Reflections
Volume 5 Fall 2018
A Student Journal of the Arts
Charlotte Preschool, Big Bend
This issue is dedicated to Adrienne Rusbarsky, TCS administrator from 2000-2017 and Alumni parent. Prior to her stepping away from her role as Director of Admissions in 2017, Adrienne selflessly gave her time, energy, and talents to The College School. She welcomed 760 students into our community and watched more than 300 students graduate from our program. She did it all with grace, and most importantly ‌ heart. One of her favorite projects was this publication, Reflections. It brought Adrienne so much joy to honor the voices and work of our students, while simultaneously celebrating the passion and dedication of our teachers. We honor her through this volume of Reflections. Arts Journal Project Coordinators: Jill Pampel and Liz Sharpe-Taylor TCS Administrators Cover artwork: Preschool, Newport Class
Water Poetry: An Exploration of Water at LaBarque Over several different field trips to The College School’s LaBarque Campus, second graders observed, noticed, and wondered about water and its ways. Using portraits and journal entries, students created water poems and accompanying watercolor landscape images.
LaBarque Brady, Second Grade
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he fast, blue, water is drifting and reflecting off of a cave. The colorful, small, birds are chirping softly. The wet, silver, fish are swimming quickly. And the brown, leaves are falling off of the tall, trees into the fast, blue, water. I feel calm.
Tiny Waterfalls Sabine, Second Grade
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lip‌plip‌trickling down from the ceiling. Damp moss clinging onto the short cliff. Plick, crunch. A leaf falls to the ground. There are rocks on the ground, both smooth and rough.
At LaBarque Katie, Second Grade
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ou are by the wavy creek. You stroll under the rocky ledge. You remove your shoes, you feel the cold, crystally sand under your feet. As you plop down, you are motionless. You hear the soft chirping of birds. You hear water flowing over rocks. It is calming. This is what LaBarque is by the creek.
The Sound of Water Rejato, Second Grade
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he cold, splashing water was falling from the large, rocky cliff. Rock are dripping, making a cool, drip-dropping sound. Oh did I mention the sound. Kind of quiet and kind of noisy. I mean in a good way. The animals are making the sounds.
A Map to New York City Rozaria, Preschool, Newport
Elizabeth, Fourth Grade
Griffin, Fourth Grade
Jansen, Fourth Grade
Sydney, Fourth Grade
Cooper, Fifth Grade
Julia, Fifth Grade
Francesca Seventh Grade
Hana, Third Grade
Bloody Hill Aidan, Fifth Grade Selected story to The Grannie Annie Family Story Celebration, a national writing competition for students in grades 4-8.
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y name is Olivina Ray. Most people call me Olivia, and I’m six years old. I was not frightened by the Civil War at all, but after the battle on Bloody Hill, my mind changed. One day I was playing with my six siblings on the porch, and suddenly a soldier marched up the yard and shouted at me. “Git the heck inside. There’s gonna be a battle, and we’re takin’ over your land!” he barked with an accent. More soldiers were behind him, preparing for the battle of their lives. Most of the children scrambled into the cellar, but I managed to stay upstairs with the adults and all the chaos. The house was crowded enough when there weren’t soldiers around, but now they turned our humble home into a medical center with soldiers crawling around every inch. I got to see the battle from our front porch while sitting on my grandpa’s favorite rocking chair. I saw movement in the corn, but I didn’t tell anyone. The soldier that yelled at me before found me and my grandpa, escorted us to the cellar door, and pushed us hard into safety. It was loud outside because of the gunfire, cannons, and men wailing, but in the cellar those noises were amplified! I couldn’t sleep or think. It looked like my grandpa couldn’t either. We’d had enough. When all was quiet, Grandpa slowly climbed up the ladder and opened the hatch. First one foot, then the other — he swiftly stepped out. Ka-POW! A cannonball struck the ground, barely missing Grandpa’s feet! The force was so strong he slid down the ladder, hitting every rung on the way, and bruised his head. That was the end of curiosity for him. When my family finally came up from the cellar five days later, most of our crops were trampled. There was blood — there were dead and injured soldiers — everywhere. It was the worst sight I ever saw in my life. I slid down the slippery hill towards the corn and saw someone alive. It was General Nathaniel Lyon! My family hauled a wagon down to him, and soldiers wheeled him to our house. That’s where he stayed until he passed away later that night. The Battle of Wilson’s Creek, also known as the Battle of Oak Hills, was fought near Springfield, Missouri, on my family’s property, on August 10, 1861. This is the story of my great-great-great-aunt Olivia Ray, who saw the battle with her own eyes. My family would later sell this property to the government for the greater good.
