Viewpoints Spring 2013 by Western Reserve Academy

VIEWPOINTS

Spring 2013 Western Reserve academy

Ed ditor in Chieef Aleex Fellows, ‘1 14 Art A Directorr & Principall Illustrator Ji Hoo Woo, ‘13 Stu udent Editorrs Kelssey Gordon, ‘14 Abbyy Hermosilla ‘14 Addittional Illustra ators Maxx Borrmann, ‘16 Chlo oe Cusimano, ‘14 Cam mry Harris, ‘1 14 Lau uren Kolar, ‘1 14 Jeessie Qin, ‘16 6 Fa aculty Adviso or Richard (D Diccon) P. B. Ong, ‘81 The opinio ons expressed in this journal do not n necessarily reflect r the views of th he editor, the stafff, the faculty ad dvisor or Western n Reserve Academy. The viewpoints contained herein n should be understood to belong g exclusively to the t individual au uthors responsiblle for presenting p them. Cover illustratio on by Ji Hoo Woo with additional grraphic design workk by Alan Doe. Journal layout and formatting byy Diccon Ong

VIEWPOINTS Volume NINE

Spring 2013

Table of Contents From the Faculty Advisor .......................................................................... 8 Diccon Ong, ‘81 From the Editor ............................................................................................ 12 Alex fellows, ‘14

Articles: On the Corner of 76 Rue de Seine ............................................................ 15 Noor Alali, ‘14 Change Upon the WRow ........................................................................... 19 Christopher Belfance, ‘13 Bittersweet .................................................................................................... 21 Till Bethge, ‘14 My View on Country Music...................................................................... 23 Audrey Brown, ‘13 Step Outside the Comfort Zone ............................................................... 26 Bianca Chan, ‘15 The Perfection of the Record ..................................................................... 28 Sam Clark, ‘13 Enough, No More ........................................................................................ 30 Morrisa Clayman, ‘16 Follow Your Heart, Not Your Stomach ................................................... 31 Andie, DiBiase, ‘13 A Brisk Change............................................................................................ 34 Alex Fellows, ‘14 About Face .................................................................................................... 36 Hannah Gaspar, ‘13

Light It Up Blue: The Truth Behind Autism .......................................... 38 Kelsey Gordon, “14 The American Trance ................................................................................. 42 Abby Hermosilla, ‘14 Sunk............................................................................................................... 44 Eilidh Jenness, ‘13 The Riffs of Reminiscence ........................................................................ 48 Eilidh Jenness, ‘13 Stendhal Syndrome .................................................................................... 51 Lauren Kolar, ‘14 Ready (or not), Aim, Fire............................................................................ 55 Anna McMurchy, ‘15 iDontNeedIt ................................................................................................. 57 Gibson Miller, ‘13 The Paranoid Distance Runner ................................................................ 59 Simon Ong, ‘15 Cuy ................................................................................................................. 63 Trent Pacer, ‘13 Demographics .............................................................................................. 66 Trent Pacer, ‘13 Mission Accomplished .............................................................................. 69 Austin Petsche, ‘13 What? I Have to Go Back? ......................................................................... 74 Mitch Pollock, ‘14 Grizzly Bear ................................................................................................. 79 Emma Presley, ‘13 Corpses, Plants, and Shakespeare, Oh My! ............................................ 82 Max Rosenwasser, ‘13

WRA Seniors Are the Fastest Walkers .................................................... 84 Max Rosenwasser, ‘13 NCAA: Friend or Foe? ................................................................................ 87 Griffin Trau, ‘14 The Only Turning Point ............................................................................ 89 Taryn Washburn, ‘16 What Aussies Don’t Know about the Cold ............................................ 92 Emily Wise, 14 Squawk ......................................................................................................... 94 Kevin Yang, ‘15 Alone ............................................................................................................. 98 Lynn Yang, ‘16 Contingency Amid Certainty .................................................................... 99 Jing Zhu, ‘13

On Special Assignment: Can You Hear Me Now? ............................................................................ 103 Rishav Banerjee, ‘13 Dressed for Success?................................................................................... 107 Erick Bryant, ‘13 How Do You Roll? ...................................................................................... 110 Virginia Carter, ‘13 Et Tu, Football Fans? .................................................................................. 114 Grant Fisher, ‘13 Are We There Yet? ...................................................................................... 116 Dennis, Gu, ‘13 Breakfast of Champions? ........................................................................... 121 Jack McKinzie, ‘13

More Than 140 Characters? ....................................................................... 123 Drew Perdue, ‘13 All Creatures Great and Small? ................................................................ 127 Alex Shin, ‘13 Home Sweet Home? ................................................................................... 129 Tiffany Wang, ‘13

History Writing Contest: First Place Winners, 2011-2012 American History Division: “Strange That Any Man Should Dare to Ask”: Abraham Lincoln and the Construction of Masculinity In Antebellum America ............................................................................... 132 Ai Miller, ‘12 World History Division: Restricted Harmonies: The Censorship of 20th-Centiry Soviet Russian Music ........................... 146 Amy Squire, ‘14

Chapel Speeches: “This I Believe” Callie Crowder, ‘13 ...................................................................................... 159 October 22, 2012 Molly Clark, ‘13 ............................................................................................ 162 November 2, 2012 Max Rosenwasser, ’13 .................................................................................. 165 November 2, 2013 Maggie Graves, ‘13....................................................................................... 167 December 3, 2012 Rob Stevens, ’13 ............................................................................................ 169 February 8, 2013

Audrey Brown, ’13 ....................................................................................... 172 February 11, 2013 Austin Petsche, ’13 ....................................................................................... 176 March 4, 2013 Matt Hard, ’13............................................................................................... 179 March 15, 2013 Max Fausnight, ‘13 ....................................................................................... 184 April 8, 2013 Nicky Waldeck, ’13 ...................................................................................... 187 May 3, 2013 Sam Clark, ’13 ............................................................................................... 190 May 3, 2013 Eilidh Jenness, ‘13 ........................................................................................ 192 May 6, 2013 Bill Feng, ’13 .................................................................................................. 194 May 10, 2013 Jing Zhu, ‘13 .................................................................................................. 197 May 10, 2013 Leila Barbeau, ’13 ......................................................................................... 199 May 13, 2013

Viewpoints Survey ................................................................................ 203

FROM THE FACULTY ADVISOR

I guess I am cat person. Actually, I know very well that I am a cat person—there’s no “guessing” about it. My uncertainty lies not with whether or not I am a cat guy, but only with whether or not this is the sort of admission that I should be making openly. This is because I know I am in the minority . . . at least around these parts. In this year’s Viewpoints Survey (found at the back of this volume), close to 61% of respondents described themselves as a “dog lover,” whereas only 20.5% said they were a “cat lover.” I’m not sure what to make of this, but it leaves me feeling uneasy. Indeed, it led me one evening recently to do a bit of quick “research” (which is to say, I spent a few minutes using Google to check out some websites.) Here is a bit of what I found. According to a survey conducted by the American Pet Products Association in 2011-2012 (and published on The Humane Society of the United States’ website), there are approximately 78.2 million owned dogs in the United States. Indeed, thirty-nine percent of U.S. households own at least one dog. Most owners (sixty percent) own one dog, but twelve percent own three or more. By contrast, there are approximately 86.4 million owned cats in the United States. While this means there are more cats than dogs owned as pets, this is due to the fact that the average number of cats in a household is higher (an average of 2.2 cats per owner versus 1.7 dogs per owner for dogs). Only thirty-three percent of American households experience the wonder that is cat ownership. 1 Still, these numbers make things look relatively even—unlike the results of our own survey. So, I dug a little deeper. In another survey reported on Petside.com in 2010, almost three out of four adults (74%) said they liked dogs “a lot,” whereas only about two out of five respondents (41%) said they liked cats “a lot.” Even more revealing is the fact that only four percent of adults said they disliked dogs “a little” or “a lot,” while more than a quarter (26%) said they disliked cats “a little" or “a lot.”2 Of course, there can be a certain cachet associated with distancing oneself from the crowd. Perhaps I should have stopped my surfing at this point and rested comfortably on this last thought. However, never being one to leave things well enough alone, I pressed on a bit further and thereby ruined my entire evening. A paper published in the journal Anthrozoös in 2010 found that self-described

“dog people” were more extraverted, more personable, more conscientious, and less neurotic than self-described “cat people.” Great, just what I needed to hear. Like being a cat owner isn’t hard enough as is.3 As it happens, I own both two cats and a dog. It is a busy household, believe you me. (I also have three sons . . . the source of much more trouble, I can assure you, than any pet could ever pose.) (Please note: no commentary will be proffered here on my wife—the remaining member of the household—other than to acknowledge, parenthetically, that I love her very much.) Thus, I suppose, I can legitimately make a claim to loving both cats and dogs. The thing is (if I am to be honest) I have always had much more of a personal affinity for the felines. Any analysis I might offer here as to why this is the case would likely prove hackneyed. Yes, a dog’s love comes easy; a cat’s needs to be earned. Sure, a dog is high maintenance relative to a cat’s general self-reliance. We all know that dogs are eager and always at the ready, whereas cats quite often just can’t be bothered, regardless of whatever it is you might have in mind for them. Still, I guess I have always felt like I had accomplished something significant in acquiring even the partial respect of my cats. Then again, this is coming from someone apparently prone to neuroses (see my third citation above). The question naturally arises as to why I am bothering to share any of this. After all, this is supposed to be but a brief acknowledgements note. Well, I mention it for a couple of reasons. First, you may have guessed by now that the theme for this year’s volume of Viewpoints is the proverbial “nine lives of a cat.” I, for one, have never taken this expression literally. As a life-long owner of cats, I am only too aware that they get only one shot at this life, just like the rest of us. I have buried too many beloved companions to believe anything else. However, unlike many other animals (dare, I say, dogs?) cats are complex creatures with multifaceted personalities. It doesn’t take all that much imagination to envision them living out multiple secret existences right under our noses. Thus, cats serve as a particularly appropriate mascot for this our ninth volume of Viewpoints, a journal designed to offer us a window into the lives, both public and more private, of our fellow Reservites. Secondly, I bring up my uneasiness with my own ailurophilia (how about that for a word!) in order to remind you, gentle reader, that when it comes to almost anything you might care to discuss, (whether it be cats versus dogs or Republicans versus Democrats) opinions are bound to differ—and may well vary widely. It is hoped that you will

find much inside the covers of this journal that will meet with your approval and appeal to your distinct, and presumably refined, sensibilities. It is also quite likely the case that some of what you will find herein will fail to resonate—and may even go so far as to irritate. We beg your forbearance. No one would expect you to agree to everything you might read here. What we do hope for, however, is that you will read with an open heart and open mind. There begins the journey toward mutual understanding and love. Before I let you move on, I have a brief description to provide and then some thanks to confer. As has been the case for the past couple years, you will find five main sections to this journal. First, we have our collection of nonfiction essays solicited from the Reserve student body. Second, you will find a smaller collection of essays submitted by Ms Nikki Schnup’s English IV class, all written in response to a common prompt. Following this, you will find reprinted the two first-place papers (one on an American and the other on a World History topic) from last year’s annual History Writing Contest. We then continue with our tradition of bringing to you the texts from each of the “This I Believe” speeches presented by seniors in the Chapel during Morning Meeting this year. While the printed versions fail to provide the full power of the performance enjoyed when they were delivered live, we still believe that they are very much worthwhile and make a valuable addition to our periodical. Finally, we finish things up with our annual Viewpoints Survey. I would like to thank the many people who worked to make this publication a reality. First, thanks are owed to everyone who bothered to submit an essay. Without you, we’d be out of business. Additionally, our student editors proved far more than simply reliable, and our illustrators were both creative and prolific. Special thanks go to the talented Ji Hoo Woo. Her work on Viewpoints these past four years has transformed the visual quality of our publication and set a standard of excellence that will be most hard to match for those who follow in her footsteps. Finally, I want to thank our fearless leader, Alex Fellows, for his dedication and hard work. I take him at his word that he wasn’t scared off by the crazed rush experienced these past few weeks and will return to guide us through the assembling of another volume next year. Diccon Ong, ‘81 May 2013

Sources The Human Society of the United States (http://www.humanesociety.org/issues/pet_overpopulation/facts /pet_ownership_statistics.html) 2Petside.com (http://www.petside.com/article/dogs-vs-cats-who-doamericans-more) 3The University of Texas at Austin (http://www.utexas.edu/news/2010/01/13/personality_dogs_cats) 1

FROM THE EDITOR

For a while, I did not think I would be sitting here writing this. There was a large period of time this year when I believed that the ninth edition of Viewpoints would not happen. Yet, here we are, getting ready to send everyone’s hard labor off to the printers. Thank God. (I was not about to have my desperate pleas for articles go to waste!) Though, let’s face it, it was probably the powerful words (threats?) from Mr. Ong which allowed us to gather the sufficient number of articles (and beyond) we needed. I have to say, I did not really know what I was getting myself into when accepting the position of Editor in Chief. Of course, there was no other person for this job other than me. Literally. At the end of last year, due to having a staff comprised almost exclusively of seniors, I was the sole student editor left in Viewpoints. The Editor in Chief for the last two years, Julia Ferguson, told me last spring that I would be following in her footsteps. Honestly, I was a little horrified. Julia had done so much for this publication; it was her baby. I, of course, loved the journal as well. But I worried that I would not have the same drive. How could I ever care about this as much as she did? After months of begging for articles, however, I came to fully adopt Julia’s feelings towards this periodical. When you work hard to achieve something, that drive instills in you a deep appreciation and love for it. Viewpoints is my baby now, and I could not be a prouder parent. This publication provides a great deal of insight into our community. Through reflections about the lives of current students (such as a recounting of what it is like to eat guinea pig!) we can learn so much about each other. But it is not only a tool for the present; the stories, opinions, and ideas recorded in this magazine will live on in our school’s archives. Many years from now, students will be able to look back and say, “Oh, look, a large percentage of the faculty and staff were Democrats,” or perhaps more importantly, “Whoa! Those people liked dogs more than cats!” Viewpoints is like a time capsule containing little mementoes of the students at Reserve today. This power makes me more than proud to call this journal my baby. Seeing everything come together validates all the hours of work. I can’t wait to do it all over next year. None of this would be possible without the amazing work and time put in by Mr. Ong. He works tirelessly to make this collection of

opinions and adventures a reality. Further thanks go out to Ji Hoo Woo for her lovely illustrations, along with the extra art provided by Camry Harris and Max Borrmann. Lastly, much love goes to my editors, Abby Hermosilla and Kelsey Gordon, for the much needed help in getting through all of the articles which follow. Congratulations to all of us for another successful year. Alex Fellows, â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;14 Editor in Chief May 2013

ARTICLES

ON THE CORNER OF 76 RUE DE SEINE Noor Alali Junior Hudson, Ohio

The Paris bakery, Gérard Mulot, delicately floated into my life, as lightly as the fluffy meringues adorning the glistening chocolate cakes in the shop’s windows. This hidden gem, snuggled on a quiet corner in the heart of Saint-Germain des Prés, in the sixth arrondissement of Paris, was first introduced to my family by my father. After finishing medical school, he moved to Paris to perform his residency. L’Ecole de Médecine was located near the bakery, and each day my dad would treat himself to a golden, flaky, and slightly warm croissant, which tenderly crumbled when cradled in the hand. These doughy caterpillars literally melt in one’s mouth like chocolate left out in the sun. This unique patisserie is known primarily only to true Parisians, unlike the touristy, glitzy tea salons and miniscule shops of Ladurée and Angelina. Though their offerings are also often works of fascinating beauty and art, paired with mouthwatering taste, Gérard When I am in Paris I never Mulot surpasses their creations leave without paying a with the indescribable flavors of visit (or multiple visits) to enchanting savory and sweet my beloved patisserie. delicacies. Monsieur Gérard Mulot opened his first boutique After lunch at Brasserie in the glamorous Saint-Germain Lipp, Café de Flore, or des Prés district in 1975. In the Pizza Vésuvio, which are beginning it was only a small all nearby, I always save and unknown enterprise, room for a petit dessert. though not for long. In 1989, his store was enlarged, and today he is one of the best known names in the business, famous for his masterpieces, prized both for their taste and presentation. When I am in Paris I never leave without paying a visit (or multiple visits) to my beloved patisserie. After lunch at Brasserie Lipp, Café de Flore, or Pizza Vésuvio, which are all nearby, I always save room for a petit dessert. When the waiter shuffles over with the dessert menus in hand, I simply say, “Non merci,” as I am not interested in any sweet

change of taste. Only a Mulot creation has earned the honor to alter my senses and marry my tongue. As I walk down the bumpy, narrow street I take in the rare tranquility. The buildings on my right and left act as barriers from the busy Boulevard Saint-Germain, protecting me like the wings of a mother hen. Then I see it, the sugar white frames around the crystal clear windows and the vanilla frosting banner elegantly floating above the boutique’s entrance, declaring in elegant black licorice letters, “Gérard Mulot.” I skip across the Rue de Seine and suddenly halt at the entrance to the store. There my hands automatically glue themselves to the window, like two suction cups, as I marvel over the wonders before my eyes. An immaculate, shimmering chocolate cake with a brush of a caramel café au lait colored line trailing on the surface, like a bride’s wedding veil. My eyes slowly shift to an electric green pistachio cake adorned with flawless ruby-like strawberries and raspberries, dusted with a thin layer of powdered sugar, then to a creamy tarte au citron, as bright and round as a full moon in the night sky, the top covered in a blanket of crystallized lemon slices. With eyes blinded by beauty and ravenous from the window feasting, I enter the shop to choose a mini dessert for myself. Without exception this task is possibly the most difficult decision in my life, as there stretches before me an endless selection, all of which I am tempted to try. My slight distress is calmed by the heavenly smell of freshly baked bread, swirling into my nose like the curly queue atop a cinnamon roll. Thankfully my mother and brother had come along with me so we could all choose different delicacies and taste each other’s. The young girl behind the counter efficiently asked us what we wanted, but I had barely glanced at the pastries yet and didn't have a clue about what I would order. I politely replied, “Nous ne sommes pas encore décidés.” She sharply answered a short, “D’accord.” The next group was summoned, and I could finally submerse myself fully in the pastry heaven. I imagined the thin slice of the rich and heavy, chocolaty Opéra begin to melt on my tongue, smothering my taste buds with a sweet and slightly bitter punch of pure cocoa. The classic tarte aux framboises, one of my favorite French desserts, and the tarte aux fraises beamed into my eyes, their perfectly golden shells filled with a smooth, pale yellow, custard-like cream, topped off with fresh berries and a sparkling glaze. The beloved millefeuille stood proud and tall, its three layers of delicious, caramel-colored brittle glued together by the sweet almond cream in the middle. It was like a sugary sandwich with a perfect combination of crunchy and soft, almost too candied to my taste. I prefer the raspberry desserts, in which the tartness of the fruit balances out the

sweet flavors. One of the most unique pastries I have ever seen is the Palerme, a beautiful, mini, pistachio-flavored dome filled with red fruit jam, its base a crispy chocolate macaroon surrounded by pointed, teethlike dark chocolate pieces. The hint of the nutty pistachio flavor and the bitterness of the dark chocolate create a perfect match. Next there were the squishy logs of the popular chocolate, vanilla and coffee éclairs lying side by side. A chocolate mousse bubble, the Coeur Frivole, is filled with an airy milk and dark chocolate mousse, and to anchor the creamy texture, a crunch of an almond and chocolate biscuit completes this chocolate lovers’ dessert. After much contemplation, I finally chose the Perle et Rubis, a fragile, puffy, off-white, square-shaped chocolate mousse flavored with a hint of rose. Its center was filled with a liquidy, jam-like syrup of red fruits, and the base was constructed of a rough almond biscuit. An impeccable mix of textures and flavors collided together as I took my first bite. The fluffy, feather-like When we left the mousse was balanced by the nutty, crunchy biscuit and the patisserie, we were sourness of the red fruit syrup charged with renewed played down the sweetness of energy to walk the ancient the entire dessert. My mother streets of Saint-Germain, decided on the Duo poireand our discussion, long caramel, a mini almond-shaped cake filled with a creamy, pale after we left the bakery, vanilla and caramel center atop a was devoted to the magic nutty biscuit, which held the of this small gem and its pastry together like the phenomenal, gourmet foundation of a building. A flavors. thick and sticky river of golden caramel sealed the surface and was topped by a traditional Gérard Mulot dark chocolate square as well as a sliver of pear, so thinly sliced one could look right through it, plunging into the center of the cake. The sides were sprinkled with tiny Rice Krispy-like pieces of cereal which looked like tiny pebbles and whose crunchiness stabilized the gooeyness of the caramel and cream. The campfire-like, nutty taste of the biscuit, combined with the rich caramel, blended perfectly with the light and slightly firm pear. My brother settled on the towering Magie Noire, whose whipped center of a chocolate and hazelnut mousse was mixed together with candied caramelized and slightly smoked hazelnuts. This seductive creation puffed atop a chocolate and almond brittle. The deep flavors of the

chocolate and hazelnuts, blending with the airy mousse, formed a taste which reminded me of a chestnut and hazelnut cake my grandmother makes. After our indulgences, we headed back to the counter to pick out a few macaroons to take home with us. Once again, I was in a difficult situation as I pondered which flavors to choose. I ended up requesting a few raspberry ones and watched the young girl gently place the glistening magenta circles in the pink box. Next we added a green tea and lavender macaroon, a coconut one, a honey and vanilla, a violet flower, a blackberry, a pistachio, which is my grandmother’s favorite, and some basic chocolate and vanilla ones. I could not wait to bite into the delicate, yet crispy shell of the macaroon and taste the slippery cream center gliding across my tongue, graceful as an ice skater moving across the ice. I had never tasted such intense and genuine flavors as those of Monsieur Mulot’s macaroons. When we left the patisserie, we were charged with renewed energy to walk the ancient streets of Saint-Germain, and our discussion, long after we left the bakery, was devoted to the magic of this small gem and its phenomenal, gourmet flavors. The sophistication and glamour of Gérard Mulot’s creations, both in taste and presentation, never leave a customer disappointed. When one receives a beautifully wrapped present and opens it, only to find an uninteresting gift, they forget all about the lovely surface. If the outside looks ordinary, even a stunning present will somewhat lose its effect. At Gérard Mulot’s patisserie and chocolaterie, one is given the rare privilege of picking out any piece from the wide selection and always being rewarded with a remarkable result, both inside and out.

Works Cited 1. Gérard Mulot’s website: http://www.gerard-mulot.com/

CHANGE UPON THE WROW Christopher Belfance Senior Denver, Colorado

Change; The bricks are immobile, held fast in the ground. Wind blows through cracks and holes in the sides Of buildings, never ending; relentless. Wind whistles through crowds of restless people, Chilling to the cores of bones. We wander, wishing, wanting change, But when it comes; resentment Change; We beg, cry, scream for it, down on our knees. It comes cracking down like a whip. Finally, we have changed the constant, But when we do, we realize we did not imagine this. Wind still whips down the row. The wind seems the only constant in our lives, And still we want it to bend to our fickle wills. The wind is constant down the row and we ignore it. Change; Everything is wrong they say, This is not how we remember it, want to remember it. The subtle nuances that make home, home, Taken away, with not even a penny for our thoughts. We can do nothing to slow the machine. It has an agenda, reason; or so they say. It says change is healthy, we do not want healthy; We simply want to know.

Change; But still the breeze is there through the turmoil, Trying to guide our inotropic minds to safety. Still we choose to push its guidance aside, For our own misguidance. Change.

BITTERSWEET Till Bethge Junior Krummesse, Germany

With what felt like a jump in time, this spring break, twelve students, including myself, dropped out of an Ohio winter directly into the hot, Caribbean sun of the Dominican Republic. Unlike most tourists, however, our way didn't lead us straight to the beaches where rich Dominicans build up a world of hotel bunkers and bars for plaid-clad tourists. Not many know how desperately poor are the people less than twenty miles away from the islandâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s beautiful coastline, where the commercial agricultural areas, and especially sugarcane fields, can be found. What we saw in the homes of these sugarcane workers and their families, who have to worry about acquiring sufficient food and water each day, led me to question the significance of my own problems and challenged my previous understanding of the world. Now that I am back, all my emotions here feel a bit flat and unreal by comparison. I felt free in the DR. After witnessing several examples of After witnessing several extreme desperation existing examples of extreme side-by-side with the pure joy desperation existing side-bythese people could show side with the pure joy these whenever someone showed a people could show genuine interest in their lives, everybody on the trip opened whenever someone showed up, so that very powerful and a genuine interest in their personal insights into these lives, everybody on the trip people's lives were made opened up, so that very possible. I very much enjoyed powerful and personal discovering personalities I had never encountered before, and insights into these people's I admired the Dominican and lives were made possible. Haitian families I met for the strength they displayed in not letting go of hope for better times. I believe an important part of my

experience is not to forget what I learned there and to share with others the things I experienced in the DR so as to inspire other people to help. The United States has an agreement to buy Dominican sugar cane and at the same time to lower tariffs so that Dominican companies might provide better working conditions. In fact, the US buys 95% of the exported Dominican sugarcane. However, most sugar companies simply keep the extra money the lowered taxes provide and pass very little of it along to their workers. Moreover, sugar workers in the DR often complain about mistreatment. Many have to work 10-14 hours every day in the fields while they make only about $4 per ton of sugarcane. Most workers don't earn enough to buy adequate food for their families on a daily basis. The company, by contrast, earns around $8000 a ton. Beyond the low wages, these workers toil long hours in the hot sun among plants with edges sharp enough to cut their skin. With few other options available, many of these workers have no other choice. These companies in the sugarcane industry are also involved in the human trafficking of Haitian workers and are responsible for the fate of thousands of individuals who face few options beyond that of backbreaking labor until they die. During our stay we met a lawyer, Mario Jacobs Hartford, who defends workers on behalf of the US Department of Labor. He told us about a deadline that the US government has set for these sugarcane companies to bring their working conditions up to acceptable standards. It expires after the next harvest season around May. Until very recently the sugar companies havenâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t made a very serious effort to meet these standardsâ&#x20AC;&#x201D;despite the fact that the US has threatened to suspend its purchase of DR sugar, which might well mean an end to the Dominican sugarcane industry. The way we can help these workers is simple: The more people that know about the situation, the more pressure will fall on the companies and the US government to enforce better working conditions. So please share this with as many people as possible. Also think about where the sugar we consume every day comes from. If you do, the next piece of candy you pop into your mouth might prove a bit bittersweet.

MY VIEWS ON COUNTRY MUSIC Audrey Brown Senior Twinsburg, Ohio

Jason Aldean’s beautiful country melody plays loudly over my speakers. His voice is pure but gruff, in a manly sort of way, and laced with a soft southern accent. The steel guitar flares in the background, adding country’s signature twang as Jason sings about his big, green tractor. I’ve loved country music since before I can remember, so you can imagine my confusion as to why it seems people have such a strong aversion to it. Sure, you could say the same thing about rap music (yes there are a lot of people, especially those in the older generations, who absolutely abhor rap), but there’s something about the way people dislike country that seems to set it apart. It’s like there’s this huge disparity between the diehard country fans like me, and all the It’s like there’s this huge haters; there really isn’t a middle disparity between the ground. So, why is it that my hipdiehard country fans hop crazed, bass-loving, raplike me, and all the powered generation can’t stand haters; there really isn’t country music? Maybe a simple comparison of music and lyrics will a middle ground. provide us with the answer. What attracts people to most music is just that: the music. I began my research by listening to Billboard’s Hot 100 Number One hit, “Thrift Shop,” by rapper Macklemore and his producer Ryan Lewis. The song began by building up a rhythmic suspense—repeating a similar beat over and over until the song begins at “the drop.” This term describes a technique that is heard more and more frequently in today’s music, and is defined as that point in a song, after a period of buildup, where the beat completely switches to a new rhythm or bass line. The rest of the song follows a similar snare-drum clapping beat with a whiny jazz trumpet over top of it that offers an almost vintage sound (ironically the song is about shopping at a thrift store). Behind Macklemore’s quick-paced, staccato-style rap, there are some occasional ho’s and hey’s, keeping with a typical hip-hop style. Most importantly, this song is easy to dance to. It’s upbeat enough to either bob your head along to it or full

out shake a tail feather. Next, I turn to Billboard’s Top Country Hits. At Number One is Blake Shelton’s “Sure Be Cool If You Did.” The opening melody is laid back and dominated by a soft acoustic guitar melody and accented with snapping. It has a drum beat consistent with any type of soft rock ballad, but what makes it a signature country song is the guitar that always has a subtle, steely twang. The melody is pretty basic as far as melodies go—simplicity being a common theme in country music. When I asked one of my friends what it was about country music that they disliked so much, they said: “The corny accents and lyrics.” People joke about how country music is all trucks, beer, and God; well they are actually pretty accurate. Aside from the always popular love songs, or songs about broken hearts, songs about trucks, beer, and other southern themes are heavily influential on country music’s lyrics. One of my favorite singers, Billy Currington, has a song called, “I’m Pretty Good at Drinking Beer,” in which he sings, with a very charming southern accent, about how he can’t do much of anything very well except drink beer. It seems simple enough. But going back to corny lyrics, I thought it might be interesting to compare a country love song lyrics to a rap love song. Most people protest that country is so different than anything on the top hits chart. So, I figured I’d start with one of country’s biggest heart throbs, Luke Bryan, and his summer-time love song, “Drunk On You.” The chorus lyrics read: Girl you make my speakers go "BOOM BOOM" Dancin' on the tailgate in a full moon That kinda thing makes a man go mhmm mhmm You're lookin' so good in what's left of those blue jeans Drip of honey on the money maker gotta bee The best buzz I'm ever gonna find. I'm a little drunk on you, and high on summertime Now, I would like to compare that song to the lyrics of a hip hop song to demonstrate how, considering many hip hop songs involve drugs and drinking, rap and country lyrics might not be so different after all. Unfortunately, I’m afraid some of the hip hop/rap songs I have in mind aren’t exactly appropriate. . . . In summary, my argument is not that country is better. I have plenty of today’s most popular rap and hip hop on my iPod, but perhaps before people rule out country completely, like all other things that seem foreign, they simply need to try it for themselves. Of course, I love country for a lot of the reasons people hate it: the cheesy (what I consider fun and carefree) lyrics, the thick southern accents, and plenty of steel

guitar! Still, if people gave country a chance, they might find that it isnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t so different from other genres of music.

STEP OUTSIDE THE COMFORT ZONE Bianca Chan Sophomore Aurora, Ohio

“Life begins at the end of your comfort zone.” – Neale Donald Walsch My soon-to-be classmates chattered away about the summer reading while I sat quietly watching the time on my cell phone. I barely spoke two words to anyone during our freshmen day student girls’ gettogether. As far as I was concerned, as long as I didn’t make my silence too noticeable, I’d get by. Fortunately, I’ve left those rather awkward days behind. I’m not saying I’m completely social and act naturally around other people, but I’ve definitely improved since coming to Reserve. During my freshman year in Mr. Warner’s English and Mr. Cunningham’s Ancient World History classes, I never contributed to the discussion, causing my participation grade to be virtually a zero. It’s been slow progress, but I’ve come a long way since then. Eve n the beginning of my sophomore year was not too smooth, but I’ve taught myself (forced myself, really) to speak up more. I have tried to stop worrying so much about how my thoughts will be perceived and instead just give myself permission to think aloud. Reserve is special; I actually believe that. Reserve Reserve is special; I actually has helped me come out of my believe that. Reserve has shell in so many ways. It has helped me come out of my pushed me to try new things, shell in so many ways. It speak in front of people, and has pushed me to try new come to terms with my own personality—which can be things, speak in front of surprisingly loud. A couple of people, and come to terms years ago, in middle school, I’d with my own personality— easily keep to myself and only which can be surprisingly talk to my small group of loud. friends. Reserve has forced

me, whether I initially liked it or not, to interact with others outside of my comfort zone. This tight-knit community of students and faculty has helped me grow. Social interaction is one of the most important aspects of the human condition because it is so influential. Of course, peer pressure can lead to both positive and negative interactions. Throughout my school life, I have not suffered from much bad peer pressure. At the same time, I hadn’t experienced much good peer pressure either. In middle school, I never experienced any sort of peer pressure. There was no peer pressure to get good grades, and orchestra was considered “uncool.” That all changed when I came to Reserve. I thank Reserve so much for providing me the opportunity to improve myself from within. I see a vast difference between the previous schools I’ve attended and Reserve. At this college preparatory school, it’s cool to be seen developing you talents—no matter what they might be. Being good at a sport, playing an instrument, or just being an excellent student will bring you recognition and respect. I’ve been pushed to improve my piano and violin playing, as well as to try new things like cross country, volleyball, Model UN—the list goes on and on. For example, I never expected the essay I submitted to Viewpoints my freshmen year to be published, but with the encouragement of one of my classmates I gave it a shot and now I’m a “published author” (as Mr. Ong would say). Although I haven’t necessarily loved each and every activity I have tried, I am very happy I didn’t sell myself short of a great opportunity to experience something different. No one wants to live with a bunch of “what ifs” floating around their mind. Those missed opportunities will haunt you forever. As cliché as it sounds, it’s better to regret something you did than regret not doing it at all.

THE PERFECTION OF THE RECORD Sam Clark Senior Hudson, Ohio

Do you even read it? It’s a legitimate question, because I’ve personally watched the recycling bins by the mailboxes overflow with still folded Reserve Records. I’ve seen people walk around with it after the new issue is released and my heart jumps; and then I see they’re just doing the crossword. So alluring, all the blank letterboxes, THEY MUST BE FILLED! I’ve seen the writers themselves open the Record, see their name, and then stuff it into their backpack, ready to send home and prove to Ma and Pa they haven’t just been playing Call of Duty in The Record is the premier North Hall all semester. (They outlet of student creativity are, in fact, legendary at Sticks at WRA, because any old and Stones). But beyond a fool can write about their gateway to parental approval, the Record tests a writer’s mind feelings in Viewpoints or and forces him or her to think. write metaphors about Articles must be compiled from their feelings in BUFO, but facts, but facts have sides and it takes a pro to make writers must respect them and to annual events and month do that requires thought beyond just transcribing quotations. The old “news” actually sound Record is the premier outlet of interesting enough to merit student creativity at WRA, a double take before being because any old fool can write thrown in the bin. about their feelings in Viewpoints or write metaphors about their feelings in BUFO, but it takes a pro to make annual events and month old “news” actually sound interesting enough to merit a double take before being thrown in the bin. The Reserve Record is truly the best learning experience available to the average Reservite. The Record teaches young freshmen that you sometimes have to face your fears, whether that's talking to a scary senior for the Athlete Spotlight or lying to their upperclassman editor about why their article is late. (“You were too busy? How is that

possible? Is Baby Bio really taxing this quarter?”) It teaches first-year page editors that shirking your responsibilities means a lot of angry calls and emails (it's much easier just to do your work). It teaches older editors the finer details between Garamond and Adobe Garamond Pro (and how if you mix them, the editors of years past will strike you down with a torrent of Comic Sans). Finally, it teaches the Editors-in-Chief that, no matter how ridiculous you make a pseudo-threatening email, some sophomore will still actually be scared of you. ("He said he'll put poisonous spiders in my bed and inject my children with heroin! He’s a madman!") Even if no one actually read the Record at all—and only one copy was printed for preservation in the Record’s own collection—I would still love the newspaper. I love the late nights in the Record room, when everyone is tired yet still too strung out on our shared coffee addiction to actually stop working. When we just get goofy and chase each other with Nerf guns and teddy bears and loudly sing songs terribly off pitch until some random student pops their head in to see what animal is dying. I love the quotations by Joe and Mitch's perpetual existence within the boundaries of the crossword. I love looking back at the old Record’s in the room, mocking my older sister and the more ancient editors for their distinct lack of taste in colors and white space. (“Huge photo on the centerfold with barely legible text overlay? Jenkins, you’re a genius! Don’t forget to leave a sizable portion of the page completely blank.”) But mostly, I love the feeling of closure when I rip open the heavy box addressed to Mr. Morrison, and I finally see the Record as a physical entity. I check each page, marveling at the photos and fonts and formatting and just the multitude of words. I look at the paper and doubt that a bunch of kids created all this; it just looks so pretty. The sense of accomplishment and joy that comes with each new issue is indescribable, and I'll certainly miss it when I graduate. Each and every copy is perfect in my eyes, a minor miracle of organized ink on paper. . . . . . . and then I find the eight typos, four grammatical mistakes and five formatting errors which were somehow completely invisible on the computer screen just days ago. Don't worry though; our next issue will be better.

ENOUGH, NO MORE Morrisa Clayman Freshman Hudson, Ohio

So, I saw this cake. It was sitting in my kitchen, all alone, pure, handsome. My eye had just happened to catch it as I was walking by, you see, and I froze at once. Sitting on a round throne, two chocolaty stories high, this magnificent creation was clothed with the choicest fudge icing. I paused and envisioned the soul of that cake, delightful and rich. They would be marvelous together, that cake and a glass of milk; they’d get along really nice. “That’s it!” I thought. I had to have that cake. It was eating me up inside. “What if it isn’t for me?” I hesitated. Then I looked around and sprang into action. I retrieved a plate and glass of milk, too. It was time to commence. The knife went through with ease, and before I knew it I had eaten that piece and one more . . . and one more. Then I halted mid-bite. With chocolate icing about my chin, and a fork lifted to my face, self-disgust set in. My stomach, and conscience, began to ache.

FOLLOW YOUR HEART, NOT YOUR STOMACH Andie DiBiase Senior Hudson, Ohio

As a little kid, I always looked forward to dinner at my grandparent’s house because of my grandmother’s skillful cooking. Before I entered the stage where all I ate was pasta and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, I had an adventurous spirit for trying whatever was put on my plate. One dinner is all it took for me to change my opinion on animal rights, and I was not even aware of it. The plate was set down in front of me, a dish containing meat and an assortment of vegetables. The meat looked just like normal hamburgers, very harmless. After grace, I dove into my meal, devouring my first slice of this mystery meat. I noticed my older sister was not indulging in the dinner like I was. Being the mature kid I was, I turned and gave her a show of the chewed up food in my mouth. She gave me a She gave me a disgusted disgusted look, leaned in and look, leaned in and whispered to me with a whispered to me with a mischievous grin, “You’re eating Bambi’s mom.” In mischievous grin, “You’re disbelief, I spit my half chewed eating Bambi’s mom.” In meat back onto my plate. My disbelief, I spit my half grandpa looked over and said, chewed meat back onto my “You don’t like the deer, plate. My grandpa looked dear?” I was eating deer! The beautiful animal that filled me over and said, “You don’t with excitement every time I like the deer, dear?” I was saw it in my backyard was my eating deer! dinner! Then the fact that it was Bambi’s mom put me over the edge. The world was a cruel place that night. For some reason, killing cows and chickens made sense to me, but when it came to my Disney characters, it became serious and personal. From that point on, I refused to eat any of this mysterious meat. Of course, I continued to enjoy my hot dogs and chicken nuggets. However, whenever offered deer, veal, duck or even alligator, I looked at

the person like he or she was insane. Why would anybody eat a cute little duck or baby deer? At the time, I did not understand the expectations of culture and how our society depends so much on the production of meat. Just like many teenagers in the country, I experimented with the idea of becoming a vegetarian. Going maybe a week without meat and then caving when I smelled the aroma of my mom grilling up some burgers; eating animals was still on my conscience but not with a strong enough purpose to actually commit to a meatless life. Years later, I found myself a devoted vegetarian, and still remain one. It began with a documentary where I witnessed disturbing images of cows and chickens as victims of cruel treatment. They were put through all of this just for the satisfaction of humans. From that point on, I converted to vegetarianism full time. Who knew watching a documentary would change my way of life and the way I view animal rights just like that scarring feast of mother deer from so long ago. Skimming the lunchroom with my eyes for somewhere to eat, I sat down next to a girl who would quickly become one of my best friends. In desperate need of a conversation starter, I peeked over at her meal and noticed she also had not gotten the main meal, which contained meat. So I asked her if she was a vegetarian. Pleased that I had asked her, she told me she was actually a vegan. I had heard of vegans before, but I was not really sure what that entailed, and I was fascinated. “What does that specifically mean?” I asked. She explained how she basically does not eat or use any animal products, at all. A couple days later, after we were better acquainted, I asked her why she had chosen a vegan lifestyle. She smiled again, “Isn’t it weird to you that we regularly drink the milk of other animals but not our own milk?” My mind was blown. Drinking our own milk is a little extreme (and somewhat gross to think about), but why did we feel it necessary to take such a precious part of another animal? So as a result, I took on the challenge of becoming a vegan in hope of finding more answers in what I felt about animal rights. It may seem like an easy enough concept to just eliminate all animal products from your diet, but let me tell you, it is a lot tougher than it sounds. In today’s society, we depend on animals for nutrition so much that it is extremely hard to get all your nutrients elsewhere. I commend anyone who is vegan, but that lifestyle lasted no longer than a month for me. When I made the decision to just stick to being a vegetarian, I came to the conclusion that as far as I knew, no animals were being harmed in the certain animal products I was eating. Milking a cow is doing the cow a favor, and chickens produce eggs no matter what. Plus,

part of being a vegetarian (something that a lot of people forget about) is not using any product made from animals, such as leather. By following these limitations in my life, I feel satisfied that I am doing the right thing and giving animals as many equal rights as today’s society will allow. Occasionally, I still contemplate what my vegan friend said to me that one day and whether it is really okay to treat animals as if they are below us. Each person has his or her different extremes in their opinions. A little kid would never want to see a pet or favorite animal character be used for human satisfaction, and a vegan believes it is unjust to take anything from animals because it’s simply not ours. My personal opinion is still a constant conundrum in which I’m constantly trying to figure out the most ethical way to organize my diet. I suppose it is safe to say that I see animals as our equals; therefore, we should treat them with the same dignity and rights as humans. This opinion makes sense to me, but I understand it is not one held by most people today. My own family still calls me crazy for being a vegetarian. I have adopted this life choice because it feels right to me, and I can’t help but believe that for every human being there is that part of them that feels this same respect for animals as well. Even people who willingly take part in actions others see as animal cruelty must have a little voice in the back of their heads saying it’s wrong. Some may even have an occasional random image of a beloved childhood pet suffering under similar circumstances, and it might give them doubts. Certainly, different people take their views of animal rights to different extremes. However, no matter what the societal norm may be, my advice would be to do what feels right in your heart when it comes to animal rights. It won’t misguide you.

