to be different, you must try to be different. Every day, you must reflect people’s good view of you. I know I want to be perfect, yet I know that nobody is. I might, in somebody’s eyes, but the world will never see me as perfect. I don’t want to be perfect, at least not all the time. Life is made up of imperfections – if we try to fix them, what happens to life?

In order to see perfection, we need to look through a torn surface, under the lies and makeup and clothing to see inside that person. Once we can do that, perhaps we can decide who is perfect. This leads me to the real portrait or what I see as my philosophy, looking through what we aren’t supposed to and trying to see who that person really is.

This isn’t my best or worst work, and I don’t want it to be the best. I want the eyes to be a little off center and to have a little part of it that doesn’t look real, because how do we know if it’s real in the first place? Maybe we are all just pretending that this is real; if when it all seems to end, we wake up in a different life, and another after that. It could all just be a dream; good or bad, I have no idea.

I sometimes wish it was all a dream – then maybe I would leave that tall girl with the curly hair she’s started to straighten (which is making it even more dry) and is starting to tie her shoelaces because everyone said she would trip, even though she still hasn’t. Or maybe I’m just getting older, leaving that girl behind. I’ll cut my hair shorter, maybe dye it again. Trade my sneakers in for a pair of heels that I won’t be able to walk in so then nobody will tell me to tie my shoes ever again.

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Anonymous A Philosophy Story: Hemlock

Introduction

Every person in this world sees colors in a slightly different way than the next. Same with their own personal philosophies. Every individual sees different ideas or comments in different ways than the people around them. If you ask seventy‐seven people from the same age group what the meaning of life is for them, you’re absolutely guaranteed to receive different answers from the people. Of course, you may have gotten answers with the same general idea, but everyone’s angle while looking at something is always different depending on their past experiences.

The Story

“Let’s keep moving, guys.” We had just overcome what I thought would be the hardest part of our journey. All seven of us stood there in shock, disbelieving that we were the chosen ones, the unlucky seven who were destined to find the six sacred jewels and crystals. Each of us has our own special crystal to find, but there is one person more than there can be crystals for each of the six colonies. The person who comes back without a crystal will be hung and burned, their ashes placed in the Museum of Shame.

My father is already in that museum, our family name contaminated with empty‐handedness, poisoned with flames. Glory is brought to the crystal bearers, shame to the ones who bring nothing but sadness. I’m going to find that crystal.

Every year, the government carefully picks seven citizens based on their personalities to go out past the once forbidden gates, seeking mystical jewels and crystals for the national trade ceremony between the colonies. There are six colonies, each specializing in one major category: Acacia, specializing in metal armory; Jantice, specializing in cotton, silk and linen clothing; Canatiya, specializing in stone and building; Kaftelle, specializing in plants and gardening; Malacos, specializing in glass and porcelain; and Yarrow, specializing in jewels, crystals, and jewelry.

My fellow crystal seekers are Amelia, who seeks citrine for wealth, protection, and energizing; Zane, who seeks galena, which harmonizes and balances; Cedany, who seeks malachite to open the heart to unconditional love and draw out deep feelings; Peyton, who seeks tiger’s eye for collecting scattered information to make a coherent whole; Kree, who seeks turquoise for its power to detect signs of infidelity and for bringing empathy; Robin, who seeks peridot for purifying the mind and clearing burdens; and, me, Hazel, who seeks emerald for inspiration, infinite patience, and successful love.

And so, our adventure begins.

Leaves crackling under booted feet, surrounded by yellowing trees of great heights, the world, yellow like paper stained with tea. A hawk passes by and with agony in its call, speeds away.

Quiet and serene, with soft gazes, we continue on.

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“How do you think they choose who goes?” asks Peyton, with his eyebrows in perfect arches.

Robin scowls. “Why should we care? We just have to get this over with, once and for all. In the end, one of us dies and that’s that.”

“They really only send us out here to find the gems so our colony won’t be broke. Our colony needs the money. But sometimes I feel like there’s something more to it, you know?” mutters Zane.

“I think –“ Kree begins, but is quickly cut off by a squeaking noise coming from below. “What was –“ again, the noise churned like a dragon’s growling stomach. “We should –“ PSHHHH!!!

All seven of us, swept off our feet, collapsed into a 20‐foot wide square prison cell, surrounded by guards wearing the emblem of the colony of Malacos, our sworn enemy. The ground literally came away beneath our feet. Oh no! Swords held to our necks, spears poking our backs like little children playing tricks.

“Well, well, well.” A figure appears, his voice low as a whale’s, as if purposely that way to not crack the glass being made in the colony. “I was expecting you. Our plan was to rid your colony of the gems, causing you to go broke, claiming your land. How clever of me!” said the figure, dressed in pure white to go with a white beard and deep wrinkles that seem to hold his secrets.

“Never!” Kree said in a raspy voice, like rusty metal against a tin roof. “We’ll get away, don’t you worry, you just watch.”

I spat, rage bubbling inside of me. I gave him the evil eye that he won’t forget. He started to laugh, though, at the beginning in a controlled, rhythmic manner, then uncontrollably and out of tune, as if the control was as tight as a sailor’s knot. Then it became looser and looser as time rolled by.

Count on Robin to always be the first one to tug out his weapon, and with a slight twitch of his mouth, he indicates for us to do so too. All of the soldiers’ swords are trained on him, but what about the remaining six of us? That’s the plan. We silently equip our swords, getting the correct angles on the soldiers just before the man with the white beard starts to shout. We jab and duck and trip and yell, and I can’t wait for the fight to be over, the victory ours to take. I stabbed a particularly large soldier in the heart, my foot over his chest, saying a short, “I’m sorry” prayer, when a blade slices my back, tearing into my skin, breaking into it like a fork breaks into a boiled egg.

A high‐pitched squeak escaped my lips as I spun around to greet my enemy, but no one was there. I stuck my hand in the air in front of me, hitting a solid surface, unseen to my eyes. I felt a heartbeat that was like a cat’s, quick and quiet. I dug my sword into what I thought was the soldier, but my weapon slashed through thin air. I growled, twirling in a circle quickly with my sword outstretched, and on the second turn, thumping something, followed by a moan. I went after the noise, trailing it, and finally stabbing at the ground, my sword now fully bloody. I laughed and laughed, until BLACK.

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My eyes twinkled open, vision foggy, body aching from battle. My fellow jewel seekers were by my side, hands tied up … but not feet? I kick them awake, one by one, each of them confused, slowly becoming more alert. I scoot myself by Robin, having him take my sword out of my waist sheath. “Stupid soldiers, not taking our weapons away.” Robin chuckled after he pulled my sword out with the handle in his mouth. I open my mouth, lifting the 7‐pound sword just barely, placing it between Robin’s hands on the blackened rope. He sits on his hands, hammering the blade down to cut the rope.

“He fell! Help!” Amelia panted.

“Amelia, take a deep breath and tell us exactly what happened,” I say in a calm tone.

“We were just looking at all of the crystal. I turned away and I heard him scream. I turned around and he wasn’t there.”

“Hazel and I will take care of Peyton,” reassures Robin.

Amelia runs away, cradling herself and glaring at everything around her as if it were monsters that planned to eat her up.

Run, run, limp, walk, limp, run. Wind was rushing at us, full force, as powerful as the ocean, able to drown out the noises around us. Able to tear us apart. So I grasp his hand as he grasps mine right back with as much strength, rock climbing to the cave, the footholds beneath us crumbling like pastries, the breath in our throats catching over and over as we succeed in rescuing ourselves from falling. The higher we climb, the harder we fall, down, down, down, until we finally hit the hard ground.

I am the first one to get to the top, and I grasp at the grand crystals, polished as if someone had taken the time to do so. I clasp my hand over my gaping mouth, running my finger over them and inscribing their texture into my mind. Robin stumbles backwards when he sees the slivers of the sun before him. “Wow!” he gapes. His face was priceless, like he was surprised and amazed in the same moment. I won’t forget that face.

“Let’s find that little gap. It sh‐“ Robin lets out a yelp as I spin around, disappearing into a small tunnel‐like place to the left of the cave.

“Robin!” I shout. “Crap.” I mutter this as I fling myself down the whole, numerous curse words following.

“I’m coming, watch out!” I scream, my voice echoing down the tunnel. My body slid like I was on a water slide, with dust and dirt flying into my eyes and mouth. I equip my sword, ready for the worst. I begin to see the light at the end of the tunnel. That’s what people see when they die, so I was scared. Maybe even terrified. My heart banged against my chest like a drum, the moments quickening as I reached the dim, flickering light. Inches away, I felt like my heart had stopped.

Luckily, it didn’t. Big hands reached for me as I tumbled onto the ground, the bodies attached, looking as if they had swelled. My sword was thrusting around, accomplishing nothing. “Stop!

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Stop, stop, stop, stop!” I roar at the top of my lungs, my capillaries threatening to burst as I begin to have a fit. “Give me back my friends, you barbarians, you colony‐less freaks, you monsters! Stop, stop, STOP!”

They began to giggle. Imagine big, tough, dirty men giggling. They chuckled and laughed, elevating into hysterical non‐stop, full‐blown howling. On the floor, they repeated over and over, “She thinks we will all just let her friends go!”

And at that moment I snapped upright and dashed to a bruised and bloody Peyton and a shocked Robin, untying their ropes once again to set them free. “Run!” I mouthed at them.

Running towards the tunnel, I stabbed my sword into the side of the vertical hole, pulling myself up as the others did the same. “Quickly, before they notice!” Robin yelled, alarmed.

Up and up we go, stabbing our swords and pulling to the top. But then we hear some voices, a slide, and a body comes rushing down at full speed, knocking us off balance, all four of us falling back down the tunnel, towards our laughing hyenas. Great.

“It’s me, Zane. I take it you guys were about to escape.”

“Great job, Zane! Now those guys will torture us silly!” spits Peyton on the long way back down. The higher we climb, the harder we fall. I listen to the far off voices from above as the others slide down, voluntarily going to their deaths.

“Stop! Don’t come down here! Stop!” I wail, the painful truth evident. They will never be able to hear me.

Crashed and burned on the ground at the end of the tunnel, coughing up dust, we scramble away before the others tumble down to us. The men instantly grab our shoulders and throw us against the almost‐caved walls. The biggest man, with broad shoulders and a lengthy nose, stepped forward as the others cascaded down and piled in a heaping mess, asking us how we ever believed that we could escape. He was right. How could we? These men were giants, strong and intimidating.