Knowledge Amelia, Sixth Grade
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little knowledge is a dangerous thing That’s why we must listen Although the truth may sting. What will understanding bring? A change in our position? A little knowledge is a dangerous thing To what beliefs will you cling? Or will you part with your tradition? Although the truth may sting. Seeing black and white is blinding Grey deserves my recognition. A little knowledge is a dangerous thing Information is competing Be open to explanation Although the truth may sting. The lines are blurring All we ask is for exploration. A little knowledge is a dangerous thing Although the truth may sting.
James Preschool, Big Bend
Adventure Lydia, Sixth Grade
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place of harmony Daring, a challenge excepted the courage to go on Vast, prairie and space for exploring Excited for new things to explore New ways to look at life Terrific things to do in nature Universe, the world at one with you Respectful, allows you to be at peace Educating, teaches you to love and enjoy life
Running Away Declan, Sixth Grade
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have to get away I’m running away Maybe you’re too late Because I’m long gone I’m heading off in one direction You will go the other I am running away I’d like to see you try You will never catch up You will have to cry When you understand Why If you understand Hopefully I will run away In search of love In search of someone who cares If you are reading this You are the fault Understand this I’m never coming back
Free Verse Alia, Sixth Grade
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he black sky lays far above me Covered in glimmering And twinkling stars Some shine bright Young and blazing Others glow faintly Old and dying I take a deep breath Of the cold fresh air As the trees whisper in the breeze Telling of all that they have seen To travelers who may wonder past And down below me The ground stands hard and sturdy Still here after so, so, long But it has used its age to gather wisdom So it can also share with the world It knows about life and death Love and happiness Sorrow and heartache Betrayal and hurt Greed and humanity. And just like the sky, the stars and the trees It wants to share all of it with you
Fhyve Kindergarten
Spring Kate, Sixth Grade
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pring, You make me smile and laugh When you arrive, I am cheerful But when you leave, I am sorrowful Your refreshing rains make my day Plip, plop, drip, drop A rainbow appears You make flowers blossom So many vibrant and exotic colors Purple, pink, yellow, red and more Spring, You open my eyes Now I can see beauty You take me on adventures You make the birds sing Chirp, tweet I walk on the green grass It tickles my toes You help me make memories I hope this season will never end
Ahlana, First Grade
August, First Grade
Maddie, First Grade
Norah Kindergarten
Amico Graham, Eighth Grade
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he day was a cloudy day in Florence. The skies were gray, the alley ways were dark, and rain lightly dropped from above. You could smell pastries from the many shops along the streets, each with a long line of people waiting for breakfast. The sounds of people walking and talking echoed through the alley. The wind gently blew through the street, not enough to make someone’s hat dash away from their head, but enough to blow a piece of paper off of a desk. The streets were made of hard, smooth, and uneven cobblestone. People who wear tennis shoes or boots are well prepared for the roads of Florence, however, people who wear sandals are not so prepared. Pigeons were also on the streets, in search of any bread crumbs and leftover pastries on the ground. On the wall was street art of the Mona Lisa underwater, with goggles on, and air bubbles floating to the top of the water. There were columns, arches, and domes all over Florence. Hanging from the high up windows of the buildings were flags of Italy, and the European Union. You could hear people speaking in many languages, such as Italian, Spanish, French, German, and even English. I looked to my right, my mother was still by me. She had told me this morning that the school was on her way to work. She was a tour guide, and worked at the Palazzo Spini Feroni. She spoke Italian, English, French, and