SEVENTH GRADE

Mateo Senizergues

Colette Moshayedi

Andrew Walbridge

WHERE I’M FROM

Sarah Thorp I am from soft sand that sifts between my toes as I walk, from Wilson volleyballs and tasty Breyers ice cream. I am from the dog hair found in every place possible, (white, plentiful, and somehow in my food). I am from tall palm trees, that cover the long, vast coastline. I’m from going to Maui and snorkeling in the warm ocean and comfort, From tall, caring Steve and loving Stephanie. I’m from beach volleyball and snuggling up to watch movies on the couch, from constant “put your knees down” and “no elbows on the table.” I’m from decorating Christmas cookies on Christmas Eve and sleeping in on Sundays. I’m from Newport Beach and a quarter Dutch, hula pie and ice cream, from my dad’s broken femur, my high school sweetheart parents. I’m from pictures on the shelves, the spilling abundant memories that constantly warm my heart.

Sarah Thorp

Dylan Brigulio

Maggie Zhu

Caden Mossman

Skylar Taketa

SEASONS

Kyle Henry

Spring Pleasant warm weather Newborn life enters the earth Birds chorus their chirps The smell of flowers lingers The spiky grass tickles me

Summer Hot and sunny days Tasty, chilly popsicles Loud children playing The smell of sweet lemonade The sun burning down my neck

Fall Leaves cover the ground Mashed potatoes and gravy The cold wind whistles The weather makes me shiver I feel leaves crunch under me

Winter A blanket of snow Yummy gingerbread cookies A crackling fireplace Snow crunching under my boots And the smell of evergreen

CRAZY GLUE

Mackenzie Young

All the memories I made on that same playground have stayed with me to this day. I’m still friends with a lot of the kids I met back then. I can still remember arguing with my mom over homework. I wonder if Graham, my little brother, will have the same experiences I did.

I looked over at Graham; he was gazing out the window of the car like always. “Graham, are you excited for your first day of school?” I asked, unsure of his response.

“Yah! Yah!” He babbled with a giggle. I could see his little head poke out from the edge of the car seat. He broke his gaze from the world flying past him and looked straight at me. “I’m gonna make so many friends!” He mispronounced a few words, making me smile.

I felt my hand connect with the rough car seat as I gingerly pushed myself up and out of the car and onto the pitch-black pavement. I fumbled with Graham’s seat belt but managed to get him out.

I felt Graham’s hand in mine as we started walking toward the preschool. Then I pushed open the enormous gate leading to his school. I took in all the colors, as my eyes darted around the compact front office. My mom recognized her first. “Hi! Long time no see!” she exclaimed.

I stood face to face with a young woman probably a little taller than me. Then it hits me; this is one of the old teachers I had back in preschool. It’s been over a decade since I’ve been back. I remember thinking, How is she still here?

The teacher broke into a glowing smile. “Oh, my!” she gushed, waving her hand a little too enthusiastically, “You’ve gotten so big since the last time I saw you.”

“It’s been a long time,” I said jokingly.

She saw Graham pulling on my sweatshirt sleeve anxiously, and realized we needed to go.

“Okay,” I said to the teacher, “until next time!”

I sauntered out of the office and into the colorful classroom. There was so much happening around me that I was overwhelmed; from a bunch of tiny kids running around the room to childhood memories popping into my head.

Graham immediately sprinted toward the area with trucks. I started to follow, but I got interrupted by my mom saying, “Mack, go look over the paper to make sure all our information is here.” “Alright,” I replied. When I completed my job, I decided to go over to Graham. “I’m gonna miss you, buddy,” I said.

“I love you, Kenzeee.” I tried to give him a hug, but he ran away laughing.

“Come back here, silly!” Eventually, I gave up and walked over to my mom. “Okay,” Mom says, “Let’s go.” I turned immediately and waved to Graham, who gave me a goofy smile. I took a big breath, turned around, and walked straight out the door, focusing my eyes on the hard stone floor.

As I walked, I thought about how my family’s life might not be the same anymore. I realized that he might not be around as much anymore. He always figures out a way to make me laugh; I think he’s the crazy glue holding my family together.

It felt like just yesterday he was born. I know it’s only one milestone, and there are many more to come. Even so, it’s hard to let go. Maybe that’s the whole reason this is difficult. Learning to let go is never easy, but everyone knows it must be done.

