Breaking the Iron Wall: Bridging the Divide in the Aftermath of the 2024 Election
Mental Health Photography Series
The Response to Tragedy
Seeking Answers to One of America's Deadliest Epidemics
Breaking the Silence: Men's Mental Health Matters
Hydrogen Car Club
New Cell Phone Policy
The Impacts and Importance of Community Service
Last Word
In My Six Years at Hebron, I've Never Been on an Overnight Hike, and after Finally Trying It, I Will Never Go Again
SAT: Stupidly Absurd Test
By Belle Beauchesne ’25
Almost 100 years ago, on June 23, 1926 the first Scholastic Aptitude Test (or as we know it today, the SAT) was administered in a similar fashion as it was today—minus one thing—the use of technology as means of taking the test. Adapted from the Army Alpha test, an IQ test used during World War I to determine who would become officers, the test today covers various areas of reading, writing, and math, and is used not only for merit scholarships, but to increase your chances of getting into college if you get a “good enough” score. Sounds pretty appealing to do well, right? Wrong. While getting a “good enough” score is the aim for most test-takers, major flaws of the SAT make this goal not only challenging, but even unachievable for some, and for others, the option of test optional colleges have made taking the SAT completely pointless. Over the years, the SAT has made numerous changes including the switch to the digital SAT in 2023 and a switch in scoring range in 2016 (previously, the SAT was scored out of 2400, now it is scored out of 1600). Despite changes made over the years to improve the experience of test-takers, the SAT seems to continually fail students regarding three key issues: testing bias, lack of use, and the new unstandardized format.
Like most everything in life, the SAT does come with some form of bias one way or another; however, given that the SAT can affect someone’s college acceptance, and therefore overall career down the line, it is not an equitable form of intelligence testing to hold such weight when it comes to determining one’s future. In many cases, certain socioeconomic factors highly contribute to the results students receive on the SAT. For example, take two sample students, Student A and Student B. Student A grew up in a wealthy area where the student’s parents could afford to send their child to a private prep school that not only has specialized academic focus on SAT prep content, but also Student A has the money to hire their own SAT tutor. Not only that, but Student A also has the financial security to take the SAT as many times as wanted for a preferred score. Then on the opposite side of the spectrum, there’s Student B. Student B grew up in a low-income area and went to a Title 1 public school that does not have the resources to prepare students for the SAT. In addition, Student B can only afford to take the test once, so they only have one chance for excellence compared to the numerous chances that Student A has. Based on that information alone, who do you think will get a better score? That is not to say that Student B can’t get a good score, or even a better score than Student A because there are outliers that pop up every once in a while. It’s just ten times harder and less likely for that to be the outcome given the opportunities each student has been presented with to help shape their academic success. Yes, while there are free resources online to help bridge the gap in test scores and make the SAT more equitable, like Khan Academy for example, many of these resources require everyday commodities such as access to an electronic device and a stable source of WiFi that many privileged students don’t have to worry about. Therefore, students that have similar socioeconomic advantages when it comes to education like Student A are even more prepared to do well on the SAT, while the gap continues to grow between those with fewer opportunities and in similar learning
“...SAT scores reflect neither someone’s IQ nor his or her potential for life-long success” (Winward). While this statement is probably well known amongst students, it is this reason exactly why the SAT as a whole should have no bearing on college acceptance or scholarship money. We as a society know that this test does not accurately measure brainpower, and fails to acknowledge more than one type of intelligence (only considers students who excel in math and literature), yet why do we still treat the SAT as the tell all for determining who’s smart? Given that the SAT is a major source of time, money, and stress for many students only to not be needed for a large percentage of public American universities, the SAT in and of itself seems to be an unnecessary nuisance that even the colleges are turning away from. While submitting a good SAT score to a university that is test optional can potentially benefit the student for scholarship money, that is not the only way that scholarships are given out and in some instances SAT scores are not included to determine scholarship money reserved for academic merit. Luckily, despite already outlining the issue of socioeconomic bias within the SAT making it more difficult for students like Student B, or considering students who for whatever reasons are just bad test takers, pointless in terms of getting accepted to a majority of public institutions
Despite the fact that we’ve already discussed how useless and inaccurate the SAT is, because it is still widely used across certain public and private universities we need to at the changes they’ve made to the test for the point of making it more enjoyable for the students that actually make it worse in most cases. The two main problems I have with the new SAT is that it is now a digital test needed to be taken on an electronic device and the new questioning format means that the test is not standardized anymore. The application of a digital test presents two main issues: lack of accessibility and the harsh effects of staring at a computer screen for three or more hours. As mentioned before, not everyone has access to electronic devices and to think that this would not be an issue comes from a privileged point of view and speaks to the fact that the College Board organization does not care to make the SAT more accessible for all high school students. While many public schools graciously offer high school students the ability to have access to a personal laptop or Chromebook for the entire year, not all public high schools are able to provide this luxury, and when it comes to the SAT it is the students who pay the price for that disservice. Not only does a digital test limit that accessibility to a large group of students, but an online test limits the way that students can mark up their test for understanding like you could on a digital paper. While there is a highlighter and opportunity for note taking, those applications are only offered on certain sections of the reading and writing portion, and not offered at all on the math portion of the test.
Another fault of a digital test is that essentially everyone takes a different test based on how well you did on the first module of the reading and writing and math sections. If you did well on the first module of each section, you get placed into a harder second module worth more points per question than if you get placed into an easier second module if you did poorly on the first module. This format is mentally taxing on students, because if they recognize that the questions are significantly easier on the second module of the math or literature sections, then it is easy for them to be discouraged which can negatively affect how they perform on the rest of the test. Similarly, if students recognize that questions are significantly more difficult on the second module of the math and literature sections, then an increase in stress is more likely to happen because for every question they get wrong they lose closer to five points instead of one point (which is what the easier second module questions are worth), and also an increase in frustration from not knowing the answer that often comes with harder questions. Lastly, ignoring all the other problems with using the SAT as an IQ test for a moment, if everyone is taking a different test then how can you establish a baseline to really see who did well on a specific test or question when everybody’s test looks different? The answer is simple: you can’t.
SAT scores and nationwide test results as we know them are all inaccurate to an extent and should be taken with a grain of salt, because we all know that the SAT is just another way to be a statistic in this country.Using the SAT to determine intelligence in teenagers is an outdated, inaccurate, and honestly unjust practice. SAT scores fail to acknowledge socioeconomic disadvantages and advantages in score reports, are mostly pointless for a majority of college applications in America, and the new format of the test is the worst possible case yet for testing intelligence.
If we are ever supposed to move forward as a society we need to recognize other forms of intelligence (for example art smart, musically talented, socially intelligent, etc.) and then provide equal opportunities to students of all backgrounds to harness and grow the skills that align with the type of intelligence they most identify with. America needs to stop viewing test scores as just another one of their useless points of data to turn high school students into statistics and focus on growing the different types of intelligence within high schoolers. No longer should we focus on the meaningless results of the Scholastic Aptitude Test and start acknowledging it for what it is, a Stupidly Absurd Test.
The Broadview
Last Piece of Cake: Fairness and Social Equality
By Tessa Sweeney ’25
At first glance, the situation of the “last piece of cake” seems like a lighthearted moment at a birthday party, yet interestingly enough this seemingly significant slice can be a powerful metaphor for how humans navigate the world around them. This slice of cake exposes a humorous yet profound way of thinking about how we distribute resources, justify our actions, and confront human instinct.
Picture this: a group of people are gathered around a table, chatting and laughing, trying very hard to acknowledge the lone piece of cake that remains. The cake now suddenly becomes the center of conversation. Everyone wants it—or at least they wouldn’t mind taking a bite—but no one wants to be the one who takes it.
