He had, until today envied superheroes. Not because of their superhuman powers, but because of their ability to have alter-egos. He had decided early on that it was an unenviable truth that most people just aren’t that cool. Yet, while Clark Kent was a nerdy, classes wearing writer by day, he became the envy of every guy and the burly heartthrob of every women once he donned his costume and changed into his alter-ego. Peter Parker, a lonesome orphan, yet as soon as he slips into his costume, he becomes someone else. A hero. Envied. Cool. What’s with the tight, red, and blue though? Do babes really go for that stuff? No matter. What he knew without a shadow of a doubt was that he needed a costume, something to bring out his alter-ego. Today, he finally had it. It was his birthday and for the last few months he continuously reminded his parents what his birthday wish was. He also made sure he accomplished all of the prerequisites for attaining those items: pristine grades, chores done diligently and telling mom daily how much he loved her and how beautiful she was. Finally it was the day, and as he walked down to breakfast he could see three beautifully wrapped presents. His costume had arrived. In the first box was a brand new pair of white jeans. In the second box was a brand new blue polo shirt and a new red watch. In the third box was brand new red sneakers. He looked good. Real good. Like a hero. Cool. And as he walked to school his alter-ego was totally present and he couldn’t wait to find his girlfriend and prove to her that he’s the man she’s always wanted. “What up boo thang?” “Who are you talking to?” she replied in disgust. “And why are you talking that way?” she continued, face contorted, lips smacking in even more disgust. “Check me out though. Aren’t you impressed?” he countered as he grabbed her waist to pull her in closer. The pull made her take one step forward before she slammed his hand off of her waist. “You’re ridiculous! I was so excited to find you and hug you and give you my present, but you’re just being a jerk. Leave me alone,” she retorts twisting her body away and the knife further into his heart. It was kryptonite. He was destroyed. All of the hopes that he had in his costume had drained away. His girl was supposed to light up like they do for Superman or Batman. All hot and bothered at the sight of him and uncontrollably throw herself to the mercies of his whims and desires. The first period bell only augmented his despair.
At lunch he went to their table hoping that she would be there, but rather than sitting at their table she was sitting with her friends, something she hadn’t done since they started dating. More kryptonite. He found his friends and joined them. “What’s with the get up? You look like a tool,” responded one friend as he sat down with them. “Girl problems, huh. I feel bad for you son, but it’s probably because you look like a dumbass American flag,” replied his other, Jay-Z wannabe friend. “Whatever. I got it for my birthday,” was the only response he could muster. The worst thing you can do is admit that it’s your birthday at school because for some stupid reason when it’s your birthday all anyone wants to do his abuse you and get their birthday licks. Girls give balloons, but boys try to knock you out to celebrate your birthday. No sooner had he said “birthday” then all of his friend started hitting him yelling, “birthday licks!” “Did somebody say birthday licks?” retorted the big, carbon copy of Lenny’s evil cousin walking towards them with a cup full of liquid. As he poured the cold liquid over his head and onto his new jeans he was frozen by a horrifying realization. He was wearing red whitey-tighties. As his red underwear became even more obvious from his wet, white jeans the lunch room erupted. The words and jokes were relentless. As he ran out to find the bathroom the last thing that caught his ear was, “Who does he think he is, Superman?” He was planning to hide out in the stall all day. He was devastated. Just as he was wondering if this day could get any worse he heard the bathroom door crack and the voice of his girlfriend call his name. “Get out of here! This is the boy’s bathroom. Besides, you hate me like everyone else.” “Are you OK? And I don’t hate you.” “Just leave me alone.” “You look kind of cute in your red underwear though.” “Really?” he asked as he opened the stall door. “Yeah, I mean sure.” “You don’t think I look stupid?” “Well, you looked better with dry clothes, but….can I give you my present now?” “Here? Aren’t you going to get in trouble for being in here?” “Just take my card then, there’s more later. This is just the first part of your gift. You can open it in here, but lunch is almost done and I don’t want to get in trouble. Will I see you later?” she asked as she kissed him on the cheek. “Yeah, sure,” he nonchalantly replied getting some of his bravado back. “Open it,” she said as she walked out of the bathroom. The envelope was full of drawings of hearts and kisses. As he opened it he could smell her perfume which made his blood race more ego fueling blood through his body. Inside was the picture from the photo booth they took a few weeks back. He was wearing his favorite superman shirt. The card read, “You are my hero. I wish every girl could have a boyfriend as great as you.” He smiled, put the card in his back pocket and walked out embracing the red whitey-tighty wearing hero that he was.
Haley shot up in the midst of all the laughter almost hitting Elliana in the face. “Oh my gosh! It’s almost midnight!” Her heart began to pound looking dumbfounded and not knowing what to do or who to ask with 16 eyeballs staring right back at her. Haley flung off her slippers, ran into the next room and began to get ready like her life depended on it. The rest of them started to pick up the wine glasses, cheese plates, and fake eyelashes. Looking at her wrist frantically as she straightens up all the chairs, “11 minutes and 7 seconds left. I hope she makes it,” says Monique. The thundering of a door slams down the hall. Footsteps shuffle down the hall. “It’s time,” shouted Karina, “grab the towel.”
Haley takes a deep breath as she gets dressed and comes out of the bathroom. She has no idea how new pajamas were set out for her. As soon as she opens the door, all 8 of the girls rush in trying her hair with towels and 3 hairdryers start to power up. Within what seems like 10 seconds, her hair was all dried and ready for the big event. Haley takes a deep breath and walks into the next room. Her mother has arrived as the rest of the ladies gather around her mother. The room was lit with a lamp, but her mother’s smile seemed to illuminate the spirit of everyone around her. Haley sees a floral patterned chair in the middle of the room where she feels a force pulling her to sit in it. Karina brings out a tray with a comb, special plant leaves, and bobby pins on it.
As Haley sits down, she knew what was about to happen. She’s lived in the United States all her life. She’s known the American traditions and the American life. Deep down though, she knew her true ethnic roots. She may not know the true meaning and importance behind this tradition, but she knew it was important to her mother and she is willing to pass it onto her future generations and keep it in the family. Tomorrow is the day she marries the man she loved. Before that happens though, she will go through the traditional hair combing ceremony.
Elliana holds up the mirror to Haley as her mother starts the first comb from the top of her head to the very end of the longest strand of hair. “You guys will be together from the beginning to the end of the road,” her mother softly spoke. As the comb reach the bottom, it swiftly moved back up for the second stroke. “Happiness and harmony in the relationship together from now until old age.” With the third stroke, her mother said, “May you two have many sons and daughters.” With the fourth and final stroke, her mother said with confidence, “Guaranteed happiness and fortune for the couple tomorrow and forever.” As the comb completed it’s last stroke down, tears were streaming down each single cheek in the room. The special leaf was clipped to Haley’s hair. It was done. Another tradition learned, and many more for the future.
What possessed him to share this secret with me? Was he looking for approval? Did he think I’d condone his cheating while the rest of us had been preparing for months, memorizing word list after word list? I could feel my cheeks radiating heat as I watched him stick that pocket-sized dictionary under his two-sizes-too-big sweatshirt. “You better leave that dictionary in the hall,” I hissed, as I stormed into the testing room. Doug heard my half-empty threat but brushed me off in his arrogant strut. I wasn’t joking, though, and really did want to turn him in. I didn’t really care so much that he was cheating, per se. That I – along with the vast majority of my classmates – worked my tail off for nearly a semester to prepare for the most important test of my life, while this fraudster put the “pocket” in “pocket dictionary,” was what really made my blood boil. Two hours into the exam, I could see Doug smirking out of the corner of my eye. Or at least that’s what I told myself I was seeing. Whether he was wearing his actions on his face or not, there is no doubt in my mind that he flipped open the book lodged beneath his sweatshirt to the “Ps” to steal the definition of “parsimonious.” It irked me, but I had an important task at hand and could not let this stooge dictate my performance. Fast-forward three months later, and the day of reckoning was here. Perhaps Doug missed a bubble and botched his entire answer sheet. Or maybe the SAT graders somehow picked up on his scandalous ways. Either way, I truly was more interested in my own score. Confident that I did well based on my diligent preparations, I opened the envelope and was delighted. “This could even get me into my reach schools,” I excitedly thought to myself. The next day at school, very few students exchanged scores with one another. Good friends exchanged them – especially the competitive boys – but for the most part students were subdued, even demonstrating a classiness that was rare amongst teenagers. Most students, that is. After sixth period European History, I was less than three steps outside of the classroom when I saw Doug about twenty lockers down the hallway. Giddy as can be, stopping every few feet to talk to some – he must be asking everyone what they got, I thought. Sure enough, after walking down the hall is if I were in slow motion, I saw his head turn my direction. I felt my blood boil like when we entered that SAT room months earlier. And I swear, he offered that same, shameful smirk that I saw in my peripheral vision when he lacked any clue what parsimonious meant. As the words began to roll of his tongue, rather than let my anger take over, I shot him a dirty look, followed by a smirk of my own – one that let him know I knew his secret, which I would keep it in my back packet for the rest of my life. Without stopping, I continued on my way, never looking back. I left him as the one with questions – perhaps questioning what he did, and what I would do with his secret. I wasn’t going to do anything. What’s the point? But he didn’t know that. Doug’s the one that would have to justify his actions to himself. Whatever makes him sleep at night, I suppose.
