Prometheus
Matthew Lowrie
Table of Contents Poetry
I Stand Here in Times Square. . . . . . . . . . . . Hurricanes of Jazz. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The Midnight Hour. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . White Tea. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
5 6 8 9
Short Stories
Sinners Anonymous. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 10 Fox and Frog. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 12 Legacy . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 14 Personal Essays
Becoming Who I Am. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 18 Hurricane. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 20 Fraternity . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 22
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I STAND HERE IN TIMES SQUARE I stand here in Times Square, Before the office manager spilling his coffee in his dash to work, Before the tourist bumping into a man in his quest for the perfect shot, Before the tout pushing a discount that must only happen today, Before the police officer watching every person from his unrevealing dark glasses, Before the veteran who has lost a limb begging from his corner next to an alleyway, Before the four year old begging to get a pack of M&Ms she will not get today, Before the group of shoppers stopping at every high end storefront with their overstuffed bags, Before the schoolboy shouting for joy as he gets a few seconds of fame his face appears on the billboard, Before the mime dressed as the statue of liberty scaring children for a bit of change, Before to hot dog vendor flipping burnt sausages to keep up with his lunchtime demand, Before the heartbeats of the day I stand in the brisk clear skies with a fresh morning scent, With the sun so low the monstrous steel and glass skyscrapers hide my shadow, With only the street sweeper clearing yesterday’s trash and the early morning jogger I am at peace.
Jaydeep Sangha Brett Gallagher
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Hurricanes of Jazz Charging through the hurricane of jazz Notes, beats, bursts, sounds. Before even knowing it, one has left his seat, she’s off the ground. Swept up by the winds of melody, Boom, tiss, crash, twang—ringing— Observing the marriage of chaos and harmony. Peace is found where it is least expected. Tempering the mind, dulling the senses, Entrancing, drawing one in Before the violent gust breaks loose, Noises captivating, body electrified, The rhythm is irresistible.
Bilal Wurie 6
Max Spiritos
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The Midnight Hour Through silver streaks upon the moonlit bay A flock of ferrous swans return to layThe calling of the midnight hour sounds O’er sunken ship at rest in Mother’s mounds. Nights’ shadow on the waking, wine dark sea Brings forth the fervent crowds and daily spree; In open waters, curious minds roam, Through gleaming turquoise waves and frothy foam. The rosy fingers sink once more to sleep, Their Father once again begins to weepA sinking sun set on an endless tide Casts shadows o’er the mating Lion’s pride. Our Mother beacons all sons back to rest: to Ithaca, her everlasting nest.
Matthew Seebald
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White Tea
I made some white tea and it was too watery so I left it in to infuse a bit more and then it was bittery so I put sugar into it and then it was watery so I put in a little bit more and it is now sugary Nikola Dragacevac
Jackson Powell
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Sinners Anonymous Max Spiritos *tap tap* “Hello? Is this thing on?” *tap tap tap*. “Welcome everyone to this week’s meeting of sinner’s anonymous. I would like to invite Max Spiritos up to the microphone to speak about his past experiences and his insight on sinning. Everyone please give a warm welcome to Max”. Or at least that’s what occurred in my head as I was getting pulled over by a cop on I-270.