This moment is more than just an awkward encounter. People avert their eyes and say they’re “too full," while also secretly hoping someone offers it to them. This scenario reflects how we act and approach decision-making and fairness.
Person One. They inevitably speak up, claiming they deserve the last piece because maybe they’ve been there the longest or skipped their first serving. “Oh, I barely had any,” might be their reasoning, but this approach to the cake often justifies the first-come, first-serve mentality that rewards seniority and effort. Yet, this logic quickly crumbles under the scrutiny of others. Was their earlier denial of cake a genuine act of selflessness, or a calculated move? Now, in the real world, this dynamic plays out in debates of land ownership, income distribution, and historical privilege, where those who have more might rely on their “hard work” or “earlier claim” to justify inequality.
Person Two. This person insists they don’t want the last piece, even though their lingering gaze suggests otherwise. “Oh no, you take it—I insist!” This performance of generosity masks an internal conflict. Maybe they DO want the cake out of fear of the social cost of appearing greedy. This behavior humorously reflects how people often avoid confrontation about certain issues of inequality. They hand over opportunities or resources, not out of self-sacrifice, but because they fear judgment or backlash over their supposed choice. In the broader societal connotation, this demonstrates the passive compliance with certain systems perpetuating injustice. In simpler terms, an u nwillingness to “rock the boat”, even when the boat desperately needs rocking.
Person Three. Eventually, someone takes the cake, but not without feeling immensely guilty for their decision. “Oh, I really shouldn’t…but okay, just to save everyone the trouble.” Over the next hour at the party, they will repeatedly apologize or explain their decision to anyone who will listen, trying to make themselves feel better. This person embodies the guilt that often goes with privilege. Those who benefit from the unequal systems put in place may feel uneasy about their advantages but still partake in supporting these systems, justifying their actions as necessary or harmless. Their guilt, while real, rarely leads to systemic change.
Person Four. The bold opportunist. This person swoops in with no guilt, “Well, if no one else wants it…” they declare while already reaching for the plate. Their confidence is both admirable and infuriating. This person is a stand-in for those in society who capitalize on scarce resources without any hesitation. They benefit from systems that favor the privileged. Highlighting the imbalance of power in resource distribution, these people act quickly and often get ahead, regardless of what is “fair” or “needed.”
What else? Sometimes, no one takes the last piece of cake. Instead, the group engages in a silent standoff, each person waiting for someone else to act on it. This situation reflects the way societies often handle critical issues—acknowledging problems but hesitating to act. In a more global sense, this behavior is all too familiar. Whether it's climate change, income inequality, or resource depletion, nations and countries often wait for others to make the first move, resulting in collective inaction. Meanwhile, the “cake” of opportunity grows stale, and the problem becomes harder to solve.
In the end, the last piece of cake is either claimed, left untouched, or split awkwardly into small portions. No one is entirely satisfied —some feel guilty, others resentful. This issue of human behavior, while comedic, offers a reminder of the complexities of resource distribution in today’s society.
The last piece of cake isn’t just a dessert—it's a metaphor for fairness, scarcity, and human nature. By looking at this simple scenario, we gain insight into a much larger dynamic that shapes our world, where everyone wants their share, but no one quite knows how to divide the cake.
But, then again, maybe it is just a piece of cake.
Breaking the Iron Wall: Bridging the Divide in the Aftermath of the 2024 Election
By Sinan Coqui ’26
The 2024 election has revealed an increasingly troubling pattern in political discourse: people dismissing each other’s opinions on the basis that they “know better.” This dynamic creates an iron wall, a seemingly impenetrable barrier where disagreement morphs into disdain, leaving little room for understanding or compromise. As political polarization deepens, it has become clear that we are not just debating policies or candidates—we are struggling to see each other as anything beyond our political labels.
At the heart of this conflict lies a self-perpetuating cycle. When one person holds a firm opinion, others often respond not with curiosity or openness but with outright rejection. Instead of engaging in constructive dialogue, they dismiss the opinion as inherently wrong, building the metaphorical wall even higher. This dismissal, in turn, provokes an emotional reaction—anger, frustration, or even contempt—which strengthens the other person's resolve to cling even more tightly to their original stance.
This spiraling cycle deepens the divide. Disagreement no longer feels like a healthy exchange of ideas but rather an attack on identity. People grow increasingly unwilling to make concessions, viewing compromise as a betrayal of their values or an admission of defeat. The polarizing wall becomes insurmountable, leaving individuals on either side unable to stand each other—not because of personal grievances, but solely due to their political affiliations. Such polarization is not new. History has seen similar cycles, where divisions within societies grow so stark that finding common ground feels impossible. Yet, throughout history, breaking these cycles has often begun with a critical shift: recognizing shared humanity before debating differences.
This brings us to the potential solution. Before we delve into the issues that divide us, we must first identify the values and experiences that unite us. While our political views may differ, the stories that shape our personalities often reveal commonalities. Whether it's a desire to provide for our families, a commitment to fairness, or hope for a brighter future, these shared aspirations can become the foundation for mutual respect.
Starting from a uniting standpoint fosters empathy. When we see the person across the debate not as an adversary but as a friend, or at least a fellow traveler with shared goals, we become more inclined to listen. This doesn’t mean abandoning our beliefs but approaching the conversation with the understanding that compromise doesn’t equate to defeat. It simply acknowledges that the person we’re engaging with isn’t entirely different from ourselves.
The 2024 election presents an opportunity to shift the narrative. Instead of reinforcing the iron wall of polarization, we can challenge ourselves to dismantle it, brick by brick, through dialogue rooted in shared humanity. To do so requires effort: listening actively, withholding judgment, and resisting the urge to see political disagreements as personal affronts.
This approach may not transform society overnight, but it can pave the way for a culture of dialogue instead of division. By starting with what unites us, we can rebuild the connections necessary to bridge the divide. Only then can we begin to debate the issues that matter, not as enemies locked in a perpetual cycle of conflict, but as partners striving toward a common goal.
When Kamala Harris conceded the election, she highlighted an essential truth: "We will never give up the fight for our democracy... for the sacred idea that every one of us, no matter who we are or where we start out, has certain fundamental rights and freedoms that must be respected and upheld." This statement underscores the core values that bind us together—values that transcend political disagreements. While our opinions on policies and candidates may differ, we must recognize that the real battle isn't against a political party, but against the forces that seek to divide us. These fundamental rights and freedoms, which we all share, can be the foundation for rebuilding the connections necessary to bridge the divide. As we move through this election season, let us remember that the iron wall is not indestructible. It was built by us, and it can be dismantled by us —if we are willing to recognize the humanity on the other side. Listen instead of reacting; reach out instead of recoiling.
U.S. Embassy in The Czech Republic
Mental Health Photography Series
By Addison Lydon ’26
This series explores the complexities of mental health, portraying the pressures, silence, and inner chaos many experience. Together, these pieces highlight the strength it takes to face mental health struggles, encouraging viewers to look deeper and connect with the unspoken battles so many go through. It is also a reminder that people struggling with these emotions are not alone.
The Weight of Perfection symbolizes the struggle to maintain a flawless exterior while battling hidden struggles.
The Weight of Perfection
In Unspoken Struggles, "I'm Fine" highlights the disconnect between outside appearances and internal pain.
Unspoken Struggles (model: Peyton Grebinar '27)
captures the moment when emotions become too heavy to bear, with the hands representing the protective barriers we create to hold it together.
The Breaking Point (model: Peyton Grebinar '27)
Caged in Chaos reflects the feeling of being trapped in a whirlwind of emotions, with the layered imagery mirroring the overwhelming and tangled thoughts we struggle to navigate.