With all hope lost, we were pushed into a cold and muddy jail cell. The walls were crumbling will tally marks notched into them, skulls littering the floors, and rats and roaches scurrying about. All seven of us were defeated. Cedany! She isn’t here! “Where is Cedany?” both Robin and I echoed.

“Last time I saw her she was blabbering about how pretty the crystals were,” said Kree.

“Did she ever slide down?” I ask.

Amelia answers nervously, “Not that I know of, I don’t know. She would be here, correct?”

“I told her if we aren’t back in 15 minutes to come down … armed,” Kree announces.

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“Well, there is no hope for that, because clearly Cedany has no clue about weaponry. She can’t even sharpen her own blade!” I exclaim.

“We can’t afford to lose our hope now. But be cautious. Don’t get your hopes too high. Let’s see if she comes,” warns Robin.

Long past 15 minutes, we mutter to ourselves about how starved we are, barely hanging by a thread to dear hope. “Cedany, Cedany, Cedany, Cedany, Cedany.” We repeated her name over and over again, each time more filled with wanting. And then the sliding comes, the familiar grating of the buttons on the back of the pants against the dirt tunnel. We listen carefully to her shrieking on the way down, and finally a quick thud. We jump to our feet, unsheathe our weapons to go into combat once Cedany breaks us all out. If she breaks us all out. She sneaks up behind one of the sleeping guards, slowly snatching the keys and stabbing them into the lock, clicking it open. She rushes in to hug us just as the guard wakes up and slams the door, cutting us off, ruining our grand escape plan.

But we have still got those keys. I grab them from Cedany’s hand, fast enough for the guards to only get a glimpse of something shining. We wait hours until the man falls back into a slumber again, our minds on fire with hope. All because of Cedany. “I shouldn’t have doubted you. You saved us. I’m sorry,” I whisper, as softly as my mouth will allow.

She nods her head and whispers in return, “It’s okay. But you were right about one thing. I do have a thing, let’s say, for Robin.” And we giggle, and just for a pure, whole second I forget where I am and what my fate is. After that I remember one thing. I believe in free will.

When the man at his post rests his eyes, I give Amelia the honor of twisting her wrist around to the front of the lock, wiggling the key until the desired click comes up and the door pops open as if without a care. We tiptoe to the tunnel, allowing Cedany, the quickest, to go first, leading the way to the top. Robin goes last and we stick our swords into the tunnel, making our way up.

When we all gather at the top of the cave, the crystals seem to have lost their flow, like their façade has faded away and now their real personalities shine through. “What do we do now?”

Zane asks.

“I think we should go on with our journey!” Robin and I say in unison. We start a fire to keep warm and carry us through the cold night.

And so we make a base camp in the cave. We find ourselves starving there though, the cave that looked like royalty, the cave that is now gifting us poverty. The cave that had a mask on, the cave we thought was beautiful. But when the cave uncovered its real face, it was ugly. Ugly down to the old, rickety bones that lied, that lied.

And when Robin reached for the hemlock, desperate for anything that would save him, I didn’t protest. I just grabbed some for myself and passed some down to whoever else wanted it. And when the taste of the bitter dirt bloomed in my mouth, I smiled until it reached my heart. I smiled until I was no longer satisfied. My heart was beating as quickly as it stopped, my mouth foaming and frothing, muscles ever‐moving, twit‐twit‐twitching back and forth. I smiled until

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my eyes closed forever, the hunger no longer eating up my insides, my mind and body at peace – but still poisoned.

Anonymous

The meaning of life is a huge concept on which to dwell. Since the beginning of human records, civilizations worked to define it. Ancient minds worked to decide what purpose we serve on Earth. Even today, great minds attempt to find it. The concept is so broad it is almost unapproachable; however, I have done my best to make a decent contribution to this mystery.

The meaning of life is to simply live, and the meaning comes moment by moment. It is impossible to know the meaning of all life in general, but it is possible to find the meaning of life for each of us; to find our purpose. Every moment gets us closer and closer to finding our purpose. Each day brings more meaning and understanding. That is really all I can determine as to what the meaning of life is for me.

What does it mean for us, though? How can we find our purpose? The best way to find the meaning of life is to live presently. We cannot dwell on past events. We cannot wish for something else to happen. We have to live with the circumstances we are dealt. We have to live in what is happening right here, right now. That may sound simple enough, but I have found it is much harder than imagined. It is one of the hardest things to do and may take an entire lifetime to learn.

My personal philosophy is based on my interpretation of the meaning of life. I strive to live in the present. I only dwell on the past if it is about something that can change my future; aside from that there are no exceptions. These are my thoughts, my ideas, and my perceptions. I still have much more to learn and add to this base, but I look forward to what is to come.

By Charlie S.

My philosophy in general has three parts. The first is to respect all things. The second is to be nice whenever available and the third is that what you do is who you are. My philosophy is both common in life and in history as well. At any given moment, it can be either easy or challenging.

Respecting all in life can be a challenging thing to do, especially with those you hate. Here at school, I see teachers who seem calm and collected on the outside near a kid who’s a troublemaker or just plain annoying. They still talk to the kid in a respectful manner, no matter how dire the kid’s situation is. Even I’m with friends who, depending on what mood I’m in, I just don’t want to be around, yet I still try to treat them with respect as I would any other human being.

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Kindness is also a hard task to accomplish. I don’t wake up in the morning and go, “Man, I want to help an old lady across the street today!” My kindness turns on randomly, whether I like it or not. Sometimes, my brain doesn’t react to that switch being on and therefore I live my life not being very kind. If I can convince myself to be kind in life, then I am a better person. However, sometimes, I have to be strict or mean in order to accomplish something. If I don’t use force or anger with a purpose, then I should stick to being kind in life generally.

The easiest to accomplish in my philosophy is probably what I am doing right now. Currently, I’m at my computer, typing up this essay silently in my room. My parents think of me as a delightful, silent son who does his work efficiently and diligently. This relates to the third part of my philosophy – what you do is who you are. Look at the food cart vendors, the taxi drivers, the people who spin boards on the sidewalk every day – what they do is part of their identities.

There’s an old saying: “Even the smallest pebble can make a wave in the ocean.” This relates to my thinking, because what that pebble did is part of its identity to us.

My philosophy is commonplace throughout life. It’s pretty brief, but useful in any case and very relatable. However, I respect other people’s philosophies, so I don’t want to shove my own down other people’s throats. It’s just a matter of opinion and self‐assurance that brings anybody to the philosophy they keep in their heads. I choose mine and others choose theirs.

Just remember: What you do is who you are.

Anonymous (My School Philosophy)

When I was younger, school was easy for me and I enjoyed it. Then second grade hit and overnight it became awful. That was the year we started long hours of homework, tests, quizzes, and big projects that would last several months. You might think, “Wow, that’s a lot for a second grader to handle!” and it was. It was all very confusing to me because all of a sudden something I loved became something I hated.

My old school had a very traditional philosophy about education. It was harsh and strict about homework or any kind of work. I remember that all homework had to be written in script and with a pen. Everyone’s work had to be exactly the same and there was only one right way.

Looking back now, I realize that the message there was “mistakes are bad and will not be tolerated.” I became very confused and my emotions were all over the place. I was sad, angry, hurt, and unhappy. We were doing work that most girls didn’t understand, but everyone pretended they did. Or their tutors did it for them. I believe that not being a truthful person is wrong.

The first time I really heard the word “philosophy” was in fourth grade, the first year of Middle School. Our project was to write an essay about the differences in ancient Chinese philosophies. At the time, my mother told me she did that in high school! So there I was, memorizing (we did that a lot) the differences between Confucianism and Daoism.

I didn’t understand what it all meant. But I hid those emotions deep down because if I asked too many questions, I was looked at as dumb. I used to think, “WHY am I in this school, what is the reason? Is everyone else as unhappy as I am?” I never told the truth about how I really felt.

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So, at times, my emotions would come out in different ways. If I was upset or confused, I became angry at home instead. I really hated everything about school and sometimes I still look back and think, “Wow, how did I get out alive?”

My life changed when I got accepted to Calhoun. The day my mom and dad told me was one of the best days of my life. In my last week at Marymount, I stood in front of my class and explained that I was going to a new school that had a progressive education philosophy. No one understood why I did it.

On my first day at Calhoun, I was really nervous, but also super excited. Everything was SO different! I could talk, I could ask questions, I could make mistakes! I could write in PENCIL! I thought, “Now this school philosophy makes sense to me!” I felt immediately connected. Now, into my second year, I know how everything works, I know my teachers better, they know me, and the best part is I have great friends.

I know if I did not experience a traditional school philosophy that I would not appreciate Calhoun as much as I do. When other kids complain about things like homework, I tell them, “You have no idea how lucky you are.”

Thank you, Calhoun, for helping me become more independent, honest with myself, truthful in my writing and all I do at school.

By Cinque W.

“Philosophy is the study of the fundamental nature of knowledge, reality, and existence, especially when considered as an academic discipline.” (Google)

Philosophy is the basic principle that keeps the world curious. Studying and examining leads to more questions and eventually more answers. Without opinions and ideas, the world would be boring and bland. All questions would have answers and all answers would not lead to more questions. Therefore, philosophy keeps the world running and more updated. In other words, philosophy and ideas are what made the light bulb and the telephone. These are the reasons why philosophy is important to me.

These reasons have also inspired me to create my own philosophy and concepts of many things in the universe. I have developed many questions I hope I can answer through the career I hope to take up one day. My fascination with water has lured me towards the study of hydrology.

Hopefully, in embarking on this career, new questions are revealed to me, waiting to be answered and maybe fulfilled. Not only do I hope to study water and what it is, but maybe to a deeper purpose.

For example, one of my goals is not only to examine the question of why we need water to survive, but to answer it. Also, in doing so, I plan to answer the question of whether water created us. All of these questions are part of bigger research consisting of the study of our existence. This is my philosophy – why we exist.

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Anonymous

Being an “up stander” means that you need to be brave enough to stand up to someone, knowing that you could possibly get made fun of because of what you’re doing. You have to have enough confidence not to worry or care about whether or not you will be made fun of for standing up to someone. Being a bystander is hard because you’re usually not brave enough or confident enough to stand up for someone else, and afterwards you have to deal with the guilt, knowing that you could have helped someone, but, instead, you just sat there and watched.