Patrick Townsend 10
That fine summer day had started out normally, waking up at 6:30, driving to water polo practice and playing water polo for a few hours. I had recently been in a conversation with a fellow teammate of mine about driving quickly because he had passed me on the highway at a fairly high pace. He told me that in his year of driving, he has been able to drive 25 miles per hour over the speed limit and has yet to receive a ticket. Unfortunately on this one fateful day I had decided to take my teammate’s words to heart and was travelling down the highway at a brisk pace. I had just switched over to the HOV lane to overpass a light blue 2004 Hyundai sonata when I saw a black Ford Crown Victoria pulled to the side of the highway. When the officer began to step into his vehicle I realized what had happened and begun to slow down. As Sergeant Starsky approached my window, I didn’t see a cop standing there asking for my license and registration; instead,
I saw Alexander the Great reaching his hand out to me as if he wanted me to take it. I grasped his hand and was yanked through my car, through the highway, and through the ground until we reached the portal of hell. Alexander spoke to me, “Max, in order to obtain your true goals you must first learn what it means to sin, that is why we are here on the brink of hell.” I was amazed at how powerful this man who has been dead for over 2337 years. “Alexander, great to meet you. I am a huge fan and think you are amazing. I do have a quick question for you though. Why are you bringing me through hell and not someone more modern or someone that relates more closely to me?” “Well, Max. We are as close as can be. Both of us have the resounding quality of being a great leader and a powerful wordsmith in our own ways. Together with both of our desires to become the best and to overcome odds, both of us are able to provide intellectual counselling for others in need. I know that in Mrs. Farnstrom’s humanities course you read Dante’s version of the Inferno so we will only skip to the newly added portions of hell in order to hasten your recognition of sin.”
As we approached the mirrored floor of the ring, I saw a humanoid figure sulking underneath a clear tree. As I examined this fleshed creature I noticed gruesome details anointing his body. I was able to determine that this was in fact a man, covered in bruises, cuts, and boils that hid any human features about him. “The occupants of this circle were all narcissists who enjoyed the company and image of themselves more than that of their neighbors. Thus, their punishment is to forever see their own person destroyed by scratches, bruises, or any kind of abrasion to the point where they are disgusted at the sight of themselves. Yet they can never escape it as everywhere they look, they see themselves in the mirrored floors, the trees, even the other sinners all show them how they look.” “Distraught and forlorn soul, please, confide in me the story as to how you ended up in this forsaken place.”
“Alexander, would you mind me asking what the ring where I can very clearly see our reflection is?”
“Kanye East is the name that was given to me at birth and I guided myself similarly to another man whose name is almost the same as mine. I was and am driven by a term that I like to call Kanye-fidence. I define this as the ability to be so confident and proud of one-self that you determine that yourself is the only one who deserves praise. As I once said ‘I am so incredible and so influential and so relevant that I will change things.’ This statement just shows how I lived my life. I lacked the self control and ability to interact socially with normal human beings that aren’t driven my narcissistic thoughts.”
“That is the new 6th ring where the victims of monomania reside. These narcissistic beings were those who used all of their time to perfect their look and to capture them in photographs.
“Thank you kind soul for the words that you have imparted unto me. I wish upon you the least terrible discomfort possible and bid you farewell.”
As Alexander and I floated over the wasteland of the Neutrals, the Virtuous Heathens, and the other 4 rings of incontinence that I’d learned about in humanities I began to see reflections shining around the entirety of the new 6th ring of hell.
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Fox and Frog Sam Lieberman With the sigh of the summer and yawn of the day, the forestsound sprung with the creatures at play. The birds and the flies all went chattering ‘round, while the older beasts waded through leaves on the ground. A frog led a fox through the mottling green, up to the wood which he never had seen. He laughed and he clapped when the fire-flies danced, “I’d stay here forever if I had the chance!” “I’m glad,” said the frog and he was glad indeed. He was food for the fox if the fox felt the need. But Fox shook his hand and said warmly and kind, “Never will eating friends enter my mind.” “Yes!” said the frog, “well then let us be friends! We’ll dance in the woods till the glad summer ends. The wood in the night is a wonderful place; see how the fireflies laugh and they race? Glowing and singing their sweet summer song, oh this is a place I would stay in for long!” “Yes,” said the fox, “I may set down at last. Build a nice house with a roof of wild grass. And a garden so lovely with clovers that sway, and perhaps my old friend
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will come by here someday.” “Good friends you’ll have here and good friends then to spare. See ‘cross the bower that laughing old bear?” “He seems like a right jolly fellow that’s true. Look how he stirs up his nice salmon stew! I am very hungry, if only he’d share… why don’t we ask of that jolly old bear? “Oh Bear, oh, oh Bear! I smell your nice stew! It isn’t so large, oh yes that is true. But could you please share some small bowl here with me? And Frog too of course, let us dine here us three!” “I can’t my friend Fox and it does make me sad. But bears in the winter can never be glad. Tonight I sit down for a sleep that’s quite long; can you not hear the wood’s sad Winter Song?” “What winter song? I know not what you mean! One fretful beast I have not even seen! See how the fire-flies all laugh around? all of them buzzing their glad summer sound!” “Look on the ground, can you not see? The leaves that have died and have fell from their tree? Poor fox are you deaf to the sad insect’s moan? A cold wind is coming, oh I must go home!”
