UNC-CHAPEL HILL An ode to the ruler of Z-2
F
our years ago I never could have imagined what Z-2 would mean to me as a senior. The room that appeared so ordinary upon first impression has become my haven, my respite and my home. There are so many possible paths a student can take within the brick confines of West Henderson High School, but it was in this classroom that I found my comfort and ultimately, my identity. Z-2 draws an eclectic mix of people but I consider myself blessed to be one of them. We laugh, Photoshop, hang Christmas lights and leap out of our seats when we hear our name bellowed by our omnipotent advisor. We have lived life together over these past four years and made many incredible memories and friends along the way. There are definitely some things I would change about my high school career, but I would never change a second of the time I have spent in a rolling chair in a cluttered, loud and hilariously-chaotic backroom. Although I am eagerly anticipating graduation, I can’t helped but be filled with remorse as I come to the realization that I will never again sit in the backroom
avoiding the abundance of mundane assignments that await me on the other side of Z-2’s door. I will never again trudge up the hall and through the door at 8:02 with a sheepish smile as I dodge Mrs. G’s glare (if looks could kill, she would have murdered me several times). However, despite all the glares and “constructive criticism” no teacher has ever meant as much to me as the woman perpetually bent over her Mac. To those who don’t know her she is intimidating and threatening, but in reality she is one of the most loving women I know. She is one of the most committed teachers I have ever seen and I consider myself lucky to be considered one of “minions.” Mrs G, thank you for all you have done for all of your “scheming and conniving” children. Thank you for loving us unconditionally (even when your judgment advises you otherwise). In the end, I have come to the understanding that I would not change my experience in Z-2 for the world. I have worked tirelessly and procrastinated tirelessly, but in the end all we “minions” truly desire is Mrs. G’s hug and approval.
UNC-CHARLOTTE
I
cannot help but sniffle over Kendrick Lamar lyrics. No, Lamar’s words were never too noteworthy or touching — “Backseat Freestyle” never inspired anyone to work toward eradicating some sort of social injustice and “Swimming Pools” most likely fomented underage drinking. Nevertheless, I write this final column in a bassinduced coma, tears streaming down my face (embarrassingly enough). Like many, I have always looked forward to this moment — to placing my last byline in Wingspan, to shaking Hafer’s hand awkwardly on stage, to moving forward. But here is the moment, and I cannot help but think it is sad as hell. Of course, Hendersonville is very lacking in the entertainment department and West holds some bad memories, yet — there’s Kendrick Lamar. You see, “Poetic Justice” is playing at a dull roar in the backroom of Z-2 on a Monday at 8 a.m., and I am rapping every word, though terribly. Four years ago I barely talked to my peers, much less rapped for them (even though they probably prefer that
Kendrick Lamar inspires personal change I didn’t). But either way, there is Kendrick Lamar and songs about asses and journalism kids and me. Ultimately, I realize that I am making light of this situation, but I just want to say, “Thank you.” Thank you, Mrs. G, for developing a program that has not only offered me a multitude of educational opportunities, but has given me a place in this world to call my own. Thank you, journalism kids, for being some of the most accepting, eclectic and insane people I have met. Sure, a lot of you guys drive me crazy — but your deadline-negligent selves inspire me to love myself without pretense, to embrace my somewhat raw sense of humor, to be open when it’s easier to be closed off. I believe it was through late afternoons talking so much about nothing that transformed me into a more sociable and less awkward (though still awkward) Lauren Stepp. Finally, thank you, Kendrick Lamar. I wish I had discovered your music earlier and started rapping to the backroom years before now – unafraid of the magical rhythm lurking beneath my ginger-curls.
04 | senior editorials | wingspan | june 2014