An Ode To The Midwest
Blair Emsick (12)
It is not the forest that haunts me with its impenetrable darkness and its tall horrible trees that climb and climb… It is not the forest, it is the pavement of this city that haunts me. Cracking skulls, looking up all of our skirts, taking us home, and driving us far far away. The grayness is taking over this city, bigger than the green, bigger than the blue. The gray.
It is not the wind that turns me in the right direction, inspires and awakens me. It is the sway of the street lights at night. Like tall old men reminiscing as small children play around them.
It is not the ocean’s breeze that smells as sweet as a lover’s breath; blood boiling from the slaughter of livestock can be just as sweet, sweeter then the belch of the ocean.
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
Friday, May 7, 2010
Paramore is back! After three long exhausting tours in Europe, Asia, and Australia and a small break in April Paramore is back on tour in the states. This is Paramore’s first tour in the states since late November of this year, and Paramore’s first time back in the heartland since they played at the Mid America Center in 2008. After two years, a new album, a marriage, and a very different venue Paramore is back playing a very anticipated audience.
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
Sherri: What'd he say? (Immediately interested)
Delilah: Well Mark came over last night(She rolled her eyes and Sherri gave a shiver, which Delilah failed to noitce) and I was hoping you could come over to, because I didn't want to fall asleep alone listening to Mark and Bill get drunk.
Sherri: (Interrupting)Ugh how do you deal with them?
Delilah: I don't know I expected to be more angry, but I just wasn't...
Sherri: Okay, continue the story what happened?
Delilah: Oh! So I wanted you to come over, I was angry in the first place because you know I don't like Mark all that much...
Sherri: (Under her breath) Who does?
Delilah: And Bill and I begin to argue Bill said (in a mocking manly voice) Mark feels uncomfortable around Sherri, Can you believe that? (Sherri's eyes widen)
Sherri: MARK IS UNCOMFORTABLE AROUND ME?! (She's incredulous)
Delilah: (Missing something that Sherri is trying to say) I know! Right, he broke it off with you 3 months ago why should he feel uncomfortable around you! You went on two dates what's there to feel “uncomfortable about” what happened between you too?
Sherri: (Looking suddenly uncomfortable and outraged at the same time) Mark and I don't agree on things...
Delilah: (Narrowing her eyes at Sherri)What happened between you too?
Sherri: (Immediately looking away from Delilah) Nothing happened between us. I don't like him he doesn't like me (Sherri has an unexplainable suppressed terror in her face she stares off into space)
Delilah Attempts to narrow her eyes at Sherri even more unable to figure out her reaction) Why does it matter let's talk about something else.... someone's birthday coming up in two weeks (Sherri suddenly attempts to brighten Delilah obviously giving up goes along with the change of subject)
Delilah: I don't want anything big! Promise me nothing big! We'll just have cake and dinner here okay no presence or anything! Promise me.
Sherri: I promise...
Delilah: What time is it?
Sherri: About 1 o'clock why?
Delilah: Bill said he'd be home for lunch.
Sherri: He's probably busy Delilah
Delilah: (Looking around the room in a sort of panicked way) He said this was a slow season for him, because no one's spending money, he never doesn't come home for lunch (She begins to clear the women's plates and takes them to the sink)
Sherri: Don't worry about it Delilah, he's probably just busy! Trust me
Delilah: (Stares into the sink for a moment) Yeah you're probably right... Listen I'm gonna finish hanging up these curtains want to help.
Sherri: (Looking at the crooked mass of curtains) No... I think I'm gonna go home and try to finish up this test I'm writing for my students. Finals are coming up!
Delilah: Alright... I'll give you a call later, when I see what's up with Bill.
Sherri: Nothing is up with Bill! I promise you, you just got married he's madly in love with you!
Delilah: Alright I'll see you later.
Sherri: I love you okay! Good luck with these hangers
Sherri exits
Delilah: Well Mark came over last night(She rolled her eyes and Sherri gave a shiver, which Delilah failed to noitce) and I was hoping you could come over to, because I didn't want to fall asleep alone listening to Mark and Bill get drunk.
Sherri: (Interrupting)Ugh how do you deal with them?
Delilah: I don't know I expected to be more angry, but I just wasn't...
Sherri: Okay, continue the story what happened?
Delilah: Oh! So I wanted you to come over, I was angry in the first place because you know I don't like Mark all that much...
Sherri: (Under her breath) Who does?
Delilah: And Bill and I begin to argue Bill said (in a mocking manly voice) Mark feels uncomfortable around Sherri, Can you believe that? (Sherri's eyes widen)
Sherri: MARK IS UNCOMFORTABLE AROUND ME?! (She's incredulous)
Delilah: (Missing something that Sherri is trying to say) I know! Right, he broke it off with you 3 months ago why should he feel uncomfortable around you! You went on two dates what's there to feel “uncomfortable about” what happened between you too?
Sherri: (Looking suddenly uncomfortable and outraged at the same time) Mark and I don't agree on things...
Delilah: (Narrowing her eyes at Sherri)What happened between you too?
Sherri: (Immediately looking away from Delilah) Nothing happened between us. I don't like him he doesn't like me (Sherri has an unexplainable suppressed terror in her face she stares off into space)
Delilah Attempts to narrow her eyes at Sherri even more unable to figure out her reaction) Why does it matter let's talk about something else.... someone's birthday coming up in two weeks (Sherri suddenly attempts to brighten Delilah obviously giving up goes along with the change of subject)
Delilah: I don't want anything big! Promise me nothing big! We'll just have cake and dinner here okay no presence or anything! Promise me.
Sherri: I promise...
Delilah: What time is it?
Sherri: About 1 o'clock why?
Delilah: Bill said he'd be home for lunch.
Sherri: He's probably busy Delilah
Delilah: (Looking around the room in a sort of panicked way) He said this was a slow season for him, because no one's spending money, he never doesn't come home for lunch (She begins to clear the women's plates and takes them to the sink)
Sherri: Don't worry about it Delilah, he's probably just busy! Trust me
Delilah: (Stares into the sink for a moment) Yeah you're probably right... Listen I'm gonna finish hanging up these curtains want to help.
Sherri: (Looking at the crooked mass of curtains) No... I think I'm gonna go home and try to finish up this test I'm writing for my students. Finals are coming up!
Delilah: Alright... I'll give you a call later, when I see what's up with Bill.
Sherri: Nothing is up with Bill! I promise you, you just got married he's madly in love with you!
Delilah: Alright I'll see you later.
Sherri: I love you okay! Good luck with these hangers
Sherri exits
Thursday, April 22, 2010
1st Lt. Jack F. Meyer
When World War Two broke out in 1939, Germany had invaded Poland. Many countries tried to stay out of the war, including the United States. Because of the surprising attack on the United States military base, Pearl Harbor, Hawaii, America was forced to face the facts and get involved. America declared war against the Japanese on December 8th, 1941, with the famous speech given by Franklin D. Roosevelt, asking Congress to declare war. Soon the war would become a world-wide conflict, making it the most horrific dispute known to man. Millions and Millions of men enrolled in the armed forces all around the world, sadly over 70 million of those men would be added to the list of war casualties, Jack F. Meyer was among those found dead.
In Omaha, NE, on February 11th, 1918, Jack F. Meyer entered the world, born to Mr. and Mrs. Fred G. Meyer. The Meyer family lived in the heart of Dundee, at 4917 Burt Street. Close by was the neighborhood school, Dundee. As a child, Jack Meyer attended the elementary school until he moved on to high school. At the time of his attendance, Dundee Elementary still went through til grade 8. Jack Meyer spent all of his grade school years at Dundee. Once Jack left Dundee, he moved on to the famous and amazing, Central High. Jack became one of the many proud Central eagles.
While in High School, Jack was a pretty average student, receiving mostly C's, in Military Drill Jack received A's all four years. Jack's teachers gave him mostly good and fair marks on his transcript. Jack was involved in many clubs and actives throughout the school. In the Cadet Officers' Club, C.O.C, Jack was a Captain and Quartermaster his Senior year. Jack was involved in the Motor Club, the Crack Platoon, and Military Drill. But Jack Meyer's high school career wasn't all ROTC, he was also involved in sports and entertainment. He played basketball and Football his freshmen and sophomore years, also in Intramural sports his Senior year. Jack was a member of the Road Show both his Junior and Senior years. Jack became involved with the Register, he became a Register Rep. his sophomore year and was on the Register Staff, as a reporter, his Senior year first semester.