“Hey light bright…. cracker… white girl,” he yells into the kitchen at Karrin.
Karrin tries with all her might to ignore the insults her brother, Bryant, hurls her way. Eventually, she would always fire back with the same declaration, almost like clockwork.
So with tears flooding her eyes and quivering lips, Karrin asserts, “STOP CALLING ME THAT YOU, YOU!” She couldn’t think of any insults of her own.
Bryant’s lips begin to form that wicked smirk; the one he would make right before he tells, what he thinks, is breaking news. “You know you were adopted right?” he says in an inquisitive tone.
Karrin knows she isn’t white, but in the back of her mind, she begins to wonder why she is lighter than her brothers and sisters. “Well I know I’m not white,” she says reassuring herself. But, like always Karrin looks to her mother to confirm or deny his statement, each time, thinking her response will be different.
In the kitchen, her mother scurries about preparing Sunday dinner. She seems oblivious to the unrelenting, taunting Karrin’s spirit is being subjected to.
“Rin pour those potatoes in the water on the stove and start making the kool-aid?”
“Ma!” Karrin exclaims. “Can you tell Bryant to leave me alone?”
“Chil, I don’t know why you pay him any attention,” says her mother. “I keep tellin’ you that you weren’t adopted. I had my hands full with four children before you; you think I was going to adopt another one?”
“Humph,” her mother adds as an afterthought.
Karrin thinks about what her mother said and concludes that the answer is “no.” Her brothers and sisters constant bickering, fights and hardheads were enough to handle.
Just then Karrin’s older sister, Naila bursts through the front door with the force of the autumn wind behind her. Naila is a year and a few months older than Karrin. She has a cocoa colored skin tone, long, thick hair and is of a slimmer body build than Karrin’s almond colored skin tone, thin, curly hair and round body build. People always compliment Naila’s skin tone and admire her full head of hair.
Naila is never teased like Karrin. No one ever turns off the lights in a room to see if she would shine like a night light or responds in disbelief when she shows her family photos.
Karrin yearns to receive the treatment everyone gives Naila. She begins daydreaming about what life would be like if she has a darker skin tone. She imagines feeling acceptance, belonging and looking like her family.
Her dream begins with her, Naila and their neighborhood friends baking treats in their Easy Bake Oven, sipping tea from the aluminum stained tea set and playing dress-up in their mother’s clothes.
“Hey, Karrin let’s turn on some music and really get the party goin’!” shouts Dee Dee.
The only problem is that Dee Dee was talking to Naila and Karrin is in their mother’s bedroom with Keisha yanking dresses off the hangers and molding them against their bodies.
“Your mom has really nice dresses in here, Naila” Keisha says. Karrin’s puzzling look prompts Keisha to respond, “Sorry Karrin, you two look just alike… too much alike.”
Karrin inhales deeply and exhales slowly bowing her head simultaneously. “What am I thinking,” she questions herself.
“Karrin, Karrin!” her mother shrieks. “Turn that water off for you run up my water bill. I don’t know what gets into you sometimes.”
Karrin finished making the kool-aid and walks into the dining room. A picture of her grandmother sits centered on the shelves in an old, wooden frame with other family pictures. Now, Karrin adores her grandmother. She wouldn’t let Bryant tease her. In fact, Bryant never teased Karrin when their grandmother was around. Karrin wishes that her grandmother is around now, more than ever, but her words still keep Karrin company in her absence.
“Beauty isn’t skin deep, Rin,” she would say affectionately, squeezing Karrin’s hands. “True beauty is in what you say and what you do.”
Lazy Leo sat on his throne with a sly grin on his face. It was winter in Chicago, and the wind howled. Leo’s hair spiraled out of control; he didn't care. The furs and linens he wore made a statement about his hierarchy. He began to think about the locals’ reaction to his new authority. He felt their fear – their resentment; he knew they’d crumble at his barked orders. After all, the throne was now his own. Leo complained: “Gross! This food is not warm enough! I won’t eat it!” “Yuck! This pillow is too hard. I won’t sleep on it!” “Is this a joke? Salt and snow? On my fur shoes? I refuse to walk in this – carry me!” Before now, Leo had been very lonely. He was given up for adoption at birth, and he sat alone, every day, waiting for a family to love him. He would tell himself, “One day, I will be cared for. One day, people will beg for my attention. One day, people will love me.” Well, his day came, and Leo was adopted by two loving parents. They wanted an addition for their family, and Leo seemed like the perfect fit. It didn’t take long though for Leo to become all too comfortable in his new home. Soon, he was taking advantage of his new parents’ love; he was spoiled by them and he became increasingly greedy. Worst of all, he was ungrateful for their love. Leo rarely showed his appreciation to his parents. He rarely showed them that he was thankful, and he never showed them how much he, too, loved them. Soon, Leo began to notice that his parents were distancing themselves from him. They stopped coming to him every time he called for them – to bark orders at them. They stopped cooking nice meals for him because he refused to eat their food. They stopped tucking him in at night because he tore apart his sleeping arrangements. They stopped taking him out on long walks because of his harsh demands. Leo began feeling unloved again. He stopped barking orders; he stopped complaining, and he stopped demanding. One night, Leo crept into the kitchen and overheard his parents’ conversation. He heard his mom say, “I don’t understand. All I want is to love Leo, but he doesn't love me back. Now, he seems sad again, and I don’t know how to help him.” Leo heard his dad too: “Leo doesn't seem grateful for our love – maybe he doesn't love us in return? I wonder if he would be happier with another family.” When Leo heard this, he became very sad. He loved his parents very much, but he didn’t know how to love them in return. After all, he had never been felt love until now. Right then, Leo felt his tail wagging out of control. He wanted to show his parents how much he loved them once and for all. He felt like it was now or never, so Leo bolted from one side of the kitchen to the other. He leaped onto his mom’s lap and began licking her checks sloppily. She began giggling immediately. Leo’s dad began petting Leo, too, and Leo jumped into his dad’s arms! Although Leo couldn’t tell his parents how much he loved them with words, he showed them right then and there with his actions. From that day on, Lazy Leo showed his love for his parents every day with his wagging tail.
