2009 College Essay Edition

Jesuit Journal

COLLEGE ESSAY EDITION

www.jesuitcp.org/campuslife/studentcouncil

March 2009

Jesuit Journal 1

Ben Galichia '10

Contents & Acknowledgements Untitled..................................................................................................................................E.J. Bensing '09 Untitled..................................................................................................................................Stephen Bourne '09 Untitled..................................................................................................................................Obi Asiama '09 Laura's Scholar.......................................................................................................................Jorge Muruaga '09 All in a Folgers Can...............................................................................................................Alex Waldrop '09 Luck of the Draw...................................................................................................................Michael Miller '09 Messages from the Heart.......................................................................................................Colby Cartwright '09 What Are You?......................................................................................................................Patrick Arnold '09 Untitled..................................................................................................................................Michael Lim '09 'Lino........................................................................................................................................Luis Carrera '09 I'm Sorry.................................................................................................................................Joe Donovan '09 The Song.................................................................................................................................Tom Gillis '09 A Blessing in Disguise............................................................................................................Joe Chavarria '09

Publisher.......................Student Council The Boss........................Gregg Thawley '09 Humble Disciple...........Jamie Fletcher '10 Layout & Design...........Gregg Thawley '09

Jamie Fletcher '10 Art Contributors...........Ben Galichia '10

Topher Boehm '09

Stevie Dietemann '09 Moderator.....................Dr. Michael Degen

Second issue done. I'd say this one was much smoother and quicker than the first. Thanks to Mr. Oglesby and Mr. Blackwell for selecting excellent essays and to the authors for allowing their work to be published.

The Journal can't run without the submissions of our Jesuit community, so please continue to provide us with quality material.

Gregg Thawley '09

Thank you, Mrs. Row, for proofreading the Journal.

Seniors who donated their essays to the Journal, thank you oh so much for your contributions. They were greatly appreciated, and I'd write more except that I cannot think of anything clever to say. Bummer.

G.S. (Gregg Script) Please give us pictures; we’re in dire need of files that end in jpeg.

Jamie Fletcher '10

Jesuit Journal 2

“Would you like that toasted?” These words have recently become commonplace at Quiznos or Subway because of an invention by a man named Phil McKee. He invented that little oven in the corner that toasts a sub in under a minute. Mr. McKee also happens to be a long time friend of my mother's, and this allowed me to not only meet him, but also to receive some words of wisdom that I will not soon forget. Phil has a daughter who is a sophomore in college, and he wanted to share what he learned about the college application process with me; I readily accepted his offer both because he was my mother's friend and also because I admired his success. I received much more than I could have dreamed.

For as long as I can remember, I have tried to do the best I could at whatever I did, but I never really understood why. Early in my life, I made sure that all of my Lego models were perfect matches to their pictures. As I grew older, grades became an obsession. Last year, I arbitrarily decided that I would have a GPA of one-hundred for both semesters, even though this would be my most challenging year. Through long hours and late nights, I was able to achieve this, but the fact that I could never find a reason for this work ethic bothered me. One of the first things Phil said revealed more in one sentence than the previous seventeen years of my life had taught me: “Success is like an addiction to some people… they get a taste of it and just want more.” His revelation was so simple; however, he could not have put it in a more perfect form. I simply like the feeling of success for a job well done. Understanding why I put myself through the things that I do was like a breath of fresh air. For me, comprehending “why” something works gives reason and validity to it, which are two things that I consider paramount in this world. Yet, something was still wrong; fortunately, Phil had more sagacious words for me.

Every day I see friends and peers settling for mediocre jobs, while I see it as a near apocalyptic event if I do anything less than perfect on an assignment. I vividly remember feeling like the world was going to end because I had not aced my history quiz, even though I had the highest grade in the class. Why this was so crushing, I did not know; however, Phil's second piece of advice would help me better understand why simply succeeding was not enough for me. Phil said to me, “There is not much difference between the work required for an 'A' job compared to that of a 'B' job, but the rewards for an 'A' job are many times greater than that of a 'B' job.” This statement shed light on my feelings on how I felt after that quiz. The feeling of accomplishment from a 'B' job was not enough to quench my addiction for success. It is only that feeling that I get after doing an 'A' job that extinguishes my burning need to succeed.

E.J. Bensing '09

Jesuit Journal 3

Stevie Dietemann '09

To watch a family member go through rounds of chemotherapy, have countless surgeries, and endure numerous radiation therapy treatments brings pain and anguish that can only be felt through experience. In order to better care for a cancer victim, the rest of the family makes sacrifices, some major, a parent switching jobs, and some minor, a child driving his or her sibling to school.