Jack graduated from Central High in June, with the class of 1936. Jack sent his transcript to two colleges in Nebraska, University of Nebraska and Creighton University. I am not sure what college, if he went, he finally decided on. The next few years after high school, up to the war, little was found on Jack's life. My first step was to visit Mrs. Bauer to get Jack's records while in high school. Mrs. Bauer was very helpful with Jack's high school career and how to look up other facts about his life, I went down and visited her a few more times because she was very nice and helpful. My next step was to look what information the Central High Foundation , CHF, might have. Terry Price, and volunteers, were unable to locate any information about Jack Meyer or his family. I did have a chance to look through the foundations old year books, finding his graduating class. The CHF also helped by finding a list men that were involved with ROTC at Central High during the time that Jack attended. I sent out letters and emails to these men hoping that I would maybe obtain some useful information. Two of the men wrote me back by email saying that they went to Central after Jack Meyer's time and could not help me with my research. Research seemed to lead no where, it was as if Jack Meyer didn't even exist. I tried calling the colleges that Jack might have gone to, the colleges kept on giving me different numbers and names to call, no one seemed to know how to get a hold of a students records while in college. I also tried calling Dundee, like before, I had to call all around just to find out that I could not access someones personal records without their approval. Since Jack and the rest of his family are now deceased, there was no way that I could access the records. Looking up his name on war sites didn't help. Many genealogy websites like, Ancestry and Archives, failed to provide the information that I was looking for. Even looking at library in the residential and obituary files, nothing turned up.
Yet there was still hope, when visiting the DCHS at Fort Omaha, Metro Campus, I finally found what I was looking for. After searching through old news paper clippings, I came across Jack Meyer's obituary. This was the gold mine. The tiny article held information about his death and burial. There was a part at the beginning of the article that told the readers Jack Meyer's home base. At first I thought that this is where his family was living, and where he was buried. Though, through research I found that the article was referring to the army base where he was located in Luke Field, Arizona. Luke Air Force Base was where Jack had spent his time during the war. He was a pilot for the United States Air Force. The base was named after a former resident, Lieutenant Frank Luke, who fought in WW1 and became the first U.S. Aviator to receive the Medal of Honor. With help from accident- report and aviation archaeology, I was able to find his accident reports, giving the reason of death and the day he deceased.
On April 21st, 1944, Jack Meyer's life was cut short at the age of 26. He died while fighting for his country; his plane crashed, killing him. He would leave behind his mother, father, and two sisters. He died a noble and honorable way. Jack's memory will live on, along with the many other men lost in the war, as the brave men and women who gave up everything for the safety of their country. Willing to put their own lives on the line so that we would not have to. For their great acts, great or small, America will always be internally grateful for their sacrifice.
Jack F. Meyer's Senior quote: “ Of military trend is Jack, and once started he ne'er turns back.”
When World War Two broke out in 1939, Germany had invaded Poland. Many countries tried to stay out of the war, including the United States. Because of the surprising attack on the United States military base, Pearl Harbor, Hawaii, America was forced to face the facts and get involved. America declared war against the Japanese on December 8th, 1941, with the famous speech given by Franklin D. Roosevelt, asking Congress to declare war. Soon the war would become a world-wide conflict, making it the most horrific dispute known to man. Millions and Millions of men enrolled in the armed forces all around the world, sadly over 70 million of those men would be added to the list of war casualties, Jack F. Meyer was among those found dead.
In Omaha, NE, on February 11th, 1918, Jack F. Meyer entered the world, born to Mr. and Mrs. Fred G. Meyer. The Meyer family lived in the heart of Dundee, at 4917 Burt Street. Close by was the neighborhood school, Dundee. As a child, Jack Meyer attended the elementary school until he moved on to high school. At the time of his attendance, Dundee Elementary still went through til grade 8. Jack Meyer spent all of his grade school years at Dundee. Once Jack left Dundee, he moved on to the famous and amazing, Central High. Jack became one of the many proud Central eagles.
While in High School, Jack was a pretty average student, receiving mostly C's, in Military Drill Jack received A's all four years. Jack's teachers gave him mostly good and fair marks on his transcript. Jack was involved in many clubs and actives throughout the school. In the Cadet Officers' Club, C.O.C, Jack was a Captain and Quartermaster his Senior year. Jack was involved in the Motor Club, the Crack Platoon, and Military Drill. But Jack Meyer's high school career wasn't all ROTC, he was also involved in sports and entertainment. He played basketball and Football his freshmen and sophomore years, also in Intramural sports his Senior year. Jack was a member of the Road Show both his Junior and Senior years. Jack became involved with the Register, he became a Register Rep. his sophomore year and was on the Register Staff, as a reporter, his Senior year first semester.
Jack graduated from Central High in June, with the class of 1936. Jack sent his transcript to two colleges in Nebraska, University of Nebraska and Creighton University. I am not sure what college, if he went, he finally decided on. The next few years after high school, up to the war, little was found on Jack's life. My first step was to visit Mrs. Bauer to get Jack's records while in high school. Mrs. Bauer was very helpful with Jack's high school career and how to look up other facts about his life, I went down and visited her a few more times because she was very nice and helpful. My next step was to look what information the Central High Foundation , CHF, might have. Terry Price, and volunteers, were unable to locate any information about Jack Meyer or his family. I did have a chance to look through the foundations old year books, finding his graduating class. The CHF also helped by finding a list men that were involved with ROTC at Central High during the time that Jack attended. I sent out letters and emails to these men hoping that I would maybe obtain some useful information. Two of the men wrote me back by email saying that they went to Central after Jack Meyer's time and could not help me with my research. Research seemed to lead no where, it was as if Jack Meyer didn't even exist. I tried calling the colleges that Jack might have gone to, the colleges kept on giving me different numbers and names to call, no one seemed to know how to get a hold of a students records while in college. I also tried calling Dundee, like before, I had to call all around just to find out that I could not access someones personal records without their approval. Since Jack and the rest of his family are now deceased, there was no way that I could access the records. Looking up his name on war sites didn't help. Many genealogy websites like, Ancestry and Archives, failed to provide the information that I was looking for. Even looking at library in the residential and obituary files, nothing turned up.
Yet there was still hope, when visiting the DCHS at Fort Omaha, Metro Campus, I finally found what I was looking for. After searching through old news paper clippings, I came across Jack Meyer's obituary. This was the gold mine. The tiny article held information about his death and burial. There was a part at the beginning of the article that told the readers Jack Meyer's home base. At first I thought that this is where his family was living, and where he was buried. Though, through research I found that the article was referring to the army base where he was located in Luke Field, Arizona. Luke Air Force Base was where Jack had spent his time during the war. He was a pilot for the United States Air Force. The base was named after a former resident, Lieutenant Frank Luke, who fought in WW1 and became the first U.S. Aviator to receive the Medal of Honor. With help from accident- report and aviation archaeology, I was able to find his accident reports, giving the reason of death and the day he deceased.
On April 21st, 1944, Jack Meyer's life was cut short at the age of 26. He died while fighting for his country; his plane crashed, killing him. He would leave behind his mother, father, and two sisters. He died a noble and honorable way. Jack's memory will live on, along with the many other men lost in the war, as the brave men and women who gave up everything for the safety of their country. Willing to put their own lives on the line so that we would not have to. For their great acts, great or small, America will always be internally grateful for their sacrifice.
Jack F. Meyer's Senior quote: “ Of military trend is Jack, and once started he ne'er turns back.”
William Dennis Pinegar was born October 19, 1940 to the parents of Mr. and Mrs. Pinegar at St. Catherine's hospital in McCook, Nebraska. Pinegar had one brother James who was born in 1938. Growing up Pinegar lived at 828 S. 21st Street with his family. He was raised catholic.
His sister-in-law Barbara Olson, who is the only living relative of Pinegar, recalls him as a very quiet simple person. Pinegar attended St. Peter's grade school throughout k-8th grade and graduated May 29, 1955. According to report cards during his time at St. Peters Pinegar received mediocre grades, and didn't excell especially in academics. After Pinegar's time at St. Peter's Pinegar attended Central High School. Although Pinegar's brother James attended Creighton Prep High School Pinegar chose public school, why the reason is unknown.
Bill Pinegar's life at Central isn't one to boast about. He attended Central from the fall of 1955 to the spring of 1959 and graduated in the class of 1959. There was no report card on file for Pinegar but sccording to Mrs. Barbara Olson in high school Pinegar also received average grades. According to the 1959 yearbook the only activity Pinegar was involved in at school was the JROTC program from 9th-12th grade. He had one esepecially close friend, Lennard Schwenneker who graduated from Central class of 1960, but not further research could be found on Pinegar's high school friend.