When I moved to Florida from New Jersey, one of the first things that I did was to go to my cousin’s youth cheerleading and football game. Living in New Jersey I wasn’t around cousins and, as into football as my dad and brothers were, I was never exposed to the youth leagues. Seeing this game and all of the excitement around it had me fascinated. I was 5 years old and had decided that it was my destiny to be a cheerleader. The very next season, my parents signed my brothers and I up for the local team. We were now Dixie Junior Rebels. I walked around that field wearing my blue and grey as proud as could be. I loved every minute of cheerleading. I used to beg my parents to bring me to the field early so I could get in some extra practice and hang out with all of the new friends that I was making. It went on like this for about seven years. I went through the flyweight division to the mighty-mights. Turning twelve brought me to where I am now. I am a varsity pee wee cheerleader for the Dixie Junior Rebels (DJR). This year we have new coaches. Angela and Alyssa cheered together for Dixie. Their midget team was the only team from DJR that actually won a competition. Us girls were so excited to have them. They were young and fun and cool. From day one our squad was more focused and disciplined than I had experienced in the past. They accepted nothing less than tight arms and high jumps. If we were caught goofing around, we ran. If we couldn’t hold our arms correctly, we did jumping jacks. We had consequences for the first time and, surprisingly, we didn’t mind it. At our first game, we began to get compliments from fans on how together our cheers were and how tight and stiff our motions looked. We all began to think that this could be the year that we have a chance at competition. About halfway through the football season, Angela showed us our competition dance. We were wowed (and a little nervous). It was complex and fast. The cheer that we would be doing was like a three part chorus harmony. We were all moving at different times and doing different motions. If done right it looked amazing. If not, it was a disaster. After practice that night, as we were all walking to the parking lot, we were discussing the routine. We all decided that it was going to be a lot of work. But if we put in the work we thought it could pay off. Right then and there we decided that we were going to do it. We were going to place at competition this year. The next day at practice, we worked harder than ever. The stunt that we had been struggling with went up flawlessly the first time we tried. Our jumps were high and our smiles were big. We could tell that Alyssa and Angela were impressed but they didn’t want to tell us. Whatever got into us, they were going to take and run with. It went on like this for the rest of the week. We were feeling confident and ready to go! That was our first mistake. The next week, everything went wrong. What went so perfectly just days ago was now falling apart. Stunts were falling, girls were crying, there was bruised arms and faltering egos. Angela decided it was time for a pep talk. She explained to us that we shouldn’t let a few mistakes get us down. She told us we had talent, all of us. All athletes experience this and it is nothing to run from. We might have to work harder but we had the talent and we could do it. Feeling better, we dug into practicing harder than ever. The football games that were always so fun and carefree became just another day to practice. It was our time to show the other teams what we had. We finished the season and were feeling good. There were four weeks left until competition.
The four weeks flew by. It always seemed like we had so much to do at practice but nothing seemed to get done. We would spend a whole hour working on our pyramid and it still wasn’t right. Our cheer would be off by one person and we would have to spend the whole other hour of practice working on that one cheer. As the weeks went by we started to feel better. Things were all falling into place and our confidence was back up. The last practice before competition was on a Wednesday night. It was dedicated to performing your entire routine for the rest of the DJR squads in a sort of pep rally. We sat and watched as all of the JV squads performed. We cheered when we were supposed to and we clapped along to give support. Then came the varsity squads. We were the third varsity team to go and, although I may be biased and on the other side, we got be biggest cheers from the crowd. We said our good byes that night more excited than usual. We knew Saturday would be there before long and our lives as we knew them could change. Sleep that week was almost nonexistent. Saturday morning finally arrived. I woke up with butterflies in my stomach. My mom had helped me put curlers in my hair the night before so as soon as I was up she was there to take them out. My curls looked perfect. I took that as a good omen of the day to come. After getting my uniform on and putting way too much make up and glitter on my face, I was ready to go. My whole family drove me to the field and I met up with my team. We all looked fantastic. We had red lips, glittered eyes, and bouncing curls. We were ready. At the time, waiting to perform seemed like the most difficult, boring, and long process of the whole year. After two hours, it was finally time for our age group to perform. We were the sixth team in the peewees to go up and the butterflies were back. We walked down to the gate to get on the field. We walked onto the track surrounding the football field. We walked off to the side of the designated “stage”. We were next. Oh boy. As soon as I walked into that box on the field, my butterflies were gone. I was in the zone. Unfortunately, being in the zone also meant that I didn’t remember what happened. The next thing I really remember after stepping into that box is running out of that box. The rest is a blur. After that, we all pretty much had the same feeling about the performance. We thought that it went well but we weren’t sure after watching some of the other squads if it would be enough. Now came the waiting game again. We went over and visited with our families who were on the other side of the field. We got snacks and drinks and just hung out. It was the first relaxing moment of the whole day and we relished in it. That is until the announcer came over the speakers telling all cheerleaders to head back down to the field. The winners were about to be announced. Curls hanging down around our face, faded lipstick, and shaking hands, we banded together on the football field. Arm in arm we waited. And waited. The time was ticking by slower than it ever had before. Finally, after what seemed like 3 hours, the announcer came on the speaker. They announced the flyweight winners. We could see other teams jumping and screaming as their teams were called. We wanted that. They moved on to the mighty might age group. Again, the teams were called and the reactions are just what we imagined ours would be. Six winners had been announced so far. Not one of them was a Rebel. We felt bad for our other groups but knew that we actually had a chance to bring that excitement and pride to our team.
At last, it was time for the peewees to be announced. I made eye contact with my parents and brothers in the stands. They gave me a reassuring smile but I could tell they were nervous too. After all of the practice and bruises, this was the moment of truth. My mouth went dry as the speaker boomed “And now, for the winners of the peewee division! In third place, we have…” The announcer paused for what seemed like ten minutes. Didn’t he know what we were going through right now?? “The Coooountrysiddddeee Juniorrrrrr Cougarssssss!” Cougar fans in the stands erupted with cheers. My team looked over, envious of their new trophy. What we saw shocked us more than the announcement itself. The cougars were not jumping. They were not screaming. They were acting as if they had not heard correctly. The couches started to nudge them forward to collect their award. It finally clicked for them. They had won third place. Not first place like they were so used to doing. My teammates and I looked at each other. We weren’t sure whether to be excited or disappointed. Third place was announced and it wasn’t us. Did we really perform well enough to win that second place trophy? Or maybe even first? The speakers screeched. We went still. “Second place for the peewee division goes to…” (Another long, drawn out, dramatic pause from the announcer) “The Dixieeeeee Juniorrrrrr Rebelssssss” My mind went blank. Everything went white. That was my team they just called. We just won SECOND PLACE! In my 7 years of cheering with DJR, this was the first time I had heard our name called over those speakers. And it was because of my squad. I am jolted back into the present by one of my friends’ running into me and practically knocking me over in excitement. I look around and see my entire team jumping up and down and hugging each other. My body reacts when my mind doesn’t know how. I too start jumping and hugging and screaming. I realize that this moment, the one that I have imagined since I was a five-year-old Dixie Darling, has just happened. The moment to this day was mostly a blur. I don’t know how long our celebrating lasted or at what point I lost my voice. The judge held out the medium sized, second place trophy and all sixteen of us girls charge forward with outstretched arms hoping to be the first to get our hands on that golden plastic masterpiece. Surprisingly, our pregnant coach is the first to reach it and she holds it over her head in triumph as we all surround her, still bouncing. As a squad, we half run, half hop off towards the end zone with our prize. I finally stop jumping enough to see my teammates with tears in their eyes. We are all diehard, dedicated cheerleaders. For the last month we have done nothing but think about this routine. We do it in our sleep, while eating, walking to school, and sitting in class. This hard work of ours has finally paid off and it feels good. Really good.
Day in and day out, humans walk past my cage, looking at me as I bark frantically, “Take me home!” For some reason, my barking does not draw their attention. They look at my neighbors. I claw at the cage door, just wanting to be held. They keep on walking.
So, how did I end up here? A cute gray and white Italian Greyhound with eyes that could melt anyone’s heart. Well, my former family had to move to a new home and could not take me with them, so I ended up in an animal shelter. Selfish humans.
The adventure getting here was one that would be scary for anyone. I traveled in different cars, different cages, and met different people. When I finally arrived at my destination, the adventure had really just begun.
I could hear my neighbor’s barking through the cage walls. Their barks sounded as anxious and as curious as mine. Then there were the people, walking past our cages, inspecting us like we were merchandise in a store window. While they were searching for a new novelty, we were all searching for the same thing, a forever home.
My barks were so loud that I needed to be removed from the public view. I was eventually kept in a small office set away from the other animals in the shelter. Boy, did I have them fooled. This office was better than the small, black wire cage with a thin blanket at the bottom any day!
Then one day, they came. The lady at the shelter entered the office with a smile on her face. “Someone wants to meet you, Spot!” she said excitedly. As she carried me out to the front desk, I wondered if this could be the one. I then realized that I needed to put on a good show. As I was carried to the smiling couple, I sat up, tall and proud, putting my best foot forward. As she set me down on the ground, I showed them my best trick; sit!
After they decided that they wanted to spend more time with me, we went into a visiting room where we got to know each other better. “You’re so cute!” they said to me over and over. I was so nervous, but I continued to impress them. They played with me and petted me. Being petted felt wonderful. Then came decision time.
