Jesuit Journal January 2016
College Essay Edition
Contents Essays Christian Shields 2 Shehryar Almakky 4 Andrew Arraj 5 Joshua Cobler 6 Federico Pier 9 Sean Rilley 10 Trey Russell 11 Michael Soliman 12 Ross Frick 15 Thomas Jordan 16
Artwork & Photography Alex Kurilecz Cover Colton Hart 1 Alex Kurilecz 3 Ty Morin 7 Mason Ward 8 Joseph Buskmiller 11 Zach Tiritilli 13 Joseph Buskmiller 14 Editor John Wengierski ’16 Moderator Mr. Ian Berry ’07
The Jesuit Journal aims to provide students interested in creative writing and visual art with a space to showcase their talents. In this issue, readers will find a selection of college essays written by members of the Class of 2016, published alongside stunning visual work offered by members of the student body. The Journal humbly thanks all of these students— particularly the seniors—for sharing their gifts with the school community.
Artwork by Colton Hart ‘16
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CHRISTIAN SHIELDS ’16
Some students have a background, identity, interest, or talent that is so meaningful they believe their application would be incomplete without it. If this sounds like you, then please share your story. July 2001: The airplane lands with a slight jolt. The screeching sound of the tires breaking resonates throughout the plane. I am screaming at the top of my voice, hungry, tired, bored, and cranky after a twelve and a half hour flight to Budapest. My mom is smiling as she gently squeezes my hands and seems curiously undisturbed by my annoying tantrum. Soon I am in my grandmother’s cozy lap eating my favorite cookies. Everything feels familiar: my relatives, the language, the enormous, shady beech outside of the window, the smell of the freshly mowed Hungarian grass, my aunt’s tiny car. I know I am home. July 2007: The plane lands again with the familiar jolt, as it does every summer. My excitement, curiosity and anticipation override my exhaustion. In the airport, the smell of cigarette smoke cuts through the stuffy air as we wait for our luggage. A large Hungarian man with crooked teeth and a sweaty smell pushes me as he grabs his suitcase. No one smiles, and no one is being helpful. I hear people around me vulgarly complaining. I look at my mom, hoping that we could turn back to Dallas. When I catch a glimpse of my family waiting for us outside, I feel at home again. As we settle into our small car to leave for the small town of Hajduszoboszlo, I am surprised by the size of the cars on the road, the narrow two-lane roads, the small villages, people on bicycles, elderly waiting for buses, kids playing soccer in small towns without uniforms, anxious parents, referees, or fancy SUVs surrounding them. Strange world. How did I not notice these things about my home before? July 2015: Back again in Hungary, the land of controversial politics and missed opportunities. Landing at this same airport used to give me a comforting feeling. I feel like a magnet draws me here, coupled with my curiosity and a desire to get more deeply involved in Hungarian life. I have a peculiar desire to know more about St. Steven, the first king of Hungary, the Mongolian invasion, the Austro-Hungarian Empire, the country’s involvement in both World Wars. Over the years, as I gained a keen interest in the world’s affairs, I developed concerns, worries, and more curiosity about Hungary. I want to change things in this part of the world. I want people to have access to higher quality healthcare and better business opportunities, and I want people to understand that corruption is based on lies, leading to more lies and more corruption. There is so much talent and beauty in Hungary. Why the delay and slow development? Is it the mindset of people? Or the corrupt government? I am Hungarian and have a desire to contribute. I do what I can. I volunteer to teach English to disadvantaged kids. I connect with them, they learn from me, but I am the real winner because I get to discover who I am. July 2020: The rattle of the landing shakes the plane, waking me from my sleep yet again. On the way to my grandmother’s house, I realize that, with a degree, this may be the first year I am able to fix the broken system that so irked me in years past. With a degree, I can make an impact on serious issues that face the small country that I could not have done so without it. For the first time I am able to help improve the healthcare system, provide business opportunities, and teach people that corruption is based on lies, leading to understanding and peace of mind. While I am helping advance the lives of people in rural Hungary, I learn that I am benefiting as much as they are.