is currently practicing Spanish in her spare time. She wore a silver watch, and behind the hands of the watch was the Sicilian flag. She wore a black suit and yellow tie, with a name tag that said, “Hello! My name is Tranquillo.” I had my arms crossed, holding my arms with my hands. I was sweating, even though it was a cool day outside. I had butterflies in my stomach. My eyes darted around, trying to think of something besides school. I looked over at my mom. She looked so calm and happy, but why? I couldn’t think of anything else besides school. I thought to myself, What if no one wants to be my friend? What if no one likes who I am? I know it will be a good day at school, because I enjoy learning, but I’m not sure if my school social life will be as good. I started to frown. A cloud of anxiety and negativity casted a shadow over my hopes and expectations of the school day. Then my mother turned her head to me and asked, “Are you ok? You look like you just went through the Inferno and back.” I chuckled and replied, “I know nothing that bad will happen at this new school. It’s just that it’s a new environment with new people, you know?” “I definitely know what youre talking about. I’ve been in new places with different people in many parts of my life. Remember the story about when I used to live in Sicily?” She asked. “You’ve told me this story hundreds of times already!” I told her. “Well, I’ll tell you again. When I was a young girl my family lived in Sicily. The water was undrinkable, there was no public transportation, and there were no jobs at all. When I was 15 my parents told me that Northern Italy is a place of opportunity, wealth, and freedom. For the next ten years I worked outside of school for extra money, I tried my best in school, and
when I had enough money, I bought a plane ticket, a train ticket, a small apartment. Then I was accepted as a tour guide for the Palazzo Spini Feroni because of my language skills. After that, I met your father, and the rest is history. Now, I live a calm, stable, happy life.” After she told me the story, I noticed we were in a large plaza. My mother then grabbed my hand and pointed to a large, stone building. It was very tall, with big, gray, stone pillars in the front. The roof of the building was a dome, made out of marble. There were many other students walking through the giant, metal door. On the sides of the giant door were two lion statues, made out of stone. My mother put her hand on my shoulder and told me, “This is your high school.” She then hugged me and told me, “Your father will meet you at the front of the building when school ends. I hope you have a good day at school.” “Thank you,” I replied. “See you tonight!” She then let go of me and started to walk away to her work. Butterflies then let loose in my stomach, and I felt really nervous again. I guess her story did work to calm me down, because now I no longer felt tranquility. I then just stood there, staring at the school. Well, I thought. It’s now or never. I can’t not go to school, I’ll get in trouble. Besides, it’s only school, how bad can it get? I started to walk forward through the plaza, and to the metal door. It felt like minutes before I got to the door, even though in reality it was only seconds. I put my hand on it and pulled, it didn’t budge. I then put both hands on the handle and pulled really hard, the door then slowly opened, and I could walk inside. When I walked through the door, and when I saw the inside of the building, I was amazed. The floor had complex stone patterns, and the roof had artwork directly painted onto it, a recreation of the last supper. Statues were all over the building of Roman citizens, philosophers, and soldiers. There were columns connected to the floor and ceiling of the building. Many windows on the walls and ceiling allowed for the school to be filled with natural light. The shadow of a figure then appeared behind me. It covered all of the light I was originally touching. I turned around to see a short, old man with a beard and glasses. He was wearing a tuxedo, and was holding a binder labeled, ‘schedule,’ on it. He looked at me and asked, “What is your name?” His voice shocked me. He had a strong Sicilian accent, but talked very monotone. Those things don’t usually go hand in hand. Feeling even more anxious, I replied, “My name is Alchimista, and you?” As he opened up his binder, with