Sometime in high school, the exact year is unknown Pinegar and his family relocated from the house on S. 21st Street to 3510 Valley Street, where Pinegar would reside until his death in 1965. After high school Pinegar did not attend any Universities or colleges. He worked at the Pepsi Cola factory on 72nd and L with his brother James and lived with his parents after school and even though Pinegar was involved in the JROTC program in high school Pinegar expressed no real interest in joining the armed forces even as the Vietnam War grew increasingly bloody throughout the 1960's.
According to Mrs. Barbara Olson Pinegar grew up to be a very simple quiet man. He really enjoyed fishing and hunting with his brother James and father Harold. "He could fish for hours," she said. Before his death Pinegar had no girlfriends or had any romantic ties with any women. "He never even had his driver's license," recalls Mrs. Olson.
However on September 19th, 1963 Pinegar's simplistic life of fishing, hunting, and working at Pepsi Cola was abruptly halted when Pinegar received his draft letter, and was to report for induction of the armed forces on October 21st, 1963, three days after Pinegar's 23rd birthday.
Pinegar was enlisted in to the First Calvary Division, 5th Calvary, 2nd Battalion, B company, and was now called Private Pinegar, instead of what his friends and family called him, Billy.
According to Pinegar's record of military service he was at Fort. Leonard Wood, Missouri from October 21st, 1963 to January 9th,1964. At Leonard Wood, a massive traning base that trains thousands of men, Pinegar received basic training. From January 10th, 1964 to July 1st, 1965 Pinegar was located at Fort Carson Colorado base. Although during this time there was a great flood in June and July Pinegar continued his traning here. In a letter to his parents dated from June 1965 Pinegar writes about not doing much and throwing sand bags around at Fort Carson. From July 2, 1965 to August 15th, 1965 Pinegar relocated to Fort Benning Georgia, where Pinegar prepared for his upcoming tour in South Vietnam. From August 15th, 1965 to September 11th, 1965 Pinegar was enroute to Vietnam. Pinegar wrote the letter enclosed on August 19th, 1965 during his time on the ship, a month and a half before his death.
The last line is especially heart wrenching. "Mom don't worry," he simply writes. Pinegar had absolutely no inclination of his very near death. From the 12th of September until his death Pinegar on October 6th, 1965 (almost two weeks before his 25th birthday) was located in a small province in Southern Vietnam. A letter sent shortly after his death to Pinegar's paretns from William A. Davies, the Captain of Infantry Commanding, describes the events surrounding Pinegar's death. Pinegar was located near a first calvary division base near An Khe, South Vietnam. In the early morning Pinegar was manning a defensive position with the rest of his unit. While Pinegar was preparing to go on guard for this postion he was killed immediately by hostile small arms fire.
On October 12th after Pinegar's body had been recovered Pinegar was sent back home to Omaha to John A. Gentlemen Mortuaries. Pinegar was buried at Calvary Cemetary on 80th and center. According to his sister-in-law Pinegar was due for release on his birthday October 19th. Pinegar did come home, but instead of throwing a birthday party for him his parents, friends, family had to bury him.
William Pinegar's life had just began to blossom, death was the furthest thing from his mind. Pinegar was still living at home, he never even had a girlfriend. His life was just beginning when it was taken from him. However, Pinegar did do something extraordinary. After a quiet simple life Pinegar died fighting. In a letter sent to the Pinegar family after William's death Cal Curtis from the United States Senate offers his condolences. He writes, "I can only commend you to Him who was taught us all that death does not end all." The words never seemed more true. Death does not end all, and in some way Pinegar's name lives on.
Pinegar has two memorials one located at Central High School, and another at Memorial Park. After his death Pinegar was awarded the Sharp shooter badge, the Military Merit Medal, the Purple Heart, The Vietnam Service Medal, a Gold Star Citation and Gallantry Cross with Palm.
Although Pinegar's brother and parents all passed away in the 90's Pinegar is still remembered by his sister-in-law. After Pinegar's death in 1965 Barbara and her late husband James named their third soon after William. William Pinegar Jr., and so his name lives on. May William Dennis Pinegar rest in peace.
His sister-in-law Barbara Olson, who is the only living relative of Pinegar, recalls him as a very quiet simple person. Pinegar attended St. Peter's grade school throughout k-8th grade and graduated May 29, 1955. According to report cards during his time at St. Peters Pinegar received mediocre grades, and didn't excell especially in academics. After Pinegar's time at St. Peter's Pinegar attended Central High School. Although Pinegar's brother James attended Creighton Prep High School Pinegar chose public school, why the reason is unknown.
Bill Pinegar's life at Central isn't one to boast about. He attended Central from the fall of 1955 to the spring of 1959 and graduated in the class of 1959. There was no report card on file for Pinegar but sccording to Mrs. Barbara Olson in high school Pinegar also received average grades. According to the 1959 yearbook the only activity Pinegar was involved in at school was the JROTC program from 9th-12th grade. He had one esepecially close friend, Lennard Schwenneker who graduated from Central class of 1960, but not further research could be found on Pinegar's high school friend.
Sometime in high school, the exact year is unknown Pinegar and his family relocated from the house on S. 21st Street to 3510 Valley Street, where Pinegar would reside until his death in 1965. After high school Pinegar did not attend any Universities or colleges. He worked at the Pepsi Cola factory on 72nd and L with his brother James and lived with his parents after school and even though Pinegar was involved in the JROTC program in high school Pinegar expressed no real interest in joining the armed forces even as the Vietnam War grew increasingly bloody throughout the 1960's.
According to Mrs. Barbara Olson Pinegar grew up to be a very simple quiet man. He really enjoyed fishing and hunting with his brother James and father Harold. "He could fish for hours," she said. Before his death Pinegar had no girlfriends or had any romantic ties with any women. "He never even had his driver's license," recalls Mrs. Olson.
However on September 19th, 1963 Pinegar's simplistic life of fishing, hunting, and working at Pepsi Cola was abruptly halted when Pinegar received his draft letter, and was to report for induction of the armed forces on October 21st, 1963, three days after Pinegar's 23rd birthday.
Pinegar was enlisted in to the First Calvary Division, 5th Calvary, 2nd Battalion, B company, and was now called Private Pinegar, instead of what his friends and family called him, Billy.
According to Pinegar's record of military service he was at Fort. Leonard Wood, Missouri from October 21st, 1963 to January 9th,1964. At Leonard Wood, a massive traning base that trains thousands of men, Pinegar received basic training. From January 10th, 1964 to July 1st, 1965 Pinegar was located at Fort Carson Colorado base. Although during this time there was a great flood in June and July Pinegar continued his traning here. In a letter to his parents dated from June 1965 Pinegar writes about not doing much and throwing sand bags around at Fort Carson. From July 2, 1965 to August 15th, 1965 Pinegar relocated to Fort Benning Georgia, where Pinegar prepared for his upcoming tour in South Vietnam. From August 15th, 1965 to September 11th, 1965 Pinegar was enroute to Vietnam. Pinegar wrote the letter enclosed on August 19th, 1965 during his time on the ship, a month and a half before his death.
The last line is especially heart wrenching. "Mom don't worry," he simply writes. Pinegar had absolutely no inclination of his very near death. From the 12th of September until his death Pinegar on October 6th, 1965 (almost two weeks before his 25th birthday) was located in a small province in Southern Vietnam. A letter sent shortly after his death to Pinegar's paretns from William A. Davies, the Captain of Infantry Commanding, describes the events surrounding Pinegar's death. Pinegar was located near a first calvary division base near An Khe, South Vietnam. In the early morning Pinegar was manning a defensive position with the rest of his unit. While Pinegar was preparing to go on guard for this postion he was killed immediately by hostile small arms fire.
On October 12th after Pinegar's body had been recovered Pinegar was sent back home to Omaha to John A. Gentlemen Mortuaries. Pinegar was buried at Calvary Cemetary on 80th and center. According to his sister-in-law Pinegar was due for release on his birthday October 19th. Pinegar did come home, but instead of throwing a birthday party for him his parents, friends, family had to bury him.
William Pinegar's life had just began to blossom, death was the furthest thing from his mind. Pinegar was still living at home, he never even had a girlfriend. His life was just beginning when it was taken from him. However, Pinegar did do something extraordinary. After a quiet simple life Pinegar died fighting. In a letter sent to the Pinegar family after William's death Cal Curtis from the United States Senate offers his condolences. He writes, "I can only commend you to Him who was taught us all that death does not end all." The words never seemed more true. Death does not end all, and in some way Pinegar's name lives on.