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Photograph by Alex Kurilecz ‘16
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SHEHRYAR ALMAKKY ’16
Describe a circumstance, obstacle or conflict in your life, and the skills and resources you used to resolve it. Did it change you? If so, how? We both knew that this was the year we would catch it. I ran towards the kitchen, quickly packing the chilled cans of Coca-Cola and the family size bag of Flaming Hot Cheetos while my friend grabbed his sleek, off-white telescope with its detachable mount. After putting on our sweatshirts and shoes, we went into his garage to grab the camping chairs we would be sitting on for the next couple of hours, and the toolbox we needed to set the telescope up. As the garage door opened, we braced against the cold April night, hiking to our spot in the forest. Stealthily climbing over the wooden fence that separated the neighborhood from the woods, we slowly crept into the darkness of the forest. Even though it was pitch black, we had already memorized the route there, from the countless hours we spent wandering around the wooded area. By 10:00, we reached the abandoned flatbed, where there was a perfect opening towards the clear sky. Knowing the Lyrids would peak around 10:30, we started to unpack, carelessly throwing our equipment on the ground, and began setting up the telescope. For the past three years, both my friend and I have tried to catch the Lyrids meteor shower, but each time it had been overcast for the entire week. It was Oregon after all. This time around, the sky was clear enough to visibly see the constellations above. When we were about to finish putting the mount on the telescope, my friend asked me to give him the screw that would put the two together. Scanning through my backpack and the toolbox, I realized that we had lost the screw. Without it, we could not use the telescope properly. Worrying that we would miss our opportunity to see the showers, we frantically searched around the unlit forest near the truck in hopes of finding a two inch screw. Realizing how inefficient it was to look for a screw in the dark with only a flashlight, I suggested that we build a make-shift magnet to help us find it. Not knowing whether we had the materials to build one, I scavenged through the toolbox in search for the right materials. We took a copper wire and wrapped it around a rusted nail. We then taped the wire to the nail, and only needed a battery for it to work. I dismantled my Xbox controller that I had in my backpack and used the batteries inside to complete our magnet. We then began searching through the leaf-infested forest floor nearby. Every time we picked something with our magnet, it only turned out to be small nuts or screws. After a couple minutes of failure, we began to search underneath the truck. As I was looking for the screw with the magnet, my friend used his hand-powered flashlight to also look. Losing hope in the search, we decided to take a break and sit in the chairs, contemplating how we might yet again miss our chance. Desperately searching near my chair, I suddenly saw the magnet pick up a thin metal rod. With our luck, we were able to use the rod to connect the mount to the telescope, and hammer the ends to keep it in place. Although the telescope did not move fluidly, we were still faintly able to see through it. This could all have been avoided if we weren’t so careless. Realizing how recklessness creates unnecessary problems, I promised myself to be more careful in the future. By the end of the night, we were able to catch a couple of Lyrids sailing through the clear sky. With our goal accomplished and our eyes content, we headed back to his home yearning for next April.