Caden Mossman

“Hudson needs death.” That is what I repeat to myself when I start to give up. My name is Chase, and my fate is to follow Hudson, a human, around for the rest of his life, but therein lies my problem: Hudson will not die until I touch him. He made a deal with the devil: he lives forever, but he has to run away from me for the rest of his life. So I, too, find myself stripped of my mortality, an eternal dance of escaping death together, but I think I finally have my chance to end our glorious song. Hudson has not moved for years, and I believe he has opened himself to the embrace of death, same as me.

I slowly creep toward Hudson at my max speed of .03 miles per hour. As I plod along, I reflect upon my life, realizing that I would not trade it for anything. I have seen places that no snail has ever seen. I have watched as entire civilizations have risen and fallen. I used to marvel at every fantastic thing that I witnessed, but now I have seen enough horror that the beautiful things have lost their meaning.

After a trek that would have killed any other snail, I reach Hudson’s location and make my way to the back porch, where Hudson was waiting in a lawn chair with a drink in one hand and a book in the other. “Hello, old friend. I’ve been waiting for you,” Hudson says with the expression of a man that has lived for thousands of lifetimes.

“Hello, Hudson. It’s been a long time.”

“I don’t know your name. Imagine that. The same snail that has chased me for many millennia, but I never got to know you.”

“My name is Chase. Are you ready to move on?”

Hudson responds with an excited look on his face, “Not quite yet. I want to show you something first.” He holds out a box for me to crawl into, and I slide my way in without a second thought. He walks me over to his car and sets me down, then walks around the car to get into the driver’s side. The car rumbles to life and starts rolling down the street. After thirty minutes, the car comes to a slow stop, and Hudson picks me up and gets out. I could see that we had arrived at a space center. Hudson asks, like a little kid watching a rocket take off for the first time, “I want to see space before I die; I am wondering if you want to come with me?”

“Of course. I have always wanted to see space.”

Hudson grows silent as a thought crosses his mind for the first time, then says, “It will be a marvelous view to go out with.”

“That it will. That it will.”

Hudson starts toward the entrance with my box in hand. A man greets us in the lobby and asks us to follow him. “Is there any way to get a carrier for Chase?” Hudson asks the man, nodding in my direction.

With a sad smile on his face, the man says, “Of course. I will handle it right away.” He knows the significance of my presence and the slim chance of our return. After the man leaves, Hudson walks to the prep room to get ready. He returns in only a short time because he needs little gear besides a simple spacesuit. A different man approaches with a carrier for me, and I slowly ooze my way inside.

As we head out onto the tarmac, I think about life and how easily it could be taken. Hmph, nothing is good forever, I think to myself. Hudson is proof of that. He no longer enjoys life because, for far too long, he has taken it for granted. As we board the ship together for our last ride, I take one last look at the beautiful earth and bid it farewell.

Three,

Two,

One,

Liftoff.

Kyle Henry

Morgan Dollander Sienna Neal

Campbell Kelly

TARDIGRADE GOD COMPLEX

Lily Liu

Basketball in my hands, I remember hearing a word, shouting it, and listening intently even though I had no idea what it meant. “Aight, we’re doing Seahawk,” announced my PE coach. “What?” I wondered. “SEAHAWK!” All I knew was that I needed to scramble into position on the court and refrain from disappointing our PE coach with my performance. Well, it only took two years to finally realize the identity of our school mascot. For seven decades, Harbor Day’s mascot has lingered on as the seahawk, unchanging and proud—so they say. One might otherwise describe the mascot as more stagnant in meaning and identity than a proud symbol of the students, alumni, and staff. Perhaps the seahawk is an acceptable brand for Harbor Day’s sports teams, the only places where the mascot surfaces, but it is unclear if the bird fulfills its only purpose: to accurately represent Harbor Day’s legacy and the people behind it. Simply, no. Whilst the seahawk remains put, the tardigrade would better represent the school because of the animal’s tenacious qualities, auspicious symbolism and representation, and unprecedented uniqueness.

To begin, Harbor Day should change its mascot from the seahawk to the tardigrade because of the animal’s unprecedented uniqueness amongst both animals and schools, a move that would set the school apart from others. Currently, at least ten schools now use a mascot used in the past. Statistics indicate that out of one thousand animal mascots for schools, seventy percent of the thousand are dominated by birds, cats, and dogs–with more than ninety-one variations of eagle mascots, a glaring imbalance in the variety of school identities shines clearly. The animals that are usually chosen to represent each school display themselves with mundane and traditional values – outdated, overused, and recycled profusely among other schools. By choosing to represent themselves with animals that at least a hundred other schools have utilized, they demonstrate a vague, minimum value of what a truly remarkable school should hope to reach. Likewise, Harbor Day’s own mascot, the Seahawk, is yet another bird muddled and forgotten in the ever-growing flock of eagles and miscellaneous creatures. What does it even mean to be an “Eagle” or “Seahawk”? Brave? Proud? What exactly? Stepping into the picture, the tardigrade would replace the currently prosaic representation of Harbor Day School with qualities that solidify the school’s extraordinary history of failure and triumph (especially during the pandemic, which caused many schools to shut down). Yes, while the water bear’s impressive ability to survive and endure reflects the complex victory of Harbor Day School over the years, even the school’s decision to step away from the conventional and instead embrace the unconventional would set it apart from others. The creature’s unprecedented uniqueness as both a mascot and resilient animal makes the evolution of Harbor Day’s current mascot to the distinctively idiosyncratic tardigrade necessary.