“I think he’s perfect,” she said. “Me too, he’s just the right size,” he said. “We should name him Ozzie,” he said. Ozzie! I thought, but my name is Spot! “Ozzie, do you like that name?” She said. I couldn’t help but wag my tail with excitement. Knowing that I was going to a forever home was more important than being upset over getting a new name. “I think he likes it, he is wagging his tail,” he said.
And with that, they made the decision to make me a part of their family.
Now it is just the three of us. Enjoying lazy Saturday mornings on the couch and taking nice long walks in the warm sun. I don’t have to sleep in a cage or an office anymore. Now, I have a bed of my own and a forever home.
As one foot follows the other, he walks aimlessly, unsure of where he's going because he doesn't know where he has come from. The Motherland is never far but it's up to him; "seek and you shall find." As he walks into the unmarked building, minarets skim the sky.
"What brings you here?" a voice says.
Without looking at the speaker, he responds, "An instinct...an urge to know".
"Know what?" the voice says, now with a curious tone.
"Who I am."
With a furrowed brow and determination that is often brought on by a pinch of anger and a whole lot of purpose, he walks out of the unmarked building, crosses the street, and stops at the newsstand. He picks up the day's paper. A wave of relief overcomes him--the paper is written in his native tongue. He can't be too far from home--wherever that is.
What happened? Why doesn't he know where he is or how he got here?
He thinks about his family. He wonders about his only living relative: his brother. He wonders what his only brother--estranged-- is doing at that very moment. Is he still alive? Did he return from the war? Does he have a family of his own? Whatever disagreement caused them to renounce each other as blood brothers, must not have been worth the abandonment; he can't recall the root of the matter. Dazed and confused. Had he been in an accident which caused him to suffer from amnesia? Or had he simply overslept on the bus and missed the stop? All these questions, thoughts are running through his mind.
"Hey!" The man behind the newsstand counter has a sharp, raspy voice.
Just then, he realizes he hasn't moved since he grabbed the paper.
"You gonna buy it?" croaks Raspy Man. He's standing far enough to allow other customers through yet close enough to smell the cigarette that burns between the man's fingers. Suddenly the cigarette odor (or is it aroma?) is comforting. Familiar.
As part of my studies I am required to fulfill field hours.
Today I arrived for the class I've been observing for the past two weeks, as I was settling into my observer's corner, a note was passed to me. The note informed me that there was going to be, unbeknownst to the students, a LOCK DOWN DRILL.
Have you seen my childhood…?
What’s a LOCK DOWN DRILL? I hear you ask.
During the course of the school day school children, together with school staff, ‘practice’- drill for how to respond in the case of an emergency…typically here in the States, depending where you live those drills include:
• Fire drills
•Tornado drills
•Earthquake drills
…..and typically in the UK those drills include:
• Fire drills
• Bomb alerts
Have you seen my childhood…?
LOCK DOWN drills, in the case of an armed intruder, have now been added to that list.
They don’t call it LOCK DOWN for nothing…at the cue of the alarm the teacher deftly launched into action
• CLACK! - went the lock on the door
• CLICK!- went the light switch
• SHUSH!!-went the teacher to the children as he waved the to the farthest corner in the room away from the door, so that they could not be seen from the door by an armed intruder.
• HUSH- descended as the children and teacher stood absolutely still…the quiet air was taut enough to be cut into slices
This lasted for about ten minutes, as checks had to be made to ensure that procedures had been followed:
• VIOLENTLY RATTLED doors to check that they were locked
• PEERED THROUGH windows to make sure students were not visible from the door by an intruder.
Have you seen my childhood…?
The all clear was given…the children EXHALED…stood up brushed off their clothes and impassively went back to their desk and resumed their school work…their thought process obscured from my peering eyes, searching out anyone who shared in the trepidation I felt…
Later as my session for the day came to an end, the LOCK DOWN DRILL was still at the forefront of my mind…what kind of world have we created for our children, through our actions we increasingly encroach on their childhood, eroding the authentic experiences of being a child, behaving as children with the freedom of being a child…
Have you seen my childhood? I'm searching for the world that I come from I've been looking around in the lost and found of my heart…
The thing about the rock is that no one knows where it came from.
Gene and Herb walked into their living room one day and found it sitting on their couch—and by “sitting on,” I mean “decimating half of”—and after trying to move it for twelve minutes, they gave up and decided to keep it.
“I think we should call it Stoney,” offered Gene, wiping the sweat from his weathered brow, yet completely neglecting the pool gathered at the top of his catepillar-esque white unibrow.
“Yeahhhhh… that’s a stupid idea,” replied his brother Herb, who then declared, matter-of-factly, “I think we should call it Pebbles!”
Gene scowled, and in doing so, drenched his face with his pooled unibrow sweat. “MINE was a stupid idea?!? Pebbles is the most ludicrous name I’ve ever heard! Even an idiot like you should be able to tell that this rock is not a GIRL rock. It’s clearly a manly being. Look at that! It’s definitely a moustache!” He pointed to a wide black smudge on the lower end of the eastern side of the rock, a smudge that Herb had already identified as a set of lush, full lips in his head.
It was that time of the year again- perms, new outfits, egg hunts, egg coloring and a day at grandma’s house. There were only two times during the year when my sister and I got perms- Easter and back to school. My sister particularly loved getting perms because otherwise the tears, hand pops, and screaming battle between she and my mom would ensue. Perms for me were a break from big, thick plaits parted off in their own territory on top my head. . This year my mom brought us outfits instead of dresses. My outfit was a turquoise sqort with a matching top. Sure enough this was shaping up to be an Easter I would never forget.
Keeping with tradition, we headed over to grandma’s house for egg coloring and dinner. My cousins were outside running, hopping, jumping and yelling when we arrived. I ran to join them, but my mother gave me that look to say, “you know to go speak to everyone first.” We opened the front door to meet a gust of eggs, bubbles popping on the stop, and snakes hissing it sounded like, but it was just the pots on the stove releasing steam.
“Hey grandma,” I exclaimed! “Hey CeCe,” she said before checking on the greens.
I made my rounds through the living room greeting everyone as fast as I could. By the time I got back to the kitchen my cousins were there collecting money from my grandma to go to the candy lady. She gave my sister and I money too. My sister decided to save hers, but my cousins and I didn’t.
“Betcha I beat you to the candy lady,” someone yelled. We raced across the courtyard and the street separating us from the candy lady’s apartment.
We all got bags of Chewy’s and Frootie’s. Leaving out the door a bee decided it wanted to hover around me. My cousin teased that my high-yellow skin tone made me look like a sun flower. Of course, I jetted down the street as fast as I could, in the opposite direction of grandma’s house. Down the sidewalk I flew, it seemed like, with the bee in hot pursuit. “Buuzzzzzz,” from the bee and “Hahahahaha,” was all I could hear around me. Until, THUMP! The most excruciating pain traveled through my thigh as I came to a rest on the ground. It felt as if my leg was being stretched in opposite directions like a rubber band. When my cousins saw me crying they stopped laughing and sprinted over to help, but I couldn’t get up! One of my younger cousins rushed to the house to get help. My mom’s boyfriend, Orlando, came to my rescue. He picked me up and carried me into the house. All the adults surrounded me.
“What’s wrong, baby,” “Where does it hurt,” they all asked at once?
Once my mom calmed me down and the tears, sniffles, and gasps subsided I explained what happened-“IwasrunningfrumabeeandItrippedandfellovaarock- andmythighhurtandnowIcan’twalk.”
After no one could determine the problem, I was told that I had to stay inside on the couch. Bummer! I had to sit and listen to adult conversation and watch whatever was on television. My cousins stayed inside with me as long as they could before they couldn’t resist the great outdoors any longer. On the bright side, I still got to color and paint and eat eggs and was catered to all day long.
Later that evening, we visited the hospital where I tested the wheels on a wheelchair for a few hours. X-rays revealed that I had pulled a muscle in my leg. For the next few weeks, I was carried around like a baby to do simple things like go to the restroom or to bed. Someone was always on call to bring me food too. I also got to use my sister’s stepping cane to move around as the soreness began to subside. This was cool because she never let me play with it.
The Superhero
ReplyDeleteHe had, until today envied superheroes. Not because of their superhuman powers, but because of their ability to have alter-egos. He had decided early on that it was an unenviable truth that most people just aren’t that cool. Yet, while Clark Kent was a nerdy, classes wearing writer by day, he became the envy of every guy and the burly heartthrob of every women once he donned his costume and changed into his alter-ego. Peter Parker, a lonesome orphan, yet as soon as he slips into his costume, he becomes someone else. A hero. Envied. Cool. What’s with the tight, red, and blue though? Do babes really go for that stuff? No matter. What he knew without a shadow of a doubt was that he needed a costume, something to bring out his alter-ego. Today, he finally had it.