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ANDREW ARRAJ ’16
Discuss an accomplishment or event, formal or informal, that marked your transition from childhood to adulthood within your culture, community, or family. The most important factor in my shift into adulthood was my need to act. At the age of 15 this realization occurred after witnessing the death of a champion, catapulting me into a more proactive role in my service endeavors. The day, July 14, 2012, commenced similarly as any other of my family’s biennial trip to our home country Lebanon; however, it differed from the normal family visits and daytrips to the beach. We rumbled to the venue of my younger cousin, Rami’s fencing competition: a military base located in the mountains not too far from our residence and observed in awe at his fencing skills. The time came for Fadi Tannous, his coach, to compete; thus, we remained and cheered him on. A sudden gasp and thud echoed through the scene. Tannous collapsed after taking a brutal blow to the chest. The women followed by dropping on their knees and rushed to pull out prayer beads and rosaries to mutter prayers for Tannous. The men, mostly consisting of soldiers, huddled around the soon to be corpse to see what was wrong. Tannous passed away due to a massive heart attack. I, not realizing any change upon my return from the vacation, matured. People were no longer nameless and faceless humans without stories; however, they were people with friends, families, goals, aspirations, worth, and talents. Everyone was a champion. I now viewed life as more precious because I had seen someone’s life end before my eyes. Witnessing all the goodness of a young man disappear forced me to value my dreams and life experiences so much more. Following in the footsteps of my brother, I became a leader in the Medical Society at Jesuit because I wanted to get a look into the world of medicine, a world which I wished to change in order to prevent others from dying tragic deaths. Wanting to keep the memory of Fadi alive, I became the co-captain of the fencing team my junior year. I began to work with HeartGift, a Texas based nonprofit aimed at providing children who live in developing nations and who endure the pains of congenital heart disease an opportunity to travel to several Texas and Louisiana hospitals to undergo a life saving surgery to mend “broken hearts”. Through this work done in the memory of Fadi, we raised $12,000, organized several fundraising events, and hosted five children from Mongolia, Jamaica, and Africa. I am now the leader of the Jesuit HeartGift initiative which has developed my communication, organization, and selfless attitude in order to bring about positive change in the lives of others who are suffering. In witnessing and experiencing such a tragic event, I was able to begin my journey into adulthood and used my high school career to honor a fallen hero and try to save the lives of others who suffer from similar disabilities and misfortunes. My journey into adulthood is not complete; however, I had an emotional and noteworthy first step. As a child, I only watched others attempt to save lives, but now I act.
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JOSHUA COBLER ’16
Some students have a background, identity, interest, or talent that is so meaningful they believe their application would be incomplete without it. If this sounds like you, then please share your story. I am my brother’s keeper. Over five years ago, my brother Jude had leukemia. When his prognosis worsened, he needed a bone marrow transplant to have a chance at surviving. I was his perfect match, and on a December afternoon, my marrow infused into his bloodstream. My blood became his blood, and from that point we shared a permanent, undeniable genetic link. A few months later, Jude was declared cancer-free. It was a picture-perfect ending to a picture-perfect story. But after cancer lost the fight for my brother’s life, it moved on to a new target: my identity. Almost one year post-transplant, a reporter from a local news station visited my home, filming a game of Risk my family was playing that night. When it was my turn to be interviewed, I told the reporter about all the difficulties of the past year—not seeing my family for weeks at a time, struggling to create solidarity among other siblings of cancer patients, and the ever-present fear of losing my brother. When the segment aired a week later, my story was reduced to just fifteen seconds. The camera showed Jude challenging me for the last country I held on the Risk board, identifying me on screen as “Brother.” Then Jude rolled three sixes—a perfect roll—and my final piece was wiped off the board. In those fifteen seconds, I had been relegated to just one word: brother. Everything I had done and everything I had felt had been masked by the idea that I was his keeper, that my only purpose was to be the one to protect him. Eventually, seasons passed. Cancer lost its post-mortem grip on my being, and I carved out an identity for myself beyond that one word. But in April, Jude relapsed. The doctors told me I couldn’t give him my marrow a second time, and I would lose that special genetic bond to a stranger. Only one thought ran through my head. Am I still my brother’s keeper? When my parents reached out to a local news channel for help in finding a new donor, I refused to be on air. I stood behind the cameraperson, out of the shot, unwilling to share another fifteen-second sound bite recalling the story of Jude’s cancer and marrow transplant. After the interview, my mother began questioning why I wouldn’t do everything possible to help him again. As much as I wanted to love and support Jude in every way possible, I wasn’t ready to just be “brother” again. I didn’t want every part of me to be relegated to being his keeper. So I did what I thought was necessary to preserve my selfhood: I pushed his cancer away, I avoided the hospital and my marrow advocacy work, and I tried to focus on anything else—anything to mask the reality that my brother was, once again, a leukemia patient. The mask could never truly conceal the pain behind it. I was so scared of just being “Jude’s brother,” so scared that acknowledging this one, unexpected chapter of my life would overshadow the rest of my story. By running away from the relapse, I had let it do the very thing I was trying to avoid—I had let it define my life, and I had let it dictate my story.