Furthermore, the tardigrade should replace Harbor Day’s current mascot because the animal’s tenacious qualities embody the life of Harbor Day. Experts agree that tardigrades are among the most resilient animals known, with individual species able to survive extreme conditions such as exposure to extreme temperatures, extreme pressures (both high and low), air deprivation, radiation, dehydration, and starvation — afflictions that would quickly kill most other known forms of life. However, research confirms that these water bears do not truly sit comfortably in the category of “immortal” and actually live a fragile existence. The abilities that tardigrades possess, no doubt extraordinary, can provide an indestructible image for Harbor Day, if chosen. However, the truth about their vulnerabilities illustrates that these moss piglets go about their lives as chubby,

misunderstood, and not invincible. But, why would this authentically represent Harbor Day School and its legacy? The truth presents a humble reality: tardigrades do not transverse their lives as extremophiles, and they do not enjoy extreme conditions. They simply survive them with the features they possess. In that way, perhaps they look something like us: a tiny organism in a world of larger, more dangerous organisms. The tardigrade humanizes itself by facing unfortunate cards and playing them right; we also have done and will continue to live through situations that we thought impossible to survive. Unlike the seahawk or eagle, the tardigrade does not overcompensate, nor underrepresent, the triumphant and also faulty aspects of Harbor Day School. Not only brave or strong or tough, the tardigrade lives life as humble, tiny (and also a bit ugly and weak), and resilient in its ability to survive. And yet, these tenacious qualities make the tardigrade a better representation of Harbor Day and the trials it has faced during the pandemic than the seahawk.

Moreover, Harbor Day School should choose the tardigrade to represent the school because of the creature’s auspicious symbolism, allowing the student body and staff to assume a unified identity and strive for a brighter future together. Research confirms that tardigrades have earned their seat among the most successful lifeforms, having survived all five mass extinctions. However, they do not quixotically possess the titles of invincible, extremophiles, or unanimously immortal. When it comes to symbolism, statistics indicate that these water bears represent a consciousness closest to humans, the will to adapt amongst all species, and inclusiveness to all the ways animals survive in the world. A multitude of people fall under the impression that mascots can only be useful in sports, but that could not be further from the truth. Harbor Day, a perfect example of how its mascot, the Seahawk, only refers to the athletes in the school, reflects this to a tee. However, the tardigrade gives all students, parents, teachers, and administration a sense of pride, loyalty, unity, and belonging; these feelings will stick with them long after some select athletes at the school earn a reward. Beyond these feelings, the tardigrade maintains the ability to create unity between generally diverse groups within the school through its humble origins and universal, adaptable qualities. The bonds formed by this unity transcend normal social dividers, unlike most mascots that only cater to specific parts of the school. Instead of upper-grade, lower-grade, student council, athletes, or nerds, students can associate with a common label of tardigrade! The pride that comes from being associated with the most resilient animal in the universe can motivate and inspire students to endeavor for the opportunity to beat the odds, both in academics and extracurricular activities during the mess of Covid-19. This can also act as an incentive for students to get involved and participate because of the awareness and recognition the tardigrade brings to those struggling in any way possible. The ability to say that one has proven themselves a tardigrade because they belonged at Harbor Day School exhibits how the animal’s auspicious symbolism allows people to truly strive for its abilities.

Finally, Harbor Day School should choose the tardigrade to represent the school as the new mascot. The animal’s unprecedented uniqueness makes it a singularity that sets it apart from both animals and school mascots. Likewise, the water bear’s tenacious qualities exemplify the characteristics that breathe life into the school’s identity as a whole, embodying Harbor Day School’s ethos. At last, the Tardigrade also represents the school because of the creature’s auspicious symbolism, embodying a revamped future of Harbor Day School. The very identity that Harbor Day School chooses to take on depends on the depth of its mascot.