Caged in Chaos (model: Peyton Grebinar '27)
The Response to Tragedy
By Alexandra Hounsell ’27
Adults often talk about low moments in their lives that they will never forget. When they tell these stories, their eyes glaze over with a distant sadness, and they try to have you understand the reason for telling the story. Sometimes, there are times in life when you know that what you’ve heard or seen will be one of those stories. I found this feeling applicable when I got home from school on September fourth, and saw the headlines about the school shooting in Georgia.
At first I thought this was a remembrance of a shooting, but I was horrified to learn it had happened that day. So many thoughts ran through my head, but some of them included the fact that the issue with gun violence in America could not be ignored any longer. How many more lives lost will it have to take for there to be a change? Although change takes time, I think it is most important to be extremely aware of events like this, and to experience the process of concern, for this can lead to change. If people ignore this issue, then who knows how long the widespread issue of gun violence will continue.
The lives of four people had been taken that day, which included the lives of two children excited for their first day of school, who were anticipating talking to people, learning, and growing, as well as two teachers, starting to teach their first lessons of the year, and to educate an abundance of young children. To think that exciting first day of school was the day that cut their lives short and left the people around them with unexplainable grief. Tragedies like this should not by any means be deemed as “normal”. Therefore, we should remember to keep this in mind as we move forward in our lives, and if there is a chance to discuss these issues, then make sure that you do.
NPR (Photography Credit: Mike Stewart)
Seeking Answers to One of America's Deadliest Epidemics
By Louisa Strong ’26
When disturbed army reservist Robert Card opened fire on Lewiston’s Just-In-Time Recreation bowling alley and Schemengees Bar and Grille on October 25, 2023, families turned to each other to ask how this could have happened. When eighteen people didn’t return home that night, and never would, we asked each other what could have been done to stop this. Lewiston isn’t the first community to ask these questions, and we won’t be the last; but these questions of what could’ve been done and what still can be done need answers, especially in a time when shootings are being accepted as “a fact of life,” to use the words of Vice President-Elect J.D. Vance. Victims of the Lewiston shooting and families of victims are seeking these answers in the form of a lawsuit against the institutions which failed them.
Nearly a year after the shooting in Lewiston, action is being taken by survivors and families of the victims to address what could have been done to prevent this. These one hundred clients and four of their five lawyers held a press conference in Lewiston that I was invited to attend as a student reporter. When I first arrived, I noticed that despite its being a serious occasion, clients there were speaking to each other with such a strong sense of togetherness and love that it almost seemed like any other community gathering. Many of the people there were signing with each other, as four out of the eighteen people killed were deaf. Though it was a very friendly atmosphere, when the lawyers stood to outline their claims against the Army and federal government, everyone took a respectful and somber silence.
After they introduced themselves, the lawyers laid out all of the ways in which the Army failed in regard to Robert Card, which are as follows. Robert Card worked for years as a grenade instructor and in all his years, likely was subjected to ten thousand grenade blasts in total. Though many soldiers who manage explosive equipment have been found to suffer brain damage, panic attacks, depression, and, in some cases, hallucination, the Army’s internal investigation found no link between Card’s exposure to heavy blasts and his deteriorating mental health. Even if the Army rejects bearing responsibility in the formation of Card’s mental health issues, they still knew that these issues existed and the lack of reaction to these issues is being called into question. Other soldiers in Card’s unit described feeling afraid of him; even Card himself told people that he was “afraid of what [he] might do.” These concerns were acted upon, to some extent, when the Army put Card into the Keller Army Community Hospital in West Point, New York.
Beyond that, no more steps were taken to ensure the safety of Card and the general public. Card was shortly released from the hospital, and despite the doctors’ recommendation that Card not have access to his guns, including the one that would go on to kill eighteen people and injure thirteen more, the Army did not relay to the local sheriff's any information that Card should have his guns revoked.
When law enforcement arrived at Card’s house before the shooting in response to concerns from Card’s family, their lack of information from the Army led to a shortfall of a thorough check-up by the law enforcement. When Robert Card did not appear to be home, law enforcement left. If they had been provided the essential information from the Army, maybe it would have gone differently. Maybe not; but because of all of the failings that led to the shooting, all we know is that something could have changed. At the very least, people might sleep at night knowing there wasn’t something they could have done to stop this, knowing that there is absolutely no blame to be placed on anyone but Robert Card. That is not the case. Measures could have been taken and they weren’t. Through all of their failures, there is so much blame that the Army holds for letting these people be massacred.
In recognition of this regrettable fact, four law firms are jointly representing one hundred clients who were failed by the Army. These one hundred people
firms (Koskoff and National Trial Law) which have worked with shooting-related cases before. Koskoff, based in Connecticut, worked with victims of the Sandy Hook Elementary School shooting in 2012. They were ultimately able to win seventy-three million dollars from Remington, the maker of the gun used by the shooter. National Trial Law, which is based in Texas, helped survivors of the 2017 Sutherland Springs church shooting in their claims against the U.S. Air Force for failing to log the shooter’s violent history into the FBI database. In this case, they reached a settlement for two hundred thirty million dollars. Having firms who have succeeded in the past
Maine Morning Star
Together, these firms and the one hundred clients are pursuing action against the Army for their failings detailed above. The federal government has until April 15th to review these claims and if they deny or simply do not act on the claims before then, these claims will be brought to a lawsuit in the federal court. It’s not as if the claimants are waiting in tension-filled suspense for a response from the government in this six-month period. In fact, they don’t anticipate any response at all. At the press conference, Benjamin Gideon, one of the attorneys, said that “if the U.S. chooses to run out the clock by sitting on our claims without acting, we will file our action six months and one day from today.”
The normalization of gun violence in America is so widespread that while we are living in the sixth year in a row with more mass shootings than days, for a month in 2023 the New York Times front page had just as many stories about Taylor Swift as they did about mass shootings. Clearly, people have their priorities when it comes to news. The overwhelming number of mass shootings in America makes it hard not to become numb to their occurrence, but this lack of concern isn’t just apathy towards other people, it’s apathy towards yourself. Unlike foreign issues that don’t directly affect Americans, this epidemic of mass shootings could put your friends, family, and even yourself in the hospital or the grave.
This normalization isn’t just a problem when articles are lost to a sea of urgent Era’s Tour updates; it’s a problem when Americans forget and accept shootings, allowing them to keep happening and not questioning what could be done differently. Even when we force ourselves to talk about shootings, it’s always by arguing about gun regulations which, while hugely relevant, leaves all the other factors forgotten. Obviously, Robert Card’s access to guns led to him massacring eighteen people. Even more concerning is that some people knew that for the safety of Card and others, he absolutely should not be in possession of firearms, yet they did not relay this key information to local law enforcement. So many factors that led to this shooting could have played out differently and should have. So many people failed Robert Card, failed these one hundred clients and their loved ones, and failed the system they were supposed to be upholding. “The problem is they can’t fix a system that they don’t believe is broken,” lawyer Travis Brennan said in regards to military leaders. The goals of this encroaching lawsuit are to make it clear to the Army where the system is broken, to get compensation for these failures, and to make sure all possible steps are taken in the future to try to prevent something like this from happening again. It won’t change what has happened, but hopefully this lawsuit will help to shape a better, safer future.
Breaking the Silence: Men's Mental Health Matters
By Jeremy Lavoie ’26
There I was, seven-year-old me, playing with my mom in the park, thinking that life was all sunshine and rainbows. I was laughing, jumping, and running—I couldn’t have cared less about anything else but the present moment. I was enjoying life, not thinking about what had happened a month ago, or what I was going to do in primary school the next day. I was lucky. I had a loving family, a good education, and a great home for a sevenyear-old. I never thought about struggles—mine or anyone else’s. I was young and fortunate, and my biggest concerns were unimportant.