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But Jude’s cancer couldn’t define me. Just because I was, once again, the brother of a leukemia patient didn’t mean that was all I was. Though we no longer shared the same cells, but the onus was still on me to be the brother - to love him, support him, and help those just like him. But as much as I was brother, I was still a writer, an activist, an advocate, and the many other identities I was continuing to create. I am my brother’s keeper, but I am also one other thing: Joshua.
Photograph by Ty Morin ’16 7
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Artwork by Mason Ward ’19
FEDERICO PIER ’16
The lessons we take from failure can be fundamental to later succcess. Recount an incident or time when you experienced failure. How did it affect you, and what did you learn from the experience? It was a chilly Sunday afternoon in late November, when I was getting ready to play my next match. The day before I had fought through every single match, some easy, some not. As I heard my name called over the PA system, I grabbed my tennis bag and headed over to my designated court. Looking over at my opponent, I noticed he was nervous, which gave me confidence I would win this match easily. As we warmed up, I realized he was left-handed, yet that did not deter me, as his strokes felt weak and powerless. With every ball he hit, I responded with twice the force and twice the spin. I was ready to win. The coin toss determined I would serve first, as I was getting ready to serve, I remembered telling myself, “You can win this, just be consistent and levelheaded and this match is yours.� The first game I won, I felt invincible, a mistake that would cost me. His serve was weaker than mine, yet he was applying spin I was not used to; furthermore, his serve attacked my backhand, my weakest stroke. I remember that I basically threw away the match. Underestimating him caused me to become frustrated and my consistency quickly vanished. My frustration quickly turned into anger, I began slapping the ball around causing me to lose focus and concentration. I did not lose when my opponent aced me in the second set, ending the match; I had lost the minute I mentally broke down and gave up. Tennis is not just a physical sport, but a mental game and only those with the sharpest minds have the ability to win consistently. At that moment that I lost, I blamed my strokes and serves as the reason for losing, yet it was not my skill that failed me but my mentality. To many, the story of a 13 year old losing in a local tennis tournament may not seem remotely important or interesting, but to me it was one of those moments that I will never forget, not because I was at the brink of victory but because of what I learned from that match. Though initially a failure, it was this tennis match that I realized the importance of always keeping my head in the game and never giving up early, but to always fight on to the very end. If I could have just stayed mentally strong that day, the outcome could have been in my favor. The idea of having victory in my reach and losing it was why this match deeply impacted me. This experience did not only help me on the tennis court. I use this experience to always remember to never lose my mental game, in my studies, in my relationships and in any sport. Ever since that fateful afternoon, I have not truly given up in anything without putting all my effort into it. I have learned that I need to always be focused in everything I do and to never give up. Only then will I reach even greater success. Moreover, what really stuck to me was the message to never panic. For example, if I have a huge test, I must not panic, but instead come up with a study plan and prepare. In my relationships, if I ever hear a rumor about me, instead of overreacting, I should approach the person who started it and talk to him in a mature fashion. In tennis, I learned that I cannot get flustered or overwhelmed when my opponent is beating me because of his superior strategy; it is not a failure if you are prepared and get beat. It is a failure when one becomes overwhelmed easily and gives up without ever giving any effort.