After fighting cancer for over five years, my mom passed away my sophomore year in high school, and my family changed significantly to better care for her. Cancer dared the Bourne family to crumble under my mom's illness, but we all conquered cancer, even my mom.

My sister and I were impacted differently than the rest of the family because at the ages of ten and twelve, we had no understanding of the situation. We understood our mom had cancer, but the effect it was going to have on us was inconceivable at that age. Early in my mom's fight against cancer, she underwent weekly sessions of chemotherapy.

The chemotherapy sapped my mom's energy. My sister and I assumed her normal routine of making our breakfast and packing lunches. Friends also cooked dinner for us quite often since my mom would be too worn out by the day's end. As the cancer became more serious, my sister and I would be woken up at midnight to hear that we had to stay at a friend's house because my dad had to take our mom to the emergency room. My mom ended up switching chemotherapy drugs often, and one required that I give my mom a daily shot. The cancer kept intensifying so surgery seemed the opportune route. Days after surgery, our family would stay in the hospital to keep her company. As the surgeries and chemotherapies began to become ineffective, doctors suggested radiation therapy. Just like chemotherapy, the radiation took a toll on my mom's body. At this point, my dad switched jobs to be able to better take care of my mom. His prior job required extensive traveling; as a result, he worked with his company to find a position where there was no travel. The sacrifice my dad dramatically decreased the amount of stress and pressure my mom felt. Although my dad had switched jobs, he still missed countless work days to attend my mom's surgeries, staying home to care for her after surgery, and to make doctors visits about new possible treatments.

Most importantly, my dad took the role as my mom's personal “agent.� He attended every meeting with a doctor, took notes at all these meetings, and compiled all things related to my mom together. He would do extensive research on new experimental drugs to decide whether or not they best suited my mom. Since the chemotherapy and radiation significantly affected the brain and memory capabilities, my dad's note-taking at the doctor's meetings allowed my mom to always be informed on the medication she was receiving and when it should be taken. Without the sacrifices my dad made and the help he provided, my mom's life with cancer would have been unimaginably more difficult.

My mom's illness deeply affected my family. The only person that seemed to transcend the disease was ironically my mom. In between rounds of chemotherapy, my mom would ask me to put together a workout plan for her so she could regain the fitness she had lost. My mom tried and succeeded at things that normal people would have cowered in fear at just the thought. While on vacation in Switzerland, we decided as a family that a hike would be something fun to try. We picked up a local pamphlet on popular tourist hikes and found a two-hour hike; unfortunately, we overlooked the difficulty of the trail. For two straight hours, we hiked up from the valley we were staying in to a small town on top of a surrounding ridge of the Swiss Alps, a two thousand foot altitude change!

Our entire family struggled the entire way up, but despite the surgeries that removed muscles from my mom's back and chemotherapy and radiation that significantly weakened my mom, she made it to the top. At the time, I had not put all things into consideration to understand the beauty of my mom's journey up this ridge, but now I see this as a feat done by someone with more courage, guts, and determination than most people I know. The astonishing thing about this situation is not how my family came together to make sacrifices and pick up the slack to help my mom, it is how my mom suffered through cancer and lived life as though she was perfectly healthy.

Stephen Bourne '09

Jesuit Journal 4

What do you do when the world questions who you are? This is the question I have been faced with since high school where I took on the identity of “The Oreo” the delicious bite-sized snack, but also the African American kid considered “white” on the inside and only “black” on the outside. I was told I was an Oreo by my friends from school, work, even church, always thinking they were paying me a compliment when in fact they were killing me on the inside. I pretended to be ok with the snide remarks, but I couldn't understand how I was considered less of a black man when I truly was one, even speaking both English and one of Nigeria's native languages Igbo. I spent three years of my life in a struggle to prove to the world that I was black, but instead I became even more disparaged by my title, burdened by the fact that I had lost the knowledge of who I truly was.

The image forced upon me by my society was not erased until my mission trip to Riga, Latvia this past summer. I spent nine days in a country where I was possibly the only African American there and enjoyed the attention I was given from people in the street, one elderly woman even gasping “La chocolate!” as she saw me shopping for groceries at the local food mart. I finally received the recognition I had longed for, my friends even deeming me the “chocolate superstar” of the week.

