Jesuit Journal
COLLEGE ESSAY EDITION
www.jesuitcp.org/campuslife/studentcouncil
March 2008
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Contents & Acknowledgements Student Council News...........................................................................................................Michael Randall ’08 A Tragedy Becomes An Opportunity...................................................................................Adil Ahmed ’08 Carrot Top..............................................................................................................................Scotty Dow ’08 Untitled..................................................................................................................................Tim Liu ’08 Untitled...................................................................................................................................John LaPlant ’08 Untitled..................................................................................................................................Hayden Wall ’08 Untitled...................................................................................................................................Joe Whittaker ’08 Untitled..................................................................................................................................Raymond Khoury ’08 Untitled..................................................................................................................................Erik Jeanes ’08 Untitled..................................................................................................................................Dennis Miles ’08 The First Three Hours of the New Year..............................................................................Michael Knapp ’08 Persecuted or Prepared by Post-Its?.....................................................................................Thomas Tolson ’08 Untitled..................................................................................................................................Norman Belza ’08 Untitled..................................................................................................................................Travis San Pedro ’08
Publisher..........................Student Council Editor...............................Michael Randall ’08 Artistic Editor.................Travis San Pedro ’08 Layout & Design.............Michael Randall ’08 Travis San Pedro ’08 Art Contributors.............Matt Shortall ’09
First of all, we would like to thank Mr. Oglesby for selecting these essays, which feature a wide array of experiences and perspectives of in the senior class. The college essay encapsulates the applicant’s personality for an admissions officer, presenting the challenge and the opportunity of expressing yourself with only a short vignette. Writing a college essay takes practice, perseverance, and quite a bit of time, but the rewards are many: not only does writing a good college essay aid you greatly in the admissions process, it also helps improve your writing skills and teaches you about yourself. The exercise of brainstorming for a college essay often reveals facets of a person’s character he didn’t know he possessed. As seniors await decisions from colleges with bated breath and crossed fingers, we are happy to publish these essays in the tradition of our publication. Hopefully, as the junior class embarks on their college journeys, they will learn from these essays about what sort of experiences admissions officers are looking for.
Tanner Kalina ’10 Cole Glasgow ’10 Yihyoung Li ’08 Luis Carrera ’11 Edward Daniel ’08 Drew Bieler ’10
Jeremy Cain ’11
Moderator.......................Dr. Michael Degen Proofreader.....................Mr. David McGowan
Your Jesuit Journal Editors
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Student Council News
The student body elections for the 2008 – 2009 term went splendidly, placing several new members on the council. We were pleased by the very high turnout and great enthusiasm and cooperation all the voters expressed. The new council is President: Chris Ackels Vice President: Bo Buser Senior President: Sebastian Pelky Senior Vice President: Chris Considine Senior Representative: Patrick Arnold Junior Presidents: Reid Plauche & Michael Buss Junior Representative: Rossi Walter Sophomore President: Sullivan McCormack Sophomore Vice President: Thomas Ackels Sophomore Representative: Charlie Rice Your new student council looks forward to working with and for the student body over the coming year. With the several new members come vibrant, fresh ideas and energy, invigorating the council and ensuring a successful new term. President Ackels and the entire council are excited about exemplifying Ignatian leadership and cooperation in order to enhance the experience of the entire student body. We are glad to report that Awarefest was a resounding success, raising a whopping total of over $5,000. This money will go towards funding the senior Special Games and Jesuit Palooza events toward the end of this year. In addition to Awarefest’s fundraising success, several Jesuit organizations that sponsored presentations were able to raise awareness about vital justice issues, accompanied by the melodies of Jesuit’s most talented bands. The council would like to congratulate the Community Service and Social Justice Corps for organizing this great event. Please take advantage of Student Council’s Moodle page, available on the sidebar along with your classes. On the site, you can access previous meeting minutes as well as resources to request funding from the council, find information about elections and upcoming council events, and offer your input about the council on our forums. As many of you know, April 5, the date for Prom, is fast approaching. Look for tickets to go on sale soon. The event, themed “A Night at the Great Hall,” will take place at the Trade Mart Courtyard from 7:00 pm until midnight. Jake O’Brien, this year’s Prom chairman, and the entire council hope to see you in attendance for what is sure to be a memorable, festive evening. Be a part of the Jesuit Journal ! We are currently garnering submissions for our final issue of the year, so don’t miss your last chance to have your work published. Contact either of the editors or Dr. Degen via moodle to find out how to submit.