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SEAN RILLEY ’16
Some students have a background, identity, interest, or talent that is so meaningful they believe their application would be incomplete without it. If this sounds like you, then please share your story. When I appear in the doorway on Wednesdays, hands shoot up in Mr. Sevilla’s classroom as students beg to be chosen to read with me in the library. But Mr. Sevilla never chooses a raised hand. He always chooses a hand buried in the lap of an anxious student staring at his desk, hoping to avoid attention. I used to be that kid. I know that feeling. I love my job as an elementary school reading tutor because I get to help kids who feel the same way I did. However, I never completely understood my impact until I read with Gary. Mr. Sevilla’s class is part of the dual-language program at an at-risk Dallas public school, and his classes are taught primarily in Spanish. The only non-Spanish-speaking student in a room full of native speakers, Gary sticks out like a lake in a desert. As Gary lumbered over to me, he looked as I am sure I did when I moved from Ohio to Texas: uncomfortable, reluctant, and scared. Gary eyed the literature book that Mr. Sevilla handed me. The book was written entirely in Spanish, and Gary stared at it with dread, much like I eyed my first Spanish assignments. I noted Gary’s discomfort and tried to make conversation with him as we walked to the library, but he only acknowledged me with his name. I saw myself in Gary. Each time I moved schools, I was scared to come out of my shell. I feared that other people would dislike me because I was different. I was scared to do anything other than nothing. Thankfully, I found people who made an extra effort to make me feel accepted and eased my difficult transition. Once Gary and I sat down and started the story, we began a cycle in which Gary slowly read a couple words before becoming stumped and quitting. Gary would silently stare at the page until I had to reluctantly give him the word. What bothered me was that Gary refused to try. Again, I understood why. Gary’s classroom was full of kids already well-versed in the Spanish language. Gary’s lack of Spanish ability had doubtlessly caused his fluent classmates to tease him, because that is what elementary school children do. When I moved to Texas, I initially refused to talk to people because I also feared they would ridicule me. I assume Gary worried that I would mock him just as his classmates did. On the next page, I decided to break the cycle. I hunched until our heads were level and quietly told Gary, “I don’t care if you get the word wrong. All I care about is that you try. I promise I won’t get mad if you make a mistake.” I wanted to make Gary feel safe, like a mistake would not be the end of the world. I remembered everyone in my life during my tough transitions who did this for me, and how much happier I was when they made a special effort to make me feel that I belonged. I wanted to be that person for Gary. Gary smiled up at me, then looked down at the word and started sounding it out. He got it on the first try, and I gave him one of the most enthusiastic high-fives I had ever given anyone. We finished the rest of the book quickly, and each time Gary encountered a word that he struggled with, he sounded it out instead of staying silent. Each time Gary tried, he succeeded, and each time he succeeded, I cheered like he won the Super Bowl. He even started to smile and laugh with me. As I walked Gary back to his classroom, I realized that my transition had come full circle. In the past, I was the helped. Now I was the helper.
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TREY RUSSELL ’16
What excites you about attending Notre Dame? I have been fascinated with Notre Dame since an early age. When I was three years old, I became sick one night, walked to my parents’ room while my stomach grumbled, and vomited all over the shirt I was wearing. My mother then gave me an old Notre Dame shirt from my dad’s closet to change into. As soon as I put it on, there was an internal click like a switch being turned on within my head. I’ve kept that shirt for the past 14 years and still wear it to this day because it serves as a reminder of my goal. My goal is to wake up one night all sweaty and clammy due to the lack of air-conditioning, rush to the trashcan only to realize that I am fine, walk to my closet, quickly change into that ancient Notre Dame shirt, and climb back into bed. The last and best part of this goal is that it will allow me to then look outside my window, see the basilica in the distance, and know that I made it into Notre Dame.
Artwork by Joseph Buskmiller ’19
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MICHAEL SOLIMAN ’16
Describe a circumstance, obstacle or conflict in your life, and the skills and resources you used to resolve it. Did it change you? If so, how? At the end of July 2013, my family moved from Egypt to Texas, seeking a better future for my brother Andrew and I. Having been so excited by the new atmosphere, culture, and school, I overlooked the fact that I had no communication skills, as I had never been taught to speak English in Egypt. The night before the first day of school, I was terrified as I hadn’t had the chance to practice speaking a single English word. Moreover, I spent the three weeks before school started either at home, where my family spoke Arabic, or at church, where I also spoke Arabic with my friends who came from Egypt as well. This enormous stress I felt became worse during my English and World History classes, where my shyness and lack of proficiency in English forced me to stay quiet and understand little of what my teachers were saying. After I went home that day, I became so aggravated by my hopeless situation that I cried excessively as I had no clue how to do my English poetry assignment. I felt even more overwhelmed when my English teacher assigned a poetry essay to write, which frightened me since my writing skills were inadequate at that time. This predominant language barrier became a huge hindrance on me and I received bad grades the first six weeks of school, which contradicted my high grades and hard-working mindset back in Egypt. Realizing that I had to excel in my education, that my parents brought me to the United States for and to be the hard-working student I used to be, I stood up to my obstacles and found new ways to overcome them. Initially, I started speaking English with my Egyptian friends instead of Arabic, which abundantly helped me improve my grammatical, and vocabulary skills while speaking. As a result, I gradually excelled in choosing the correct words and definitions, which became more evident as I often earned an “A” on vocabulary quizzes. Also, as I became more confident in speaking, I began seeking help from my English teacher regarding my essays to improve my writing skills. Being an “A” student back in Egypt motivated me to form new learning habits in the United States to attain my new goal of being one of the top students in my classes by breaking through my severe and overwhelming language barrier. Not only did I strengthen my dedication towards my goals but also improved my social life by disposing of my shyness. This allowed me to further pursue my education at Jesuit College Preparatory School by enhancing my communication skills, which I found to be an important ingredient in being both academically and socially successful through the frequent visits to my teachers and forming new friends who ultimately helped me become the inspired, auspicious student in America I have always dreamt to be. Although I have not become an English scholar or conquered all intricacies of English syntax, I motivate myself to gain more skills and confidence with each assignment.