his finger pointing to something on a piece of paper, he replied, “Augustus is my name. It is a pleasure to meet you. You will be in my classroom for the first half of the day, do you know where it is?” “Umm...no.” “Here are the directions to get to my classroom. First, go up the first set of stairs, then go up the right set of stairs, then take a right, and go all the way down the hall, to my classroom. The assigned number for the classroom is 18. I hope to see you in there within the next two minutes, if you are not there in that time frame you will be considered late. By the way, not many of the other kids knew where the class is, so don’t feel bad you didn’t know where the classroom is.” “Ok, thanks!” Augustus then walked away towards another student. I turned around to see the center
stairs. As I climbed up the stairs, I slid my hand across the stone bar. It was extremely smooth and finely polished. I could almost see my reflection perfectly. I then took a right up another flight of stairs. After I got up the stairs, I went right. To my right was a view at the ground level, and to my left were the room numbers. As I walked forward, the numbers got bigger and bigger. 14, 15, 16, 17, and finally 18. I opened the door, and walked into the class. There were three empty desks, one of them was the teacher’s desk. The teacher’s desk had a tiny statue of the David on the desk. I walked over to one of the empty desks and sat down. The classroom had about 20 other kids inside. Everyone was sitting in a desk, chatting with each other. One kid with curly hair was drawing something. The room was painted green, and the floor was made out of limestone. As soon as I sat down, another kid walked into the classroom. He had short, blond hair, and a t-shirt with a flaming skull on it. His backpack was all black, and he wore slightly ripped jeans. He then sat down at the only desk left, the desk next to me. Everyone next to him started to turn and face him, and began to chat with him. I thought, They must know each other from last year, or maybe they all moved into this
Riley, Seventh Grade
school at the same time. After talking with everyone who was seated by him, he spaced out and stared at the wall. He didn’t say hello to me! I thought. He talked to every single person sitting around him, except for me. Maybe he didn’t know I was here, or maybe he’s too shy to make new friends. I should probably talk to him before Augustus arrives back in class, otherwise it might be hard to make friends. I turned to the boy and said, “Hello! My name is Alchimista. What is your name?” He didn’t respond, he just continued to stare at the wall. Either that was a very entertaining wall, or he just completely avoided my greeting. I then tried again, this time a little louder. “Hello!” As soon as I said that he jumped a bit, looking all around the room until he made eye contact with me. His eye brows then lowered and his teeth clenched together. He put his hands on the desk, and he sat up straight. “What the heck was that for!” he asked. “I’m sorry, did I scare you?” I asked. “No! What makes you think that?” “You jumped when I greeted you.” “I did not, idiot!” “Ok, geez, I’m sorry. I just wanted to know your name.” “Tossico, that’s my name.” “Ok, mine is-” “Do you like the band Rusted Pencil Sharpener?” I have heard their music one time, and I remembered that I didn’t like their music. Even more so, I thought their name wasn’t the coolest. I thought, I’ll be honest about my opinion, but I won’t be mean about it. “To be honest, I don’t like the band.” He then turned back around and ignored me. He just stared at the wall, again. What the heck! I thought. I just wanted to be friends with this guy, and he totally acted like a jerk. Maybe he’s having a bad day or something. Why would he be so mean to me? I know I scared him, but he didn’t have to act so aggressive. I know I don’t like the band, but that doesn’t mean we can’t be friends. Augustus walked into the room. He was carrying a small piece of paper. He looked at the paper, looked at me, put the paper in front of me on the desk, and told me, “Your father is here with your lunch. You should probably go down and grab it. The office is downstairs to your left of the entrance door. You won’t miss much, today we’re just going to talk about the rules of the school, and we’ll be trying to get to know each other.” “Hey Augustus!” A boy in the back row asked. He had big, black, poofy hair. On his desk was a notebook with a page, and written on it was of some sort of instructions with pictures. He looked short, and he was wearing a yellow shirt with black pants. “Should I take notes on the rules of the school for her?” He asked. “Sure, that would be splendid,” replied Augustus. “Really, you’re going to have him take the notes?” Asked Tossico sarcastically. All of the students in the classroom then looked at Tossico, they were all silent. Everyone’s expressions varied from a positive look to a negative look. Augustus, however, he had his hands on his