But then you start growing up. You make more friends, but you lose even more. Your love life develops, and you suffer your first heartbreak. School gets serious, and just like that, life isn’t all sunshine and rainbows anymore.
Once life isn't all sunshine and rainbows, society gradually pave different paths to dealing with problems.
Society has a way of imposing social norms that shape who we are. These norms can range from stereotypes to prejudices based on physical or psychological traits. Growing up, I had a clear image of what was expected of me as a boy. I felt an internal pressure to excel in school, and sports, and to be confident and strong because that’s what society expects from us men. This expectation kept me focused on acting and dealing with problems in ways people shouldn’t have to.
For me, it was at sixteen years old when I started having problems. But I don't want to talk about myself, as this cause is far more powerful than just me. For other men, mental health problems may arise earlier, triggered by family issues, the loss of a loved one, or other struggles. For others, these issues may begin later—at twenty-nine or even forty. No matter the age, mental health problems are real, and for far too long, they’ve been overlooked.
Breaking the Stigma
Let’s talk about men’s mental health. As I explained earlier, societal norms shape us, often becoming the roots of our behaviors. For men, these norms often include the notion that we must appear strong and unshakable. “Don’t be vulnerable because that’s when people will take advantage of you.” This belief is common among men worldwide, passed down through generations.
The consequences of this perception are devastating. Whether it’s a homeless veteran using hard drugs to cope with PTSD instead of seeking help or a fourteen-year-old boy coming to school under the influence to make the anxiety and thoughts go away because that’s what he thinks will fix the problems, too many men silently deal with their struggles in bad ways. This is a global issue that has persisted for far too long.
Most men battling mental health problems fight those battles internally. No matter who you are or where you come from, this is a crucial conversation. I urge you to do more than read these words—let them inspire you to be more aware of and considerate of the internal struggles many men face daily.
A Personal Reminder
A couple of years ago, I attended a hockey summer camp with a friend. My mom told me his father had committed suicide. One night, he found his father in the garage—he had hung himself. I remember hearing that his father seemed happier than ever before the suicide.
That experience taught me a painful truth: sometimes, the people who seem the happiest on the outside are struggling the most on the inside.
Men's Mental Health in Sports
During the 2020 NFL season, AJ Brown, one of the league’s most prolific wide receivers, revealed that he had been battling depression. He admitted to having suicidal thoughts the year before he publicly shared his story. With help from a therapist, he managed to overcome his darkest moments.
Brown, one of the most talented players in the NFL, had struggled deeply—and no one knew until he came forward. His experience proves that mental health challenges can affect anyone, no matter their success or status. “It’s so important. I didn’t think depression was real until it happened to me. But now I know it’s really real,” Brown said. He used his platform to advocate for mental health awareness.
New Mexico Crisis Line
Other athletes have followed suit. Carey Price, one of the NHL’s most celebrated goalies, battled substance abuse, a struggle he kept private for years. Sports journalist Eliot Friedman spoke about Price’s revelation: “I think we all understand physical injuries, but sometimes we don’t see the mental injuries and challenges.”
After Price opened up, sports psychologist Dr. Bloom weighed in: “Maybe 10 years from now, there won’t be any more stigma. They won’t be afraid to speak out.”
Breaking the Cycle: The Path Forward
Stories like those of Carey Price and AJ Brown highlight the struggles many men face but often feel unable to voice. The stigma surrounding men’s mental health is deeply rooted in societal expectations, making it hard to seek help without fear of judgment. But change is happening, and every conversation about mental health brings us closer to understanding and acceptance of mental health problems.
Efforts to break the stigma must start at an early age. Schools, sports programs, and workplaces must create environments where speaking up is encouraged and normalized. As men, we need to learn that vulnerability is not weakness but strength, and asking for help is an act of courage and desire to get better. Representation in media and sports is also vital, as high-profile figures sharing their struggles can inspire others to seek help as seen with Brown and Price.
For men battling mental health issues, the battle may feel isolating, but it doesn’t have to be that way. Friends, parents, and counselors are there to help you. Small steps like reaching out to a therapist can make a world of difference. Communities must also step up, offering accessible resources and creating safe spaces for men to feel supported.
In the end, addressing men’s mental health is about more than breaking the stigma—it’s about building a culture of understanding and open-mindedness. By defeating traditional norms and advocating for change, we can create a world where every individual feels valued and supported. Let us remember: no one should have to fight their battles alone. Together, we can build a brighter, healthier future for men and boys everywhere.
Driving Policy
By Lucy Diffin ’25
I have been a student at Hebron Academy for seven years. I have outlasted three headmasters, four deans of students, and countless teachers over my time here. I have watched Hebron change in various ways, seen the students and faculty come and go, and experienced all the new policies and rules that come with each switch of administration.
This year, there were many changes made to the school, some positive and appreciated, and others more controversial like the cell phone policy, student driver forms, and day student dorm access. For better or worse, these are the three main policies enacted by the current administration. Though I don't have much to say on the matter of cell phone usage, I would like to touch on the driving policy and day students in the dorms.
Filling out the driving form has always been required, and students were free to leave campus during lunch or free periods, enabling them to go out to lunch, pick up a Starbucks or Dunkin' treat, or just go home. I live four minutes away, and this year with my free block, on Tuesdays and Thursdays I have two hours where I have no required activities; however, I am not allowed to drive the four minutes back to my house, or go to Dunkin' for a pick-me-up during the school day. The addition of day students being allowed in the dorms in theory gives us a place to go; nevertheless, I'm not going to ask someone to sit on their bed for two hours while they are not in their room. It has been explained to me that leaving campus during the day is a liability issue, and if I get into a car accident during the school day I could take legal action against the school or sneak off a boarding student like people have in the past. I believe that since our parents already sign release documents allowing us as day students to drive to and from school everyday, a clause could be added to that to allow driving off campus during free time.
The fact of the matter is, if my parents trust me enough to let me drive my own car, with my brother in it to and from school, and the government trusts me enough to hold a drivers license, then why shouldn't the school trust me to be responsible enough to drive off campus during the school day when I have not shown them I am untrustworthy?
Photography credit: Lucy Diffin '25
Hydrogen Car Club
By Evan Miller ’25
The Hydrogen Car Club is back and better than ever. For the past two months Oscar Gronros ’26, Liam Snodgress ’26, Alex Ogagan ’27, and I have been working vigorously to get the hydrogen car back up and running after sitting on the shelf for the past year.
The Hydrogen Car Program is part of an international grand prix by Horizon Hobby where groups of students from around the world compete in three-hour endurance races to see which car can complete the most laps. The hydrogen car works by taking distilled water and removing the oxygen, turning it into pure hydrogen. After, you take the cells that hold the hydrogen and insert them into the car to make them run. Ultimately, the hydrogen tanks move the
literally. Our first major issue was the remote not connecting to the car. We traveled to Falmouth for an RC shop to get expert help with the problem, but it turned out we were just idiots and the battery was dead. Next, the remote would not reverse, so we ended up having to change remotes which was a challenge within itself. Finally,
Photography credit: Evan Miller '25; Models: Evan Miller '25 & Oscar Gronros '26
We were ecstatic and were ready to drive around Kaneb. We separated our team into two groups, pit crew and driver. Liam and Alex were the drivers while Oscar and I were the pit crew to work on the car. We set up obstacle courses to test the drivers’ skills. Although we may have hit a few things along the way, our drivers were getting better with every test run.