As I hiked up mountains, taught English classes, and did community service with my team of 10, I was able to build long-lasting relationships with Latvian youth in spite of the frustrating language barrier. I not only played and laughed with the kids I worked with, but truly got to know and appreciate them during the week. The trip in whole was one of the greatest experiences of my life, and moments where Latvian children like Artur were telling me they wanted me for a brother have stayed with me since. But it was not until these moments of bliss that I realized how much my self image had been warped by a sandwich cookie. I realized that I had let my quest for acceptance undermine everything else that made me who I am. I only found value in myself because of my race, meaning my intellect, talents, abilities, my values, and my character had no purpose.

Stevie Dietemann '09

Alice Walker the famous author of the novel The Color Purple once said in her poem: “The first thing I want you to know is that I am black, the second thing I want you to do is forget it.” Of course I do not want society to deny me my ethnicity, but at the same time I refuse to be defined by it. On my trip I was able to re-create the image I had of myself. I am an African American who could go to a foreign country and use his talents to serve the global community because of who I am, not anything else. Since then, I have been empowered to value myself as an individual and also begin dealing with issues of racial profiling and discrimination that we all face. I gained self-awareness, confidence, and an answer to my question. What do you do when the world questions who you are? You answer: show the world who you are. I am Obi Asiama, so much more than a cookie.

Obi Asiama '09

Jesuit Journal 5

Laura's Scholar

One person who has made an impact on my life is a woman whom I do not know personally. I do not see her every day. I have only met her once, but that one time proved to be extra special. She gave me a chance at a good education and instilled hope in me right when I needed it. This person is none other than Laura Bush.

My name is Jorge Andres Muruaga, and I had the honor to be awarded the first ever Laura Bush Scholarship in the country. Said scholarship paid for my fifth grade tuition. It was presented to me personally by George and Laura Bush on May 2001 at the University of Notre Dame in South Bend, Indiana.

I have always been a person who wants to see immediate results. When I was younger, I did not comprehend the importance of earning good grades in school. My parents always stressed to me that doing well in school was for my own good. I worked hard because I knew that my mom and dad both had jobs. I considered school to be mine, and I wanted to be good at it. When I was in fourth grade I was beginning to understand that my parents wanted me to go to college so I would not have to struggle financially as they had because of a lack of education. My parents worked hard so I would have the opportunities they never did. That inspired me to work even harder.

Stevie Dietemann '09

We have always struggled financially, but everything was fine until the end of that fourth grade year. My dad was in between jobs and was seriously thinking of taking me out of St. Mary of Carmel and putting me in a public school. He was not going to be able to pay my tuition. Two weeks later I was called down to the office through the school intercom. Like any other ten-year-old boy, I thought I was in trouble. I walked into the office and there to greet me was the Principal, the priest, the secretary, and Ms. Sanchez, my third grade teacher. After keeping me in suspense for a while they told me I had been chosen to receive the first ever Laura Bush Scholarship. They said I would be making an expense paid trip to Notre Dame that weekend to meet the incoming First Lady and the incoming President. The scholarship was going to pay for my fifth grade tuition. I was elated, not only because I would be meeting George Bush, but also because I was going to be able to stay in school at St. Mary of Carmel.

I have always believed that when a person really wants to achieve something that he is destined to achieve, the universe conspires to help him achieve that goal. I am a living example of this. If I had not received that scholarship I do not think I would have gone to Jesuit College Prep.

Laura Bush is an important person to me, not because she is my relative or because she is my best friend. She does not visit or call me, and we have not spoken since the day we met. In fact, she probably does not remember me nor does she realize that she played such an important part in my life. Yet just when I thought that all odds were against me, she gave me the first opportunity in my life to succeed.

Jorge Muruaga '09

Jesuit Journal 6

I do not remember what I was thinking under the gazebo as I inhaled secondhand smoke, staring at my grandfather, but as I sat at the funeral, I felt as if the experience was funny. I thought of the somber scene of my grandfather sitting in a wheelchair after a major stroke funny. I chuckled a bit, feeling the glaring eyes burning holes into my back, but it had helped me realize the man that Grandpa Elliot was. He was a man that did what he wanted, not ignoring the subsequent consequences, but accepting them as a part of his choice. This revelation did not mean I would live my life this way, but gave me a different figure in my life to compare with my own actions, my own ideas. It was something that I had overlooked, but now it seemed integral to my development.

One part of my development would be what interest I would have for a job or career. As a kid, I had aspirations of being an astronaut, an architect, a fireman, and other miscellaneous jobs that sparked children's imaginations. Getting older I felt like I was pressured into following my dad's footsteps in the restaurant business. His expectations were for me to go to business school and come back to run the restaurants with him. It took me a month to make a connection between my current situation and my new alternate role model in my grandfather.