Pinegar has two memorials one located at Central High School, and another at Memorial Park. After his death Pinegar was awarded the Sharp shooter badge, the Military Merit Medal, the Purple Heart, The Vietnam Service Medal, a Gold Star Citation and Gallantry Cross with Palm.
Although Pinegar's brother and parents all passed away in the 90's Pinegar is still remembered by his sister-in-law. After Pinegar's death in 1965 Barbara and her late husband James named their third soon after William. William Pinegar Jr., and so his name lives on. May William Dennis Pinegar rest in peace.
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Although the Boys track team has yet to take the state championship title in 3 years this year’s track team is hopeful about winning the state championship in track. With a basketball championship under our belt and key athletes on the team such as Ryan Leach (11), Jevaun Brown (11), and Deverell Biggs (12) many feel positive about a prosperous season. “ I think we have a definite chance at winning state this year,” says Junior Ted Lampkin. Lampkin although only a junior hopes to beat the school record, and eventually the state record in the long jump. The current school record is 24 inches and 11 feet, during the last track meet Lampkin jumped 23 feet and 9 inches. “I’m only a foot and 2 inches off, I think I can definitely do it,” says Lampkin. Besides the long jump Lampkin competes in the Triple Jump, 4x100 relay, and the 100 meter dask.
The team began conditioning in January and the track season began in March. With Coach Evans, and Coach Ball in charge of the team the team is
The team began conditioning in January and the track season began in March. With Coach Evans, and Coach Ball in charge of the team the team is
Thursday, March 4, 2010
Row 1: Duncan Reed (10), Alex Tran (12), Giselle Tran (10), Alonzo Whitcomb (11), Luke Compton (11), Rio Longoria (12), Josh Albright (12), Eric Jizba (12), Alaina Allen (12), Robin Fey (11), Brianna Rhoten (12), Kaitelin Beebee (11), Amber Mclonis (11), Cierra Tooley (11), Mia Matlock (11), Josh Kain (12), Jordan Christensen (10)
Row 2: Amber Bless-Mixan (12), Amanda Schneiderman (10), Emily Kirkvold (9), Marissa Bower (9), Noah Grossmen (9), Maggie Fey (9), Gabrielle Fields (9), Olivia Bell (10), Bridget Monson (12), Emilio Sotelo (11), Sarah Monaghan (10), Zoe May (12), Emily Epperson (11), Ashley Zisca (12), Chelsey Thomas (12), Lillian Chaparro (11), Bobby Gibbs (9), Abby Mandel (11), Christina Klem (11), Alex Pachman (9), Cassandra Hannah (9)
Row 3: Harold Emas (10), Jordan Stoler (10), Brittany Lammers (12), Danny Pachman (12), Sam Bertino, Deanna Hobbs (10), Leo Bravo (11), (10), Claire Ferguson (11), September Symens (11), Kelsey Magnuson (10), Helen Erickson (10), Isaac Thomas (11), Quanli Wang (12),Emma Demain (10), Latesha Wallace (12), Hannah Grossman (12), Maria Marquez (12), Ashlea Bless-Mixan (9),
Row 4: Wolcott (9), Laureen Gaulette (9), Thomas Grabenschroer (10) Tyler Miles (9), Amber Micklonis (11), Joe McCann (12), Enrique Perdomo (11), Henry Hawbaker (9), Olivia Bishop (12), Michaela Hough (11), Adam Lacroix (10), Anna Brun (9), Marvin Cunningham (11), Alex Kinkead (10), Michael Griffin (9), John Folsom (11),
Row 5: Mark Winkelbauer (12), Emily Nolan (11), Matthew Koehler (12), Evan Stoler (10), Elijah Skolfield (12), Ayomide Adekunle (12), Jasmine McCallister (12), Elizabeth deLaittre (11), Cody Lahowetz (11), Ryan Opp (11), Alex Bogatz (10), Matthew Bowden (10), Rebecca Smolen (11), Noelle Keely (11), Leo Kazmierczak (9), Peter Bock (12), Jake Reed (9), Delano Aguirre (9), Ross Harding (9)
Yaniv Azriel (10)
Row 2: Amber Bless-Mixan (12), Amanda Schneiderman (10), Emily Kirkvold (9), Marissa Bower (9), Noah Grossmen (9), Maggie Fey (9), Gabrielle Fields (9), Olivia Bell (10), Bridget Monson (12), Emilio Sotelo (11), Sarah Monaghan (10), Zoe May (12), Emily Epperson (11), Ashley Zisca (12), Chelsey Thomas (12), Lillian Chaparro (11), Bobby Gibbs (9), Abby Mandel (11), Christina Klem (11), Alex Pachman (9), Cassandra Hannah (9)
Row 3: Harold Emas (10), Jordan Stoler (10), Brittany Lammers (12), Danny Pachman (12), Sam Bertino, Deanna Hobbs (10), Leo Bravo (11), (10), Claire Ferguson (11), September Symens (11), Kelsey Magnuson (10), Helen Erickson (10), Isaac Thomas (11), Quanli Wang (12),Emma Demain (10), Latesha Wallace (12), Hannah Grossman (12), Maria Marquez (12), Ashlea Bless-Mixan (9),
Row 4: Wolcott (9), Laureen Gaulette (9), Thomas Grabenschroer (10) Tyler Miles (9), Amber Micklonis (11), Joe McCann (12), Enrique Perdomo (11), Henry Hawbaker (9), Olivia Bishop (12), Michaela Hough (11), Adam Lacroix (10), Anna Brun (9), Marvin Cunningham (11), Alex Kinkead (10), Michael Griffin (9), John Folsom (11),
Row 5: Mark Winkelbauer (12), Emily Nolan (11), Matthew Koehler (12), Evan Stoler (10), Elijah Skolfield (12), Ayomide Adekunle (12), Jasmine McCallister (12), Elizabeth deLaittre (11), Cody Lahowetz (11), Ryan Opp (11), Alex Bogatz (10), Matthew Bowden (10), Rebecca Smolen (11), Noelle Keely (11), Leo Kazmierczak (9), Peter Bock (12), Jake Reed (9), Delano Aguirre (9), Ross Harding (9)
Yaniv Azriel (10)
Monday, February 8, 2010
Blair Emsick
Mrs. Martinez
AP Literature and Composition
February 7, 2010
Writing About Writing
Writing has been a constant wonderful force in my life since a very young age. Writing, I believe is a way to harness the imagination, into its most productive or even its most destructive form. Writing helps unleash the clausterphobic, choking on hot air, soul inside all of us and gives us a breath of fresh air. Being a writer is a lifestyle choice, it demands constant and careful attention. Writing has shown a different world to me, a whole different way of looking at things and the people around me. Writing has enlarged my mind, and made me who I am today. I feel that many people these days think of writing as a daunting mechanical task, I stronly urge that writing is not so, writing has this captivating livliness that is hard to let go of.
When I was a small child I always said when I wanted to grow up I wanted to be an author, not a writer an author. I wrote short stories that received much praise from my parents and teachers and had a very elementary view on writing. It wasn't until the fifth grade that I really wrote my first poem. I remember reading the book Lizzie At Last by Claudia Mills. The main character Lizzie is this out of the ordinary girl who writes poetry all the time, I wanted to be just like her and so I began writing poetry. From that point on I was constantly writing in my diary, constantly just writing. Writing made me feel important, it made me feel like I had something really important to say, and that even if people wouldn't listen the page would.
In middle school I kept two notebooks one for my diary and one for just writing down mindless thoughts that popped into my head, like doodling for the mind. Writing became a part of who I was, but it really wasn't until my sophomore year in high school when I began to take writing really seriously. I enrolled in Mr. Larson's Creative Writing class and that class really helped me through my sophomore, junior, and even this year. Mr. Larson requires us to write 10 pages a week with various assignments throughout the week. Writing that amount every week really began to change who I was. It is so hard to try to describe it, with each word I wrote I felt like I was growing into a stronger more mature person. Writing made me feel special, it still makes me feel special I have something that I am good at, or that makes me feel good anyways.
Writing has this power, it's indescribable really. I find whenever I am confused about something a situation or a person, when I'm angry, or sad I write and it has this way of calming me down. Taking the edge off of my spirits. One of our assignments for Creative Writing was to read Natalie Goldberg's book Writing Down The Bones. It's basically an extended version of this personal essay. In one chapter Goldberg writes about this exact phenomenon how writing is like a drug, it can make you feel better, but with no bad after effects. She talked about how maybe alcoholics drink because inside there's a writer waiting to be unleashed and the resistance to the inner writer is making them drink. It's an interesting theory true or not.