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Artwork by Zach Tiritilli ’17
Artwork by Joseph Buskmiller ’19
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ROSS FRICK ’16
Describe a circumstance, obstacle or conflict in your life, and the skills and resources you used to resolve it. Did it change you? If so, how? Before I even knew what hit me, a ninety pound ball of golden fur had pummeled the two year old version of myself into the ground. Tears began to creep to the corners of my eyes as I became aware of the evil beast that hit me with the force of an NFL linebacker: my grandparent’s golden retriever. Man’s best friend? Not to me. My two year old brain instantly developed an intense phobia of dogs, specifically known as cynophobia. From that point on, I lived with an extreme fear of dogs that only amplified as I grew older. Whenever I went over to my best friend’s house, I sprinted from the door to the stairs as if I was competing in the one hundred meter dash at the 2012 Beijing Olympics, running from their dog like my life depended on it. At my aunt and uncle’s house, I distinctly recall a nightmarish memory that practically traumatized me and exacerbated my fear of dogs exponentially. It was around midnight and I was sleeping over at their house all alone in the game room, but, I needed to use the restroom a mere 60 feet away. I approached the doors of the game room, the rhythmic ticking of the clock occupying the otherwise silent house. I slowly opened the door and the coast seemed clear, but, as I started to inch out, I spotted three quick movements in my peripheral vision, three quick movements that had to be my uncle’s two boxers and German shepherd. I stopped dead in my tracks and dove back into the game room, slamming the doors behind me. A second later, I heard scratching at the door, a noise that terrorized me for the rest of the night, a noise that augmented my fear of dogs to an all-time high, a noise that indicated that I needed to change. Although unavoidable, I attempted to live with this fear of dogs up until the problem confronted me head on. One day, I returned to my house to hear the worst news imaginable: my family had purchased a dog. Weighing in at nine pounds and standing no more than one foot tall, this mix of a Maltese and Yorkie, a Morkie, would alter my life in ways I never thought it could. Immediately I went into problem solving mode, figuring out ways in which I would never cross paths with my arch nemesis. My mind was evaluating so many situations that steam was practically blowing out of my ears. However, I had a realization that maybe it was time to end my fear of dogs forever. I had grown tired of living in a state of ubiquitous fear and worry, and I needed to conquer my anxiety about something that was supposed to bring me happiness. Plus, I couldn’t be afraid of something called a Morkie, a word that I feel implies connotations of playfulness and joy. Even though the process was grueling, I slowly overcame my phobia of dogs through persistence and determination, and even grew to enjoy them. My fear of dogs instilled in me valuable experience about adapting to new and uncomfortable situations, and I had developed a fearless persona that aided in the resolution of future obstacles and conflicts. Additionally, because of the pervasive appeal towards dogs, I took on my fears alone, requiring me to mature and augment self confidence in order to solve the problem. Now, when I set my mind to doing something, whether it be athletics, academics, or any other activity, an intrinsic tenacity along with a dedicated work ethic drives me to the finish line. By neglecting to resolve my phobia of dogs for the majority of my life, I was simply ignoring my weaknesses. When I had the realization that my weaknesses were holding me back, I knew that I needed to focus on improving these weaknesses to make the next step forward in my life. Looking back upon that time period, it was almost if I held a vendetta against dogs for the one incident that scarred me for years. I can understand how humans could be afraid of snakes, scorpions, or sharks, but to be afraid of dogs? Although at one point this was a legitimate fear of mine, it sounds funny to say. Overall, Lily, my nine pound Morkie which I had initially been afraid of, helped me grow into a confident and assertive individual, leading me to understand why dogs are called man’s best friend. 15