It was his birthday and for the last few months he continuously reminded his parents what his birthday wish was. He also made sure he accomplished all of the prerequisites for attaining those items: pristine grades, chores done diligently and telling mom daily how much he loved her and how beautiful she was. Finally it was the day, and as he walked down to breakfast he could see three beautifully wrapped presents. His costume had arrived. In the first box was a brand new pair of white jeans. In the second box was a brand new blue polo shirt and a new red watch. In the third box was brand new red sneakers. He looked good. Real good. Like a hero. Cool. And as he walked to school his alter-ego was totally present and he couldn’t wait to find his girlfriend and prove to her that he’s the man she’s always wanted.
“What up boo thang?”
“Who are you talking to?” she replied in disgust. “And why are you talking that way?” she continued, face contorted, lips smacking in even more disgust.
“Check me out though. Aren’t you impressed?” he countered as he grabbed her waist to pull her in closer.
The pull made her take one step forward before she slammed his hand off of her waist.
“You’re ridiculous! I was so excited to find you and hug you and give you my present, but you’re just being a jerk. Leave me alone,” she retorts twisting her body away and the knife further into his heart.
It was kryptonite. He was destroyed. All of the hopes that he had in his costume had drained away. His girl was supposed to light up like they do for Superman or Batman. All hot and bothered at the sight of him and uncontrollably throw herself to the mercies of his whims and desires. The first period bell only augmented his despair.
At lunch he went to their table hoping that she would be there, but rather than sitting at their table she was sitting with her friends, something she hadn’t done since they started dating. More kryptonite. He found his friends and joined them.
Delete“What’s with the get up? You look like a tool,” responded one friend as he sat down with them.
“Girl problems, huh. I feel bad for you son, but it’s probably because you look like a dumbass American flag,” replied his other, Jay-Z wannabe friend.
“Whatever. I got it for my birthday,” was the only response he could muster.
The worst thing you can do is admit that it’s your birthday at school because for some stupid reason when it’s your birthday all anyone wants to do his abuse you and get their birthday licks. Girls give balloons, but boys try to knock you out to celebrate your birthday. No sooner had he said “birthday” then all of his friend started hitting him yelling, “birthday licks!”
“Did somebody say birthday licks?” retorted the big, carbon copy of Lenny’s evil cousin walking towards them with a cup full of liquid.
As he poured the cold liquid over his head and onto his new jeans he was frozen by a horrifying realization. He was wearing red whitey-tighties. As his red underwear became even more obvious from his wet, white jeans the lunch room erupted. The words and jokes were relentless. As he ran out to find the bathroom the last thing that caught his ear was, “Who does he think he is, Superman?”
He was planning to hide out in the stall all day. He was devastated. Just as he was wondering if this day could get any worse he heard the bathroom door crack and the voice of his girlfriend call his name.
“Get out of here! This is the boy’s bathroom. Besides, you hate me like everyone else.”
“Are you OK? And I don’t hate you.”
“Just leave me alone.”
“You look kind of cute in your red underwear though.”
“Really?” he asked as he opened the stall door.
“Yeah, I mean sure.”
“You don’t think I look stupid?”
“Well, you looked better with dry clothes, but….can I give you my present now?”
“Here? Aren’t you going to get in trouble for being in here?”
“Just take my card then, there’s more later. This is just the first part of your gift. You can open it in here, but lunch is almost done and I don’t want to get in trouble. Will I see you later?” she asked as she kissed him on the cheek.
“Yeah, sure,” he nonchalantly replied getting some of his bravado back.
“Open it,” she said as she walked out of the bathroom.
The envelope was full of drawings of hearts and kisses. As he opened it he could smell her perfume which made his blood race more ego fueling blood through his body. Inside was the picture from the photo booth they took a few weeks back. He was wearing his favorite superman shirt. The card read, “You are my hero. I wish every girl could have a boyfriend as great as you.” He smiled, put the card in his back pocket and walked out embracing the red whitey-tighty wearing hero that he was.
The combing
ReplyDeleteHaley shot up in the midst of all the laughter almost hitting Elliana in the face. “Oh my gosh! It’s almost midnight!” Her heart began to pound looking dumbfounded and not knowing what to do or who to ask with 16 eyeballs staring right back at her. Haley flung off her slippers, ran into the next room and began to get ready like her life depended on it. The rest of them started to pick up the wine glasses, cheese plates, and fake eyelashes. Looking at her wrist frantically as she straightens up all the chairs, “11 minutes and 7 seconds left. I hope she makes it,” says Monique. The thundering of a door slams down the hall. Footsteps shuffle down the hall. “It’s time,” shouted Karina, “grab the towel.”
Haley takes a deep breath as she gets dressed and comes out of the bathroom. She has no idea how new pajamas were set out for her. As soon as she opens the door, all 8 of the girls rush in trying her hair with towels and 3 hairdryers start to power up. Within what seems like 10 seconds, her hair was all dried and ready for the big event. Haley takes a deep breath and walks into the next room. Her mother has arrived as the rest of the ladies gather around her mother. The room was lit with a lamp, but her mother’s smile seemed to illuminate the spirit of everyone around her. Haley sees a floral patterned chair in the middle of the room where she feels a force pulling her to sit in it. Karina brings out a tray with a comb, special plant leaves, and bobby pins on it.
As Haley sits down, she knew what was about to happen. She’s lived in the United States all her life. She’s known the American traditions and the American life. Deep down though, she knew her true ethnic roots. She may not know the true meaning and importance behind this tradition, but she knew it was important to her mother and she is willing to pass it onto her future generations and keep it in the family. Tomorrow is the day she marries the man she loved. Before that happens though, she will go through the traditional hair combing ceremony.
Elliana holds up the mirror to Haley as her mother starts the first comb from the top of her head to the very end of the longest strand of hair. “You guys will be together from the beginning to the end of the road,” her mother softly spoke. As the comb reach the bottom, it swiftly moved back up for the second stroke. “Happiness and harmony in the relationship together from now until old age.” With the third stroke, her mother said, “May you two have many sons and daughters.” With the fourth and final stroke, her mother said with confidence, “Guaranteed happiness and fortune for the couple tomorrow and forever.” As the comb completed it’s last stroke down, tears were streaming down each single cheek in the room. The special leaf was clipped to Haley’s hair. It was done. Another tradition learned, and many more for the future.
ReplyDeleteWhat possessed him to share this secret with me? Was he looking for approval? Did he think I’d condone his cheating while the rest of us had been preparing for months, memorizing word list after word list? I could feel my cheeks radiating heat as I watched him stick that pocket-sized dictionary under his two-sizes-too-big sweatshirt.
“You better leave that dictionary in the hall,” I hissed, as I stormed into the testing room.
Doug heard my half-empty threat but brushed me off in his arrogant strut. I wasn’t joking, though, and really did want to turn him in. I didn’t really care so much that he was cheating, per se. That I – along with the vast majority of my classmates – worked my tail off for nearly a semester to prepare for the most important test of my life, while this fraudster put the “pocket” in “pocket dictionary,” was what really made my blood boil.
Two hours into the exam, I could see Doug smirking out of the corner of my eye. Or at least that’s what I told myself I was seeing. Whether he was wearing his actions on his face or not, there is no doubt in my mind that he flipped open the book lodged beneath his sweatshirt to the “Ps” to steal the definition of “parsimonious.” It irked me, but I had an important task at hand and could not let this stooge dictate my performance.
Fast-forward three months later, and the day of reckoning was here. Perhaps Doug missed a bubble and botched his entire answer sheet. Or maybe the SAT graders somehow picked up on his scandalous ways. Either way, I truly was more interested in my own score. Confident that I did well based on my diligent preparations, I opened the envelope and was delighted. “This could even get me into my reach schools,” I excitedly thought to myself.
The next day at school, very few students exchanged scores with one another. Good friends exchanged them – especially the competitive boys – but for the most part students were subdued, even demonstrating a classiness that was rare amongst teenagers. Most students, that is.