A BRISK CHANGE Alex Fellows Junior Canton, Ohio

The flow of water accelerates, colors shift. A calm blue transforms into an angry white foam as, paddles at the ready, six of us await orders from the only experienced person in the raft. “Don’t fall out.” The phrase drills itself deep into my terrified brain. “What am I doing here? I can’t do this. This is dangerous. I don’t do dangerous!” The seemingly endless approach to the rapids ends as the spiteful waters begin to whip at our boat. “Oh man.” My body shifts slightly off the side of the raft, and with one more thump of rushing water, in I go. Movies depict such disasters in slow-motion: most inaccurate. The stampeding river takes me in an instant. “I hate dangerous The flow of water things.” Then, as I crashed into accelerates, colors shift. A the speeding river, I have new calm blue transforms into realization. “I love this!” an angry white foam as, Hurdling along in the paddles at the ready, six of swift current, fear did not engulf my being—excitement did. After us await orders from the being pulled back into my raft, I only experienced person in thought about how much I had the raft. “Don’t fall out.” been wasting my life by not The phrase drills itself exploring the many oppordeep into my terrified tunities I was privileged enough to have. Luckily, it took only the brain. “What am I doing first fourteen years of my life for here? I can’t do this. This this epiphany to occur. Having is dangerous. I don’t do just completed my freshman dangerous!” year, I looked back and considered how sheltered I had kept myself. I stayed in my safety zone, petrified of what something new might bring. But after having experienced this rush of cold water and excitement, I decided never again to keep myself a stranger to the unfamiliar.

As I explored new areas of life previously left in the shadows, such as athletics or simply changing where I sat at meals, I bettered myself with the new experiences I had and people I met. I once again took up swimming, a sport I had loved but left behind as a child. Hard to believe, but I even tried my hand at lacrosse. As a particularly aggressive contact sport, Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m still surprised I convinced myself to play. The many interesting people I met through swimming and lacrosse gave me some of the greatest friends I now have. Had I hid inside my comfort zone, I would never have let such friends into my life. I continue to form new relationships by pushing past my insecurities and shyness to meet different people. I prevent myself from simply sitting with the same kids every meal. I no longer pass the evening hours away all alone in my room, not talking to the other kids who live in my dormitory. With a little dose of courage, I now explore the halls of the dorm. In my first year at Reserve, I had sat with people with whom I had classes, but I never really got to know them. As the days and weeks passed, those mere acquaintances to whom I now reached out turned into friendsâ&#x20AC;&#x201D;all thanks to my determination to try new things. Finding someone on this campus today who thinks of me as a shy person would, I believe, be a difficult feat. Out of immense terror came a new person. Now, I venture through life short of breath, bouncing between new people and novel activities, stopping only long enough to take in all that I have seen and contemplate the endless possibilities that still lay ahead of this young life. I guess you could say I was awoken from an unadventurous and static life by a cold splash of water (or, perhaps more accurately, a swiftflowing, white-water baptism of redemption).

ABOUT FACE Hannah Gaspar Senior Hudson, Ohio

I am constantly being asked by friends and teachers why I am so upset. “But I am not,” I say to them; “It’s just how my face is.” Indeed, the natural state my face assumes when I am not deliberately trying to portray a certain expression or emotion is that of a scowl. I am not a “Debby-Downer” or a pouty person, but my face tells a different story. My junior year I took AP US History with Mr. Ong and, long story short, I absolutely loved it. The class was incredibly challenging, but I was so motivated to do well because I had such admiration for Mr. Ong, and I really wanted him to respect me as a student. About midway through the year, however, I was shocked when, in the middle of class, he said, “Hannah, I feel like you hate me. You always have this look on your face like you are in such pain and agony.” Of course, this came as a crushing blow from my favorite teacher in my favorite class. Often, while sitting It pained me endlessly to know that around a table in our the teacher I most wanted school’s dining hall recognition from thought I hated him. enjoying a weekly sitOn the other hand, this trait down dinner, one of my has sometimes been a source of friends will say intently, humor. Often, while sitting around “Hannah, do the face.” a table in our school’s dining hall enjoying a weekly sit-down dinner, one of my friends will say intently, “Hannah, do the face.” So, I turn to look at her with my deadliest glare and stare her down. She immediately bursts into laughter and tries to imitate me. Because my friend knows me so well, she thinks it is funny that some people find my look so terrifying, while it is a source of humor for her. Once people realize that I do not suffer from severe depression or internal angst and am able to hold an actual conversation with them, I have no trouble showing them that I am a normal happy, healthy teen, despite my contrary countenance. The truth is I am not an unhappy person. Nothing besides my facial appearance conveys that I am not

happy. I suppose there are many things I could learn from this trait, such as the clichéd, “Don’t judge a book by its cover” or “Everything is not what it seems” (according to various song lyrics by Selena Gomez). I guess I just have to say that my facial appearance is one of those things that make me a little different. It may present me with a minor challenge or two to overcome (and my best friends a good laugh), but I suppose at least my default facial features occasionally liven up my otherwise average everyday life. Such a talent is not going to propel me into a circus sideshow or Ripley’s Believe It or Not, but it certainly keeps things interesting.

LIGHT IT UP BLUE: THE TRUTH BEHIND AUTISM Kelsey Gordon Junior Elyria, Ohio

“KELSEY!” I heard my mother loudly yell from the kitchen. Typically, when her voice takes this tone, I am either in trouble or something is terribly wrong. When I walked into the family room, I saw an assortment of stickers and glitter strewn everywhere—as well as a chaotic explosion of glue and paper cemented to the hardwood floor. I walked over to the kitchen and saw my frustrated mother Most of the Reserve attempting to wash off my pinkcommunity has not had markered brother. I immediately the pleasure of meeting burst into laughter, and within one of the most important seconds my mom was grinning. people in my life: my Although the family room took nearly five days to recover from younger brother, Carson. the mess (if you go into that Diagnosed with multiple room today, there are still traces developmental disorders of blue glitter glue), it was (including deaf-blind, difficult to be too upset. autism and CHARGE Our lives are filled with people who inspire us to achieve syndrome), Carson has a our goals and awaken a new very unique lifestyle. perspective within us. Most of From his daily activities the Reserve community has not to his methods of had the pleasure of meeting one communication, my of the most important people in my life: my younger brother, brother is unlike any other Carson. Diagnosed with person I have ever known. multiple developmental disorders (including deaf-blind, autism and CHARGE syndrome), Carson has a very unique lifestyle. From his daily activities to his methods of communication, my brother is unlike any other person I have ever known. Sadly, some do not see Carson the same way I do. Instead, some fear him or act very uncomfortably when he is around. These awkward emotions, however,

are easily avoidable. Once one attempts to understand Carson, or simply accepts the differences that characterize my brother, one can truly appreciate the light he has to offer. One of my brother’s most remarkable qualities is that his intelligence is often underestimated by those who do not know him. When we return back home from trips, he immediately goes to the computer and maps out the journey on Google Earth. Carson carefully remembers every street, turn and stop that we encounter along our driving. He also has a special way of communicating to us where he wants to go. Carson will sign “sister” if he wants to come to Hudson to see me, (very often a ruse simply to come have a Main Street Cupcake), and signs “play” when he misses Florida (where we vacationed two years ago). His memory is amazing; he learned the American Sign Language alphabet forwards and backwards within days, and he currently memorizes entire movies and computer games. Even though he cannot communicate verbally, Carson manages to express his feelings to those around him with relative ease. He jumps up and down and claps his hands when he is joyful, and when he regrets something he has done he is quick to hug and try to make the situation better. My brother can also sense when others feel uneasy, and he invariably tries to make them feel more relaxed. Carson also tries to adopt an attitude of responsibility and independence, working to convince those around him that he does not require their assistance. One way my brother does this is by taking care of his new service dog, Henry. While certain tasks are admittedly difficult for my brother to complete by himself, he does what he can. He loves to brush Henry’s teeth, along with walking, bathing, feeding, petting and playing with him. The relationship the two have formed is simply amazing. They often run around the house playing with one another in a manner that can seem wild and uncontrolled. (Indeed, their energetic play has led to many moments of commotion and chaos.) However, the two of them have discovered a workable way of communicating with one another through body language and other physical cues. Carson knows to stop when he senses he has scared the dog, and when my brother needs to settle down, Henry will help calm the mood. Carson is currently learning the command signs so he can tell Henry, in the moment, if he needs something. These commands range from the basics, “sit,” “stay,” “go,” to more interesting ones such as “pick up laundry” and “cuddle.” I can tell Henry makes Carson feel less alone and more at ease, and I’m very happy that we have been blessed with Henry’s presence in our lives. I cannot wait to see the progress that

Carson continues to make with Henry, even if I cannot be home to experience this growth on a daily basis. Not being there for my brother year-round is the hardest part of living at Reserve, yet during the summertime things completely change. When I am allowed, I go with Carson on his school field trips. Two summers ago, Carson went to the zoo. It was incredible watching him exercise his patience and be friendly with his classmates. He truly loved feeding the sea lions! Just last year, I went with him to a horse farm. The school he attends is specifically designed for kids with autism and other developmental disorders, and it has established a program that enables its students to ride horses as well as work to help brush and feed them. At first, I could tell Carson was a bit uncomfortable around the horses. It is sometimes difficult for him to perceive what is safe and what is dangerous, but with our grandma and me there, along with his caretakers and teachers, Carson eventually worked up the nerve to get on the horse and absolutely loved it. Similarly, after having been encouraged and convinced that he would not be harmed, he has learned to adore going to the playground, playing baseball, swimming and going down the waterslides, and splashing around in the ocean. I believe that it is these little everyday risks, things that fall outside of his regular daily routine, and things the rest of us so often take for granted, are those that benefit his development the most. Exposing him to new activities and ideas has helped him experience the world around him in a different way. Of course, in a perfect world, my family would love to be able to take Carson anywhere without having to worry at all. Unfortunately, I simply cannot count the number of awkward glares and judgmental looks we have received while out to have dinner at a restaurant. Though my brother’s behavior was admittedly quite bad when he was younger, for how many other “normal” children could the same thing be said? Now at the age of twelve, Carson behaves better than a majority of other kids we see when we go out. Yet, because my brother looks different, and wears cochlear implants in order to hear, some people just assume that he is going to be trouble. Carson does have a difficult time sitting quietly, and often mumbles and fidgets in his seat, which can occasionally make people uncomfortable. The truth is, however, that he is doing nothing to harm anyone else when he is eating dinner at the table beside them. Sadly, people tend to mistrust and misjudge differences; there is an innate fear of the “unknown.” Yet, if you could imagine yourself in my brother’s place—or that of someone else who has difficulty communicating—wouldn’t you, too, be frustrated and want to

scream out? While some people treat Carson and my family in an uncharitable way, an increasing number of people are quite kind towards him. There is a growing awareness of autism and other developmental disorders, which leads to a greater While some people treat amount of understanding, yet Carson and my family in an there is still a lot of work to be uncharitable way, an done. My hope for the future increasing number of people is that people take the time to are quite kind towards him. experience and meet others There is a growing before they judge them. awareness of autism and Carson, and other people with other developmental autism are not the only ones to face discrimination in our disorders, which leads to a society: racism, sexism, greater amount of xenophobia, homophobia, and understanding, yet there is other senseless intolerances still a lot of work to be done. still occur, to one degree or another, in nearly every aspect of life. When someone uses the word, “retard” or “fag,” it not only exposes their ignorance, but it negatively impacts an entire community. Just because your friends are not offended does not make it okay. It is a matter of principle and respect for everyone, especially those whom you may not understand well. I really believe education is the best way to solve this gap. I encourage everyone to learn about autism, (Autism Speaks is a great organization for education and advocacy), and perhaps volunteer somewhere in order to spend some time with those who are handicapped. It will awaken a new perspective and make you truly appreciate the things you have. Growing up with Carson has been quite an experience, and sometime it has been hard, yet I wouldn’t change it for anything. Through all of the laughter and tears, he has been there to uplift our family and remind us of the things that are truly important in life.

THE AMERICAN TRANCE Abby Hermosilla Junior Kent, Ohio

It was a silence, a realization in my mind, as the flick of a crisping cigarette floated to the ground. Everything happens at once; the sex, the train rides, the sleepy eves stretched out across a Frisco sky, ripe in purples and reds and pot-bellied clouds. This was IT*! It which resides humbly in the wrapped package of a cigaretteâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s perfect shape and harsh grit; it which crawls up the knot of your throat, lightly plucking the right chords, stringing you to belt aloud. And the hallucinated phantom crashes to your limbs, caresses your arms and legs to do a little jig and dance like dingledodies at a hazed vagabond bar. And the girls and boys stare intently at each other, their skin raised in goose bumps, searching for hints of ecstasy woven in tiny hairs. And finally, the buzz of an era creeps over all of us, lifting our feet in wafting flight, we glide, by-passing winter spite. The piano grows louder, the beat faster, thriving in a lively tempo; hitchhikers bunch around the stage as the lanky musician throws his head up at the dim lights above, which twinkle like stars exploding from afar, a supernova. The galactic roar has a whole generation to soak through and seedlings to sprinkle across these weedy Western plains. Yet, I, amongst a paradise of commotion, will again slowly seep to the stiff desk and icy typewriter voyage back to the Eastern city, a centralized hum

of heavy footsteps and stern scoldings. Here, everything is so quiet in terms of IT. *This is in reference to the novel On the Road by Jack Kerouac.

SUNK Eilidh Jenness Senior Bella Vista, Arkansas

I remember seeing him for the first time on a cool autumn day after one of many WRA football losses. My family, already acquainted with him through various events at the school and thoroughly enamored, bustled around him as he marched back to the athletic center covered in mud and dogged defeat. They asked about his classes and his family, insensitive to his attitude toward the game. My brother, his best friend, wasn’t nearly as athletic and could’ve been emptying water jugs or turning off the lights in the announcers’ box or marking the last statistics; I’m not sure. I was only focused on one thing: he had a nice butt. I blushed. He came to visit our house a few times over the next two summers as I awkwardly battled through junior high with skinny legs, glasses and braces. He was skinny and had braces, too, but I liked the way he talked worked it. His presence was about women, and I liked like a mute-button, twisting the way his car smelled like my stomach up th5rough my peach cigars. I liked the way vocal cords until I couldn’t he respectfully interacted speak. I stalked through the house, hyper-aware of his with my parents, and I liked manifestation in a far-off room, the way he made my gracelessly skating past the younger siblings laugh. He open doorway when I worked felt mysterious yet safe. up enough adolescent longing to catch a glimpse of him. At shared family dinners, I wouldn’t be able to respond to his occasional questions and usually ended up shaking my head or making highpitched moaning sounds. He probably thought I was “really fucking weird” because, frankly, I was. I liked the way he talked about women, and I liked the way his car smelled like peach cigars. I liked the way he respectfully interacted with my parents, and I liked the way he made my younger siblings laugh. He felt mysterious yet safe. I applied to Reserve comforted by

the fact that someone who wore a flat-brimmed hat had been accepted three years earlier. When I arrived on campus as a freshman—shortly after my braces came off and I got contact—he gallantly carried my boxes to the top floor of Ellsworth. Miraculously, we swapped phone numbers. (Actually, it wasn’t a miracle. I stole his digits, which were quickly memorized, from my brother’s phone and texted him a loud “It’s Eilidh!” because I read somewhere that “confident girls are the hottest girls” and I had nothing to lose. This invincible attitude, I now know, is one of the few things we share.) His responses were witty, if curt, and I loved watching him play a game I thought was called “hardtoget” more than I loved watching him play football. After many seemingly intellectual, argumentative conversations about absolutely nothing via text message (because textual squabbling, you know, is a pretty passionate outlet), he agreed to meet with me on a Tuesday in January. It made me shake. I couldn’t sleep the night before because I was genuinely shaking too hard. The sports section of the paper masked his face, but I knew his body well enough to identify him sitting in the chair in the library during our shared free period. I shyly walked to him the way a candyhungry four-year-old in a Power Rangers costume approaches the scariest porch on Halloween. “How are you?” He didn’t respond, engrossed in the scores and allegedly uninterested in me. I stood next to him, waiting, feeling embarrassed and regretful and already hating him. Eventually he rose and nonchalantly left the library, arrogantly expecting me to trail behind. The power struggle had started before the wind hit our chapped faces. “This is your thing. Where are we going?” he asked, annoyed. I didn’t have a plan, but I knew his cold demeanor didn’t follow it. I suggested we head toward the bookstore, and we stubbornly started arguing about his sucky, forced attitude. Our voices dripped with pure rage and desire. God, I can be confrontational. And God, he can be a real misunderstood bastard sometimes. Our footprints followed us around the parking lot of the athletic center, past the football field, and onto the same asphalt walk where we first met. He told me we were nothing alike and, in response, I muttered something straight out of The Catcher in the Rye. I could tell he appreciated it because he grew silent and turned toward me, looking for something, an expression, or permission perhaps, on my face. It made me self-conscious. I quickly looked away, wiping the cold snot from my nose. And then he did it. He gestured to the frozen pond and said the

words I’ll never forget, an innocent yet daring “Let’s go out there.” The soft voice of reason I’d actively smothered since meeting him pushed out one last word of advice and convinced me to slip my heavy bag off of my shoulders and drop it on the snowy bank. Slowly, we walked together to the center. Our hands were not clasped, but they easily could’ve been. My skirt, short and flimsy, clung to my tights with the wind as I pushed each leg cautiously over the thin ice, carefully preventing my boots’ smooth soles from We didn’t speak. After half slipping. I could feel the an hour of bickering, we radiating warmth of his body chose, just that once, the soft buried in his letterman’s jacket. peace of the moment We didn’t speak. After half an instead. He stopped, and I hour of bickering, we chose, just that once, the soft peace of stood next to him, listening the moment instead. He to the silent snow and the stopped, and I stood next to way our breathing patterns him, listening to the silent intertwined. He turned to snow and the way our me, and I turned to him. breathing patterns intertwined. He turned to me, and I turned And then it broke. to him. And then it broke. I remember it in flashes: my legs, our screams, looking for him. Everything was white, like heaven. I felt painless. I felt nothing. Not cold or wet. Fearless, maybe, without as much conviction. My line of vision bobbed above and below the ice, searching. Water, panic. Snow, calm. Water. Snow. White. His steady, bellowed expletives pacified me. I screamed, too, though I don’t remember what I said. His name, maybe, or a cuss word, too; though I doubt it would’ve come naturally. I often wonder if he remembers. The ice broke around me as I tried pushing myself out with my hands hard against the top surface. The down feathers of my winter coat absorbed water and my heavy boots pulled my feet toward the bottom. My hands were freezing to the ice. I couldn’t get out. And then he stood above me, suddenly free and soaked, helping me, saving me. Our hands clasped, and I felt safe. He pulled me out in one lucid motion. I can remember worrying that I looked like a fat beached whale. We were face to face again, silent. He coolly advised me to follow my steps back to solid ground. I listened. Again on land, I could feel my wet tights clinging to my skin. My skirt, once flirtatious, froze into a hard slate that choked my waist

and cut my thighs. His frosty pants bound his legs. Water dripped from his coat. We stared at one another, and we laughed. Hysterically. Shouting uncontrollably, bursting, dancing and running and smiling, we laughed. What followed is exactly what happens after one (or two) breaks the ice with a bang. We loved and fought and hugged and hit until the snow melted for the persistent forget-me-nots of spring. He loves me, he loves me lots. He loves me, he loves me not. Summer came, and we vowed to remember the day we almost lost our lives to one another. It is a story for grandchildren, but not ours.

THE RIFFS OF REMINISCENCE Eilidh Jenness Senior Bella Vista, Arkansas

During the period following my parents’ divorce in 1997, a short two years after I had pushed my way into the house and become the last straw with baby shoes, nothing was very constant. Although I have no recollection of my parents living under the same roof, the sound of Patty Griffin’s soft lyrics reverberates through my earliest memories. Her voice, dignified and honest and yet almost apologetic, floated through my father’s studio on Saturday mornings like a slice of sun gently illuminating young motes of dust, blaming no one. Her lullabies rocked my mom’s car as she took the long way home to what was left in her half of the house, two blocks away from the apartment. Patty Griffin’s CDs, it seemed, were the only thing my parents had left in common. Patty’s first album, Living with Ghosts, was released in 1996, just in time for heartbreak. The tracks, including “You Never Get What You Want,” “Mad Mission,” “Let Him Fly,” “Time Will Do the Talking,” “Forgiveness,” and “Not Alone,” among others, ran the range from grieving guitar strums and mournful wailing to the musical equivalent of a motherly embrace. Her first album sounds like the uncut private recording sessions of a woman working her way through personal sorrow, but her lyrics feel so relatable and her voice rings so true that it’s hard not to listen and nod and look at the nobody next to you, embarrassed to know that a beautiful woman has written an entire album just for you. Patty’s first attempt at recording her feelings includes many harsher acoustic guitar sounds than her next albums, and sometimes it seems like she uses them to cover the voice she hasn’t yet discovered is lovely but is anxious to release. In Living with Ghosts, Patty is completely herself, young and full of a self-aware trouble that proved vital to my parents’ healing processes. In her second album, Patty drifts from the comfortable niche of folksy vibes to experiment with electric guitar and up-tempo beats. Flaming Red (1998) convinced my parents to start seeing other people. Personally, I’ve always liked her second album the least, finding her tracks like “Change” and “Wiggley Fingers” overrated. Undeniably, every artists needs to test their talents, but Patty takes it too far. (I’m

happy she got it over with in the beginning of her career instead of as a middle-age crisis.) In this way, Patty has always been ahead of her peers as a musician. Despite my general disdain for the album, I do enjoy the slow drumming heartbeat in “Mary” and the dark aura around “Peter Pan.” The opening riff in “Tony,” a song about a boy in Patty Griffin’s high school class who committed suicide, still makes me cry. Perhaps what is most poignant about Patty Griffin is her lyrics, which are written like poetry and are never upstaged by instrumentation, even on this electric album. Patty says what no one else wants to say but does so with a resounding grace. The next two albums run together like my messy childhood memories, sharing similar titles and sounds but collectively containing a multitude of stories. 1000 Kisses and A Kiss in Time, produced in 2002 and 2003 respectively, have the brilliant musical and lyrical qualities of Living with Ghosts but with sounds more eloquently refined. The young, headstrong lady from 1996 found her true voice again and then grew up, adding wisdom and lusty definition to her words. The first track on 1000 Kisses, “Rain,” is by far Patty’s most popular piece. On both albums, each track feels like a glimpse into someone’s life, but Patty never fails to make each anecdote feel applicable to her devoted listeners. My favorite piece, “Christina,” is a subtle ode to the life and love of Christine Onassis, a wealthy businesswoman and heiress who was married and divorced four times because her fortune often resulted in “a hundred love letters and none of them true.” Patty’s storytelling talents are just as strong as her vocal chords. I’ve always admired her word trickery; I take something new from each piece every time I give them a listen, letting Patty’s light woodsy voice penetrate my mind until I feel she is sitting close by. Something happened after the release of A Kiss in Time. Both parents, remarried and thoroughly occupied, didn’t have time to buy Patty’s next albums, Impossible Dream (2004) and Children Running Through (2007). I listened to singular tracks of each CD only later, when my mother came across them in the public library and felt nostalgic. In

It’s almost as if Patty Griffin’s early work is so attached to its moment that both of my parents are unwilling to let her new stuff seep into their fresh lives. She is more than just a voice; she is a memory that perhaps should not be prolonged.

2010, Patty switched her focus completely and debuted on the gospel scene with her album Downtown Church, which my father owns but has never opened. It’s almost as if Patty Griffin’s early work is so attached to its moment that both of my parents are unwilling to let her new stuff seep into their fresh lives. She is more than just a voice; she is a memory that perhaps should not be prolonged. Still, I enjoy waking up to Living with Ghosts blaring through my dad’s house even today, and I smile next to my mom when the sound of Patty’s voice makes a wish to the sound of “may the voices inside you that fill you with dread be the sound of thousands of angels instead” as we continue down the road.

STENDHAL SYNDROME Lauren Kolar Junior Hudson, Ohio

Sometimes I sit in the movie theater and cry about cinematography. A couple years back, as I sat in the only theater in northeastern Ohio playing Lars von Trierâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Melancholia, I spontaneously started crying. Two and a half minutes into the movie. Of course, this strange flashflood of emotions had reasonable cause: a shot in which a woman ran across a golf course, On a much related side clutching her toddler son against her shoulder. As she made her note, a few years back I way across, her feet sank into the read a little book entitled, turf down to her knees. Diary, by my all-time Everything was presented in the favorite author Chuck most haunting slow motion I Palahniuk, which brought have ever witnessed. While my description of the shot does it no up an interesting concept. justice whatsoever, it truly is The story revolved around incredible. The whole something called Stendhal composition looks like the most Syndrome, a condition in gorgeous surrealist painting. As which (according to soon as the image manifested onscreen, the flood was Wikipedia) the sheer instantaneous (and completely beauty of a certain piece of unwarranted on my part). To art causes a person to date, that shot remains my experience dizziness, rapid favorite in the history of film heartbeat, faintness, thus far (I say thus far, of course, because I intend to watch a confusion, or even boatload of movies before I die, hallucinations. and furthermore a boatload of pretty movies, and so the title is very much up for grabs). On a much related side note, a few years back I read a little book entitled, Diary, by my all-time favorite author Chuck Palahniuk, which brought up an interesting concept. The story revolved around something called Stendhal Syndrome, a condition in which (according to Wikipedia) the

sheer beauty of a certain piece of art causes a person to experience dizziness, rapid heartbeat, faintness, confusion, or even hallucinations. While Melancholia certainly did not elicit hallucinations in me, I can image that my extreme reaction was some sort of variation on the syndrome. More recently, upon first watching Paul Thomas Anderson’s The Master in theaters, the same occurrence took place, this time for a shot of Philip Seymour Hoffman’s portrait being taken. That whole movie was comprised of brain-melting cinematography, yet this specific shot was the only one to put me over the edge. The shot was even in the trailer, I had seen it in anticipation of the film, yet projected onto a 30foot screen the magnificence was suddenly completely overwhelming. Sometimes music makes my chest tighten. And I’m not even musically inclined in the slightest. As a jokingly, self-proclaimed, tone deaf person, rarely do I ever find an excess of emotional attachment in music. Sure, I like the medium as much as the next hormonal teenager, but frankly I can’t say I like it like it. When accompanied by certain images, however, music for me can be moving as shit. For weeks after watching Derek Cianfrance’s Blue Valentine, Grizzly Bear’s album Veckatimest was ruined for me. I couldn’t listen to it without wanting to break into sobs. Just a few weeks ago, had you played Mike Patton’s “Snow Angel” from The Place Beyond the Pines (also Cianfrance), I would have become so enveloped in some sick cocktail of happy/sad that I wished to puke (which, given my somewhat chronic fear of vomiting, says a lot). On a much lighter note, in my opinion, George Baker’s “Little Green Bag” (especially the first ten seconds or so of pure bassline), coupled with the introduction of the title characters from Quentin Tarantino’s Reservoir Dogs is the single most satisfying feeling in the world. Of course, I could write for days about Tarantino and music (such as the iconic use of Dick Dale’s “Misirlou” in Pulp Fiction), but that’s a long road few would want me to embark upon. Another power movies have over music is the ability to expand tastes. Never in a million years would I have predicted myself listening to Aimee Mann, but after the perfect timing of “One is the Loneliest Number” in Magnolia (yet again Paul Thomas Anderson), I have found that I actually seek the song out. Even stranger is the ability of movies to change the meaning of songs. I had Melanie’s “Brand New Key” on my iPod far before I saw Boogie Nights (another Paul Thomas Anderson masterpiece), but after that scene with Rollergirl (you know the one), my whole perception of that song, in retrospect, changed. In addition, there’s the sick sense of satisfaction every time I hear “Singin’ in the Rain” ever since watching

Stanley Kubrick’s A Clockwork Orange. And this isn’t even delving into the world of scores. However, my complete infatuation with cinema has its (if more often than not petty) difficulties. What I’ve come to realize is that the majority of the population has very little respect for film as an art. Yes, everyone loves movies, but people are much quicker to shit on a masterpiece like Kubrick’s The Shining than Edward Munch’s “The Scream.” From what I gather, most of this can be attributed to the fact that in other artistic mediums, the majority of what we are Although every single year I exposed to categorizes as the set myself up for four hours best. Museums don’t fill of angst, there’s still an themselves with mediocre art, enjoyment in the Oscars; at least by the standards of the after all, it is a celebration of community at large. Given, oftentimes modern and pop art film. And I suppose the has its severe critics, but for the Oscars represent my feelings most part people are willing to about culture as a whole: recognize the importance and yes, most of the time impact of given pieces of art. everything I love remains Whether you like Van Gogh or Andy Warhol or not, chances under-appreciated, but I’m are you still consider them just ecstatic that so many deserving barons within the movies exist in the world. context of history. As a society, we grow up with an appreciation for the best, because that’s all we know. However, film presents the opposite phenomenon. The most accessible and widely released films generally (in my humbly pretentious opinion) exist as dimensionless pieces of trash; and while I do believe that almost every film has at least one redeeming factor (however small), is Paranormal Activity 4’s presence in the world really necessary? Or Michael Bay’s new travesty, Pain & Gain? Come on, even though Marky Mark secured a scrap of reluctant respect on my part after watching Boogie Nights, not even his history as Dirk Diggler can redeem him in this one. With such an excess of crap so widely available, the standards of the Average Joe lie, frankly, disappointingly low. And while everyone has the right to their own opinion, it’s exhausting to deal with people who bash classic pieces of cinematic art—simply because it’s not suited to their tastes!— and refuse to acknowledge its importance in cinematic history. So, no matter how groundbreaking a film, people focus only on their individual

likes and dislikes and are therefore too apt to write it off altogether. Of course, there are the few platforms which act as quality assessors, namely such events as the Academy Awards and Golden Globes. But ask any moderate film buff their opinion of the Oscars, and they’ll shudder before releasing a lengthy rant about every time the Academy has robbed a film of their choice (for me, the 2011 awards are a particularly touchy topic for me, and you should never mention The King’s Speech in my presence unless you want a tirade ending in “Tom Hooper can shove a camera up his arse at an unnecessary Dutch angle”). So, there exists a horrible spectrum in which there’s filth and glorified filth, and most pieces of actually high caliber cinematic art rest in the unrecognized middle. Although every single year I set myself up for four hours of angst, there’s still an enjoyment in the Oscars; after all, it is a celebration of film. And I suppose the Oscars represent my feelings about culture as a whole: yes, most of the time everything I love remains underappreciated, but I’m just ecstatic that so many movies exist in the world.

READY (OR NOT), AIM, FIRE Anna McMurchy Sophomore Aurora, Ohio

Life is like riflery. The shooter is you. The targets are your goals. The gun is the mechanism by which you fire your attempts to achieve what you desire. When you first start out in life, you are a child crawling along in the prone position and firing away at the simple goals you set for yourself. You hold these goals easily within your sight; the rifle hardly shakes as you strive to grasp small objects, eat solid food, and (much to the relief of your parents) go to the bathroom on your own. Bam. Bam. Bam. Each goal achieved, each target hit, eight or nine or ten points apiece. But when you have finished, your shoulders ache and your elbows are rubbed raw from doing battle with the floor in order to find a good position. Standing brings relief, until you realize how difficult it is to achieve your goals in this position. Welcome to young adulthood. You feel completely unstable. The gun sways this way and that, sometimes giving a sudden jerk just as you were about to pull the trigger. The frustration, the anger that courses through your pulsing veins with each shot that doesnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t land exactly where you want it. The first few shots are high school: tests, exams, big games, opening nights. You hit or you miss based on how hard you concentrate, but a degree of luck factors into each shot. Do you sneeze just as your quivering finger pulls the trigger towards your thumping chest? Do you blank just as your teacher places your midterm down in front of you? Do you miss the winning shot on goal? Do you flub the most important line? Hopefully you nail it, driving clean shots through rings seven or eight, maybe hitting the occasional bullâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s-eye with a perfect quiz or test score. But Reserve is just the beginning. You either trudge or skip off to college, ready (or perhaps not) to fire away at the new challenges that await you. New tests present themselves, and the dating game becomes a more prevalent issue as your friends take their shots at finding their spouse, some sooner, some later, some never at all. Some leave this target blank, some squeeze their eyes shut and hope for the best, some spend years and years perfecting it. How will you handle it?

Still in standing, you struggle through even more tasks. Your jobs, your kids, your taxes: each one presents its own challenges. Bull’seye: your job interview goes excellently, landing you a spot in the company of your dreams. But then in a sudden bout of rage, you miss the paper target completely when you drive your child to the point where he screams, “I hate you! You are no father to me!” You can feel yourself crumbling, your legs trembling. Your goals are building, up, up, up, until it all comes down to this. Your last shot in the standing position: retirement. Bam. Close enough. Sinking to your knees, you rest a moment as you prepare for the kneeling position, your last one. You are an old man now, stooped with age and weathered by all the challenges of life. Your gnarled hands stuff the kneeling pad beneath your knee. Like a cane, it helps you keep your balance as you prepare to take your last round of shots. These goals that loom before you now are easier than those you set as an adult, yet harder than those you remember having as a child. Stay healthy, keep your spouse happy, visit your grandkids every once in a while. Some people struggle here if they haven’t prepared themselves financially. And then, it all comes down to this: the last shot. It holds different meaning for everyone but its focus is always the same: finishing. You must finish what you started, make sure your affairs are in order, make sure you’ve made a difference. Some people miss this last shot; some people hit it dead on. Sweat beads on your throbbing temple as your quivering hands prepare to aim for the last points of your total score. This is it. The muscles in your index finger tense and a drop of sweat plops to the map. You sigh, letting out your last breath, and pull the trigger. No matter whether you hit or miss, you always go out with a bang.

iDONTNEEDIT Gibson Miller Senior Canton, Ohio

I placed my iPhone in my desk drawer before trekking out of my dorm room toward the school vans. My senior English class was heading to the Allegheny National Forest in Pennsylvania for a hiking and camping experience without technology, just us and good ol’ Mother Nature for three days Yet as our expedition and two nights. Let me reiterate—no technology—which progressed beyond the meant my little white slender mere van ride to the box of a cell phone would not be Allegheny National Forest, attached to my right palm 24/7, I found myself not as per usual. I did not think grasping for my iPhone much of it when our teacher, Mr. Warner, initially informed us of every twelve minutes. In the “no technology” policy, nor fact, I had forgotten all did the concept really strike me about my iPhone. Instead, while I was storing my iPhone in I was absorbed in the my desk drawer. However, once search for firewood with we were in the van and beginning our journey, I found my friends, or I was myself searching through my focused on the preparation coat pockets for my iPhone. It of a meal with my teacher, was not there, and I knew that it or I was simply engrossed was not there, but by force of in a fireside conversation. habit my instinct was to check my phone. I continued with this subconscious behavior of reaching for my iPhone about five different times within the first hour of the drive. That averages out to my checking for my phone every twelve minutes. Let me reiterate—every twelve minutes—meaning I could not even finish a meal without the compulsion of trying to pick up my iPhone. That certainly sounds like an addiction. Yet as our expedition progressed beyond the mere van ride to the Allegheny National Forest, I found myself not grasping for my iPhone every twelve minutes. In fact, I had

forgotten all about my iPhone. Instead, I was absorbed in the search for firewood with my friends, or I was focused on the preparation of a meal with my teacher, or I was simply engrossed in a fireside conversation. I did not need my iPhone attached to my right palm 24/7, nor did I even want my iPhone attached to my right palm 24/7. By the end of our hiking and camping experience, I no longer wanted to return to the reality of my iPhone being another appendage of mine. As a nation, we have become increasingly dependent upon our cell phones. But in this day in age, cell phones are not like the original models, which were only used for calling. Now cell phones are equipped with text messaging and have Internet access that offers email, daily news, games, social networking, online calendar organizers . . . the list goes on and on. Growing up with cell phones, I have witnessed firsthand their evolution. I am a senior in high school now, but four years ago, when I was just a freshman, students and faculty members always greeted each other as they passed one another on campus. Unfortunately, now students and faculty members are often too enthralled by their cell phones to unglue their eyes from their screens and glance up at others who pass. We are all on overload with our cell phones, and we check them way too often during the day. I admit to always having my iPhone on hand, and I check it more often than I care to admit. I have never lost sight of the value of face-to-face communication, but I feel I have been distracted by my iPhone. In response to what I discovered about myself, I am making a conscious effort to reduce my cell phone usage. I have never been one to ignore someone when I pass her, but I have too often kept my iPhone on the table during informal meals. Nowadays, I keep my iPhone in my pocket, and only rarely will I check social mediaâ&#x20AC;&#x201D;unless I am alone. I can only imagine what it might be like to walk around campus and not see a single cell phone in sight. Everyone would be engaged with people and not engaged with an electronic device. The atmosphere around the campus would brighten with each eye contact made, every smile shared, and every greeting exchanged. While cell phones are clearly a useful tool, they are, simultaneously, amazing distractions. Through this realization, I have reaffirmed the importance of face-to-face communication, and I am excited to walk through my new college campus and look my colleagues in the eye.

THE PARANOID DISTANCE RUNNER Simon Ong Sophomore Hudson, Ohio

“You fellows know the way, don’t you?” shouts out the old man as we stand around in a huddle, as if hiding and protecting the weak from a stronger, menacing adversary. A few laugh, not really because he has said anything funny, but just out of second nature—one quickly learns that talking back to Señor Fraser will result in either verbal abuse or (worst case scenario) more running. “Well, what’re you standing around for? Go!” Unfortunately, as cross country boys, we are the subjects of his domain and don’t really have much of a choice as to which orders are to be obeyed. We set off across rolling hills and through a dense forest—an Odyssey across treacherous terrain worthy of Odysseus himself. The elements, so often against us, either pour down upon our already soaked garb or dry every last morsel of moisture from our parched throats. Legs ache, spirits whither, but the Those of you who know training never stops. Most of us have grown accustomed to me know that I am not Señor’s verbal abuse, but the normally a superstitious physical abuse is something else person. In fact, a possible entirely. character flaw of mine The human mind is a might be my poking just a miraculous thing. It can identify patterns and quickly adapt so as little too much fun at those to come out of any trial or who seem so willing to tribulation for the better. The believe almost anything human mind took man to the you tell them. moon and has allowed civilization to survive the onslaught of reality television for two decades . . . and counting. It has also allowed me to survive running distances upwards of five miles while still keeping a respectable proximity to Colin Horgan, who is busy shaming the rest of us. While running, the mind sort of shuts down. It turns off as any electronic device would do when short on battery life.

Suddenly thoughts fly from my brain and simple computations, simple sentence structures, and even basic deductive reasoning scurry out the door. This termination of thought allows for a higher level of endurance and pain tolerance. However, it comes at a price. With a lack of reason, the mind is forced to find something else to shape decisions and govern actions beyond mere instinct. Unfortunately for my sanity, my own particular substitute appears to be superstition. Those of you who know me know that I am not normally a superstitious person. In fact, a possible character flaw of mine might be my poking just a little too much fun at those who seem so willing to believe almost anything you tell them. I am not religious, and despite my occasional silliness and over-the-top reputation, my core beliefs are very much grounded in reality (or at least what I perceive as reality). However, none of this applies in the middle of a long run. Suddenly, superstition is as real to me as the nose on your face. Superstition, by itself, might be a harmless thing. However, given the time and circumstances to ferment and grow, superstition can fester like a bad rash and emerge in the ugly manifestation of paranoia. Unfortunately, such a metamorphosis takes place with my own superstition as I run, and paranoia looses anarchy upon my mind. Suddenly, every car is trying to clip me, and every man out mowing his lawn is trying to kill me. I work out complex contingency plans and escape routes should any dark conspiracies unfold. Peaceful and friendly neighborhoods transform into frightening, murderous nightmares. I know it sounds crazy, but maintaining a reasonable mental state completely escapes me while I’m running. Occasionally, my mind will drift off, relatively harmlessly, into a verse of “A Whole New World” from Aladdin and just repeat itself over and over again in a continual loop in my head. But in more extreme cases, my mind instead drifts to darker places. Approaching a small collection of houses nestled near our family getaway in Pennsylvania, suddenly I sense the presence of a local yokel hiding in the barn nearest to road on which I warily approach the settlement. He sits in the barn’s loft equipped with a pair of binoculars and a walkie-talkie, staring down at me with sinister glee. “The fly has entered the fly trap,” he mutters with rancid breath into the walkie-talkie. “Great, we got him,” sounds back a voice no less malevolent than the first.