If you have faith in yourself and the world, they you will do well. You have to have faith in order to do well because believing you can is half of it. I believe in free will more than fate because you can’t just sit around waiting for people or opportunities to come to you; you have to go find them yourself. If you work hard and put determination into your work, then you can make your own fate.

I believe that everyone deserves to have a dream and should believe that it can become reality.

People should believe in themselves as half the battle – the other half is working hard to accomplish your goals or make your dreams come true. I also believe you should fill each day with happiness. Believing in our dreams will make you happier and making them come true will make you amazingly happy. You should do anything you can to make yourself happy.

Anonymous

In life we have challenges and hard times, but to overcome those obstacles, I think we have to be positive and believe. I try to approach life in a positive way when I can and I think everyone should. This is my view of life.

Life, for me, is a joy. We should be thankful every day that we have what we have and shouldn’t take anything in life for granted. No one can teach us how to live our lives. That’s our decision, and all the things we can do with it might surprise us. Life is just one big surprise; things come at us that we don’t expect. Those things can be challenging to handle sometimes, but I believe that if we trust ourselves and have good attitudes, then we may succeed.

I will admit there are definitely things I don’t always want to do, and those things seem like chores to me. But these little things are what make us better persons. Doing these small but helpful deeds might be bigger than we really think, even if it’s just emptying the dishwasher. I believe that in life there are always things we can do to make the world a better place. It will never be perfect, but anyone can help to make it a little bit better.

I have learned to be a better person, in English class especially. Reading and researching about people like Malala Yousafzai and Liz Murray really made me think more about life… and that no matter what age I am or where I come from, the world can always become a better place.

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Anonymous

What I think of the world and life: and interesting question! For me, life is a time span, our allotted time we have to complete what we want to complete and change what we want to change. Life is something we all have or had, a tool we use to make the most of our potential.

It is also what we use to live. If we didn’t have a life, we couldn’t do anything we wanted to, change, or complete anything else. Without a life, we couldn’t be in this world. I think we would still exist, but our lives are our anchors to this universe.

Life is our most important possession, because if we didn’t have it, we couldn’t have or even want anything else. Without a life we would exist, but not be anywhere or have anything, just the minimum we need to be. Life is what ties us down and decides when to untie us. Life is basically an anchor that exists only for a specific span, not what makes us exist.

Now, for the world, a completely different matter. The world is what life anchors you to, where you are to spend your life, changing, completing. The world is the place where we can do what we want to do with our lives, what we want to do to improve others’ lives or improve ours. The world is the place where we can use the tools of our lives; it is the place we can tinker with, the place we can change. The world is where we all live, our home, and where we exist while we still have lives. The world is like a sandbox, the place where we can be creative and craft what we want. It will still take time, but we can accomplish what we want to accomplish.

By Sophie H.

Life is very important because if we didn’t have it, the world wouldn’t be the way it is today. I don’t think we would even have a world.

My mom always tells me “things happen for a reason. We might not know what those reasons are, but there are reasons.” And now, when anything bad or something I don’t like happens to me, I always tell myself that there is a reason.

A reason we have things, a reason we have all the good things and bad things in life, a reason why we’re all her on this Earth.

There are so many ways to describe life. It can be good, it can be bad, but I describe it as meaningful. It’s meaningful because without it, I wouldn’t be writing this; I wouldn’t be at Calhoun, and I wouldn’t even be on this Earth.

Life is something you can’t have again. It’s not like this essay, that I can start over again. We don’t have a second chance with life. We should live life to its fullest! When someone puts us down, we should get back up and keep living!

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Anonymous

A Philosophy Short Story

I opened the door to come face to face with a desk. Hidden behind it was who I guessed to be the receptionist. She asked me with absolutely no emotion (through maybe the smallest glasses I had ever seen), getting straight to the point, “Name?”

“Nathan King,” I answered.

“Time of your appointment?”

“Um, I think it was ….,” I hesitated because I wasn’t sure when I scheduled it.

“4:30?”

“Yeah, that’s it.”

“Have a seat please,” she instructed.

The receptionist typed something into her computer and went back to whatever she was doing.

She looked busy, so I decided against asking her how long I would be waiting. As I sat there, I had nothing to but twiddle my thumbs and look around. It was a tight office, with low ceilings and narrow, curving hallways, beyond which was unknown to me. Though the square footage appeared to be small, the lime green walls made the office look like it was glowing. Mirrors on the far wall maximized the space to feel almost cozy.

Finally, after what seemed like forever, a man walked along the narrow hallway. It took me three seconds to be able to decipher his full personality, as long as it took him to walk down the hallway and say “Hello” to me.

Before I even met him, I knew he was friendly, approachable, understanding and kind, with his deep, sad, brown eyes full of compassion, his chocolate hair, and brilliant white teeth. All that said, “I am truly happy for you.” I knew then I had come to the right place.

His voice, oh my god, his voice was like a million tiny angels singing a low note in harmony.

“Hello, I’m Jonathan, but you can call me John.”

“Uh, hi, I am uh, Nathan.”

“Good afternoon, Nathan. Why don’t you come into my office and we can start. Sound good?”

I didn’t know what to say. I was too afraid to say something stupid, so I just nodded my head.

“Great, right this way.”

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He gestured for me to follow him down the narrow hallway, which was so low, I hit my head on the ceiling and my shoulders on the walls. “Sorry about the tight space. You see, we are only renting this space temporarily until we can afford a proper office.”

“Ah,” I said. I was beginning to feel comfortable with Jonathan, or John.

We walked into his office and it was a different world. His personal space was very spacious, with a room in the back that I couldn’t see.

“Why don’t you have a seat, yes?”

I just wanted him to keep talking. Just the sound of his voice made me feel better.

“Sure, thanks.”

“So, what brings you here?”

“Well, I feel empty and meaningless, like nothing really matters because nothing ever did.”

“Why do you feel that way? Is there really such a thing as emptiness or fullness?”

It turned out that the psychiatrist had a master’s degree in philosophy, though I didn’t know it at the time.

“Huh?”

“I’m just asking.”

“Oh, right, well, I guess not.”

I was awfully parched, but I overcame my nervousness and asked him, “May I have a glass of water, please?”

“Of course. I’ll be right back.”

With that, John hurried himself to the back room as if he had an idea. While John was gone, I found myself looking at his degrees, achievements and such, when my eyes fell upon his master’s degree in philosophy. I suddenly doubted whether I actually was in the right place.

When John entered the room again, he was carrying a tray with three glasses of water, one completely full, one half full, and one completely empty. Before I even had a chance to ask, he pointed to the glass that was half full and asked, “Is this glass half empty?”

Naturally, I answered, “It’s half empty, why do you ask?”

“No reason. Which one would you say represents you the most?”

I chose the empty glass, and John looked pleased with my answer; I was plainly confused.

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John obviously noticed that I had no idea what he was talking about, and the pleased look on his face dimmed just a little bit. He said to me again, after a moment of silence, “This glass, the empty one you just chose, is the happiest glass of water of the three.”

“What?” By this point, I seriously doubted John’s abilities as a psychiatrist.

“This empty glass still has so much water than can fill it. This full glass is all used up. It has no more room for anything, only memories to look back on until someone drinks out of it and it starts all over again.

John went on. “You see, you may think your life is empty, but it is actually quite full – full of all the things and opportunities available to you, which you have not yet done!” John’s enthusiasm was sinking into my skin and seeping through my veins because everything he was saying was true. I couldn’t explain why, but I was happy, very happy.

“If my life was full, I wouldn’t be able to discover new things because I would have done and seen everything. There is no more room to explore,” I said.

“Exactly, and unlike a glass of water, you can’t be drunk out of and able to start over again, “ John explained.

“I never thought of it that way before.”

“Once you think you’re full, you’re not, because the limit is where you set it. If you want, there can be no limit,” he added.

“I get it! An empty life or a full life is decided by me! But really, I can never be empty or full!”

“Yes! I think our work here today is done,” John said casually, because he does this every day, and yet he soothes and calms me down.

“Thanks so much. I’ll be back tomorrow.”

“Wait! Just answer this question first.” The psychiatrist handed me the glass that was half full and asked me, “Is this glass half empty or half full?”

I looked at him with a broad smile across my face. “It’s half full, Jonathan, it’s half full! I replied, and with that, I walked out of the room, refreshed and ready to enjoy.

On my way home, I got into a taxi and thought to myself, “Wow, I can’t believe I doubted that psychiatrist. Just by asking questions, he changed my point of view completely. What would life be without questions? Would the world stay the same forever and ever? Hmmm, maybe I’ll ask him that tomorrow; John does have a degree in philosophy, right?

“First awning on the left, please,” I told the taxi driver.

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The next day, I sent straight to John’s office to encounter the receptionist again. When I opened the door, she looked up from her papers and asked me, “Time of your appointment, please.”

I responded surely this time. “10:00.”

“Have a seat,” she instructed me again. I anticipated the long wait, so I brought a magazine with me this time. After a little while, Jonathan came down the hallway. We greeted each other with a word or two and then he led me into his office. I remembered the spacious room that had a completely different feel from the rest of the rented space.

“So, how are you feeling with the empty and full conflict?” John asked me.

“Oh, much better, thank you. I actually have a question for you,” I answered.

“Really? Lay it on me.”

“What would life be without questions? Would things stay the same for, like, ever?” It was a relief to ask a real person that question instead of just wondering about it.

“Where did you come up with that?” John was obviously mildly taken back by my “unordinary” question.

“Oh, sorry.” The way he responded made me feel like my question was stupid.

“No, no, no! It’s completely okay! I just haven’t been asked that question since college.”

I wasn’t sure how to answer that, so I stayed silent. It didn’t take Jonathan long to continue his response.

“If you think about it, life is so full of questions that taking them away would be the same as taking away curiosity, imagination, and wonder! You may not realize it, but you are constantly asking questions, every single moment.”

“Can you explain a little further?” I asked in the most polite way I knew how to say that he was speaking gibberish.

“When you just spoke, you asked several questions 0f me and yourself. You asked yourself whether or not you were going to speak, what you were going to say, and how you were going to say it. You asked me, obviously, to explain further. Do you see? In every single thing that anyone has ever done, they needed to ask a question, whether it was to themselves or to others. Many people spend their whole lives on the topic of questions, so taking them away could very well mean that nobody would ever do anything because they couldn’t even ask themselves if they should do it.”

