First Place: Raina Miller, 12th, Forest City High School, (Non-:iction

First Place: Raina Miller, 12th, Forest City High School, (Non-fiction)

"My People"

From the time I was born until I was nearly thirteen, my brother and I were always at Karen’s. She lived in Woden, a nearly non-existent town now, and we lived about 15 minutes outside of it, right between Buffalo Center and Woden, in a great big, bright yellow farmhouse. (When I say bright, I mean that if you're in a 5-mile radius of it, you're not gonna miss it.) Karen was our daycare lady, however, I always feel a twinge of guilt calling her that because she’s so much more to me than that. She gave my brother and I both of our childhood bestfriends, Sheena and Carter.

Every morning we’d walk the three blocks from Karen’s house to the preschool building down the road. Karen always accompanied us halfway, as well as drug along the other ten kids she was watching, just to make sure we got there safely. Then, when it was time to move to a different school building, which was about 10 minutes from Woden, we’d have to catch the bus in the morning. Karen would walk us to the corner on the end of the block every morning with a group of nearly 10 kids at times, just to make sure we made it.

I can’t think of a more peaceful time in my life than when I was at Karen’s. She would take me to dance rehearsals during recital week. I remember being so excited when she would take me. Like one weekend, we went to a dance recital together at a different dance studio and talked the whole time about how much better the studio I went to was. I think that’s what makes Karen different than anyone I’ve met before, no one talked to me the way Karen talked to me. She was the only person growing up who acted as though they wanted to hear what I had to say. When you're five, you don’t realize that you don’t know anything, you don’t know that what you're saying has less meaning than that of an adult, you just talk. The only thing you really do know is whether or not anyone listened and Karen did even when no one else would.

To take children seriously is to value them for who they are right now rather than adults in the making

Alfie Kohn

Now, you’re probably thinking, it’s kind of weird that this girl's best friend is a 60-yearold woman, but I also love Karen for the people she brought me. When you spend your entire childhood with the same few people they become family. They understand you and the things you’ve experienced like no one else can. Those people for me, besides Karen, were Adam, Carter, and Sheena. Sheena was my first real best friend. She was a grade younger than me but I can promise you that you’ve never met someone with a more positive outlook on life. She was shorter, although, I was also double the height of a normal girl my age back then so probably closer to average height. She had golden blonde hair, and the only way to really describe her body was puffy. I didn’t know much back then but even I could pick up that her body movements were uncomfortable for her.

Sheena was born sick. I didn’t know it back then but her chances of surviving longer than a few years were slim. Yet Sheena made it to ten. I remember every month she’d be gone for the day for an appointment and the next day she’d have bruises and needle marks on the insides of her arms. Looking back she’d been poked more times in one day than I had in my entire life. One of the last memories I have with Sheena is of us laying on the trampoline just talking. I remember being really stressed out about having to go and get my blood drawn in Rochester. I wasn’t stressed because I might be sick, I was simply terrified of needles. Sheena, obviously being an expert in the area, told me all the tips and tricks on things to do that could make it hurt less, like to make sure I got a needle that had a blue butterfly clip around it, and to ask them if they had numbing cream. I had cried every single day leading up to it until Sheena helped calm my nerves. She always had a special way of making me feel better, sometimes simply by watching her endure challenges that I couldn’t even comprehend without blinking an eye.

Sheena passed away on March 9th, 2014. I was 12 at the time and the closest thing I’d experienced to death was when my grandma died when I was 6; I barely remember it. Learning how to live with such a close death to me was hard but it taught me a lot, and in hindsight, made me who I am. I would be a completely different person had I never met Sheena, and over time I’ve learned to be grateful for the time I did get with her rather than mourn the time I didn’t. Sheena wasn’t meant to be on this earth long put her impact on it will be something I never forget.

There’s something about losing a friend, particularly at a young age, where it’s not something you get over. I don’t believe there’s a healing process for that.