I approach the isolated row of houses sensing that something is wrong. Everything is quiet . . . too quiet. I imagine the women of the town waiting in their houses for the impending feast while the men prepare themselves for the kill. Suddenly, a dog barks to my right. I jump as it sprints towards me only to be halted by an electric fence. This is surely the first warning sign. Having heard the noise, the men, waiting in their cars, prepare to start their engines and mow me down. Having now run right into the middle of this hostile setting, I know exactly what’s coming for me. But wait. What’s this? Nothing. No cars came zooming out of gravel driveways with fuel burning and horns honking. Instead, I am met only by silence. I might just be safe. Only then does it occur to me that I have embarked upon my run on a Sunday morning. It occurs to me that surely the angry townspeople are currently holed up in church waiting to strike out when I run by their sanctuary. As I approach the church I see a sign. It reads, “Turn from evil and do good; seek peace and pursue it. Psalm 34:14.” However, the false preachings of these would-be heartless murderers gives me little comfort as I fully expect them to turn instead toward evil and pursue me to the gates of hell. Once again, As I approach the church I though, I am proven wrong when no greeting party is sent see a sign. It reads, “Turn from the church doors to from evil and do good; “welcome” me. I’m now leaving seek peace and pursue it. the little cluster of homes that Psalm 34:14.” However, passes for a “town”, and the false preachings of somehow I have miraculously survived. But I’m not quite out these would-be heartless of the woods yet, literally. murderers gives me little As I depart from any comfort as I fully expect trace of human settlement I enter them to turn instead a thick, dark forest. Having toward evil and pursue me inspired such tales as Little Red R iding Hood and Snow White, to the gates of hell. the same menacing forest now stands before me, its fiends, starved for so long, waiting within for a passing meal. I enter, at first blissfully unaware of my new surroundings, running high on the giddiness born from having survived my previous dance with death. Only after I am hopelessly immersed within the dark woods do I get the uneasy feeling that today’s the day the grizzly bears have their picnic. Unfortunately for my own sense of

well-being, I’m on the menu. My speed picks up to an astonishing rate as I’m one hundred percent sure that the sounds behind me are the hungry bears smelling the sweet scent of my sweaty flesh. I run faster and faster until I make it to a clearing and look behind me to see that I have bested the bears with my superior speed. Adrenaline takes me up a final hill and back to the front step of my door. I am on top of the world as soon as I finish; I have cheated death . . . twice! Upon sitting and reflecting on my journey, normal sanity returns. What ailment has plagued my mind? I live by nice people and this is one of the most beautiful and peaceful woods I’ve ever known. I didn’t interrupt the evil intentions of death himself. Hell, I hardly broke a ten-minute mile. All I did was manage to look like a fool to my country neighbors who had watched me flee fearfully from every noise my fevered imagination had turned into a demon bent on my destruction. Happily for my dignity, I had been all alone in the woods, which is fortunate because I’m pretty sure I was crying at one point. Sanity sets back in and the mind restores itself. As I said, the human mind is a truly incredible thing. In mere minutes it can move itself from loony bin bound to that of a normal (well . . . semi-normal) teenage boy.

CUY Trent Pacer Senior Hudson, Ohio

Humbly, I have tasted the ancient, holy Incan delicacy of guinea pig not once, but twice. While, to an American, the idea of eating a guinea pig might seem akin to eating Fido, the animal is as much a part of Andean culture as corn is in ours. For the Incas, “cuy” (Quechua for guinea pig) was a sacred animal whose innards were used as a diagnostic tool by shamans and healers. From the guts of a cuy, one could divine the illness afflicting a patient and thereby cure it. Today, cuy is the equivalent of a Peruvian lobster, leading me to doubt further the elevated status we endow upon some foods. When I tell people that I have eaten guinea pig, I am When I tell people that I typically met with looks of have eaten guinea pig, I disgust followed, in rapid am typically met with succession, by curious questions looks of disgust followed, about its taste. The resulting expressions of disgust and in rapid succession, by accompanying judgmental head curious questions about its shaking usually leave me feeling taste. The resulting as though I should immediately expressions of disgust and purge myself and swallow a accompanying judgmental bottle of Listerine. Admittedly, guinea pigs don’t seem very head shaking usually leave sanitary—they are rodents, after me feeling as though I all—but should any of this really should immediately purge bother me? Lobsters are bottommyself and swallow a feeders whose flesh, when not bottle of Listerine. already nicely cooked or cleaned by a chef, is generally covered in a green, gag-inducing gunk. Overlooking a field of nondescript ruins, I first experienced cuy in the ardent blaze of the Peruvian sun. The gray flesh reminded me of an experience I once had with duck, a bit oily and therefore a bit dirty in my eyes. With its delicately fragile consistency, I took just a small piece

of the flesh. The savory smell of fat made the act of putting the meat in my mouth a bit easier, albeit still quite difficult. Rather than chewing the meat, I used my teeth to grind the piece into a “swallow-able” morsel. The meat was stringy, but I ignored this fact, having been encouraged by various people claiming it tasted like rabbit. While the normal variety of meat in my diet is quite limited (just beef, chicken and maybe some pork), I didn’t really feel any moral conundrum from eating cuy. It was a part of the experience (or whatever other clichés you might care to come up with for traveling). The restaurant had served the cuy with all the niceties of an elegant Western restaurant. On two tiny plates, I had been given samples of both appetizers ordered: one barbequed chicken and one cuy. Upon first inspection, I assumed the cuy was the chicken, but this supposition was quickly dispelled upon my first bite. Personally, the animal tasted quite fishy to me. It was certainly edible, but I doubted I would ever feel the need to let the rodent’s flesh touch my lips again. The heavily seasoned and completely butchered presentation of the animal attempted to hide the dish’s true origins, yet I knew all too well what I had just eaten, and I wasn’t particularly pleased. Less than six months later, I found myself in Baños, Ecuador peering down upon another cuy. This second cuy was encountered in an entirely different setting than had been the first. This cuy was not a part of the fine dining of some American tourist-catering restaurant. No, this cuy was entirely “untouristified,” and was spotted as I stood in line with my friend—the two of us the only gringos in sight—waited for a bit of authentic street cuisine. Brandon was a bit paranoid about eating food prepared by a street vendor, but I chastised him for such xenophobic fears. Phrases such as “Don’t be such a pansy-ass American” and “Y.O.L.O. we’re in Ecuador” helped to rid him of any remaining apprehension. (In other words, I shamed him into it.) After fifteen minutes in line, I handed an elderly lady $20 dollars, having to bend over to do so because she was so short. Before me lay cuy, roasted with head and teeth showing. The same fury animal I had so often looked fondly upon in pet stores looked nothing like the food I saw before me here. The cuy looked almost menacing, anorexic, without fur, and gashing fangs for teeth. With little care, I was thrown a wax paper bag, made the more transparent by its greasy contents. I snuck my fingers in and pulled out one of the legs from the still attached claw. Like the bag, my hands were now stained with cuy grease, which made it all the more difficult for me to rip off a tiny piece of flesh. I nearly gave up on the project and contemplated throwing the thing away (or perhaps handing

it off to some lucky passerby). Persevering, however, I managed to rip off a smidge of the cuy, using the tiny, clenched claw for leverage. The familiar fishy taste once again contaminated my pallet. I ate a bit and ended up letting my friend finish the rest of the bag. The smoke from the vendorâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s stand had falsely led me to believe that this cuy would taste much more like a hearty meat. I was expecting roast chicken from the smell, but sadly I was met with a guinea pig that could be shaped into a fillet and passed off as swordfish. Perhaps the most extraordinary thing about my two experiences with cuy was just how unexciting they both were. I subscribe to the ideology that anything is worth trying once. Yet after eating cuy, I understand why the animal hasnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t taken off as the next trendy food across the nation.

DEMOGRAPHICS Trent Pacer Senior Hudson, Ohio

I’m Trenton Pacer. I was born in Cleveland, Ohio on November 20th, 1994 at 4:56 pm. I’m the oldest of four, and I’m the only boy. My parents are divorced, and I have a dog. My ancestors came from Poland, and I’m Catholic. Both of my parents are college-educated. I’m middle class, and I attend Western Reserve Academy in Hudson, Ohio. I don’t believe that an accurate depiction of who I am can be deduced from such shallow measurements such as these; however, some may beg to differ. Trivial facts like these can be used to neatly While I don’t entirely doubt place me into the the legitimacy of such “demographic box” I best fit advances, I find it hard to into, and with the emergence of “big data,” my life can now, believe that my entire being supposedly, be predicted with can be broken down into mathematic precision. What mere numbers. The data kind of car will I drive when won’t tell you of the I’m older? Well, there’s an profound impact my algorithm that can tell me. It makes sense if you don’t really grandfather had on my life; believe that there is such thing how he listened to my as individuals. We’re all just a fantasies and encouraged type among many. Human me to follow my dreams behavior is now predictable. when others didn’t. Police in Los Angeles use a computer program to help predict, and thereby prevent, crime. President Obama’s campaign used big data to appeal to individual voters. While I don’t entirely doubt the legitimacy of such advances, I find it hard to believe that my entire being can be broken down into mere numbers. The data won’t tell you of the profound impact my grandfather had on my life; how he listened to my fantasies and encouraged me to follow my dreams when others didn’t. Nor will the data tell you how I witnessed his tragic death while on vacation; how I

came to terms with the incredible void I felt without him by realizing the relationship we had isn't any less significant even though he is no longer with me physically. This past summer I finally realized one of the dreams I had relayed to my grandfather. I spent the month of July in Quito, Ecuador attending classes at a language school. I wanted to go, alone, into the unknown to experience a life different than the one to which I was accustomed and to learn Spanish past the theoretical approach I had found in my classes. After my month of living and breathing the language, its use had become second nature. I returned to Ohio with dreams in Spanish and a newfound taste in music. As the start of school drew closer, I frequently searched the Internet to read, listen to, and watch various things presented in the language whose beauty I had learned to love. After a while, I noticed that the advertisements I saw while surfing were often in Spanish as well. I thought it was a bit strange. Through some investigation, I discovered that Google uses a cookie that collects information on my searches and thereby infers my interests. Under “Ad preferences” was a list of my interests and inferred demographics as calculated by Google. The ads I saw were tailored for me. At least that was the idea. Some of the interests it had listed were spot on, “Reference-Foreign Language Study” and “Books and Literature,” but others just didn’t make sense. Strangely, it believed I was female and between the ages of 25 to 34. I was incredibly curious and had numerous people log in and look at their ad preferences. To Google’s credit, some of the interests and demographics were accurate; however, the majority of the ones I saw were not. I wonder if the data can tell that my curiosity is insatiable. Does it know that I’m the one in class who asks questions whose responses will never be tested? I want to know more than just the bare minimum. From a few of my teachers, I learned much more from them outside of class than I ever did in the classroom. I’ve discussed philosophy with my math teacher. I’ve even had spontaneous debates on issues like gun control and welfare with a few of my teachers. I always am up for a conversation, no matter the topic. Yes, I am Trenton Pacer, and I am a white male, 18 to 24, from Ohio, but I am much more than that. Among my friends, I’m notorious for my humor. Every day I try to work my hardest and remember to make someone smile. I have high expectations for myself; I believe I control my future. I will not let anyone change my passions or dreams. They are mine and mine alone. I am statistically supposed to die when I

am around 80; I donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t want my final days on this Earth before my 80 th birthday to be consumed by regrets of unaccomplished goals. Despite what others may believe, I know I am unique as an individual on this planet at this moment. I hope to leave my mark on it and those around me, just like my grandfather did on me.

MISSION ACCOMPLISHED Austin Petsche Senior Macedonia

Relationships are like impossibly complex puzzles with their bountiful number of intricate twists and turns, where one small mistake can end a year’s worth of hard work. But even before you have a chance at surviving this perilous challenge, you must go through the “predating process.” Let us start with an exploration of the process before you start dating a girl. In our age of technology, dating and relationships have become much more complex. They are complex in the sense that technology has made people available 24/7, 365 days of the year. As a result, there is now a larger margin for error. No longer do you just have to survive the school day without doing something foolish. Now you also have to make sure you are always on your guard when you post status updates, send tweets, and text friends. But do not fret, for I am here to help make sure you become that irresistible, confident, strapping young gentleman that ladies can only imagine in their wildest fantasies. High school proves to be the most difficult time for relationships, mostly because that is when young men and women are discovering their sexuality for the first time. So throughout this guide, I will be making reference to my own experiences in high school. (These passages will be presented in italics.) As a junior in high school, somewhat athletic, and involved in plenty of clubs, many things seemed to catch my interest—especially women. They appeared to be everywhere, always watching, and constantly judging. They come across as more than a little intimidating to the average Joe, but I am here to tell you that they are just as frightened as you are. As I spent the first couple days of school “surveying the land,” I was able to note the living patterns of these multifarious beings. Women love to travel in packs. It gives them a sense of security and reassures them that they have friends. This group of friends consists of, at a bare minimum, the following: 1) the girl you like, 2) the “hater” friend, who will immediately dislike everything you do, and 3) the “third-wheel” friend, who will constantly want to hang out with you and your date (if, that is, you are successful at procuring a date). As a man, you must not shy away from this pack.

Instead, you must do your best to infiltrate this circular fortress of doom. But before you can just waltz in there, guns blazing, you must remember that first impressions are everything. Women can be cruel. They are programmed to judge everything about you—your gait, your appearance, your persona, and especially, your confidence. Women can sniff out fear like a hungry child can track down a soft pretzel stand in the mall. After spending some time focusing on my academics and Never expose the flaws, extracurricular activities, I began to blemishes, or notice the same beautiful girl in imperfections that will every one of my classes. I couldn’t make you look anything get her out of my mind. It seemed as less than perfect. If you though whenever I wasn’t thinking about school, I was thinking about do, you will immediately her. My first course of action was be labeled as the “(fill-ingetting her attention. I needed to the-blank) guy.” Some create an image of myself that I examples include: the lisp wanted her to see and make myself guy, the greasy hair guy, look flawless. Never expose the flaws, blemishes, or imperthe bad breath guy, the too fections that will make you look much cologne guy, the anything less than perfect. If you invades personal space do, you will immediately be guy, the super-sensitive labeled as the “(fill-in-the-blank) guy, etc. guy.” Some examples include: the lisp guy, the greasy hair guy, the bad breath guy, the too much cologne guy, the invades personal space guy, the super-sensitive guy, etc. These are all things that can easily be avoided with the help of a second opinion from a trusted friend, someone who will be candid with you about your little “idiosyncrasies” before you leap to action. When all necessary primping and preening is said and done, you are ready to go. Looking for the perfect opportunity for that first confrontation is critical to your success. You must find her when she is not grumpy, aggravated, tired, stressed, or sad. If you press ahead too early, while she is in one of these moods, you will undoubtedly get shut down and be forgotten. It was during one of our weekly robotics club meetings that I found the opportunity to make my first impression. My palms were sweaty from nervousness, but outwardly I looked like the most confident man in the world when I moved in. My suave, or as they say now, my “swag,” was at its peak.

You never want to overthink the “first-getting-to-know-you stage.” Just keep it simple, and treat her like any other human being. “Hi, I don’t think we’ve met yet. I’m Austin” I said. “Hi, I’m Rachael.” Don’t linger; do not leave room for awkwardness to creep in. Immediately after she replies, compliment her and ask a question about something that she is interested in. Your own likes and dislikes do not matter at this point. The whole conversation should be focused on her. “I noticed that you figured out how to put the hydraulics on pretty quickly. Do you think you could maybe help me out?” Make her feel like the confident one in whatever activity you are engaged in, even if you may know more than her. Always remain in control of the conversation. Ask good questions, make her laugh, and keep the conversation going. You want her to remember you as the guy she couldn’t get enough of and could easily talk to without trying. In life nothing is perfect, and that sometimes includes the conversational skills of someone you are pursuing. If you encounter this, do not give up on the girl; her conversational skills may be temporarily impaired by shyness. But this is an easy fix. Instigating the questions yourself puts less weight on the other person, because it is much easier for someone to answer questions about themselves (which comes relatively naturally) than it is to have them think of more obscure topics on the spot. You are far less likely to be flustered by any possible conversational awkwardness if you go in with a game plan. This strategy works with well with shy girls as well (i.e. those girls who tend to reply to texts with a “LOL” or “”). Now, I know that you are thinking: “What if she’s truly not into me and is trying to send me a message.” Well that, my friend, is why you must always do your research first. You have to gather intelligence as to likely compatibility and availability before you just saunter on over. Going in blind is not the way to go. Neglect this basic rule and you will find yourself being constantly shut down and losing your vital confidence. After the robotics club meeting ended, Rachael and I said our goodbyes and left. Accurately gauging the quality of your first impression is critical to determining whether or not you should ask for her number. If it was absolutely perfect, and you could tell that she was just gaga over you by the end of it, then go ahead and ask. However, be careful. If you ask too soon, you will come across as too anxious, and your persona will scream either “needy” or “creepy.” I suggest playing it more cool and waiting. Make yourself “unavailable” for a short period of time. This projects a sense of mystery in a man and makes women slightly want you more. It is only human nature to want what you think you cannot have.

The next time you see her acknowledge her by using her name and bringing up something that the two of you talked about in your last conversation. It will make her feel like you remembered your conversation with her and shows off your listening skills. “Hey Rachael, thanks again for showing me how to fit those hydraulics on. By the way, how’s your goldfish doing? I know how you said that your last couple of fish had drowned.” Usually, your second meeting will not involve the two of you alone. She will most likely be surrounded by her Secret Service-like friends. Your goal here, should this prove to be the case, is to acknowledge the girl you like, and then make it your top priority to get her friends to like you. Her friends will have great influence over her view of you, so do not brush this step off. Right away you must identify the “hater” friend and attack her with a barrage of compliments. She is usually the one possessed of the most jealousy and by If you succeed, you will feel complimenting her you will a great weight lift from your satisfy the beast. The “third shoulders. You will feel the wheel” is a bit trickier. You need to jump for joy like a must approach her with child who hears the soft extreme caution. She is usually the one who will form jingle of the approaching an instant crush on you if you ice-cream truck. But as come on too strong. In order jubilant as you may be, you to maneuver around her need to work to suppress needier persona you might your joy and act like this consider acquiring a new puppy and politely asking her happens all the time. to babysit. Do not compliment the girl you are interested in just to compliment her. If she is truly a looker, then she will probably hear compliments all day from her friends and other guys. You need to be different. Do not allow yourself to be thrust into the “friend zone.” If you do, it’s an automatic “Game Over,” and you must begin your process all over again. Once you’ve accomplished getting her friends to approve of you, it’s time to get serious. Your next target is her phone number. Some guys may recommend that you just ask for it. Although this might well work, women love it when men do things in more creative ways. This act must also be timed well. What tends to work best is waiting until after both of you have hung out for a while and are about to say goodbye. “Rachael, it seems like I learned so much about you tonight, like your love for dogs, how you volunteer at the homeless shelter, your

foot fetish. It’s all so amazing to me. The only problem is that even though I know all of the things that make you an angel, I don’t know have any way to contact you outside of school . . . ” This is the moment of truth—the one that will determine whether or not all your efforts have been in vain. “Ha ha. Well why don’t I give you my number?” If you succeed, you will feel a great weight lift from your shoulders. You will feel the need to jump for joy like a child who hears the soft jingle of the approaching icecream truck. But as jubilant as you may be, you need to work to suppress your joy and act like this happens all the time. Hopefully, the preceding expert advice has helped you become that confident, strapping young man women can imagine only in their wildest fantasies. You now have a foot in the door. It is time for you to take over and complete the rest of your mission. Success depends on you, and you alone, soldier. God speed.

WHAT? I HAVE TO GO BACK? Mitch Pollock Junior Aurora, Ohio

I was fourteen years old, and school had just let out for winter break. The snow was falling like sparks off a roaring fire and was being molded into men with carrot noses and shaped into immense forts which could be seen in every front yard. At the crack of dawn, children were running with their short legs towards the nearest sledding hill. With just a week left before Christmas, Aurora, Ohio was buzzing with cheer. And yet, no one would have found me packing snowballs or skiing at the local slopes; I was perpetually bent over the rim of my toilet with front row seats for the Puker Bowl. For some unknown reason, I was upchucking twice an hour without fail. My dad, of course, thought it was the flu. He sat on the stool in front of the window in my room, slowly swiveling in the glow of my Christmas lights. “Come on, son, I had this every year growing up!” My mother, standing in the door frame, would try to hush him, but my stomach always beat her to the I didn’t know that I would punch. With the roar of a waterfall, my lunch would pour spend a month in the out of me like lime Jello that’s hospital over the course of been sitting on the counter too three separate stays. I long. It took us two full days to didn’t know that a simple wise up and go visit Dr. procedure would have Malinowski. After running some quick tests, he came back into the so many unseen room, stethoscope bouncing on repercussions. And I his chest, and promptly stated, “I certainly didn’t know that think you’d better go to the the month in which I hospital.” My appendix was would mostly be stuck failing, and I was lucky it had not already ruptured. in a portable bed would At this point, I didn’t teach me to never take understand the full anything for granted. consequences of this (or what an appendix even was). I didn’t know that I would spend a month in the

hospital over the course of three separate stays. I didn’t know that a simple procedure would have so many unseen repercussions. And I certainly didn’t know that the month in which I would mostly be stuck in a portable bed would teach me to never take anything for granted. I don’t remember much from that point on, except for lots of moaning and my mother yelling at the woman’s voice on the GPS: “I know I have to turn left, but where?” Before I could take in my surroundings, I was rushed to the ER of Hillcrest Hospital, where they stuck me with an IV faster than I could say, “My belly hurts.” I must have been sprawled out on the gurney for an hour with nothing to take in except for the cloudpatterned wallpaper and the “Hi, I’m Dr. Hack. I’ll be strange smell of bad soap. operating on you today.” Suddenly, my surgeon Dr. HACK? H-A-C-K? This appeared in the doorway. is the moment where it hit Picture an NFL defensive me. I was in the hospital, lineman in the prime of his career. Now put him in a and the Incredible Hulk was white lab-coat and give him a about to pull a time bomb Harley Davidson lanyard. He out of my stomach. I was stuck his massive hand out at scared shit-less. me. “Hi, I’m Dr. Hack. I’ll be operating on you today.” Dr. HACK? H-A-C-K? This is the moment where it hit me. I was in the hospital, and the Incredible Hulk was about to pull a time bomb out of my stomach. I was scared shit-less. It turned out Dr. Hack had done this procedure hundreds of times, and before I knew it, I was being wheeled into the operating room, fingers crossed. After the procedure, I was walking like I had just gotten out of the geriatrics unit, but I was okay. I got to go home within three days, and I thought everything was fine. Little did I know that opening presents in two days’ time should have been the least of my concerns. Sure enough, after I spent two days of Christmas with all of my relatives, I started to get stomach pains again. I didn’t think anything of it at first, and neither did my dad, of course But my mom insisted that we all go back to Hillcrest and get it checked out. That was how I got to be in an ambulance at midnight, being taken to the main Cleveland Clinic building because Hillcrest didn’t know what the hell was wrong with me. My nine-day stay at the Clinic is what I would remember best through this entire ordeal. If Hillcrest is a hospital, the Clinic is the Taj Majal. The parking garage itself is the biggest I’ve ever seen—eight

floors. The main building (or buildings, I should say) is (are) enormous, and represents cutting-edge architecture. Each room had a small flatscreen TV with an adjustable bed. However, it’s not like it was a paradise; in fact, it felt more like a prison. The doctors told me I had a hematoma, which is just medical speak for a blood clot. It was being attacked by bacteria, and they were putting me on antibiotics to help it fight this onslaught. Meanwhile, I was stuck. I began to realize how much I actually took for granted in my everyday life, like the simple ability to walk. I could only walk at a pace that would make a snail sneer, but I still took at least two short walks a day to look at the fish tank at the end of the hall. They . . . the hospital food swam about with each other, their entire world encapsulated fulfilled every stereotype in that four-foot-square glass there is of hospital food: it box. As my eyes followed them, looked like the slop lunch I couldn’t help but think, “I ladies serve in cartoons wonder if they know they’ll and tasted like soggy never get out?” Well, at least the walk was better than sinking bread. There were enough deeper into the sweaty gurney options for lunch and they had me in. dinner that I could at least In addition, the hospital hold down something food fulfilled every stereotype vaguely edible. As for there is of hospital food: it looked like the slop lunch ladies breakfast, I had my mom serve in cartoons and tasted like get me something from the soggy bread. There were McDonald’s on the first enough options for lunch and floor. Yes, they have a dinner that I could at least hold McDonald’s in the best down something vaguely edible. As for breakfast, I had my mom hospital for heart health in get me something from the the nation. McDonald’s on the first floor. Yes, they have a McDonald’s in the best hospital for heart health in the nation. There was little to do while I waited to see my doctor each day. I passed on most of the food they brought me, and when I got so bored that my mind became little more than a puddle, I did what any fourteenyear-old would do: I turned to TV. There wasn’t much to watch in terms of movies; the only good one was The Karate Kid. I did, however, watch the first three seasons of Psych (close to 50 hours of entertainment) in less than a week. Sitting

there in the bed—unable to move, unable even to sleep because of the pain—made me realize how lucky I had had it back home. The nights I spent alone when my mom went home were torturous. I lay awake, body rigid as iron, constantly calling for either medicine or an emptying of the incredibly hilarious yet dreadful urinal. I thought of all of the people that I missed that were just living normal lives right now: my family, my friends. When I finally had my second surgery and got to go home, I didn’t believe them when they said I’d be fine. They wheeled me to my car, and I slid into the leather front seat and said to my mom, “Finally, no more!” while inwardly I thought, “How long before I’m back here?” Three days, as it turns out. Soon I was once again the ailing prince in his opulent, soap-scented palace. Every day of this visit blended together for me. The second surgery didn’t quite do the trick, and now I needed a blood drain in my abdomen. The nurse asked me as I sat up in the bed, unwilling to lay all the way down, “Now, we can put you to sleep, but you’ll have to wait twelve hours and you can’t eat. Or, we can do it now with you awake.” “The hell with it,” I said, and although I didn’t feel a thing, having my eyes open as they put a tube in my stomach still brings chills. But I got through it, and in six days I was out the door again, never to return. It took me two months for it to register that I was home for good. A year ago, if you would have asked me what I had learned from my hospital stay when I was fourteen, I would have told you that I learned how lucky I am in my everyday life. But today, I would say that I was lucky to have stayed only a month. Because the moment that changed me the most was not when I was in the hospital: it was when Kyle was. Kyle Sutton, my best friend since Little League in fourth grade, was diagnosed with leukemia in the winter of 2011—less than a year after I had gotten out of the Clinic. He stayed on the same floor of the same building as I had. He would have to stay there for six months, and because of his low white blood cell count, he could never leave his room, let alone the hospital. A young boy of fifteen, even skinnier than me, within a month, his hair was completely gone. When I first went to visit him, his head was tiny and pink, and his eyes, eyelids drooping, were like empty pools of gray. He seemed without emotion, detached. The days we had spent playing Risk all night and battling each other in GoldenEye 64 seemed like distant memories now. He never spoke unless spoken to, so my friends and I tried to tell jokes or let him know how others were doing. And the sadness, the loneliness, the separation, all of

it, will probably never go away completely. After he got out of the hospital, a couple of friends decided to go to attend a concert, and Kyle and I were both invited. He never cheered, whooped, or hollered. He never spoke; he seldom smiled. A few months later we went to a bowling party, and there was After about a half hour of dancing afterwards. After about a half hour of dancing, we dancing, we realized Kyle realized Kyle was gone. We was gone. We found him found him at a corner table, at a corner table, quietly quietly sipping his Coke in his sipping his Coke in his own little world. I imagine it own little world. I imagine was hard for him. When all you know is a tiny little room and a it was hard for him. When bed with wheels, and suddenly all you know is a tiny little you can see the blue sky and the room and a bed with green grass, smell the onset of wheels, and suddenly you spring, hear people’s laughter can see the blue sky and again, it cannot be an easy adjustment back to the world of the green grass, smell the ordinary, carefree, youthful onset of spring, hear exuberance. That night, I people’s laughter again, it realized that I had come out cannot be an easy relatively unscathed from my adjustment back to the appendicitis. It was nothing compared to what Kyle and world of ordinary, carefree, thousands of other kids go youthful exuberance. through each year. Over the past few years I’ve learned that one thing all teenagers desire, myself included, is sympathy. We’re constantly letting our heads droop and accepting soft pats on our shoulders. But it seems to me that what we need is reality; being able to judge who’s standing upright and who needs a hand up from the ground. It’s sad that it took such a horrible thing for me to realize this. When I left the hospital as a patient, I was happy that I would never return. But when I entered the parking garage as a visitor, I lagged behind my parents, looking down, my eyes solemn but full of life.

GRIZZLY BEAR Emma Presley Junior Salem, Ohio

The most memorable nights are those when you don’t plan anything or have any high expectations, and yet everything just happens to go your way. And the best kinds of those nights involve music. Think about it, they really do. It’s as if whenever you think back to that moment in time a soundtrack is playing in your head, stirring up feelings and emotions. You can feel the butterflies dancing to the rhythm deep down in your stomach. This feeling hits me every time I think back to the last Saturday of spring break in 2013. Imagine you’re seventeen, sipping some sort of sugary-fruit-smoothie thingy with one of your best friends and surfing the web on what seems like an ordinary afternoon, when suddenly you stumble across two discounted tickets for a concert that same evening featuring one of your favorite bands in one of your favorite cities that just so happens to be located less than an hour away from your house. Mind you, we had been planning on doing little more than Facebook-stalking some cute alumni all night long while concurrently doing other stereotypical girly-things together, so we naturally saw it as our God-given right to let out a shrill, girlish squeal when our parents agreed we could attend the Grizzly Bear concert in Pittsburgh. (Warning: this concert critique is about to become extremely biased.) Though no music lover ever wants to admit it, the venue of a show really does factor into the quality of the overall experience. I’m sorry, but it takes a special type of person to enjoy an artist’s music as a stranger’s sweaty armpit is all up in your face while simultaneously you’re being shoved on top of the back of the person in front of you because some idiot behind you assumes that there is still enough room to plow his or her way to the front of the stage. And don’t even get me started on that overly excited couple that you’re kind of concerned about because it’s been, like, ten whole minutes since they’ve come up for air. The scene I just described to you is the exact opposite of the Carnegie Music Hall in Pittsburgh, one of the most beautiful music venues I have ever set foot in. Though there are definitely potential setbacks to having an alternative music concert set in a refined “sit-down” venue, the

stunning architecture of this building alone more than made up for any incongruities. I also vouch for Carnegie when I say there really isn’t a bad seat in the house. We were seated in the top left balcony, a little towards the front, and the view of the stage was incredible. You didn’t feel like you were spilling onto the stage, but you almost felt close enough to feel the sweat We were seated in the top dripping from the band members’ faces directly onto left balcony, a little towards yours (if only, right?!). On top the front, and the view of of the fabulous venue itself, the stage was incredible. Pittsburgh is probably one of You didn’t feel like you the most underrated cities in were spilling onto the stage, America. The people are the friendliest around, and it’s one but you almost felt close of the cleanest cities I have ever enough to feel the sweat visited. The artists of this city dripping from the band are outstanding, making the members’ faces directly onto city both vibrant and fun. yours (if only, right?!). Everywhere you turn there’s someone singing or playing an instrument; there’s everything from museums to graffiti art lining the streets. Pittsburgh is the perfect city to enjoy any form of artwork with good company. Again, I am telling you up front that I am probably being extremely biased in this critique, but Grizzly Bear’s performance that night was close to flawless. I’ve heard their music described as alternative, folk rock, art rock, indie, and everything in between. This Brooklyn-based band is noted for their use of vocal harmonies and poetic lyrics. What I noticed during Grizzly’s performance was that what really distinguishes their band is the versatility of every single member. In addition to the constant switching of lead vocalist, I noticed how each musician turned away from his main instrument and gracefully picked up two or three others, as if it was completely normal for everyone in a band to have a fantastic set of pipes and to specialize in every instrument featured on the stage, ranging from the drums to the banjo and right down to everybody’s favorite: the omnichord (which is some sort of electronic instrument that I have no idea how to even begin to explain). Grizzly’s dynamic talent range really pulled the entire show together, giving an impressive demonstration of each of the individual member’s many talents. It is a rare quality in a popular band to make it so the spotlight doesn’t constantly shine on just one person, and Grizzly Bear

has clearly mastered how to showcase the band’s talent as a whole. Along with the obvious connection they had with each other, you could tell they shared a special connection with their audience as well. Because this wasn’t your typical “stand and squish” music venue, the audience wasn’t screaming out the lyrics to their favorite songs or jumping up and down during every upbeat tune. Connecting with a stationary audience could be regarded as a challenge that most young indie bands are not normally faced with. Grizzly proved that sometimes it’s better to just sit and listen to musicians and their art rather than trying to out sing them while they play a popular hit. It had been the band’s first performance in Pittsburgh in four years, and the audience was more than ready for their return. Grizzly Bear’s overall performance at Carnegie was superb, from their opening number down to their final song. Experiencing their music live has changed the entire way I listen to their soundtracks in my own room.

CORPSES, PLANTS, AND SHAKESPEARE, OH MY! Max Rosenwasser Senior Kent, Ohio

My first role in a theatrical production was as an understudy for a dead corpse. Not a claim to fame, but I didn’t want fame, I preferred hiding my face and playing dead, literally. When I entered my sophomore year, I was determined to audition for the musical, Little Shop of Horrors, and despite the fact that I fled the auditorium crying before even having gone onstage, I gained the opportunity to operate the maneating plant as a stagehand. I had conquered the divide between death and life, but still lived in the shadows of plant stomachs, unable to overcome my own internal anxiety. This August, two years later, I starred in a three-man show, The Complete Works of William Shakespeare (abridged). Obviously, there was nowhere to hide, nothing between me and an auditorium filled with family, teachers and friends. In fact, several times I found myself alone on stage, performing monologues and dance routines, and making an utter fool of myself. Looking Looking back, it’s hard to back, it’s hard to comprehend how a poor little Jewish boy, comprehend how a poor who puked out his fears before little Jewish boy, who puked his own Bar-Mitzvah, evolved out his fears before his own into a comedic extrovert Bar-Mitzvah, evolved into a singing “A Whole New World” comedic extrovert singing on a stage. As cliché as it might be, I owe the most credit “A Whole New World” for my transformation to on a stage. “finding myself.” Freshman year I wrote a note to myself pleading to know who I was by the time I became a senior. I am proud to say that I’ve honored the wishes of my younger self and discovered my identities. Several experiences allowed me to do this: involvement in the Gay-Straight Alliance (GSA), writing for the Reserve Record, and of course, the theatre. I was nervous to join GSA as a freshman, but within a few months, propelled by enthusiasm and initiative, I became co-president of

this new club. Over the past two years, I have sculpted and nurtured it into one of the most active organizations on campus, but at a price. It demanded that I make public announcements about controversial topics, lead meetings on a weekly basis, and be comfortable with my own sexuality while helping others do the same as well. But in return for this cost, I gained experience, new talents, and confidence. The Reserve Record, our school newspaper, at first seemed a daunting enterprise, boasting the motto of “longest-running newspaper in Hudson, Ohio.” Nevertheless, I signed up to write an article my freshman year, not knowing that my reporting on the school’s leaders would be displayed on the front page for everyone to see. Receiving praise instead of condemnation, I decided to continue writing for every issue since, even going so far as to write op-ed pieces covering everything from dress code to the food in the dining hall. Now, I’m Associate Editor of the paper. Through this medium, as well as the literary magazine, BUFO, and the non-fiction magazine, Viewpoints, I both discovered an outlet for my expression and came to realize that people actually cared what I thought. All this confidence and expression translated into a progression of roles in the theatre. From stagehand, to stage manager, to actor, to lead actor, I grew more comfortable in expressing myself. I had discovered Max the writer, the actor, the leader, and all my various other identities, leaving a solid nugget of self-awareness at the bottom of the sieve. My stage fright had been conquered, and in the process my entire personality has shifted from introvert to extrovert, from a follower to a leader, from dead corpse to Shakespeare enthusiast.

WRA SENIORS ARE THE FASTEST WALKERS Max Rosenwasser Senior Kent, Ohio

“You may be excused. Have a . . . ” The sound of wooden chairs scraping the ground immediately drowned out the amplified voice as everyone rushed from seated-lunch. Sitting in the second row of tables, I had a strategic advantage when it came to egress from the building, but I could already hear Erin shouting from behind me, “Hurry! The crowd is coming!” Soon enough, I was hemmed into an almost completely immobile mass of high school students and teachers. I attempted to pass on the left, but the sensor of the automatic hand sanitizer dispenser mounted on the wall by the exit lay in my path, daring me to enter its space and trigger an eruption of foam. I took the chance anyway. Success. I cleared the first set of doors and entered the foyer: I was almost there! And then I saw it, a beautiful patch of floor, void of the backpacks that completely carpeted the rest of the building’s entryway. All I had to do was jump the four feet chasm between where I stood and that clear landing pad, and I would be that much closer to exiting, bypassing at least eleven people. So I leapt. Scrump! Nope. As my first foot touched down, my ankle crumpled beneath my weight. By the time my second foot joined the first on the floor, my body had somehow collapsed itself into a neat cross-legged sitting position, like an easy-fold lawn chair. There I was, sitting in the middle of the Ellsworth foyer, surrounded by a growing storm of laughter from upper- and underclassmen alike. As I attempted to regain at standing position, and possibly a little bit of dignity, I quickly discovered that I had rolled my ankle, and I found myself once more on the ground, close to being trampled underfoot by the adolescent herd. Eventually, I escaped the building and hobbled, with a friend as a crutch, all the way to back Seymour. So what is the meaning of this story? That Max is a clumsy, over-excited person who shouldn’t be let out in public? That the old adage, “slow and steady wins the race” is ever so true? Maybe. But

more meaningfully, I believe, it proves that WRA seniors are the fastest walkers on earth. Most of the time our need for speed isn’t a problem, as we simply swerve around the slower faculty and students on Brick Row. But sometimes, on the paths by the front fields or on the sidewalk in front of North that only allows three people to walk side-byOne wonders what side, we are halted in our malevolent force could march. We can generally possibly be so menacing as anticipate this from afar and to leave us thinking it create a good game plan: “Okay, when we’re two paces necessary to sprint-walk away, you go left, and I’ll go through our day more right, and we’ll regroup on the rapidly than the inhabitants other side.” Not only can’t we of the fastest city in the stand the glacial pace of the world? Those with a quick plebs, but we nurse a festering resentment towards them; we wit might snipe that we are believe there is a special circle all racing to get out of WRA of Hell for turtle-walkers. Yet, as quickly as we can! But I thanks to Einstein, we must don’t think that’s it. ask ourselves, “Does everyone else at Reserve walk really slow, or do we Reserve seniors walk really fast?” Seeing as how my friends and I outpaced most people on the streets of New York City during a recent visit, I think I would have to conclude that we are the swift. One wonders what malevolent force could possibly be so menacing as to leave us thinking it necessary to sprint-walk through our day more rapidly than the inhabitants of the fastest city in the world? Those with a quick wit might snipe that we are all racing to get out of WRA as quickly as we can! But I don’t think that’s it. Rather than running away from something, I would say we are actually bound for a variety of destinations, some more concrete than others. We are racing towards the door of Ellsworth, towards lunch, towards classes, towards sports, towards the next step, towards our futures. Yes, this may sound super cheesy, but consider it on a more literal level as well. Seniors cannot stand still but rather are perpetually propelled forward. We desire to maximize our productivity by minimizing transit time. We are always preparing for the next event, the

next challenge. And most importantly, we are always exceedingly eager to get “there” (wherever that is). Western Reserve Academy prepares us so well for the future (and no, I’m not getting paid, nor being blackmailed, to write this endorsement). It equips us with time management and critical thinking skills that will be applicable to any possible future we might have in mind for ourselves. Yet something more resides amid the lawn’s wide sweep, something grand and magical that resonates from the Chapel bell’s recurring song. It is a passion for learning, a great striving for excellence that permeates our campus. I believe that this passion and potential burns within every Reservite, pushing them onward to explore and create new things. I always used to laugh when adults would tell me that my friends and I were going to be the leaders of tomorrow; but now, as a senior, I’m beginning to understand what they meant. Our generation will grow up and replace the one before as surely as each new day follows the last. Our current student body may not contain the next Einstein, Elvis, or Picasso, but we will each play our part, and I am confident that our contributions will prove positive, that the world will be better for us having entered it. Seniors, burning brightest, are closest to the future and are therefore all the more eager to reach out and snatch it. And thus, WRA seniors are the fastest walkers on earth. Q.E.D.

NCAA: FRIEND OR FOE? Griffin Trau Junior Culver, Indiana

All too often, we are unprepared for societyâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s demands. We are pressured to expedite messy matters, tackle tasks beyond our ability, and come to decisions we are not really ready to make. Perhaps it is the natural order of things that those who perform well under such duress prove to be the most successful in life. In many ways, Reserve serves as a â&#x20AC;&#x153;trial by fire.â&#x20AC;? Fresh out of middle school, freshmen are tossed into the microwave to defrost before hitting the frying pan associated with the sophomore year, only to be confronted with the trials of an eleventh grade inferno. Junior year leads to that period in which we are set out to cool as seniors (before the As secondary school kids, world consumes us, one graduating class at a time). We we rely on second chances are given a great deal to to bail us out when our handle, and we all make situation is dire and to mistakes. Our saving grace reassure us that a blown lies in second chances. As assignment will not define secondary school kids, we rely on second chances to bail us the rest of our lives. out when our situation is dire and to reassure us that a blown assignment will not define the rest of our lives. But what happens when the decisions we make have a more lasting impact? What if we are uncertain, unprepared, and the weight of the world presses for an immediate answer? Questions of what to study in college and which career path to take create a great deal of stress for many high school kids. But these inquiries tend to be tame when compared to the hypocrisy and irresponsibility bred by a number of policies of the National Collegiate Athletic Association. The NCAA, an organization which claims to protect the interests of the athletes it governs, not only misleads secondary school kids but works in ways detrimental to their futures. High school student-athletes are pushed as early as their freshman year to make decisions regarding their college choices. In some cases, college coaches allow undeveloped athletes to believe that, once committed,

they have a secure future ahead.

Before kids with athletic potential

experience the four-year maturation process of high school, and before they have any idea what the process is all about, they are often pressured by college coaches to make verbal commitments. Not only does the current process breed uninformed decisions, it gives its participants a false sense of security. Though committing to a school might seem like an automatic ticket through the admission process, a verbal agreement is neither a letter of intent nor an offer of admissionâ&#x20AC;&#x201D;and is therefore only worth its weight in words. Coaches can, and have, given verbal offers to younger high school players only to rescind them a few days or weeks later. Worse still, a coach might lead Until coaches are required a secondary school athlete to think the future is secure up to to be more responsible in the eleventh hour, when other their interactions with options are scarce, and then players, the cutthroat rules drop him or her for a hotter of competition will lead prospect. Until coaches are required to be more many of them to continue responsible in their interactions to behave irresponsibly in with players, the cutthroat a process where students rules of competition will lead come to be seen as little many of them to continue to more than pawns in a high behave irresponsibly in a stakes game of chess. process where students come to be seen as little more than pawns in a high stakes game of chess. As college coaches, they are paid to win games. In the current system, coachesâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; jobs are on the line if they do not bring in the best possible players. This is a problem which must be resolved if the NCAA truly cares for the well-being of its future student-athletes, and not just the huge revenues its marquee sports bring in. Otherwise, we should question whether Americaâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s largest governing body for sports is deserving of its mighty powers and responsibilities.