face, he was looking down, and he was shaking his head ‘no’. “Augustus, are you really gonna let bumble bee take notes for her? You should have me do it, because I’m better.” Everyone in the room then looked at Augustus. He took a deep breath, sighed, and told Tossico, “No.” Augustus looked at me and said, “You can go ahead and get your lunch, unless you want to keep your father waiting.” I told Augustus, “Ok,” and then I walked out of the classroom, walked downstairs, and went to the office. Outside of the office were a view large windows you could see through. I opened the wood door and walked into the office. In the office were many chairs and books. There was a lady at the desk working on something on her computer. Sitting in the chairs, reading a book about how to count to ten, was my father. He was bald, and had his beard dyed red. He wore an old white T-shirt and jeans, and had paint all over them. It almost looked like he didn’t have a white shirt on, at least from the front side. He had a large pin that said, “Coolest Artist in Florence.” You could see the tattoo on his right arm, it was a picture of shades. He was reading a book called, “A brief history of art in Florence.” He looked up at me, threw the book onto the desk, and said, “Hello! How’s the first few minutes of school going for you?” His voice was loud, nasally, and higher pitched than the average man. I thought, as much I would like to reply to my dad and say that school is going fantastic, in my heart I couldn’t over exaggerate how my day is going. I gave a honest reply on how the day was. “Ok, we haven’t really done much yet though. How are you?” “Great. That book I was reading had a lot of information in it! Have you made any friends yet?” “...not really.” “Why not?” “I don’t know. I tried to make friends with this one kid, but he didn’t want to be my friend.” “Well, I like to think of making friends as selling artwork. You will try to sell artwork, but some people may not want your art. It’s not that they’re trying to be mean, they just don’t like the art. However, you will come across people who like your art, because they see it as something more that just another piece of art. They will buy your art, and they will appreciate it. Just don’t keep trying to sell the artwork to people who don’t like it.” “Are you just trying to tell me something, but you’re making it relate to art, because you’re an artist?” “Maybe. Anyway, you should probably get back to class, the teacher may think that you snuck out or something.” My father then handed me my lunch. It was in a paper bag, and on the front is said, “If lost, return to the person with the coolest dad.” Augustus then walked into the office. He looked at me and my dad and said, “What’s the hold up?” My father almost immediately replied to Augustus, “I’m just waiting for you, as my customer, to look at my amazing artwork.” “...this is a joke, right?” Augustus replied to my dad. “No, this is a serious deal. I’m willing to give you a masterpiece made my the great Ca-
priccioso! You can have a recreation of the Birth of Venus for just 50 euros.” This was going to end badly. My teacher’s first impression on my dad is him selling a painting to him. I walked out of the office, thinking that this was a very bad day. When I looked through the glass of the office through, Augustus quickly frisked all of his pocket, then on his jacket pocket he pulled out his wallet. “I’ll take it!” He announced. My father then winked at me, gave me a thumbs up, and waved goodbye. I waved goodbye back, this time with a smile on my face. For some reason I felt as happy as my father did. Dad then pulled out a large backpack from under his seat, and started to search for the painting. I then realized, I’ve been out of class for a very long time now.