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A Tragedy Becomes an Opportunity Adil Ahmed ’08
heard them all the time. Sometimes the questions were simply ignorant; for instance, I was asked, “Do you know how to speak Islam?” I could not tell if he was joking or was seriously asking this, so I gave my friend the benefit of the doubt. In reply, I simply asked him, “Do you know how to speak Christianity?” When I saw the confusion on his face, I told him that Islam is a religion, not a language. Aside from jokes, my friends do have actual questions about Islam. Last year, I told my Theology class about the month of Ramadan, during which Muslims fast every day from dawn till dusk. Conversations such as these allow my peers to achieve a greater understanding of Islam, while at the same time I get a sense of satisfaction, knowing that I have shown someone the truth concerning my faith. Although I feel happy knowing that I am dispelling myths about my religion, I do not see myself as a teacher or instructor, nor do I want to be a spokesman for my religion. I simply see myself as just another seventeen-year-old high school student, one who happens to be Muslim, and is willing to answer any questions about Islam. At first I viewed the tragic events on September 11, 2001 as a catastrophe for Muslims, who were lumped together and collectively seen as terrorists. Now, however, I see it as an opportunity for me to show others that Islam is not a religion of violence, but one of peace. 9/11 also allowed me to remain calm and relaxed, not taking offense at jests or snide remarks. Now, when someone jokingly asks, “Are you going to blow me up?” I can just smile and ask him if he is planning a crusade.
Imagine: A 12-year-old Muslim child sits happily at his desk on the morning of September 11, 2001 and hears news that will completely change his life. I am that Muslim child, and the events of that day will remain etched in my mind as if they had occurred yesterday. I could not, nor did I want to, fully comprehend the consequences of the disaster that took place that day, a day which changed my life, and my outlook on Islam, forever. As a sixth grade student at the very small, private, Catholic school I had attended since I was six years old, we all knew each other, and I did not immediately notice the effects of 9/11. I always knew I was a Muslim, but it had not defined who I was; however, Islam had now been thrown into the spotlight due to the horrific actions of a fanatical group, and my religion was given attention that was both critical and, for the most part, incorrect. When I first heard these fallacies about my faith, I was completely shocked and also frustrated at how easily someone can fabricate lies and hoodwink the public. I also could not believe that people of other faiths knew so little about Islam prior to 9/11, whereas I, only a 12-year-old, knew so much about other beliefs. Then it hit me. I only knew so much because I had attended a Catholic school my entire life. If I had not, I would have known just as little about Christianity as the general public knew about my religion. All my previous feelings of aggravation and shock disappeared, replaced with a desire to educate others about Islam. The opportunity came a few years later, when I enrolled at Jesuit College Preparatory School. Most of my fellow students had never known a Muslim personally, and most had only heard of Islam through the media after 9/11. Thus, as the only Muslim at a Catholic high school, I was asked a multitude of questions about my faith. Of course, many of these were jokes, such as, “Hey, are you going to do Jihad?” or “Dude, can you make a bomb for me?” At first I was upset at how my classmates could ridicule my religion. Yet some were actually pretty funny, and as time went on, these comments became less and less offensive since I
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Matt Shortall ’09
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Carrot Top
Scotty Dow ’08
Ever since I was born, I have received mixed signals about my appearance, specifically about my red hair. The very first unusual reaction came from my own grandmother about four hours after I was born. She walked into the room, saw my red-orange locks, and started bawling. “I can’t believe he has red hair!” she screamed. This story used to puzzle me greatly. Why is having red hair such a big deal? It’s just a hair color somewhere between blonde and brown. However, since that first outcry by my grandmother shortly after I was born, I have come to find out that having red hair is a big deal. Another interesting experience focusing upon my hair came at Disneyworld when I was about four years old. My family and I were getting off a ride when a little old lady approached us. “Can I touch it?” she pleaded, pointing at my hair. Being four years old, I was a little creeped out by this question. However, my parents graciously granted her request, and the lady proceeded to rub my hair like it was pure gold. Unfortunately, people’s reactions to my hair have not all been this positive. Ever since I started school, kids have referred to me as anything from “Big Red” to “Carrot Top” to, most recently, “Ginger.” These nicknames stopped bothering me long ago, as I became immune to them sometime during grade school. Just recently, I discovered another reason why having red hair is a big deal. According to National Geographic, redheads are a dying breed and could be extinct by the year 2060. Supposedly, the population of redheads is dwindling each year and therefore the recessive red hair gene is becoming less and less common. I have mixed feelings about this news of redhead extinction. On one hand, I am saddened that the population of redheads has dropped to less than one percent of the world’s population because I enjoy having something that sets me apart from the human masses. On the other hand, I was glad to hear that I could be one of the last of a dying breed. When I was a younger kid, I resented having red hair. I did not like the name-calling, and I just wanted to be like everyone else. However, as I have grown older and more mature, my feelings about my hair have changed. I have come to realize that
“Feeding the Hungry Soul” Tanner Kalina ’10 standing out is a good thing, and I truly like being unique. I feel like my hair has always separated me from the pack. It has caused me to be my own person and to either embrace or ignore what the crowd thinks or does. My hair has forced me to recognize my individuality and has in a way placed me and what I do on display for all to see. Now, I understand my grandmother’s reaction.