After sixth period European History, I was less than three steps outside of the classroom when I saw Doug about twenty lockers down the hallway. Giddy as can be, stopping every few feet to talk to some – he must be asking everyone what they got, I thought. Sure enough, after walking down the hall is if I were in slow motion, I saw his head turn my direction. I felt my blood boil like when we entered that SAT room months earlier. And I swear, he offered that same, shameful smirk that I saw in my peripheral vision when he lacked any clue what parsimonious meant.
As the words began to roll of his tongue, rather than let my anger take over, I shot him a dirty look, followed by a smirk of my own – one that let him know I knew his secret, which I would keep it in my back packet for the rest of my life. Without stopping, I continued on my way, never looking back. I left him as the one with questions – perhaps questioning what he did, and what I would do with his secret. I wasn’t going to do anything. What’s the point? But he didn’t know that.
Doug’s the one that would have to justify his actions to himself. Whatever makes him sleep at night, I suppose.
Skin Deep
ReplyDelete“Hey light bright…. cracker… white girl,” he yells into the kitchen at Karrin.
Karrin tries with all her might to ignore the insults her brother, Bryant, hurls her way. Eventually, she would always fire back with the same declaration, almost like clockwork.
So with tears flooding her eyes and quivering lips, Karrin asserts, “STOP CALLING ME THAT YOU, YOU!” She couldn’t think of any insults of her own.
Bryant’s lips begin to form that wicked smirk; the one he would make right before he tells, what he thinks, is breaking news. “You know you were adopted right?” he says in an inquisitive tone.
Karrin knows she isn’t white, but in the back of her mind, she begins to wonder why she is lighter than her brothers and sisters. “Well I know I’m not white,” she says reassuring herself. But, like always Karrin looks to her mother to confirm or deny his statement, each time, thinking her response will be different.
In the kitchen, her mother scurries about preparing Sunday dinner. She seems oblivious to the unrelenting, taunting Karrin’s spirit is being subjected to.
“Rin pour those potatoes in the water on the stove and start making the kool-aid?”
“Ma!” Karrin exclaims. “Can you tell Bryant to leave me alone?”
“Chil, I don’t know why you pay him any attention,” says her mother. “I keep tellin’ you that you weren’t adopted. I had my hands full with four children before you; you think I was going to adopt another one?”
“Humph,” her mother adds as an afterthought.
Karrin thinks about what her mother said and concludes that the answer is “no.” Her brothers and sisters constant bickering, fights and hardheads were enough to handle.
Just then Karrin’s older sister, Naila bursts through the front door with the force of the autumn wind behind her. Naila is a year and a few months older than Karrin. She has a cocoa colored skin tone, long, thick hair and is of a slimmer body build than Karrin’s almond colored skin tone, thin, curly hair and round body build. People always compliment Naila’s skin tone and admire her full head of hair.
Naila is never teased like Karrin. No one ever turns off the lights in a room to see if she would shine like a night light or responds in disbelief when she shows her family photos.
Karrin yearns to receive the treatment everyone gives Naila. She begins daydreaming about what life would be like if she has a darker skin tone. She imagines feeling acceptance, belonging and looking like her family.
Her dream begins with her, Naila and their neighborhood friends baking treats in their Easy Bake Oven, sipping tea from the aluminum stained tea set and playing dress-up in their mother’s clothes.
“Hey, Karrin let’s turn on some music and really get the party goin’!” shouts Dee Dee.
The only problem is that Dee Dee was talking to Naila and Karrin is in their mother’s bedroom with Keisha yanking dresses off the hangers and molding them against their bodies.
“Your mom has really nice dresses in here, Naila” Keisha says. Karrin’s puzzling look prompts Keisha to respond, “Sorry Karrin, you two look just alike… too much alike.”
Karrin inhales deeply and exhales slowly bowing her head simultaneously. “What am I thinking,” she questions herself.
“Karrin, Karrin!” her mother shrieks. “Turn that water off for you run up my water bill. I don’t know what gets into you sometimes.”
Karrin finished making the kool-aid and walks into the dining room. A picture of her grandmother sits centered on the shelves in an old, wooden frame with other family pictures. Now, Karrin adores her grandmother. She wouldn’t let Bryant tease her. In fact, Bryant never teased Karrin when their grandmother was around. Karrin wishes that her grandmother is around now, more than ever, but her words still keep Karrin company in her absence.
“Beauty isn’t skin deep, Rin,” she would say affectionately, squeezing Karrin’s hands. “True beauty is in what you say and what you do.”
Leo’s Throne
ReplyDeleteBy: Molly Ostergaard
Short Story
Lazy Leo sat on his throne with a sly grin on his face. It was winter in Chicago, and the wind howled. Leo’s hair spiraled out of control; he didn't care. The furs and linens he wore made a statement about his hierarchy. He began to think about the locals’ reaction to his new authority. He felt their fear – their resentment; he knew they’d crumble at his barked orders. After all, the throne was now his own. Leo complained:
“Gross! This food is not warm enough! I won’t eat it!”
“Yuck! This pillow is too hard. I won’t sleep on it!”
“Is this a joke? Salt and snow? On my fur shoes? I refuse to walk in this – carry me!”
Before now, Leo had been very lonely. He was given up for adoption at birth, and he sat alone, every day, waiting for a family to love him. He would tell himself, “One day, I will be cared for. One day, people will beg for my attention. One day, people will love me.” Well, his day came, and Leo was adopted by two loving parents. They wanted an addition for their family, and Leo seemed like the perfect fit.
It didn’t take long though for Leo to become all too comfortable in his new home. Soon, he was taking advantage of his new parents’ love; he was spoiled by them and he became increasingly greedy. Worst of all, he was ungrateful for their love. Leo rarely showed his appreciation to his parents. He rarely showed them that he was thankful, and he never showed them how much he, too, loved them.
Soon, Leo began to notice that his parents were distancing themselves from him. They stopped coming to him every time he called for them – to bark orders at them. They stopped cooking nice meals for him because he refused to eat their food. They stopped tucking him in at night because he tore apart his sleeping arrangements. They stopped taking him out on long walks because of his harsh demands. Leo began feeling unloved again. He stopped barking orders; he stopped complaining, and he stopped demanding.
One night, Leo crept into the kitchen and overheard his parents’ conversation. He heard his mom say,
“I don’t understand. All I want is to love Leo, but he doesn't love me back. Now, he seems sad again, and I don’t know how to help him.”
Leo heard his dad too: “Leo doesn't seem grateful for our love – maybe he doesn't love us in return? I wonder if he would be happier with another family.”
When Leo heard this, he became very sad. He loved his parents very much, but he didn’t know how to love them in return. After all, he had never been felt love until now.
Right then, Leo felt his tail wagging out of control. He wanted to show his parents how much he loved them once and for all. He felt like it was now or never, so Leo bolted from one side of the kitchen to the other. He leaped onto his mom’s lap and began licking her checks sloppily. She began giggling immediately. Leo’s dad began petting Leo, too, and Leo jumped into his dad’s arms! Although Leo couldn’t tell his parents how much he loved them with words, he showed them right then and there with his actions.
From that day on, Lazy Leo showed his love for his parents every day with his wagging tail.
When I moved to Florida from New Jersey, one of the first things that I did was to go to my cousin’s youth cheerleading and football game. Living in New Jersey I wasn’t around cousins and, as into football as my dad and brothers were, I was never exposed to the youth leagues. Seeing this game and all of the excitement around it had me fascinated. I was 5 years old and had decided that it was my destiny to be a cheerleader.
ReplyDeleteThe very next season, my parents signed my brothers and I up for the local team. We were now Dixie Junior Rebels. I walked around that field wearing my blue and grey as proud as could be. I loved every minute of cheerleading. I used to beg my parents to bring me to the field early so I could get in some extra practice and hang out with all of the new friends that I was making. It went on like this for about seven years. I went through the flyweight division to the mighty-mights. Turning twelve brought me to where I am now. I am a varsity pee wee cheerleader for the Dixie Junior Rebels (DJR).
This year we have new coaches. Angela and Alyssa cheered together for Dixie. Their midget team was the only team from DJR that actually won a competition. Us girls were so excited to have them. They were young and fun and cool. From day one our squad was more focused and disciplined than I had experienced in the past. They accepted nothing less than tight arms and high jumps. If we were caught goofing around, we ran. If we couldn’t hold our arms correctly, we did jumping jacks. We had consequences for the first time and, surprisingly, we didn’t mind it. At our first game, we began to get compliments from fans on how together our cheers were and how tight and stiff our motions looked. We all began to think that this could be the year that we have a chance at competition.