Chris Cornell

The first people my brother and I meant when we first went to Karen’s, even before Sheena, were the Trunkhill boys. Jacob, the oldest, Adam, in the middle, and Carter, the youngest. Adam was my age so we were close while Carter was my brother’s age, they were inseparable. As for Jacob, he was just the staple piece for our survival, always keeping us in check since we weren’t dumb enough to do reckless things in front of Karen or our parents. The longer we went to Karen’s, the closer our parents got, and the more time we spent with them. We spent lots of weekends together, and one constant throughout them all was ATV’s.

We were constantly taking four-wheelers, rangers, really anything with a working engine, out in the fields and through the woods. Since we all lived on farms, that was really the only thing to do. With all that time on them, we knew how to do it. We knew what to do and not to do, what was safe and what wasn’t, eventually our parents didn’t even worry when we got on one. However, one day, it was snowing and Carter took the ranger down to a local field with Jacob and his dad, something we’d all done so many times. He hit the ditch just right that the ATV tipped over. Carter was crushed underneath and his dad and brother did everything they could to get it off, eventually managing to, but when they lifted it, he quit responding and eventually passed away in the snow.

The last memory I have of Carter is when he walked my brother home from school one night in the dark to make sure he got there safely. That was just the type of kid he was, always looking out for others. I don’t know many other 12 year olds who’d even consider whether or not someone else got home safe let alone go out of their way to make it happen. It had been a while since I had talked to Carter at that time but I recognized his high-pitched, child-like voice the instant it echoed through the house. I came out of my room and asked him if he’d like a ride back to the school to which he responded “I’m ok, I just wanted to make sure your brother got home safe.” I responded with “Well you’re practically my sibling anyway so shouldn’t I make sure you get back safely too.” Those were the last words I ever said to Carter and, for some reason, they continue to resonate with me today.

I felt guilty for such a long time for how much I struggled with his death when I knew

how much more my brother was hurting. The following week, on the first day Tommy went back to school, the guidance counselor took him to her office and showed him what Carter wrote when asked what he wanted to be when he grew up. It was a horribly drawn picture in crayon but at the top, in big red letters, was “to be a farmer with Tommy Miller.” Now, Tommy’s always been the more emotional sibling, but it was almost always out of frustration. This was the first time I could actually tell his tears were of pure sadness. If I let myself think about it, I can almost still hear Tommy’s screams after my mom told him Carter was gone, sounds of sheer agony. Watching how much my brother changed after that made me think of when I lost Sheena. The fact that I knew exactly what he was feeling made it almost harder than when I experienced it myself. I would have given anything to take that way from him.

Perhaps watching someone you love suffer can teach you even more than suffering yourself can

Dodie Smith

While Tommy and I were struggling with our losses, Karen was struggling just as badly. She had a very special and rare way of caring for her daycare kids as if they were her own so it hit her just as hard, if not harder than it hit Tommy and I. Just recently we found out Karen has cancer in various areas of her body. More tests need to be done to figure out for sure what kind(s) of cancer but based on the different locations, she’s going to go through a lot of treatment. When I first found out I didn’t even panic the way I normally would. If you were to ask me to name one person who is the most capable of kicking cancers ass it would be the strongest person I know: Karen.

She gave my brother and me two of the greatest friends we’ll ever have, which taught us, at a young age, what we deserve in a friend and how to pick the right ones. Sheena and Carter gave us that gift and our lives are better off for it. I wouldn’t trade knowing them for the time that I did. I wouldn’t trade feeling that loss because they are two of the biggest lessons I’ve learned so far. Their deaths have given my entire life a whole new meaning. I have an obligation to experience everything I possibly can because I know they won’t be able to. They have pushed me to live the life that I want instead of the life that others want for me. They taught me that I should do everything and

anything I possibly can, not just for myself anymore, but for them. However, the person who gave me it all, Sheena, Carter, all the lessons that came with them and so much more, was Karen. There’s no way to thank someone for making you who you are but if there was I’d say it a thousand times over; thank you.