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Tim Liu ’08
Today I live with Ma ( ), and my Ba ( ) lives and works in Taiwan. Ba has to work in order to support my family, just like what Ma did. Once a year I go back to Taiwan to see Ba, relatives, and my friends. Since they do not speak English, I get to refresh my language when I am in Taiwan. “Do not forget where you are from,” Ma often tells me, and I don’t because she is such an important influence on me.
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Ma is the person who first taught me, fed me, and inspired me. I was born in Taipei eighteen years ago, and most of my family has always lived in Taiwan. Ma desired to embrace Western education since most of the successful notables in Taiwan pursued advanced studies in the West. Because Ma is the oldest in her family, she had to carry the economic responsibility. Ma never got the chance to fly to the United States and obtain a Western education. She had to part work, part study after high school. She became a full-time worker after she graduated from college, making money in order to support her family. Sending her siblings to the United States, Ma continued to stay in Taiwan and worked harder for the sake of helping with their expenses abroad. A few years ago, Ma revealed the secret that immigrating to the United States has always been her dream. After twelve years of waiting, we finally got our green cards in 2004. Ma fulfilled her dream by taking me to the United States and enrolling me at Jesuit College Prep. “You, my son, have made my dream come true,” Ma affirmed. She told me how I cannot fall behind at the beginning. “A good start is half of the success, Ah-Di,” she reminds me at the opening of every school year. I listened to her and I worked extra-hard at the start of my Jesuit career; sadly, I just barely caught up with the classes. I got beaten up by the overwhelming stress. I was frightened and scared, but soon I remembered the advice that Ma gave since I was enlightened: Ask as many questions as possible if you ever have any doubts, and do not be afraid or ashamed. Ma taught me that I should never give up. Thanks to Ma, I gradually performed better as the year went along. Since she spent most of her life in Taiwan, she does not speak English. She intends me to complete the quest for Western education. Her duty is to take care of me, make sure that I stay on track, and remind me to remember and be proud of where I am from.
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John LaPlant ’08
Dumb, I guess, but I like to do things my way. My way is the green and black room dedicated to my favorite hockey team, the Dallas Stars, with pillows sewn together from old playoff handout towels and a collage of newspaper articles from their championship year, even framed pictures of eleven different players scattered across the wall. But it’s not the brute force of hockey that attracts me to it like some people. I often find myself mesmerized by the speed and skill of the players on the ice, and I find that I can truly admire the precision with which they can play the game even at such high speeds. My way is a lazy Sunday afternoon spent with David, Kristen, and Collin. We don’t always do anything, but instead just talk about stuff at someone’s house, and after dinner sometimes on a bench in a park, relaxing and watching the ducks in the water before going back to school the next day. I find these moments more enjoyable than the daily excitement and the activity-loaded weekends that usually fill my life. Sometimes, I think it’s better just to sit down and connect with someone rather than spending time with them and yet not knowing them any better. My way is struggling over the tricky Ovid translations at my desk and feeling a huge sense of accomplishment when I’ve turned the Latin into readable English. Sometimes, I enjoy these moments so much that I have considered either a major or minor in Classics in addition to my other areas of interest. My way is knowing that sooner or later I have to deal with the dreaded “underachiever” label. I know what you guys are thinking right now, a National Merit student without an A-plus average. I get this label from my teachers, my parents, and even my friends. But sometimes, I would rather just get to understand the concept rather than worry about the small details and organization that goes along with it. But, in the end, I know that I am capable of doing the small things, and have several times proven it to myself by improving some of the grades that have suffered the worst in the past.