I thought of my grandfather's reticence to let anyone tell him to do anything, of his “never say never” attitude when it came to boundaries. That is when I broadened my view a little, and tried to see what kind of jobs and areas of study fit what I wanted to do. By broadening my views, I stumbled upon a true passion for engineering and physics, areas which I would like to pursue in college. Grandpa Elliot was not a “great” man, some would even go as far as saying he was not a “good” man either, but he was someone who lived a life of burdens and sorrows, as well as joys and successes. No one could change my grandfather, even after his death, as shown by his request of being sequestered in a coffee can after his cremation. He is now scattered over east Texas, but his resilience and individuality will stay with me, as long as I remember him sitting in his wheelchair, smoking outside the hospital.

Alex Waldrop '09

All in a Folgers Can

As I looked upon the red Folgers coffee can containing my grandfather's remains, one image popped into my head of Grandpa Elliot. It was him sitting in a wheelchair outside of the hospital, smoking a cigarette as we made small talk about my school and soccer games. Our conversation never evolved into some deep, insightful discussion. It never strayed from the easy topics that I could talk to anyone about. This was my relationship with my grandfather after he reappeared when I was 10 years old. At first, I thought it would be another birthday gift, another Christmas guest over during the holidays, but it became an annoyance, with extra visits and me repeating myself 5 times over before an “Oh” leaked out of his mouth. Not even after 4 years worth of visits and experiences with my grandfather, did I realize the man he was until I stared at that coffee can sitting on a small table between the pews.

Grandpa Elliot was estranged from my father until after I was born, but even then the tension never did subside. From the fragments of stories and hearsay, I learned he was a Navy man, yet he was discharged early in his service. A fact I know firsthand was his love for smoking, an addiction that he never gave up, even while lying on his deathbed.

Despite his vices, he was a virtuous man, or at least, that is what he tried to portray to my sister, Elizabeth, and me. He definitely was not perfect, not by a long shot, but he was the only male role model I had other than my dad.

Topher Boehm '09

Jesuit Journal 7

Luck of the Draw

More than a select few should have these privileges. Everyone deserves the chance to succeed. Seeing a new part of the world opened my eyes to how lucky I am. I cannot waste my blessing. I have to share it with others, give everyone hope for a better life. I now participate regularly in community service opportunities my school offers.

Looking into the eyes of people I help, I see the gunman. He did not want to kill me; he just needed some money. I am sure he is not much different than I am. He could be the one writing this paper, and I could be the one with the gun. Life cannot be left up to chance. Everyone deserves a shot.

Michael Miller '09

There it was, staring me right in the face.

Panic ripped through my body, and I bolted in the other direction. “Is this really happening?” I thought. Bracing myself for the shots, I peered over my shoulder. The gunman and I met eyes. For a few seconds, time seemed to stand still. All the sounds around me were silenced; my breathing had stopped. A drop of sweat trickled down my forehead. Then, a piercing scream rose slowly out of the silence. The gunman's eyes scanned the area. He knew the noise would attract attention. My mom, standing on the other side of the car, had saved me.

Pulling the gun back into his pants, the man scurried away to his hideout. “Get in the car!” my mom yelled. We sped out of the apartment complex and called the police. The nightmare was over, at least for me.

As we drove home I couldn't stop thinking about the gunman. He wasn't really a man at all; he looked to be about my age. I could never imagine myself pointing a gun at someone. I started to wonder how only a few minutes down the freeway the world could be so different. I was riding in a soccermom mini-van, drinking a Sonic slush, headed to my ten dollar an hour job as a lifeguard. He was inside his apartment worrying about being arrested.

He probably didn't have a good paying job to go to, or a car to take him there. That gun provided his income. How did things go so wrong?

I decided it came down to just having a chance. My life has been sheltered. I've never had to worry about money or security. All I had to think about was doing well in school so I could go to a good college and get a good job. My seventh grade teacher once told my class how lucky we were to have such a good life. She told us we would never even consider lives as criminals because money would never be a problem. She was right. My life is blessed. I have been given the best chance to succeed. But why do I deserve it? I didn't do anything for it; I was just born in the right place.

Ben Galichia '10

Jesuit Journal 8

Messages from the Heart

When I visit Marbridge with my family, I earn the privilege to interact with and even aid others in the same or an even worse situation than Billy. The residents living there greet me with a smile and a handshake-- sometimes even hugs. Witnessing Billy's benevolence was infectious and made me want to help other people. If one individual could evoke that much happiness around him, why couldn't I? In school, I joined community service clubs each year to try and help myriad kinds of people around me mainly because of Billy. Whether they be homeless, mentally challenged, or even poor—there are no groups that I will not try to help.