Amazingly, John recited his whole speech with only three breaths. He gave me a few seconds to take it in, and then he continued. “And wondering, imagining, and curiosity all could never happen. When you wonder things, you are asking questions to yourself about what you don’t

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understand, or things you do understand and what they would be like. The magic of imagination should never, ever be limited. Asking questions is such a thing that, if taken away, everything would freeze, and without questions, you can’t have answers, and sometimes a question itself is an answer and vice versa.”

This was a much longer answer than I expected, I thought to myself, but all I said was, “Wow! But isn’t it possible to be too curious? And when do you know you actually have the final answer?”

“First, let me answer your first question because it’s a little shorter.”

“Okay,” I replied.

“The answer is no, you can never be too curious as long as you have strong common sense.

Curiosity and common sense work in unison. When you increase your curiosity, you have to balance it out with common sense. If you are curious with that balance, then it can be the most powerful weapon in a child and a useful tool as an adult,” John answered.

“Oh, I get it. Being curious is good as long as you are curious in some kind of balance?” I guess I only said this to let him know that I understood what he was saying.

“Yes, that’s right,” he replied, looking proud that he answered a question as difficult as this.

“And now that I have thought about it, the answer to your other question is easy. You know that you have the final answer when you no longer have the question.”

“Excuse me?” I forced that out of myself because I was trying hard to wrap my mind around what Jonathan just said.

“You ask a question looking for an answer in most cases – right?” he asked softly.

“Well, sure,” I answered, because it seemed obvious.

“So how you know you have the answer is when you longer have the question. If you ask someone a question and you’re wondering about it, then you don’t have the final answer, right?

But if you ask someone a question and, after they answer, you walk away no longer having to ask that particular question, then it is fully answered.”

“Oh, you’re right. How do you come up with this stuff?” It seemed like he knew the answer to every question I threw at him.

“Now, let me ask you a question,” he taunted in a playful way. I knew he was joking. I also knew I wasn’t going to know how to answer his question.

“All right, but I am no philosopher.”

“That’s fine; here’s my question. Why do you ask questions?”

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We had just discussed this, but I drew a blank. My mind started to panic. “Um…because I want an answer?”

I wasn’t sure of my answer until I saw his expression. “Yes! People ask questions because they wonder about the answer. When you have a question that nobody answers, do you feel more and more like you need to know? That’s because your mind is wondering about something, imagining it, and wanting an answer for it. This is the miracle of questions!”

“Wow!”

“Do you think we are done for the day?”

“Yes, I think so,” I confirmed.

By Nia H. F.

It is important to me to treat people the way I would like to be treated. There are many ups and downs in life, and that is why I believe every person should have a time period in their lives, whether it is childhood, the adulthood development stage, or full adulthood, when they start to realize who they are and who they want to be.

A person starting to know herself is like a flower blossoming in winter, while everybody else is in another stage of their lives. In this case, all of the other flowers have already bloomed in the spring.

I mostly believe in reincarnation, kindness and karma. If you do good for other people, you shouldn’t expect someone to immediately recognize you and give you a reward. Sometimes, you don’t even need something in return to be recognized. It always pays off to be kind to others. Honestly, I believe that people were already on this Earth or another planet‐‐or in their next lives, they will come back as different beings or nonliving things. We have to take into consideration that if we did evil in this world already, we might not be happy with what we come back as.

My philosophy reflects on how I act to other people and how I respect myself. It’s important to constantly say to yourself, “What is my philosophy and how do I want it to impact my life – and hopefully the lives of others?”

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A Moment that Changed My Life

Anonymous

Living without plant life is like living without oxygen. Plants, gardens and all living things amaze me and leave me breathless. I can’t imagine even the wildest world without plants and trees, and I would never be able to live in it. The thought of dirt stuck between my fingernails and the sun beaming down on my back while I plant my tomatoes, peppers and parsley excites me. I can hardly wait until I get my hands on the nearest climbing tree, the wind whistling through the leaves. But what made me so attached to nature? When did I jump down the rabbit hole of plants?

It was a bright day in May, the sun shining through the windows, illuminating the sixth grade Humanities room. “Okay, everyone, quiet down. I bought some new books for our class library,” said our Humanities teacher, Irene. Each book she went through sounded and looked endlessly boring and dull, until she came upon one that seemed intriguing and mysterious, colorful and exciting. The Language of Flowers, by Vanessa Diffenbaugh, proved to be exactly what I thought it would be, and immersed me in a world from which I could never untangle myself. I raised my hand and shouted, “Can I have that one?” eager to begin what is now the root of my love of nature. The book was tossed over to me as yet another independent reading time began, my lips curling into a curious smile.

The first couple of pages were a shock, as they instantly reeled me in. I read and read until I found myself stuck in the world of that book. I am still stuck in the book, and I don’t think I will ever find my way out. When I got to the end, I discovered a dictionary of flowers and their meanings. Each flower, it seemed, had a distinct meaning, and those meanings were most often used during Victorian times. Instead of writing, you could simply gift the flower of your choice to show your emotion towards someone or even to tell a story. When I became attached to the flower‐meaning dictionary, I knew I was adhered with gorilla glue. In that moment, nature and I became best friends, sharing our secrets, our joys and our sorrows. We were bonded for life, forever together, life changed.

I became obsessed with this dictionary, printing it out and using it as a guide to show how I felt.

Over the following summer, the way I would convey my emotions was by saying the name of

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the flower that corresponded. It was a language that would be universal, a language I wish still existed. Many forgot it. Many ignored it. Many ridiculed it. But many also cherished it, one of them being me.

I realized just how many different types of flowers there were. I finally understood what each flower meant, but I wanted to know how each flower worked. That was when I became interested in the science of plants. Over that summer, I researched and researched and even began my very own botanist’s journal for any plant‐related findings. I saved up all of my money to purchase wild flower field guides and floristry books. I scavenged the library like a starving lioness, my eyes hungry for some sweet plant encyclopedias. During sleep‐away camp, I would squeal and shout every time I identified a flower accurately, and on a trip to Vermont, I constantly went flower‐hunting with my flower identification booklet.

The moment I finished that book, it changed my life, for now, forever. It opened a door (to a tree house, of course) that would have never been opened otherwise. Behind that door were untold treasures of greenery galore, petals of perfection, bubbling brooks of pure bliss. In other words, paradise.

Anonymous

It was a chilly Friday night. I just got home from school and dropped my bag on the floor. I went to the bathroom, took a shower, put on my pajamas and grabbed my bag to do my homework. When I was finished, my mom walked through the door and I greeted her as usual.

She went down the hall to say hello to my father and my grandmother, who also lives with me.

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After my mom got settled, she cooked dinner and called us to the table. We had a delicious meal. I remembered the house smelled like chicken. I made my way down the narrow hall towards my parents’ room. I curled up with my dad and watched TV. My mom walked in about ten minutes later. That’s when we got the call. My mom went to answer the phone. We didn’t know who it was, but from the look on my mom’s face, I knew it wasn’t good.

“Hello … yes, this is his daughter, Lorinne … all right … okay, thank you.”

My mom hung up the phone. Being the nosy daughter I am, I needed to know what was going on.

“Mom, who just called?” I asked.

“Your grandfather’s senior center. They said he had a massive heart attack and they are running tests. They will call back and tell me the results.”

At that moment, I didn’t know what to do. I mean, she didn’t say he died, I thought. “He could be fine. He has to be fine!” I mentally screamed to myself. My dad just lay there, still, next to me. I could hear his heart beating in my ear. My mother still hadn’t moved from her standing position near the end of the bed. My grandma was still outside the living room. She didn’t hear what was going on. And I was glad. Even though my grandpa and she weren’t together, he was still family. There was no need to worry her before we found out if he lived or not.

Two hours passed until we got the call back. My grandpa had died. Right after my mom told us, she went straight outside to our computer area. My dad asked me if I was okay, but my throat was suddenly too dry to speak. I just nodded and went to my room. I sat on my bed and hugged my knees. Then I began to cry. I couldn’t hold it in anymore. I tried to think of happy things, but that only made me even more upset. “Why are you crying?” I thought. “You weren’t even that close to him.” But he was family. He was my grandfather. And anyone dying in my family, whether they are close or not, is heartbreaking.

I heard footsteps coming towards my room. I wiped my tears as quickly as they came and jumped off my bed. I ran to my closet, pretending to look busy. My dad walked in.

“Hey, are you okay?”

I wanted to slap him, to scream, “My grandpa died and you’re asking me if I’m okay?” But I knew he was only trying to be comforting.

“Yeah, I’m fine, just a bit tired,” I responded.

He nodded and walked out.

I made sure to get rid of any evidence that I was crying. I walked outside to see my mom hunched over, looking at the computer screen.

“Mom, what are you doing?” I asked.

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“On Facebook, I’m going to tell your aunt about Grandpa,” she replied.

“Are you okay?”

She just nodded and didn’t even look at me once.

“Did you tell Grandma?” I asked.

“I did.”

“Oh, okay.”

I walked to my grandmother’s room and knocked softly on her door. She was sitting on her bed doing a crossword puzzle. I walked over to her bed and sat there for a while before I said anything.

“Did Mom tell you about Grandpa?” I asked. My voice was barely above a whisper.

“Yes, Honey, she did.”

“Are you sad?”

She didn’t answer. I thought to myself, “Maybe it’s not the time.”

I was walking out of her room when I decided to turn around and I ran to my grandma. I hugged her so tightly and I started crying. Losing my grandpa made me realize that things happen unexpectedly, and I could lose anything I love at any moment.

“I love you, Grandma. Please don’t leave,” I pleaded.

“Don’t worry, Honey. I plan to be around for a long time.”

Anonymous

Around seven years before I was born, my mom got a dog, a yellow lab named Sophie. My mom adopted Sophie from a friend who was breeding labs at the time. Sophie was the youngest one of the litter, even though they were born only minutes apart.

A few weeks after my mom brought Sophie home, she started training. My mom’s friend trained Sophie. It turned out she was even able to walk down the NYC sidewalks without a leash and not run off. My mom grew very attached to her from that moment on.

A few years after that, I was born. Sophie was a big part of my life when I was a baby. My mom would leave the room and I would start crying, but then Sophie would walk in and sit on the bed with me, and I would completely calm down. I grew up with Sophie. She became my best friend in the world.

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As Sophie got older, she started getting weaker and weaker. She had some trouble walking and dealt with hearing problems. Eventually, those issues evolved into her having to lie down most of the time, and she was almost completely deaf.