THE ONLY TURNING POINT Taryn Washburn Freshman Aurora, Ohio

We were traveling in a rental van, clunking down the highway, when we got the call from Jimmy. We’d been expecting it; I mean we were going to visit him, so there was nothing really weird about him calling to check on our progress since getting off the plane. My mom answered cheerfully, but what proceeded was a very serious conversation. Something about Tracey. Something about her cancer. My mom made us pull We’re not driving up to over. We stopped and she got out, walking away from the car Grandma and Grandpa's for what seemed like hours to tonight; we’re staying at finish the conversation. When Tracey’s.” She proceeded she came back, her cheeks were to explain carefully that flushed with emotion, but the my aunt couldn’t walk, color had still somehow drained from her face. breath, or see. She refused “Van, we need to talk,” to go to a hospital, and she she said. My dad got out of the hated where she was car and followed her back over living. Her son, Jimmy, to the median strip. Through the who should have helped window, I could see my mom break down and explain her long ago, had waited something to my dad. He until we arrived in hugged her and talked to her for California for our summer a minute, asking questions and vacation so that we might letting her answer as best she do the work for him. The could. When they finally came back, my mom wiped her eyes only question was if it was and climbed back into the car. too late. “Taryn, this vacation has changed its course a little bit,” she said. “Tracey isn’t doing so hot, and we have to help take care of her. We’re not driving up to Grandma and Grandpa's tonight; we’re staying at Tracey’s.” She proceeded to explain carefully that my aunt couldn’t walk, breath, or see. She refused to go to

a hospital, and she hated where she was living. Her son, Jimmy, who should have helped her long ago, had waited until we arrived in California for our summer vacation so that we might do the work for him. The only question was if it was too late. We arrived at the ramshackle house on the outskirts of L.A. in the early afternoon. There were two scruffy-looking dogs in the front yard, yipping at the gate. We pushed past them and made our way up to the porch, ringing the bell—which was hanging on a wire out from the wall—and waiting for Jimmy. He appeared with smiles and hugs for all, but my mom was somewhat terse with him. He showed us our rooms, introduced us to the tenants, and then led us downstairs to the back porch where Tracey was waiting. Nervously, we followed Jimmy out. Things were messy. The picnic table was missing part of its top, the cobblestones of the patio were uneven, and the chairs were all covered with either rust or moss. The air was stale, but we had encountered that the second we had entered L.A.; the smog was like a haze enveloping everything. For the moment, we ignored all that and turned toward the skin-andbones figure sitting in a white Tracey’s skin was yellow plastic lawn chair, huddled in and hung off of her like rags. a blanket across the yard. She She was shivering, and I smiled at us, but we were could see her shoulders hardly able to return it. Tracey’s skin was shake with every labored yellow and hung off of her like breath, making her stiff, rags. She was shivering, and I straw-like hair quiver. She could see her shoulders shake kneaded her hands together with every labored breath, like dough, rubbing out the making her stiff, straw-like hair quiver. She kneaded her ache in her fingers. I could hands together like dough, smell the death coming off rubbing out the ache in her of her like some sort of fingers. I could smell the sick perfume. death coming off of her like some sort of sick perfume. We tried. We really did. We greeted her with smiles and ginger hugs, spending the night attempting to make her laugh but truly only wondering what we were going to do next. Later that night, after deciding it would be better if we stayed in a hotel, we called my

grandparents and asked them to come down to help us. This was going to be a rescue mission, not a vacation. The next day, my grandparents arrived and we all took off back up north. We needed to get Tracey out of L.A. and out of that smog. There was some coaxing that needed to be done—she didn’t want us to “trouble” ourselves—but finally we got her packed up and in the car. We took the shortest route back north. The next two weeks were chaotic. It was my job to keep Tracey happy, and everyone else’s to get her to the hospital. It took three days just to do that much. But when we did, the news was not as bad as we had expected. The cancer wasn’t in her lungs or her brain. It was in her bones and breast and a little in the liver, but that was okay. She couldn’t see because some kind of palsy was affecting her eye, and she couldn’t talk properly because the same thing was paralyzing half of her tongue. It would heal in good time. She couldn’t breathe because she was anemic; she hadn’t been eating much, and that had led to an iron deficiency. After another week of eating lots of spinach and going for several doctor’s appointments, she was breathing just fine. She didn’t want to do chemo; so instead she dove head-first into a number of holistic remedies, including medical marijuana and various other treatments that her separated husband refused to help out with. There was a cannabis spray she used under her tongue that helped the pain—which was primarily caused by the bone cancer—and also increased her appetite so that she would finally eat. She began to fill out again. Her face lit up after only a little while. She was doing a complete one-eighty. We had to leave after that. The entire family was notified of her condition, but that was three years ago and she’s still trucking along, a million times better than that day on the patio. I’ll never forget that moment. I thought we were going to have a funeral that week. The smell of rot on her clothes, her futile panting after walking a mere three feet, and the way her skin sagged off of her face will never be purged from my memory.

WHAT AUSSIES DON’T KNOW ABOUT THE COLD Emily Wise Junior Baldivis, Australia

When I first arrived in Ohio, I knew to expect some pretty bitter cold. However, when I Googled to check on the monthly high and low temperature averages, and converted them to Celsius, I proceeded to nearly break down crying. Coming from a 100 °F beach-loving city, the idea of subjecting myself to a 20 °F winter was not exactly on the top of my to-do list. Only when late November and early December rolled around did I start to realize that everything I had read and been told about Ohio winters was not going to be all that useful. You see, it’s not the things they tell you about the cold that get you: it’s the things they don’t tell you that end up biting you when you’re not looking. (And, as it happens, in places you never want to be bitten. Ever!) The most unfortunate part of this series of winter revelations was that I learned every single one of my lessons the hard way. The first lesson learned was that just because it’s sunny outside doesn’t mean there is any warmth to be discovered. The sun could be beating down on little old Hudson, Ohio, and I would still need a scarf and leggings, and quite possibly a heavy jacket over my sweater, if I left the window open a mere crack overnight. That is could get The fact is that Hudson has this cold . . . inside . . . was ruined the relationship I absolutely absurd to me. The once had with the sun. fact is that Hudson has ruined Never again will I trust its the relationship I once had presence. In the future, with the sun. Never again will I trust its presence. In the I will always need the future, I will always need the reassurance of my reassurance of my iPhone’s iPhone’s weather app weather app to confirm that it to confirm that it is indeed is indeed safe to put on a skirt. safe to put on a skirt. Lesson two was the heartbreaking revelation that iPhone’s lie. Someone should really work on adding a wind chill calculator to the weather app, because even when my iPhone told me

skirts were a safe fashion option for the day, I would walk outside into razor-sharp rain and proceed to run squealing back to my dorm to wrap myself in as many protective layers as possible. Now, not only can I not trust the sun (with which I had had a lifelong, loving relationship), but I cannot even trust the ingenious iPhone app that I had once thought was cleverly designed to help me avoid life-threatening situations. Thank you for that, Hudson. The third lesson, I’ll admit, was one that simply highlighted my ignorance as an Australian, because plenty of people had certainly warned me about it. Fingers are a major impact zone when it comes to the assaults of extreme cold. Defending them with great care has become a major preoccupation on a winter’s day. Enjoying a refreshing cup of hot Caribou coffee is no longer a good enough excuse to risk losing the feeling in my fingers, nor is it adequate reward to have to start pondering whie passing the front fields whether or not my fingers are actually still attached to my hand. No, Caribou, you do not mean that much to me. The other problem with this is that the coffee is a hot beverage, which runs entirely against the grain of the external situation and throws the nervous system into a state of confusion, which I’m pretty sure is what triggers the brain to just shut off the fingers’ communication skills entirely. I can almost imagine the internal, contradictory dialogue taking place within my body: “It is so hot,” “Holy Mother it’s cold; get me some gloves!” “No ice! I need ice! This stuff is so hot!” I can certainly see how this could get old very, very quickly. I’d shut down communications, too. So, no hard feelings to you, brain. Hudson, however, doesn’t get off the hook so easily. You and I have some icy, blizzardy differences that only a good $100 jacket and some insulated boots can begin to palliate. I’ve come to the conclusion that the only way to acclimate myself to Hudson weather is to layer up excessively, and if perchance I become too hot, to remove my many layers once safely back in my room, in a comfy chair, with the reassuring safety net of a steam radiator. Certainly, being a bit too hot is inarguably preferable to having of shards of ice whip toward my exposed calves like pieces of shrapnel and experience the wind completely disregarding the intended functions of a shirt and its accompanying sweater.

SQUAWK Kevin Yang Sophomore Hudson, Ohio

My eighth grade year, my family inherited two birds from our friend’s friend who couldn’t take care of them anymore. We had had pets in the past—a goldfish, a turtle, and a snail (which my father had probably plucked from a pond somewhere). I even remember bringing home a tadpole from school once. I put it in the aquarium with our fish, since I figured they all lived in water. I couldn’t find the tadpole the next day. Just as with my tadpole, I had not found much success in the past with my other pets either: my turtle had run (or rather ambled) away, my snail had died due to a lack of oxygen in the water, and my goldfish—well, they’re still alive, but there’s not much success to be had with goldfish. They don’t do much. On the other hand, our family’s lovebirds are like little kids on a sugar rush. It is this energy that makes them such great pets and motivates me to want to take such good care of them. Lovebirds are social creatures. They need to have a friend. If an owner has just a single lovebird, the pet will become attached to the owner. If an owner has two, he must rest content being an Lovebirds are social observer of the two birds’ creatures. They need to relationship. The birds will have a friend. If an owner talk to and play with each has just a single lovebird, other, and if of opposite the pet will become attached genders, will make out with each other. The owner, to the owner. If an owner meanwhile, is there only to has two, he must rest supply them with food and, content being an observer of periodically, to change the the two birds’ relationship. water. The first couple of months, I couldn’t even pet them without getting clawed or pecked at. I couldn’t do much besides watch them flit around their cage, but that spectacle was much more

exciting than watching fish swim in circles or looking at a snail sit in one place and hoping it would do something else. I’m not sure to what extent one can train lovebirds. Regardless of whether one can or cannot train them, I’m certainly doing a pretty crappy job at it. It’s been two years now, and they still poop in their drinking water. They poop in the water they drink. Just think about that for a second. They poop in the water. And then they drink it. You’d think they’d taste the difference. Yet they still do it. And then my family has to clean it up. We take turns to pour out the old water, wash out the container, and then fill it with brand new refreshment. It’s a relatively short process, but it’s a most unpleasant one all the same. It smells execrable. Abhorrent. Nauseous. Revolting. But we do it because we love them. Luckily, that’s the worst part of having lovebirds. There are also lesser, more manageable, bad habits possessed by lovebirds. Our green bird, which my brother dubbed “Bob,” used to dance around in the food dish. The yellow one, whom I dubbed “Squawk” (because it squawks), often tried to prop open the door of its cage and escape. It would run its beak up and down the bars of its prison threshold, and every once in a blue moon it would lift up the door far enough that it stuck fast. Then the birds would escape their home (jail?) through the small opening. Honestly, I have to take the blame for some of their escapes. I’ve forgotten on multiple occasions to shut the cage door as I went to refill their water, and when I have come back, there they would be, just standing nonchalantly outside their cage. When I would try to coax them back in they would take off, and from there it was always (not quite) literally a wild goose chase. We would eventually recapture the lovebirds and place them back in the cage, but they would inevitably put up a good fight. They do have claws, after all. I’ve mentioned how we named the green bird Bob, but the truth is we didn’t have much basis for determining the genders of our two birds except for Bob looking, perhaps, a bit more masculine than Squawk. It was really a pretty arbitrary designation. One day, Bob became suddenly very fat, and then the day after that we found eggs in the cage. So, I suppose it’s safe to assume that Bob is . . . well . . . not a Bob but a . . . Bobina? An important, though unfortunate, difference between pet birds and pet dogs is that if a bird needs something, it can’t come find you and let you know its needs in the same way a dog can. So with all the hustle and bustle of my coming home over mid-fall break, we kind of forgot to feed the birds. It was a huge mistake on my part, because when I finally

remembered to go check on them, Squawk was lying as stiff as a plank on the floor of his cage. I don’t know why I was so affected by his death. Given my several misfortunes with pets in the past, this one shouldn’t have been so hard. But it was. Maybe it was because I had finally created a I don’t know why I was connection with him. It’s like so affected by his death. what Mike Wazowski said about Given my several naming the girl, Boo, in Pixar’s misfortunes with pets in Monster’s Inc.: “Once you name it, the past, this one you start getting attached to it.” I had never named any of my shouldn’t have been so goldfish. Even if I had, I wouldn’t hard. But it was. Maybe have been able to tell which one it was because I had was which. They looked pretty finally created a much alike. But the birds . . . well, connection with him. there was a green one and a yellow one. They were awfully cute, as well, so they seemed to deserve well-thought-out names, like Squawk (not Bob, really; my brother lacked creativity back then). I guess another reason why I felt so bad was because it was my fault, not nature’s. I should have checked on the birds as soon as I got home. But I forgot. The poor birds were helpless, completely unable to meet the needs of their hunger and dehydration. Lovebirds can live up to twenty years in optimal conditions, but due to my carelessness, that life span was cut tragically short. The day after Squawk had passed away, we went to bury him in our backyard. My dad got out the shovel, dug a hole in the ground next to a patch of flowers, and gently settled his body into the makeshift grave. After shoveling the dirt back into the hole, we used this pinwheel resembling a hummingbird as a grave marker. All in all, it was a short and simple funeral, but I wanted to do at least one nice thing for Squawk. I recall that a little while after we acquired the lovebirds, I would awake every Sunday to the sound of pecking behind my bedroom wall. Apparently, a woodpecker had infiltrated our house. Perhaps it had chosen to create a sanctuary there, a holy place where it could peck out a sermon every Sunday. Perhaps this had been an omen for what was to come. Or maybe it’s reassurance that Squawk is in some bird heaven now. If there is such a thing as a specialized afterlife for birds, I would like to think he’d be pretty content there. I’m sure there’s a bounty of

millet spray up there to dine on and plenty of water up there to quench his thirst. And I’m certain that he’s probably pooping in that water as we speak, because some things never change. Half a year later, Bob is still living. She even lets me pet her sometimes, which is a major improvement. She still bites me, though, but don’t worry: it’s playful biting. My dad even got us a new, yellow, male lovebird from a lovebird breeder who lives an hour away. Despite both birds being yellow, our new bird would never be confused for Squawk. Squawk was a pure blonde; our new bird is more like a dirty blonde, with his wings becoming blacker near the tips. Due to his coloration, I have dubbed him Dusk. Dusk and Bob are pretty happy together so far. I’m pretty happy, too. Still, I carry some anxiety as to my new pet, since I don’t want to repeat the past. This being said, I hesitate to call Dusk a “replacement” for Squawk. I don’t look at Dusk and reminisce about the Squawk days; rather, Dusk is a new beginning for me as a pet owner. And I know I’ll be more dutiful this time around.

ALONE Lanruo (Lynn) Yang Freshman Beijing, China

It is a cold evening with pouring rain. Leaning forward, walking down the brick road as fast as I can, I am drenched and cold like a drowned rat. Up on the oak tree beside the brick road, three squirrels warmly cling to each other with the comfort of home and company, curiously looking out from their tree hole. Not far from the happy tree hole, a squirrel quivers in the piercing wind and the freezing rain. Water keeps dropping from its soaking fur, which clings to its body. It jumps aimlessly on the watery grass, looking desperately to its surrounding. I freeze. A flash of lightning breaks the dark sky, with a crash of thunder that shakes my heart. The rain trickles down my hair, mixes with my tears and runs down my cheek. This is the only place where I dare to cry, in the middle of darkness, with the cover of millions of raindrops, away from everyone curious but indifferent. Is it the rain or tears that slide into my mouth? I canâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t tell. The rain keeps pouring, the wind keeps roaring, the thunder keeps yelling, and I keep still, almost fully exposed to the downpour. Why bother to run when I have no home to go to, nobody to turn to, and nowhere to hide? Why jump around trying desperately to find a shelter that doesnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t exist?

CONTINGENCY AMID CERTAINTY Jing Zhu Senior Foshan, Guangdong China

Living in a society, on the one hand, we seem free to shape our lives as we desire, but on the other hand, our fate often seems driven by circumstances beyond our direct control. There are contingencies among the certainties, and many of the observed differences between the lives of people living around the world today have been shaped by these unpredictable events. Social imagination is the study of the relationship between personal experience and the forces at work in a wider society. In other words, it discusses the correlation between contingency and certainty. While individuals’ futures might seem to be predictable in a stable society, unforeseen contingencies can create new blueprints for people. Who I am today, as I write this essay, has been created through the interplay of personal decisions, larger societal forces, and some amount of random chance. While it would be impossible to work out and understand all these forces with any great precision, I know that there are three important historical events that had a huge impact on my family’s life and my own personal story. The first (and most influential) one was the series of Chinese economic reforms pushed by Xiaoping Deng, the General Secretary of the Communist Party of China, in 1978. These reforms led China into a new era and opened China to the world. The slogan of this reform effort was to create “socialism with Chinese characteristics.” In fact, however, it changed the economic structure of my country from one of total communism to something half-communist and half-capitalist. Entrepreneurs were encouraged to start private enterprises, and along the southeast coast five Special Economic Zones for foreign investments were established. Under the new social structure, the culture began to change. For over thirty years, people had been issued stamps which rationed their access to certain goods: food, clothing, and other supplies for daily life. Everybody was issued the same number of stamps (at least in theory), and as a result people became lazier and lazier. Deng’s reforms abandoned the stamps system. Instead of getting the same amount in all circumstances, people today are more motivated to chase a

higher living standard on the merits of their own effort. Although the reforms started an economic boom in China, just like a coin with two sides, they also enlarged the gap between rich and poor, and increased latent discrimination towards the lower classes. These are still big social issues even now. Luckily, my father, after graduation from Huadong University, was assigned to work as a professor in a law school at a coastal college. My parents made a home there starting in 1988. Soon Soon after I was born, my after I was born, my mother mother became a manager became a manager in a private company, and my father soon in a private company, and opened his own law firm, my father soon opened his while continuing to teach. My own law firm, while family’s income sharply continuing to teach. My increased, which enabled my family’s income sharply parents to provide me with a relatively good education and increased, which enabled support my plans to study my parents to provide me abroad. Since foreign with a relatively good investment and international education and support my organizations were all around plans to study abroad. where I grew up, I started to learn English at a really young Since foreign investment age, and I had an excellent and international opportunity to open my mind organizations were all to the larger world. What’s around where I grew up, I more, both of my parents had started to learn English at a chosen to pursue busy professional careers, so as a really young age, and I had result, I became very an excellent opportunity to independent and mature as a open my mind to the larger child. world. What’s more, both The second event to of my parents had chosen have a huge impact on me and my family was the to pursue busy professional passage the single-child careers, so as a result, I policy. After several wars and became very independent other conflicts on the border, and mature as a child. Chairman Mao had argued for how important a large

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population was and had encouraged all women to have more babies by rewarding mothers of seven children or more. There was a huge baby boom in the 1960s, which planted the seeds for social several issues after these children grew up. Problems such as high unemployment and wealth inequality led to the decision to create a single-child policy in 1980 with a catchphrase of “Fewer children, better children.” Because of this policy, I don’t have siblings. My mother has even had to undergo an induced abortion. However, my family’s attention has all been focused on me—and all my parent’s love and financial support is directed toward me! The last event to impact my life was the granting of permission to study abroad at private expense. In 1985, China legalized and encouraged students to study abroad in order to acquire knowledge in more developed countries and then contribute back to Chinese society upon their return. At that time, not that many people could afford to send their children abroad. It was only after the economic reforms of 1978 that a rush of youths coming out of China occurred. Since my parents had benefited from the Chinese economic reforms, and I had benefited from the single-child policy, I was able to come to the United States to pursue my own educational dreams. All this started from my father’s randomly assigned job and the perfect timing of the social changes mentioned above. Due to these various contingencies, I am now attending a private boarding school in Ohio preparing my applications for college. China’s educational system gave me the chance to study overseas, and with more and more people coming out of China each year, the educational system in China will be significantly changed someday. The life of an individual and the history of a society cannot be understood without the referencing of one to the other. Governmental policies create a reciprocal relationship between social issues and the lives of individuals. An inherited social context might, at first, seem to predetermine our fates, but the unpredictable timing of even subtle changes form the contingencies that can transform people’s lives.

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SPECIAL ASSIGNMENT: FREE SPEECH!

(UTILIZING THE RHETORICAL DEVISES OF ETHOS, PATHOS, AND LOGOS IN FINDING ONE'S VOICE AND MAKING A POINT) MS. NIKKI SCHNUPP’S ENGLISH IV CLASS

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CAN YOU HEAR ME NOW? Rishav Banerjee Senior Twinsburg, Ohio

Can you think of a time when technology wasn’t a significant part of your everyday teenage life? Kelly House, an author for the Oregonian, states that 95 percent of teens use the Internet; 78 percent of teens have a cell phone; 56 percent of teens have said that they have hidden their Internet activity from their parents; 12 percent of teens say that they have given their phone number to an online acquaintance whom they have not met in real life. These statistics are haunting because they suggest our generation is becoming so addicted to technology that an appreciation for genuine personal communication is disappearing. Think about the amount of time you actually spend alone staring at a screen, refreshing the page, or just waiting for a new notification or Tweet to appear. Almost every teenager can probably relate to these statistics. These statistics serve to show you that we as teenagers have some sort of problem. Our generation has Our generation has grown accustomed to grown accustomed to technological luxuries that have ruined our appreciation for some technological luxuries of the more important things in that have ruined our life—such as quality time spent appreciation for some of with friends or family or doing the more important something more active. “The past things in life—such as technologies have been developed to further facilitate synchronous quality time spent with on-line interaction with known friends or family or doing others,” writes Elisheva F. Gross something more active. in the Journal of Social Issues. “One such feature, instant messages (IMs), allows users to be informed when friends are on-line and to chat with them through text windows that appear on the screens of the two parties involved.” Gross has examined how the creation of IM has made it easier to disconnect from everyone. The technology was (and still is) fascinating to younger kids and teenagers—especially when it first hit the scene. Now texts have become

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as easy as an instant message, which is why we see so many teenagers’ eyes glued on their cellphone screens. It has become such a ubiquitous thing that now teenagers are even prone to sleep with their cellphones. Who knew that there would be health risks associated with the use of cellphones, in ways beyond simply being disconnected from physical activity? According to PBS’s Suzanne Phillips, “Texting is instantly gratifying and highly anxiety producing. Instant connection can create elation and self-value only to be replaced by the devastation of no response, a late response, the misinterpretation of a punctuation mark, a sexually harassing text, a text sent to the wrong person, or a text that is later regretted.” Phillips touched on the idea that with texting comes a lot of angst that can degrade, or even destroy, a teenager’s mood. The apprehension that goes along with texting is slowly eating away at the teenage population. The teenage population, of course, tends not to acknowledge most of the negative effects of using cellphones and computers, because such luxuries have come to define a good lifestyle today. There is a reason we are called the “bent down generation.” I can certainly relate to this. For example, my family eats the majority of our meals gathered around the television, which completely defeats the purpose of a family meal. Cell phones have ruined normal intelligent conversations, as they constantly distract us from entirely engaging with those gathered around us. Even parents are caught up in this technology craze. They rely on technology to help them deal with many different situations. Valerie Strauss, a writer for The Washington Post states, “Quite a few years ago, I began noticing how easy it was for parents to turn to screens in challenging moments with their children.” This first hit me when I saw a little girl who was in tears over saying goodbye to her good friend and her mom offered her a TV program to watch. Is this really the best way to deal with life’s challenges? Technology is slowly transforming the way people deal with their problems. Instead of dealing with them directly, we use technology to distract ourselves from them. Our devices have started to distort the way we reason and solve problems. Every single notification we receive from the various social media sites we use slowly eats away at our consciousness as we feel ever inclined to check up on who is Tweeting us or sending some sort of Facebook request. Technology seems to be taking more and more time away from our lives, time that could be spent in a way that doesn’t gradually turn all of us into the procrastination kings and queens that we

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are. On the computer, I know I am constantly staring at the screen just waiting for something new to pop up, and then when I look at the clock and itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s already midnight, and I still have a paper due in the morning. The gaping hole that our technology puts us in seems inescapable, as we have become addicted to it. It is an addiction as powerful as one for nicotine or alcohol, because we constantly have to have some form of technology in our grasp. Our smartphones are the newest shiny toy we simply cannot put down. Whether we are picking up a call, checking our email, playing a game, or surfing the web, we consume most of our day doing technology-related things that we probably can no longer live without. There are different reasons that we as a society use all of these many kinds of technology, but for teenagers it is mostly for the purpose of communication. This brings me to say that without technology our population as a whole wouldnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t progress to a greater future, simply because it is a part of our identity now. But by limiting a bit the time we spend on smartphones, computers and other technology platforms, we can be more engaged with one another as a society. For example, a phone is always in your pocket, it sticks to our hands like glue, and our eyes seemingly get dry staring at the screen for hours. But what if we spent these wasted hours being productive and less consumed by something so little as a cellphone in order to enjoy other significant things in our lives. Technology is always advancing and disseminating widely enough so that almost everyone gets to experience some of its benefits; but everyone should not sink into the depths of the lethargy and laziness that can result from too heavy a reliance on these gadgets. We deserve to esteem other facets of life that can create just as much enjoyment as does technology. Of course, we need all of the technology to survive today, but limiting its use will allow the teenage generation to gradually be more involved.

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Works Cited Strauss, Valerie. The Washington Post. <http://www.washingtonpost.com/blogs/answer-sheet/post/istechnology-sapping-childrens-creativity/2012/09/12/10c63c7efced-11e1-a31e-804fccb658f9_blog.html> House, Kathy. The Oregonian. <http://www.oregonlive.com/living/index.ssf/2013/04/statistics_ regarding_teen_inte.html> Philips, Suzanne. PBS. <http://www.pbs.org/thisemotionallife/blogs/teens-sleeping-cellphones-clear-and-present-danger>

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DRESSED FOR SUCCESS? Erick Bryant Senior Garfield Heights, Ohio

Dress codes diminish the ability for our nation to strive. I believe that dress codes deny people the opportunity to express themselves. Dress codes are like a set of shackles that keep people's individuality locked up. People believe that dressing like you’re educated actually makes you educated. By that logic, if you dress a person up as a dog they are going to start barking. I believe it is entirely dependent on the people themselves as to whether or not a dress code will have an effect on academic performance. You don’t necessarily have to dress a person up to instill confidence into the person. The negative affects of dress code on children leads to our nation’s decline. Our country is founded on freedom. “Individualism to Americans means the freedom to ‘choose my own way,’ make my own decisions, based on my own criteria, as well as the responsibility to personally accept the consequences of my own choices” (Douglas). I don’t think that requiring people to wear a certain outfit reflects our I don’t think that nation’s principal of freedom. requiring people to wear Now, we have fought incredibly a certain outfit reflects hard for everyone’s freedom. Our our nation’s principal of fashion sense and our ability to freedom. express ourselves through clothing, believe it or not, is this nation’s backbone. A lot of America’s artists are internationally famous due to their individuality—that makes them stand out. Look at Nicki Minaj, her music is terrible, but her fashion sense gets her the followers she needs to be successful. Her creativity regarding the efforts of her dress brings many followers. High school is a place where children can find their look. If Nicki Minaj didn’t have the freedom to find what works for her, she would never have become as famous. I t’s the individuality that sets us free as a nation. A dress code takes away the chance for children to make choices and decide for themselves. When a child is forced to dress a certain way he or she is a step behind in finding out how she wants to dress. This

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choice is important. Grossman says, “There are several reasons that giving children choices throughout the day is beneficial, even crucial, to their development. Providing choices for children is a fundamental aspect of high-quality early childhood curriculum” (Hendrick, 1996). If a child grows up only doing what their parents allow, once they have the freedom to make choices for themselves, they struggle because they weren't eased into it. In school people accept that children are looking for their place, but as an adult, people expect you to know yourself. A big part of others’ opinion of you is based on your dress, and if you don't know how to dress yourself well people see you as immature. We can’t start stripping it away, slowly putting people in cells or even delaying children’s ability to find what works for them. Also, the argument about the performance rates of students in dress code compared to casually dressed students, I believe, is totally taken out of context. I believe that the children are tricked, because by their dressing in the “dressy dress code” they feel like they have to be smarter. Well, what about the other end of the spectrum. Those kids who come into class stressed out and fail tests even though they studied studiously. They aren’t comfortable in dress code, and they feel the pressure of having to be smart. These kids need to be as comfortable as possible to perform the best they can. Why do these kids have to suffer just because other kids like to dress nicely? I believe that it should be the person’s choice whether she dresses nicely or not. If students think that they achieve more wearing a suit and tie, then let them wear a suit and tie, and the students wearing jeans and a t-shirt will perform just fine as well. When children are comfortable in their own choice of clothing they become more relaxed in class. When they are more relaxed in class, they become more involved; the more involved they get, the more they retain. The more they retain, the better they do on the tests. The better they do on the tests, the better their grade in the class will be. The better the grade in the class, the better the college they attend. When they attend a good college, they get a great job. More students getting good jobs equals a better America. And that my friends is how we are gonna do it.

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Works Cited Douglas, Cathy. “Examining America’s Cultural Values: Individualism.” Naya Jeevan 2012. 8 May 2013. <http://www.nayajeevan.org/index.php?option=com_content&vi ew=article&id=25:examining-americas-cultural-valuesindividualism&catid=3:articles&Itemid=8> Grossman, Sue, PhD. “Offering Children Choices: Encouraging Autonomy and Learning While Minimizing Conflicts.” Early Childhood News 2008. Excelligence Learning Corporation. 8 May 2013. <http://www.earlychildhoodnews.com/earlychildhood/article_vi ew.aspx?ArticleID=607>

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HOW DO YOU ROLL? Virginia Carter Senior Hudson, Ohio

How long does one have to lounge on the sofa before turning into a couch potato? The average person sits roughly eight hours per day. Seems reasonable enough. However, recent studies have shown that sitting too much can lead to various serious medical issues, including premature death. Unfortunately, after spending seven hours at school, and two hours more in sports practice, there isn’t a whole lot more I want to do than sit on my butt in front of the TV. (A majority of the time that is what actually transpires.) Sadly, scientists have found that sitting more than six hours a day makes you forty percent likelier to die within fifteen years than someone who sits less than three hours per day. Reducing your sitting time to just three hours a day can add two years to your life expectancy. But just try sitting for less than three hours a day: it’s hard. Due to classes alone, Reserve students sit roughly five hours a day. This doesn’t even include time spent seated for meals and resting. Still, the studies are clear, the more a person sits per day the likelier they are to encounter health problems later on in life. As a society, humans have recently been trading in more active occupations fo r desk jobs. Humans sit for roughly 9.3 hours per day. This is more than the average person sleeps. Even if a person exercises the rest of that day, the likelihood of a decreased lifespan does not decrease that much. As a whole, humans have been sitting more, exercising less, and becoming fatter. All this increases the probability of dying earlier. By standing up more and sitting less, humans can increase their lifespans. Immediately after a person sits down, the leg muscles’ electrical activity drops to zero, the rate at which calories burn falls to one calorie per minute, and there is a ninety percent decrease in an enzyme’s ability to break down fat. After sitting for just two hours, a person’s good cholesterol drops by twenty percent; after a full day, a person’s diabetic risk increases. In case you were wondering, television kills, too. There is a sixty-four percent increase in mortality in people who watch three hours or more of television versus those who don’t.

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With these statistics looming over our heads, it is enough to get you to stand up and take notice (if you know what I mean?). I’ve thought of a few possible solutions to these problems. Basically they all boil down to doing everything while standing up. It is as simple as that. Eat standing up. Play video games standing up. Read standing up. Watch TV standing up. Have class standing up. Hold meetings standing up. These all appear to be quite easy fixes—but also admittedly pretty bland. This leads me to my next suggestion—and my personal favorite—become a bowler. Every year at Thanksgiving, the minster at my church, Brian Suntken, has an annual Turkey Bowl. It was just this past year that I had the pleasure of competing in it for the first time. This competition includes fellow congregants from my church. There was much about the event, however, that I did not know. We played two games, and my dad took home one of the wins for our lane, Although the game started while I took home the other. off being exclusive to men, Bowling proved instrumental in it has transitioned into an building a better relationship all-comers sport: young, with our fellow bowlers. Not only did I meet new people, but old, fat, skinny, you name also I was not sitting d own. it, all can compete. Not Indeed, I rarely stopped moving: only is it a good workout, I was everywhere, getting food, but all bowlers throw at playing arcade games, and the same number of pins moving between different groups of people to talk. for the same number of Everything I did involved either frames. No one gets more bowling or standing up and or fewer opportunities moving around. than the next guy: it’s an Although bowling dates even playing field— back to as early as 3200 BCE, the American Bowling Congress was meritocracy at its finest! officially started in 1895 in Beethoven Hall in New York City. Bowling started as something allowed only for men. Women’s bowling became popular in 1917, when the Women’s International Bowling Congress was established. The bowling ball started off as a wooden sphere without holes. It later transitioned into a rubber ball. During the 1960s, bowling events began to be covered on television, and it grew in popularity. Bowling is now

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an Olympic sport, and more than ninety-five million people compete in the game around the globe. Bowling is not a particularly strenuous sport, and though you are standing while in the midst of competing, it generally involves taking only three steps at a time and then watching the ball glide smoothly across a carefully waxed lane. It is a bit like curling but without the sweeping . . . or the ice. Bowling is also a morale builder: if you want to improve your competency, then just put up the gutter guards. It is done commonly enough so as to not be shameful. Serene and deep concentration during a competition keeps the mind and the heart young. If you want a bigger workout, then there is always the option of selecting a heavier ball. Why not trade in that orange sevenpound ball for a nice purple fourteen-pound ball? Although the game started off being exclusive to men, it has transitioned into an all-comers sport: young, old, fat, skinny, you name it, all can compete. Not only is it a good workout, but all bowlers throw at the same number of pins for the same number of frames. No one gets more or fewer opportunities than the next guy: it’s an even playing field—meritocracy at its finest! When not actually bowling, there is always enough time to chat with one’s fellow bowlers (standing up, of course) and compete for prizes in the seemingly never-full video games and entertainment area. Also, who wouldn’t want to take part in a sport that from 1958 (when the Professional Bowlers Association was founded) until 2000 was headquartered in none other than Akron, Ohio. Ralph Kramden, the Gotham Bus Company driver from The Honeymooners, once said, “Why should I give up bowling? It's my only relaxation. Besides, the exercise is good for me to keep my weight down.” Seems like a pretty good gig to me. Ultimately, if you don’t want to die prematurely due to sitting down too long, then go out and bowl!

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Works Cited "Sitting Down Is Killing You." Daily Infographic RSS. Disqus, 10 May 2011. Web. 08 May 2013. "History of Bowling." History of Bowling. Bowling Hall of Fame and Museum, 2009. Web. 08 May 2013. "Professional Bowlers Association." PBA History. N.p., n.d. Web. 08 May 2013.

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ET TU, FOOTBALL FANS? Grant Fisher Senior Moreland Hills, Ohio

Many of you witnessed the Baltimore Ravens beat the San Francisco 49ers in Super Bowl XLVII this past February. For the Ravens, the victory meant their second Super Bowl in franchise history, with their first coming in 2001. This being said, there is only one player on the Ravens roster who can say that he played in and won both of these games. This man’s name is Ray Lewis; however, his name is often preceded or followed by the word “murderer,” a racial slander, a choice explicative, or some combination of the three. In the past few weeks, I have heard countless shots at Lewis come out of the mouths of people who don’t even know this man. Meanwhile, Ray Lewis has done nothing but come back from a serious triceps injury—an injury that was widely considered to be seasonending by many and career-ending by some. He forcefully led his team, sparked one of the greatest playoff surges in NFL history, and won the freaking Super Bowl—all the while never taking any personal credit for any of this and giving all his glory to God. Yet, in the midst of all this, he has been called a liar, a cheat, and a criminal by almost everyone in America . . . and their mothers. In fact, according to data from the social media analysis company, Fizziology, in the week leading up to the Super Bowl (January 21-January 27) Ray Lewis was We take these mentioned over 63,000 times on entertainers and turn Twitter. Of those 63,000 mentions, 18% of them were them into icons, placed so negative, and about 10% called high on a pedestal that Lewis a murderer, in some practically the only thing fashion. they can do is falter, fail, I love everything about and fall into the pits of Ray Lewis from his pre-game dance to the passion with which public hatred and he plays the game. He is media ridicule. undoubtedly the greatest leader ever in team sports. He respects all and fears none. Ironically, the

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ridicule he receives from fans and the media stems almost completely out of fear and never out of respect. This is a common theme in pop culture. We take these entertainers and turn them into icons, placed so high on a pedestal that practically the only thing they can do is falter, fail, and fall into the pits of public hatred and media ridicule. How many of you actually know what actually happened the night of January 31, 2000? Whether Ray Lewis actually took the lives of two men? How many of you actually know if Michael Jackson sexually assaulted young boys? How many know whether LeBron was aware of the backlash that would follow his “Decision”? These questions, all rhetorical in nature, can all actually be answered with the same number: zero. These men all defied the odds. Through hard work and perseverance, they escaped the quicksand of poverty and made better lives for themselves. Three of the greatest philanthropists of our lifetime, they all gave back. By setting up charities, donating their time and money, these men have touched the lives of ordinary people all over the world. While Ray Lewis, Michael Jackson, and LeBron James can be called, respectively, the greatest middle linebacker, musician, and small forward of all time, they all managed to maintain an amazing sense of humility. Yet we, as overzealous and entertainment-obsessed Americans, constantly overlook their repeated acts of compassion and humility and blow every single one of their missteps out of proportion to the point where a humble mistake is transformed into the media controversy of the year. It is a vicious and abusive cycle: a cycle that contradicts the golden rule of humanity in every way possible. We always say that “everyone makes mistakes;” yet when an entertainer slips up, their road to redemption is longer than the red carpets at the Grammy’s, Oscar’s, VMA’s, and ESPY’s laid end-to-end. It seems that when Americans gain knowledge, they lose perspective. These entertainers, icons, and heroes are people just like us. Let’s start treating them like that.

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ARE WE THERE YET? Jinlin (Dennis) Gu Senior Dalian, China

Just as a New York Times article points out, â&#x20AC;&#x153;Until now, to hear the students tell it, tenth grade was a time to be scared to death, while in the eleventh grade they were worked to death; twelfth grade was the year to be bored to death.â&#x20AC;? Senior year for high school students is not a pleasurable or relaxing year to spend but rather a boring year with a lack of motivation and goals to achieve. For seniors, how to spend their last half of the school year is a tough decision to make. In fact, the second half of the senior year is truly the only time seniors can have some degree of control over their schedules. On the one hand, seniors wish to relax a bit before entering upon their college education. No one denies that students at the prestigious universities have to face four years of stressful For seniors, it is idealism lifestyles. On the other hand, versus reality; even though seniors are still required (or at seniors desire to spend more least expected) to work as hard time in what they are as they did their junior year. Teachers, as well as college interested in, the curriculum counselors, again and again, requires seniors to stay tell the students that colleges focused and finish strong in expect senior to get grades as all their classes. high, if not higher, in their final Experiencing these mental semester as they been earning in the years before. struggles, many seniors in It is a serious struggle the United States undergo a in every seniorâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s heart, and special period of time, which everyone tries to adjust his or is called the senior slide. her visions of senior year with the actual workloads and expectations. Many students have a hard time keeping focus on the course work and trying to balance their study time and lives in the last half of the year. For seniors, it is idealism versus reality; even though

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seniors desire to spend more time in what they are interested in, the curriculum requires seniors to stay focused and finish strong in all their classes. Experiencing these mental struggles, many seniors in the United States undergo a special period of time, which is called the senior slide. Senior slide is the phenomenon whereby high school seniors lose their focus or motivation to study hard in the last six month of their senior years. It is also a common phenomenon at Reserve. Maybe this year senior slide has been even more pervasive because 93% of the Reserve seniors applied Early Decision or Early Action, and so many people had already heard at lease from one school by the time December break came. Personally, I have not worked as hard as I did in the first semester. I have not spent many hours studying in my room after I got accepted to college. I only finish the papers and assignment just before the due date and did not care as much about the grades. This does not mean that I did not do the homework at allâ&#x20AC;&#x201D;just not as actively as usual. The reason behind this is easy to explain: the second semester does not have the massive pressure of pursuing a higher and higher GPA. Since I have already gotten accepted to college, why should I worry and suffer the last half of the senior year? I wish to use the time to enjoy myself. I watch anime every day and sleep longer than I have at any other time in my Reserve career. I still pay attention in the classroom and manage to finish most of the assigned homework in class. Outside of class, I do not worry about the homework at all, and I work out in the gym as long and often as I wish. For me, it is all I think I should do: not pushing myself very hard on academicsâ&#x20AC;&#x201D;but keeping a nice and relaxing path to spend my time. Though my grades may fall a little bit, I still believe this is a good trade-offâ&#x20AC;&#x201D;with the high-quality life I have right now. However, senior slide may have a negative effect on some seniors. For students taking many APs in their senior year, especially, senior slide may cause them not to perform as well as they should be on the AP tests in May. Since most of the AP courses are designed for a whole year and can be very challenging, seniors who suffer from senior slide do not study or review as much as their junior classmates in class. Therefore, some teachers have complained that seniors in their AP classes do not study hard enough, especially when compared to the juniors in the class. Mr. Ong is one such example of a teacher who has voiced occasional frustration about seniors who are sliding in his AP Economics class. However, it is understandable from my position that seniors in those classes would study less. Some teachers hold high ideal that Reserve students should value every minute of their studying time

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and should expend every effort in striving for a better performance in their class. Unfortunately, it is an illusion rather than a reality. Students at Reserve study because they want to get into prestigious colleges. How many people would still choose to stay at Reserve if the school’s aim was not that of helping students get into college? Once this main and essential goal is achieved by seniors, they do not have much motivation for further hard work. It is thus to be expected that seniors in the second half of the year will study less than in the years before—and those who believe it should be different are only fooling themselves with their idealistic illusions. I am not saying that senior slide is a perfect model to follow. However, I am stating that senior slide is reasonable and the school should let the students guide themselves. There are, of course, solutions for the senior slide, and one of I am not saying that these is the conditional-offer system like there is in Britain. In senior slide is a perfect Britain, high school students model to follow. apply to college at the same time However, I am stating as we do in America. However, that senior slide is instead of getting a firm offer reasonable and the school from colleges, students in Britain get conditional offers, which should let the students contain requirements the students guide themselves. need to fulfill at the end of their senior year. For example, for students who study A-level courses, according to the admissions website for Cambridge, the university asks for students to send their senior-year class curriculum and grade report (and IELTS score report, if the student’s first language is not English). Once the student submits all the required documents and grade reports, the conditional offer turns into a firm offer. If they receive a conditional offer instead of a firm offer, a senior would not dare to slide. However, conditional offers can become very complicated—and may cause students to repeat their senior years just because of one single letter difference in the grade report. I have a friend who studies in London; he initially got a conditional offer from Birmingham University. However, at the end of his final year, he did not fulfill the grade requirement of three As in the report. Instead, he received two As and a B—and therefore did not get into the university. It seems somehow unfair that he did not get into the college just based on one subject’s grade. Though having the advantages

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to keep seniors on alert, the conditional-offer system causes incidents of tragedy. There are better solutions for senior slide than the conditionaloffer system. Many high schools in the United States provide their seniors with interesting and unconventional options for spending the second half of the senior year. Some pioneering high schools are trying to make seniors’ lives more interesting and attractive. Those programs include taking classes at nearby colleges and universities, and also doing internships and community service in the second semester or the last few months of the high school. In an article in the New York Times about how to avoid high-school seniors having “senior slide,” the author points out that some high schools make use of the universities nearby to provide students with college-level courses and studies. In one example, “three afternoons a week, Lindsey Tibbott leaves Phillipsburg High School and crosses over the Delaware River into Pennsylvania to take a class at Lafayette College in Easton.” For her, it is a good opportunity to enroll in the art classes in college, and she is happy that both her high school and Lafayette College make it possible for her to experience college early. In the article, Lafayette College officials also say that even though the student does not necessarily go to Lafayette College, they still think that the program greatly helps students to explore their interests. Other opinions such as working, community service, and internship opportunities are used to promote seniors’ lives in their last months of high school. I have a cousin studying at Cranbrook School in Detroit, Michigan. During the second semester of senior year, students can apply to do internships, get a paying job, or perform community service in nearby preschools or elementary schools. For the Reserve senior, the year of innovation and excitement has not yet come. There are a lot of issues that schools have taken away from senior. This year, students still need to go to class after their AP tests are over. They have to take two sessions of ECHO classes on Saturday morning—a time that seniors, in the past, often had no classes. The senior privileges came much later than last year and this year did not include the opportunity to skip sit-down dinners and instead order food from off campus or head downtown. Senior year is just not fun at Reserve, and almost everyone is looking forward to graduation. I believe it is time the school made some innovative new programs, especially for seniors, just like they did with the ECHO program. It is the school’s responsibility to provide students, especially its seniors, with interesting events to expend their energies on, rather than simply locking them in the classroom, trying to keep them from getting into

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trouble. The schoolâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s administration needs some guts to make some changes before Reserve is surpassed by other schools that have dared to make a change.