“Swimmers, take your marks…BEEP!” I leap from my starting block, an intense pain immediately searing through my entire right leg. Just days before, I had hurt my ankle and now I am swimming with an ankle twice its normal size. Of course, I refuse to see a doctor and swim at this meet and several others before it heals. Jesuit Journal 6 CollegeEssayEditionThatDoesntCrash.indd 6
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tediously gutting the house when it was doomed for demolition anyway. The next day I met Taylor. Taylor had owned this house for 50 years and he dropped by from the nursing home to check on the progress. He was wearing an oxygen tank on his back and had tubes in his nose. As was typical of my less-thanmodest manner of greeting people, I asked him to tell me his story. He sat me down and began. Taylor had been in the hospital due to some complications with his diabetes and two broken arms from a bad fall he had taken walking down his steps. Reports of the flooding immediately following the bulk of the storm forced the doctors to evacuate the patients. They put Taylor in a wheelchair and wheeled him outside to wait for the bus. The bus never came. Taylor waited with two broken arms, unable to move, for eight hours. During that time, the water level rose to the base of his neck and carried him a block where a slight hill grounded him again. He was rescued by the reserves that night and brought safely to the dome. It seemed rather ironic in my mind that the owner of this house, a house beyond repair, was almost “beyond repair” himself. It was an interesting connection, but I tend to do that. I’m cursed with collecting stories that stay trapped in my mind, waiting to gain some sort of meaning. It’s no different with piano, and really music in general. I get my inspiration by taking lyrics or chords and analyzing them to death, hoping they relate with something in my life. I also tend to “self-monitor,” a fancy psychology word that means I act differently around different groups of people: Cowboy, Intellectual, Laid-back, Crazy, they’re all possible within a given day. My counselor tells me I’m complex and hard to pinpoint, although I’m not so sure what that actually means. I am the type of kid who gets caught the first time I try something ridiculous and stupid. Most of the time when I look in the mirror at my prep school coat and tie, I feel like I should be seeing a flannel shirt, jeans, and a pair of boots. I love the outdoors: the peace it brings me, the wildlife, everything. I’m hoping college will answer the questions I’ve stored up over the years, a complicated task I’m sure. Though I’m fairly certain, at the end of it all, I’ll be back on the shooting range, at the piano, or simply gathering stories.
“I Can Walk on Water” Cole Glasgow ’10
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Hayden Wall ’08
I can shoot 24 out of 25 clays at a round of competition five stand but I really don’t consider myself the next Charlton Heston. I play Ben Folds, Jazz, and even some classical on the piano, but I’m certainly not the next Mozart. I’m an Eagle Scout, a Junior Assistant Scoutmaster, and a two-time Philmont survivor but not on the road to being Jeremiah Johnson. So instead of attempting to pinpoint a personality through one of my passions, it seems more natural and instinctive to tell a story. This past summer, I traveled to New Orleans with my rowdy church youth group. Avoiding the cliché mission trip life-changing experience, I would like to tell the story of a man I met while on this trip. The first day we arrived at our target house and immediately began hauling trash out to the curb. The noticeable defect of this house seemed to be the entire exterior wall rotting and falling off. It looked irreparable, and I questioned the reason for
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were indolent was only because of those few who chose to be. Evidently, those few could interrupt the It has been this way for the past 7 years of mainstream and, in a way, draw others close to my life and the feeling never seems to fade away. I themselves and thus spike some sort of lie to catimagine people are continuously glaring at me, wait- egorize African-American boys. I made it a priority ing for that one opportunity when I let my guard to prove to myself that I was never going to be a down to pounce. The constant thought that every slacker; I was never going to be placed into a catmove I make will categorize me, and those who are egory where deep down in my heart I knew I didn’t like me, forever limits me in the actions that I take belong. Community Service Coordinator, Multiculand will hope to take in the future. At my all-boys, tural Student Leader, Senior, all well-earned titles Catholic school, most of the students are white, that I currently demonstrate every day just to prove while those who do not exactly fit that profile seem that people cannot categorize others because of our to stick out like that one woman who wears a yelouter appearances. Just like those few who choose low dress to a funeral. to challenge the mainstream in order to break those During my first