One time she was so sick she had to go to the hospital for three nights. On the second night, I was sitting on the couch eating and watching TV. I went to get some water and saw my mom sitting at the table crying. I went over to comfort her, and she told me that the doctor called and Sophie wasn’t going to make it. I was seven years old at the time and I started crying, too.

They cremated her that week and we got her ashes to keep. After a year or so after her death, we realized that the ashes weren’t doing any good sitting in a bottle in the bathroom. Then my family remembered how much she loved swimming in the lake at our country house. So we took half of the ashes and dumped them in the lake and kept the other half.

That moment changed my life because then I realized how much Sophie meant to me. It made me realize what losing a good friend was like. I then had to face the fact that Sophie wouldn’t be there with her face anymore, when I needed her to cheer me up when I was sad or angry.

That was the first time I had ever lost someone so special to me. Sophie was really gone.

It took us four or five years to get a new dog. Last September, we got one named Henry. He came to us as a puppy at 15 pounds; now he is a 125‐pound bear. He is a Bernese mountain dog. Henry completely fulfills the role of Sophie because he always cheers people up with his smile. Even after all these years, though, Sophie still remains in our hearts.

Anonymous

I wasn’t supposed to start thinking about life at seven years old. I mean, who thinks about why they are who they are that soon? It’s too complicated for anyone to think about, maybe even now. Who wants to think about that now? I don’t even want to think about it anymore, but

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sometimes forgotten thoughts just cling on to me and I can’t shake them off. Even thoughts that are six years old.

I kind of have to think about it though. It’s almost like telling someone not to think about a kangaroo. Now, you’re probably thinking about a kangaroo because it’s too easy to defy something that you have control over. Kangaroos are cool and everything, but it’s usually the interesting thoughts that you can’t quite shake.

I don’t think it changes anything physically. It is more about what I think about or how I think about things. It’s just so mind‐tangling to think about why I’m Geena, right here, right now, typing this essay. I could’ve been someone else and everything would be different. In a way, it’s thinking about how my life would have changed rather than how it could now.

Maybe I would have had blond or red hair instead of brown. Perhaps I could be twenty‐four or maybe more. Why am I who I am right now? Just try to run that through your head now – it’s complicated, right? It’s quite hard not to get hooked on the subject.

The emotions are worse than the looks, even though I worry about the looks more. I’ll use a silly but normal example here: If I get yelled at or told not to do anything, or that I do something weirdly, I will obsess over it until it’s fixed. I can’t forget what flaws I see or what other people see. I just can’t. It would be so weird, but also interesting, to be in the mind of someone who doesn’t deal with that.

Maybe that’s why I’m so obsessed with wondering what it’s like to be someone else. After all, we don’t see what other people see when we look in the mirror. We don’t like listening to our own voices singing or even speaking, at all. We hear things the way we want to hear them.

That’s why we question horrible things when told.

This is turning into a philosophy essay, so I should wrap it up. A lot of people probably think about this the way I do, but it’s what I think changed my look of the world and people forever. I won’t forget it, because it changed my life. It could also change yours if you thought about it a little more.

By Aiden G.

I’m 12‐years‐old and I live in New York City. I’m sure there are other kids who live in smaller towns and spend a lot of time on their own or with friends. However, in New York City, independence comes a lot slower. The first real independence for me was when I started walking to school by myself and sometimes with my little brother. I was never really worried about anything happening because I’m so familiar with the places around where I live, as well as the route between my apartment and school.

My friends and I have started going to different places by ourselves, like to the park to play basketball or to get a snack somewhere after school. Recently, three of my friends and I were hanging out at one of their apartments after school, watching TV and playing mini‐hoop, when we decided we wanted to go to the park to play basketball. The court was a block away and

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then down the stairs into Riverside Park; we had a great time playing two on two. After a while of playing, we decided it was time to go back to my friend’s house, but in the short walk from the court to his apartment, something unexpected happened that made me think about my life in a different way.

We were walking up towards the stairs when we passed a group of teenagers. After we passed them, I heard screaming from behind us. I couldn’t make out what they were saying at the beginning, but then I heard, “Check they pockets, check they pockets.” They kept saying that same thing over and over, while they ran towards us reaching and grabbing our pockets while punching and kicking us. Two of my friends got away and sprinted towards the apartment we came from. I had nothing in my pockets and neither did the two friends who got away first, but the last one had his phone with him.

I got away and raced near the stairs to run up as well, when I turned around and looked back. I saw my friend on the floor, holding the pocket that had his phone in it while being shaken around by this one boy. Then another kid came over and kicked my friend right in the back to sprawl him on the ground. After he got kicked, my friend jumped up and both of us ran up the stairs together. We were side by side, sprinting across the street, just making the light. We ran all the way back to his house.

We got in the elevator, just the two of us. We went upstairs and, right when the elevator door opened, there was everyone else‐‐including his mom and babysitter‐‐outside the elevator.

They were asking us if we were okay and giving hugs. All of us were freaked out and pretty much in shock. We all went inside and talked about what had just happened while we waited for the police to arrive. We drank hot chocolate and ate some chips and dip.

When the police got to the apartment, they asked us exactly what happened and if we wanted to go to the station to file a report. We all talked it out and we decided to go to the station. We were told it would only take 15 minutes, but we left the station 2 ½ hours later. For most of the time, we were waiting around. We had to fill out sheets about what the attackers looked like.

Parents and family showed up during our time at the station. We all waited around for a while after we filled out the sheets, until one by one we went and talked to a detective. When I got to the room with the detective, he took my information and asked me to tell him what had happened. I explained what happened and how it was so scary and random. When they were coming at us, I was freaked out and surprised. When I was running back to the house, I had so much adrenaline rushing through my body. I just wanted to get back. When I was done talking to him, the next person went in.

When that was over, we all were able to go. I got in a cab with my friend’s family and they brought me home. It was late. I talked to my parents and told them what had happened and explained how I felt and every detail of the day. I passed out right when I got into bed. That was exactly what I needed – a good night’s sleep.

What I have learned from this situation is that in life we shouldn’t only think about the small things, like who gets to use the bathroom first. In fact, in the morning on our way to school, I said to my mom and brother, “Let’s just not get mad about the little things.”

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I guess independence has some risk involved with it, but I don’t want this experience to totally change how I feel about living where I do. I still walk to school by myself every morning and now my little brother does too. This situation has changed my opinion about independence and other things as well, but I still am independent and I do things on my own. I also still sometimes go to the park and play basketball by myself. But maybe now I am more aware.

Anonymous

It all started one day back in 2010. My mom was using my computer, which I can’t stand, but she’s done it multiple times. So little 10‐year‐old, obnoxious, bossy me started screaming at my mother to get off my computer and that she wasn’t allowed to touch it ever again. I actually said that.

A little while later, I decided to look in my history and found out my mom had looked at dozens of sleep‐away camps. I asked why she was looking at sleep‐away camps and she said I was going to one. I was not happy. I was very angry because I thought my parents were just sending me away.

My mom narrowed it down to three camps: Camp Wayne, Camp Bryn Mawr and Camp Romaca. I checked out all three websites and got the videos for each camp. I liked Romaca the most and Bryn Mawr the least. Wayne was in the middle. We scheduled tours for each camp for the following summer 2011. I still was really upset and didn’t want to go.

We visited Wayne first. My overall impression was that it was okay. It was very woodsy and looked like it was straight out of The Parent Trap, the one with Lindsay Lohan. Next we visited Bryn Mawr because it was only a few miles away from Wayne. I really liked Bryn Mawr, even though it was a uniform camp. Everyone was so kind and answered any question I had about the camp. It was still campy, but it was really nice. The cabins had running water and working bathrooms and showers; the activities around camp seemed really cool. Everyone I saw there was smiling, ear to ear. The final camp we visited was Romaca, which was in the other direction from Wayne and Bryn Mawr – both are in Pennsylvania. I thought it was a good camp and seemed fun. The cabins were really big and they had cool slides in the lake. However, there was nothing really special about it and my parents didn’t like the director of the camp. As soon as we got home, I made my decision. If I absolutely had to go, I wanted to go to Bryn Mawr.

Bryn Mawr has something called Explorers Weekend. It’s when new campers come for a weekend to participate in camp activities and get a feel for camp. I was the only one my age there for Explorers Weekend.

When I was around eight, I had a traumatic sleepover experience that had made me homesick on sleepovers ever since. I was on a sleepover with my best friend who had gotten back from Australia the day before. We had sleepovers every weekend and we couldn’t wait to see each other, so we insisted on having one. Our parents agreed. Her whole family was so jet lagged that they all went to sleep at 9:00. I was wide‐awake and had nothing to do. I became very homesick to the point that my parents had to pick me up at 12:00 at night. The other two sleepovers I have been on since then were also total disasters because of my homesickness.

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I was still very homesick by the time Explorers Weekend rolled around. I got placed in one of the biggest bunks in my age group. It was really weird and awkward. All the girls were really nice, but on the first night I got so homesick that I threw up. It was probably one of the most embarrassing moments of my life. It all worked out, but it just made me not want to go to camp even more. I knew I wasn’t ready for it.

Fast‐forward a year and it’s June 2012. The week after school ends, my family and I always go to the Cayman Islands for a week. It’s always so much fun – I love it there. My last few days there, though, I was a total wreck. I couldn’t enjoy the vacation because all I could think about was how much I didn’t want to go to Bryn Mawr. My only memory from that trip was crying all day every day. It got so embarrassing that the only place I could cry was underwater in the pool. On the last night we were there, I just lost it. We were in a nice restaurant and I started crying hysterically. It’s hard enough for me to cry in front of my parents, so you can only imagine how hard it was for me to do that in front of 50 people I didn’t even know.

Now it was the night before camp. I was even worse than I had been at the restaurant. I had to sleep with my mom in her bed. The next morning was even worse. I knew two of the girls going on the New York City bus, so they comforted me. I eventually gained control of myself, but I was just in a horrible mood for the rest of the trip.

I went to camp very late for someone my age. Everybody already knew everyone and had their best friends. I was kind of just there. I remember thinking to myself, “Okay, don’t worry. It’s only the first day. You’ll find a friend in no time.” I was friendly with people, but I didn’t have any real ‘friends.’ By the third week I remember thinking, “Okay, this is ridiculous. It’s the third week and I don’t even have a real friend.” So I kept to myself most of the time.