Writing also has this profound power over a person, because on the page one can be whoever they want to be, say whatever the want to say, and do whatever the want to do. I can be a greek soldier fighting in the trojan war, or I can be Einstein if I want to, all I have to do is find the right words to say. Although it is probably best not to get wrapped up in a fantasy world and lose your grip on reality, I have been there, it is not healthy. Writing I hope will continue to be suge a huge part of me and my life. Writing is my muse, my therapy, my life, me.
Mrs. Martinez
AP Literature and Composition
February 7, 2010
Writing About Writing
Writing has been a constant wonderful force in my life since a very young age. Writing, I believe is a way to harness the imagination, into its most productive or even its most destructive form. Writing helps unleash the clausterphobic, choking on hot air, soul inside all of us and gives us a breath of fresh air. Being a writer is a lifestyle choice, it demands constant and careful attention. Writing has shown a different world to me, a whole different way of looking at things and the people around me. Writing has enlarged my mind, and made me who I am today. I feel that many people these days think of writing as a daunting mechanical task, I stronly urge that writing is not so, writing has this captivating livliness that is hard to let go of.
When I was a small child I always said when I wanted to grow up I wanted to be an author, not a writer an author. I wrote short stories that received much praise from my parents and teachers and had a very elementary view on writing. It wasn't until the fifth grade that I really wrote my first poem. I remember reading the book Lizzie At Last by Claudia Mills. The main character Lizzie is this out of the ordinary girl who writes poetry all the time, I wanted to be just like her and so I began writing poetry. From that point on I was constantly writing in my diary, constantly just writing. Writing made me feel important, it made me feel like I had something really important to say, and that even if people wouldn't listen the page would.
In middle school I kept two notebooks one for my diary and one for just writing down mindless thoughts that popped into my head, like doodling for the mind. Writing became a part of who I was, but it really wasn't until my sophomore year in high school when I began to take writing really seriously. I enrolled in Mr. Larson's Creative Writing class and that class really helped me through my sophomore, junior, and even this year. Mr. Larson requires us to write 10 pages a week with various assignments throughout the week. Writing that amount every week really began to change who I was. It is so hard to try to describe it, with each word I wrote I felt like I was growing into a stronger more mature person. Writing made me feel special, it still makes me feel special I have something that I am good at, or that makes me feel good anyways.
Writing has this power, it's indescribable really. I find whenever I am confused about something a situation or a person, when I'm angry, or sad I write and it has this way of calming me down. Taking the edge off of my spirits. One of our assignments for Creative Writing was to read Natalie Goldberg's book Writing Down The Bones. It's basically an extended version of this personal essay. In one chapter Goldberg writes about this exact phenomenon how writing is like a drug, it can make you feel better, but with no bad after effects. She talked about how maybe alcoholics drink because inside there's a writer waiting to be unleashed and the resistance to the inner writer is making them drink. It's an interesting theory true or not.
Writing also has this profound power over a person, because on the page one can be whoever they want to be, say whatever the want to say, and do whatever the want to do. I can be a greek soldier fighting in the trojan war, or I can be Einstein if I want to, all I have to do is find the right words to say. Although it is probably best not to get wrapped up in a fantasy world and lose your grip on reality, I have been there, it is not healthy. Writing I hope will continue to be suge a huge part of me and my life. Writing is my muse, my therapy, my life, me.
Thursday, February 4, 2010
AP Government Blair Emsick
9th hour February 3rd, 2010
Supreme Court
John G. Roberts is the current Chief Justice of the United States. He was born January 27, 1955 in Buffola, New York and was appointed by George W. Bush after the death of William Rehnquist. Originally Roberts was appointed to take the place of Sandra Day O’Connor who had resigned but then Chief Justice William Rehnquist died and George W. Bush decided to appoint Roberts for that position instead.
blehhhh
9th hour February 3rd, 2010
Supreme Court
John G. Roberts is the current Chief Justice of the United States. He was born January 27, 1955 in Buffola, New York and was appointed by George W. Bush after the death of William Rehnquist. Originally Roberts was appointed to take the place of Sandra Day O’Connor who had resigned but then Chief Justice William Rehnquist died and George W. Bush decided to appoint Roberts for that position instead.
blehhhh
Monday, February 1, 2010
Sarah Emsick
Mrs. martinez
AP English Literature and Composition
January 2010
Reflecting O'Connor's Writing
When one is getting ready to go on a family road trip or to the doctors they don't think about they danger that they will find there, they only think about how long the car ride is going to be or how much the visit to the doctor is going to cost them. In Flannery O'Connor's novels and short stories she puts a spin on an average day, on an average family, or what people would like to believe average is. She forces her readers to see the different sides of her characters and people, that not everyone is perfectly happy, some people are lost without direction. O'Connor uses three themes in her novels that one would think never fit together to ask the questions of moral values and faith, her Catholic values and tragic side are all pulled together with a comic relief.
For a writer with such brilliant stories, and such a different approach, one would think that the writer would have a very exciting life themselves, but in truth looking back on her life, O'Connor kept to herself. She was all about her writing and her religion. She really valued her Roman Catholic roots and became one of the first writers to us her religion in her novels in an interesting way, one might say that she was writing religious fiction. O'Connor was quoted saying “ Faith is what someone knows to be true, whether they believe it or not.”, weather her critics believe in her faith or like her style of writing, she really doesn't care because she is not changing her views. O'Connor was from the South and religion was an important factor. Raised a Roman Catholic, O'Connor was Born on March 25, 1925 in Savannah, Georgia. Mary O'Connor was an only child and often had to find her own fun around the family farm, Her Father was diagnosed with the rare blood disease lupus, the disease was hereditary in the family and her father soon died from the disease. The family moved back to Milledgeville, where her mother had grown up and O'Connor attended schooling there. After O'Connor graduated in 1942, she started up at Georgia State College For Women, after graduating in 1945, she moved on to a Writers Workshop at the University of Iowa, she began to study journalism while there. O'Connor rarely left the Bible belt south, she didn't travel much, her life and works were focused on the religious south. O'Connor's life was cut short when she, like her father, had inherited the disease lupus. When she was diagnosed she returned home to live out her years with her closest friend and family, her mother.
O'Connor uses fiction and spiritual life to show her characters in a bright light, to show the reader all of their conflicts and flaws within themselves. The reader can in some weird way relate to the characters that O'Connor creates throughout her stories, even though while one is reading, the situation seems crazy. Even though O'Connor's own life was quite uneventful, her stories bring out a side of her that no one knew she had in her, she shocks the crowd with the intense and thrilling tales. O'Connor lived such a regular and normal life, but when she wrote her stories and novels, she came to life... the life that she saw around her maybe, or maybe she wrote just to inform people of their wrong ways. O'Connor wrote, “I am a writer because writing is the thing I do best.”,she believed that writing was her greatest strength and it really is true, sure she lived on the farm and was good at feeding the chickens and such, but when it came to writing there is nothing that she could do wrong. Everything just seems to come together in the end in her novels, it's like a big climax and the reader will never truly know the ending until they have seen it for themselves. Her dark comedy, often called; grotesque, cold, and bizarre, are her way of showing the world her thoughts on the moral values that stand. Using her characterss, like the grandmother, she gives the aduiance someone they can followthroughoutt the story and attach themselves to, relate to and understand. The characters in Flannery O'Connor's stories are not weird scary characters, or made up characters with weird lives, they are regular families, or what they think is normal. In a way it gives hope to the reader that not every family, other than theirs, is perfect, that everyone has their flaws and problems, some people are just better at hiding their flaws than others. In O'Connor's stories, she doesn't let her characters hide in the dark anymore, it's almost as if she is shinning a light on them from above, forcing them to spill their guts. Almost all of the characters enjoy hiding behind religion and its safe cover, but when the characters are brought into the bright light of O'Connor's stories the reader finds that most only fall back on religion as a safety belt, as a an accessory in their lives. In O'Connor's short stories she makes a point of her characters who judge one another, that is all the characters seem to do, as if to say, this is what the world is like today judging someone before you even know them. In “Good Country People”, “A Good man is Hard to Find”, and “Revelation”, the characters are put in uncomfortable situations and so they begin to judge the situation and the surrounding. The Grandmother, in “A Good man is Hard to Find”, just knows that she is a good lady, a good southern lady, why would anyone ever want to hurt her, but when she finally realizes who the misfit is she starts judging herself, her upbringing, “Why you're one of my babies. You're one of my own children!”, and the Misfit just shots her because he knows that she would never be a good southern lady, and neither would he... but he is the one with the gun.