year at Jesuit, there was close around them, I choose to be on the other side of the to triple the number of African-American students spectrum, supporting those who are willing to fight as there is now. At the time, I seemed no differfor who they want to be. ent than any of them, and chose to keep to myself, not push the boundaries of how my identity could prosper, and for the most part just sat back and let Raymond Khoury ’08 the whole “high school experience” take its toll, without really being a part of it myself, of course. This time, bombs exploded all around us. I However, there was one classmate whom I admired at the time; he was casual, cool, and efficient enough have been going to Lebanon since the time I was three years old to visit my father's family. Our trips that he never appeared to have a care in the world, or so I thought. I guess in my mind I began to think have usually been in peace, but last year changed everything; my father and I got caught in the middle that if he can glide through the first year of school, of the Hezbollah-Israeli conflict. As time passed, the then I do not see why I cannot either. Moderately, conflict heated up until Israel put a complete blockI began to slip in class, in communication with my friends in my personal life, and in the one thing that ade on Lebanon. My father and I knew we were I loved about school, sports. Then the wave hit. That going to be in this for the long haul. Luckily, we had a house and beds to sleep in, not to mention days to one morning when I arrived at school, I found my contemplate what was happening. The summer of once “flawless” role model slouched hard on a front office chair with this repugnant look on his face, an 2006 turned out to be a time of reflection and a time expression of sheer terror and uttermost shame. My of bonding with another side of my family that I am privileged to see only once a year. Our days were eyes rolled over to the office window, only to catch full of fear and uncertainty, confining us to the in“expulsion” from the movement of the principal’s ner walls of our apartment, and if we were lucky, a lips to the boy’s parents. Could that have been me? short radius in the neighborhood. Will this be me? The rest of that day was a disas As days passed, my father devised different ter. I realized that if I continued on the track that strategies to escape Lebanon. Being the generous I was on, it would be me drooping in that decrepit and loving parent he is, he took two extra families office chair waiting to suffer the consequences of under his wing as we tried to get out of the situation my attempt to take the easy route in school. “No, safely. Our alternatives dwindled as the bombings no I can’t; I won’t.” I would not let myself down became more frequent and more widespread, causby abusing all of the talents that I had just because ing the destruction of the roads and bridges. I didn’t give a full-hearted effort. I could now see We finally elected to travel an old wartorn why people would judge me so easily; the false imhighway into Syria, given the uncertainty and painpression that most African-American teenage boys
Joe Whittaker ’08
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Yihyoung Li ’08
ful slowness of the United States’ evacuation plan. This sole road lead to safety, yet burdened me with the thought that I might never see this piece of my heritage again. The journey north was heartbreaking. Our convoy of three decrepit cars passed through ravaged towns full of displaced people. The route was littered with the remnants of demolished structures and dilapidated bridges, stranding countless, hopeless families in a grueling environment. And although we felt lucky to have a way out, our hearts grieved for the misery and disrepair around us. The air was thick with tension at the Syrian border as thousands of refugees pleaded to flee their homeland. Bundled into cramped quarters full of putrid smells, people jostled each other for a spot in line, hoping to escape to safety before their neighbor did. The agony and fear was evident everywhere: red hollow eyes, furrowed brows, slumping shoulders, and ragged clothes. Despite the anguish of crossing, because of my father’s endless friendship and connections, we were warmly greeted and hosted in the ancient city of Aleppo. After traversing much of Europe on our voyage home, we finally reached Dallas, where American flags and familiar faces greeted us. Lebanon, for me, has always been a land of adventure. The culture, the food, the sea, the beach, the antiquities, and my family have brought me back year after year like countless others. The intense love and loyalty that people feel for this ancient “bout de terre” (small piece of earth) calls their hearts and their bodies to return even in uncertain times. Lebanon has been destroyed eight times, yet every time the Lebanese rebuilt it with more pride and with more hope for the country they call home. Bombs will not stop me from returning to this magical place. I will return. I will make a difference. I will be part of the generation that once again transforms Lebanon into the jewel of the Middle East.