I kind of had one friend from that summer who I kept in touch with. Her name was Sam. I considered her my best camp friend because she was my only one. As for the homesick thing, I wasn’t homesick one night at camp. (I can do sleepovers now. I’ve been on quite a few since then and I have realized what I’d been missing for the last four years.)

The next summer I was a totally different person. The summer before, I cared so much about what everyone thought of me and I wanted everyone to like me. I learned the hard way that that is not reality. By changing my attitude, it made everyone love me because I was different.

I was the only one who didn’t care about what people thought. I was the girl who called it like she saw it. And I was the girl with the horribly funny sense of humor that everyone loved.

Everyone who hated me the year before became my best friends. I had finally found ‘real friends.’ All of this changed my life and made the summer of 2013 the best one of my life – and I have high expectations for 2014!

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Anonymous

This essay is about how I got into acting, how I met new friends, and how I got into my first program (which I still go to). This is only one of my many life‐changing moments, but it is also one of my biggest. Life‐changing moments can happen at any given time, whether you are aware of them or not. That’s what is beautiful about life. It changes around us – right under our noses!

I was about eleven when I joined a Calhoun summer camp that was about performing Shakespeare plays. I remember when my mom first told me about the camp. She said, “Hey, guess what?”

“What?” I said.

“I signed you up for an acting summer camp!”

“WHAT?” I was so astonished. I mean, sure, people thought I was good at acting, but an acting camp?

“Oh, and it’s a camp where they only perform Shakespeare plays!”

Perfect, just perfect! Now, I have to go to a camp, which I did not sign up for, where I do nothing but act! Think about how much I am going to have to memorize! Even though I like acting, this has gone way too far! “MOOOM!” I scream. “You already signed me up for this?”

“Yes! Don’t worry, it will be fun!”

“U‐huh, suuuuuuure.”

A day before the actual camp, I really wanted to back out of it, especially because we were performing Hamlet! Hamlet, one of the most famous Shakespearean tragedies! If I messed this up, I’d be a small, little bug under a huge rain boot! Oh, god! What if I mess up! I can’t mess this up!

Fortunately, time flies just as fast when you’re feeling stressed as when you’re having fun.

Oh, joy. Today’s the day where I, Fernando Rueda, get to go to a summer camp full of acting and tragedy. I get out of my bed grumpy as usual and brush my teeth, take a shower, get dressed, eat breakfast, and, boom, I am ready to go. So then we … you what, let’s skip the train ride. Anyway, my mom dropped me off right in front of Calhoun, where I just stood and stared around. It was quiet, too quiet. I guess that’s because I’m always used to the ruckus of children gathering around the plaza in the morning. So I just take a deep breath and walk in, through the door, up and up four flights. As soon as I walk in, I knew this was going to be a long day.

Okay, so maybe it wasn’t as bad as I said it would be. Eh, who am I kidding? It was the best!

The moment I walked in, I acted out a few roles: Fortinbras, King Claudius, and Polonius. I

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made new friends and we played dodge ball! It turned out the camp had a tradition, so we played dodge ball very day after lunch! It was and is amazing!

This showed me that I should try new stuff instead of refusing to do new things. Trying new things or not is like bravery and cowardliness. Everyone should try new things because that’s how we make friends and learn new talents!

By Charlie S.

When the Saints

Gilbert Jonas was his name. Great man, wonderful husband, loving father, and my grandfather.

A photojournalist for the army, a member of the Peace Corps Council once, later an important member of the NAACP. He wrote a book about the Civil Rights Movement and was somewhat famous. And then he died of heart complications and weariness from several different sicknesses. When I received the news, my mood changed from okay to saddened to unbelievably depressed. I mourned the only way a five‐year‐old could: by bawling my eyes out until I might go blind. I did overcome the sadness, but it still lingered and came up once more at my grandfather’s funeral.

Stepping into the gray building, past the large wooden doors, I noticed the vivid red carpet.

Along with the stained glass windows, this made the funeral room as bright and cheerful as possible. As everybody sat down, I noticed the people who attended: my grandmother, my two aunts, my godfather, my great‐uncle, my parents, and fifty people who I assumed were his former friends. All of us had glad expressions, but deep down we were all struck by his absence from the world.

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Without warning, the funeral began. A couple of days after my grandfather died, my dad was reading his will. It stated that, “a jazz band shall be playing lively music at my funeral.” The band began playing such a tune, one I cannot recall, but which was lively nonetheless. As the song died down, the rabbi began. In his speech, he mentioned how wonderful a man my grandfather was. I was too young to appreciate such words, but I mostly got out of it that my grandfather was great. After the rabbi ended, my tear‐riddled grandmother began. She expressed how wonderful a husband he was and how he was as loving as a grandfather could be. When she sat down, my mother began, holding back her tears. She talked about how he was one of the first people to know about my birth. As she sat down, another man came up.

And another, and another, and another.

My father knew I wouldn’t last long in the service without falling asleep, so he told my babysitter to take me out somewhere. I played on the swing in the park and climbed the monkey bars. I had a wonderful chocolate cake from a cute little bakery, covered in flowers and ribbons. I went to see “Everybody’s Hero,” a kid’s movie about a talking baseball bat. Since then, I’ve realized that all of these activities were how my babysitter tried to distract me from the funeral, along with curing my boredom.

During all of these activities, my grandfather’s friends read their testimonies, their last words before their dear old friend departed from the world above ground. I believe there was some more music, some that would lighten the mood and, at the same time, respect my grandfather.

I came back right at the end as the rabbi was saying his final thoughts to us all. As he ended, the band swung into “When the Saints Come Marching In.”

As the joyous tune entered my ears, I burst into tears. I knew at that moment my beloved grandfather was never really coming back to me. I also realized that I didn’t know what I had until it was gone. Since my grandfather’s death, I’ve become wise about how moral a man he was, and how quickly a life can be taken away from us. Never again have I had someone so close to me slip away. I’m lucky a tragedy like my grandfather’s loss hasn’t affected my family or me since. Any man is important, and one man who is important is Gilbert Jonas.

By Cameron D.

I never even thought about being a male model. I thought you had to be some kind of special kid to be in those commercials, movies or ads. Now, I have been on live television, modeled a shirt for Target, was in a World Series documentary in 2010, and modeled a new tablet for Vivitar called the “Camelio.” I have also modeled jeans, been in Macy’s, and a whole lot more.

It has been a long, long journey.

Originally, I never even had the slightest thought of becoming a model. It was my sister who wanted to be one. She kept saying over and over, “Dad, I should be a model. I could sing and dance and be a celebrity. Please, Dad, please, can I be a model?” After two months of looking in the newspaper, my dad found a modeling agency called Wilhelmina Kids. It was one of the most popular modeling agencies in New York.

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My dad and sister waited on about a 1,000‐person line just to throw pictures into a bucket and hopefully get a call back. When my dad and sister finally got up to the front of the line, they threw the best pictures of Kyra into the bucket. My dad thought for a second and said, “Why not?” and threw pictures of me in the bucket just in case. About two weeks later, we got a call back from Wilhelmina Kids. It ended up that they wanted me. My sister was not mad one single bit. She was just confused. She said, “I don’t get it. I’m so much prettier than he is.”

Yep. That is my sister!

My first go‐see was a commercial that was going to be filmed in Mexico for a new water park.

Sounds fun, right? I did not get that job. I asked my mom, “Mom, why do I have to do this? It interferes with baseball and other sports and school a lot. I do not want to do it anymore.” My mom just smiled and said, “Don’t worry, Cameron, sooner or later you will get a job. Plus, if you do get the job, you get money.” My eyes shot straight open and I said, “Money!! I get money!!

Awesome! I love this job!!!” And that is how my story began.

Two weeks later, I got my first job, then another job, and then another go‐see. I just kept getting more and more of these things. I got free food, met new people, and earned money. It was all going well. I got to see myself on television, which was really fun to watch. I also saw myself in stores.

Today, I get a lot more money, the jobs are a lot longer, and I make new friends all the time. It is a really fun experience and I am grateful for this job. Now, when I get older, I can buy a car or pay for college myself. If someday I do get a lot of money from this job, the first thing I am doing is buying my parents a Ferrari. They have helped me so much in life and I love them so much. This job has changed my life so much and I hope one day I can model for Nike and get the newest pair of sneakers. Or do a commercial with Kobe Bryant, Kevin Durant, Lebron James or Michael Jordan.

By Cinque W.

Not once did I ever think I could get an “A.” Never did I ever believe that I could pass the class.

Not once did I stop to think about the fact that I was at Prep for Prep‐‐the long, 14‐month academic program that every parent dreams of. Well, the dream became a reality in late June on a sunny Monday… during the summer!

7:30 am. I packed my books, got dressed, put on a smile, and walked through the door. The long, ever‐lasting ride down the elevator was probably the most exciting two minutes of my life. However, the excitement was soon gone as I came to know “Mr. 60 Pages.” The moment upon hearing the sentence, “READ 60 PAGES TONIGHT AND YOU WILL HAVE A QUIZ TOMORROW,” is truly a painful feeling when you are used to easy, non‐challenging work.

The next day, well, let’s say the next day woke me up. A two‐page quiz with words I could not pronounce and the smallest details even Einstein could not have understood. Okay, so I failed the test and realized this was a roller‐coaster ride I had embarked on that would not be fun.

The next day I had no clue how much fun or how painful this journey would be. But I sucked it

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up and, the next day, got on the bus, and once again, took the long ride to the Trinity School.

However, I soon realized that this would all end, at least the one summer of Prep for Prep.

Eventually, the school year comes and I realize that I have another summer of Prep for Prep to go. Yet, during the school year, I finally understand that this horrible journey would involve going to two schools at once! Now, all of the excitement was gone and I knew I had to get my head in the game.

Months passed and the word “commencement” was spread around. Getting through the program was a big deal and hearing that graduation was coming up was music to my ears.

Later, after the 14 months, commencement came and it was over. This moment changed my life because it was the beginning of something new and the end of something I will never forget.

Anonymous

All my life I had always wanted a dog, one I could care for and take on walks, one I could play and cuddle with. So, shortly after my cat Wanda, died in August 2012, I was already thinking about a new pet. I loved Wanda, but I knew a dog would suit my family and me better. I asked my parents and they said they would think about it, but not right away. Every day I thought about having a dog. I thought about its name, what toys to get it and even what color leash it would have. I remember feeling joy and happiness just thinking about it.