He shook his great head and stumped sadly away; he sealed his great cave with his careful-kept clay, and once safe within he did roll a great stone, to block out the sound of the sad insect’s moan. Shaking his head and then sighing but twice: “The life of an insect is not very nice. Only a season for dumb merrihood. Then in the
winter they sleep, but for good.’” Now Fox he went trembling and shook his wild head, he turned then to Frog and then frenzied he said: “The wan Winter Song? It’s come here too soon! Always it waits for the death of the moon! And I haven’t eaten, my prey will be gone, buried in snow and I’ll join
them ere long.” His yellow eyes glistened and wandered away. Tracking the pall of the death of the day. They roamed to the meadows where sunshine would lie, and he wondered to think that this winter he’d die. “Please do not cry!” cried the frog, “it’s okay! I’ll help you now Fox, oh I will, oh I say! And I have a hole where we warmly can stay, and flies far enough for to feast every day!” “How big is this hole? You see I do fear—” “About your paw’s breadth, and you see we…oh dear.” “And do you have food that could feed up a Fox?” “All that I have are some flies and some rocks.” He sighed and then told his friend Frog he should go: “I don’t want my friend here to wait for the snow.” Frog shook his head, “No I never could leave! A friend cannot leave when a friend is in need. Don’t worry so Fox for I know all the birds, and a fox in a pinch will eat apples I’ve heard. We’ll find us a bird to pluck one or pluck two. If we hurry now Fox we can find you some food!” So off they did go, towards the smell of the snow, passing the fire-flies, lit all a’glow. And none of them sad it was getting so late, for none of them knew of their
sad winter’s fate. They seemed silly things as they danced all in ring, in winter’s cruel fall did they cheerfully sing, and silly, for as the cold comes creeping on, they cheerfully plan for to dance more anon. They were sad for the flies, but Fox thought them quite dumb. They both listened hard but no bird note was sung. After a while came the fall of the snow, and the fox and the frog didn’t know where to go. But after they shivered they quickened their pace, while snowflakes all stuck to the fur of fox-face. “What will you do when you find some fox-food? You seem not to be in a sleepy-fox mood. I have heard tell of some snowy-white deer, who gallop in winter quite far ‘way from here. It’s said they all come to a clearing and soon: they’ll dance hoof-in-hoof ‘neath the light of the moon:
‘The wonderful deer to a sweet fairy tune, Will dance hoof-in-hoof ‘neath the light of the moon!’