With the fall sports season ending, the team had split. Liam went off to personal fitness, Alex left for to basketball, and I’ve headed off to hockey, leaving Oscar all alone. Then, a new group of kids had stepped in to fill the void. Riley Phillips ’27, Addie Hancock ’27, Oscar Diffin ’27, and Haesung Shin ’27 stepped up to help Oscar continue to build the program for the future. They will continue to work on the car throughout the winter season, and hopefully get us to California in the spring.
New Cell Phone Policy
By Casidhe Madsen ’26
has undergone many changes this year, from new faculty, to newly paved roads, and, as I am writing about today, a new cell phone policy. While at first, many students did not agree with the choice of the latest cell phone policy, the resistance dissipated, but there was still one question I had in mind: Why did our administration decide to change this policy? There was a clear reason for kids to get off their phones and have human interactions, but then I would see kids off their phones in the same room not interacting. To better understand the impact of the new policy, I emailed our administration, and they presented me with data that influenced this new policy.
Ms. Teske shared articles with me that she said were the ones that played a role in the decision for a new cell phone policy. The articles are entitled “Phones at School Are a Disaster” by Jonathan Haidt and “Brain Drain: The Mere Presence of One’s Own Smartphone Reduces Available Cognitive Capacity” by Adrian F. Ward, Kristen Duke, Ayelet Gneezy and Maarten W. Bos. The overall tone of these articles was that keeping kids off their phones and engaged in class is a constant struggle. They also connected the increasing rates of mental illness and the large amount of time kids are spending on their phones.
These are the articles that helped make the choice for our school to change this policy. They make very good points on how students can improve mental health and academic success by simply putting their phone down. Even in my class now and common areas around school, I have noticed all cell phones are out of sight and there are conversations happening. While our school has banned cell phones in academic buildings, they did grant us the privilege of “Cell Phone Zones,” an area in certain buildings where you can use your phone at any point. These areas are nice if you have to take a phone call or send an important text, but the second you walk into that room the atmosphere is different. The kids aren't talking. They are on their phones with no social interaction happening.
The Asbury Collegian
At the end of my meeting with Ms. Teske, she provided me with two more sources that I think are very important. Their sources did not tie into their decisions; they were found afterwards. The first is a snapshot of other private schools like us who have also enacted a new cell phone policy. It was titled the “2024 Phone Regulation at a Glance” which was posted by the NAIS (National Association of Independent Schools); the second thing she handed me was a letter from our local police department. The chief of the police department commented on how cell phone use in school has been a topic of discussion since smartphones became more popular. He stated, “From a law enforcement perspective, there is some data, mostly anecdote, that attributes students’ poor mental health and criminal behavior, such as cyber bullying, to unregulated cell phone use in schools.” While he did later recognize that there wasn't much statistical data to say what the right answer is, from their perspective, banning phones has a lot of pros that are matched with little cons.
Overall, this new cell phone policy that has been implemented into our daily lives at Hebron has been a tough transition, but it has its beneficial factors. I have noticed that limiting our cell phone use during school hours reduces distractions, and allows for students to focus better on tasks and responsibilities. It also showed how more boundaries for cell phone usage can help us create a healthier relationship with technology, reducing risks of dependency.
The Impacts and Importance of Community Service
By Mathilde Boisvert ’27
“Many hands make light work” is forever one of Ms. Mitzi Guenther’s favorite quotes. She for sure believed in it and now has proof. Our Girls Varsity Soccer team went to help her and her team to get an old barn ready for the McLaughlin Gardens fall festival, and they got the job done in about fifteen minutes instead of the expected multiple hours it would take without the girls’ efforts of emptying floors of clutter and leaving the space free to be used. Not only did it help the McLaughlin Gardens, but also the team’s chemistry.
Coach Hanby’s team did a great job representing Hebron Academy’s solidarity with their community by offering their help to Ms. Guenther. This amazing lady was the former Middle School Director and also one of Hebron’s old Athletic Directors. She gave a lot to our school, and the team was glad they could help her in return. The McLaughlin Gardens’s fall festival happened on October 17th. The goal of this event was to make a Jack O’ Lantern spectacular made of hand-carved pumpkins and light displays lining the path through the McLaughlin Garden. The annual festival is a great activity to do with your family and loved ones and a great way to reunite the community. The main building, that today is a barn, was built in 1851 with a beautiful, spacious garden and is still today enjoyed by the public for the two acres and more of perennial
Photography credit: Mitzi Guenther
Since the fall sports season passes by quickly, it can be very difficult for some teams to create a tenacious team bond and build team chemistry. By doing those little uncommon and unusual activities like going off campus, bonding over community service, or anything that is not a sport practice, a team can create cohesion, which can make a huge difference in a game. That is what the girls were able to do. They had to separate themselves into teams based on one another’s strengths and weaknesses. They worked together on their communication so nobody would get hurt moving heavy items, making sure the girls underneath the balcony were ready to grab the furniture correctly based on their weight. Every little detail had to be considered, and each movement required the girls' concentration. This team building activity helped them a lot as they even got their first win a couple of games after.
Community service does not only help people, but it can also enhance and improve a team bond. There are many other ways community service can be done like cleaning up parks, taking care of other people in need, or simply giving some of your time to make things better. Hebron Academy is unquestionably a good example of the cooperation of a community by helping whenever they can. As Ms. Guenther said, “Many hands make light work.”
Photography credit: Mitzi Guenther
Last Word
By Lucas Parisi ’25
The day I arrived at Hebron, I told myself I would leave. Being stuck in this spot of having been accepted to colleges and not knowing what I wanted from a degree–if any degree at all–was the only thing on my mind. I would go to breakfast and my classes, and throughout the entire day, without saying a word to anyone, as a way to not get too attached to this place when I left.
The plan was to go back home and get a job as a mechanic while I figured out what I wanted from life; everything told me that being a postgraduate student was essentially standing still- as I wasn’t actively making money or furthering my career.
Of course, I’m standing in front of everyone today, so I couldn’t have been more wrong. I found that I was looking for the wrong kind of wealth at this point in my life. Knowing exactly what you want to do at such a young age, at least in my opinion, shouldn’t be the highest thing on your list of life priorities.
Yes, having everything figured out would be super nice, but even most adults don’t have that; let alone an eighteen year-old that’s fresh out of high school. I’d argue that the wealth that we should be focused on at such a young age, is the wealth that we find in the connections we make with others. The sharing of cultures, the
I consider myself to be unfathomably rich. Rich with the presence of so many genuine connections that I’ve made at this school thus far. It’s one of the biggest reasons I’ve embraced calling this school my home for the
I mean, look: I’ve been dress-coded three times in one day for wearing the coolest shirt I have, and at least
Pretty good size adjustment to prep school for me there, but obviously that doesn’t take away from the fact that Hebron Academy, and boarding schools as a whole, are little oases of human connection; and the lucky few that get to experience a boarding school leave with lifelong friendships; and I’m not saying that just to make this
I truly believe that the people I have met here are people I’ll stay in contact with for the rest of my life. They’re my best friends, and I thank God for the opportunity I’ve been afforded to come here and experience this.
Additionally, I think it would be wrong to not mention the group of people who changed my mind about leaving, and ultimately made Hebron my home.
Hiro, Bao, and Eliot, thank you for taking the time to get to know me when I didn’t want anyone to. Matej, thank you for the laughs we get from blasting Balkan music at all hours of the day, and exchanging obscenities as a way to show appreciation; to Julius and Dominic, thanks for bringing the party to the gym after dinner every day.
But most importantly, I want to thank God, my mother, and my father. Without their unwavering support and love, I have no idea where I’d be at this point in my life, and I consider myself extremely lucky to have the guidance of these incredible people.
Of course, there are so many other people that I want to mention that I can’t possibly fit in here, but the allencompassing point of this is to share some advice from my experiences; and of course, I can’t and I won’t tell anyone what to do, but I do want to offer up a strong piece of advice.