It is now March 29, 2013, and my family and I went to the North Shore Animal League Shelter.

We were planning to get a rescue dog. Inside the shelter, all we heard were yapping dogs. It smelled of old dog food and a smelly dump. There was a big room where we could take the dogs out to get to know them and walk them around. The perimeter of the room was where the dogs were. Big dogs, little dogs, loud dogs, quiet dogs, and even a room for cats! Any kind of dog was at the shelter. I remember plugging my nose as I walked around looking at all of them. They were jumping up, clawing their cages and going wild. We ended up taking a few dogs out that day and putting them right back where they belonged – in their cages.

It is now March 30, 2013, my dad’s birthday. We were planning on getting a dog that day for a birthday present for him. We went back to the same shelter, hoping for a few new dogs. As we walked in again, I was already prepared for the stench, but it seemed like the smell had gotten worse. Once again, we strolled through the shelter, eyeing the dogs carefully. They were again barking and seemed to be yelling at us. I kept walking and got to the end of the dog cages. The second to the last cage held the cutest dog I had seen yet. It was light brown, tan almost, with large ears that stuck up strong. Its tail was wagging when I came near it. It was curled up small and seemed to be the only dog not barking or jumping there.

After inspecting the dog for a while, I called my parents over. We read the tag on its cage. It was a girl, age two, named Zuzu. I knew if we got this dog, the name would have to be changed. The guy that worked at the shelter told us that she rarely barked and that she was a calm dog for the most part. When we took her out to play with her, she was a whole new animal! She wagged her tail and gave us huge kisses. She was a little ball of joy. The man also

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told us that she was a German Shepherd mix, though they couldn’t quiet identify what she was mixed with.

About an hour later, we knew she was ours. Even though we were looking for a male dog, she was perfect. My dad liked the name Django, but I thought it was too much of a boy’s name.

However, I thought to myself it was, after all, my dad’s birthday present and he would decide the name, so we went with Django. After going through all the rules and regulations, we had to wait two more hours to get her cleaned up and ready to go. I was overly excited; we were actually going to have a dog! I never knew we would own one, so I was very happy.

On this same day, we took home our first dog. It was the happiest feeling I had felt in a long time. Django was shaking as we took her in the car to my house, but her tail was wagging the whole time. When we got home, we took her on a walk to the park and she made three friends in such a short time. It was my first time walking my own dog and I couldn’t wait to do it again.

I felt like a little kid on Christmas, getting the present everyone else seemed to already have.

She was so gentle and playful. I loved her so much.

That moment changed my life a lot; these were experiences I will not forget. As I am typing this essay, Django is right beside me, comforting me. This dog changed my life and me. I care for her so much and I feel that I can care more and take things more seriously now that I have these responsibilities. She gives me courage and strength; I hope to have her for the rest of my life.

To me, there aren’t many dogs out there like Django.

By Jaden G.

I’ve come to believe that when I came to The Calhoun School for the first time, it changed my life for several reasons. One of the reasons is that at my old school (Saint Joseph’s), I needed to wear an uncomfortable uniform. Another reason is that at Saint Joseph’s, we needed to say the teacher’s last name. Also, there is the no‐walls aspect. At my old school, there were walls for classrooms.

I don’t remember having many friends at Saint Joseph’s, but at Calhoun, that certainly changed. I remember in first grade, Jason (my friend who left the school a few years ago) asked, “Can I play with you guys?” Fernando and I were kind of shy, but we accepted. We were like a family. Calhoun got me most of the friends I have now and I am happy about that. I am not saying Calhoun is perfect, but it is really great most of the time.

One of the reasons moving to Calhoun also changed my life is the food. Calhoun is a peanut‐ free school. This is helpful because my peanut allergy is deadly and I feel safe knowing that there are no peanuts at Calhoun. Another thing about the food is, it’s almost something no one has ever heard about.

One of the things that changed was that my old school was a traditional one, while Calhoun is progressive. I feel more comfortable going at my own pace and being able to talk freely (unless it’s bad) and having opinions of my own. For example, when I was in math class last year, Ben

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always helped me if I was struggling. Sometimes things are hard for me, and I can usually count on my teachers.

One of the most important things that changed when I moved to Calhoun is having a private school education. It makes me feel like I can achieve more in life. I have more opportunities to learn.

Anonymous

I was staying late at school one day, hanging out with Molly. We were watching the basketball game and Molly said, “What time do you think you are going to leave?”

“Maybe at, like, 5:00. Why?” I replied.

“Just asking,” she said.

It was about 4:00, so we went to out to get some food. We went to a nearby pizza place called T&R Pizza. After that we went to Starbucks and then to Essentials. When we came back, it was about 4:30. We could see that the game was ending, so we went down to the third floor to hang out. We were playing catch with Molly’s football that she brought to school. We were having so much fun that we lost track of time. Just as we were going to go to the 8th floor, Molly looked at her phone and said, “You know that it’s like almost 5:00?”

“Well, that’s not good,” I said.

“Do you have to leave?” Molly asked.

“Um, I don’t think so because I have nothing to do. I guess I could stay a little longer.”

“Yay, so do you still want to go to 8M?”

“Yeah, sure,” I said.

So Molly and I went into the elevator and we went up to 8M. We started to work out on the ellipticals. After ten minutes, I realized that I did have to leave.

“Molly, I have to go,” I said sadly.

“Okay, bye, see you tomorrow.”

I took the elevator down to the lobby and left. It was dark as I was leaving, but I was too lazy to walk up to Broadway. I started to walk on West End kind of fast because I was scared. As I was walking, I saw someone coming up behind me, reflected in a car window. I was usually on the lookout because I have heard lots of stuff about kids missing and I didn’t want that to happen to me. I was on the corner of West End and 86th Street. It was kind of busy, so I wasn’t that

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scared. As I walked towards 87th Street, to me it felt darker and less populated than a block before.

When I looked in a different car window, I could still see someone behind me; I got a little bit scared, because there was no one really on the street. I slowed down so the person could pass me, but he didn’t. I was thinking about what my mom said: Never walk on an empty street.”

Well, that’s not good, I thought to myself.

I tried to remember all of the tips my mom had told me about walking alone. “Try not to take out your phone when walking home alone in the dark.” “If you are scared that someone is following you, go into a doorman building or a store.” “If you think that someone is following you, cross the street.” That was the one I needed, so I crossed the street. He followed me and I got really scared.

Then I realized that I crossed the street that was right in front of me. I needed to stop going straight and turn, so I could cross the street and walk to Broadway. Once I crossed the street, I was too afraid to look back. I looked into another car window and no one was there. I was so relieved that no one was behind me, I ran all the way home. I was so happy that I got home safe and sound!

This moment changed my life, because now I know to be more careful. I now know not to walk around like no one can hurt me. After this really scary moment, I realized that danger can be in my neighborhood. Also, it changed the way I look at things. The world can be a scary place.

There are lots of bad things that can happen to kids and grownups.

Anonymous

I was nine years old and, after a lot of begging, my parents finally agreed to send me to sleep‐ away camp for seven weeks. When they said yes, I was so excited that I felt like everyone in the world could feel my happiness shining through my skin. Most people are nervous to leave their parents for so long, but I was too thrilled to be nervous. I had literally started packing, even though it was November and I still had eight months. I got a calendar and counted down every day until it was time for camp.

I had been waiting for so long and now it was time to get on the bus for an eight‐hour ride to camp in Maine. I gave my parents a big, fat hug, saying, “Good‐bye, I’ll miss you,” and got on the bus. I saw a girl who looked about my age. She had brown, stick‐straight hair and big, green eyes. I walked up to her and said, “Hey, wanna sit next to me?”

“Sure,” she replied. “My name’s Chloe Dichter. I brought my IPod so we can listen to music.”

And before we knew it, the bus hauled us away.

After eight long hours of being fastened to our seats, a counselor who had been supervising started reading a list that said what bunk we were in. I waited patiently while every other kid’s name was called. Chloe’s name had been called first and she was in Bunk Three. After a long

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two minutes, the counselor called out, “Maya, Bunk Three.” We were in the same bunk! I was so excited. Now I knew I had a friend who I could hang out with all the time.

The bus stopped in a parking lot and through the bus window, I saw this huge sign: Welcome to Camp Mataponi. I leaped off the bus, lugging my bag behind me. I was ready for a summer without my parents.

I walked with Chloe and we both searched eagerly for our bunk. We finally came across a really nice bunk and the sign said, “Bunk Three” and had a list of all the people in it. I anxiously walked inside and realized everybody else was already there except for Chloe and me. Our counselors gave us a tour of the whole camp. It was beautiful! Everyone was so nice and I felt so welcome! For the rest of the day, we all just walked around and got to know each other.

I have gone to that camp for four summers and each one has been even more fun than the one before. I have so many memories there and everyone is so friendly. I have been in a bunk with Chloe every summer and she is one of my best friends. I love my camp so much and I hope to go back there every summer for a long time. Camp Mataponi is a special place and it has truly changed my life. Without Mataponi, I wouldn’t be who I am today.

Anonymous

I got to Kolot Chayeinu, a synagogue in Park Slope, Brooklyn. It is very progressive and the Hebrew school is really into moving and doing, like getting up and going to a place in the room to state how much you agree with a Jewish statement. At a typical Kolot Bar/Bat Mitzvah, the kid is presented with his tallit by a family member, interprets his Torah portion in what we call a Dvar Torah, and reads three aliyot. You also need to make up a creative way to show your Haftorah and tell the congregation the moral you see in it. Then everyone throws very small packages of soft candy at you (it was Gummy Bears for me). I read from Mekatz on Shabbat Chanukah. My Bar Mitzvah really changed my school life because now a lot of kids ask me for advice and to wish them luck for their Bar/Bat Mitzvahs.

In my Dvar Torah, I asked questions to get people thinking. For example, I started by asking everyone if their families would be important to them no matter what they did. Joseph’s older brothers sold him into slavery and told their dad he was dead. Joseph interpreted people’s dreams and predicted the famine based on Pharaoh’s dreams. He became a leader in Egypt and I asked everyone what they would do in Joseph’s place.

I got answers from my grandfather and little sister, who just said they would give them grain for the famine, when I wanted people to actually think. I also got an answer from my cousin, Kathrin, who said, “I would give them less grain than everyone else.” I asked her why and she said it was because they had hurt Joseph. Everyone laughed when I asked people to raise their hands if it was hard to deal with their families and if anyone had any trouble whatsoever. I also talked about the importance of both family and forgiveness in Mekatz and how I connected to that.