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BREAKFAST OF CHAMPIONS? Jack McKinzie Senior Downers Grove, Illinois

I am an avid corned beef hash fan. Two eggs, French toast, corned beef hash. I could most definitely eat that meal on a daily basis. And on the weekends when winter winds are howling, you can find me down at Hudson’s or Yours Truly ordering up that exact meal. While my weekend ritual might not be the healthiest of food choices, breakfast is by far the most important meal of the day; it is a scientifically proven fact. Breakfast literally means the breaking of the fasting period of the prior night, and in Old English, the term morgenmete means “morning meal” (Wiki). While here in America we may be used to the typical eggs, breakfast meat, and whole-grain item every day, many other cultures eat a wide variety of foods for breakfast. In the African country of Nigeria, the Yoruba people commonly eat Ogi with Acaraje (corn porridge with a ground bean paste fried in oil). In Burma, the traditional breakfast includes rice and peas in a dish called htamin jaw. Contrary to popular belief, in Belgium they eat toast with an assortment of spreads such as marmalades, jams, and Nutella, rather than the eponymous, “Belgian waffles.” In Mexico, a typical breakfast includes tacos with eggs and a variety of breakfast meats. A daily, healthy breakfast boosts metabolism and helps your brain refuel. That being said, most people at Reserve feel too tired or just don't have the urge to run down to the dining hall at 8 o’clock in the morning to eat (me included) –despite the fact that just last year this was when classes began each day. “Performance, academic or work is affected by good eating . . . getting adequate sleep is important too!” (WellJourn online). Missing breakfast is like forgetting to fill up your car with gas before a long road trip. You really don't have the fuel or energy to get through the first three or four hours of the day, and through the rest of your classes, sports and study hours, your body and brain are trying to recover. According to Livestrong.com, “[breakfast] also provides the energy needed to get through the morning and be productive, making it more likely that children will do well at school and have the energy to participate in sports and other physical activity.”

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After twelve hours of not eating your body goes into starvation mode, and there is no healthy way to rejuvenate. Energy drinks such as Verve, Red Bull, and Monster are not healthy or good for you, and just fill people up with no nutritional value. They load you up with sugar and little else—unlike the vitamins provided to you in vegetables or fruits at breakfast. People who get up early and eat a healthy breakfast are more likely to live a healthy lifestyle. Web MD says, “Some people skip breakfast in an effort to lose weight, but the practice is more likely to cause weight gain than weight loss. Skipping breakfast is strongly linked to the development of obesity.” While obesity might not be a major problem of While obesity might not Reserve’s student body, many be a major problem of of us could most definitely live Reserve’s student body, a healthier lifestyle. While I many of us could most am by no means the healthiest person, I am definitely not definitely live a healthier alone in wishing I had the will lifestyle. While I am by power to take advantage of the no means the healthiest daily opportunity to get a good person, I am definitely not nutritional start to the day. alone in wishing I had the Too often I use the excuse of a sleep in to skip breakfast. will power to take When I do wake up early and advantage of the daily eat breakfast I feel great. So opportunity to get a good here is the challenge I propose: nutritional start to the day. wake up that fifteen or twenty minutes earlier and eat a healthy breakfast. See how much of a difference it makes in your weekly and daily lives. See how much more energy you have throughout the day. See how much more prepared you feel for class. See how much better you perform in your athletics. See how little that extra fifteen or twenty minutes of sleep in the morning really affects your life when compared to eating breakfast? Sleep may be important, but going to bed fifteen or twenty minutes earlier instead of sitting on Facebook or Twitter or randomly searching through YouTube videos, or sitting up playing COD (“Call of Duty”) or watching movies all night will give you the ability to get more out of the other twenty-three and a half hours of your day having eaten a healthy breakfast.

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MORE THAN 140 CHARACTERS? Drew Perdue Senior Hudson, Ohio

Hi. I’m Drew, and I’m a Tweetaholic. Stop tweeting. We are all guilty of it. I’m talking to all of you, @smells_likefish, @BryantEJr, @mckinziej8 @tiffdelrey69, @TheRealCarter3, @Gibson_Miller, @rishbanerG, @gangamstyle93, @fedsilvamx @lifeinhashtags (RIP), and especially you, @DENNISDAMENACE. This is a real issue. The Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders includes “Internet-use disorder” or “Internet Addiction” as a recognized psychological pathology (May 2013). The World Wide Web is a great way to pass the time, but there is a point where enough is enough. Eventually, the daily time spent online will double . . . then triple . . . then quadruple . . . then quintuple . . . then pretty soon you’ve got a problem. You hear what I’m saying. Look at me. I used to be a normal kid just like the rest of you. Then, I discovered twitter.com. At first, it was harmless. “Research links internet addiction to pre-existing mental health issues, such as depression,” writes Dr. Kimberly S. Young, “and is not an independent disorder by itself.” At first, I would only tweet when I At first, I would only felt a little stressed and needed to tweet when I felt a little relax. Then once I started to tweet more and more, it became sort of stressed and needed to habitual. I was up to one or two relax. Then once I started tweets a day. Then it was three or to tweet more and more, four per day. Get the picture? I it became sort of habitual. wish I would not have listened to I was up to one or two my friends when they said “Tweeting won’t hurt you if you tweets a day. Then it was only do it every once in awhile, or three or four per day. just on special occasions.” Now, I Get the picture? constantly tweet. Het, stop tweeting. Look at me now. My once real name, Drew, has become my alter-ego. I am now, and will forever be, @worldclasstroll. Instead of going out and hanging out with friends, I lead a solitary life. I spend more time behind my computer than MTV’s

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Nev did in 2010. Every night I sit and tweet and just wait for favorites or retweets. My self-esteem is entirely predicated by my Twitter interactions. No favorites? “Drew, you’re ugly” says my conscious. No retweets? “No one likes you.” My only friends are @JODYHiGHROLLER, @PRETEENGALLERY, and @BadAcid. Those are just their street . . . excuse me . . . Twitter names. I know nothing about who they really are. Researchers have identified several different types of Internet Addiction Disorder, also known as IAD. The categories include things like excessive online shopping, compulsive online gambling, excessive blogging, compulsive watching of internet videos, playing online games, excessive social networking, and of course, everyone’s favorite, pornography. Statistically speaking, twelve percent of all websites are pornographic, and there are over 40 million regular visitors to porn sites in the U.S. With this information, it is clear that IAD is becoming a silent killer. However, the problem is that it has not been dealt with at a sufficient level. Furthermore, only 1% of college-level introductory and abnormal psychology books make reference to Internet addiction. Furthermore, 84% of college counselors "agree" or "strongly agree" that Internet Addiction Disorder is a legitimate disorder. 93% of college counselors have "some, but not sufficient training" or "no training" on diagnosing IAD. As if status as a backbencher of mental health disorders was not already a problem, IAD also has disturbing diagnostic difficulties. In addition to demonstrating other criteria, it has been proposed that a diagnosis of Internet addiction be dependent on the presence of symptoms for at least three months and at least six hours of non-essential Internet use per day. Stop tweeting! Internet addiction has a cost. Consequences of IAD are as follows: structural damage to the brain, loss of a sense of time, withdrawal whenever a computer is inaccessible, social isolation, and an irrational desire for better computer equipment. Besides the loss of personal relationships, you run the risk of developing Carpal Tunnel Syndrome (pain and numbness in hands and wrists), dry eyes or strained vision, backaches and neck aches, severe headaches, sleep disturbances, and either pronounced weight gain or weight loss. Negative consequences for Internet over-users include job loss, broken marriages, incurrence of debt, and poor academic performance. There have been several recent cases where addiction to the Internet and online gaming has even turned deadly. Daniel Petric, a sixteen-year-old from Ohio, shot his parents after they confiscated his Halo 3 game. In 2010, a South Korean couple let

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their newborn daughter starve to death while they were away playing an online game at a cyber cafe throughout the night. The following year, in 2011, Chris Staniforth, 20, died of a blood clot caused by playing Xbox for twelve hours straight. Last year, an eighteen-year-old teenager known only as Chuang, died in an Internet cafe in Taiwan, after playing the computer game Diablo 3 non-stop for over forty hours. Peter Smith, a counselor who has treated patients suffering from IAD says “It’s not unusual for people to get so obsessed with online gaming that they forget to eat and drift towards an anorexic and undernourished state. You can play online with people around the world, so it can be at odd times of the day—when it’s 5PM in Chicago or evening in Japan. You have a relationship with characters in the game that give you an artificial feeling, created by your body’s natural endorphins, when you have killed some monster or solved a problem.” Internet addiction is not an exclusively an American problem. Globally, more and more people are getting caught up in the Internet. The prevalence rate of Internet addiction for studies published in North America and Europe ranges from 1.5% to 8.2%. By contrast, 11% of South Korean students are considered to be at risk for Internet addiction. The above stories provide clear evidence to this as well. All around the world, people are becoming more and more connected with each other. This leads to a plethora of problems, most notably, the strong reality delusion many infected with the virus of Internet addiction suffer. Dr. Keith Ablow, is a psychiatrist, New York Times best-selling author, and television personality who has done work in the area Internet addiction. According to Ablow, “Facebook, Twitter, SecondLife, instant messaging, computer gaming (via Wii and XBox) and even the use of GPS are making it possible for tens of millions of Americans to believe things which are not true One of the things I see in about themselves and to lose their young people is that they ability to find real direction in life. They can believe they have don’t know when their hundreds or thousands of friends Twitter, or any other (which is both false and Internet usage for that intoxicating to the ego).” matter, goes from being One of the things I see in merely recreational to a young people is that they don’t know when their Twitter, or any real problem. other Internet usage for that matter, goes from being merely recreational to a real problem. Symptoms of addiction include: losing track of time online, having

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trouble completing tasks at work or home, isolation from family and friends, feeling guilty or defensive about your Internet use, feeling a sense of euphoria while involved in Internet activities. These side effects are the last road sign on the highway to hell. The last one was my own most noticeable symptom. Do any of these symptoms sound familiar? If so, take a minute to say, “Hi. I’m (insert your name here), and I’m a Tweetaholic.” Damn, stop tweeting! I’m begging you!! You are ruining your life!!! Twitter will kill you. Didn’t you hear those symptoms? The Tweetaholic can transform from a normal, fun, adventurous teenager to a no-good, lousy, Internet addict faster than our school’s network connection will even load twitter.com. That may not be the best analogy, but you get the point. So, I leave you with this. I implore you to stop. Tweeting will lead you down an unrighteous path from which there is no return. Stop tweeting. I’m Drew, and I’m a Tweetaholic.

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ALL CREATURES GREAT AND SMALL? Alex Shin Senior Seoul, South Korea

We now live in the world where by far the most common pets are dogs and cats. Indeed, we tend to obsess over them; and they certainly attract so much of our attention, in part, because they are so cute. Therefore, we generally prioritize these creatures while ignoring the vast majority of others. But is this right? When God created the world, he created an amazing biodiversity which features not only countless animal species but a rich variety of plant life. But look at us. We seem mesmerized only by a cute puppy’s jump or a tiny kitty’s paw. There was a time when I suffered from terrible solitude and loneliness. I used to think that only adorable animals could heal my soul. Yet, on one of my recent birthdays, I decided to get myself a vase full of miniature palm trees with my own pocket money. I doubted that a seemingly meaningless tree would do much good for me, but I was most certainly wrong. As I poured fresh water into the vase each day, the tree slowly but surely grew its leaves towards the sky. The tree Respect all the life did not speak to me directly, of around you. This could course, but its green leaves were be anything from a small calming to my soul. The fresh beetle on the ground to oxygen I received from my plant, a tiny weed that is which I named Jeremy, was just one of many benefits it brought to growing on the sidewalk. my life. If we can’t sense the souls Humans generally yearn of these life forms, it is for a tangible response of some only because of our kind from our loved ones. When human hubris. you say “I love you” to someone, you naturally want to receive this love back by hearing someone say it in return or showing it through a gesture of some kind. Yet, we often forget that there is a power that binds all living creatures together. Talk to a plant and see what happens.

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Nothing, right? Well, listen again. Listen to the movement of their leaves. They will whisper to you saying, “You are special, and so am I.” Respect all the life that is around you. This could be anything from a small beetle on the ground to a tiny weed that is growing on the sidewalk. If we can’t sense the souls of these life forms, it is only because of our human hubris. Respect everything that has life and show concern for its protection and preservation. The world does not revolve around us. It revolves around for all life. Plants and animals, and animals and plants, it does not matter. We all belong to the same small world. My hope is that someday when a boy sees his neighbor’s pine tree sitting in the backyard he will say, “Oh dear lord, that is a fantastic creature!” instead of muttering, “Plants are boring.” Another hope of mine is that someday all creatures will be treated equally, regardless of their size, color, or habitat. Finally, my ultimate hope is that someday, people will find the beauty in an anteater, or mongoose, or some other poor creature which has not up to this time been acclaimed for its physical appeal—unlike a cute little kitten or puppy. When will we learn that every living creature around us is equally important. You would search day and night for a bunch of juicy papayas and mangos if you were hungry. But, first you have to give them respect. So there it is. Esteem the plants on the earth and adore them. Give them as much love as you give to your dog because everything deserves love and respect.

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HOME SWEET HOME? Tiffany Wang Senior Katy, Texas

When I first arrived at Reserve as a new sophomore, I was still adjusting to living in the U.S. again for the first time since the age of nine, and I was having my initial experiences with reverse culture When I first arrived at shock. I had no idea that what I Reserve as a new was feeling was something sophomore, I was still common to many other people, or adjusting to living in the that it even had a name. U.S. again for the first Although I was coming back to America, everything felt strange; time since the age of nine, the food tasted different, and most and I was having my importantly, the people were not initial experiences with the same. Sure, I had come back reverse culture shock. to visit America during the time I lived overseas, but there was this incessant, nagging feeling that I was a tourist in my own country. I was struggling, trying to catch up on what I had missed in the five years I had lived in Asia, and my new set of peers were radically different than the ones I had lived with just a few weeks earlier. Before, I had felt like a foreigner in China and Malaysia, even though there I looked like I belonged. Certainly, my passport and my childhood memories told me I was an American. Now that I was back, shouldnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t I have felt at home? I started wondering what was wrong with me. On Friday, October 1, 2010, I almost did not feel my phone vibrate in my pocket while fighting to stay awake in class. I glanced at the text message. My friend had sent me a quick note saying â&#x20AC;&#x153;Call me ASAP, The Erenos in Tianjin Highway accident.â&#x20AC;? The Erenos were like a second family to many in my old school. The Tianjin Highway was notorious for being foggy and accommodating fast-and-furious drivers. I immediately knew something horrible had happened, but I was in denial. I called my friend hoping that I was overreacting, but when I heard silence and then sobbing, I realized it was true. Thirteen-year-old

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Gui and his father were survived by Gustavo and his mother—both thankfully walking away, albeit with multiple injuries, since they had been sitting in the backseat. If I didn’t regret my decision to move back to the States before, I now felt like I was betraying my previous community by not being there for my friend and his mother. Each grade had around ten to fifteen people, and the high school division of our already small school was as tight-knit as they come. Everybody was grieving together back in China, and the bad timing intensified my feelings of somehow not belonging to my new environment. Instead of getting up and dusting myself off, I wallowed for quite a long time, not making enough of an effort to grow accustomed to my new school and peers. Slowly, however, I inevitably began to meet and grow close to some of the most wonderful people here at Reserve: people who snapped me out of my listlessness and taught me how to focus on the present and not dwell on the past; people who didn’t allow me to throw black confetti at my own pity party; and people who understood what I had gone through in some way or another. I opened up and decided to give this place a chance, and now, as graduation looms over the hazy, warm days I have left here, I am glad I don’t have many regrets, because there were people who didn’t allow me to. Over the past two years, I have seen Gustavo and his mother a few times both in China and the U.S., and their incredible strength and loving bond has brought me closure and peace in more ways than they will ever be aware of. I was able finally to close that door and continue with my life as an altered, but bettered person. So although I am still figuring out where my home is, I’ve learned that sometimes it doesn’t matter if you cannot name a specific place. As long as you have a few friends that come to mind, or maybe even a group of friendly faces you can depend on. I’ve learned to appreciate all the various people in my day-to-day life, especially when in a small community, because you don’t know how much the absence of one person can affect you. I’ve learned how much Reserve has come to mean to me, and that’s what I’m happiest to walk away with.

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HISTORY WRITING CONTEST

FIRST PLACE WINNERS 2011-2012 131

2012 AMERICAN HISTORY CONTEST – FIRST PLACE Ai Miller Class of 2012 Toledo, Ohio

“Strange That Any Man Should Dare to Ask”: Abraham Lincoln and the Construction of Masculinity in Antebellum America

Many call him the greatest president in the history of the United States; Walt Whitman wrote about him in no less than four poems, 1 he has appeared nearly 300 times in TV and movies, 2 and the Abraham Lincoln Bookshop in Chicago, Illinois, estimates the number of books written about him to be over 10,000.3 It is perhaps safe to say, then, that Abraham Lincoln is a legend, immortalized in nearly every fashion imaginable, biographical and fictional. Indeed, Lincoln’s place in the pantheon of American heroes seems cemented by his fictional representation in comics and books such as Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter. In examining these portrayals based more heavily on Lincoln myth than the historical record, a common theme seems to arise; in one comic, Lincoln rides a grizzly bear and wields an M-16 and the Emancipation Proclamation with equal heft. In the aforementioned Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter, Lincoln, using borderline supernatural powers himself, hacks off the head of vampires to save the Union from destruction. These depictions of the sixteenth president as a supermasculine figure seem to clash with the depiction of him as painted by the historical record: a Lincoln who loved to read Shakespeare and served only a few short months in the military.4 There do exist stories 1Walt

Whitman, The Complete Poems (New York: Penguin Classics, 1977).

2Mark

S. Reinhart, Abraham Lincoln on Screen: Fictional and Documentary Portrayals on Film and Television (Jefferson: McFarland & Company, 2009), 3. 3"Essential

Lincoln and Presidential Book Shelf," The Abraham Lincoln

Book Shop, Inc., last modified 2011, http://www.alincolnbookshop.com/html/ bibliographies.htm. 4Carl

Sandburg, Abraham Lincoln: The Prairie Years and the War Years (New York: Harcourt, Brace & Company, 1954), 61-65.

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from his youth of what modern interpretation might describe as “macho” behavior—indeed, some of his strongest supporters in his earliest political career were members of the Clary’s Grove “boys” in New Salem, Illinois—a local gang of young men who, as historian David Herbert Donald stated in his biography of Lincoln, “above all ... valued physical strength.”5 But if compared to Lincoln the president–indeed to Lincoln the experienced politician–these images seem hardly to match up. So if the historical record points to President Lincoln as a much less macho man than our popular culture would indicate, where would this idea of the overly masculine Lincoln come from? The myth of Lincoln lends itself in many cases to our modern view of a man living the “American dream”— raising himself up from poverty, through his own sheer hard work and determination. An examination of the contemporary popular culture reveals, interestingly enough, another side of Lincoln. Although no article comments specifically on his masculinity, many Democratic papers blasted Lincoln for his physical appearance, literacy and lack of formal education, and background on the western frontier.6 Commentaries of this nature reveal information about the intersections between antebellum masculinity, class, and education, as well as the vast differences in regional views on how a man should act. Gender presentation, or the way that one presents their gender to others through body language, clothing and other signals,7 had an impact on the way potential voters viewed Lincoln. Indeed, in the 1860 presidential election and ensuing early years of his administration, it seemed critics of Lincoln attacked his gender presentation on all sides: those in the East thought him brutish, while those in the West felt he was trying to distance himself from the common people and appeal to the upper classes. This inconsistent criticism contradicts our relatively uniform views of masculinity today, a conflict that perhaps mirrors the disparity between Lincoln the myth and Lincoln the man as the historical record draws him. Although Lincoln worked to walk the line between intellectual gentleman and western backwoods farmer, he received

5David 6Doris

Herbert Donald, Lincoln (New York: Simon & Schuster, 1995), 40.

Kearns Goodwin, Team of Rivals: The Political Genius of Abraham

Lincoln (New York: Simon & Schuster, 2005), 257. Lori B. Gershick, Transgender Voices: Beyond Women and Men (Lebanon: University Press of New England, 2008), 203. 7

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criticism on both sides for his gender presentation and attempts to distance himself from the more masculine world in which he was raised. In examining the way Lincoln’s masculinity was perceived and how it affected his popularity, it is necessary first to examine antebellum masculinity as a whole, and to understand the differences between northern “maleness” and western masculinity. Although southern masculinity had an impact on western masculinity, the lack of support Lincoln had in the 1860 election due to his political party (not a single state south of Ohio River went for Lincoln in the 1860 election) makes a focus on that area during the time of the election unnecessary except to see how it played into western perceptions. Not until after the 1890s did general perceptions of masculinity fully shift towards the modern viewpoint,8 with stressed importance on work and more violent behavior. In the antebellum era, perceptions of masculinity varied by region: in the Northeast, conceptions of masculinity revolved more around Victorian ideals of maleness, rather than manliness. Maleness involved “self-restraint, a powerful will, [and] a strong character. In striving for the ideal, men were not to be passive but were expected firmly to control their passions and discipline their actions,”9 a description that reflects Lincoln’s comments in his 1838 speech before the Young Men’s Lyceum of Springfield, Illinois, about the dangers of “mob law.”10 A man, according to Victorian standards for maleness, was not only supposed to have strength but also to display self-restraint when expressing that strength—a far cry from the depiction of a gun-toting Lincoln riding a bear. Lincoln’s “middle road” politic was no doubt derived from the coalition nature of his party, but could have been encouraged in part by an adherence to this ideal of self-restraint. Northern intellectuals and politicians failed to see this in Lincoln during the 1860 election, and it may be said his win in that year can be attributed more to the coalition nature of his party than to the popularity of Lincoln as a candidate. His image was no doubt marred in part by his background of relative obscurity on the frontiers of Illinois: the Cincinnati Observer spelled his name ‘Abram’ rather than ‘Abraham’, while at the same time, the New York Times paid a hefty sum of 497 dollars to have a 8

Michael T. Smith, "The Beast Unleashed: Benjamin F. Butler and

Conceptions of Masculinity in the Civil War North," New England Quarterly 79, no. 2 (June 2006): 258, JSTOR. 9Ibid.,

258.

10Abraham

Lincoln, “Address before the Young Men’s Lyceum of Springfield, Illinois” (keynote speech, Young Men’s Lyceum, Springfield, Illinois, January 27, 1838.

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transcription of a 7000 word speech given by Stephen Douglas in Columbus.11 This, coupled with his defeat of the promising New Yorker William Seward at the convention in Chicago, made Northern Republican voters reluctant to accept Lincoln as their candidate. During the 1864 presidential election, the Northern intellectual crowd, who had “initially viewed Lincoln with skepticism, thinking him an uncouth, uneducated frontiersman who was certainly not a gentleman,”12 became some of his biggest supporters, particularly among the abolitionist sect. This shift reflects both Lincoln’s changing politics and the recognition of his abilities by those who had previously criticized him. Lincoln’s physical appearance also posed a problem in gaining a popular image in the Northeast. While the Cincinnati Enquirer, a Democratic organ, wrote that he was “a tall, dark-visaged [sic], angular, awkward, positive-looking sort of individual, with character written in his face and energy expressed in his every movement,” 13 (a fairly positive review for an article coming from the opposing political party), many papers were not as forgiving. Multiple cartoons exist in the historical record that depict Lincoln as a monkey, playing both on his physical appearance as well as his uneducated background. Representative Charles Francis Adams of Massachusetts (son of former president John Quincy Adams) said that while he was impressed with Mary Todd Lincoln’s poise and grace, he found the then president-elect himself to be “wholly ignorant of formal ‘social courtesy’.” 14 Indeed, upon first meeting Linoln as a fellow lawyer, Edwin Stanton (who would later serve as Lincoln’s tireless Secretary of War) demanded to know who had invited the “g___d [sic] long armed ape.”15 These comments both reflect Lincoln’s upbringing; he did not have the education in formal social rules that his wife, who was from a relatively wealthy family, did. Indeed, his lack of social grace played even more heavily into the perception of Lincoln as a backwoods farmer- uneducated and possibly illiterate like many of the politicians of his day- and therefore wholly unsuitable to serve in the office of President of the United States. 11Robert

S. Harper, Lincoln and the Press (New York: McGraw-Hill Book

Company, Inc., 1951), 35. 12David

Herbert Donald, Lincoln (New York: Simon & Schuster, 1995), 542.

13Robert

S. Harper, Lincoln and the Press (New York: McGraw-Hill Book Company Inc., 1951), 40. 14Doris

Kearns Goodwin, Team of Rivals: The Political Genius of Abraham Lincoln (New York: Simon & Schuster, 2005), 333. 15Ibid.,

174.

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Upon meeting Lincoln, though, many found him intelligent and incredibly charming; even if his relaxed, humorous nature at first put them off, they were impressed with his storytelling abilities and his obvious dedication to hard work.16 While Lincoln had to deal with the conception of himself as an idiotic muscle man who could be easily manipulated by those in his cabinet and political party, he simultaneously had to deal with accusations of a completely opposite nature. Rather than pointing to his uneducated background and physical appearance, many in the West saw Lincoln as a traitor to the common man–that his position as an accomplished lawyer and husband to Mary Todd meant he desired to abandon his humble beginnings and stand with the intellectuals and elitists. In fact, they may not have been far off the mark; many historians have speculated that Lincoln was embarrassed by his father’s small farm on the frontier and that much of his motivation to further educate himself was to distance himself from what he considered to be his father’s failure to grasp oppportunities to better himself.17 Rather than help him gain supporters, Lincoln’s attempts to distance himself from his father’s humble farmer status may have initially hurt him in the West. During the race for the House of Representatives in 1846, Lincoln was positioned as the wealthy man’s candidate, no doubt due to his connections through his wife and her extended family, which included several influential politicians and other people of power. Lincoln’s intellectual bent represented, to his critics, a lack of connection–or no desire for connection–with the working class people of Illinois: he represented the very elitists who so enjoyed attacking him for his physical appearance and small-farmer-class background. In addition, Lincoln’s professed political stance, meant to avoid conflict between radical abolitionists and the less radical anti-slavery wings of his party, as well as his distaste for violence, may have conflicted with Western ideals about the role of violence in problemsolving. Although he did gain much support among the Clary’s Grove gang (and indeed, probably won the votes of his home district in his first run for office because of their influence), Lincoln explained that he did not care for violence and bloodshed; the story goes he shot a bear when he was young and felt sick at the sight of the blood. His brief military career during the Black Hawk War was particularly undistinguished. Physically, Lincoln was a powerful man, even while he was president— 16David 17Ibid,

136

Herbert Donald, Lincoln (New York: Simon & Schuster, 1995), 259.

152-153.

one way he would impress soldiers was by lifting something ridiculously heavy to show off the strength that came from long hours as a manual laborer early in his life. Indeed, his relationship with the Clary’s Grove boys began when he won a wrestling contest–or lost or tied, depending on the story told–against their leader Jack Armstrong.18 All of these stories match up with the perception of masculinity as seen through western eyes; as historian Donald F. Tingley explains in an essay, “There was always on the frontier a strong primitivism, the tendency to settle problems in a direct way with a maximum of muscle and a minimum of reason, and this violence involved everyone from the lowliest citizen to the most prominent in political life.” For example, politicians would frequently break out into physical fights on the legislative floor, including an incident in 1827 when a candidate for state treasurer, Abner Field, started a brawl that would eventually include two future governors. 19 Some of this may have in part been due to the southern influence on western culture. Although those who moved from the south to the frontier were primarily poor white farmers, there was an influx of more wealthy Southerners, families like the Todds in Kentucky and the Bates in Missouri, who would later become incredibly influential during Lincoln’s administration. With them they brought their personal brand of masculinity rooted in honor and violence.20 Southern views of masculinity were shifting closer and closer to the frontier view as class became less important; even the elites began to have to prove themselves, rather than basing their merit on their perceived birthright. 21 But some of their traditions travelled with the emigrates who shifted west, including the concept of the duel. Based in the absolute importance of honor, the duel was illegal in many northern states where it had no place—northern elites were often intellectuals who saw no need for the preservation of honor in such a manner. In what Lincoln would later recall as one of the most embarrassing incidents of his life, he once nearly 18Carl

Sandburg, Abraham Lincoln: The Prairie Years and the War Years (New York: Harcourt, Brace & Company, 1954), 55. 19Donald

F. Tingley, "Anti-Intellectualism on the Illinois Frontier," in

Essays in Illinois History, in Honor of Glenn Huron Seymour, ed. Donald F. Tingley (Carbondale: Southern Illinois University Press, 1968), 8. 20Ryan

L Dearinger, "Violence, Masculinity, Image and Reality on the Antebellum Frontier," Indiana Magazine of History 100, no. 1 (March 2004): 34, JSTOR. 21

Lorri Glover, "An Education in Southern Masculinity: The Ball Family of

South Carolina," Journal of Southern History 69, no. 1 (February 2003): 40, JSTOR.

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engaged in a duel to maintain his status as a rising gentleman. While courting his future wife Mary Todd, Lincoln occasionally wrote letters under aliases to the Sangamo Journal, a newspaper in the Springfield area, in which he poked fun at the Democratic State Auditor of Illinois, James Shields. When the letters proved to be popular, Mary and her friend continued to write them, the nature of the jokes becoming more and more personal. Shields, outraged at the content of the letters, challenged Lincoln to a duel in order to defend himself against what he saw to be unfounded personal attacks. Despite the fact that dueling was illegal in Illinois, it was well-known that if a politician refused a duel, he would have difficulty getting back into office come election time. Instead, the two men prepared to fight on an island in the Mississippi River using broadswords—conditions set by Lincoln that put him at a distinct advantage, as he was 6’4’’ tall and had incredibly long arms. Both parties were determined to have the duel take place; to have backed out would have been a distinct hit to their honor. In fact, the duel was only called off when the friends of both men arranged an agreement that preserved their honors, rendering the need for a duel unnecessary.22 Although reportedly Mary Todd was impressed with Lincoln’s attempt to preserve his honor and take his place in the world of the new western ‘gentleman,’ Lincoln himself became ashamed of the event and ordered Mary never to speak of it. When a soldier spoke of it in the White House during Lincoln’s presidency, the much older Lincoln coldly demanded it never be brought up again.23 Lincoln’s wavering before accepting the duel points to a less-than-macho attitude towards violence, but his eventual acceptance speaks to an understanding of the importance of his portrayal of masculinity in courting the public as a politician. But, as his later shame of the event suggests, Lincoln understood the political as well as personal hypocrisy in his rash and potentionally violent actions. Such a bold move into the realm of masculinity as seen by the West failed to support his moderate political stances, and seemed to speak against Lincoln’s professed even-temperment and opposition to bloodshed. Although masculinity itself clearly plays a role in the construction of manhood and in the perception of Lincoln as a man, other factors feed into the system which necessitate consideration in the public view of Lincoln. These include intellectualism and elitism, two Douglas L Wilson, Honor's Voice: The Transformation of Abraham Lincoln (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1998), 278-279 22

Ibid, 265.

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factors that often play hand-in-hand with one another, particularly in the Northeast and the frontier West. It could be argued, in fact, that public perceptions of Lincoln had nothing to do whatsoever with his gender, but rather had more to do with these two traits. In fact, both intellectualism and elitisim play heavily into masculinity as it was constructed in the antebellum era. In the Northeast, intellectualism was seen as key in electing one’s leaders; here, more republican ideals, built on the shoulders of New England politicians like John Adams, led to a strict class distinction among those who governed. Only the highly educated would be considered electable, a fact Thurlow Weed, ambitious political advisor to then-presidential candidate William Seward, expounded upon as he blasted the decision made at the Republican presidential nomination in Philadelphia in 1856. At the nomination convention four years later, Weed ranted: ...we made one of the most inexcusable blunders.... We nominated a man who had no qualification for the position of Chief Magistrate.... We were defeated, as we probably deserved to be.... We are facing a crisis; there are troublous [sic] times ahead of us.... What this country will demand as its chief executive for the next four years is a man of the highest order of executive ability, a man of real statesmanlike qualities, well known to the Country, and of large experience in national affairs. No other class of men ought to be considered at this time.24 Exposing the culture of elitism built into the New England system of politics, Weed simultaneously explained the difficulties Lincoln had in gaining supporters in the Northeast, particularly among intellectuals. It was well-publicized during the campaign that Lincoln himself had very little formal education; indeed, by his own estimates, “the agregate [sic] of all his schooling did not amount to one year” 25 of formal education, done primarily in the ‘blab schools’ of the frontier (so called because all lessons were done aloud, due to a lack of paper and books). Although some newspapers from the east, such as Boston’s Daily Observer, wrote articles praising Lincoln as having “an intellectual face, showing a searching mind and a cool judgement,” 26 other papers openly degraded 24Doris

Kearns Goodwin, Team of Rivals: The Political Genius of Abraham

Lincoln (New York: Simon & Schuster, 2005), 241. 25David 26Doris

Herbert Donald, Lincoln (New York: Simon & Schuster, 1995), 29.

Kearns Goodwin, Team of Rivals: The Political Genius of Abraham

139

him. The Cincinnati Observer railed in the September 20, 1859 edition, “Among public addresses from the stump the speech of Mr. Lincoln belongs to the lowest order. It is not the speech of a statesman; it is not the speech of a politician; it is not even the speech of a fair partisan. It is the speech of a pettifogging demagogue.” 27 Due to the political nature of many newspapers of the time (situations arose where a Republican newspaper in Dayton, Ohio, described the large crowd gathered at a speech Lincoln made, while the local Democratic organ claimed that no one showed up to the speech28), unbiased views of Lincoln in the historical record are few and far between, but looking at the dichotomy between such reports reveals the importance of intellectualism to those living in the Northeast. Pointing to Lincoln’s use of colloquial speech and use of storytelling to mark him as a candidate with Jacksonian principles and strong populist ties, the Democratic organs and other critics of Lincoln used elitism as their tool, furthering the image of Lincoln as a backwoods politician from the frontier. In doing this, they emphasized how deeply elitism was intertwined with the eastern conception of “maleness.” While Lincoln was criticized in the East for his lack of education and appeal to the populist sense of the people, in the West the criticisms came from the opposite arena. Unlike New England, where class divides were more obvious, disparity of wealth was less pronounced among those living on the frontier, and resources often difficult to come by. Because of the nature of the frontier, manual labor was much more highly valued than an education. Lincoln’s narrative of being pulled from school because it was too expensive and he was needed at home to work the fields was a common one. Indeed, intellecutal pursuits were often seen as a waste of time, as they distracted from the work at hand; 29 those who hired Lincoln out to work occasionally complained that he spent more time in the fields reading than working. 30 Lincoln’s pursuits in self-education were highly discouraged by his working class background, but he kept them up, often studying late into the night in Lincoln (New York: Simon & Schuster, 2005), 127. 27

Robert S. Harper, Lincoln and the Press (New York: McGraw-Hill Book

Company, Inc., 1951), 40. 28Ibid,

38.

29Donald

F. Tingley, "Anti-Intellectualism on the Illinois Frontier," in

Essays in Illinois History, in Honor of Glenn Huron Seymour, ed. Donald F. Tingley (Carbondale: Southern Illinois University Press, 1968), 4. 30Carl

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Sandburg, Abraham Lincoln (New York: Harcourt, Brace & Company, 1954), 38.

order to avoid conflict with his other work. Indeed, in the very same pamphlets that told of his lack of formal education, Lincoln proudly explained how he had taught himself Euclidean geometry using an old textbook he had found—all while keeping up his work as a surveryor and later as a lawyer.31 But this dedication to self-education was not a common trait among even those serving in office in Illinois; many elected officials had very little education and some were in fact functionally illiterate.32 Politics built on Jacksonian ideals of open government and a lack of elitism played a role, as well as a class clash between those who settled there: the New Englanders, who tended to be richer and better educated, against the poor white farmers from the South. This clash built animosity on both sides of the debate and fueled the already-tumultuous environment of extreme politics with which Lincoln disagreed. In his speech before the Young Men’s Lyceum, Lincoln urged a moderate position on his listeners, encouraging them to “swear by the blood of the Revolution, never to violate in the least particular, the laws of the country; and never to tolerate their violation by others” while acknowledging that “When I so pressingly urge a strict observance of all the laws, let me not be understood as saying there are no bad laws, nor that grievances may not arise, for the redress of which, no legal provisions have been made.... in neither case, is the interposition of mob law, either necessary, justifiable, or excusable.” 33 This moderate position would have been scorned by those on either side of the anti-slavery debate, which was in many cases split along the intellectualism/antiintellectualism divide, as Lincoln’s Secretary of State William Seward pointed out.34 The class divide between rich northern abolitionists and poor white southern farmers confirms this; as historian Kenneth S. Greenberg points out, "Historians have long been aware of the complaints of neglect by intellectuals in the South. Some have attributed the problem to the absence of cities and the consequent lack of a reading public concentrated in urban areas. Others have suggested that intellectuals play a marginal role in most societies.” 35 Whatever the 31Ibid,

72.

32David

Herbert Donald, Lincoln (New York: Simon & Schuster, 1995), 10.