Will you then Fox also go to that place? A fairy-kissed land, nurseryrhyméd place?” “No,” said the fox, “I’ll be all alone. I’ll wander the mountains where stars have their home. I’ve wandered the valleys and crossed the dark seas. And heard all the
sighings of wind-rustled trees. The life of a fox is a lonely long thing. You see I did dance paw-in-hoof in that ring. But my heart is rotten; I hunted a deer. They cast me out then, and I wandered to here. My love she still goes to that fairysong place. In snow her light paws do not leave any trace. But still she must travel once to and once fro. So winters I wander, to look through the snow.” “Oh why did you hunt after that snowy deer?” “A fox’s cold heart is my master I fear. You cannot fight nature e’en if you would try, else why would we let our dear summer to die?” They wandered together in silence from there. Frog’s hopping grew tired; frost froze on fox-hair. A mole-rat in wonder poked out from his den, “since I have had comp’ny, how long it has been! How pleasant,” he thought, “to have friends here with me. But no, silly hopes, I’ve not food here for three.” Still onward did Fox and Frog trudge through the land. Farther till Frog fell and barely could stand. They’d been straining their ears but no call they had heard. It was winter. Fox saw that they’d ne’er find a bird. Fox gave a snarl, then a yelp, then a breath. He held his clawed right paw tight down with his left. “Frog this it, quickly please you must go! Go back to your hole that
is safe from the snow!” “And leave my friend hungry? Lone here for to die? Not for the juiciest, tastiest fly!” “I’m starving now Frog, don’t you see you can’t stay? I hate my fox-heart but can’t help but obey.” But Frog pointed out just how far they did roam. He never would make it now back to his home. “So Fox you should eat me, that will be just fine. Then you can look all this long winter time.” Fox’s heart pounded; he snarled and foamed. Then his eyes flew afar and he let out a groan. Far away a fox-tail could be seen near a tree. And then she was gone, for all he could see. His eyes ran out further, past days and past nights. A lonely fox padded on ‘neath the moonlight. Onward and onward it padded so long. The wind swept its tracks, and then it was gone. He sat and was quiet and said then to Frog: “Do you remember the fireflies’ song? It wasn’t so sad, though it wasn’t so long. Let’s you and I sing the fire-flies’ song.” So they sang it together, mournful and slow. Then his chest thawed and warmed and it filled with a glow. The moon came again from behind a dark cloud. And they sang it again, this time cheerful and loud. It’s a sad thing to sing if you’re lone in the night. But they sang it together, beneath the starlight.
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Legacy
Faraz Ghorbanpour
Sun beams danced off the low tides as I awoke. I was happy, because I would be eating with Mom and Dad. I got out of bed and went over to the window. There seemed to be a lower tide than usual, but my house was too far to be sure. I lived in a small seaside village, with my house being the tallest, and farthest from the ocean. I got out of my nightgown and put on my favorite dress to start off the day. I could already hear Mom downstairs. “Food’s ready!” I ran downstairs, nearly tripping on my dark green dress. The hard mahogany floor was cold against my bare feet. Mom stood there, in the kitchen, holding her skillet, with some fried eggs still simmering in the butter. She was a strong lady, and a Mage, who always had a tome in her coat. She always wore that light blue coat, and it had almost no imperfections--just the hole right next to her pocket, near her stomach. It was the only time she was injured, and she bears the hole like an achievement. As I entered the room, the smell of the eggs hit me like cold water. The plates and utensils floated on the table with the help of my mother’s magic. As I sat down in my chair at the table, the plate glided its way in front of me, setting itself in perfect alignment, and it was quickly followed by the utensils. Mom was a wizard of nature, meaning she controlled the trees. That’s why we live in one. An abnormally large, hollow, yet sturdy, mahogany tree. It’s comfy. Warmed and cooled by Mom’s magic. Mother came and slid the eggs from the skillet and onto my plate. They were cooked perfectly, layered in melted white cheese. I sat patiently and waited for Mom to come to sit and eat with me. She came with her bread and cream cheese, as Father came barging through the doors with his bronze and silver spear. “Sera, come with me. Now.” Sera is Mom’s name. “What is it? Another wyrm?”
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Dad is a dragon slayer. He is kind of tall, and he has a brown, gilded cape. He never wore his officer helmet, but he only took off his maroon armor when he was going to eat or sleep. “No. This is not protection of our outposts but the whole town.” “What is it, Darius?” “There is a gale coming. From the other lands. People say it has caused a tsunami.” Mother got up abruptly from her chair and grabbed her staff, which was always in reach. “Daemon dear, go to the attic, and bring your tomes as well.” I am studying to be a mage. I was told that I am excelling in my magic abilities. “Mommy and Daddy have to go outside for a little while.” I knew that wasn’t the truth. “Daddy. Mommy. I’m scared.” I started to cry. Through my tears I saw my parents holding each other’s hand. They were staring at their hands. At their wedding rings, specifically. The rings were both golden and had a weaving pattern. The centerpiece for it was a silver leaf with a ruby and a diamond. They were beautiful. “It’s okay. Everything is going to be all right.” Mom hugged me and wiped the tears off my face. “We will be back in only a few m--” The house shook violently. Pictures fell off the wall. Glass shattered. My eggs fell of the table. A window shattered, causing a rush of wind to shoot through the house, knocking all of us over, even Dad. The force made me scream “Daemona! Stay down! Sera!” “Got it!” Mom got up, fighting the wind, supported by only her oak staff, and she raised her other hand up. She prepared for a spell. “Ginyas Vinoras!” Her hand started to glow a bright green and the wind finally stopped. “Why did it stop?” I was confused and scared like a cornered rodent. “The spell was a tree manipulation spell which let move the trees to cover the shattered window. Now go upstairs, now!”