About halfway through the football season, Angela showed us our competition dance. We were wowed (and a little nervous). It was complex and fast. The cheer that we would be doing was like a three part chorus harmony. We were all moving at different times and doing different motions. If done right it looked amazing. If not, it was a disaster. After practice that night, as we were all walking to the parking lot, we were discussing the routine. We all decided that it was going to be a lot of work. But if we put in the work we thought it could pay off. Right then and there we decided that we were going to do it. We were going to place at competition this year.
The next day at practice, we worked harder than ever. The stunt that we had been struggling with went up flawlessly the first time we tried. Our jumps were high and our smiles were big. We could tell that Alyssa and Angela were impressed but they didn’t want to tell us. Whatever got into us, they were going to take and run with. It went on like this for the rest of the week. We were feeling confident and ready to go!
That was our first mistake. The next week, everything went wrong. What went so perfectly just days ago was now falling apart. Stunts were falling, girls were crying, there was bruised arms and faltering egos. Angela decided it was time for a pep talk. She explained to us that we shouldn’t let a few mistakes get us down. She told us we had talent, all of us. All athletes experience this and it is nothing to run from. We might have to work harder but we had the talent and we could do it. Feeling better, we dug into practicing harder than ever. The football games that were always so fun and carefree became just another day to practice. It was our time to show the other teams what we had. We finished the season and were feeling good. There were four weeks left until competition.
The four weeks flew by. It always seemed like we had so much to do at practice but nothing seemed to get done. We would spend a whole hour working on our pyramid and it still wasn’t right. Our cheer would be off by one person and we would have to spend the whole other hour of practice working on that one cheer. As the weeks went by we started to feel better. Things were all falling into place and our confidence was back up. The last practice before competition was on a Wednesday night. It was dedicated to performing your entire routine for the rest of the DJR squads in a sort of pep rally. We sat and watched as all of the JV squads performed. We cheered when we were supposed to and we clapped along to give support. Then came the varsity squads. We were the third varsity team to go and, although I may be biased and on the other side, we got be biggest cheers from the crowd. We said our good byes that night more excited than usual. We knew Saturday would be there before long and our lives as we knew them could change. Sleep that week was almost nonexistent.
DeleteSaturday morning finally arrived. I woke up with butterflies in my stomach. My mom had helped me put curlers in my hair the night before so as soon as I was up she was there to take them out. My curls looked perfect. I took that as a good omen of the day to come. After getting my uniform on and putting way too much make up and glitter on my face, I was ready to go. My whole family drove me to the field and I met up with my team. We all looked fantastic. We had red lips, glittered eyes, and bouncing curls. We were ready.
At the time, waiting to perform seemed like the most difficult, boring, and long process of the whole year. After two hours, it was finally time for our age group to perform. We were the sixth team in the peewees to go up and the butterflies were back. We walked down to the gate to get on the field. We walked onto the track surrounding the football field. We walked off to the side of the designated “stage”. We were next. Oh boy. As soon as I walked into that box on the field, my butterflies were gone. I was in the zone. Unfortunately, being in the zone also meant that I didn’t remember what happened. The next thing I really remember after stepping into that box is running out of that box. The rest is a blur.
After that, we all pretty much had the same feeling about the performance. We thought that it went well but we weren’t sure after watching some of the other squads if it would be enough. Now came the waiting game again. We went over and visited with our families who were on the other side of the field. We got snacks and drinks and just hung out. It was the first relaxing moment of the whole day and we relished in it. That is until the announcer came over the speakers telling all cheerleaders to head back down to the field. The winners were about to be announced.
Curls hanging down around our face, faded lipstick, and shaking hands, we banded together on the football field. Arm in arm we waited. And waited. The time was ticking by slower than it ever had before. Finally, after what seemed like 3 hours, the announcer came on the speaker. They announced the flyweight winners. We could see other teams jumping and screaming as their teams were called. We wanted that. They moved on to the mighty might age group. Again, the teams were called and the reactions are just what we imagined ours would be. Six winners had been announced so far. Not one of them was a Rebel. We felt bad for our other groups but knew that we actually had a chance to bring that excitement and pride to our team.
At last, it was time for the peewees to be announced. I made eye contact with my parents and brothers in the stands. They gave me a reassuring smile but I could tell they were nervous too. After all of the practice and bruises, this was the moment of truth. My mouth went dry as the speaker boomed “And now, for the winners of the peewee division! In third place, we have…” The announcer paused for what seemed like ten minutes. Didn’t he know what we were going through right now?? “The Coooountrysiddddeee Juniorrrrrr Cougarssssss!” Cougar fans in the stands erupted with cheers. My team looked over, envious of their new trophy. What we saw shocked us more than the announcement itself. The cougars were not jumping. They were not screaming. They were acting as if they had not heard correctly. The couches started to nudge them forward to collect their award. It finally clicked for them. They had won third place. Not first place like they were so used to doing.
DeleteMy teammates and I looked at each other. We weren’t sure whether to be excited or disappointed. Third place was announced and it wasn’t us. Did we really perform well enough to win that second place trophy? Or maybe even first? The speakers screeched. We went still. “Second place for the peewee division goes to…” (Another long, drawn out, dramatic pause from the announcer) “The Dixieeeeee Juniorrrrrr Rebelssssss” My mind went blank. Everything went white. That was my team they just called. We just won SECOND PLACE! In my 7 years of cheering with DJR, this was the first time I had heard our name called over those speakers. And it was because of my squad.
I am jolted back into the present by one of my friends’ running into me and practically knocking me over in excitement. I look around and see my entire team jumping up and down and hugging each other. My body reacts when my mind doesn’t know how. I too start jumping and hugging and screaming. I realize that this moment, the one that I have imagined since I was a five-year-old Dixie Darling, has just happened. The moment to this day was mostly a blur. I don’t know how long our celebrating lasted or at what point I lost my voice. The judge held out the medium sized, second place trophy and all sixteen of us girls charge forward with outstretched arms hoping to be the first to get our hands on that golden plastic masterpiece.
Surprisingly, our pregnant coach is the first to reach it and she holds it over her head in triumph as we all surround her, still bouncing. As a squad, we half run, half hop off towards the end zone with our prize. I finally stop jumping enough to see my teammates with tears in their eyes. We are all diehard, dedicated cheerleaders. For the last month we have done nothing but think about this routine. We do it in our sleep, while eating, walking to school, and sitting in class. This hard work of ours has finally paid off and it feels good. Really good.
Ozzie’s Story
ReplyDeleteBy: Jennifer Cerceo
Day in and day out, humans walk past my cage, looking at me as I bark frantically, “Take me home!” For some reason, my barking does not draw their attention. They look at my neighbors. I claw at the cage door, just wanting to be held. They keep on walking.
So, how did I end up here? A cute gray and white Italian Greyhound with eyes that could melt anyone’s heart. Well, my former family had to move to a new home and could not take me with them, so I ended up in an animal shelter. Selfish humans.
The adventure getting here was one that would be scary for anyone. I traveled in different cars, different cages, and met different people. When I finally arrived at my destination, the adventure had really just begun.
I could hear my neighbor’s barking through the cage walls. Their barks sounded as anxious and as curious as mine. Then there were the people, walking past our cages, inspecting us like we were merchandise in a store window. While they were searching for a new novelty, we were all searching for the same thing, a forever home.
My barks were so loud that I needed to be removed from the public view. I was eventually kept in a small office set away from the other animals in the shelter. Boy, did I have them fooled. This office was better than the small, black wire cage with a thin blanket at the bottom any day!
Then one day, they came. The lady at the shelter entered the office with a smile on her face. “Someone wants to meet you, Spot!” she said excitedly. As she carried me out to the front desk, I wondered if this could be the one. I then realized that I needed to put on a good show. As I was carried to the smiling couple, I sat up, tall and proud, putting my best foot forward. As she set me down on the ground, I showed them my best trick; sit!
After they decided that they wanted to spend more time with me, we went into a visiting room where we got to know each other better. “You’re so cute!” they said to me over and over. I was so nervous, but I continued to impress them. They played with me and petted me. Being petted felt wonderful. Then came decision time.