Maya Third Grade
I ran up the stairs, went down to the classroom, and sat down at the desk were I had my stuff. In the classroom, everyone was talking with each other, except for the boy with the yellow shirt. Instead of talking with people, he was drawing something. I put my lunch in my backpack and looked around the class to see what was happening. On the chalkboard text was written. It said on the board, “Try to get to know some people and make some friends.” I thought, Great, everyone is already talking with someone else. Unless someone comes up to me and wants to chat, it’ll be extremely hard for me to make friends now. I doubt
someone will want to be friends with a lonely girl. I rested my head on the desk for about fifteen seconds, spacing out in disappointment and loneliness, but then someone placed a piece of paper in front of me. I looked at the paper, it was the school rules. The hand writing on the paper was readable, but very strange looking. There was a doodle of a sword on the side of the paper. The rules were in full sentences and were numbered 1-9. I turned around to see the boy with the yellow shirt. He then told me, “ Augustus just wanted us to copy the notes on a piece of paper so it would be stuck in our heads. Can you read my handwriting?” “Yes. I think your handwriting is very unique!” “Oh, thanks.” “No problem.” “Do you know what the next assignment is?” “Yeah, I read the chalkboard. Speaking of the assignment, what’s your name?” “M-my name?” “Yes!” “Mmm Minerva...how about you?” “My name is Alchimista. What are your hobbies?” “...I like to draw.” “That’s cool, what do you draw?” He quickly placed his hand on top of his notebook, and as he kept darting his eyes between the notebook and me he replied, “You know, stuff. What kind of things do you like to do?” “Well...” A thought then quickly darted in my mind. He didn’t say anything about chemistry, I thought. What happens if I tell him about my interest in chemistry, but he doesn’t like chemistry and he doesn’t what to be my friend, because I don’t like to draw as much as he likes to draw? Well, if he also knows that you’re a liar there is a much better chance that he won’t want to be my friend because I’m a liar. If he knows that I’m a liar he will begin to question a lot of other things about me, but if I tell him the truth that won’t happen. “Are you ok?” he asked. He put his other hand on his arm, but kept his left hand on the sketch pad. “Yes!” I replied. “Sorry, I just spaced out. I really like to study chemistry. I have a molecule maker that allowed me to make 3d models of chemicals like caffeine, or water. If I don’t know what something is that I made I’ll look up the chemical formula and when it will show me what I made.” “Wow, I didn’t know about that. That’s really cool! I’ve never met anyone who is interested in that sort of thing. You seem really passionate about chemistry.” “I am really passionate about chemistry. Is there anything that you really enjoy?” In a quiet and sad voice, Minerva replied, “...you might not like me if I tell you what I like to do.” “Well, whatever it is, I’ll still like you. Besides, it’s better to be true then to lie about yourself.” “That is very true.” His left hand on the notebook started to relax. He breathed in deeply and said, “I like to make costumes for parties and conventions.” “Ok. I’ve never met anyone that’s a costume designer. What kind of costumes do you
like to make?” When Minerva heard this, he yanked open his notebook and quickly flipped through the pages. He then stopped at a page, and showed me the drawing. On the left side of the page was a drawing of a warrior, with a mix of Roman and Egyptian features on the armor. The warrior had a cartoonish style with a bold and brave pose. On the right side of the page was a shopping list of materials. “I like to design costumes for ancient warriors and gladiators.” His eyes started to dart around the room as he showed me the drawing. His hands started to shake a bit. His legs were crossed tightly and were also motionless. His pupils were contracted, they were smaller than a pea. His teeth were tightly clenched together. I looked back at him and told him, “I think the drawings are very cool!” “Oh, you really think so?” “Yeah.” “Thank y-you! I-I’ve never met someone who actually liked my drawings. I’ve always tried to keep them secret so no one would know, and maybe I’d actually make a friend. I’m glad you like them. I-I also make the costumes along side the drawings, so I can either sell the costume for money or wear it myself.” Augustus walked back into the classroom, holding the painting with both hands. He gently set the painting on the desk and asked us, “So, did you all make any friends?” “Yes,” I answered, alongside many other voices in the class. That day I learned that being honest and truthful to yourself and others can be the best way to make friends, because everyone gets the kind of friend that they want, and no one is stuck trying to be someone they are not.