As Dad was fastening his armor, Mom cast the spell again and I crawled up the vine as fast as I could, hoping to get into the made a vine that spiraled directly towards the attic. “Hurry! And take attic. The whole house started to tremble as I was balancing my your tome!” eggs and myself on the steep vine. As I got to the top, my I grabbed my book. It was brown with a green face was covered in tears of fear. I climbed up spine. I had just got it as a gift from my friend. to the hatch and cautiously crawled into the I dashed my way up the vine, which was trembling attic. All of my tears were for my very steep, yet still climbable. As I got parents. to the attic, I opened the latch and I ran to the window to see what was crawled in. happening. My mom was still there, The attic was lit, mostly and now sky blue rings of light due to animals making holes in were on the wall as well, most the roof. My parents don’t do likely from Dad. I believe that anything though; this is still a his magic is a type that could tree. I pulled up an old chair create barriers. and sat down. The only thing that could My stomach rumbled. I be heard was the giant, had left the eggs downstairs. mysterious roar behind the I got up then stuttered. Mom tall wall. I tried to eat the and Dad had told me to stay now cold and rubbery eggs in the attic until it was over. I and try to ignore the ominous didn’t hear anything. I didn’t see crashes behind the looming anything. I didn’t smell anything. wall. I couldn’t eat, as I lost my Except for my eggs. appetite. I just stared at the tall, I opened the hatch. The vine wooden wall. was still there. I started to climb The roar was getting louder down. It seemed incredibly steep. I and clearer. It sounded like thousands heard a small rumble. I kept crawling of hollow stones were beating against down with a little more haste. The rumble a mountain. The wall looked like it was was still there. When I neared the end, concaving. A harsh mist started to form I kind of leaped or fell off. I scratched my above the wall. The wood started to crack. knees but I didn’t care. The blue rings started shimmering into a bright Faraz Ghorbanpour I ran through the kitchen to the table. I got my orange color. Water started seeping throughout the eggs and I almost ran out. The room was dark. Yet it was wall, and it came through faster and faster. breakfast time a minute ago. Through a poorly covered window My parents stood closer to each other. They stopped reciting IU saw a huge wall of tree bark, and Mom was there waving her staff, their chants. They just stood right next to each other. Dad subtly which was glowing with a brown and green aura. Dad was there too, reached over to Mom. He grabbed her trembling hand, and squeezed with his spear in the ground, and a blue ring of light around his feet. it. The next five seconds went by in a flash, yet it felt like centuries.