Flannel O'Connor is pretty much the craziest writer that I have encounter so far in my short lifetime. Her style of blending her strong faith and her passion for writing just blows my mind. Most writers have two separate lives, their family and faith, and their writing. But O'Connor took all elements of her life and she took it and wrote about it. She didn't want to hind from the world like her characters, she wanted to deliver a message to her readers and all of her stories come out pretty loud. Yes, the world is not perfect, but why hide, why lie and cheat, why judge. O'Connor may have a cold way of looking at the world, but at least her way is true and real, and not some made up fairy tale. When O'Connor ends her stories, it's like a slap in the face, the statement and facts are all right in front of you and O'Connor just wants show the reader the light.
Works Cited
Brainy Ouotes. BrainyMedia.com, 2010. Web. 29 Jan. 2010
Galloway, Patrick. "The Dark Side of the Cross: Flannery O'Connor's Short Fiction." PatWeb. Patrick Galloway, 1996. Web. 31 Jan. 2010.
Liukkonen, Petri. "Flannery O'Connor." 2008. Web. 29 Jan. 2010
Mrs. martinez
AP English Literature and Composition
January 2010
Reflecting O'Connor's Writing
When one is getting ready to go on a family road trip or to the doctors they don't think about they danger that they will find there, they only think about how long the car ride is going to be or how much the visit to the doctor is going to cost them. In Flannery O'Connor's novels and short stories she puts a spin on an average day, on an average family, or what people would like to believe average is. She forces her readers to see the different sides of her characters and people, that not everyone is perfectly happy, some people are lost without direction. O'Connor uses three themes in her novels that one would think never fit together to ask the questions of moral values and faith, her Catholic values and tragic side are all pulled together with a comic relief.
For a writer with such brilliant stories, and such a different approach, one would think that the writer would have a very exciting life themselves, but in truth looking back on her life, O'Connor kept to herself. She was all about her writing and her religion. She really valued her Roman Catholic roots and became one of the first writers to us her religion in her novels in an interesting way, one might say that she was writing religious fiction. O'Connor was quoted saying “ Faith is what someone knows to be true, whether they believe it or not.”, weather her critics believe in her faith or like her style of writing, she really doesn't care because she is not changing her views. O'Connor was from the South and religion was an important factor. Raised a Roman Catholic, O'Connor was Born on March 25, 1925 in Savannah, Georgia. Mary O'Connor was an only child and often had to find her own fun around the family farm, Her Father was diagnosed with the rare blood disease lupus, the disease was hereditary in the family and her father soon died from the disease. The family moved back to Milledgeville, where her mother had grown up and O'Connor attended schooling there. After O'Connor graduated in 1942, she started up at Georgia State College For Women, after graduating in 1945, she moved on to a Writers Workshop at the University of Iowa, she began to study journalism while there. O'Connor rarely left the Bible belt south, she didn't travel much, her life and works were focused on the religious south. O'Connor's life was cut short when she, like her father, had inherited the disease lupus. When she was diagnosed she returned home to live out her years with her closest friend and family, her mother.
O'Connor uses fiction and spiritual life to show her characters in a bright light, to show the reader all of their conflicts and flaws within themselves. The reader can in some weird way relate to the characters that O'Connor creates throughout her stories, even though while one is reading, the situation seems crazy. Even though O'Connor's own life was quite uneventful, her stories bring out a side of her that no one knew she had in her, she shocks the crowd with the intense and thrilling tales. O'Connor lived such a regular and normal life, but when she wrote her stories and novels, she came to life... the life that she saw around her maybe, or maybe she wrote just to inform people of their wrong ways. O'Connor wrote, “I am a writer because writing is the thing I do best.”,she believed that writing was her greatest strength and it really is true, sure she lived on the farm and was good at feeding the chickens and such, but when it came to writing there is nothing that she could do wrong. Everything just seems to come together in the end in her novels, it's like a big climax and the reader will never truly know the ending until they have seen it for themselves. Her dark comedy, often called; grotesque, cold, and bizarre, are her way of showing the world her thoughts on the moral values that stand. Using her characterss, like the grandmother, she gives the aduiance someone they can followthroughoutt the story and attach themselves to, relate to and understand. The characters in Flannery O'Connor's stories are not weird scary characters, or made up characters with weird lives, they are regular families, or what they think is normal. In a way it gives hope to the reader that not every family, other than theirs, is perfect, that everyone has their flaws and problems, some people are just better at hiding their flaws than others. In O'Connor's stories, she doesn't let her characters hide in the dark anymore, it's almost as if she is shinning a light on them from above, forcing them to spill their guts. Almost all of the characters enjoy hiding behind religion and its safe cover, but when the characters are brought into the bright light of O'Connor's stories the reader finds that most only fall back on religion as a safety belt, as a an accessory in their lives. In O'Connor's short stories she makes a point of her characters who judge one another, that is all the characters seem to do, as if to say, this is what the world is like today judging someone before you even know them. In “Good Country People”, “A Good man is Hard to Find”, and “Revelation”, the characters are put in uncomfortable situations and so they begin to judge the situation and the surrounding. The Grandmother, in “A Good man is Hard to Find”, just knows that she is a good lady, a good southern lady, why would anyone ever want to hurt her, but when she finally realizes who the misfit is she starts judging herself, her upbringing, “Why you're one of my babies. You're one of my own children!”, and the Misfit just shots her because he knows that she would never be a good southern lady, and neither would he... but he is the one with the gun.
Flannel O'Connor is pretty much the craziest writer that I have encounter so far in my short lifetime. Her style of blending her strong faith and her passion for writing just blows my mind. Most writers have two separate lives, their family and faith, and their writing. But O'Connor took all elements of her life and she took it and wrote about it. She didn't want to hind from the world like her characters, she wanted to deliver a message to her readers and all of her stories come out pretty loud. Yes, the world is not perfect, but why hide, why lie and cheat, why judge. O'Connor may have a cold way of looking at the world, but at least her way is true and real, and not some made up fairy tale. When O'Connor ends her stories, it's like a slap in the face, the statement and facts are all right in front of you and O'Connor just wants show the reader the light.
Works Cited
Brainy Ouotes. BrainyMedia.com, 2010. Web. 29 Jan. 2010
Galloway, Patrick. "The Dark Side of the Cross: Flannery O'Connor's Short Fiction." PatWeb. Patrick Galloway, 1996. Web. 31 Jan. 2010.
Liukkonen, Petri. "Flannery O'Connor." 2008. Web. 29 Jan. 2010
Blair Emsick
Mrs. Martinez
AP Literature and Composition
February 1, 2010
The writings of Flannery O'Connor have an odd effect on the reader. She has a decisive and an almost strict narrative. The writing seems almost cold as she introduces characters and settings, but as O'Connor let's the story unfold the reader finds her stories practically impossible to put down. A common theme of O'Connor seems to be putting seemingly average and occasionally very out of the ordinary characters in completely outlandish situations. At first O'Connor's writing seems straight forward but taking a deeper look one finds themselves entrenched in imagery, symbolism, and hidden meanings. The most fascinating aspect of O'Connor's short stories is her characterization and her development of characters, Main and minor ones. In taking a deeper look at O'Connor's characters O'Connor seems to subtly reveal her desires, inhibitions, fears, beliefs, and even her flaws.
To really analyze O'Connor's writing and how it reflected her one must first take a look at her own life. Mary Flannery O'Connor was born on March 25th in Savannah, Georgia. O'Connor was raised a devout Catholic practiced this faith until her death. She lived in the south most of her life. What is so fascinating about Flannery O'Connor is her average lifestyle, and yet she had the ability to create such imaginative stories with such a depth and genius to them. O'Connor did not attend any superior universities either. She attended Georgia State College for Women and State University of Iowa. In 1951 she was a diagnosed with the rare blood disease Lupus, the same disease her father died of in 1938. She then returned to her families farm in Andalusia, Georgia and raised all kinds of birds especially peacocks. Burdened by the knowledge of her eminent death she spent the rest of her life on the farm writing a total of 32 short stories and 2 novels before her death in 1964 when she was only forty years old. O'Connor seems to be such a complex character, she lived such an ordinary life and yet had the ability to illustrate such out of the ordinary tales of life and death.