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Erik Jeanes ’08
“I’ll have a chicken burrito, some chips with queso, and a Dr. Pepper please.” I am glad I haven’t spoken that phrase in over a year. There was a time when I would joyfully come home from school and insist my family go out for dinner at any local fast food restaurant. Of course, I would regretfully end up over-eating. This poor diet of fast food, soda consumption, and a horrible unbalanced state of nutritional intake led me into gaining body fat, frequent occurrences of common sickness, and worst of all, a poor state of well-being. Fortunately, that has all changed since the beginning of summer 2006, with a determined change of attitude regarding my diet and exercise habits. During mid-June, I was looking for a book about bicycling within a bookstore, and I encountered a diet and fitness book titled “One body, One Life” facing out from a shelf. That important title says it all in terms of what I have been given. I walked over to a comfortable couch, read the first three chapters with an open attitude, and decided I needed to step up and change something about my life. I committed to reading that informative book, and within a few days I learned a substantial amount of information about nutrition, healthier whole foods to consume, and fitness exercises, which all focused my thoughts into a new understanding about taking care of my health. It all began with the food I had chosen to eat. It’s very difficult at first to change a habit I have been used to ever since I was entering middle school. The most important aspect, I believe, is commitment. From the beginning I was determined, and in my case, devotion is the only key to success. I began by removing the cookies and chips I had bought merely for taste, and altered my mindset about approaching food at the grocery store. Every weekday on my driveway during the cool air of the night, I lay out the blue yoga mat, and performed the various types of exercises out lined in the book. Throughout that summer, I recorded much of the food that I ate. I wrote down the calories I had consumed for that day in a journal, while working on keeping the total value within the specific calorie range in order to lose the body fat. Depending on the week, my decrease in weight was significant or almost nonexistent.
It is a slow process and I understood that ahead of time. In the meantime, I read books about nutrition and dietetics and studied a whole new approach about holistic measures to avert common illnesses. I learned about preventative medicine, and that by eating the way the body is supposed to eat, my risks of developing easily preventable diseases has been tremendously reduced.
“Pasos de la Vida” Luis Carrera ’11
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Dennis Miles ’08
My earliest encounter with math was at a typical Sunday morning Mass. This particular encounter did not have to do with a complicated quadratic formula, or even a simple addition problem, but math in its simplest essence, counting. I would count everything, from chairs, people, or seconds, all the way to how many people were sleeping or dozing off during a boring homily. I now realize the irony of counting to get through countless minutes of Mass. Why I did this was not because I had a certain infatuation with math at the time, but it was a way to keep awake and somewhat attentive during Mass without my puzzle or book. But soon this
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time-waster of an activity turned into a medium that got me attached to a numeric life. At the beginning stages of my counting epic, at the ripe age of 4, the many chairs or ceiling tiles that I would count Michael Knapp ’08 to seem to be so insignificant and small from my current perspective, but these small numbers can be attributed as the building blocks of math, and also The festive holidays always lift my spirit. the building blocks of my mathematical prowess. Christmas trees and ornaments decorate my house, Every week I would learn a new number: What invoking joy. The holidays also mean spending time comes after 9? 10. What comes after 99? 100. with my distant family. Family is an integral part of What comes after 999? 1000. The numbers I would being Hispanic. During the holidays, visiting Mexico count to seemed to grow linearly every Sunday, City with my family is the most exciting and joyous as I learned the order and perfected the unending moment of the year. Annual trips offer me the hapsequence. The increase continued to grow, now to piness of spending time with my family. These outexponential degrees. New questions formed in my ings include crossing the border by car and catching head as the simple task of counting became too rou- up with all my relatives. Relatives from San Jose, tine. What comes before 0? -1. When do the numCalifornia and Queretaro, Mexico reunite at our bers end? Never--it goes to infinity. What’s infinity? grandparents’ house in Mexico City. My grandmothYour questions are infinity. er’s mixture of smoked turkey and chipotle mari I was the type of kid who wanted to innated lamb fuming hot from the oven is a traditional vestigate the most esoteric question in all of huNew Year’s Eve meal. The aroma of barbequed meat man nature: How many licks does it take to get to with garlic and hot sauce bursts through the kitchen the center of a Tootside Roll Pop? 447, or just one door, tempting us to sneak a piece of the “pave and bite. Throughout the years different numbers have pierna.” We sit down and begin our feast, addplayed a large role in my life. 90: minutes in a soccer ing rice to our plates. After our meal, all 25 family game. 3: number of siblings, 2 sisters and 1 brother. members gather around the radio as the countdown 08127: my school ID number that identifies me from to the New Year begins: “Tres, dos, uno, Feliz Ano my 251 classmates and senior brothers. Nuevo!” We zigzag through the mass of people to My practical summer experience is heavhug and kiss every relative. After hugs, kisses, and ily influenced by numbers. Lifeguarding entails thanksgivings have been exchanged, the real busimore than just zinc oxide on your nose, and the SPF ness of our annual get together emerges: movie chacontent on your sunscreen (45); it involves countrades. The different sexes assemble in opposite coring, lots and lots of counting. 20: number of secners. The men quietly huddle and brainstorm game onds separating each rider on the slides. 140: hours plans. We all choose manly action movies to derail worked during one two-week pay period. 30: num- the women, but the women’s romances butcher us! ber of CPR compressions, followed by 2 breaths, When the women tell my cousin Roberto that the which completes 1 of 4 cycles. One one-thousand... movie title he must act out is “Doctor Zhivago,” he two one-thousand...breathe slow, two one-thougroans and shouts, “This isn’t fair!” Roberto unsucsand...two one thousand...breathe slow, three onecessfully acts out the movie, and we lose the point. thousand...three one-thousand...breathe slow... We scold ourselves for not studying romantic movnumbers counted in child artificial respiration. Some ies as the women rejoice. The night hurries along as numbers serve more significance than others, but all the women guess every curveball we throw at them. numbers have their own unique meaning. 13 years, Defeat creates another annual loss for the men. Still, 10,000 ceiling tiles, and 1,000 pews later, I remigood times and laughter encompass the room as our nisce about the building blocks of my counting epic, game of charades ends. After returning home from which numerically sums to nothing. But from an our trip, I already wish it could be Christmas again. infinite amount of questions, those which have been My mom invites me to watch the romance “A Place answered yield a hefty summation of lessons, under- In the Sun,” but I decide to play video games, not standing, and awareness of math and the numeric worrying about next year’s loss. world we live in. Jesuit Journal
The First Three Hours of the New Year
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Persecuted or Prepared by Post-It’s?