Billy has given me subtle hints about how to act in life. I truly have tried to incorporate that instruction into my daily routine where it is most needed and also at food kitchens or service sites in general. Billy's condition surely does not make him any less of a person. People who have not had the same significant exposure that I have might think so but, Billy is more sagacious than the world could ever imagine. When I see my friends uncles', it's astonishing how vastly different their experiences are from mine. Instead of sensing only that parental influence one usually feels with their uncles, I can safely say Billy is not that figure but more. He is important to me because he is one of my oldest friends and, at heart, an even stronger brother. Most importantly are the silent messages he has conveyed to me throughout my life without saying a word. I have learned that many times simplicity often masks the virtues of a pure heart.

Colby Cartwright '09

My uncle Billy not only shaped my childhood but my views on life itself. He has been with me throughout my life and has taught me some valuable lessons. He did not teach me the lessons through words but, rather, through his actions. I noticed in fourth grade that he could not help me read or write, so I asked his sister, my mom, what was wrong with him. “Billy happens to be mentally challenged,� she replied. My mom and Billy were adopted from different parents and, as it turned out, Billy's natural mother had prodigious drug problems. That slight brain damage inhibits him from more primary functions such as reading. Billy's condition has encouraged me to live outside of my bubble and help people with various problems by any means possible.

Billy visits our house every holiday from his community home: Marbridge, which takes care of people with his needs. I always have so much fun with him when we run errands for my family or at my lake house when we water-ski or shoot fireworks. As kids, my sister and I always desired to swim in the lake or venture to the nearest store. My uncle was selfless and always happy to drive us. I try to pay him back by attending all of his sporting events that are hosted by his Home. He attends the Special Olympics annually and it's always a treat to go and see him in action; I even learn some new moves in basketball! The least I can do is to head to Austin, Texas and see him contend against other teams. Famous people such as Cat Osterman even come to the banquets after his big games to congratulate the participants.

Jesuit Journal 9

Stevie Dietemann '09

What Are You?

“Hi, I'm Michael Martin Berkebile.” So began the first environmental club meeting of my junior year. In an attempt to get all the members familiarized with each other, the club moderator asked that we circle up and introduce ourselves using our full names. Soon, it was my turn. When I introduced myself as Patrick McLennan Wong-Valle Arnold, people's reactions ranged from “Whoa, that's a long name!” to “Wait, you're Chinese?” Accustomed to such reactions, I continued by telling the group that my great-grandfather immigrated to Nicaragua in order to escape the Chinese civil war and that after having settled into Central America, he married a Nicaraguan woman and combined his last name with hers. I listened as people murmered “hmm” or “that's interesting.” It was not until a curly-haired sophomore with a baffled expression on his face asked me “Wait…then how are you white?” that I was rendered somewhat unable to respond.

Though I may look “white” to many of my peers, I am the product of an interethnic and multicultural marriage. My father was born in Waco, Texas to a family of deep Texan heritage. My mother was born in Managua, Nicaragua to a somewhat traditional large, Latin family. My hereditary roots traceable to Texan, Nicaraguan, Spanish, and Chinese cultures, I find it difficult to categorize my ethnicity. Leaving me unable to place myself under specific cultural guidelines, my status as an individual of mixed race has burdened me with the opportunity to establish my own identity.

When in a difficult situation, I cannot rely on a system of Latin Machismo to help guide my decisions, nor do I have the luxury of being able to rely on some system of American traditionalism. When asked to name my perfect meal, I do not think of typical Nicaraguan dishes and reply “nacatamales with gallopinto,” nor can I claim “chicken fried steak and mashed potatoes.” I have not been predisposed by my ethnic and cultural background to certain values or tastes. Instead, I have been relatively independent in determining such standards.

Though my mixed heritage continues to shape me into a 'Think for Yourself' individual, it does not make me unique. My generation is full of multicultural people. As the population of individuals of mixed ethnicity increases, the American people are further inclined to think independently of their cultural perspectives and to disregard any preconceptions regarding race and heritage. Though I am proud of my background, I take comfort when people do not approach me as though there is a label on my forehead that says “white” or “Latino” or “eccentric middle name that sounds Chinese.” As Tiger Woods, a self-declared “Cablinasian”, once said of his ethnicity: “I'm just who I am, whoever you see in front of you.”