Real wealth is found in the people you keep around you at all times. A good group of genuine friends--friends that you could call at 2:00 AM and would pick up--are absolutely invaluable. These connections are where the real riches of life are. I encourage everyone here, students and adults alike, to take advantage of the opportunities that being at a place like Hebron Academy affords you. I promise you, you’ll kick yourself if you don’t, and you’ll be endlessly grateful if you do.
Hebron Academy
In My Six Years at Hebron, I've Never Been on an Overnight Hike, and after Finally Trying It, I Will Never Go Again
By Emma Frumiento ’25
In my six years at Hebron, I have never been on an overnight hike, and after experiencing it for the first time, I never will go on one again. When the opportunity arose for me to do an overnight hike for the first time, I decided to say yes to adventure and embark on the Bald Pate overnight hike. Going into the hike my spirits were high as I envisioned a good exercise, camping under the stars, and having fun with friends. Little did I know what the future was holding for me and our hiking crew.
It was 4:00 PM when we loaded the Hebron transit with our packs. There was a slight mist in the air, which I was told would not last long. We were all excited to begin the journey. We drove for an hour, and as we got closer to the trail head up in Bethel, Maine, the rain began to come down harder. All of us in the van began to question whether signing up for the hike was really the funnest thing we could spend our Friday night doing. Alas we arrived, we kids hoping we might wait out the rain for a bit, but Mr. Bonis immediately started rallying us out of the van. We got our packs and headlamps on, and the journey began. Rain seeped through our jackets, and the ground began to accumulate water forming hidden puddles along the trail. One wrong step and your socks were toast.
As soon as our clothes became saturated with water, the rain turned to snow. The first snow of the year, falling down on a group of chilly hikers. It then started to hit me. I was soaking wet, and cold, I had to sleep in the woods, wake up at 4:00 AM, and then hike some more. All of our spirits were drained, but we walked along through the silent snow without complaining.
Finally we arrived at the lean-to. We all breathed a sigh of relief. I collected stream water with Mr. Bonis to boil for ramen while others organized snacks and breakfast for the next day. The ramen tasted good after the cold hike. We were all re-energized, and laughs started flowing as we warmed ourselves in the lean-to.
We began laying out our sleeping bags. My friend Kate Dilworth lent me her sleeping bag and assured me it was warm enough, but as I unrolled it I noticed it was very thin compared to the ones the other kids had gotten from Hebron. I didn’t think too much of it though as there was nothing I could do about it. We all begin to lie down and close our eyes. After some time passed I could hear some of the kids snoring. I was unable to sleep and so were some of the other kids. As the night went on it only got colder and more windy. I hid in my sleeping bag counting down the minutes to the morning. Although come to think of it, I wasn't even excited for the wake up because I didn’t want to get up and hike some more. I was stuck in the middle of the wood, freezing cold, with no way to get warmer or to go home. Finally, my friend's alarm went off to wake us, even though I was already awake. Once again, none of us wanted to move, but Mr. Bonis said we needed to hurry if we were going to catch the sunrise.
We got all of our layers on and started up the mountain. I could barely feel my feet at all as the elevation steepened toward the peak. We had made progress, but some of our group was not feeling great. With one member with a sore ankle and another exhausted from the adventure, Mr. Bonis made the call that we needed to head back. Some of the others in the group and I were a bit sad because we had come all this way and survived the night, yet now we wouldn’t even be able to see the sunrise.
We headed back to the lean-to and collectively decided to pack up and head back to school. We were all exhausted and chilled to the bone. Nothing sounded better than taking a shower, going to bed, and sleeping for the whole rest of the day, so when we finally got back to campus that's exactly what I did. Although most of the hike was pretty terrible, all of us did it together and stayed positive making it a very memorable experience that I'm sure we'll remember forever.
Photography credit: Emma Frumiento '25
Clover Pross '27 Collage to Composition
Collage to Composition
Orlando Guzman '25
Leah Henry '26
Sylvie Gill '26 Drypoint
Collage to Composition
Luis Damian '25
Peyton Grebinar '27
Jeremy Lavoie '26
Salwa Saeed '25
Puzzle Pieces
By Isa Fischer '26
Imagine a kenspeckle individual, a child who appears free-spirited, unbothered by society, unafraid to stand out, living in a different key than the rest. Imagine how adults complimented and encouraged all of the strangeness and told the child it was a good thing. Imagine how the child’s parents told them that it was a good thing to be different, to stand out. Now imagine how lonely that child must be and how confused they are by their total lack of companions despite doing what they were told to do. A child going through life always feeling like the real them was buried beneath a circus-like facade.
I was that child once upon a time.
I am still that child looking back at myself.
I’ve always been a little bit strange, but rather than quell that strangeness, the role models in my life encouraged it. I was told it was good to be odd; however, this seemed to cause kids my age to avoid me like the plague. Adults rewarded me with praise; the more I stood out, the more nauseating my fashion choices, the brighter my false smile. Eventually, I strayed so far away from the truth that I had lost sight of who I actually was. I was stuck. Stuck in a lie. All of our personalities create beautiful puzzles, but I felt like half of my pieces were missing and the rest belonged to somebody else’s puzzle. Should I keep living this life of lies, glittering as bright as the sequence on my clothes? Or should I dive deep into the unknown depths of self-discovery and hope that I don’t hate what I find? I’d been living a ruse for so long that I wasn't sure how to remove the mask and what I would find beneath it.
Slowly I came to the realization that I must begin chipping away at my shield of lies before it suffocated me. It is very difficult to enact a change when those you trust have always told you to “never change,” and to just stay free from society. Little by little, I began to sort out which parts of my identity were real and which were not. Which parts were inflated to the point of making them unrecognizable and which were hidden behind layers and layers of falsities.
There were small things such as my favorite colors, not including pink, my plain brown hair kept down to my waist which I always hated, or the fact that I strongly disliked unicorns despite often being found wearing a unicorn horn headband. Then, there were also larger things beyond physical appearances. How I interacted with people was not genuine; I would not let myself feel my emotions, and I never displayed any facet of myself that my parents wouldn’t like. I was not being my authentic self so I could not make real connections with my peers, or with anyone for that matter.
As I began to strip away my falsities, I began to find my sense of self. Piece by piece, I uncovered bits of myself, hoping that I could fit all of the pieces together to reveal who I actually was. Sometimes, I found a piece that didn’t seem to fit in with my puzzle, but I realized that if I found enough pieces, it would eventually have somewhere to fit in, so I kept searching. As my own puzzle grew, so did my confidence, so did my connections with people, and so did my comfort in my own skin. I became more felicitous, and I was finally able to begin to live my life in a way that made me happy.
Looking back at who I used to be, I have made bounds of progress toward piecing together who I am, but there will always be more to uncover because I know now that there is no such thing as a permanent state of self. The puzzle I am piecing together of myself will change as I do; I will find new pieces, and lose a few as well, but no matter what pieces I have, I do not have to hide the picture it creates. I will probably be a slightly different person in a few weeks than I am now, and I do not owe it to anyone to pretend to stay the same. The journey of self-discovery is never done because humans change as we grow, as we learn, and as we gain new experiences.
Bones and Brain
By Elizabeth Stokes '27
Breaking a bone is always something that I craved as a kid. The vivid color of the cast, everyone asking you what happened while being super concerned about you, which might have been a link to my not-so-perfect childhood, and then signing your cast. Still, as a youth, I never took into account the discomfort and the mental anguish that comes with breaking a bone and the repercussions that would follow me even to this day.