Luna Kindergarten
Eighth Grade Speeches Delivered May 24, 2018
Every Contact Leaves a Trace Devon, Eighth Grade
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Each Eighth Grade graduate delivers a 3-5 minute speech as part of our graduation ceremony. These are a few from this year’s graduating class, the Class of 2018.
arlier in the year, I heard a TED talk by a police officer named John Sutherland. He was speaking about his job, his experiences, and his battle with depression. As a police officer, he had heard the concept of Locard’s exchange principle many times. Or in other words, the forensic principle that every contact leaves a trace. He thought about this concept on a deeper level, and connected it to his personal life in a more abstract and less literal way. The way he talked about this stuck with me, and I couldn’t help but wonder exactly what he meant. And the more I thought, the more the answers came. I started connecting his story to my own. I thought about all the traces I’ve left. In 7th grade, I went on Urban Experience. It’s a week-long trip to Chicago where we interview strangers for a podcast. The experience was still to this day one of the best experiences of my life. We were going to different places, picking random people and asking them questions about anti-semitism when we had absolutely no knowledge of what their answer would be. In the moments of the stranger being shocked and confused as we explained why a group of teenagers was approaching them, I would always wonder if they would remember us. I would think about the traces that we left on them, although I hadn’t called it that yet. As I graduate and reflect on my time in the TCS community, I can see that I’ve learned about leaving traces of good. If you’ve gone to TCS for any stretch of time, you’re familiar with the concept of “leave no trace.” “Leave no trace” means respecting public spaces and the people we are sharing them with. But, as I’ve gotten older, I’ve realized that it’s impossible to never leave any traces at all. We leave traces on people we interact with in urban environments, and we leave traces on the world when we explore nature. We leave traces by interviewing strangers on urban experience for our podcasts. We leave traces on our teachers, who become more and more familiar with us every day we learn, just as they leave traces on us. The ways we interact with the world and the people around us traces, and it’s up to us to decide if that trace is positive or negative. Throughout my school career at TCS, I’ve been given the tools to learn how to leave positive traces. I’ve been immersed in an environment fueled by respect and understanding. I thought about the times that I could have been nicer, the times that I could have been more respectful, and the times I could have at least tried to understand. And although I can’t go back in time and fix every little mistake, I can focus on the future and how to make it more positive. Even though it’s not always possible to leave positive traces everywhere you go, the best thing that anyone can do is try.
TCS Allows Me To Be Myself George, Eighth Grade
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ello, my name is George and I’m a part of the Biker Gang. Although I have only been here at The College School for two years it feels like I have been here all of my life. The College School is a place where I can be myself, a place where I feel free. Now, I wasn’t always a part of the biker gang...A little over three years ago when I first shadowed at TCS. I still remember the day when I walked into school with my mom. She took me to the commons where I met the awesome and slightly crazy Tariq Jassim. Tariq took me around the school for the entire day. I was able to meet new people and get a feel for the place. While I was shadowing I was greeted by so many new people, who later turned from strangers to friends. One of those people was Grace Thompson, I still remember meeting her for the first time in the cafeteria. At first I was really nervous, but once I got to know her, like how she enjoys the same type of movies and humor area as me, I soon felt like I could be myself around her and other people, too. This made my transition to TCS a whole easier since I already had a friend that I could trust and be myself around. School started officially in the fall, and the seventh grade bike trip was a defining time for me. It was my first year and first overnight trip at TCS. As a class, our mission was to ride 100 miles on the Katy Trail over 4 days. My first 3 days of the trip were pretty good but once we got to the final day that’s when things got interesting. On the final day, Grant, Ethan, Bryce and I had all gotten split up from our bigger riding group, so we rode on our own for a for the rest of the trip. Our little group was having an awesome time, singing the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and the Pokemon theme songs. We called ourselves the biker gang; we were so cool. Spending personal time with this group allowed me to be myself. I found out that I that I have quite a few things in common with them, such as we all enjoy playing video games and looking at memes. Before the trip, I didn’t know anyone very well yet, and the trip was a chance for me to get to know my classmates better and help me find my friend group. Once we got back to class after the trip, my relationship with these friends made school fun to come back to everyday. Fast forward to the present, where I’m still the stylish but crazy guy I am. I am glad to say I’m part of such a accepting community, that will always let me be who I am. I am sad to be leaving The College School this year, but I will take what I’ve learned here and be myself wherever life takes me. Thank you.