33Abraham

Lincoln, “Address before the Young Men’s Lyceum of Springfield, Illinois” (keynote speech, Young Men’s Lyceum, Springfield, Illinois, January 27, 1838 34Doris

Kearns Goodwin, Team of Rivals: The Political Genius of Abraham Lincoln (New York: Simon & Schuster, 2005) 133. 35Kenneth

S. Greenberg, "The Nose, the Lie and the Duel in the Antebellum

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cause, the effect on the southern population, who then migrated, remains obvious in the slavery debate out West, where the issue was less pertinent to day-to-day living than in the South. Even once he was elected and sworn into office, Lincoln’s lack of educational background and down-to-earth nature brought criticism from different sides. Although his accessibility in office (he saw each and every office-seeker who came to the White House looking for a job) led to great praise from the general public, who “referred to him as Father Abraham, and... showered him with homely gifts,” it led to much disgust and criticism from members of his Cabinet as well as other popular politicians, who felt Lincoln’s “openheartedness indicated incompetence... or, worse, a sign of terrible weakness.” 36 Despite their concerns, Lincoln felt that the people had a right to see him, no matter how trivial their reasoning. Lincoln’s desire for transparency and openness may have risen out of the backlash he received after a suspected assassination attempt in Maryland caused him to take a different train into Washington D.C., leading newspapers to report that he snuck into the city wearing a traditional Scottish kilt. Although clearly playing on nativist and anti-immigrant sentiment, this printed attack on Lincoln may have played as well on his masculinity and, once again, his willingness to interact with voters. Criticism came from his generals as well as his Cabinet officials. Lincoln had no formal education in military tactics nor, as previously discussed, was his military career a distinguished one, creating a divide between his West Point-educated generals that intersected elitism, intellecutualism and perceptions of masculinity. After mere weeks in Washington to meet with the Commander-in-Chief, General of the Army of the Potomac George B. McClellan wrote home to his wife Ellen that “the Presdt [sic] is an idiot.”37 This conflict may have played a role, at least in part, in the Union’s early failure to defeat the Confederates; Lincoln was hesitant to issue any orders to his generals due to his lack of experience, though in his style of self-education, he would frequently spend entire nights reading up on military tactics to gain a better understanding of how to command his generals. Eventually, he managed to convince Ulysses S. Grant to take some of his ‘suggestions’ without having to use his power as Commander-in-Chief (and risk South," American Historical Review 95, no. 1 (February 1990): 61-62, JSTOR. 36Doris

Kearns Goodwin, Team of Rivals: The Political Genius of Abraham Lincoln (New York: Simon & Schuster, 2005) 334-335. 37David

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Herbert Donald, Lincoln (New York: Simon & Schuster, 1995) 319.

possibly upsetting the military men over the perceived incomptance of a civilian), circumventing yet again the initial perceptions of those who surrounded him. The nation was splintering during the antebellum period, and it showed in nearly all walks of life: economics, class, culture and perceptions of gender. North and South were divided along lines of violence and honor, as well as the relationship between social classes and, of course, over slavery. This conflict played out clearly in the West, where clashing ideals led to mixed reactions and interpretations of just what constituted manhood. Abraham Lincoln was a brilliant politician who knew he could not be elected president if he did not appeal across lines of class, education, and physical location—his political party was a coalition party, after all, and his ability to hold a moderate position greatly influenced public opinion, leading to his nomination as the Republican candidate for president in 1860. His physique and rough manners, accompanied by an intense pursuit of knowledge and understanding and a desire to rise beyond his humble beginnings, made it possible for him to toe the line and be considered a man by both worlds as his presidency progressed—all despite the harsh criticism he received based on his gender presentation and initial understandings of his intellectual capacity and elitist feeling. Although many disagreed with him at the time of his death, the martyrdom that comes with assassination forever preserved his image, as conflicting as it might have been: backwoods farmer and respected politician, “Railsplitter” and selfeducated intellectual. This conflict makes Lincoln’s appeal today as broad as the criticisms he received while living; it has catapulted him, into the pantheon of True American Heroes, where, despite scholarship’s attempts to humanize him, he has remained a key figure of overtly masculine myth and wonder.

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Works Cited Dearinger, Ryan L. “Violence, Masculinity, Image, and Reality on the Antebellum Frontier.” Indiana Magazine of History 100, no. 1 (March 2004): 26-55. JSTOR. Donald, David Herbert. Lincoln. New York: Simon & Schuster, 1995. “Essential Lincoln and Presidential Book Shelf.” The Abraham Lincoln Book Shop, Inc. Last modified 2011. http://www.alincolnbookshop.com/html/bibliographies.htm. Gershick, Lori B. Transgender Voices: Beyond Women and Men. Lebanon: University Press of New England, 2008. Glover, Lorri. “An Education in Southern Masculinity: The Ball Family of South Carolina in the New Republic.” Journal of Southern History 69, no. 1 (February 2003): 39-70. JSTOR. Goodwin, Doris Kearns. Team of Rivals: The Political Genius of Abraham Lincoln. New York: Simon & Schuster, 2005. Greenberg, Kenneth S. “The Nose, the Lie and the Duel in the Antebellum South.” American Historical Review 95, no. 1 (February 1990): 57-74. JSTOR. Harper, Robert S. Lincoln and the Press. New York: McGraw-Hill Book Company, 1951. Lincoln, Abraham. “Address before the Young Men’s Lyceum of Springfield, Illinois.” Keynote speech, Young Men’s Lyceum, Springfield, Illinois, January 27, 1838. Accessed October 28, 2011. http://www.constitution.org/lincoln/lyceum.htm. Reinhart, Mark S. Abraham Lincoln on Screen: Fictional and Documentary Portrayals on Film and Television. Jefferson: McFarland & Company, 2009. Sandburg, Carl. Abraham Lincoln: The Prairie Years and the War Years. New York: Harcourt, Brace & Company, 1954. Smith, Michael T. “The Beast Unleashed: Benjamin F. Butler and Conceptions of Masculinity in the Civil War North.” New England Quarterly 79, no. 2 (June 2006): 248-276. JSTOR.

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Tingley, Donald F. “Anti-Intellectualism on the Illinois Frontier.” In Essays in Illinois History, in Honor of Glenn Huron Seymour, edited by Donald F. Tingley, 3-17. Carbondale: Southern Illinois University Press, 1968. Whitman, Walt. The Complete Poems. New York: Penguin Classics, 1977. Wilson, Douglas L. Honor’s Voice: The Transformation of Abraham Lincoln. New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1998.

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2012 WORLD HISTORY CONTEST – FIRST PLACE Amy Squire Class of 2014 Richfield, Ohio

Restricted Harmonies: The Censorship of 20th-Century Soviet Russian Music

One of the strongest forces in life, common to all peoples, places, and cultures, is music. Serving as a cultural gateway, it connects people across the world with resounding themes and ideas. Regardless, there have been times when national leaders shied away from the universality of music for fear of the negative ideals it may have conveyed. This was the case in the twentieth-century Soviet Union when Josef Stalin, ruling with an iron fist, significantly censored music. Composers scrambled to meet his guidelines, fearing that he would otherwise pull their works off the stage and hide them from public view. The stronger the influence of Stalin’s preferences and censorship became, the greater musicians' fear grew, stunting the creative development of the nation as a whole. Still, the situation had not always been this dire. Only with Stalin's rise to power in the mid-1930s did music become a tattered, broken, and hindered art form. It became a vessel for propaganda rather than beauty, and was used accordingly as a "potent political weapon" rather than a means for artists to express their views (Volkov xii). The elite of the twentieth-century Soviet Union—the powerful music organizations of the day as well as Stalin himself—greatly censored the nation's music to reflect their preferences and to serve a political agenda. Soviet censorship started with music organizations, each of which had its own musical ideal. The Russian Association of Proletarian Musicians, or RAPM, was no exception. Founded in June of 1923, RAPM aimed to join music critics, composers, performers, educators, and administrators stylistically. Lev Shul'gin, David Chernomor-dikov, and Aleksei Sergeev, the founders of the organization, had all worked for the Agitational Department of the State Press's Music Section, another organization which focused on publishing compositions that it deemed to satisfy "the demands of mass, amateur musical activities" and that also tapped into and raised public energy (Edmunds 67). In short, the

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founding fathers of this restrictive organization had specific musical guidelines in mind from the very beginning. In general, RAPM focused on unifying the styles and thoughts of Soviet music so that what was once apolitical would focus instead on politics, and individual composition styles would be replaced with a universal style, complete with uniform emotions and themes (Edmunds 81). This organization enforced its ideals most prevalently in the 1920s and 1930s, influencing the works of composers with its self-defined credentials of "good" music. Given its ideals concerning how politics should mesh with music, RAPM took political meaning out of every song produced during its time of highest prevalence (Slonimsky 5). By placing such significance on every song, RAPM opened the door to the misinterpretation of the meaning of music and censorship based on paranoia. It is no surprise then that RAPM also denounced genres which it decreed inferior. These banned genres varied in style but were great in number. In the category of folk music alone, RAPM forbade gypsy music and jazz—both of which the organization disliked because of their origins—urban romances38, and sacred music (Edmunds 74). The organization had several criticisms for each of these forms, including suggesting that the lyrics of urban romances were "propaganda for prostitution," (Edmunds 75). The main reason these genres were banned, though, was because they simply did not mesh with the organization's ideal of music expressed in its manifesto: The brilliant development of musical culture of the ruling classes was made possible by their possession of material and technical tools of musical production. On the other hand, the music of the oppressed and exploited masses has remained largely in a primitive state, despite its profound musical significance. As a ruling class, the bourgeoisie exerts great influence upon all strata of the population, systematically poisoning the workers' mind. This influence is shown in the ideology of a fraction of the working class, so that we find deterioration and degradation of artistic tastes among some group of workers. In the field of music, this process of deterioration follows the lines of religious and pettybourgeois esthetics, and recently, the erotic dance music

“Black Eyes” by Feodor Chernie

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of contemporary capitalist cities (foxtrot, jazz, etc.) (Slonimsky 3-4). From this it is clear that RAPM was quite demanding in what it considered good and decent music, and so it is no wonder that composers struggled against oppression and censorship in trying to meet their guidelines. RAPM's solution for genres it deemed unsatisfactory was to erase them as completely as possible from public memory and introduce in their place an entirely different type of music, a genre called mass song. The members of the organization chose this style because history showed that music had played a key role in educating the general public in social uprisings, and they believed simple, government-praising songs written for the masses would help to maintain a sense of community and camaraderie among the citizens, in turn avoiding rebellions (Edmunds 78). Exposing the masses to such music had another benefit: increased patriotism to the government and country and therefore less resistance to its ideals. In this way, RAPM helped to build the music-based empire which Stalin later used to control his people’s thoughts. When RAPM finally dissolved in April of 1932, composers everywhere rejoiced in their newfound freedom. For the first time in years, they were able to use varied composition styles without the risk of lowering the prescribed quality of their work (Slonimsky 6). Still, the fact that this was something to celebrate is alarming. RAPM's censorship was so intense that it dictated even what time signatures composers could acceptably use, insisting upon the use of duple time because it thought it was the most proletariat of choices, most likely because duple times allow for a solid, constant, chugging along kind of beat which reflects the unyielding nature of work (Slonimsky 6). This distinction restricted several popular genres of music, such as waltzes and other dances written in ¾ time. With guidelines as structured as these, RAPM served as a serious hindrance to the growth and creativity of music in the Soviet Union. The censorship and control of music did not cease with the dissolution of RAPM and similar organizations. In fact, the strongest source of this censorship was still introducing and forcing his ideals upon every composer he could. Of course, this musical tyrant was none other than Stalin. In Stalin’s world, a composer’s job was to “be true to life in an unmediated way,” and he set forth many guidelines to produce such artists (Smrz “Symphonic Marxism). The fallacy with his thoughts regarding the job of the composer was that he allowed his personal tastes

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to play into the equation: they were to be true to the life which he envisioned. An important distinction to make about Stalin is that he did not simply hate music, and so was not retaliating against an art form he despised. On the contrary, Stalin enjoyed music, especially classical; he just had very specific thoughts regarding what did and did not make good music (Volkov 105). Stalin’s ideal work was aimed at a large audience—the entire Soviet population—and focused on the nation (Smrz “Symphonic Marxism”). This notion of good music carried across all genres and performance types. Regarding opera, Stalin suggested that the music itself should be “emotionally rousing” and that hints of traditional folk melodies should be included. However, above all else, it should be accessible to the masses and should connect with the nation as a whole (Slonimsky 10). Stalin did not do this simply for his people’s increased enjoyment, but rather because he viewed music as an educational tool, one which could help to mold the general public’s thoughts to whatever he desired (Smrz “Symphonic Marxism”). With this mindset, Stalin was able to begin transforming music from creative expression into patriotic propaganda. To help achieve this transition, Stalin promoted the genre of mass song. Mass song was an art form created to reflect the thoughts and ideas of the masses—or those laid out for them to believe—with simplicity and clarity, qualities which Stalin had identified as good for music. The genre itself was reminiscent of military marches, another form which encouraged unity among the masses while maintaining tempos and melodies that suggested communal forward motion (Tokaji “Popular Music”). Since it so obviously represented everything that Stalin stood for—unity, forward progression, and communal thoughts— mass song was a natural choice for his personal favorite composition style. In 1932, with this in mind, Stalin declared that all music should be “socialist in content, yet national in form,” (Tokaji “Popular Music”). By restricting the general make up of music, Stalin took creativity away from composers, essentially telling them that anything he did not think fit the bill of the decree was worthless. What did this mean for music? The decree stated that music which worked to equalize the different social classes and thereby coalesce the masses was ideal. The incorporation of these characteristics into the music itself was not terribly difficult. Lyrics and a cheerful march style addressed the socialist aspect of the decree, while melodies from or similar to peasant songs attended to the requirement of a national form (Tokaji “Popular Music”). With this new development,

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Stalin demonstrated his total power over the people through his strict control of their thoughts in music. Of course, not all composers were willing to adhere strictly to this new designation of good music. In response, Stalin fought back with a composer’s greatest fear: censorship. In general, Soviet leaders under Stalin would revise content broadcast throughout the Union to reflect what they decided should be “the truth”, and so the ability to have an individual’s thoughts published or distributed without any sort of hindrance became a completely foreign affair (MacDonald “Introduction”). Soviet leaders essentially made composers into puppets in several situations. First, there were music competitions held throughout the Union for which contemporary composers served as judges. With the government’s vigilant eye conspicuously watching every move they made, composers felt obligated to judge works based not so much on their merit or creativity as on their adherence to Stalin’s guidelines (Tokaji “Popular Music”). Further, literary leaders loyal to Stalin and his ideals censored composers in publications as well; they could not write anything without an editor swooping in and correcting what he deemed as inappropriate or unnecessary (Smrz “Symphonic Marxism”). The dictator’s grip was tightening, and there was little that anyone could do to fight back. Stalin also edited the content of various forms of music to reflect his preferences. It is both known and obvious, for example, that any sort of erotic material in art incensed Stalin to the point that he eradicated almost all art which depicted naked bodies (Volkov 95). Since he was busy building a base for his political party in the 1920s, Stalin did not crack down on the content of Russian music and art until the 1930s even though much of it had always been contrary to his ideals (Horton “The Forgotten Avant Garde”). After gaining a strong political foothold, he started singling out specific composers who produced pieces particularly against his standards. In a purge of music and style, Stalin credited popular composers such as Dmitri Shostakovich and Gavriil Popov, who wrote generally dramatic and sophisticated music, as creating pieces in which the “formalist anti-public trend has found its fullest manifestations,” (Sanders “Josef Stalin”). In his eyes, music should have been free of personal afflictions, focused rather on the vast opportunities Communist life presented. Accordingly, his appreciation for epic fictions set to song, a common style given the popularity of urban romances and gypsy music, was practically nonexistent (Horton “The Forgotten Avant Garde”).

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Stalin also voiced serious distaste for the new atonal style as found in many contemporary composers’ works. He saw it as being disconnected from his beloved classical music, which he loved for its formality, and charged the new approach as “neuropathic combinations which transform music into cacophony,” (Sanders “Josef Stalin”). He left no stone unturned, reprimanding virtually every genre of music in which originality and modernity could shine. He also attacked general writing styles: monotonal music and unisonal singing were among several of the victims, just because Stalin did not personally like them. Composers reeling to meet his idealistic demands received vague criticisms—such as “alien to the principles of socialist realism”—which had no clear path to correction (Sanders “Josef Stalin”). By being so vague with his condemnations, Stalin created an atmosphere in which the Russian composer was unable to know if he was following the directions laid out for him or was overstepping his creative boundary. This led, in turn, to unwitting artists being threatened or having their rights removed for ignoring Stalin’s instructions. Such was the experience of a young Soviet composer, Rosalvets, who had to move to Uzbekistan to continue writing music (Horton “The Forgotten Avant Garde). The irony of it all was that composers were not intentionally fighting back. Instead, Stalin’s criticisms were so vague that they had little idea of what they were to do to please him. Seeing that few composers were able to satisfactorily construct pieces which reflected his preferences, Stalin began taking the writing process into his own hands. When a new national anthem was created for the Soviet Union in 1944, Stalin edited the lyrics himself, being sure to include a shameless plug for his glory with the lyric “…and Stalin our leader with faith in the people inspired us to build up the land that we love,” (CNN “Anthem of Russia”; Freidin “Anthem History”; Robeson “Anthem of Soviet Union). In doing so, he forced the masses to not only accept but also to praise his achievements and method of rule. Perhaps, though, the greatest display of Stalin’s almost obsessive control over music was his long-term battle with Russian composer Dmitri Shostakovich. Shostakovich fought for years against his leader’s censorship for the cause of free composition, and for this reason lived in fear of attack for the majority of his musical career (Horton “The Forgotten Avant Garde”). Shostakovich wrote about things that were real not only to him—the fear of life being a meaningless toil, the fear of the evil of his fellow man—but also to many people in the Soviet Union; this is why his music was able to touch so many people and gain success

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in the first place (Volkov vii-viii). However, Shostakovich was not able to express overtly these ideas in his music, but had to perform a sort of balancing act between fulfilling Stalin's criteria for music and subliminally getting his points across. Still, in certain cases like Shostakovich's opera “Lady Macbeth of Mtsensk”, Stalin did not let him get away with his borderline free thought. The opera itself was based on a picture which was in turn based on a novel, so it was not purely Shostakovich's idea. The tragic romance follows a woman, Katerina, seeking love. She has become bored and fallen out of love with her husband. When he leaves the house for a short trip, she falls in love with one of the farmhands, Sergei. Eventually, Katerina's father-in-law finds out about her affair, and to keep it secret she kills him. When Katerina's husband returns home to find Sergei in her bedroom, the lovers kill him as well and hide his body in their cellar. They think that they are going to get away with it, but then a drunken peasant happens upon the body and alerts the police, who arrest Katerina and Sergei and send them to work in Serbia, where Sergei begins to fall for another woman. In desperation, Katerina kills herself and Sergei's new love interest by throwing herself and the other woman into a nearby lake (Volkov 93). Shostakovich had written the opera as the first in a planned trilogy of the triumphs and toils of women before, during, and after the Russian Revolution. Katerina was to represent the first of these: the hardships even a clever and talented woman faced in the preRevolutionary nation (Ashley “Why Shostakovich’s”). Women were not widely written about at the time and so people received the piece as something quite fresh and modern. After Lady Macbeth of Mtsensk’s premiere, headlines dubbed it a “victory of the musical theatre,” (Volkov 101). Not surprisingly, within two years various theatres throughout the Soviet Union had put on a combined total of over two hundred performances of the opera, and it had even made its way into other countries: Copenhagen, Prague, London, and New York had all graciously received and performed the opera by this time as well (Ashley “Why Shostakovich’s”). While the opera was not an overnight success, it had managed to pick up a large following rather quickly. With such fantastic reviews and public acceptance, it seemed that Lady Macbeth of Mtsensk was well on its way to being a longlasting hit. However, this never happened because Stalin, unhappy with the opera's messages and occasional crude scenes, cut its life short. Flexing his absolute dictatorial power, Stalin forced all performances of the opera to disappear almost overnight (Ashley “Why Shostakovich’s”).

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All of Shostakovich’s success with his newest opera became a dim memory as a result of this single decree. Stalin’s official explanation for banning Lady Macbeth of Mtsensk was that he believed that Shostakovich had created it deliberately in favor of formalist ideas, or ideas incomprehensible to the masses due to their complexity (Volkov 92). Using the same reasoning, Stalin also had a second of Shostakovich’s works, a ballet called The Limpid Stream, banned (Volkov 23). Another factor that Stalin may have considered is that the style of the opera itself, both in content and delivery, were contrary to his idea of Socialist Realism (Ashley “Why Shostakovich’s”). Finally, Stalin’s idea for an accessible “language” of music for the masses did not mesh with Shostakovich’s intricate and detailed works, and so he deemed them as incapable of helping the Soviet Union as a whole (Volkov 105). The interesting piece in all this, though, was the opera’s actual success with the same masses Stalin had decided would be unable to comprehend it. Of course, more than references to themes and styles which opposed Stalin's decrees caused the dictator’s distaste for Lady Macbeth of Mtsensk: his personal preferences also played quite a large role. Given the nature of the story—its plot focused heavily on lust and love— there were several erotic scenes in the opera, all of which offended Stalin (Volkov 95). He took the scenes to be a direct hit against the duty of the Russian composer to create works which depicted Soviet life free of unruliness and vulgarity (Volkov 109). In reality, Stalin’s own squeamishness was a major factor in his banning Lady Macbeth of Mtsensk. A short while after Lady Macbeth of Mtsensk prematurely left the stage, a passionate, anonymous editorial appeared in Pravda, a popular Soviet newspaper. The editorial, titled “Muddle Instead of Music,” was an attack on Shostakovich’s opera that spent more time nagging about personal preferences than giving valid criticism, constructive or otherwise (Volkov 103). The editorial raved, “Singing is replaced by shrieking. The music quacks, hoots, growls, and gasps to express the love scenes as naturally as possible,”39 (Ashley “Why Shostakovich’s”). This coarse description of the demonstrative design of Shostakovich’s music is reminiscent of Stalin’s remarks against sexual

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eDfVTVxakGA This is the music of one of the love scenes between Katerina and Sergei. While the title says it is a rape, this is not the case. Regardless, the author of the editorial was doubtlessly referring to scenes like this in his review. 39

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content in art, a fact which led several people to believe that he had actually written the anonymous editorial. Their theories were supported again later in the editorial when the irate reviewer suggested, “The danger of this [formalist] tendency in Soviet music is clear. Leftist ugliness in opera is growing from the same source as leftist ugliness in painting, poetry, pedagogy, and science. Petit bourgeois ‘innovation’ is leading to a gap away from true art, science, from true literature,” (Volkov 104). Another excerpt from the editorial hints that someone with great power had written it, for who else could make claims such as, “The ability of good music to enthrall the masses has been sacrificed on the altar of petit-bourgeois formalism. This is playing at abstruseness—and such games can only finish badly,” (Ashley “Why Shostakovich’s”). A newspaper editorial is no place for idle threats, and beyond that, why would a newspaper even publish a decidedly ominous comment unless a powerful official like Stalin ordered it to do so? There is even more evidence that points to Stalin being the writer of “Muddle Instead of Music.” A man who had been present at Stalin’s first and only viewing of Lady Macbeth of Mtsensk reported hearing him refer to the piece as “cacophony” and “muddle in music”, both repeated key phrases in the editorial article. Drawing the line between Stalin and the article even more concretely, Shostakovich noted that in an editorial published in Pravda the day before “Muddle Instead of Music” which Stalin had signed, the word "muddle" is used to outline the dictator's disapproval with certain history books. To have the word appear again the next day six times in a critique of similar passion convinced even more people that Stalin was indeed the author of the anti-Shostakovich editorial (Volkov 105). Watching their fellow artist fall victim to the distaste and consequential wrath of Stalin, the fear of such censorship and retaliation forced Soviet composers into an age of almost slavish obedience. At the time, composers were expected to admit to their mistaken use of formalist ideas in their music as well as criticize their fellow artists for the use of any such themes, forcing them to turn against one another instead of fighting for their creative rights (Ashley “Why Shostakovich’s”). Stalin’s divide-and-conquer tactics made composers abandon their creativity as well as their loyalties to each other, in essence breaking them. The atmosphere of the Soviet Union’s world of music was nothing short of stifling. Monitored at every turn, composers had to make sure they complied with the “standards” of the day—those of the

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prevalent music organizations and of Stalin himself. While good, original, creative music from the era has survived, few pieces made it through without earning some battle scars. In the case of Shostakovich’s Lady Macbeth of Mtsensk, a lengthy retreat from public view wielded the sword. Luckily, during the 1950s Shostakovich released another version of the opera which was used until 1979, when the conductor for the original opera recorded it and various opera houses began reverting to the initial score (Ashley "Why Shostakovich's"). The revived original received almost as much praise as the opera’s grand opening, and is still in production today due to its masterful arrangement and resulting popularity. Despite the harsh climate for musicians during Stalin’s reign, there is something to be said for their perseverance. Music easily could have become a mindless melodic drone to Stalin’s ideals, but people like Shostakovich fought to keep it a show of creativity and way for composers to express their views. A world without different types of music—the world which Stalin had envisioned—would not be nearly as interconnected or rich as the one we live in today, in which people are welcome to think freely and do not have to contort their work to meet the creative demands of an overbearing tyrant. The hardships composers faced in the Soviet Union made the entire art of music stronger and more appreciated today. Although following the strict confines of the elites’ preferences, artists still dreamed up unique works, fighting the censorship by preparing material for the day that they could disregard the wishes of those in power. The fighting spirit of Soviet composers is truly miraculous, and is also an indicator of the strength of music itself. As long as there are people who express their creativity and individuality through music, the melodies will live.

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Works Cited

Ashley, Tim. “Why Shostakovich’s Lady Macbeth of Mtsensk was Too Scary for Stalin.” The Guardian 26 Mar. 2004: n. pag. The Guardian. Web. 16 Feb. 2012. <http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/ 2004/mar/26/classicalmusicandopera.russia>. CNN. “Athem of Russia.” Russian Anthems Museum. N.p., 2000. Web. 15 Jan. 2012. <http://www.hymn.ru/anthem-russia-2000-en.html>. Edmunds, Neil. “Music and Politics: The Case of the Russian Association of Proletarian Musicians.” Slavonic and East European Review 78.1 (2000): 66-89. JSTOR. Web. 8 Nov. 2011. <http://www.jstor.org/ stable/4213008>. Freidin, Gregory. “Anthem History.” Stanford. N.p., 2002. Web. 15 Jan. 2012. <http://www.stanford.edu/class/slavgen194a/hymn/ anthem_history.htm>. Horton, Andrew J. “The Forgotten Avant Garde: Soviet Composers Crushed by Stalin.” Central Europe Review 1.1 (1999): n. pag. Central Europe Review. Web. 10 Jan. 2012. <http://www.cereview.org/99/1/music1_horton.html>. Ivry, Benjamin. “The Stalin Hymns that are Best Forgotten.” The Guardian 3 June 2008: n. pag. Web. 10 Jan. 2012. <http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/musicblog/2008/jun/03/ thestalinhymnsthatarebest>. MacDonald, Ian, comp. “Introduction.” Music Under Soviet Rule. Ed. Ian MacDonald. Southern Illinois University at Edwardsville, n.d. Web. 10 Feb. 2012. <http://www.siue.edu/~aho/musov/ contents.html>. Robeson, Paul. “Anthem of Soviet Union (’Stalin’s’).” Russian Anthems Museum. N.p., n.d. Web. 15 Jan. 2012. <http://www.rusflag.ru/ anth/ane1944.htm>. Sanders, George. “Josef Stalin, Music Critic.” Fourth International 9.2 (1948): 56-7. Marxists Internet Archive. Web. 17 Jan. 2012. <http://www.marxists.org/history/etol/newspape/fi/vol09/no02/ sanders.html>.

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Slonimsky, Nicolas. “Soviet Music and Musicians.” Slavonic and East European Review 3.4 (1944): 1-18. JSTOR. Web. 11 Nov. 2011. <http://www.jstor.org/stable/pdfplus/3020186.pdf>. Smrz, Jiri. “Symphonic Marxism: Sovietizing Pre-Revolutionary Russian Music Under Stalin.” Discourses in Music 4.3 (2003): n. pag. Discourses in Music. Web. 12 Feb. 2012. <http://www.discourses.ca/v4n3a1.html>. Tokaji, Andras. “Popular Music and Folkishness under Stalin.” Trans. Paul Olchavary. Art and Society in the Age of Stalin. Ed. Peter Gyorgy and Hedvig Turai. Budapest: Corvina Books, 1992. 10712. Print. Volkov, Solomon. Shostakovich and Stalin: The Extraordinary Relationship Between the Great Composer and the Brutal Dictator. Westminster: Knopf Publishing Company, 2004. ebrary. Web. 14 Oct. 2011. <http://site.ebrary.com/lib/wra/ docDetail.action?docID=10063745>.

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“THIS I BELIEVE”

MORNING MEETING CHAPEL SPEECHES 2012 - 2013 158

OCTOBER 22, 2012 Callie Crowder Senior Rootstown, Ohio

Since freshmen year, I have always wanted to write a “This I Believe” speech. If I had written it then, however, it would have been drastically different than it is now. So, without farther delay . . . This I believe: I believe that I am a 17 year old girl with blond hair and the palest skin many of you have ever seen, even with my tan. I believe that I am just as scared to get up in Morning Meeting this morning as I was the first time I touched this stage. I believe in a divine power, but I don’t believe in religion. I believe that the dreams I have involving my future are ridiculous, but I also believe that I will accomplish them anyway. I believe that I am reincarnated because I have looked in a mirror and been surprised that a tan face surrounded by brown hair was not looking back at me. I believe that dressing in ridiculous and uncharacteristic clothes every once in a while makes life interesting and fun. I believe that sometimes sass is not a bad thing. I believe that if my family really wanted to we could completely take over the world. I believe that some of my best friends are the weirdest people in the world. I believe that a small note or nice comment can make someone’s entire day. I believe that everyone needs to vent what they are feeling every once in a while, and I am more than willing to lend an ear if you do. I believe that if you yell at me, I will burst out crying. I believe that I am the only one who is allowed to criticize my family, so expect an earful if you plan to do so in front of me. I believe that there are aliens out there—without a doubt in my mind.

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I believe that the best ways to die would be either to go while watching the sun set or to venture into a black hole (which, in this latter case, the form of death would be spaghettification). I believe that I make up mini-conversations in my mind about what I wish I could say to some people. I believe that most guys can be the most one-track minded creatures alive. They can also be the kindest. I believe that most girls can be the meanest creatures alive. They can also be the most understanding I believe that I can be mean, but I try in every way I can not to be. I believe that spending one more winter here in Ohio may just kill me. I believe that you don’t have to wait until someone dies to realize what a great person they are. I believe that your telling me what to do only makes me want to do the opposite—because I am a teenager and don’t like to be told that I’m wrong. I believe that I am just as shy now as I was when I was five years old. I believe that it is my prerogative to love Monster energy drinks. I believe that I am dyslexic and that I will not remember your name until our fourth or fifth meeting. I believe that the best things in life are homemade . . . with lots of sugar! I believe that there are only about three people on this earth who truly know everything about me. I believe that, even while the previous statement is true, there are many of you who aren’t far behind—given that I trust just about anyone with my secrets. I believe that even though you love your best friends to the very end, many of them get lost before you can get there. I believe that politics are way too corrupted for me to even bother caring about them. I believe that if you are given a second chance, you better, sure as hell, not mess it up. I believe your favorite music matches the words and beat in your soul. This leads to me believing that everyone has a soul, like it or not. I believe that I am mostly Native American and even a little African American.

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I believe that, at home, I still run and jump onto my bed at night so that the monsters can’t reach out and grab an ankle after I turn off the light. I believe that, since I don’t know how my future is going to turn out, I’m scared to death of it. I believe that I was sent to this galaxy instead of another one for a reason—though I have yet to figure out what it is. I believe I am blazing my own trail instead of walking down a predetermined path. I believe that at least fifty percent of you really don’t care what I believe in because it’s never going to affect you. I believe that, in many cases, I hold back my opinions because I either don’t want to get into an argument or I don’t want to look like a complete idiot. I believe that I know who I am, and I believe that I am proud of who I am. My question to you is, are you?

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NOVEMBER 2, 2012 Molly Clark Senior Hudson, Ohio

A few years ago I was babysitting Megan Barsella’s little cousins. At seven o'clock I went to put the youngest to bed. I sat down and read her three entire books before going to turn the lights out, but before I left she YELLED at me. “Molly, you have to sing to me!” I laughed. But she continued, “Megan always sings to me before I go to bed!” I thought of Megan singing, and I laughed a little harder. Then the girl started to cry. I realized then that she was being completely serious, so I sat down on her bed and started singing. “The itsy bitsy spider climbs up the water spout,” . . . and I was rocking this song! My first grade teacher had taught me well, and I had remembered both the hand motions and the words; but when I had finished, the little girl look confused. I tried to explain the song to her. “This is a spider, and this is the rain,” but she said, “No, I want you to sing me a real song.” So, I sang instead the only lullaby I know, “Rock-a-bye baby in the treetop.” While I had to make up most of the words, I did get through it successfully; but she was still upset. “No Molly, don’t you know any Katy Perry?” I sat there looking at her blankly. I was embarrassed to sing for a little while. There wasn’t any musical accompaniment, nor friends to sing with me. (After all, I am not really a vocalist, and Katy Perry has some vocals!) But the little girl just sat there expectantly, so I slowly start to sing . . . 'Cause you're hot then you're cold You're yes then you're no You're in then you're out You're up then you're down You! You don't really want to stay, no You! But you don't really want to go-o And I am digging this little girl, she is laughing and smiling, and I am getting excited. Then I realize that as a babysitter it is my job to expose her to the better things of my childhood, things to which my own babysitters had exposed me . . .

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I know that I can't take no more, it ain't no lie I wanna see you out that door, baby, bye, bye, bye I don't wanna be a fool for you Just another player in your game for two You may hate me but it ain't no lie Baby, bye, bye, bye That extremely demanding three-year-old changed my life that day. I cannot tell you the number of times I have been singing my heart out in choir or at a dance only to have someone walk all the way over to me just to tell me I should stop because I am so off pitch. For a while this slowly brought my confidence down until I reached a point where every song sung had turned into a soft whisper. But this girl, who was so happy that I was singing for her, didn’t seem to mind my pitchy-ness—nor the accompanying awkward dance. So I took to singing more often. I joined in on my dad’s Sunday morning guitar practices. He cringed and told me I could be his lead vocalist, even as I butchered every single Beatles song he knew how to play. I missed countless numbers of sets in volleyball practice because I just had to finish a song with some pretend mike action. My mother and I played “I’m so tired of being alone” all the way from Kentucky to Hudson, singing even as our vocal chords gave out. And as I integrated more singing (and even dancing) into my life, I became happier. Whether I was realizing my dad had a better chance of being a rock star than I did, or I was getting hit in the head by a volleyball while breaking out my famous dance moves, or even now when I notice my brother involuntarily cry out in pain when he hears the first few notes of “I’m so tired of being alone” (I think I may have permanently damaged him). I am always happier when I am singing. And so, this I believe: I believe in singing loudly . . . often! I am not in choir anymore, nor did I try out for the fall musical because I do not believe in pitch, rhythm or memorizing lyrics—those things most definitely take the fun out of it for me. I do believe in singing loudly and proudly regardless of my skills or a willing audience, because it makes me happy. I believe in dancing just as loudly as you sing, and I believe that it is important to seize every opportunity to sing. And when I am nervous, happy, sad or excited, nothing pleases me more than grabbing a friend and singing my heart out. Sooooo. . .

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Don't tell me not to live, just sit and putter Life's candy and the sun's a ball of butter Don't bring around a cloud to rain on my parade . . . I'm gonna live and live NOW! Get what I want, I know how! One roll for the whole shebang! One throw that bell will go clang, Eye on the target and wham, One shot, one gun shot and bam! Hey, Mr. Arnstein, here I am ... I'll march my band out, I will beat my drum, And if I'm fanned out, your turn at bat, sir, At least I didn't fake it, hat, sir, I guess I didn't make it Get ready for me love, 'cause I'm a "comer" I simply gotta march, my heart's a drummer Nobody, no, nobody, is gonna rain on my parade!

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NOVEMBER 2, 2012 Max Rosenwasser Senior Kent, Ohio

[Following Molly Clark's “This I Believe” speech about daring to sing out loud and proud, Max joined her at the front of the Chapel for an enthusiastic, a cappella performance of "Don't Rain on My Parade" from Funny Girl.] Sorry for making you listen to that, but hopefully some of you found it enjoyable. I know I did. Due to some erroneous casting mistake, neither Molly nor I will be appearing in the musical this evening, but nevertheless we choose to sing. And dance. And dress in flashy costumes. And basically make complete fools of ourselves in front of over four hundred people. Now some of you, especially you crisp young freshmen or you still-timid upperclassmen who prefer to stick to the status quo, might ask, “Why on earth would anyone dare to do such a thing?” My answer is simple: because it is fun. Too often we fail to perform our heart’s desires because we fear failure, or ridicule, or admonishment from those evil vampiric voices in our heads saying “Are you cereal?” Well, I say “Die Vampire Die!” Is this fear worthy enough to erase all the joy that such revelry might bring? I argue that smiles, and laughter, and happiness (and cheesy metaphors) are worth more than any precious metal, and we should do everything in our power to mine these minerals out of our daily lives. When I was in fifth grade, I decided that I didn’t smile enough. Looking back, I’m amazed at how a measly fifth-grade version of myself passed such a horribly-depressing judgment on my life. Nevertheless, I noticed that although I didn’t consider myself sad, I wasn’t necessarily happy either. And even when I was, few others could tell. Therefore, I made the conscious choice to smile more. At first this seemed kind of pathetic, faking my way through life with a disingenuous disposition slapped on my face from ear to ear, but I came to realize that as time went on, I actually began to feel what I was doing. They say that smiles are infectious, and somehow, I infected myself. I saw the world in a brighter way, and even the littlest things amused me.

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Even now, I can’t walk down Brick Row without smiling at the gorgeous autumn days we have, or laughing at the miserable Ohio condition in which we are all stuck. I tiptoe along the bricks that line the path instead of on the path itself. I consistently translate “pectos” (which means “heart” in Latin), as “pecs” instead of the “more appropriate” meaning. I sign my e-mails, as “senator of the clubz,” or “Maximus Primus,” or “dictator” even. I wear pink every Wednesday, and I never forget Mrs. Horgan’s comment last winter that my pink pants were “just what we needed on these dreary days.” But it isn’t just smiling at the little things. It’s a shift in attitude. In addition to the vampires in your head that whisper “you can’t sing. You’ll never be good enough,” there are those standing behind the podium in the Chapel of the prestigious Western Reserve Academy wearing formal “Western business attire” and pompously chortling “you are too good.” They tell us that not even sleep is as important as tomorrow’s AP Econ test (sorry Mr. Ong!), or that your life is meaningless if you don’t get into Harvard. And yes, those details are important, but sometimes we all need to swallow a little dose of perspective. We need to take a chill pill and not take things so seriously or constantly worry about being “too cool for school.” So when you accidentally shoot the wrong target in riflery because you sneezed right when you pulled the trigger, shrug and smile, because there are nine more bulls—and it is kind of funny, after all. And when you’re sitting around that ridiculously large conference table at Morgan with only a few people, laugh, ‘cause it’s definitely funny. So here’s what I believe: Don’t take yourself so seriously. Sing a song. Laugh out loud. Or just smile. And if you don’t love yourself, how the Hell you gonna love somebody else. Can I get an Amen?

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DECEMBER 3, 2012 Maggie Graves Senior Pittsburg, Pennsylvania

Many years ago, I arrived for the first time as a tiny camper at this small summer camp up on Lake Erie. One July night, in the camp’s sweltering chapel, a staff member gave a very moving talk with a message that has stuck with me ever since: savor the time you have with the people you love. I took this message to heart. So much so that I just couldn’t seem to let go of that lakeside community which I loved, and this past summer marked my eighth year at the camp . . . and my first as a counselor. Coming back to school in August, I wanted to make sure that I spent every moment of my remaining time at Reserve really immersed in another community that has given me so much. An important step in this process was to start actually paying attention during Morning Meetings. So, at our very first gathering as a school this year, where we sang the alma mater, I followed an impulse and closed my eyes. What I heard was almost magical. You see, when my eyes are open, I cannot help being distracted by either seeing Mitesh’s embarrassment at standing on stage or looking up and watching all of the freshmen stumble over lyrics that they were hearing for the first time. But when my eyes were closed, I had an overwhelming sense of unity among the student body. For my fellow seniors, understand that we will only hear this hymn on campus so many more times before we sing it for the very last time as a class around the flagpole this May. Though we may sing it on the field before a lacrosse game, or get it stuck randomly in our heads (as I sometimes do), it is a precious occasion to hear it sung by the entire student body, together. Senior year started at a full sprint, and it hasn’t slowed down. Weeks flew by filled with meetings and deadlines and seminars and, before I knew it, it was October, and I had had my head to the books for the previous two months. I know it can sometimes be hard, with really scary, looming deadlines, but I encourage you to pick your head up out of your phones sometime and look around. We live in a really beautiful place. I know it may not seem like that so much right now, with winter still on our doorstep, but Reserve is a beautiful place. Not only for its red brick buildings and wide open spaces, but for the people in it and the

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community we have created. When was the last time you sat outside on a free period and just watched the people go by? Or the last time you bothered to pull your headphones out to say thank you or good morning to the grounds crew? This year will fly by. There are only seven more days until break and eleven days until Christmas itself. So I encourage you to be more aware. Keep your phone in your pocket at dinner, start up a conversation with the person who is walking behind you to class that maybe you donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t know too well but whoâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s really too close to ignore, stay up later than you intended to in order to finish that chat you were having with someone in the dorm. The unexpected moments that we have when we take the time to pay attention to them are the ones we will remember most when we leave this place. And so, in the words of KOB, be present. Be present in this place that supports you and encourages you to be the best that you can be. Good times will come to you if you make yourself available. So, to end, this I believe: life can be hectic, but always remember to take a moment and appreciate it.