THOMAS JORDAN ’16
Describe a circumstance, obstacle or conflict in your life, and the skills and resources you used to resolve it. Did it change you? If so, how? Baseball and Mistletoe Nothing bugs me more than the ridiculous paradigm held by those that believe there is such thing as “too many baseball cards”. The 1986 Topps Barry Bonds RC #11T and 1987 Donruss Greg Maddux RC #36 in that 500 pack of baseball cards taunt me with their historical glory; however, my parents’ misperceptions reduce them to a fleeting dream as the holidays approach. I begin walking home from my elementary school, disheartened by my crushed dream for baseball cards. As I approach my house, something seems out of place in my tree; for the first time, I notice bundles of green dangling from its otherwise barren branches. I recognize this plant. I have seen it before. Hanging over my uncle stealing a kiss from his wife. Sitting on the shelf of the Kroger down the street. Then it hits me. Its mistletoe, and I know it has value. Whether it be the archetypal association of green with money or an intrinsic desire for independence, I see an opportunity, an opportunity to challenge my parents’ idea about “unnecessary” baseball cards and earn them myself. My gait quickens as I burst into my garage, scanning the scattered tools and 2x4s for a pruning saw. After collecting the saw and a ladder, I stand at the base of the tree, gazing upwards, intimidated by the 25 feet between those bundles of green and me. Sheepishly ascending each rung of the ladder, I eventually reach the lowest hanging of the green bundles. Lifting up the pruning saw, I glance downwards, my fear shaking both the ladder and my conviction. After contemplating a retreat, something tells me to persist, to ignore my anxiety and finish what I started. My resolve renewed, I resume my work. A few days later, 25 neatly trimmed mistletoe, now laced with a festive red ribbon, lie on my back porch, ready to be sold. I cautiously begin my endeavor by crossing the street holding two bags, one full of green foliage, the other empty. Shyly approaching the first door, I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and ring the doorbell. The door swings opens to my neighbor Mr. Barth, his puzzled expression questioning my presence at his door. I answer by opening my bag and politely asking, “Would you like to buy some mistletoe for the holidays? Only 5 dollars.” He chuckles, retrieves his wallet from his back pocket, and endearingly extends his hand with a five dollar bill. I leave his house, Mr. Barth’s endorsement palliating my anxiety. The dropping temperatures and occasional rejection do not deter me; I knock on every door within three blocks of my house until I return holding two bags, one full, the other empty. My ability to overcome my parents’ misguided beliefs, to conceive of an idea, and to execute it taught the eleven year old me that I could do anything. Earn my own Greg Maddux rookie card. Even run a billion dollar hedge fund. Thanks to this invaluable experience, I know if I am willing to assume risk and responsibility and dedicate countless hours, my inconceivable dreams are in fact conceivable.
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WE WANT YOUR SUBMISSIONS! We strive to highlight the creative talents of Jesuit students, whether in the form of drawings, paintaings, short stories, poems, essays, photography, or any other type of artistic expression. To do that, though, we need your submissions. We accept all school-appropriate creative works, regardless of topic, from all current Jesuit students. These do not have to be from a Jesuit art class, nor do they have to be new. Anything you have made or will make would be greatly appreciated. We hope to see one of your creations published in a future edition.
Please email all submissions to thejesuitjournal@gmail.com. If you have any questions, contact John Wengierski ’16 or Mr. Berry ’07.