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Liking acting and having practiced a lot, I felt very confident reading both my Dvar Torah and my three aliyot from the middle of the Torah portion. In the middle of my third Aliyah, I messed up but kept going just fine, like we are taught in music class. Then the rabbi stopped me; I completely lost my place, and got a little annoyed at her for doing that.

After my Bar Mitzvah, everyone was telling me how proud of me they were and it was really overwhelming because I don’t like big crowds. I was being hugged at least once a minute by people, half of whom I didn’t know, before and after the service. After the first five minutes, I got to the point of being completely on auto‐pilot. The people mostly went to my parents at the lunch, though, because I was sitting with my friends.

By Crosby S.

A time that changed my life was when I went to camp in Vermont two summers ago. It was fun, but when we got to the trip at the end of the month, it changed our whole time there.

There were ten types of trips at this camp. Most people were put on the easier trips. Some were put on the harder ones. Devin and I were put on the hardest. It was called the Pharaoh Lake Trip. We had to hike twenty miles a day and then swim five miles with a fifty‐pound backpack on our backs.

The day before the trip we did a practice run, which was only two or three miles. One kid started to cry. The trip counselor said this was nothing compared to what we were starting tomorrow. On the day of the trip, the counselor told us, “If you don’t cry, you will be the first ones who didn’t.”

That comment made me nervous. The practice run was hard, so today would be much harder.

The minute we started the trip, it began to pour. Everyone was wet, cold, and we couldn’t see a thing. It was so scary. I was afraid we would run into bears. The minute the rain stopped, the bugs came. Everyone had some blood on them. Not necessarily from the bugs, but from thorns and falling down. It was gross. The bugs attacked us like lions attacking an antelope. I wanted to cry, but I didn’t. I/we just kept on going. That night, we went to bed at 1 am.

The next morning I woke up to strange sounds. I looked around and someone was vomiting.

Five kids had gotten food poisoning. With that as the start, we had to get to the other side of the lake. We had to jump off a thirty‐foot rock into the water. Most of the kids were freaked. I actually did a front flip off of it.

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We were soon back on the trail. The bugs were still attacking us. We had to take the long way because we were told there were bears ahead. We climbed two miles that day and swam for four. When we were in the water, some kid got a leech attached to him, so we had to stop for the day at a different campsite.

When we finally got back to camp, there were many awesome stories to tell. Even though I had blood stains all over my shirt and I got sick near the end of camp, it was still an adventure. I remember all the details like it was yesterday.

This story is significant to me for two reasons. I was friends with Devin before we went to camp. However, this experience made us even friendlier. It was like we both went through something hard together that most people wouldn’t understand. The second reason is, I realize that sometimes you have to do hard things, even if you are scared. In the end, they usually aren’t as bad as they seem.

By Stephanie V.

“Mom, I don’t want to go here! I want to go to Little Red or Poly Prep! Please, Mom, don’t make me go here! I don’t like Calhoun. I didn’t like the visit!”

That is what I said to my mother when we decided that I was going to Calhoun for sixth grade.

When I visited the schools I was applying to, I really fell in love with Little Red and Poly Prep at first sight. I don’t know what really made me fall in love, but when I walked into the schools, I felt welcomed and that I belonged. I felt at home. The last thing I expected was to feel the same way at Calhoun on the first day of school.

However, the first day at Calhoun was the best day of my life. I remember this day so clearly, like it was yesterday. That morning I was so scared – I was the new girl. I only knew two people.

My first class was Humanities, with Irene. I remember sitting down at the end of the table with all the new kids and people staring at me. It felt like they were saying, “Who is that girl? What’s her name? Where did she come from?” However, through that day and my getting to know some people, I realized how nice the kids and teachers at Calhoun are; it ended up being the best day of my life.

One of the main reasons going to Calhoun was one of the best moments of my life is because I realized that this school is perfect for me. I realized that Calhoun has no bad side, how kind and loving the people are, and how much fun school was. It was a sign to me that I belonged here, no matter how much I thought I wanted to go elsewhere. My opinion is that Calhoun is the best school ever.

Having people and friends with you and getting to learn from amazing teachers who care about you makes everything fun. I have heard many stories about kids falling behind because the teacher doesn’t care and the teacher doesn’t really teach them. However, at Calhoun, these stories don’t exist. The worst story at Calhoun is if a teacher leaves.

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The idea to me of having a school where I feel at home, want to go to every day, and have fun, is amazing. The stereotype—that school is boring, not fun, and torturous‐‐is not true at Calhoun. Sometimes, I feel that I like it better at Calhoun than at home! I mean, is that not amazing? For a kid to have fun at school! Well, Calhoun is different. I learn and have fun.

Calhoun is a safe space for everyone because kids trust their teachers and friends.

I love being able to drag myself out of bed knowing that if I stayed home, I would miss all the fun! I will therefore take this chance to thank everyone for making my school days joyful! I never thought in my wildest dreams that I would be so happy at school! When I am sick and want to go to school, my mom yells at me because I have to get better before having fun!

The day that changed my life has become a reality for me because every day at Calhoun I feel safe, loved, and cared for.

LETTERS TO LIZ MURRAY (EXCERPTS)

When Liz Murray came to speak with the Middle School in October 2013, she connected with us in special, permanent ways. She helped us to truly dream with our eyes open.

What follows are excerpts of letters written to her by students in grades seven and eight.

I know there are many things I can’t talk about without cracking a bit. You’ve given me inspiration to keep going. I know you said it’s okay when someone shuts down for a while, because everyone does. And though I can’t seem to afford to do that anymore, you’ve inspired me to listen to that small “what if” voice. I feel like I am being pulled in separate directions all at once. But I have that voice and it’s getting louder. I don’t know if I am brave enough to follow it yet, but you have given me some hope to believe in myself.

When you talked in my class, I think I broke a little. I was so freaked out that I was just going to break down crying right there in front of you and everyone. I’m not sure if you noticed, but it was a bit embarrassing. I don’t think I knew why I was crying when I sat there last

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Wednesday, but I think I know now that it was because listening to your story and to hear you say that there was a possibility that I could totally change my life around was like opening my eyes after the storm. You made me realize that I’ve been listening to that “what if” voice for a while and that I’ve been trying to ignore it as well. Thank you for helping me to come to this realization.

I watched you speak three times on the Wednesday you came to visit us and each time I felt a part of myself that I had tried really hard to bury come to the surface. Stuff I wasn’t aware I still cared about. You see, I came up to you that day and said you were my hero, but I never said why. You had a life filled with people who didn’t understand, or didn’t want to; people who told you you couldn’t succeed. Yet every time you were faced with something that to most people would have seemed impossible, you used it as strength to push yourself forward.

I came home crying after hearing you talk because for the first time ever, I truly started to believe that maybe it would actually be possible not to give just in to them. Maybe one day I will be able to go back and not care that I was never able to sit with those kids; maybe one day I will be able to do enough that this story will seem stupid, that I would still be so hung up on a comment a seven‐year‐old made to me six years later. Maybe one day I will truly be able to forgive myself for putting all those kids in the position to make me feel so stupid for such a long time in my life. And maybe one day I will believe that there’s no truth to any of the things any of those kids said. I cannot thank you enough for letting me hope for and believe that day will happen.

I’ve been in my head for such a long time that my judgment towards others and myself has become clouded. It didn’t help, without almost any warning, that you came to Calhoun and spoke to us like you have known us for years, giving us glossy eyes like children listening to their parents tell them stories they can hardly take in. I couldn’t make anything of it; I hadn’t been moved by someone in such a long time; I had forgotten all these feelings. I had forgotten what it meant to be inspired, to be passionate and to actually make a difference in someone’s life. You knew very well that the world was full of good. You were so hopeful for the future for us all that it completely turned me around. I am constantly focusing on all these awful things; I forget how much good is in the world.

When you came I saw someone I wanted to live up to, someone I wanted to remember. But putting this into words has become so difficult, because as much as I should thank you more, I realize it may not be enough no matter how I put it. But I try my best because you must know that every night I stay up thinking about all the pain in the world, about all this greed.

Because of you, I now stand speechless, and should be left to go off and think about every single word you said. I will hold onto your words for a very long time.

You inspired me. I watch these talks on television sometimes and read celebrity quotes and they seem to work on some people – and that’s great. But I feel angry with myself that I can never feel anything. That changed when you spoke. You spoke with a gentle tone, but what you told us about was rough. That is just what made me believe that I can get things done and it’s okay to let people into my life. I’ve never been in situations the same as you, but that

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doesn’t make me not relate to you. You broke that barrier. I can follow your advice about being determined even though I never slept on the D train. That is why your visit mattered.

Last week, a couple of days after your visit, my parents and I were driving to the store. My mom was talking on the phone to a doctor she was angry at and she was using a somewhat rude tone of voice. I had never thought before about how she could have reacted differently.

After you came to visit Calhoun and shared your story with us, I came to realize that there’s no need to be rude to anyone, because it doesn’t help you in any way‐‐even if they are giving you a hard time. You said that you were treated very poorly at one of the care centers and that ever since then, you’ve always treated people with respect. I thought about how my mom could have treated the doctor with more respect and I told her about your story. I explained to her that, even after all you’ve been through, you are so kind to everyone. I just wanted to say thank you so, so much for coming to visit Calhoun and helping me to realize that kindness is key and anger doesn’t help anyone.

Your visit mattered to me because without all the facts you told us, and all the stories you shared with us about your life, I don’t think I would be the new, somewhat wiser and stronger person I am on this day. Your visit opened my eyes and shook me, shouting, “Listen to what she is saying!” It made me think about what I say next or how what I’m about to do next will affect anyone around me. You see, as a twelve‐year‐old, I could never imagine these thoughts passing through my mind – but then you came along and showed me that anything is possible.

One of the ideas you talked about was perseverance and success in times of procrastination.

Attached to this letter is the poem by Robert Frost, “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening.”

This poem details a man and a horse observing a forest, with the man deciding to keep going in life and to reach his goals. At least that is what I believe this poem to be about, but it’s all up to interpretation. For a while, you were stunted by the loss of your mother, but, like the man in the poem, ultimately you decided to keep going and to graduate high school. In both life and distance, you both have miles to go before you sleep.

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