Patrick Arnold '09

Topher Boehm '09

Jesuit Journal 10

I stand here in the market next to the spikey husks of durians, buckets of red, green, and yellow curry, and an old woman pressing her ear to a melon while tapping on its rind. Pushing and shouting people of all different races and cultures swarm in a frenzy, each person in that search for the “perfect melon”. Tian Tian market employs a diverse group of immigrants striving to bring traditional food products to the large Asian immigrant population of Richardson, Texas. Searching for authentic ingredients and above all, fresh ingredients at the market has always been the essential first step in my cooking and more importantly my most passionate process that often pushes against my personal safety net.

This time my search for ingredients for Sunday brunch leads me to the market once again.

The same sense of awe brews and consumes me as I stand here in the market as it does every time I come. The world seems to condense into its tiny space that no local mega mart could even compare.

Every nuance of smell holds its own uniqueness, its own boldness. I find the trove of red, green, and yellow curry in the corner next to the potatoes. That smell of fresh curry enervates my mind. Its heated scent runs up the nostrils bringing a warm sensation that wakes the brain; the double shots at Starbucks seem like a mild antihistamine in comparison. I have always loved curry. Its heated scent lends nicely to its complex spicy taste causing tears to run during consumption; but those tears are what make it worthwhile. Without those tears, dinner to me and my family will never be complete.

My list takes me towards the distinct putrid smell of stinky tofu, so horrid to my westernized senses that I can not help gripping my nose. However that same smell inspires childhood nostalgia of the street vendors and night markets in Singapore that I often visited as a child. At the same time the crisp and soothing scent of traditional Chinese greens brings me peace of mind, its smell so pure and natural. I feel refreshed as a new batch of sherli-hon and bok choy is brought out. Its vibrant hues of dark and light green blend with the sunny yellow and rich purple of other fruits and vegetables creating this rainbow effect.

Off in the “wet” market the sight of bass swimming back and forth, gurgling clams – fresh seafood - brings an intoxicating sense of majesty and wonder like one gets from watching a dancing flame. Today, however, my key ingredient seems to have run out. The row marked “white pomfret” holds nothing but ice. I ask if there are any more in the back; the man behind the counter responds with a resounding,”NO!” A few years ago I would have left empty handed. However I have allowed myself to push through that state of indignation. Asian markets often reserve their best stores to their most valued customers. Knowing this I told the man I know they have more in the back. Of course he denies it. A few minutes pass as we go back and forth before he decides that I would not leave. Frowning a little, he reluctantly slumps to the back and hands me two parchment wrapped pomfrets, their skin as white as pearls. I smile at my new found boldness.

All these ingredients bring with them a sense of the world around. Their novelty is refreshing, their different shapes, colors, and smells inspiring. I feel that sometimes the modernized world deprives me of these basic sensations or that these sensations get lost between Xboxes and local Krogers. However a simple trip to the market can rejuvenate the senses and profoundly take that trauma of daily life away leaving that momentary sense of tranquil nirvana. These two fish may not have fed the hungry, but they made a great meal for my family and me.

Michael Lim '09

Stevie Dietemann '09

Jesuit Journal 11

Lino

Topher Boehm '09

He greeted me at the door. “Mijo!” he said, “Where's the rest of the family?” “Mom and Mia are still at school grandpa; mom's friend just dropped me off.” I must have repeated it five times. He was always forgetful and I was used to repeating things. I put my backpack and books on the floor and sat down with him. He asked me again, “Where's the family?” I answered him again. I noticed he was more confused than I had ever seen him. I watched him; he was staring into space trying to comprehend what I had just told him. Then he asked me, “And who are you?” I was caught off guard; he had never asked me that before. I told him “It's me, Mijo, grandpa.” He responded, “Mijo? I can't seem to recognize you. Why are you calling me grandpa? Who are you?” This scared me; I did not know what to do. I went over to the yellow, 1970's style refrigerator that was covered with all the pictures of his grandchildren and loved ones for whom he prayed every morning. I took down a picture that had me in it and showed it to him. He looked at it and said, “Mijo!” A great sense of relief came over me and I said, “Yeah, it's me, Mijo.” Then as quick as he remembered, he forgot. He kept asking me who I was, so I called my mom who was at work. She said to call the ambulance and that she was on her way over. I picked up the phone with special big numbers that my grandpa was able to see, punched the three numerals nobody wants to call, and asked for an ambulance.

Within minutes I heard the loud sirens and saw the flashing lights. Three men rushed inside the house, each one equipped with a laptop. They bombarded him with questions and examined him. All I could do was sit back and watch. My mom came in and asked if I was ok, then rushed to where my grandpa was. She asked him, “Papi, como te sientes?” he said, “I feel fine hija.” His blood sugar levels were very low. He was given a soda and he drank. Within a couple of minutes, he looked at me and said, “Mijo!” He remembered me.