I was in Colorado visiting friends and family over the summer of my freshman year and we had gotten back from white water rafting on a scorching day. We had previously gone out to dinner at a tiny restaurant that was filled to the brim with college students. I ate my dinner fast, knowing that we were going to one of my dad's best friend’s houses and not wanting to make him late. If I could go back in time I would've never gone to that house if I knew what that visit would cost me. We got in the car, with me babbling about airplanes and Formula One like I traditionally do. We made it to the house where my dad's friend resided in. The first hour was filled with custom introductions and stale jokes that were giggled at slightly more than normal due to the effect of the burgundy red wine that my dad had brought as a gift. Things took a turn when Paul, my dad's friend, offered to give us a tour of the house. We first progressed to the basement where I gawked at his pilot simulator setup which baffled me, but then we moved upstairs. I split away from the group since I needed to go to the bathroom and some space from the group of grownups. I got out of the bathroom and realized the group had made their way downstairs, so I followed suit. As I made my way down the stairs I had my phone in my pocket, my hands on the rail and as I steadily declined the stairs my foot slipped and I slid. When I stopped moving from the fall I knew something was wrong. The way my ankle throbbed was unlike any anguish I had ever felt. I remember letting out a yell that made my throat raw before everyone rushed over to me. The rest of the night was filled with ice cream, worried adults, throwing up then passing out in the car due to the pain levels, and begging my dad to take me to the hospital since he thought I didn't even break a bone. The trip to the hospital can be summed up with the doctors saying I broke my ankle before discharging me.
The week following the fall I had a surgery where they put six screws in my ankle which was a slap in the face about how atrocious my injury was. This was the start of the descent of my mental well-being. The rest of the summer I spent laying in bed in an endless cycle of playing games, taking painkillers, watching movies, taking painkillers, calling friends, and taking painkillers. I started wondering if I did anything wrong to deserve this or if this was crummy karma for something I had done. I felt utterly hopeless. I couldn't even hold a plate, and I could barely get down the stairs. I had spent so much time in bed rotting to the point where I started skipping meals since I had no motivation to get out of bed or I had long lost my appetite most nights. My mental state kept getting worse since I could barely socialize since I had to hobble around on crutches, and it hurt to be on for so long. I hung out with my best friend two times in the entire month of August since I felt as if I had no incentive to leave my room. I ended up coming back up to Maine a few days before my birthday which made me feel even worse because I struggled to get anywhere on campus which made me feel disgusted in myself.
My birthday passed and I was surrounded by people who I knew all loved me. I still felt so lonesome but I never showed it or else I'd worry everyone. By this time I was still skipping meals but instead of accidentally missing breakfast or lunch I was purposely trying to avoid any meals since in my brain I wasn't able to be active so I couldn't eat too much. I began to become obsessed with numbers on a scale and whether they'd go down or up, and they went down rapidly and unhealthily.
The school year came whipping around the corner and that didn't help me whatsoever. Not being able to walk from class to class, being winded from hurling myself up three flights of stairs, and seeing my friends all hang out and go on walks knowing that I couldn't do any of that made me feel like I was different from the rest of my friends, which in turn made me spiral into an even bigger depression that I was already in. I had mild thoughts of trying to put myself out of the misery I was in, but never fully went through with it. I felt as if life couldn't get any worse for me. I felt as if I was drowning in emptiness. I looked up what was wrong with me more times than I can fathom, and I tried all the things it alleged would help me, but it never leaped away.
As the months passed on, the trees turned from shades of deep greens to tangerines and amber before falling to the ground. I remember the nights I sat at dinner in silence listening to my friends talk about how they were going to go on weekend trips that weekend knowing that I couldn't go. I felt left out. It wasn't exactly their fault, and I couldn't be irate at them, so I became livid at the nearest person. Myself. I constantly beat myself up over it and as a “punishment,” I wouldn't let myself eat for a day. I started to notice how I got thinner and got obsessed with that feeling so I kept doing this to the point where I started losing my hair and passing out frequently.
A few weeks following the beginning of school my doctor cleared me to walk traditionally again, I felt as if all my mental problems would dissipate, which they somewhat did but not completely. I started to feel happier as I could hang out with my new friends and for the first time in two months, I wanted to leave my room. I had a new issue on the horizon though.
I had to start physical therapy soon which set me right back. The grueling hours on the bike, getting told how rough my ankle was, and missing out on sports made me feel awful again, but I never gave up because I had a goal I was working towards, and that was to be able to ski again. I kept living in a loop of mental anguish and physical exertion until one day I decided it would be smart to try not to eat for twenty-four hours. I was doing my rehab on the bike and I passed out. The next day at lunch I was called into Mrs. Willers's office and I got put into weekly therapy. Things started going uphill from then on. I made it a weekly goal to go out and have fun with my friends, and to eat at least three meals a day, and with that plan on track I made a steady incline with my mental being.
People don't realize how much a broken bone or torn ligament can affect someone's mental health, like myself as a child and millions out there. You never realize how much it can affect someone until it hits you like a tornado, and you don't know what to do until it's too late. If someone you know is going through a long-term injury, check up on them because they could be struggling much more than the naked eye can see.
A Very Meta Essay Idea
By Gavin Wells '30
Hi, I'm Gavin. This essay is about my experience writing this essay and the struggles that came with it. When I was first introduced to the idea of this essay a month ago, my teacher Ms. McKee decided that we could do the contest as an assignment for her class and then told everyone in the class such. After hearing this, I was under the impression that the project was optional and only wrote a half of a paragraph to see if I had any ideas I could write about that were good enough for the contest but none came to my mind. No ideas came for the next month either, and the whole ordeal slowly slipped into the back of my mind. Then, before I knew it, the submission time for the essay was only one week away, and I had nothing substantial to show. Ms. McKee wanted a page and a half but I didn’t have even a quarter of that. That day the class was reminded of the project, and the day I was informed that it was not indeed optional. Because of this I was starting to spiral and needed a break so I stepped out for a few minutes and took some deep breaths. Once I had I came back in, Ms. McKee called me over to her desk to talk.
“Gavin, are you alright?” Ms. McKee started “I saw that you took a break, so is there something wrong?”
“Well, yes,” I said. “I have no ideas for the writing contest and I was under the impression that it was optional, so now I’m worried that I won’t be able to complete the project before the deadline in one week.”
But Ms. McKee knew exactly what to do and told me to 123rf.com
Silly Sonnet
By AP Literature & Composition with Dr. Oakes
Dr. Oakes’s AP Literature & Composition class spent a week learning all about sonnets. There are two different classifications of sonnets: the Shakespearean sonnet and the Petrarchan (or Italian) sonnet. Dr. Oakes’s class focused on the Shakespearean sonnets that are split into three quatrains (three groups of four lines) and a couplet (one group of two lines) and have an ABAB, CDCD, EFEF, GG rhyme scheme.
During an in-class task, two groups of four were assigned with the words near, laugh, giraffe, though, no, seem, dream, orange, and
The sonnet below entitled “Silly Sonnet” was written by AP Literature & Composition students Belle Beauchesne ’25, Evan Miller ’25, Salwa Saeed ’25, and Nazar Vialichka ’25 in under twenty minutes.
Silly Sonnet
This sonnet is like nothing you have read If you don’t like it, then you just get out A warning we have already just said Don’t make us say it again, or we’ll shout.
This sonnet will make animals appear
It is a nonsense that will make you laugh Don’t worry, the end of the poem is near And to rhyme laugh, I will include giraffe
This sonnet makes no sense but even though A real masterpiece to you it may seem Do not worry, you are not sleeping, no, This wild and crazy sonnet is no dream
Because nothing rhymes with the word orange, The last line of this sonnet is schmorange.
Clack.
I keep my eyes closed.
Clack … click, I open fire.