Thomas Tolson ’08
It might be normal for a senior in high school to get a few reminders from his mother, but when Post-It notes appear on my steering wheel reminding me to stay five miles under the speed limit and on the toilet paper roll in the bathroom reminding me to wash my hands when I’m through, it makes me wonder whether I’m being persecuted or prepared by Post-Its. Through the yellow stick-ons, my bathroom mirror retains only a single spot to observe my reflection, and my backpack appears to have been caught in a yellow storm. I feel Mom certainly is on the 3M Company’s list of most valued customers. The sheer volume of these messages indicates she unflinchingly believes she is guiding me toward becoming a mature and responsible college student and young adult. While it’s only in the last year that I have become comfortable meeting with my teachers to discuss assignments ahead of time, I know this is a characteristic that will make college both easier and more valuable, and I must give Mom’s barrage of notes and cacophony of verbal reminders credit for driving me to this desirable behavior. On the other hand, I believe I would shower daily, remove my contacts, brush my teeth, and change my underwear just to be clean and comfortable without the unnecessary mountain of reminders. When it comes to organizing my time to be successful in college, my Mom has convinced me I need to get up early to be at every class on time, I need to study regularly, and begin assignments when they are assigned rather than when they are due. To motivate myself without the blizzard of reminders will be a new experience, but one that I am prepared for. We will never know whether to credit these mature
Yihyoung Li ’08
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behaviors to my own intrinsic desire to do my best or to my Mom’s unyielding desire to “nag me to life.” Mom’s messages will undoubtedly fall short in some developmental areas, but, hopefully, there will be time and opportunity to address these later in life. I know that while I am away at college I will eat more enchiladas and pizza than broccoli and green beans, breakfast will be an occasional thing even through it is the “most important meal of the day,” sunscreen will be forgotten, and if a rejuvenating twenty minute power nap is required in the formula for success I am absolutely destined to wither and waste away in a tired spiral toward eminent failure. Even Mom’s constant harassment, a Chinese water torture approach to creating the perfect son, falls short of achieving every desired objective. To the dismay of the 3M Company, Mom will lose her ability to leave her handwritten reminders of the important and the mundane. But just as she mastered the ability to use the cell phone to assure I had arrived at every driving location safely, she will advance technologically and refine her ability to offer perpetual aid through e-mails and text messages. As I head off to college, I know that losing a development tool she has mastered and become dependent on will be hard on her, but as good grades and achievements follow me through college she will remain steadfastly certain of her contribution to these successes. While it seemed at times that her flood of reminders was intended to insult or infuriate me, I now believe that most of her messages will have the desired effect as they remain in my subconscious like the invisible indented messages she left on the underlying sheet of her Post-It pad.