“I think he’s perfect,” she said. “Me too, he’s just the right size,” he said. “We should name him Ozzie,” he said. Ozzie! I thought, but my name is Spot! “Ozzie, do you like that name?” She said. I couldn’t help but wag my tail with excitement. Knowing that I was going to a forever home was more important than being upset over getting a new name. “I think he likes it, he is wagging his tail,” he said.
And with that, they made the decision to make me a part of their family.
Now it is just the three of us. Enjoying lazy Saturday mornings on the couch and taking nice long walks in the warm sun. I don’t have to sleep in a cage or an office anymore. Now, I have a bed of my own and a forever home.
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ReplyDeleteAs one foot follows the other, he walks aimlessly, unsure of where he's going because he doesn't know where he has come from. The Motherland is never far but it's up to him; "seek and you shall find." As he walks into the unmarked building, minarets skim the sky.
ReplyDelete"What brings you here?" a voice says.
Without looking at the speaker, he responds, "An instinct...an urge to know".
"Know what?" the voice says, now with a curious tone.
"Who I am."
With a furrowed brow and determination that is often brought on by a pinch of anger and a whole lot of purpose, he walks out of the unmarked building, crosses the street, and stops at the newsstand. He picks up the day's paper. A wave of relief overcomes him--the paper is written in his native tongue. He can't be too far from home--wherever that is.
What happened? Why doesn't he know where he is or how he got here?
He thinks about his family. He wonders about his only living relative: his brother. He wonders what his only brother--estranged-- is doing at that very moment. Is he still alive? Did he return from the war? Does he have a family of his own? Whatever disagreement caused them to renounce each other as blood brothers, must not have been worth the abandonment; he can't recall the root of the matter.
Dazed and confused. Had he been in an accident which caused him to suffer from amnesia? Or had he simply overslept on the bus and missed the stop? All these questions, thoughts are running through his mind.
"Hey!" The man behind the newsstand counter has a sharp, raspy voice.
Just then, he realizes he hasn't moved since he grabbed the paper.
"You gonna buy it?" croaks Raspy Man. He's standing far enough to allow other customers through yet close enough to smell the cigarette that burns between the man's fingers. Suddenly the cigarette odor (or is it aroma?) is comforting. Familiar.
To be continued...
Have you seen my childhood…?
DeleteAs part of my studies I am required to fulfill field hours.
Today I arrived for the class I've been observing for the past two weeks, as I was settling into my observer's corner, a note was passed to me. The note informed me that there was going to be, unbeknownst to the students, a LOCK DOWN DRILL.
Have you seen my childhood…?
What’s a LOCK DOWN DRILL? I hear you ask.
During the course of the school day school children, together with school staff, ‘practice’- drill for how to respond in the case of an emergency…typically here in the States, depending where you live those drills include:
• Fire drills
•Tornado drills
•Earthquake drills
…..and typically in the UK those drills include:
• Fire drills
• Bomb alerts
Have you seen my childhood…?
LOCK DOWN drills, in the case of an armed intruder, have now been added to that list.
They don’t call it LOCK DOWN for nothing…at the cue of the alarm the
teacher deftly launched into action
• CLACK! - went the lock on the door
• CLICK!- went the light switch
• SHUSH!!-went the teacher to the children as he waved the to the farthest corner in the room away from the door, so that they could not be seen from the door by an armed intruder.
• HUSH- descended as the children and teacher stood absolutely still…the quiet air was taut enough to be cut into slices
This lasted for about ten minutes, as checks had to be made to ensure that procedures had been followed:
• VIOLENTLY RATTLED doors to check that they were locked
• PEERED THROUGH windows to make sure students were not visible from the door by an intruder.
Have you seen my childhood…?
The all clear was given…the children EXHALED…stood up brushed off their clothes and impassively went back to their desk and resumed their school work…their thought process obscured from my peering eyes, searching out anyone who shared in the trepidation I felt…
Later as my session for the day came to an end, the LOCK DOWN DRILL was still at the forefront of my mind…what kind of world have we created for our children, through our actions we increasingly encroach on their childhood, eroding the authentic experiences of being a child, behaving as children with the freedom of being a child…
Have you seen my childhood?
I'm searching for the world that I come from
I've been looking around in the lost and found of my heart…
Have you seen my childhood?
The Old Men and the Rock
ReplyDeleteBy Dana Comiskey
The thing about the rock is that no one knows where it came from.
Gene and Herb walked into their living room one day and found it sitting on their couch—and by “sitting on,” I mean “decimating half of”—and after trying to move it for twelve minutes, they gave up and decided to keep it.
“I think we should call it Stoney,” offered Gene, wiping the sweat from his weathered brow, yet completely neglecting the pool gathered at the top of his catepillar-esque white unibrow.
“Yeahhhhh… that’s a stupid idea,” replied his brother Herb, who then declared, matter-of-factly, “I think we should call it Pebbles!”
Gene scowled, and in doing so, drenched his face with his pooled unibrow sweat. “MINE was a stupid idea?!? Pebbles is the most ludicrous name I’ve ever heard! Even an idiot like you should be able to tell that this rock is not a GIRL rock. It’s clearly a manly being. Look at that! It’s definitely a moustache!” He pointed to a wide black smudge on the lower end of the eastern side of the rock, a smudge that Herb had already identified as a set of lush, full lips in his head.
(incomplete... still working on it!)
Bee Terror
ReplyDeleteIt was that time of the year again- perms, new outfits, egg hunts, egg coloring and a day at grandma’s house. There were only two times during the year when my sister and I got perms- Easter and back to school. My sister particularly loved getting perms because otherwise the tears, hand pops, and screaming battle between she and my mom would ensue. Perms for me were a break from big, thick plaits parted off in their own territory on top my head. . This year my mom brought us outfits instead of dresses. My outfit was a turquoise sqort with a matching top. Sure enough this was shaping up to be an Easter I would never forget.
Keeping with tradition, we headed over to grandma’s house for egg coloring and dinner. My cousins were outside running, hopping, jumping and yelling when we arrived. I ran to join them, but my mother gave me that look to say, “you know to go speak to everyone first.” We opened the front door to meet a gust of eggs, bubbles popping on the stop, and snakes hissing it sounded like, but it was just the pots on the stove releasing steam.
“Hey grandma,” I exclaimed! “Hey CeCe,” she said before checking on the greens.
I made my rounds through the living room greeting everyone as fast as I could. By the time I got back to the kitchen my cousins were there collecting money from my grandma to go to the candy lady. She gave my sister and I money too. My sister decided to save hers, but my cousins and I didn’t.
“Betcha I beat you to the candy lady,” someone yelled. We raced across the courtyard and the street separating us from the candy lady’s apartment.
We all got bags of Chewy’s and Frootie’s. Leaving out the door a bee decided it wanted to hover around me. My cousin teased that my high-yellow skin tone made me look like a sun flower. Of course, I jetted down the street as fast as I could, in the opposite direction of grandma’s house. Down the sidewalk I flew, it seemed like, with the bee in hot pursuit. “Buuzzzzzz,” from the bee and “Hahahahaha,” was all I could hear around me. Until, THUMP! The most excruciating pain traveled through my thigh as I came to a rest on the ground. It felt as if my leg was being stretched in opposite directions like a rubber band. When my cousins saw me crying they stopped laughing and sprinted over to help, but I couldn’t get up! One of my younger cousins rushed to the house to get help. My mom’s boyfriend, Orlando, came to my rescue. He picked me up and carried me into the house.
All the adults surrounded me.
“What’s wrong, baby,” “Where does it hurt,” they all asked at once?
Once my mom calmed me down and the tears, sniffles, and gasps subsided I explained what happened-“IwasrunningfrumabeeandItrippedandfellovaarock-
andmythighhurtandnowIcan’twalk.”
After no one could determine the problem, I was told that I had to stay inside on the couch. Bummer! I had to sit and listen to adult conversation and watch whatever was on television. My cousins stayed inside with me as long as they could before they couldn’t resist the great outdoors any longer. On the bright side, I still got to color and paint and eat eggs and was catered to all day long.
Later that evening, we visited the hospital where I tested the wheels on a wheelchair for a few hours. X-rays revealed that I had pulled a muscle in my leg. For the next few weeks, I was carried around like a baby to do simple things like go to the restroom or to bed. Someone was always on call to bring me food too. I also got to use my sister’s stepping cane to move around as the soreness began to subside. This was cool because she never let me play with it.