Weight
By Liam Snodgress '26
The percussion of rounds leaving the barrel drums across my chest, pushing me deeper into the muck. An aroma of gunpowder fills the air, and the plunk of spent cartridges hitting the muddied ground echoes through a hollow head. My eyes blink open, hesitantly, afraid of the vision that might await them. There it is, three feet to my left, in a pool of its own fragmented pieces: guts, blood, sludge, or shell, I can’t tell. At least I know what it’s supposed to be, an insectoid monstrosity.
The barrel of the gun probes the body, lifting extended claws, pushing away debris. I curiously stare on. The boots on my feet start to move, squelching through the darkening muck. Sounds of treading feet seem to fade in the background and all that’s left is a barren field of monotone gray. This desolate world surrounding me seems to close in, grabbing at the rifle in my hands, tearing at the boots on my feet, shredding the coat on my back in a seething, relentless, wind.
Around me lie craters of shrapnel. Filling them are glints of silver, dwindling flames slowly being choked by a savage wind, and bodies, so many bodies. These sites of battle gush nothing but the pungency of death, spewing it like hot springs.
A moan reaches my ears over the growing wind and I turn, scanning wide for its source. I wander, following the moan, a cry of unknowable pain, unknowable until it is felt. At the tip of my feet lies what might have once been human. Beat into the grayish muck is a torso, half a torso. The thing's face is sizzled, blackened and charred, flaking away with every passing wind. Its remaining eye stares out frantically, red, wanting to leap from its own skull. A bellow of fear leaves what might have been a mouth. The creature is missing a shoulder, where it should be is a stump, red, It seems to have been cut by something serrated, teeth perhaps. My eyes move lower, slowly, tentatively, afraid of what they might see. I am shown things I never wanted to see.
What’s left of its stomach is open, buried in a sludge that welcomes the thing with a chilling embrace. An ebb and flow, consuming the body. My arm rises, willed by the shoulder connected to it. The gun in my hand points at the creature's center. The trigger is pulled, the scent of gunpowder mingles with the smell of death and fear.
My stomach unclenches, I vomit. I need to move forward.
On the horizon lies a crumbling ruin, maybe a church, maybe a stadium. We’d been sent to secure it, until we were ambushed, until it was just me, until it was me and a field of broken men. These men would never be missed, would be forgotten. I would not live to tell their story.
The shadowy form of the nameless ruin stared back at me with eyes all too alien. We called it Frigate-Forty-Five. I never liked multiples of five, maybe that’s what got us.
Stepping through the main archway a hint of napalm touches my nostrils. I gaze upward viewing flecks of black on scorched rock, blackened in the formation of moving fire. Among this all consuming char, lie red splotches, dried through exposure to the field's restless breeze.
Darkness becomes my new home. I creep through the main hall searching with my cowardly eyes as I follow the wall. The space is gray, adorned with an open roof. Shattered colored panes litter the cobbled floor and are spread among the ornate wooden pews. I guess it was a church.
A drizzle began, or maybe it didn’t, the only indication was a pattering on holy papers.
In the corner of my eye, a slinking figure more akin to a shape speeds through the shadows. Racing and chattering and hissing, noises not welcoming to me. I move to the center of the church. Sweat begins to bead on my neck, sliding down my back, working through the armor encasing me, down my shaking leg, coming to rest in the muck covered boots. I wait, breathing intensifying, the gloves on my hands move quickly and precisely to reload, cock, and aim the rifle held in my arms, almost like they’ve done this a thousand times before. I wait.
A screeching noise comes from above, except it dies in the throat of whatever birthed it, never coming to fruition. Two bullets down. Eighteen to go. From the left and behind me two more beasts materialize from the dark as the first smacks onto the cathedral floor with a hardy crunch. My eyes, no longer afraid, stare the monsters down, their bodies shifting and slithering without rhyme or reason. I fire. A spray of ammunition breaks through their tough outer hides penetrating to a fleshy core and tearing through their putrid hearts. A pool of blood begins to form. Splinters from shattering pews begin to fill the air, bullets picking up papers that flutter to the sky before being smacked to the floor by an ever forceful rain.
Sixteen bullets on the field. One in the chamber. Three in the magazine.
A stabbing pain comes from the right and the world begins to slow. The armor on my body screams to me, apologizing. I look at it. A burst of dark liquid breaks the green of my coat and a spike pokes through my abdomen.
I rip around striking the base of the claw and shattering the arm of the creature which has grasped me. Bang. It slumps to the ground collapsing in the watered blood of its brethren on a stone church floor.
The insides of my body start to ache and I take a look at my final resting place. A holy home. The lord's home. I cry out as the pain of three more claws hit me. I can’t help but smile as red begins to cloud my vision and I fall back on the sturdy spikes.
Maybe they will carry me with them, or maybe they’ll just eat me.
OpenArt
From Grass to Goals: My Story Through Cleats
By Todor Tomov '25
To some people, shoes are just a boring collection of smelly old cleats, but for me, they represent different stages of my life, different obstacles I had to overcome, and my personal growth.
The Black Adidas Cleats
My first cleats were a birthday present from my dad’s grandparents. The feeling of the grass under my new cleats made me finally feel like a “footballer”. I approached several youngsters who were playing and joined it; it was that simple. I felt extremely fortunate. I felt like I was flying. With every kick of the ball, I felt more confident than the previous one. I started to like this sport. I found peace in it. My liking for the sport started to grow.
The White Mizuno Cleats
Two weeks following my seventh birthday. My parents told me they had a conversation with my school coach. My dad grinned and gave me some white-looking cleats to wear when I joined my new school squad on Monday. I was so ecstatic I had trouble sleeping. When Monday arrived, I got dressed for practice and headed out. I was crying after the session since I couldn't compare to the other boys. They were way more experienced than me, It was very hard since I wasn't confident. Rather, I was embarrassed., Self-doubt set in, but I took that as a challenge that grew my confidence and understanding of the sport. I had to be hard on myself.
The Blue Nike Tiempos
I was fifteen when I purchased my own cleats with birthday money. I was lusting for the Blue Tiempos after seeing them online. I found them at a store near my training area before practice. I felt assured wearing these new cleats. When the session began, I played incredibly well. I saw the first team coach. After practice, I started working harder and looked around to see whether he saw me. I didn’t find him, but my mom found me to tell me that my grandma was no longer with us. After I witnessed her trying to comfort my crying dad I was devastated and didn’t know how to cope with the grief and heartbreak that rocked our tight family relationship.
Photography credit: Todor Tomov '25
Letter From the Editors
Belle Beauchesne '25 and Tessa Sweeney '25
This is now the second Hebron Review Belle and I have curated together and it is definitely the one I am most proud of. I've always loved using both my creativity and love for journalism to contribute to my community. The Hebron Review and working with Mrs. Waterman have been one of my favorite things I've indulged myself in here at Hebron. I'm so excited for everyone to read everyone's articles, they're some of my favorites. Can't wait to see what the next edition brings, as well as the rest of my senior year. Thank you, Hebron Review and Mrs. Waterman for everything you've done!
After the last three years of being a Hebron Review member, I am proud to say that this is my greatest club-related accomplishment yet. My journey started as a sophomore writing for the fall edition of the Hebron Review and eventually taking over the blog for the last half of my sophomore year and the first half of my junior year. Transitioning over to the hardcopy the spring of my junior year, I have learned a lot about magazine production and journalism as a whole. I want to thank Ms. Waterman, Dr. Oakes, and Ms. McKee for being fabulous English teachers and encouraging students, including myself, to use writing as a way to explore your interests. Thank you to all the staff writers, our graphic designer, Kate Dilworth, our club advirsor, Ms. Waterman, and the Hebron community for continuing to support this magazine. I hope you all enjoy this edition!