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A loud crash shook the world. A freezing wall of water impeded my house, relentlessly knocking my house to the ground. I could feel the house keel over, as gravity pushed all the furniture towards me at an increasing velocity. They were only feet away. A thunderous crash stopped my mind. The sun was directly above my eyes, as it peered through a hole in the wall. The pain in my body was breathtaking. There was murky, red water around my waist. It smelt different, but it was just a shattered wine casket. It always amazed me how things Mom and Dad loved could smell so foul. I checked myself for wounds, and only saw bruises. I got up and tried to climb up into the hatch, which was now on the wall, because the wall was under my feet. The whole room was dank, wet, and disorderly. It was an easy climb, considering the random furniture strewed all over the room. I easily moved a chair under the hatch and climbed up. From the hatch to the main hallway was a bit more if a challenge, yet it was still easy, as the water cushioned my fall. The water from under my knees slowly drifted off through a somewhat large opening. I crawled out, only to be greeted by sunlight and horror. The wall made by my parents was decimated and reduced to wood chips; puddles of mud and piles of debris littered the ground before me. With neither trees nor house, the land was flat. I was at a loss for words and tears. All I could do was search for Mom and Dad. After circling the remains of my house, I saw a glimmer of white and red. I sprinted as fast as I could, ignoring all the bruises and sharp debris on the muddied ground. The tears finally came back, and they poured down my face. Through the blur caused by my tears, I saw a figure. It was Mom, with her ring. She was in tatters. Her staff must have been broken because she only held the top part. Her hazel hair covered her face. It was not as beautiful as I remember. I finally got to her and saw the true effects of the wall of water. Fragments had impaled her body. She was bruised everywhere. She was bloated as if she had eaten pounds of salt. She groaned. She looked up at me. Mom’s face was covered in tears. Her skin looked greener than usual. Her mouth was open, and water drooled
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down her chin from her lip, which was chapped and cut. Her eyes were blurred and a softer color than before. We locked eyes. “Daemona? Is that you?” Her voice was hoarse and drowned. “Where’s Daddy? Where is he?” I got on my knees so I would stop looking down on Mom. “Why do you have his ring?” Dad almost never took it off, and yet it was the cleanest ring throughout the lands. Mom looked down on herself and stared at her tattered shoes. Tears flowed down her cheeks again. She held Dad’s ring firmly. “Daddy will not be here for some time... He has something for work...” Her voice trembled with each syllable. She broke down more. I started to cry too. “Why did Daddy give you his ring?” I sat next to Mom, and cried on her bruised shoulder, while burying my face in the tatters of her overcoat. She hugged me back, sniffing and holding back her tears. She wiped her chin on the remains of her sleeve and rested her cheek on the top of my head. “He gave it to me because...because he wanted to give it to you.” I stopped my sobbing and looked at Mom. She looked at me with a grin and her blurry and tender eyes. She was sincere, yet I could not believe her. “Before he...left...he told me how you, Daemon, were his shining ring. He wants you to become a true warrior. He also left this for you.” Mom arose and staggered and limped over to a pile of dirt. Every step made her wince in pain, yet she still paced on. She got down on her knees and started sifting through the dirt mound. From it came a bronze spearhead, with a ruby embedded in the center of it. It was Dad’s dragon slayer spear. “He said you had the will, blood, and spirit that could defeat such beasts, and all you needed was a weapon.” I slowly took it into my hands. I hugged the metal spearhead and cried. I knew where dad was, but I knew I would not see him return home. I walked into the remains of the house, holding the hand of my mother, and the spirit of my father.
Ryan Patterson
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Becoming Who I Am John Walker Turner In the African-American Community around 72% percent of children are born to unwed parents. While I may not be an anomaly, I am also not a statistic. In my community growing up in a single parent household was the norm and the presence of male role models scarce. However, while my mom was the one parent to care for me, she was aggressive about ensuring that I would have positive male role models every step of the way, especially after I witnessed the death of my terminally ill grandfather. Her search led me to a church ministry named Project Manhood, a group that largely contributed to who I am today. Project Manhood is a ministry within my church that provides mentoring and a brotherhood to young African-American males. The group meets every Friday, and through them I have met African American men who were Christian, educated, successful professionals and dedicated husbands and fathers–people that would soon become like family. My second week in the group I was approached by a mentor who pulled me aside because he noticed that I still looked a little uncomfortable. He sat me down and gave me personalized