Untitled
Norman Belza ’08
“Do you kill the cows yourself? Do you use ovens to dry it? Do you make turkey too?” an excited student inquires of me. This is but a sample of the barrage of questions I face every time I introduce my family business. I calmly reply, “We purchase the beef, slice and marinate it, and instead of ovens we dry it under the Texas sun. After the meat reaches proper dryness, we harvest and pack it. We do not kill the cows, although my dad did so back in the Phillipines. We only make beef...for now.” We don’t have an ordinary family business. My family makes beef jerky. In fact, I was responsible for the birth of the business. During my infancy, my mother worked as a nurse while my father babysat. To pass the time, he experimented with various marinades for beef. Eventually, he found the perfect recipe. It was not until a friend suggested it to him that he began to make a living through it. “Wake up, Norms! It’s time to dry the tapa,” my mother says as she shakes me out of my slumber. “Tapa” is Tagalog for jerky. Half awake, I get out of bed and prepare myself for the usual morning. I walk downstairs, grab a handful of crackers, and make my way outside. My family begins to spread the tapa in the morning, as usual. If the Texas sun is out, so is my family. We could be seen drying the tapa on the fiberglass screen frames, placed in screen-covered wooden boxes, which my father and I crafted. It is part of our daily routine. While other families may discuss things around a dinner table, we converse while working a tray of drying meat. There are various topics we talk about, but I am usually the hot topic. Criticism and praise are evenly doled out. Some mornings end in quiet, focused work while others end in laughter and excitement. On this particular day, we talked about college. Where will I go? What do I want to be? “I want to be successful,” I answer. The discussion moves on, my parents suggesting possibilities. Certainly, my parents want me to go to college, but whether consequently I expand the family business or walk a different path is a difficult topic. The dialogue ends as we clean up the work station.
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That evening was the harvest and I was unaccompanied. I stood outside, wielding a plastic scraper in the twilight sun, removing the dried meat from the trays, placing it into the container beside me. As I worked, I thought about the sacrifices my parents have made to send me to school, and the setbacks that they have overcome. My father grew up in the Philippines as a farmer, and, as a result of hard work, became a mechanical engineer. My mother, the eldest of three, became an nurse and moved to the United States to work and support her family back home. She endured cancer of the lymph nodes when I was ten. Tapa preparation was hardest that year. “I want to make them proud,” I think to myself. I have always worked hard, especially in school, to honor my parents’ sacrifices. I close the cases full of tapa and haul them inside to be packed and shipped across the states. Later into the night, I prepare the marinade for tomorrow’s batch of tapa. My mother used to do it, but now I have taken over and have memorized the recipe. I mix the necessary ingredients into the concoction as my father slices the meat. I will have to take over for my father as well, one day, I think to myself. I am ready. The thought seemed a bit daunting at first, but I have come to accept it. Someday, I will not only have to slice the meat, but I will accept responsibility of the family business as a whole. However, my parents and I have agreed that I should focus on my studies and attend college first. They will maintain the business without me until my return. I lay in my bed pondering what my future holds for me. As I have grown, I have taken more and more responsibilities. I face college and taking on the family business, but I realize they, too, are more responsibilities to assume. I am ready.
Edward Daniel ’08
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Travis San Pedro ’08
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Untitled
Travis San Pedro ’08
The European folk sounds of Beirut resonate throughout my room. The German gnomes listen in harmonium, while a doeskin felt hat hangs on a hook, and a stick pony who lives in the corner absorbs the gypsian melodies of haunting wails, tooting trumpets, and wheezing accordions under the orchestration of one man, a musical puppeteer of one glorious vaudeville. I discovered Beirut under the haunting assessment of my digital music store; is it not odd that logarithms could predict some rung on my own double helix and translate it into phonographic sounds of old when Europe was the place of aristocrats and nomadic gypsies? The work of Mr. Condon inspires me with every listen to challenge the norm. I like to wear bow ties to service on Fridays and prefer the sound of carousel to merry-go-round. For me, the music has allowed me to be different. Summers are spent reading classic literature and period films are always more visually stunning and artistically nuanced than a summer blockbuster. Dreams of spending two days or two weeks in the obscurity of a European town at the edge of the Black Forest, or writing novels as a great American author in seclusion are deemed not daft, but frivolous in the Walt Disney Frontier Land sort; that is, where the surreal ideas that characterize a British Safari in the Indian jungle become reality, though it may be completely impossible to charter a boat down a river there, much less have the fortune to pass by an unruly tribe and angry hippopotami in the same adventure. From The Gulag Orkestar through the final seconds of The Flying Club Cup, each song is a testament to those who think outside of the box, validatory encouragement to continue to not succumb to popular opinion or condemn yourself if only one manner is suggested. If not in the presence or occasion of proper dining, why not eat your soup with the dessert spoon of the fine silver to break the monotony? In the right instances then, I have found it okay to question authority, to think unorthodoxly.
Drew Bieler ’10
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Jeremy Cain ’11
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