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FEBRUARY 8, 2013 Robert Stevens Senior Fayetteville, Georgia

Good morning. I’m Rob Stephens, and if you didn’t know that then shame on you . . . and I’m being serious about that. I mean, I’m the guy who comes up to give riveting Morning Meeting announcements about SICU and Honor Council; I’m the guy who hosted and told terrible jokes at Culture Night; and (let’s just get it out of the way) I’m one of the, like, three large black guys at this school. In other words: You should know me by this point in the year. For those of you who do know me, you don’t actually know anything; but that’s alright. You’re about to find out. That is, after all, the point of these speeches. That being said, I could tell you all what I believe in now, but that’s no fun. Instead, I’m gonna make you learn something about me before you get the good stuff. On February 8, 1995, at some time that morning I think, the heavens opened up, the sun shone a little brighter, and somewhere in Africa the animals bowed as I entered into this world with my usual bright and smiling face. (Now, me being the humble person that I am, I will take the time to recognize that other members of our community were lucky enough to be born on the same day; but since I’m bigger than they are, we’ll also assume that I’m the oldest.) Getting back to my story, I was born in Georgia and, much to my dismay, have remained a resident there ever since. The next part of my childhood was pretty standard: heard gunshots every day, dodged crack-heads on the way to school, almost got set on fire . . . . Again, it was pretty standard stuff. So I’ll skip to the real excitement: I came to Reserve. WHOOOO!!! I remember it like it was yesterday. The first time I stepped onto this campus it was mid-January, and I had one thought: “Why, on earth, are these people wearing shorts while it’s snowing?!” Actually, now that I’m thinking about it again, there was a second thought: “I wanna go home!!!” As you might discern from my presence here today, staying home was obviously not in the cards. Soon after that first campus visit, I received my acceptance letter and my mom accepted it with gusto. Additionally, she accepted an invitation for me to attend a summer football camp here. Excepting the fact that I met “Big John” and realized that there actually were other black people attending this school, I hated

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everything about it. However, it did prepare me for that freshman preseason, in which, by the way, I continued to hate everything. This is a fact to which I’m sure many people would attest. Then, one day, something extraordinary happened. On our next-to-last full football practice of the season, the whole team was rewarded with some extra conditioning because one player was late. Ironically, at the end of that practice we learned that the player in question had actually tried to contact our coach in advance to tell him that he was going to be late, but the coach had never checked his messages. You could feel the hatred steaming off of all of the players as we huddled around our coach. He then looked at all of us and do you know what he said? He said, and I quote, “Well, I’m not gonna apologize; at least you all got a little better today.” And that was how he ended that. I walked silently back to the locker room. I took off of my pads, showered, ate dinner, the whole shebang. After dinner I went back to my room. I rested my weary bones on my bed, stared at the bottom of my roommate’s bed, and then it happened: I just started laughing. I laughed and laughed and laughed. I laughed until tears started streaming down my face and my sides felt like they were literally going to explode. Finally, when the laughing had subsided, I took some deep breaths and incredulously said out loud “There’s no way . . . there’s no way that that just happened.” Then I just smiled. I felt a level of content that I had never thought was possible. I know at this point it may seem as if I’m telling a random story that all of you have been forced to take part in, but here’s the part where you perk up those ears and receive words of wisdom from the black sage himself. That day I learned a very important lesson: That did, in fact, happen because life is terrible. Like . . . all the time. Of course, there’s the whole “wahh, that’s such a first world problem, Rob” side of things; but your opinion is kind of unimportant to me. This is my speech. The fact is that, despite there being different levels of terrible for different situations, life is going to be awful for everyone at some point or another. But my own little sad story just recounted helped me learn what may be one of the most important lessons of my life. So here it is: This I believe, you simply can’t take yourself too seriously. You have to realize that bad things happen to everybody . . . and that you’ll (probably) get through it at the end of the day. So what’s the big finale to my story? Well, I woke up the next morning, I went to all of my classes, and then I went to my final football practice with a big ol’ dopey smile on my face. The next day, I stood on

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the sideline in the freezing cesspool that is the Kiski School, still rocking that dopey smile. And it’s a habit that I could never quite shake. This is in no way meant to be a holier-than-thou speech. As I’m sure most of you know, I still get upset about things; I am, after all, only human. Despite that fact, anyone who knows me well enough can tell you that if you give me enough time I will eventually be wearing a smile again. The take-away is simple: Life is sometimes gonna punch you in the face. Hard. Sometimes it’ll happen out of the blue when you’re having a great day. Other times you’ll wake up and see life just sitting there with the boxing gloves already on. And, since you can’t stop every punch from landing, why allow it to ruin your outlook on life every time? I choose to stick my tongue out and tell life that my grandmother punches harder; but humor doesn’t work for everybody. Whatever it is though—that thing that can get you to look at the silver lining as opposed to the dark cloud—it is something that every person should have in their arsenal. Besides improving your life overall, it’ll also allow you to take advantage of the wonderful opportunities that life offers you amid the punches; one such opportunity being Reserve itself. If you disagree, well you obviously didn’t hear me when I said that your opinion is a non-factor in the equation. This is what I believe, and I’m sticking to it.

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FEBRUARY 11, 2013 Audrey Brown Senior Twinsburg, Ohio

This I Believe: In Two Parts Last year, when I was picking out my new Saturday Academy ECHO modules, I was primarily focused on what classes piqued my interest; classes that I could imagine sitting through for two and half hours on a Saturday morning. I decided, for my winter ECHO, to take Mr. Closen’s History of WWII class. I found the war fascinating, and at the time I was thinking Pearl Harbor is one of my all-time favorite movies (now, whether or not that has anything to do with the fact that Ben Affleck and Matt Damon are the main characters is another thing). But anyway, so I have Mr. Closen for math, and one day he stops and he looks at our class, and he has this really sort of nervous look on his face, and he says, “Did anyone in here sign up for my ECHO module?” And I threw up my hand excitedly, and I looked around and realized that I was the only one, and then Mr. Closen just looks at me, and he starts laughing. Now, I don’t want him to get in trouble with Mr. Bonomo or anything, but while Mr. Closen is laughing, he admits that he has no idea what he is going to do. He tells me he has nothing planned; maybe watch a movie . . . but that couldn’t possibly take up six, two-and-half hour classes. So I started getting a little nervous about this ECHO thing. But, to my surprise, I learned so much more from Mr. Closen than I ever could have imagined. I remember the first class; he came in with a couple loaves of Mrs. Closen’s homemade banana bread and stacks of these plain green books, like the color of a Reserve blazer. These books, one of which I have here, is called Remembering the Boys by a woman named Lynna (Piekutowski) . . . I’m not going to try to pronounce her last name. Lynna was hired by Reserve to process a lot of old files from past alumni, and she stumbled upon all these letters and memories written by students to the headmaster and faculty during WWII. She started to piece together these letters, and Reserve Record articles, and parts of the Alumni Magazine from the years 1941 to 1946, and she ended up with this amazing snapshot of Reserve during the war that she captured in this book. And if you looked at some of the names

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of the boys who wrote these letters, you might recognize a few of them, since they are the names that are read every year during the Veterans Day ceremony; that very grim Morning Meeting where we somewhat robotically read through a list of names and read some of these letters aloud; which I’m going to be very honest is usually a pretty hard Morning Meeting to get through. But those letters that are read, and those boys that are recognized, are the boys that make up this book. I know that every time I watched the PowerPoint that Mr. Cunningham and Dr. Robinson helped create, with all the old black-and-white pictures of the boys and old Reserve, I remember always feeling very detached, like the boys I was looking at didn’t attend the same school I did, like the buildings they were in weren’t the same buildings. But they were. Those boys sat in the same exact seats that you’re sitting in right now. I wish to show you that I believe in two things. The first is that we should appreciate everything to the fullest, to develop a full understanding and appreciation for it. Moreover, our appreciation of our surroundings, this beautiful campus and all it represents, is being hindered by the cyber world. Western Reserve Academy was established in 1826, and the first classes began in the fall of 1827. Just to give you a perspective of how Reserve’s history stands compared to other schools around us, I have a few facts. o Hathaway Brown was founded in 1876. o Hudson High School was founded in 1885. o University School was founded in 1890. o Culver Military Academy (in Indiana) was founded in 1894. o The Laurel School was founded in 1896. Depending on how good you are at math, you will have figured out by now that Reserve has a minimum of 50 years on all of these other institutions. Something else you may not know is that WRA originally shared a campus with what is now Case Western Reserve College, which moved its campus to Cleveland in 1882. The Academy struggled for a few years, and was forced to close in 1903 due to insufficient funding. The campus then sat student-less for thirteen years, until James W. Ellsworth, a millionaire originally from Hudson, donated a large endowment, allowing the school to re-open in 1916. This is the reason our dining hall and largest dormitory is called Ellsworth. In 1922, Reserve stopped accepting female applicants, and by the end of 1925, Reserve became an all-boys institution. (Side note: Ada Cooper Miller, Class of ‘24, and now 109 years old, is WRA’s oldest living graduate).

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This gave way to a forty-seven year period in which the boys and alumni of Reserve were as a group known as “the boys.” It wasn’t until 1972 that girls were once again allowed to attend school here. This book outlines all of that history, but focuses on how Reserve was impacted by WWII, a war in which we had eleven faculty members and 893 alumni serve. Forty-six of those alumni lost their lives. So, why am I telling you all this? This little history lesson is Part One of what I believe. I believe you can’t truly appreciate anything that you don’t fully understand. I think a lot of us, myself included, see Reserve for what it is right now, in this moment, with just the people sitting next to us here today. But, if you happen to read this book (which, by the way, is available in the bookstore), or take a look at the old sports team photos that line the walls in the MAC, or pick up an old edition of the Reserve Hardscrabble, you will begin to understand that this school is a lot more than just the 400 or so of us in this Chapel right now. Reserve is a string of all the students that have ever attended since its founding. Without the students before us, none of our traditions or our school’s legitimacy would exist. And as I read this book and learned about what had taken place so many years ago in these same exact buildings, I began to feel the weight of the school around me. I realized that we are part of something so much larger than our mere four years here, even though it has taken me almost that long to realize it. I believe you should read this book, whether you’re a freshman or a senior, because right now this school might just seem like a really hard, or really frustrating place, when you don’t have the means to truly appreciate it. I know I could end my speech here, but my speech is called “This I Believe in Two Parts” so there has to be a Part Two. What Mr. Closen also taught me in his ECHO module was the power of the written word. This book is filled with letters written by alumni during the war to their teachers at Reserve and to their former Headmaster, Dr. Joel Hayden. Letter writing was the main, and really only, means of communication during the war; it took anywhere from a few days to a few weeks to send a message to anyone, something that is almost impossible to fathom in our world today. What is so interesting about these letters, and something that Mr. Closen really emphasized to our class, was how well they were written. I mean, people really put a lot of thought into what they were writing down, to the point where it sounds almost poetic. These letters, that they took the time to write by hand so carefully and deliberately, held a lot of meaning and significance. A lot of the letters sent were from boys writing to their parents, just to let them

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know they were still alive. This really made me think about all the text messages and emails we send today. Because communication has become so accessible, so easy and so fast, our words have begun to lose their meaning. How much thought really goes into what we write to one another, knowing that we can send countless messages to follow just by pressing a few buttons? The second thing that I believe is that we live in a world of two realms. There is a real realm, the one you are sitting in right now in this chapel, and then there is a cyber-realm; all the Tweets and iMessages floating in cyberspace. I am myself often guilty of sending texts at dinner, or spending a little too long on Instagram, instead of actually looking at the world that others are Instagramming. I understand that itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s the reality of our world; things are changing, we are evolving, but I would ask everyone to take a look at their lives and think about which realm they spend the most of their time in. I believe that we canâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t fully appreciate Western Reserve Academy, which is such a real place rooted in this thread of real history, if we are spending so much of our time in this cyber-realm. So, pick your head up out of your phone and go find that person and talk to them. Instead of sending an email, go talk to that teacher in person. And go pick up Remembering the Boys in the bookstore. I guarantee you, your perspective of Reserve will change radically.

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MARCH 4, 2013 Austin Petsche Senior Macedonia, Ohio

You know, the only time I’ve actually been up here, in four years, was when I was called up to receive a Chipotle gift card . . . and that was pretty recent. Ha, yeah. So, I don’t plan to give you a quick bio about myself, or to even tell you about my likes or dislikes. Because frankly, I’m here to convey a message, and you probably already know a little about me from a certain student of the month poster, which by the way was completely accurate. Instead, I’m here to change your outlook. I am here to transform your perspective. I am here to present you with the opportunity to see life through my eyes. Ironically, despite all of today’s social media—the 24-7 updates, the constant tweets and bathroom “selfies,”all this technology that keeps us constantly connected—the youth of today is considered by some the most anti-social generation in history. Yeah. Not because we aren’t informed about others, not because I didn’t know that Sally was dating Brittney’s ex-boyfriend without Sarah’s consent, but because we don’t know each other. We don’t interact. We see people through a screen, through a snapchat, through an iPhone, through a laptop, whatever. We lose that real interaction that makes life so emotional and so worth living. And here’s the reason why. People are afraid . . . of awkwardness. They are so afraid that they purposely take routes to avoid it. They put their ear buds in or pretend to text, all just to avoid having to say hello. And you know who you are. But what people do not understand is the power of an awkward encounter. An awkward encounter is an opportunity to grow as a person; an opportunity to talk to that girl you’ve never had the courage to say hello to; an opportunity to make a new friend; an opportunity to learn something more about a person, about yourself; an opportunity to explore a new facet of life. Ladies and gentlemen, I am here to open your eyes to the power of the awkward encounter. Most recently, all of you were exposed to the crush-o-gram experience. Now this has been a Reserve tradition for quite a while, and

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most people participate. But most people choose to send crush-o-grams to their friends. You all need to understand upfront that it’s not about receiving crush-o-grams that makes the experience, but rather sending them. Now my freshman year, I chose to approach the crush-o-gram experience a little differently. I chose to send a crush-o-gram to the most attractive senior girl I could think of. And not only did I write a funny (and a bit suggestive!) message on it, I wrote MY NAME! For those of you who do not understand, writing your name is like signing a release form saying that you will take full responsibility for any and all injuries that may occur. Get it now? This was a train wreck waiting to happen. There were sooooo many possibilities as to how she might react, with the majority of them having me come off as “that creepy freshman.” But I did it anyway. Before I tell you the outcome, I want tell you a little about the art, of “playing it off.” Now the art of playing it off is an ancient practice, dating all the way back to the cavemen. Playing it off can be defined as pretending an embarrassing incident did not happen immediately following the said embarrassing incident. Some examples include: slipping on Brick Row and pretending to be practicing your slide into home plate for the upcoming baseball game; accidentally shouting the name of your friend at a stranger, whose back is to you, and then continuing to shout your friend’s name in the opposite direction in the hope that the stranger might not have noticed that you were initially shouting at him; or having a girl reject your offer to dance, and then immediately saying “oh, ha, noooo, I said I really like your pants.” If you have not had the pleasure of experiencing these awkward encounters here at Reserve just yet, do not be discouraged, because I promise they will come in due time. But don’t see them as bad things; see them as practice for life in the real world. Because let’s face it, high school is not the real world. If you can’t laugh it off, you will not survive. And plus, awkward experiences make for great stories. It also helps to have a group of friends that will back you up and laugh in your face when you are put in those awkward situations. Their laughter will force you to see the humor in your own life. And it will make you realize that life still goes on no matter how many times you screw up. But this is beside the point. All I’m trying to say is learn to play it off and you will be a much happier person. Now back to the story. It was the big day: Valentine’s day. The day that special senior girl would receive a crush-o-gram from this creepy freshman. But I was ready. This wasn’t my first tango. I had anticipated the possible outcomes and was ready for action. I had my

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escape route and “play it off” excuse all planned out. I was ready to go. But in reality, despite my portrayed courage and daring personality, I spent that whole day strategically avoiding her; and I was quite successful. As a couple days passed without any activity on that front, I deemed it safe to return to my normal routine. And with this decision, my world was changed. As I was changing my books and heading off to third period class, someone tapped me on the shoulder. I expectantly turned around to confront the person and to my dismay there she was: that stunningly beautiful senior girl to whom I had ignorantly sent a crush-o-gram. Yup. Greaaaaat. So, she started off by saying, “Ummmm, are you Austin Pettesh?” And in my mind I was thinking, “girl, I’ll be anything you want me to be.” Next, however, came the moment of truth, the moment I had been dreading from the start. My nightmares began to flood back into my mind. My palms began to get unnaturally sweaty, and I’m pretty sure that the only thing keeping me from running away was a paralyzing fear that had taken control of my body. I took a deep breath, braced for impact, and prepared myself for what would come next. She stopped, smiled, and then went on to say how sweet and funny my crush-o-gram was. After she finished telling me how it had completely made her day and was the highlight of her Valentine’s Day, she kissed me on the cheek and headed off to class. That was it. That was a taste of the fruits of my labor. That was why I put myself in that awkward position. That was why I had risked so much. It was because of the opportunity to share an experience like that. My goal in sharing this with you is not to talk about the “good old days” or to even make you buy my autobiography—which is currently being sold in the bookstore—but rather to show you that by actively putting yourself in awkward positions and welcoming those experiences, you have the power to change your life for the better. You know what? Forget what the social norm is. Be “that guy”, and “Just Do It.” Just, do it. Dig deep within yourself and find your thirty seconds of courage. Forget about what other people will think. If you believe you can improve someone else’s day and make them smile, then just do it. Because I guarantee you that when you make someone else laugh your own well-being will immediately improve. This I believe, people who see all of life, the good and the bad, as opportunities to grow and make experiences, will never be sad, will never be bored, and will never be lonely in this lifetime. So unplug from your iPods, tear yourself away from your laptops, and go out into that vast sea of people and soak up the awkwardness.

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MARCH 15, 2013 Matt Hard Senior Sunbury, Ohio

Good morning everyone! For those of you who haven’t had the great pleasure to meet me, my name is Matthew Hard—but please call me Matt. For the last year or so I have really wanted to make one of these speeches, and I finally decided to pick a day close to my birthday (somehow more meaningful I guess). I figured it would be easier to pick a date than pick a topic . . . and let me tell you, having the due date a week away is a great motivational tool. Obviously, I initially had no idea what I wanted to talk about, and knowing I was to be following Rob, Ben, Austin, and “Bad Girl” Candice, I really felt the pressure to step up my game. So I sent a text to a handful of my friends asking “What do you think I am most likely to talk about?” I have to say, my Freshman Green Key gave me a better answer than most of my four-year friends (Thanks guys!). However, after having sifted through my thoughts and memories, and a slew of “helpful” suggestions, I finally knew what I wanted to talk about. Starting off, the title of my speech today is “This I Believe: Work Hard and Never Settle.” The funny part, in my mind, is that I based this title off an actual button I have. On it is written a slogan my grandfather came up with: “A Hard Man is Good to Find.” What’s funnier is that my junior year I wore the button one day for kicks and giggles and was complimented on it, in passing, by my U.S. History teacher. She immediately continued to lecture, but five minutes later she asked me if it was actually appropriate. A classmate chimed in saying “No, it’s okay. It’s just his last name.” I wasn’t really sure how I

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would have answered, so I’m glad someone else helped me out. Anyway, the original intention of the button, I think, was to suggest that there is no one better than a Hard, because we are such hard-working people (so puny, I know). And it is this belief that I choose to speak about today. Over the last four years at Reserve, I have learned that one’s work ethic and attitude can make or break your experience here (and in life in general). Personally, I would advocate that working harder makes life here more fun. Now for those of you who know me personally, you know that I am not the best student; for everyone else, I will tell you that I don’t have an 8.6 average. Heck, I don’t even have a 6.5 average. However, I work hard in the grand scheme of things. Sports, arts, clubs, extracurricular activities, and other “leadership” orientated things. It is noteworthy, I’m not the best at sports though, nor am I the most athletic (I know, I know. It’s surprising. It looks as though I can bench more than Rob Stephens and run a 400 faster than Joe Blanda. But I can’t.) However, I can say that I learned to try something I wasn’t too comfortable with and worked hard at it. My senior year, this year, I decided to try out for the diving team. (I mean, come on, who doesn’t want to see me in a Speedo?) For the first month of practices I was so red, and not from smacking against the water every day, but because I was so nervous I was going to fail. I spent so much time and effort trying to learn certain dives and worked even harder not to be afraid of scraping against the diving board (a relatively difficult thing to get over after having scraped my back and calf early in the season). And even though I was only on JV, in the end I

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had tried something new I truly enjoyed. I know that the work and effort I put into diving gave me the confidence to put myself out there. Additionally, and probably more fitting, I believe that even working hard on something relatively trivial, such as art, can benefit you in the long run (and often in ways completely unexpected). In a bit I’ll explain why art is kind of ironic for me, but I will say now that because I developed a skill some would consider little more than a pointless hobby, I have won awards, received scholarships, and now have a job lined up for the next four years working in a college art studio. All hard work pays off . . . sometimes quite literally! Working hard is essential, but working hard towards something specific is really the point of life. Some people work hard to be a nicer person, to get a better job, towards a higher power, or towards being happy. While I have learned this to be true, you should know things can and do change. As a somewhat greasy middle-schooler, I had thought I was going to be stuck in Sunbury Ohio for the rest of my life. Thankfully, this changed because of hard work. Like many here, I took part in some “Mid-west talent search”, a program where adults fool little kids into thinking tests are fun, and sat through the SAT and ACTs (thinking about it, I have no idea why sitting through four-hour tests sounded remotely appealing). Now, I think I studied as much for the tests then as I did the past year or so… not at all. But because I took the tests seriously, I received a lovely little postcard that changed my life. It had a time, place, and a date on it. Sketchy, right? But after going to the orientation, and learning it was an invitation to attend Sunbury, Ohio Western Reserve Academy, Known For:  Corn I knew I was going to leave  Wheat Podunk Sunbury Ohio.  Old Nestle Factory  Antique Markets Coming into my freshman  Dairy year, I played football. As  Cattle shows Rob described how much  Local Girl Scout Troops fun and forgiving it was, I didn’t find it appealing and told myself I was done. I quit a little into sophomore year and thought

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Embarrassing, I know

“Ha, never going to do that again”. Two years later I found myself back here, an extra week earlier than Preseason to attend Football camp. What the heck. However, looking back at the season now (a good 4 months since), I would actually say I enjoyed playing and the friendships I made. Full of great enlightened ideas, freshman year also gave me another brilliant idea. I added in Art I on top of Woodworking so that I could get my art requirement out of the way and “never waste my time on Art again”. Believe it or not, I had planned to not take another art class in my Reserve career, and thought art was a giant waste of time (I still do, but for other reason). Hopefully most of you know that blew back in my face and I’ve taken art with Mr. Armbruster every year since. What’s even more funny is how big of an impact art has had in my life (kind of a big portion of my time).

On top of working hard, you need to learn to never settle. Living in such a tight community, when something happens, everyone knows, and the truth changes from person to person. There were always times when it seemed like nobody ever knew the full truth about things. I didn’t want to settle for hearsay; I wanted the administrations answers and opinions. I felt that Mr. Burner might be able to tell me what the others couldn’t. After a few lengthy discussions with him about our school, he and I created a mutual symbiotic relationship where I would

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get answers, and he got uncensored opinions. Mr. Burner and I eventually would discuss more pressing and larger issues about the school and to help him out, I started hosting ‘fireside chats’, inviting students who would be honest with him. Now, not only was I getting the real story, but everyone was able to get things out in the open. I learned to never settle for anything less. While I was at art camp, I visited Case Western Reserve on an unofficial college visit, and told myself it was a good enough school, even though it didn’t fit my personality. Weeks later, I went on a spree of college visits, and found the one of my dreams. Babson. It was such a perfect fit and everything I wanted, the only problem was the cost, and getting in. Coming into senior year, I did everything I could to get in. I improved my GPA, I got even more involved, and had Mr. Burner and Mr. Bugg, two different heads of school, write me a letter of recommendation. If there was overkill for applications, it was mine. I was not going to settle for anything less than what I wanted. Clearly, hard work has shaped my life and given me an abundance of opportunities. Being at Reserve for four years has enhanced my drive, and taught me that settling gets you nowhere. If you settle, you have no desire to work hard, and if you work hard, you have no excuse to settle. This I believe: Work Hard and Never Settle; you will be amazed how many doors you can open for yourself.

[The pictures accompanying the text above (along with a few others not reprinted here) were part of a PowerPoint presentation projected on a screen at the front of the Chapel during Matt’s speech.]

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APRIL 8, 2013 Max Fausnight Senior Canton, Ohio

When I first came to Western Reserve Academy I hated it. Within the two-week time period of preseason I came to the conclusion I would not attend school at WRA the following year. You see, at home I was very happy; I had so much fun with all of my closest friends, my grades were excellent, and I had an amazing girlfriend. I used to drive myself nuts in my room deciding whether or not I wanted to leave or stay. The nostalgic side of me would always pull towards home; I would consider how genuinely happy I was with my girlfriend, my friends, and the overall environment. My mature side would push for WRA because of how different the situation was. I told myself I would need to surround myself with successful people, whether I liked it or not, in order to be successful. I used to go absolutely bonkers with the pushing and pulling of my conscience. I promised myself I'd tell my parents I wanted to leave over winter break. Well . . . I only made it to Thanksgiving break. My mother and father understood, despite their desire for me to remain at WRA. And this is when I learned something that defines my life as I know it. My father went to WRA for his freshman and sophomore years and then left. He explained to me that he was in love with a girl, and that this was a big reason why he had left the school. Although I found myself in almost the exact same position, I discovered that his decision to leave was one of the biggest regrets of his life, which made me start looking for reasons to stay at school. Another defining moment in my early high school career—one that ultimately pushed me to stay at WRA—involved my aunt. I once foolishly declared to her that all of the vacations I had taken when I was younger were a waste of time because I didn’t remember anything from them. My aunt immediately stepped in: “You are wrong Max! You are wrong because even though you don't remember those moments, some of them may nevertheless define who you are, and not many people can say they have moments similar to yours.” These wise words hold importance in my life, and I believe that Reserve gives every single one of you opportunities to have such

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moments on a daily basis. I personally don’t believe I could have matched my own experiences here had I gone to a public school. Instead of just ending my speech on that somewhat helpful observation, I have (without any guidance) come up with a list of three important things I have experienced at WRA—and that have changed me for the better—which I don’t believe I could have found anywhere else. I would ask all of you to try to do each of these things before you leave here, and if you complete one before this year ends please tell me. Number One: Do an activity that only Reserve can offer. For me, this was pottery. I learned and perfected a skill I never would have otherwise. This skill opened me up to a whole new circle of friends, gave me a well versed appreciation for artwork, and exposed me to one of the craziest and wisest people I know, Mr. Armbruster. Mr. Armbruster teaches in a way no other teacher can mimic. He graces students with the gift of having another approach to learning. The critical thinking skills I have picked up in the art room have energized my learning in other classes in a most helpful way. I never would have thought that what seemed to be meaningless artwork would help me so much in my other subjects. If you don't like art, that’s okay. Just find some sort of passion that drives you, and you will surely better yourself as a student—and perhaps be inspired by a role model in whatever area you do find your passion is in. Number Two: Although it didn't conclude the way I would have liked, falling in love at WRA was one of the best things I did for myself. Alfred Lord Tennyson once wrote: “’Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.” Well people, I have loved and lost in ways I hope none of you ever experience, and though it has been a most painful experience each and every time, I promise you it was always well worth it. Not only have my relationships kept me at WRA countless times, but they have also helped me to develop excellent communication skills whereby I have learned things about myself and other people that I would not have even been close to learning in a public institution. The close quarters of a relationship on this campus provide you with a chance to really test yourself; it allows you to see what you can handle in other people and what you can handle within yourself. I am forever grateful of my experiences of love at WRA. Number Three: Pick a fight. I found that challenging authority has prepared me for the real world in ways the classroom alone couldn't possibly match. Ask questions of your teachers and demand answers. Your relationships with these teachers will undoubtedly grow closer, and the lessons learned will be beneficial for both parties. Being able to

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develop an idea and then sell it is an invaluable skill for everyone sitting in this Chapel today. Every single one of you has, or will one day have, a job interview. In this instance you will need to convincingly communicate who you are and what you believe in to another person sitting in a position of power above youâ&#x20AC;&#x201D;just as you do when you constructively challenge a teacher here. This I believe, you are made into the person you are by the experiences you have. Therefore, make the most of what this school has to offer by putting yourself out there. Your resulting experiences will surely prove beneficial to your subsequent development.

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MAY 3, 2013 Nicky Waldeck Senior Glen Ellyn, Illinois

Growing up I was definitely a handful. For some reason I broke a disturbingly large number of valuable possessions. Every time I kicked a ball through our porch screen or broke a lamp, my dad would give me this speech. He’d start by asking me, “What do you have to offer to benefit this society?” If he were really mad, he’d point outside to a tree and say, “You see that tree over there? That tree gives this world oxygen; that small tree gives back more to this world than you.” After being told the “all you do is consume” speech enough times, the significance behind the reprimanding started to resonate, and the idea of self-worth struck my interest. How does one assess their value on this planet? My struggle with this topic began at a very young age. I’ve always had this undeniably sharp competitive edge—to the point where losing at anything made me physically ill. I don’t exactly know what is wrong with me. Maybe I was dropped on my head during childbirth. Regardless, I saw (well . . . see) everything in life as a competition, and I must come out on top. Every time someone finishes an ice cream cone before me, a little piece of me dies inside. And to this day, losing a game of checkers or cards makes me want to flip over the card table. Luckily for all of you, I’ve learned the art of hiding my crazy and channeling the competitive spirit into other activities. Entering Reserve was no exception. Within the first few weeks of fall preseason, I began to set goals for myself. I became obsessed with these goals and obsessed with the idea of winning—to the point where if I didn’t meet my own personal standards for that particular game or season, I began to seriously doubt myself. It was around the end of my sophomore year when I realized that I had come to equate self-worth with my performances, particularly on the athletic field. You see, there’s a problem with goal-oriented people. They are predominantly successful, but only to a certain extent. Recently, through the help of some of my advisors, like Ms. Karam, Ms. Evans, and Mrs. Morris, it’s all become very clear to me. Celebrating solely external satisfactions, like statistics or paychecks, is no way to live. You are setting yourself up to

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fail by relishing in the stereotypical frame of success. Life is not winning and losing. In fact, there are very few times in life when a situation is so black and white. I don’t want anyone to take this the wrong way, but no one is going to remember whether or not you scored the winning goal in your JV boys soccer game, or if you maintained a 6.8 GPA all four years, if you had the most beautiful hair, or hooked up with the most girls. What people remember is how you made them feel. That is how you measure self-worth. It’s how you interact with others: Do you make a room lighter as you enter? Do you elevate this campus? Do you elevate this world? There is beauty in everything and everyone. High self-worth, in my own opinion, is the ability to recognize and appreciate the beauty around you and provide those you encounter with positive energy. The world we live in holds this duality, and it has to do with surrendering your ego. You are one in a billion, we are all merely grains of sand at the bottom of an ocean, and yet, we are all so powerful. You have the ability to make someone’s day with a simple wink or (dare I say it) a hug. One compliment can light up someone’s world, and that power is something we should take more seriously here. When you start to get wrapped up in your own life’s problems and “To Do” lists, look up in the sky and think about the fact that we all belong to something much, much bigger. The best way to describe it is to think about when you’re on an airplane. Imagine: you’re sitting there worried about who’s going to pick you up at the airport and how you’re going to pass your Econ exam when you look to the right and outside that small window and see miles of blue and hundreds of rolling white clouds. As you glide over the Chicago skyline you see millions of headlights and streetlamps and think to yourself, I wonder what that person down there is thinking. I wonder what their problems are. And for a minute, all your worries and fears subside. Let that feeling surround you, and find comfort in the fact that we belong to something greater, something greater than you and me, this school, and even this country. In this growing age of information, cyberspace provides an unrealistic realm for people relish in external satisfactions. Teenagers use Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and Vine as a crutch—and also a tool to feed their egos. This school needs a good dose of reality every once in a while. Not one person in this room is the center of the universe, and the world will go on if you lose a game or fail a test. Surrender your ego. Everyone in this room has immense depth and value, so much to contribute.

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This can be applied to those of you stressing about college. A wise man and woman once told me to never forget the fact that college is not the final goal; college is simply the vehicle to get you there. And never let the vehicle be more important that the final destination. We’re completely wrapped up in our own egos and are utterly driven by fear. I genuinely believe there is a path or road we’re meant to take, and it is our job to not allow fear, temptation, guilt, and our egos to be the compass that guides us. This man told me to listen to my heart and let my mind take me there and said if you can do that, I promise you everything will work out. It will all be ok. What we need to do, as a community, is praise those who make Reserve a better place to live. We must praise those who possess internal beauty rather than external. We must suspend judgment and stay positive. It’s important to see people for whom they really are . . . and that has nothing to do with how many friends they have or their GPA. Rather, it is their battles chosen and the pillars by which they choose to live that we derive value. I have a younger sister who might be coming to Reserve in a few years. Her name is Morgan and she is twelve. Morgan isn’t brilliant like Katie, nor does she excel on the athletic field like Matt and me. But I can promise you this; Morgan has a bigger heart than all three of us combined. She is loving, compassionate and kind to all. Any school would be lucky to have her. I need to know that Morgan is entering a community that will love her for who she is and not because she’s an insane athlete or because she has a 12th grade reading level, but because she’s an incredible human being. Celebrate those who elevate this campus. Praise the hidden and silent gems at this school, because this I believe, self-worth comes from within.

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MAY 3, 2013 Sam Clark Senior Hudson, Ohio

First, full disclosure: my Senior Thesis paper was on a similar topic and that may seem lazy. To which I completely agree. I’m a senior taking only four credits; did you really expect something original? Notice what I’m reading off of, right now. I’m reading words printed in a black ink and affixed to this white plane of a very thin wood-based material. It’s truly marvelous, and yet there is nothing particularly magnificent or glamorous about it at all. Now, first, I’d like to thank my first grade teacher, Mrs. Knight, for her exemplary lessons in the proper use of such pages as these in reading and speaking—and for her patient instruction in keeping my hands to myself. I would also like to mention how important it is that I wrote this all out. Extemporaneous speeches are fun and all, but truly great speeches are always written down, whether half an hour before delivery or planned months in advance. (Try to guess which one this is.) The printing of words on paper is what gives power to the speech and lends permanence to its message. If Thomas Jefferson had merely stood on the Jersey Shore, and, facing the general direction of England, yelled “When in the Course of human events, it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the political bonds which have connected them to another . . .”, then the Declaration of Independence would have likely done little more than startle some passing dolphin into the belief that it too had the right to Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness. We all need to write down our own story, our portion of history, no matter how small it is. A compilation of tweets might show the dayto-day drudgery of a small Midwestern city, but they don’t really tell your true story because 1) The plot is spotty, the characters are unlikeable, and the spelling is atrocious; and 2) your story isn’t "The Truman Show." You don’t just list the play-by-play and hope the viewer understands why you’re doing each action. Without explicitly stating your beliefs and justifying your actions, your own life is left up to others to interpret. Moreover, you should write not just for yourself but for the benefit of others. Often, others yearn to understand you greatly.

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Writing lets you express your feelings and tell your story, whether it be autobiographical or a just a tale about a young solar mass named Jeffy (much more emotional than you might guess). Let’s be honest here; while we are all bright intelligent people, we can’t all write the next “Great American novel,” discover the cure for cancer, or become the next Honey Boo Boo. I’m sorry to be the one to have to break this to you. However, every single person in this room can contribute to the history of themselves and this community. We can write about what we know and have. I’ll go ahead and say it: BUFO is better than The New Yorker. Sure it doesn’t have extremely dry comics and long-form essays on the Iditarod, but it has what I actually want to read: stories and poems by my friends. Likewise, Viewpoints lets me peruse the opinions of people I care most about—not simply some disembodied angry voice on the radio—on issues that matter to me. After all, I care most about the issues that affect my school or are written by people who represent my school. And obviously, The Reserve Record is the greatest newspaper on earth—and that is a very unbiased opinion. Where else can you find increasingly difficult crosswords next to a stirring opinion about the closing of our neighborhood Mecca: Caribou Coffee. These institutional writing outlets are available for your use and, as Mr. Ong can attest, are begging for your input. They want nothing more than to tell the collective narrative of the school by allowing you to tell your own story. Whether you like or dislike the changes you see, write about it and provide future generations of students and faculty the true views of our school today. It's easy to forget the opinions of those who came before us when there is no written record left behind. And let me tell you, it's a hell of a lot easier to write your feelings down than to actually speak them in front of some 450 pairs of staring eyes. This I Believe: While AP Econ notes may fade, stuffed binders may break, and old tests may or may not be tossed into glorious glowing bonfires at the end of each school year, contributions to student publications like BUFO, Viewpoints, The Reserve Record or the collegiate equivalents will live on in the archives of said schools and on the bookshelves of their alumni for years and years. Write your own story, and use the tools available to you as a platform to present who you really are. It is a more powerful act than you might at first think.

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MAY 6, 2013 Eilidh Jennes Senior Bella Vista, Arkansas

A few years ago, I sat in a pew up in the balcony and pictured myself delivering a speech about something breezy, like passion, or the power of poetry, or love . . . things that were within my areas of expertise at the ripe old age of fourteen. Believe me when I tell you that I’m still very willing to rant about these things; and you can ask me to coffee if you’re interested. But recently, as I started to brainstorm for this one, big announcement to my community, I realized I could use this time to address more relevant things. “This I Believe” speeches, I do believe, have the power to enlighten, to inspire, to motivate, and to teach. Ultimately, I decided my time up here would be best spent talking about two things I feel like a few of us are starting to forget amongst the hustle and bustle of many innovative changes: open communication and community. When I came back to the US from France after spending a glorious year failing at communication and becoming really great at faking it, my homes were divided. My family no longer lived an hour away from campus. My dad now lives in Washington D.C. and my mom has moved to Arkansas. My two best friends returned home to Seattle, Washington and Huston, Texas; and shortly thereafter my boyfriend headed to his first year of college in New Haven, Connecticut. I confused many college representatives by telling them I lived in Ohio, no, D.C., no, Arkansas (could that be my hook?) all in one sitting. Regardless of the numerous hours a week I spend talking to friends and family over the phone, Reserve has truly become my home. 115 College Street is still the only address I know by heart. I believe in the power of this community to positively transform individuals in four years. Really, despite recent cynicism, I do. I believe in Morning Meetings as a form for communication that works much better than portal posts or mass emails. I believe in face-time, and I’m not talking about cell phone novelties. Speaking of cell phones, I believe in keeping them tucked in pockets when someone is speaking to you; although I’ll admit I’m a culprit of sneaking a glance at a text from time

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to time. I believe in sit-down meals with faculty and relaxed lunches with friends, because I have learned more about the world and myself during those conversations than I have in all of my classes combined. I believe in clubs having enough time to effectively communicate and work toward a common goal before members have to rush off to team sports, where communication is the key to winning. I believe in the arts, because I believe in self-expression as a form of communication. I believe communication is what makes our community Reserve. I believe in a community where everyone can flourish and be accepted. Although we can never know everything about someone else (Shout out to Ms. Kidera’s first semester AP class!), our struggle in getting there can result in amazing things. Empathy is a valuable skill. Most problems can be resolved through conversation. Conflict between countries, states, families, friends, students and teachers, and even within individuals can be solved. Peace is obtainable, simply by talking and trying to understand a point of view that is different from your own. None of us know what we want, but we all want the same thing. Great community supports great communication and vice versa. Discuss with, listen to, acknowledge, and love the people in this chapel. Despite sweet technology, and having more ways to communicate now than ever, we’re missing connections. Let it be known that I, the same person who is up here shoving a speech about knowing one another down your throats, am a huge hypocrite. Before spring break, Ms. Karam challenged my Mission in Action class to learn everyone at the school’s name. I cut up a Reserve face book and started counting faces. It makes me cringe to admit that I could only name 173 of you. That’s 43%. At the time, I could name a mere six freshmen. I started with the intention of memorizing all of the names I didn’t know but had to stop when I found myself holding a picture of a freshman boy and whispering his name over and over and over, like “Joel Riechers, Joel Riechers, Joel Riechers.” (Joel, could you stand up? Hi!) Up until yesterday, when I asked Joel for permission to use him in my speech, we had never spoken. OUR SCHOOL IS NOT THAT BIG. That’s ridiculous, guys. Upon graduating, I’m starting to regret how few students I feel like I know well. Please don’t let it happen to you. Say hello on Brick Row. Ask questions. Get invested, because people are pretty incredible. Get to know and love the people around you.

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MAY 10, 2013 Bill Feng Senior Henan Province, China

Good morning ladies and gentlemen, honorable judges . . . oh wait, sorry, today there are no judges . . . esteemed faculty, Mr. and Mrs. President, Supreme Leaders, and fabulous peers, my name is Bill Feng. But, of course, you already know this. Today my topic is . . . what . . . what is it? Oh yeah, “this I believe!” First of all, I have to state that due to the extensive negative reaction to my previous duck dancing on this podium, I will not be doing that again . . . whatsoever. My freshman year, I was known as the notorious “Wild Bill” because I happened to drop a biology book from the balcony of this Chapel during a Morning Meeting. Since then, I have attempted to change my negative figure, which has been pretty unsuccessful. Thanks to my public speaking teacher, Mr. Donnelly, I was able to participate in the 2009 Extemporaneous Speaking Contest. The speech prompt was rather interesting: “I knew I was in trouble upon (blank).” I chose to elaborate on my public embarrassments and private frustrations while attempting to socialize in the WRA community, and thereby entitled my speech “I knew I was in trouble upon entering Western Reserve Academy.” As probably only seniors can recall, that was where the duck dance paradigm commenced. Although the speech received a first place award, because of my duck dancing, I was given a free ticket to a Saturday night tour of Seymour 201. Anyways, that was when I actually recognized my interest in public speaking. To some extent, my entire freshman year was a continuous embodiment of the “I knew I was in trouble” moment. Calling Mr. Hoffman by some five different names was only one aspect of it. I tried to solve the problem of face recognition by memorizing everyone’s name off the WRA Facebook, yet this turned out to be ineffective. The side effect was rather interesting. That year I could recite every single person’s last name and middle name, yet I was still unable to match any names with faces. The only success that I gained from trying my hardest was switching my math and science classes up a level. However, not only did this nerdy movement not gain me any respect or recognition, it

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opened up a two-year long period of me suffering as an awkward underclassman either being constantly electrocuted by a three-person electrostatic chain or being constantly forced onto the carpet in the WRAp during class sessions of Environmental Science. But it was this same struggle that made me capable of pursuing a career as an engineer or a scientific researcher. This is probably why I really value the phrase “fortune favors the bold,” as it was, to some extent, the best summary of my second and third years in WRA. Although I failed most of the times, I still kept on trying, because I always had the hope that one day I could become successful. My second chance came in the midst of my junior year, when the Extemporaneous Speaking Contest came back after a year’s absence. Thanks to Mr. Klyce, I was provided with the opportunity to stand in front of the student body a second time. The prompt for speech was, “If life gives you lemons, make lemonade.” I attempted to convey the idea of never giving up in math and science, and I expressed my further hope of achieving more through competitions. Feeling more experienced this second time around, I thought that I could achieve concurrence or resonance of some sort, yet I was seen as incompetent in comparison to the professional Zachary Zocholl. This defeat made me realize that determination alone doesn’t always yield victory. When life gives me lemons, I really cannot do anything apart from making lemonade. I cannot even ride my bike as fast as possible anymore, as its tires went flat just a few days ago. So this is the third, and perhaps last, time that I will ever stand on this podium. It’s been a long time coming, as all my ambition and effort have converged to a rather dull conclusion. Throughout my career at WRA, I am not as accomplished as those successful students. I’ve never been invited to any kind of social activity, and I haven’t received a varsity letter in any sport. In this case, I have speculated upon myself and reviewed what I might have done better. So this I believe, always make the best preparation, always keep trying, and always expect for the worst outcome. Just as Mr. Gibbons says after three wonderful workout circuits “sometimes hard work does not pay off.” Anyways, I hope that you all can all learn from my flaws and failure, and become accomplished and successful here. Last, but certainly not least, you might have noticed that I just changed my tone from being a funny guy to a serious weirdo. If I could make one suggestion, it would be to not make such a change in your speechesespecially when you are in a contest. Everyone listening to your speech is with you, not against you. In my personal opinion, public

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speaking is more about creating and promoting the atmosphere than reading whatever words that are on the sheet, since, realistically, not many people could withstand monotonic speaking for a consecutive hour. Finally, I would like to thank Western Reserve Academy for cultivating me as a person. I did change quite a bit, from ignorant to skillful, from immature to rational, and most importantly, from unprepared to prepared for college. I mean, seriously, itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s been a good four years, I would like to thank everyone here for your support, especially those who are like me, taking the AP Stat exam. Thank you.