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attention. He asked what my struggles were, what my successes were, and for almost every problem I had, he read me a bible verse that could relate. What he did for me was make me feel as though every Friday I was coming to my second home, and from then on I was hooked. Project Manhood became my safe haven as I was surrounded by kids who were just like me, kids with humble socio-economic backgrounds and products of a subpar education system. The ministry taught kids how to deal with issues we faced as black males, whether at home, school, or in our communities. What stuck out to me the most, however, was how they emphasized the importance of giving back to our community, for it was something that gave me purpose. Having experienced first hand through Project Manhood the impact that a good deed can have on my life, I now feel as though it is my duty to do the same for someone else. Now, what started with my doing something as easy as mowing the lawn for an elderly neighbor has developed into my giving back in a greater way in both my church and school communities. I have now aged out of Project
Manhood but only as a mentee. My role has changed. I now provide free tutoring to the boys that need it, as I know many moms can’t afford to get the help. At my school I am now president of my the Multicultural Student Alliance and Black Student Union. I decided to take leadership roles in these clubs because they help build a safe and comfortable environment for students in my community, something I once needed. Through the teaching of respect for cultural differences and diversity training, the MSA helps make the school community more accepting for people of all cultures and races. The BSU creates a comfortable environment by giving minorities a safe haven: kids of color can come and discuss the issues they face. Through learning how to handle these issues, kids begin to play an active role in a community in which they, at other times, might have felt like an outsider. Project Manhood helped me develop into someone with purpose and passion. Through the ministry I realized that regardless of circumstance I could become who I wanted. Through my positions of leadership, I now try to show people the same, always reaching out to help those in need. While I believe my service to the community has gotten off to a good start in high school, it is only just the beginning. I wish to continue to develop myself and others in bigger ways through college and beyond.
Luke Glenn
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Hurricane Nick Blasey
At precisely three, the bell rang. I stuffed my tattered Earth Science textbook into my backpack, along with a stack of coverless notebooks, their spirals askew. An ever-widening hole in the backpack’s bottom suggested the wideopen possibility of a scattered trail of homework assignments, permission slips, and gnawed pencils. Racing down the hill toward the parking lot, my ink-splotched school tie took flight behind me; the wheels of my backpack clattered across gravelly patches. The middle-school headmaster stood in his usual spot, matching drivers with students and keeping carpool lines moving. “Here comes the Hurricane!” he suddenly boomed through his trademark bullhorn. “Looks like we’re in for HIGH WINDS, HEAVY RAIN, POSSIBLE 20
Matthew Lowrie
DESTRUCTION. It’s SPIRALING ... It’s GATHERING ENERGY ... It’s ... HERE!” I stopped in my tracks, briefly glancing down at my ripped, grassstained khakis. I realized Mr. Williams was looking directly at me, a hint of a smile on his face.
in class and are insightful by nature. You are a young man of character who is also truly a ‘character.’”
That’s how my nickname was born. And it has followed me since. Truth is, it’s fitting.
A hurricane, by definition, is a rapidly rotating, powerful storm with gale-force winds. “When a hurricane comes through your town,” states vocabulary.com, “you should board up the windows and stay inside.” An apt warning, when applied to me. My mind swirls with concepts and ideas, and the winds don’t calm until I take action. I make frequent trips to Home Depot to purchase items to build, say, a bike stand, a duct-tape bridge, or a wheelchair seat riser. (In middle school, I once tried to buy hydrochloric acid to dissolve the zinc out of a penny. The clerk did not oblige.) I’m relentlessly inquisitive – devouring TED talks and scouring HowStuffWorks.com – and will push past any barriers to gain the knowledge I seek. My drive is boundless, whether designing sensor-equipped crutches to better accommodate stairs, learning sophisticated knots for rock climbing, or mastering the ukulele. In my wake I leave a cluttered workroom, a disorderly desk, perhaps a shoe.
Ever since I can remember, I’ve been a bit, well, disorganized, with an added dose of absentmindedness. In the classroom, I work hard to do my best. But along the way, I’ve misplaced a calculator – or two. I’ve come home with one shoe. Recently, I left my keys in the car. With the car running. For an entire school day. I’m not one of those kids whose teachers gush in end-term reports that “it’s been a pleasure to have Nick in my class.” No, mine go more like this: “Nicholas, you’re a bit disheveled with your shirt out and tie down, and your desk looks like a hurricane hit it,” wrote my sixth-grade teacher. Thankfully, he wasn’t finished. “With that said, don’t change a bit because what you’re doing is working just fine. You’re doing outstanding work. You readily participate
Commented another: “Most kids’ dials are set to 7, occasionally 8. Nick’s dial is always on 11.”