I was blown away. This was the first time I realized that his condition was getting very serious. Over the years, his health has not improved. We take it one day at a time, but it seems like he is always worse than the day before. I admire my grandpa for having the courage and the willingness to get up everyday.

Dementia takes a heavy toll on his body; even simple motor skills are beginning to be forgotten. But, there is still one thing that he remembers to do without fail, and that is pray.

It's ironic to think that he used to be the one who took care of us, the one who tucked us in at night, and now, we are the ones playing that role. I wonder all the time why God allows us to become old; from watching my grandpa grow older, I believe that God wants us to learn compassion. Caring for someone in need puts our faith to the ultimate test. All we can do is try our best, put the rest in God's hands, and trust Him completely.

Luis Carrera '09

Jesuit Journal 12

I'm Sorry

“I'm Sorry,” he said, and with that I was undefined. Two words, three syllables, and the course I had plotted for years had reached its abrupt and unsympathetic end. More words followed, I'm sure – kind words, consoling words, understanding words. Meaningless words. Meaningless because those first three syllables caused my ears to ring so loudly that my coach could have said anything, could have started shouting or even burst into song, and I wouldn't have noticed. Meaningless because after those first three syllables and the consequences they held, nothing my coach said would change the sudden and crushing new reality with which I knew I would now have to cope.

“I'm Sorry.” The words now echoed through my head, forcing out any other thoughts. Unable to meet my coach's gaze any longer, my eyes dropped as a rush of images tore fleetingly through my psyche.

“I'm Sorry.”

The countless hours spent in the gym?

Wasted. “I'm Sorry.”

The thousands of shots, the tedious drills, repeated until the lights at the YMCA shut off? Pointless. “I'm Sorry.”

The time with friends skipped to improve my conditioning? The exhaustive workouts with a college player to refine my game? Unnecessary. Futile.

“I'm Sorry. I'm Sorry.”

In the months that followed, I worked hard to rationalize the situation, to convince myself it was for the best. From the cliché (What doesn't kill you makes you stronger!) to the concrete (Since I would no longer be devoting hours to basketball daily, I would have a ton of time to try new things), I tried everything I could think of to give it a positive spin. But whatever I told myself, the fact remained that my first Passion – the game I had loved from the first time my palms hugged the soft leather of the ball, the first time my sneakers squeaked on the shiny hardwood floor, the first time my ears were greeted by an affirming twang as leather met twine – had been ripped away from me with two simple words. I had thrown myself headlong into basketball, only to fall flat on my face. And it hurt.

Eventually, I realized that there didn't have to be a neat and tidy explanation for what had happened, that I couldn't simply flip ahead to the end of my own unfortunate story and find a MotherGoose-worthy moral; sometimes people just don't get what they want, and there's not always a rhyme or reason. Maybe the only real lesson to be learned is that people with as little natural talent as I have rarely get to play basketball at a high level, and that I would have to come to terms with the fact that basketball could remain a hobby but could no longer be a central piece of my identity. Not quite Hallmark card material, but reality nonetheless.

However, while I have stopped trying to convince myself that the whole episode had been placed upon me by the cosmos as a nifty characterbuilding experience, I do believe that I've grown from it; if nothing else, it has reinforced the importance of maintaining a strong work ethic even in the face of adversity. The world, I learned, does not owe me anything, and the results I want are not guaranteed; the only things I have complete control over, then, are the effort I give and the manner in which I carry myself. Basketball player or not, that attitude should serve me well.

Joe Donovan '09

Stevie Dietemann '09

Jesuit Journal 13

The Song

Eleven long years, and those five words still ring as clear as a bell in my head. Every pitch, every tone, every note of that one short line resounds in my ears as though I only heard those words seconds ago. Never will I forget that single verse of the song my mother sang to me so long ago. No other memory of her will ever be as clear as those few seemingly insignificant seconds we shared lying on her bed, those five words she sang to me, “Bye-bye Blackbird, Bye-bye.� For near ten years, I probed music archives of all kinds to find the lullaby she once sang to me. I sat through hours of countless songs, listening intently to every measure. I came across songs containing similar verses by artists ranging from Shirley Bassey to the Beatles, but none matched the words that I remember. Ten years, and still I have found no verse, nor tune to match her song.

Even though I have been unsuccessful in finding my mother's song, my searches introduced me to music from nearly every genre. Fascinated by this new world I discovered, I dug deeper, each new song filling me with new sensations. The smooth rhythms of jazz brought cool feelings of ease and relaxation. The fast, exciting tempos of rock n' roll caused my heart to race. The sad songs of the blues welled up inside me and put a lump in my throat.