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MAY 10, 2013 Jing Zhu Senior Foshan, Guangdong China

To be honest, the topic of my speech has lingered in my head for a long time now, but I really don’t know where to start. I’ve always wanted to do a “This I Believe” speech this year—if just to keep alive my tradition of making a speech at the end of each school year. Actually, that’s a lie. I’ve only done a speech once before, at the end of my sophomore year. Last year I was too busy. You know what I mean, don’t you juniors, with all the APs and college application stuff? I was pretty bummed, though, that I didn’t do it. Then I started to comfort myself—”it’s OK, it’s just this one time.” NO! IT’S NOT OK. This has been my excuse for too many things, and I’ve missed so many opportunities now that I don’t have time to catch up. I am going to quote myself from two years ago. The following is the opening line from my sophomore-year speech. (Let’s see how many of you still remember it.) “Life is long, but when you divide it into stages, each one becomes much shorter. Then each stage is divided into sections. On and on, your whole life could be cut down into years, days, or even hours. Years later, after graduation, when you look back, ask yourself, ‘What did you do during those four years at Reserve?’” It is so cliché, but it is true. Reserve has lots and lots of great teachers and students; Reserve provides tons and tons of fantastic opportunities and activities. Go out and get involve in one more thing; that could make all the difference. I am not ashamed to tell you (well, I guess I am a little ashamed, to some degree) that I self-nominated myself for a seat on the Honor Council as a brand new International sophomore when, in fact, I had no idea even what Honor Council was. All I had grasped from Mrs. Boomhower’s Morning Meeting announcement that year was that a new organization had been founded to help students. I quickly sent an email nominating myself. That one email changed my Reserve career. Even my Common Application essay is about my experiences serving on the Council. I have learned so much from this unique experience over these past three years, and I am really glad that I clicked on the send button after writing only my name on the email expressing my interest to Mrs. Boomhower.

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Since then, I have tried starting a Kung fu Club as well as a Shuttlecock Club. Unfortunately, neither of these activities turned out as well as I had hoped. Only two people came to learn Kung fu from me— (they were Kevin Ly and Thomas Kuo), and no one came for Shuttlecock (which is unbelievable, to me, because I think it’s so cool—it is my favorite sport! It is easy to play. In fact, I’ll show . . . [At this point in her presentation Jing starts kicking shuttlecocks into the crowd as souvenirs.] Alright, returning to my theme. Even though my clubs were not that successful, the experiences that I gained are priceless to me. Few people believed that I could arrange a tai chi competition at school, but I tried anyway. It was a tough process—(tougher than what I had expected. I thought about giving up multiple times, but I did it. If you never try something you will never know. Candace Klein was right: nothing is impossible; failure doesn’t exist. Loung Ung told us that peace is not granted. I would say that opportunities should not be taken for granted. We are very lucky to be here at Reserve, where we can learn more than we imagine. If you use your heart to observe, to hear, to communicate, and to try to fit in as much as your schedule allows, you will find a brand new school all around you. Sometimes one new opportunity does not lead you directly to success, but it generally shows you the way to other great opportunities. Don’t let various excuses take you over—”I have homework;” “I need to sleep;” and, the worst one of all, “I’ll do it next time.” All these “one time” push-offs add up, little by little, and in the end you will regret what you have missed. So this I believe, get involved and take the chances that might possibly lead you to greater opportunities. Be brave, confident, and eager for new adventures. Most importantly, live your life.

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MAY 13, 2013 Leila Wojtkowski Barbeau Senior Nottingham, New Hampshire

Spending four years at Reserve was not my intention. I actually never wanted to spend my time in high school over 700 miles away from home and my family. But, as decision letters detailing the possibilities for the next four years of my life rolled in, I found myself stuck. Reserve became my best option, and within a few days my forms were signed and the envelope sealed. Not until later would I understand what this decision would come to mean. The twelve-hour drive down to Ohio that August was the worst I had ever made. I was full of regret and dreading whatever embarrassing questions my parents would ask and the two-week long field hockey preseason with MF that was approaching quickly. After moving in and meeting my roommate, Nicky, the time came for my parents to leave. I cried as Mrs. McKee hugged me, and then MF drove me to practice in her golf cart. Looking back now, I’m thankful that I experienced being left on my own at school at fourteen, instead of going into college at eighteen with this experience. Nicky and I didn’t say much of anything to each other the first three months that we lived together on Ellsworth 3rd. The first real conversation we had was initiated by a prefect, and we both said that we didn’t want to live with each other anymore. I learned several weeks later that all it took was honesty, and a willingness to work at our relationship, to become better roommates. Eventually we had a song of the week that we would listen to every night before bed. Nicky would always beat me at any game we came up with that involved the minibasketball hoop on the back of our door, and we would hide under the covers whenever Millie would come breaking down the door at one o’clock in the morning to tell us to stop laughing so loudly. I have come to see that my roommate problem ultimately served a good purpose. It taught me to express how I feel sooner rather than later and to give people more credit, because no one is ever as you initially make them out to be. But as one problem was fixed, more seemed to come. I began to think more often that I had made a huge mistake in choosing Reserve.

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My grades were reflective of such an idea. I struggled to meet Mrs. Campbell’s English paper standards, I fell asleep regularly in half of my classes, and I was even given a 2.5 on my final Latin exam (a grade which doesn’t actually exist on the Reserve grading scale). Study hall became the place I spent every evening. I ended the year with a 4.34 average. I considered myself a terrible student. But, in reality, it took that year to get me to realize I was capable of so much. Without that year, I think that I would have taken the next three for granted. I debated on whether or not to put this next part in my speech, but I feel as though it has a permanent place in the story of the time I have spent at Reserve. My freshman and sophomore years I was constantly made fun of by upperclassman because, at the time, I was dating one. In a community as tightly knit as this one, it was no surprise that everyone knew in record time that I was dating a senior my first year here. Through all of the rumors that were started, things that were said to me—not only by my peers, but by teachers as well (and even an all school email that was sent with the intention to humiliate me)— several valuable things became clear to me. I only had one year to spend time with someone I truly cared about, and everything that people had thought or said wouldn’t matter in a year’s time, let alone after my time at Reserve was over. Because of this experience, I learned how to be strong, to ignore what was being said about me to my face and behind my back, and also how to communicate better. I will always be thankful to my friends who took the time to listen then and now. By the end of my second year here, the light seemed to shine a little more brightly on things. My grades were improving, and I had finally become independent enough that seeing my family every three months was sufficient. I took possession of the idea that I was my own person, held my own beliefs, was responsible for my own experiences, and didn’t need to change to meet anyone’s standards. The next four years of my life are still an unknown piece of the puzzle. After being denied from my first, second, and third choices for college, and being placed on two different waitlists, I was forced to reevaluate my situation. Even though those rejection letters weren’t desirable, they changed my outlook on life. Although everything is still up in the air, I hope to return home to New England. I’m excited at the prospect of being home for upcoming birthdays, family dinners, my brother’s soccer games, and the beginning of his high school career. Because of my these college rejections, I will get to make up the time I lost these past four years with my grandparents, my younger

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brother, Ethan, and my parents, who for the past four years have put my education before themselves. This I believe: Everything happens for a reason. Whether it be big or small, there is always reason for the seemingly random events in your life. In the end, coming to Reserve taught me the value of a great education and that good questions are more important than esay answers. Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ve learned to love this school through all of its trials and tribulations. I have gained independence and the ability to take care of both myself and those around me. I have learned how to communicate and open myself up to new situations. I have to realize that test and exam grades will not dictate how successful you will be after high school. True friends love you, support you, and stand up for you during difficult times. So, although some of my time at here at Reserve wasnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t desirable in the least, I will miss this place and those with whom Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ve made fantastic memories. This I believe: Cherish all the rough times you travel through during your time here. Even though that may be difficult, in the end, everything works out for the best, and you learn more about yourself than you ever thought you would in high school. Thank you to everyone who has shaped me into the person I am today, especially the softball team, my advisor Mrs. McKenzie, and Mrs. Rinehart. I could not have done it without you.

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VIEWPOINTS SURVEY: SPRING 2013 KEY Day Student

Boarding Student

Faculty/Staff

♂

Male

♀

Female

Non-binary

Freshman

Sophomore

Junior

Senior

TOTAL

203

< As a Citizen of the World > To which of the major political parties do you either belong or most closely associate yourself with? Democratic 27.6%

24.4%

18.5%

33.3%

22.1%

Republican 39%

23.8%

22.2%

14.9%

33.3%

29.4%

Independent 10.5%

18.8%

14.8%

25.4%

12.5%

14.7%

Other 1.9% 0%

3.8%

4.5% 1.4%

1.5%

Undecided 21% 44.4%

204

29.4% 19.4%

♂ 33.8% ♀ 29.1% 2 26.8% T30.7% 9 1 2 25.5% 27.5% 40% ♂ ♀ 2 2 2 32.4% T26.8% 4 2 2 40% 2♂ 20% ♀ 14.8% 2 19.7% T17.5% 2 2 2 0% 2.8% ♂ ♀ 3.8% 9 2. 2 8.5% T3.3% 89 2 9. 20% ♂ 17.9% ♀ 24.7% 1 0%

50.7%

4.5% 32.4%

12.7%

T21.7%

Which of the following best describes your level of political involvement and/or understanding? I don’t care about, nor do I pay much attention to, political issues at all. 6.7%

10.6%

18.5%

20%

3.0%

9.7%

5.9%

♂ 5.5% ♀ 9.3% 4.2%

T7.8%

I’m somewhat interested in political issues, but I only know about what I hear around campus or at home. 54.3%

52.5%

53.7%

40%

51.4%

51.5%

♂ 38.6% ♀ 48.9% 56.3%

T44.3%

I’m quite interested in political issues, and I try to read a news source whenever I have the time. 33.3%

30.6%

24.1%

40%

61.2%

30.6%

36.8%

♂ 39.3% ♀ 36.3% 3 33.8% 37.7% 9. T 3

I’m extremely interested in the world of politics and current social issues, and I make sure to update myself daily on national news and current events. 5.7% 3.7%

6.3%

26.9% 8.3%

5.9%

♂ 16.6% ♀ 5.5% 5.6%

T10.2%

205

How often do you engage in a conversation that covers politics or current events? Very often, at least 2 or 3 times a week 19%

17.5%

18.5%

20%

34.3%

16.7%

16.2%

♂ %26.2 ♀ 17.6% 21.1%

T21.4%

Regularly, once a week or so 30.5%

25.6%

20.4%

20%

28.4%

31.9%

36.8%

♂ 29% ♀ 26.9% 19.7%

T27.7%

Occasionally, once every few weeks 28.6%

31.9%

16.7%

40%

25.4%

29.2%

35.3%

♂ 29% ♀ 29.7% 38%

T29.5%

Only very rarely 12.4%

16.9%

22.2%

20%

10.4%

18.1%

5.9%

Almost never 9.5% 22.2%

206

8.1%

1.5% 4.2%

5.9%

♂ 13.1% ♀ 14.8% 1 14.2% 15.5% 3. T 1 ♂ 2.8% ♀ 11% 5.6%

T7.2%

Which of the following best describes your own feelings about the issue of “global warming” and/or “climate change”? I believe that modern human society is causing a negative impact on climate and that it represents a serious threat to the planet. 44.8%

48.1%

51.9%

60%

68.7%

51.4

42.6%

♂ 51% ♀ %51.1 42.3%

T51.2%

There seems to be credible evidence that global climate has been changing—with some adverse consequences—but I don’t believe there is sufficient proof that humans are primarily responsible and therefore probably not a lot that we can do about it. 39%

35.0%

27.8%

40%

17.9%

34.7%

45.6%

♂ 31.7% ♀ 33.5% 36.6%

T32.8%

I think environmental activists have hyped up this issue in order to advance their own radical agenda. 9.5%

9.4%

5.6%

10.4% 11.1%

4.4%

♂ 11.7% ♀ 8.2% 15.5%

T9.6%

Global warming? Hey, were you here in Ohio this past winter and spring?! 6.7% 14.8%

7.5%

3% 2.8%

7.4%

♂ 5.5% ♀ 7.1% 5.6%

T6.3%

207

Which of the following best describes your views gay marriage? It should be legal everywhere in the United States 70.5%

70.6%

77.8%

80%

76.1%

65.3%

66.2%

♂ 62.8% ♀ 78.6% 74.6%

T71.7%

The institution of marriage should be legal only between a man and a woman, but some other legal arrangement, such as a “civil union,” could be made available for same-sex couples. 14.3%

12.5%

5.6%

17.9%

20.8%

14.7%

♂ 17.2% ♀ 12.1% 9.9%

T14.2%

There should be no legal recognition by any state of either marriage or civil union between two people of the same sex. 6.7%

7.5%

7.4%

20%

1.5% 4.2%

8.8%

♂ 9% 8.5%

♀ 3.3%

T6.0%

Undecided / no opinion 8.6% 9.3%

208

9.4%

4.5% 9.7%

10.3%

♂ 11% ♀ 6% 7.0%

T8.1%

Which of the following best describes your own feelings about the issue of illegal immigrants and immigration policy in the United States? I believe that the U.S. government should devote more resources to protecting our borders, should work harder to track down illegal immigrants and deport them, should impose harsher punishments on American employers who hire such people without checking to make sure they have the proper documentation, and should ensure that no social services are provided to illegal immigrants. Children of illegal immigrants should not be considered U.S. citizens. 18.1% 11.1%

12.5%

10.4%

16.7%

17.6%

♂ 17.2% ♀ 11.5% 12.7%

T13.9%

I believe that the U.S. government should devote more resources to protecting our borders, but I think immigrants who are already in the country (especially if they have children who were born in the U.S. and are therefore U.S. citizens) and are gainfully employed should be provided a way to acquire citizenship. 49.5% 48.1%

42.5%

40%

61.2%

47.2%

44.1%

♂ 44.8% ♀ 51.6% 42.3%

T48.5%

I believe our borders are adequately protected and that most of the antiimmmigration rhetoric one hears is motivated by nativist prejudice and bigotry. Immigration has always proved beneficial to the U.S. and should be made easier and not harder. 13.3% 7.4%

21.3%

20%

19.4%

13.9%

14.7%

♂ 24.1% ♀ 13.7% 33.8%

T18.4%

I don’t feel knowledgeable enough about the issue to have an informed opinion. 19% 33.3%

23.8% 22.2%

40%

9% 23.5%

♂ 13.8% ♀ 23.1% 11.3%

T19.3% 209

Which of the following statements best matches your own views regarding the issue of gun control laws in the United States? I think there need to be much more stringent controls on the sale and ownership of firearms. All buyers of guns should have to undergo background checks to make it harder for weapons to end up in the hands of criminals and those with a history of mental illness and certain types of weapons and accessories (such as assualt rifles and large-magazine clips) should be outlawed. 49.5%

44.4%

38.9%

20%

83.6%

50%

♂ 55.2% ♀ 53.8% 5 53.9% 45.1% 5. T 2

I think universal background checks would be a good idea, but I am not sure there is any need to outlaw specific kinds of guns or rifles. The right to own these weapons is protected by our constitution. 28.6%

36.3%

31.5%

60%

31.9%

30.9%

♂ 26.2% ♀ 28% 38.0%

T27.7%

I don’t think there is a need to pass any additional restrictions on the sale or use of firearms. Indeed, we should make it easier for law-abiding citizens to carry firearms. If more such citizens were armed on a regular basis the country would be safer because we would be surrounded by people better able to react to and neutralize those intent on doing us harm. 9.5%

9.4%

9.3%

9.0% 9.7%

7.4%

♂ 11.7% ♀ 7.7% 11.3%

T9.3%

I don’t feel knowledgeable enough about the issue to have an informed opinion. 12.4% 20.4%

210

10%

20%

1.5% 8.3%

11.8%

♂ 6.9% ♀ 10.4% 5.6%

T9%

Which of the following statements best matches your own views regarding the legalization of marijuana? Marijuana is a dangerous “gateway drug” that is dangerous to one’s health and highly addictive. In the interests of public health, it should be illegal everywhere throughout the United States. 17.1%

19.4%

24.1%

20%

13.4%

23.6%

17.6%

♂ 16.6% ♀ 18.1% 9.9%

T17.5%

It is a potentially dangerous substance, but it has been shown to carry benefits for some people with certain medical conditions (e.g. those undergoing chemo therapy, people with glaucoma, etc.) and so should be available for legal purchase as a prescribed drug. 33.3%

24.4%

27.8%

48.3%

30.6%

26.5%

♂ 32.4% ♀ 30.8% 26.8%

T31%

Marijuana use certainly carries risks, but so too does the use of cigarettes and alcohol—which are both legal for adults. History shows that prohibition is generally ineffective. Therefore, marijuana should be legalized, and its growers and sellers regulated and taxed. Money currently being spent on anti-drug enforcement could then be shifted into drug education and treatment. 42.9%

47.5%

37%

40%

40.3%

41.7%

48.5%

♂ 46.2% ♀ 43.4% 53.5%

T44.6%

I don’t feel knowledgeable enough about the issue to have an informed opinion. 6.7% 11.1%

8.8%

40%

3.0% 4.2%

7.4%

♂ 4.8% ♀ 7.7% 9.9%

T6.9%

211

Which of the following statements best matches your own views as to how vulnerable you personally feel toward potential random acts of terrorism? I feel that there is a negligible chance that I will ever be personally affected by such a thing. 12.4%

24.4%

16.7%

15.3%

♂ 20% ♀ 15.9%

40%

11.9% 26.5%

19.7%

T18.1%

I feel the chances of my ever being harmed in an act of terrorism is pretty low, but I do think about it from time to time and it is troubling. 56.2%

42.5%

46.3%

50%

♂ 53.1% ♀ 44%

20%

46.3% 42.6%

52.1%

T47.6%

As these events seem to be happening with ever greater frequency, I think there is a good chance that one day I could be personally affected by such an act. 21%

21.9%

16.7%

23.6%

♂ 13.1% ♀ 30.2%

20%

26.9% 22.1%

22.5%

T22.6%

The desire of terrorists to disrupt our society is so great that I feel there is a good chance that one day they will succeed in pulling off either enough small attacks or one or more massive and destructive acts that I will likely be personally affected. 4.8%

4.4%

9.3%

4.2%

♂ 6.9% ♀ 4.4%

9% 2.9%

2.8%

T5.4%

I’m not certain what my own feelings are on this issue. 5.7% 11.1%

212

6.9%

20%

6% 6.9%

5.9%

♂ 6.9% ♀ 5.5% 2.8%

T6.3%

Do you believe that the prevalence of sexual and violent images and content on television, in movies, in video games, and on the Internet has had an adverse effect on our society (especially our youth)? Yes, I think it has desensitizes people, espeically the young, and has made them more likely to engage in inappropriate behaviors of either a sexual or violent nature. 30.5%

41.9%

35.2%

40%

64.2%

36.1%

39.7%

♂ 28.3% ♀ 54.4% 38%

T42.8%

No, I think that the vast majority of people can differentiate betweenreality and fantasy. Unless we are talking about very young children, violence and sexuality which is viewed via various media is very unlikely to actually alter in any significant way the behavior of most people. 30.5%

21.9%

25.9%

40%

20.9%

23.6%

25%

♂ 33.8% ♀ 16.5% 26.8%

T24.4%

I don’t think my own exposure to such things has had a particularly negative impact, but I can see how it poses a real risk for some people. 32.4%

32.5%

31.5%

20%

10.4%

30.6%

35.3%

♂ 33.8% ♀ 23.6% 32.4%

T28%

Unsure / undecided 6.7% 7.4%

3.8%

4.5% 9.7%

♂ 4.1% ♀ 5.5% 2.8%

T4.8% 213

Do you think texting while driving should be illegal? Yes 83.7%

78.1%

83.3%

100%

89.6%

87.5%

76.5%

♂ 80.7% ♀ 84.1%

77.5%

T82.8%

No 7.6%

13.8%

7.4%

8.3%

14.7%

♂ 12.4% ♀ 7.7% 14.1%

T9.6%

Undecided 6.7% 9.3%

8.1%

7.5% 4.2%

8.8%

♂ 6.9% ♀ 8.2% 8.5%

T7.5%

Should using a hand-held cell phone while driving be illegal? Yes 37.1% 42.6%

48.8%

80%

55.2%

51.4%

50%

No 47.6% 35.2%

37.5%

28.4%

37.4%

39.7%

♂ 40% ♀ 50.5% 5 32.4% T0.46.4% 5 48.3% ♂ ♀ 32.4% 52.1%

T38.9%

Undecided 15.2% 22.2%

214

13.8% 11.1%

20%

16.4% 10.3%

♂ 11.7% ♀ 17% 15.5%

T14.8%

< As a Citizen of Reserve > Which of the following best matches your own thoughts about this year’s new weekly class schedule? This is my first year at WRA, so I have less to compare it to, but it has worked well for me. 13.3%

24.4%

70.4%

40%

3.0%

12.5%

7.4%

♂ 17.2% ♀ 15.4% 1.4%

T16.6%

This is my first year at WRA, so I have less to compare it to, but I haven’t really found it to my liking. 5.7% 25.9%

6.3%

20%

0% 2.8%

♂ 4.1% ♀ 4.9% 0%

T4.8%

I remember the old schedule, and I liked it better for various reasons. 53.3% 1.9%

40.6%

38.8%

50%

♂ 47.6% ♀ 42.9% 70.4%

T44.3%

I remember the old schedule, but I like the new one better for various reasons. 21.9% 0%

17.5%

40%

23.9%

25%

27.9%

♂ 20.7% ♀ 19.2% 19.7%

T20.2%

Undecided 5.7% 1.9

11.3% 9.7%

34.3% 14.7%

♂ 10.3% ♀ 17.6% 8.5%

T14.2%

215

While school is in session, approximately how many hours of sleep (on average) do you get each school night? More than 9 0%

1.9% 1.9%

20%

3% 1.4%

0.0%

♂ 2.1% ♀ 0.5% 1.4%

T1.5%

Between 8 and 9 5.7%

5.6%

3% 9.7%

2.9%

♂ 6.2% ♀ 3.8% 2.8%

T4.8%

Between 7 and 8 29.5%

27.5%

37%

20%

23.9%

25%

19.1%

♂ 32.4% ♀ 23.6% 33.8%

T27.4%

Between 6 and 7 49.5%

46.3%

42.6%

40%

40.3%

48.6%

57.4%

♂ 43.4% ♀ 48.4% 40.8%

T46.1%

Between 5 and 6 13.3%

16.3%

11.1%

20.9%

12.5%

14.7%

♂ 12.4% ♀ 19.8% 21.1%

T16.3%

Fewer than 5 1.9% 1.9%

216

3.1%

20%

9% 2.8%

5.9%

♂ 3.4% ♀ 3.8% 0%

T3.9%

Some courses at WRA assign summer reading. There has in the past also been a book selected for the entire community to read. Which of the following statements best reflects your own views about required summer reading at Reserve? I like the idea and it should be continued. In the past, I have always done the required summer reading and have usually enjoyed the books assigned. It seems a good way to get many people to enjoy a common experience. 25.7%

33.8%

50%

40%

46.3%

33.3%

27.9%

♂ 25.5% ♀ 40.1% 15.5%

T33.7%

I am somewhat ambivalent. I have sometimes done the summer reading, but not always. The books are often ones that just don’t interest me. I don’t really think it serves a great purpose. 59.0%

50%

38.9%

60%

31.3% 56.9%

55.9%

♂ 53.8% ♀ 45.1% 59.2%

T49.1%

I almost never do the summer reading. I think it’s a waste of time. We’re not really held accountable for it anyway. 10.5%

13.1%

3.7%

7.5%

9.7%

14.7%

♂ 13.8% ♀ 9.3% 18.3%

T11.1%

Never done it . . . and never been found out! 4.8% 7.4%

3.1%

14.9% 0%

1.5%

♂ 6.9% ♀ 5.5% 7%

T6%

217

How many books did you read last summer (not counting any required reading)? More than 10 16.2%

12.5%

25.9%

40%

23.9%

15.3%

4.4%

♂ 11.7% ♀ 18.7% 12.7%

T16%

Between 6 and 10 17.1%

14.4%

14.8%

20%

22.4%

12.5%

19.1%

♂ 13.1% ♀ 19.8% 15.5%

T16.9%

Between 3 and 5 28.6%

31.3%

31.5%

40%

31.3%

25%

30.9%

♂ 29.7% ♀ 30.8% 33.8%

T30.4%

1 or 2 32.4% 22.2%

30%

17.9% 38.9%

33.8%

♂ 33.1% ♀ 25.3% 26.8%

T28.3%

None %5.7 5.6%

218

11.9% 8.3%

4.5% 11.8%

♂ 12.4% ♀ 5.5% 11.3%

T8.4%

[The remaining six questions in this section of the survey were asked only of students.]

Which of the following best matches your views about this year’s new Saturday ECHO program? I have really enjoyed my ECHO courses. They have provided me with a variety of subjects to investigate that I otherwise would have been unlikely to encounter and/or pursue at the high school level. I have also liked the fact that these classes are structured so differently than my other academic courses. 32.4% 22.2%

75%

32.5% 27.8%

45.6%

♂ 34.5% ♀ 29.6% 32.4%

T32.5%

I have really enjoyed my ECHO courses, but they have led to a bit more work than I was originally led to believe they would. 14.3% 9.3%

14.4% 18.1%

20.6%

♂ 12.6% ♀ 16.2% 8.5%

T14.3%

My ECHO courses have been fine. However, I haven’t found them all quite as interesting as I had hoped, and it has been hard to learn all that much in just six weeks. 22.9% 22.2%

23.1% 31.9%

14.7%

♂ 21.8% ♀ 24.6% 1 22.5% 23% 7. T 9

219

So far I haven’t really enjoyed the ECHO program much. Either the selection of courses hasn’t really excited me, the two-and-a-half classes have proved problematic, the six-week course length is odd, or the expectation of an hour’s worth of outside work each week is impractical . 12.4%

15.6%

31.5%

8.3%

8.8%

♂ 12.6% ♀ 16.2% 12.7%

T14.3%

I do not like the ECHO classes on Saturdays. For a variety of reasons they just seem like a waste of my time. We should just go back to offering the normal academic courses on Saturdays 15.2%

11.9%

9.3%

9.7%

10.3%

♂ 15.1% ♀ 12% 22.5%

T13.2%

Undecided 2.9% 5.6%

220

25%

2.5% 4.2%

♂ 3.4% ♀ 1.4% 1.4%

T2.6%

Which academic department provides you with your most enjoyable and/or useful classes? English 21.9%

25%

18.1%

16.7%

23.6%

26.5%

♂ 13.4% ♀ 24.6% 11.3%

T19.6%

Fine & Performing Arts 16.2%

25%

19.4% 16.7%

29.76 %

17.6%

♂ 15.1% ♀ 20.4% 11.3%

T18.1%

History 16.2%

19.4%

16.7%

9.7%

22.1%

♂ 21.8% ♀ 15.5% 23.9%

T18.1%

Language 6.7% 3.7%

25%

5% 5.6%

4.4%

♂ 5% 8.5%

♀ 5.6%

T5.7%

Math 14.3% 7.4%

25%

12.5% 13.9%

16.2%

♂ 14.3% ♀ 12% 14.1%

T13.2% 221

Science 22.9%

21.3%

22.2%

27.8%

10.3%

♂ 26.9% ♀ 18.3% 26.8%

T21.9%

You mean people actually find classes enjoyable and/or useful?!!!. 1.9%

4.4%

3.7%

2.8%

2.9%

♂ 3.4% ♀ 3.5% 4.2%

T3.4%

This year, Friday night check-in was pushed back to eight o’clock. Do you think that formal study hours should be cut back even more with slightly later start times and/or earlier end times? Yes 37.1%

50.6%

37%

61.1%

39.7%

♂ 51.3% ♀ 41.5% 40.8%

T45.3%

No 22.9%

75%

34.4%

25.9%

15.3%

33.8%

♂ 23.5% ♀ 33.8% 43.7%

T29.8%

Unsure 40% 37%

222

25%

15% 23.6%

26.5%

♂ 25.2% ♀ 24.6% 15.5%

T24.9%

Do you like the HUMAN vending machines on campus, or would you prefer more conventional soda and snack machines? Stay HUMAN!!! 29.5% 25.9%

26.4%

♂ 16.8% ♀ 31%

25%

21.3% 33.8%

12.7%

T24.5%

Gimme my sugar and fat fix, baby! (Which is to say, I’d like regular machines). 31.4% 27.8%

27.8%

♂ 42.9% ♀ 25.4%

25%

24.4% 35.3%

40.8%

T33.2%

No opinion 39% 46.3%

45.8%

♂ 40.3% ♀ 43.7%

50%

44.4% 30.9%

46.5%

T42.3%

Do you feel as though your Reserve education is preparing (or has prepared) you well for college or university success. Yes 98.1%

100%

93.1%

92.6%

94.4%

95.6%

♂ 94.1% ♀ 95.8%

97.2%

T95.1%

No 1.9% 7.4%

6.9% 5.6%

4.4%

♂ 5.9% ♀ 4.2% 2.8%

T4.9% 223

Which of the following statements best describes your feelings about your Reserve experience thus far? I wanted to come to Reserve, and I love it here. 61.9%

50%

41.9%

53.7%

59.7%

41.2%

♂ 45.4% ♀ 53.5% 45.1%

T49.8%

I wanted to come to school here, and it is okay here. 22.9%

38.8%

29.6%

33.3%

27.9%

♂ 35.3% ♀ 29.6% 30%

T32.5%

I wanted to come to WRA, but now I wish I’d chosen a different school. 3.8%

8.1%

7.4%

1.4%

11.8%

♂ 5% 5.6%

♀ 7.7%

T6.4%

I did not want to come to Reserve, but I have actually come to like it here. 9.5%

8.1%

3.7%

4.2%

14.7%

♂ 10.9% ♀ 7% 11.3%

T8.7%

I did not want to attend Reserve and still do not want to be here . . . blame my parents! 1.9% 5.6%

224

3.1% 1.4%

4.4%

♂ 3.4% ♀ 2.1% 0%

T2.6%

< As a Private Individual > Which of the following best describes your religious beliefs and/or practices? Catholic 31.4%

13.1%

22.2%

20%

20.9%

30.6%

11.8%

♂ 22.8% ♀ 18.7% 16.9%

T20.5%

Protestant 17.1%

18.1%

7.4%

26.9%

12.5%

26.5%

♂ 18.6% ♀ 20.9% 22.5%

T19.6%

Jewish 3.8%

2.5%

7.4%

20%

1.5% 2.8%

♂ 4.1% ♀ 1.1% 2.8%

T2.7%

Muslim 1.9% 1.9%

0% 0%

♂ 0.7% ♀ 0.5% 1.4%

T0.6%

225

Hindu %4.8

1.9%

5.6%

1.5% 1.4%

1.5%

♂ 2.8% ♀ 2.7% 4.2%

T2.7%

Buddhist 1%

4.4% 3.7%

0% 2.8%

2.9%

♂ 2.1% ♀ 2.7% 2.8%

T2.4%

Spritual, but not currently a practicing member of any formal religion or denomination 12.4%

18.1%

13%

60%

29.9%

11.1%

20.6%

♂ 11.7% ♀ 23.1% 18.3%

T18.7%

Atheist / Agnostic 18.1% 22.2%

25%

13.4% 26.4%

19.1%

♂ 26.2% ♀ 16.5% 21.1%

T20.5%

Other 9.5% 16.7%

226

16.9% 12.5%

6% 17.6%

♂ 11% ♀ 13.7% 9.9%

T12.3%

Which are you? Carnivore 88.6%

91.3%

94.4%

100%

94%

84.7%

89.7%

♂ 96.6% ♀ 86.3%

93%

T91%

Vegitarian 10.5%

6.9%

5.6%

4.5% 11.1%

10.3%

♂ 3.4% ♀ 11% 5.6%

T7.5%

Vegan? 1%

1.9% 0%

1.5% 4.2%

♂ 0% 1.4%

♀ 2.7%

T1.7%

Which has better super heroes? DC 27.6% 27.8%

33.1%

60%

40.3%

26.4%

39.7%

♂ 33.8% ♀ 31.3% 29.6%

T32.8%

Marvel 72.4% 72.2%

66.9% 73.6%

40%

59.7% 60.3%

♂ 66.2% ♀ 68.7% 70.4%

T67.2%

227

Who ya gonna call? Domino’s 6.7%

3.8%

7.4%

6% 4.2%

7.4%

♂ 5.5% ♀ 4.9% 1.4%

T5.1%

Donato’s 13.3%

12.5%

7.4%

20%

11.9%

11.1%

16.2%

♂ 16.6% ♀ 9.3% 15.5%

T12.7%

Papa John’s 50.5%

56.3%

50%

40%

28.4%

54.2%

48.5%

♂ 47.6% ♀ 50% 62%

T48.8%

Pizza Hut 13.3%

11.9%

16.7%

13.4%

8.3%

13.2%

♂ 13.8% ♀ 12.1% 12.7%

T12.7%

pizzaBOGO 5.7% 1.9%

1.9%

9% 5.6%

2.9%

♂ 4.8% ♀ 4.4% 2.8%

T4.5%

Zeppe’s 10.5% 16.7%

228

13.8% 16.7%

40%

31.3% 11.8%

♂ 11.7% ♀ 19.2% 5.6%

T16.3%

Of the following, which draws most of your viewing time? Network TV (ABC, CBS, NBC, Fox) 51.4%

27.5%

33.3%

20%

25.4%

41.7%

32.4%

♂ 29.7% ♀ 39% 39.4%

T34.6%

PBS 1%

1.9% 0%

10.4% 0%

4.4%

♂ 4.1% ♀ 2.7% 1.4%

T3.3%

Sports channels (BTN, ESPN, ESPN 2, Fox, Soccer, Golf Channel, etc.) 19%

13.1%

14.8%

14.9%

16.7%

19.1%

♂ 31.7% ♀ 2.7% 11.3%

T15.4%

Premium cable movie channels (Cinemax, HBO, Showtime, Starz, etc.) 7.6%

12.5%

14.8%

1.5%

11.1%

7.4%

♂ 6.9% ♀ 10.4% 9.9%

T8.7%

Kids channels (Cartoon Network, Nickalodean, Disney Channel, etc.) 1.9% 11.1%

5.6%

0% 4.2%

2.9%

♂ 0.7% ♀ 5.5% 0%

T3.3% 229

Documentary Channels (Discovery, History Channel, etc.) 5.7%

11.3%

5.6%

11.9%

8.3%

10.3%

♂ 12.4% ♀ 7.7% 11.3%

T9.6%

Music channels (MTV, VH1, etc.) 0%

5.6% 0%

0% 2.8%

5.9%

♂ 0% 4.2%

♀ 4.9%

T2.7%

Other 13.3% 20.4%

230

22.5% 15.3%

80%

35.8% 17.6%

♂ 14.5% ♀ 26.9% 22.5%

T22.3%

Which of the following best describes your own views on the effects of various social media (e.g. Facebook, Twitter, texting, etc.) when it comes to our ability to interact with one another? I believe these technological innovations are proving a healthy, effective, and efficient way to communicate with one another. I don’t believe they significantly hinder our abilityto interact with one another in person. 19%

16.3%

27.8%

10.4%

12.5%

19.1%

♂ 18.6% ♀ 14.3% 12.7%

T16%

These technologies are certainly convenient, and I employ them, but I do worry as to whether or not they are making it harder for us to know how to interact with one another face to face. 58.1%

59.4%

38.9%

60%

50.7%

61.1%

61.8%

♂ 56.6% ♀ 57.7% 69%

T57.2%

I believe that these additions to technology are actually hindering our ability to communicate with one another in person. People are losing the skills necessary to speak with one another either on the phone or in person. We are slowly going to become more socially awkward a society. 20%

20%

24.1%

40%

31.3% 22.2%

16.2%

♂ 17.9% ♀ 25.3% 18.3%

T22.3%

No opinion / Undecided 2.9% 9.3%

4.4%

7.5% 4.2%

2.9%

♂ 6.9% ♀ 2.7% %0

T4.5%

231

Have you bought a music CD (an actual disc—not a download) within the past 12 months? Yes 29.5% 25.9%

79.4% 27.8%

♂ 25.5% ♀ 42.3%

20%

44.8% %41.2

32.4%

T34.6%

No 70.5% 74.1%

20.6% 72.2%

♂ 74.5% ♀ 57.7%

80%

55.2% 58.8%

67.6%

T65.4%

Do you own a smartphone? Yes 84.8% 88.9%

33.8%

100%

73.1%

84.7%

70.6%

♂ 81.4% ♀ 78%

83.1%

T79.8%

No 15.2% 11.1%

232

66.3% 15.3%

26.9% 29.4%

♂ 18.6% ♀ 22% 16.9%

T20.2%

Which do you use more? Desktop computer 9.5%

5.6%

20%

23.9% 11.1%

2.9%

♂ 12.4% ♀ 8.2% 7%

T10.2%

Laptop computer 41%

60.6%

48.1%

40%

52.2%

47.2%

69.1%

♂ 56.6% ♀ 50% 46.5%

T52.7%

Tablet 1%

3.1% 1.9%

20%

4.5% 2.8%

1.5%

♂ 2.1% ♀ 2.7% 2.8%

T2.7%

Smartphone 48.6% 44.4%

31.3% 38.9%

20%

19.4% 26.4%

♂ 29% ♀ 39% 43.7%

T34.3%

233

Do you recycle? Always! 14.3%

15%

24.1%

20%

35.8% 9.7%

14.7%

♂ 15.2% ♀ 22% 12.7%

T19%

More often than not 55.2%

41.9%

40.7%

80%

40.3%

51.4%

47.1%

♂ 46.2% ♀ 44.5% 47.9%

T45.8%

Only when it’s convenient 27.6%

38.1%

31.5%

14.9%

34.7%

35.3%

♂ 31% ♀ 30.2% 33.8%

T30.1%

Almost never 2.9% 3.7%

234

9% 4.7%

2.9%

♂ 7.6% ♀ 3.3% 5.6%

T5.1%

Which best describes you? Dog lover 75.2% 59.3%

52.5%

20%

58.2%

70.8%

47.1%

♂ 66.9% ♀ 57.1% 67.6%

T60.8%

Cat lover 14.3% 22.2%

26.3%

60%

16.4%

18.1%

25%

♂ 15.2% ♀ 23.6% 21.1%

T20.5%

Neither 10.5% 18.5%

21.3% 11.1%

20%

25.4% 27.9%

♂ 17.9% ♀ 19.2% 11.3%

T18.7%

235

Do you believe you are going to be at least relatively famous one day? Yes 29.5% 38.9%

40.6%

40%

34.7%

%29.4

♂ 33.8% ♀ 26.9% 42.3%

T30.1%

No 25.7% 14.8%

21.3%

40%

71.6%

26.4%

27.9%

♂ 26.9% ♀ 37.4% 21.1

T32.8%

Can’t say as I don’t want to jinx it 44.8% 46.3%

236

38.1% 38.9%

20%

22.4% 42.6%

♂ 39.3% ♀ 35.7% 36.6%

T37%

Which do you find yourself fantasizing about most? sex 23.8%

24.4%

13%

40%

11.9%

18.1%

26.5%

♂ 29.7% ♀ 14.8% 36.6%

T21.7%

wealth 3.8%

10.6%

5.6%

7.5%

8.3%

8.8%

♂ 9.7% ♀ 6.6% 8.5%

T7.8%

personal achievment in a particular endeavor / field 45.7%

33.8%

48.1%

20%

22.4%

43.1%

36.8%

♂ 35.2% ♀ 35.7% 5

28.2%

T35.2%

travel 10.5%

16.9%

11.1%

20%

29.9%

19.4%

10.3%

♂ 9.7% ♀ 23.6% 15.5%

T17.5%

Fame / celebrity 3.8%

4.4%

9.3%

0% 4.2%

2.9%

♂ 2.8% ♀ 3.8% 1.4%

T3.3%

other 12.4% 13%

10%

20%

28.4% 6.9%

14.7%

♂ 13.1% ♀ 15.4% %9.9

T14.5%

237

The Viewpoints Survey was conducted online via Survey Monkey from Friday, April 26 to Friday, May 3, 2013. The following demographic information is provided to help put the results into some context. Total number of surveys completed: 332 Surveys started but not completed: 49 Total respondent breakdown (completed surveys only): Students: 265 (F=182; M=145; Nb=4) Day Students: 105 (F=55; M=50) Boarding Students: 160 (F=87; M=69; Nb=4) Faculty/Staff: 67 (F=40; M=26; Nb=1) Female: 182 Male: 145 Non-binary: 5 Composition of student respondents: Freshmen: 54 (F=30; M=22; Nb=2) Sophomores: 38 (F=38; M=33; Nb=1) Juniors: 37 (F=37; M=30; Nb=1) Seniors: 37 (F=37; M=34) Live in Ohio and are U.S. citizens: Live in Ohio but are not U.S. citizens: Live in the U.S., outside of Ohio, and are U.S. citizens: Live in the U.S., outside of Ohio, but are not U.S. citizens: Live outside of U.S. but are U.S. citizens: Live outside of U.S. and are not U.S. citizens:

All questions required an answer in order to move on with the survey. The forty-nine surveys started but not completed were not included in the tallying of results. This Viewpoints Survey is not presented as being scientifically accurate to within a specific margin of error. The survey is intended for entertainment purposes only.

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