In O'Connor's short stories one aspect that is constantly present is her strange yet familiar characters. Characterization is always an interesting aspect in short stories, mainly because it is practically impossible for full development of character. There is something absent in character development in short stories compared to full length novels. What isn't said about a particular character is left for the reader to infer, which almost entices the reader even more. For instance in Flannery O'Connor's short story “Good Country People” one of the main characters Hulga is left alone legless in the attic of a barn. Many times O'Connor leaves her characters lives and the paths there on open ended inviting the reader to think just a little bit deeper. Although in the short story “A Good Man is Hard to Find” the main characters the grandmother, Bailey, the mother and children are all shot the villain in the story “The Misfit” he is called is left with his two wing-men to continue on down the road in the deep south. Why does O'Connor seem to do leave the end open with her characters time and time again in her short stories, did she feel her life was left open ended? She spent a good portion of her life with the knowledge of her own death, in O'Connor's short stories strange outlandish things happen quickly and unexpectedly to surface characters. Is this a reflection of O'Connor's own life? She was on a great literary path with a great literary legacy to be made, and yet it was cut short because of her disease. Although she did leave quite a literary legacy many aspects regarding O'Connor's beliefs and life are left open ended.
There seems to be a few main themes in Flannery O'Connor's short stories that are illustrated in her characters. There is obviously the huge theme of religion in her short stories, and the traditional southern values that comes from living in the south for a person's whole life. Then there seems to be the common device of O'Connor to create very average simple very southern and often Catholic characters.
In the end these characters seemed to be flawed, deceived by the people around them and their own disillusion and undergo an intense experience. O'Connor's characters seem to reflect many of her values and beliefs. She almost satirizes the Catholic faith in many of her stories. One would think she was criticizing the religion with her characters especially Mrs. Turpin from the short story “Revelation” but in fact she was a very devout Catholic. Unlike the characters in her stories it seems Flannery O'Connor had a very deep understanding of her faith, it was something very dear to her, and she was able to look at it from an outside perspective and criticize the flaws in it. Mrs. Turpin was a person very quick to judge. Judging the white trash people around her, the African American boy, and the demon like adolescent girl Mary Grace. In looking at Mrs. Turpin and O'Connor's characters from other stories such as Mrs. Hopewell, Mrs. Freeman from “Good Country People”, and even the grandmother from “A Good Man is Hard to Find. I believe that O'Connor really resented this aspect of her religion, the quickness to judge those who seem beneath others. She wasn't criticizing Catholicism itself but rather the misconstrued beliefs and disillusioned norms tied together with it.
Another major common theme found in O'Connor's stories is her attitudes toward men We know very little about O'Connor's attitude towards men. O'Connor never married and in analyzing her writing it seems she showed little desire to be married. Although it seems a minor aspect of her writing, her attitude towards men, it is apparent especially in her characterization of her male characters. First of all it seems the majority of her male characters are either very minor and boring or completely demented and deranged. We can see this in her characters such as the Misfit, the demented and deranged man, and Bailey, the average family man with no interesting qualities what so ever in the short story “A Good Man is Hard to Find”. In the short story “Good Country People” there is the at first very agreeable bible selling nice young man, Sharp Shooter, in the end he turns out to be almost as demented and deranged as the Misfit. Seducing the main character Hulga and stealing her leg! The only other man mentioned in the story is Mrs. Freeman's husband, like Bailey very average and boring. In “Revelation” the only man we see is Mrs. Turpin's husband. Who seems to fit in the same vein as Mr. Freeman and Bailey, a man with a dry sense of humor with no interesting qualities what so ever. In many of her short stories there seems to be no men with any kind of redeeming agreeable quality, although it seems to be very much the same with the women in her stories. The reader has to ask why? She was never married did she have some inner resentment towards men? Her father died when she was 15 did that scar her that she felt no desire to find a companion, or maybe she had such a close relationship with God that she did not need a man in her life. One will never know, one can only speculate.
In the end looking back at many of O'Connor's short stories she paints a very bleak portrait of humanity through her characterization. O'Connor reveals her beliefs and ideas on faith, traditional southern mentalities, and attitudes toward men. There is so much more to be analyzed in O'Connor's short stories and the characters she creates but on a very broad scope we can see that she lived a very simple life and clung to the only extraordinary aspect of it, her spiritual life, illustrated though her brilliance in literature and manipulation and creation of her characters. She left a wonderful literary legacy and may she forever rest in peace.
Works Cited
Galloway, Patric. "Flannery O'Connor." Books and Blog by Patrick Galloway. Patweb, 1996. Web. 01 Feb. 2010..
Gooch, Brad. Flannery a life of Flannery O'Connor. New York: Little, Brown and, 2008. Print.
Mrs. Martinez
AP Literature and Composition
February 1, 2010
The writings of Flannery O'Connor have an odd effect on the reader. She has a decisive and an almost strict narrative. The writing seems almost cold as she introduces characters and settings, but as O'Connor let's the story unfold the reader finds her stories practically impossible to put down. A common theme of O'Connor seems to be putting seemingly average and occasionally very out of the ordinary characters in completely outlandish situations. At first O'Connor's writing seems straight forward but taking a deeper look one finds themselves entrenched in imagery, symbolism, and hidden meanings. The most fascinating aspect of O'Connor's short stories is her characterization and her development of characters, Main and minor ones. In taking a deeper look at O'Connor's characters O'Connor seems to subtly reveal her desires, inhibitions, fears, beliefs, and even her flaws.
To really analyze O'Connor's writing and how it reflected her one must first take a look at her own life. Mary Flannery O'Connor was born on March 25th in Savannah, Georgia. O'Connor was raised a devout Catholic practiced this faith until her death. She lived in the south most of her life. What is so fascinating about Flannery O'Connor is her average lifestyle, and yet she had the ability to create such imaginative stories with such a depth and genius to them. O'Connor did not attend any superior universities either. She attended Georgia State College for Women and State University of Iowa. In 1951 she was a diagnosed with the rare blood disease Lupus, the same disease her father died of in 1938. She then returned to her families farm in Andalusia, Georgia and raised all kinds of birds especially peacocks. Burdened by the knowledge of her eminent death she spent the rest of her life on the farm writing a total of 32 short stories and 2 novels before her death in 1964 when she was only forty years old. O'Connor seems to be such a complex character, she lived such an ordinary life and yet had the ability to illustrate such out of the ordinary tales of life and death.
In O'Connor's short stories one aspect that is constantly present is her strange yet familiar characters. Characterization is always an interesting aspect in short stories, mainly because it is practically impossible for full development of character. There is something absent in character development in short stories compared to full length novels. What isn't said about a particular character is left for the reader to infer, which almost entices the reader even more. For instance in Flannery O'Connor's short story “Good Country People” one of the main characters Hulga is left alone legless in the attic of a barn. Many times O'Connor leaves her characters lives and the paths there on open ended inviting the reader to think just a little bit deeper. Although in the short story “A Good Man is Hard to Find” the main characters the grandmother, Bailey, the mother and children are all shot the villain in the story “The Misfit” he is called is left with his two wing-men to continue on down the road in the deep south. Why does O'Connor seem to do leave the end open with her characters time and time again in her short stories, did she feel her life was left open ended? She spent a good portion of her life with the knowledge of her own death, in O'Connor's short stories strange outlandish things happen quickly and unexpectedly to surface characters. Is this a reflection of O'Connor's own life? She was on a great literary path with a great literary legacy to be made, and yet it was cut short because of her disease. Although she did leave quite a literary legacy many aspects regarding O'Connor's beliefs and life are left open ended.
There seems to be a few main themes in Flannery O'Connor's short stories that are illustrated in her characters. There is obviously the huge theme of religion in her short stories, and the traditional southern values that comes from living in the south for a person's whole life. Then there seems to be the common device of O'Connor to create very average simple very southern and often Catholic characters.
In the end these characters seemed to be flawed, deceived by the people around them and their own disillusion and undergo an intense experience. O'Connor's characters seem to reflect many of her values and beliefs. She almost satirizes the Catholic faith in many of her stories. One would think she was criticizing the religion with her characters especially Mrs. Turpin from the short story “Revelation” but in fact she was a very devout Catholic. Unlike the characters in her stories it seems Flannery O'Connor had a very deep understanding of her faith, it was something very dear to her, and she was able to look at it from an outside perspective and criticize the flaws in it. Mrs. Turpin was a person very quick to judge. Judging the white trash people around her, the African American boy, and the demon like adolescent girl Mary Grace. In looking at Mrs. Turpin and O'Connor's characters from other stories such as Mrs. Hopewell, Mrs. Freeman from “Good Country People”, and even the grandmother from “A Good Man is Hard to Find. I believe that O'Connor really resented this aspect of her religion, the quickness to judge those who seem beneath others. She wasn't criticizing Catholicism itself but rather the misconstrued beliefs and disillusioned norms tied together with it.