My feet danced while listening to the contagious beats of Latin and swing. Wave after wave of emotions cascaded through me as I dove into this world of music. Like a child looking out on the world, smiling at every vibrant flower, relishing every cloud's abstract shape. I had discovered a whole new side of reality. Immediately, I felt compelled to share this new experience with the world so that they too, may be able to feel the same feelings, and to rediscover the same wonder that we all had as children. In fifth grade I began to take up percussion, and since then I have specialized my skills to the drum set, where I am constantly learning new styles and techniques. I started a band with a few of my friends, and when we perform, people comment on how much I really get into my music when I play.

Though, as exhilarating as live performance can be, I didn't feel that I was sharing my music to the best of my ability. This past summer, I took up a job as an assistant teacher in a summer enrichment program. One of the classes I helped teach was an introduction to percussion and drumming. I played an important role in this class as I was more accustomed to drumming than the teacher was, and I spent some hands on time teaching the kids how to read and play drum set among other percussion instruments. While instructing these kids, I felt in control, confident, and that I made an impression on them. It was then that I realized that the greatest way for me to share my love for music was to become a teacher of music.

Topher Boehm '09

Whether my mother's song was original, a variation of another song, or a song that I still have yet to find, she started me down a path that drastically influenced my life as a whole. I feel that I must thank her, though she is passed, because she has given me the most precious gift that anyone has given, or ever will give me: a passion.

Tom Gillis '09

Jesuit Journal 14

A Blessing in Disguise Beep, beep, beep the microwave resounds across the kitchen. A plume of steam from the broccoli greets a child of nine as he opens the microwave door. He places the scalding Pyrex upon the counter before proceeding with preparing the rest of the meal. In another room a mother brushes her two daughters’ hair and her other son peers out the window, awaiting his father's arrival. As I grew older, this was a typical scene in my household. My parents thrust task after task upon me, and I was forced to grow up much quicker than many of my peers. It wasn't that my parents were very strict or forced me to grow up quick, on the contrary it was bred out of a necessity.

I am the oldest of four children, and while that may not seem like such an impetus to grow up there is one variable that very few people ever have to experience; I was given mentally retarded twin sisters, who will never read or write and will require special attention for the rest of their lives.

From the moment Abbie and Allie came into my life, it got a little bit harder. From the very beginning of their lives, which began two months prematurely, they required a lot of special attention and love, which I felt lessened the love and attention that I received. My parents now had a new thing to worry about. I had experienced this once before with the birth of my brother Jake, who is thirteen months younger than I, but not to this magnitude. I didn't know how to react to the new situation that I had been propelled into, but I tried desperately to grab my parents' attention in any way I could. My parents were already weighed down with the task of raising two children, maintaining a household, working and much more, but now they had two very big challenges to deal with on top of everything else. I discovered that the best way to gain my parents' attention was to do the little things I could around the house, so that they didn't have to do them and could spend time with me and praise me for the work I had done. At the age of eight, I really began to take on more and more responsibilities such as making my bed, cleaning my own room, making my own breakfast and helping to take care of Jake as well.

These little things have evolved quickly into bigger and better things, and I always try to rise to the task in front of me and conquer it head on. At the age of eight, I was running into the grocery store to pick up groceries so that my parents didn't have to get the girls out of the car. By the age of nine, I was helping to make dinner so that my mom could take care of Abbie and Allie. By the age of eleven, I was staying home and watching my siblings so that my parents could get out of the house and enjoy themselves. By the age of twelve, I was watching my sisters at swim practice so that my mom could run errands. By the age of sixteen, I was the one taking them to swim practice. These responsibilities are not typical of a child at my age; however, as a result of these tasks I matured much faster than many of my peers.

Abbie and Allie allow my family to forget about the outside world and focus on what matters most.

Through the sports offered by the Special Olympics, Abbie and Allie have taught us to always keep laughter in our lives and love all the people we surround ourselves with. Their antics on the court, such as scoring on the wrong goal and celebrating or cheering for an Olympian on the other team that scores a point or laying on the hardwood to make swimming motions on the basketball court, help us to realize that life isn't always about winning or losing, but that it’s about having fun with the people you love. The twins have an uncanny ability to unite my family and teach us all the true meaning of life. Abbie and Allie have been the most difficult things that I have ever or probably will ever have to deal with. However, they are also the best things that ever happened to me. Their birth was truly a blessing in disguise because it has brought out the very best in both my family and me.

Joe Chavarria '09

Jesuit Journal 15

Jesuit Journal 16

Topher Boehm '09