Becoming Megan Megan, Eighth Grade
M
y name is Megan and I am a younger sibling. To many people, I am most commonly known as Katie’s younger sister. And if you know anything about Katie, people often describe her as perfect. So, it’s difficult being the younger sister of such perfection. I went to The College School with her for 5 years, and in those 5 years I witnessed her accomplishments and successes. As a little kid, I wanted to be exactly like her, I felt like I was expected to follow in her footsteps. I wanted my years at The College School to be the same as hers. I wanted her accomplishments and her same experiences. For a while, it seemed like the only thing I would think about was how to be like, or better than her. It became this sort of internal comparison that I had created between my sister and myself. This dynamic was so important to me that it played out one day in sixth grade. Chelsea, who was my advisor, asked our whole advisory to write down our goals for the year and for the rest of middle school. I wrote down this; “I want to do just as well or better than my sister did when she was in middle school.” Chelsea was quick to tell me that I shouldn’t want to be like Katie, because I shouldn’t try to relive her middle school experience, but instead I should live my own. Surely, I listened to Chelsea but I wasn’t exactly sure how to apply it to my life. So, I continued living my life with this inner conflict, and things became more complicated over the next couple of years. I trapped myself in this sort of two-sided coin; on one side, I desperately wanted to be like my sister, on the other side, I hated being compared to her. Throughout middle school, the comparison between my sister and me beHenry came more prevalent than it already was. Kindergarten When people suggested that if I worked hard enough I could accomplish just as much as my sister did, or others said that some of my success was, in fact, because of her, it stung. It was one thing to think all of these things in my own mind, but it was another thing to actually hear them being said to me. These comments hurt me so much, they clouded my mind. I became so worried that people were comparing me to my sister, that I couldn’t do anything without thinking about how I could be better than her.
This was complicated by the fact that, while I hated being compared with her, I also desperately wanted to be like her. I took classes that my sister picked for me, such as Gender studies, Culture Clash, Culture and Identity Within, and Civil Rights theme. And I became a Junior Leader, just like her. I formed an interest in working for social justice and an aspiration for becoming a strong leader in the outdoors - again, just like my sister. But I continued to struggle with that same feeling I’d had back in 6th grade, and this fear of people comparing me to my sister took over my life. It got to the point where I had to realize that I must let go. That the comparison I was feeling from the outside, was amplified by my own internal struggle. I am still learning to let go of the internal comparison, but in all honesty, it is hard trying to let go of something that has had such a big part in my life. But from beginning to let go, I have realized that I had spent so much time thinking about how I could make myself better than my sister, that I didn’t even take the time to realize what I could already do. After all those years of working to be just like my sister, and hearing that all of my accomplishments were because of her, I’ve come to acknowledge that I have actually done many things on my own. Such as earning those Junior Leader trips for the work that I put in, or organizing the equity lunch with Lizzie for Martin Luther King Day. As I stand here before you all I am who I am today in part because of my sister and thank her for that. My sister and I do have a lot in common. We share similar interests and characteristics and goals and ideals, but we don’t share the same experience, and what I’ve discovered is that our experiences are what set us apart. Though our accomplishments are alike, I have earned them on my own merit, and have come to appreciate that her prior experiences and my own goals both can and don’t have to be the same. I never really gave thought to what Chelsea was trying to convey to me back in 6th grade, until we began crafting our speeches, a month ago. And the truth is, she was right. She was right when she said that I shouldn’t try re-live Katie’s middle school experience. And even though I still tried to, I still had my own experiences that were different from hers. I appreciate the things we share but I also appreciate our differences. The College School has helped me see that I don’t have to be exactly like my sister, but instead I can just be me.
Isaac, Kindergarten
Kara, Eighth Grade
Kenise Preschool, Newport
Preschool-Eighth Grade 7825 Big Bend Blvd. Webster Groves, MO 63119 thecollegeschool.org