“Nick embodies better than anyone I’ve taught the notion of ‘messy desk, clean mind,’ “my sophomore English teacher observed. “He often appears disheveled to me (and I’m not just talking about his fashion sense), but when I call upon him in class or when he sits down to write a composition, the fog apparently lifts and the product that emerges is invariably thoughtful and coherent.” Seven years have passed since I acquired my nickname, and my middle-school teachers still call me “Hurricane.” My backpack remains a black hole, my shirttail is forever creeping out, and my mind continues to whirl – not just with DIY projects and cool ideas from bigthink.com – but with modifications for an improved electric car for this year’s race; essays I want to read by Rousseau, Nietzsche and Sartre; and designs I’m eager to prototype once I’ve grasped Arduino coding. So it seems I owe an apology to my fifthgrade teacher who praised my grades and work ethic, but challenged my cyclonic habits. “Lose the nickname ‘Hurricane,’ “ he suggested. Sorry, Mr. Gerrish. The Hurricane has not weakened. 21
Fraternity Ben Goodfriend
I used to say “fag.” I considered athletic prowess the principle measure of my peers’ success. Then, when I was in eighth grade, my younger brother Ari came out as gay. It instantly changed the way I perceived sexual identity, especially when I realized that Ari had been petrified to tell me. Ari told my parents nine months before he let me know. Even then, he asked our mom to tell me. My brother, with whom I had lived for eleven years, feared my reaction to his sexual identity. What did this say about how he viewed me? Immediately, I stopped using homophobic slurs, but my psychological evolution was more gradual. My freshman year at Landon, a hard-nosed all-boys school, reminded me that while my personal reality had changed, my daily environment had not. I noticed that my classmates often spoke in an abrasive, homophobic manner. Hearing my friends use such language pitted my loyalty to
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them against love for my own brother. I was not sure if I should laugh, shout, or say nothing. I wanted to educate myself and, perhaps more important, to improve the school I loved. To accomplish both, I joined The Ally Council, Landon’s equivalent of a Gay/Straight Alliance, and began to attend local summits with LGBTQ youth and other allies. At the first of these gatherings, dressed in the schoolboy uniform coat and tie, I felt glares from those students who judged me as the stereotypical, closed-minded traditionalist. I was determined to prove to them wrong. I opened myself up to new ideas and people. From IO Tillit Wright, a courageous gender-fluid speaker, to Doug, a bullied gay teen, everyone at the summits taught me something. Gradually, the students who first viewed me as intolerant began to recognize that I was more accepting than they had originally imagined. As I became more familiar with the LGBTQ community, I noticed a stark contrast with my school environment, where students often told homophobic jokes and made slurs with jarring frequency. The Landon Ally Council had few members, was unfocused, and failed to educate the student body. My peers did not have my visceral experience of a brother coming out to spur them into openness. I believed that they needed to
have that kind of personal connection if they were to change their views. At the end of my sophomore year, I got an opportunity to change my school when the Ally Council’s faculty advisor told me that I had been selected to lead the club. For me, this was not simply an honor, it was personal. I talked about my brother all the time and worked hard to keep the club focused on LGBTQ issues, making sure the student body was aware of our mission. Throughout junior year, I brought several of my friends, who lacked awareness and needed to be educated in this area, to Ally Council meetings. Over and over again I told my personal story and heard the schoolyard vernacular change. I had Ari to thank for all these experiences. My brother, whom I love and respect, had forced me to make a choice. I could either continue to be closed-minded and harm our relationship, or I could reexamine my worldview and strengthen the already firm fraternal bond we had. Thankfully, I chose the latter. I learned that not only could my Landon friends be ignorant, but also that LGBTQ leaders could be biased as well. Nobody was immune to the prejudice that stems from ignorance. However, this lesson was not the most important product of my experience. What I truly wanted was just to be a good brother.
Luke Glenn
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