Another major common theme found in O'Connor's stories is her attitudes toward men We know very little about O'Connor's attitude towards men. O'Connor never married and in analyzing her writing it seems she showed little desire to be married. Although it seems a minor aspect of her writing, her attitude towards men, it is apparent especially in her characterization of her male characters. First of all it seems the majority of her male characters are either very minor and boring or completely demented and deranged. We can see this in her characters such as the Misfit, the demented and deranged man, and Bailey, the average family man with no interesting qualities what so ever in the short story “A Good Man is Hard to Find”. In the short story “Good Country People” there is the at first very agreeable bible selling nice young man, Sharp Shooter, in the end he turns out to be almost as demented and deranged as the Misfit. Seducing the main character Hulga and stealing her leg! The only other man mentioned in the story is Mrs. Freeman's husband, like Bailey very average and boring. In “Revelation” the only man we see is Mrs. Turpin's husband. Who seems to fit in the same vein as Mr. Freeman and Bailey, a man with a dry sense of humor with no interesting qualities what so ever. In many of her short stories there seems to be no men with any kind of redeeming agreeable quality, although it seems to be very much the same with the women in her stories. The reader has to ask why? She was never married did she have some inner resentment towards men? Her father died when she was 15 did that scar her that she felt no desire to find a companion, or maybe she had such a close relationship with God that she did not need a man in her life. One will never know, one can only speculate.
In the end looking back at many of O'Connor's short stories she paints a very bleak portrait of humanity through her characterization. O'Connor reveals her beliefs and ideas on faith, traditional southern mentalities, and attitudes toward men. There is so much more to be analyzed in O'Connor's short stories and the characters she creates but on a very broad scope we can see that she lived a very simple life and clung to the only extraordinary aspect of it, her spiritual life, illustrated though her brilliance in literature and manipulation and creation of her characters. She left a wonderful literary legacy and may she forever rest in peace.
Works Cited
Galloway, Patric. "Flannery O'Connor." Books and Blog by Patrick Galloway. Patweb, 1996. Web. 01 Feb. 2010.
Gooch, Brad. Flannery a life of Flannery O'Connor. New York: Little, Brown and, 2008. Print.
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Welcome to Obamaland I Have Seen Your Future and It Doesn’t Work.
By: James Delingpole
Publisher: Regnery Publishing, Inc.
2009
205 pages
1-90, 171-205
Sarah Emsick
Book review Final
AP Government
15 December 2009
Welcome to Obamaland I have Seen Your Future and It Doesn’t Work.
Just looking at the title of this book and you can already grasp the main topic of discussion, Obama and what our Countries future holds. It’s not one of those books that has a mysterious title or a hidden meaning, its big and out there to proclaim its cause. Delingpole, a British political journalist, begins his book by comparing our new US president, Obama, to the controller of Britain for the last 12 years, Tony Blair. Through out the book Delingpole gives the readers his view on todays politics and tomorrows.
Delingpole splits his book up into ten chapters, he lets the reader into his mind and visit his thoughts on the wrong doing that has been not so secretly going on his country for the past 12 years. He writes his political novel more as a non-fiction story of his life with a spin on it. The antidotes that Delingpole describes through out his novel are the starting of his political enlightening. He flows through the political world with a sense of humor and enjoyable stories.
Delingpole’s chapters are given titles that don’t quite make sense at first, but as one starts to read , the titles are quite funny. The first, Never Trust a Hippie, was Delingpole’s awakening in a way. He bases his awakening to the political madness going on in Britain at the time by using an Glastonbury concert. Glastonbury is an event that was originally like Wood Stock, it started in 1971 and is still going strong. He has listened to many singers and sang along, well he doesn’t really have a singing voice, to all of the greats. But at one event the singer was interacting with the crowd and getting them to sing along to his political song about the Second Gulf War. Delingpole realized that he supported the war and that it was wrong to sing along, “ Why Should I let this guy bully me into voicing an opinion I don’t hold?” (Delingpole 17). This is action made Delingpole take a look around and he began to view the world differently.
Delingpole, through out his chapters, likes to compare the lefties and the rights. By this I mean the liberals and conservatives. Often the left side is seen like the more glamorous side to vote for. You don’t have to justify your reasoning on why you chose the lefty side, “Vote Blair, vote Obama and your work is done: you have said all that needs to be said about the kind of person you are.” (Delingpole 23). But if you chose to vote for a rightist, you are judged and have to come up with an answer as to why you would want to go down the dangerous route and vote for someone who is a monster. Delingpole often points the finger of blame to the left side of the political system saying, “In fact almost everything that’s wrong with the world is the fault of the Left, as I hope fully to demonstrate in the course of this book.” (Delingpole 26). Delingpole writes that the Left side often are candidates who oppose war, are often younger and more popular, care about the environment, love all races and genders and the world eats it all up. While the Right side on the other hand is often seen as closed-minded, extremist, don’t care about the environment, and are truly evil. But as one who reads Delingpoles book, even though the world is overpopulated with lefties, he knows that he is right, and that is his main purpose on writing this book.
The most intertaining chapters in the book where the chapters that delt with the Health Care Program and the Global Warming policy. These chapters were not as funny, because it is something that we are dealing with in America right now. The health care system in Britain is called, “The Envy of the World”, the NHS (National Health Service). In the chapter Delingpole describes the horrible state that their hospitals have become sense the free health care system was passed. If you become hurt, you have to make the choice to either wait in the hospital and not get treatment, not the treatment you deserve, or just not go altogether. Delingpole argues that Americans are wrong in thinking that the health care system there is better than the current one, “What it makes you is a grown-up nation: one that has wrestled with a morally contentions problems and come up with the only fair and just answer.” (Delingpole 45) The only way that we can work is with a system that involves money. The whole concept of the free health care just doesn’t add up. And this Delingpole warns is the future of Obama’s Health Care Plan.
Delingpole touches many other topics that effect the world today like, the war, gun control, and the influence politics has on the youth. These are all topics that not only America but the whole world has had to think about getting control over. The environmental chapter called, Barbecue The Polar Bears, has a very different outlook on global warming than most of America. He believes that the Global Warming is a myth, and that if the temperature is really changing, the world is going through a Global Cooling. Delingpole expresses his opinion on global warming by saying, “What depresses me hugely as a professional journalist is how complicit our media have been in spreading the Global Warming Myth.” (Delingpole 98) The news is spreading all over and not all of them are facts or truths. Obama has declared that the Global Warming is actually happening because of all the facts have become clear. Yet, Delingpole believes that he knows nothing about the myth and has only seen and heard what he wants to from in formers like Al Gore. Delingpole ends the chapter saying that we should not be worrying about the dangerous Polar Bears, but that we should focus on our own lives.
Delingpole is a very interesting writer, his voice is splattered over every page of this book. This book was very enjoyable to read because Delingpole is a very quirky and funny writer. He writes in a way that would make anyone understand politics. Although I do believe that some of his ideals were quite out there, I do agree with many of his claims. Delingpole has been through a socialist economy, even if Britain didn’t know it and he can see what America is in for because Britain went through the same thing. Although the title seems straight forward it’s not all just about the president of the US, and the information inside has points that effect the world as a whole.
By: James Delingpole
Publisher: Regnery Publishing, Inc.
2009
205 pages
1-90, 171-205
Sarah Emsick
Book review Final
AP Government
15 December 2009
Welcome to Obamaland I have Seen Your Future and It Doesn’t Work.
Just looking at the title of this book and you can already grasp the main topic of discussion, Obama and what our Countries future holds. It’s not one of those books that has a mysterious title or a hidden meaning, its big and out there to proclaim its cause. Delingpole, a British political journalist, begins his book by comparing our new US president, Obama, to the controller of Britain for the last 12 years, Tony Blair. Through out the book Delingpole gives the readers his view on todays politics and tomorrows.
Delingpole splits his book up into ten chapters, he lets the reader into his mind and visit his thoughts on the wrong doing that has been not so secretly going on his country for the past 12 years. He writes his political novel more as a non-fiction story of his life with a spin on it. The antidotes that Delingpole describes through out his novel are the starting of his political enlightening. He flows through the political world with a sense of humor and enjoyable stories.
Delingpole’s chapters are given titles that don’t quite make sense at first, but as one starts to read , the titles are quite funny. The first, Never Trust a Hippie, was Delingpole’s awakening in a way. He bases his awakening to the political madness going on in Britain at the time by using an Glastonbury concert. Glastonbury is an event that was originally like Wood Stock, it started in 1971 and is still going strong. He has listened to many singers and sang along, well he doesn’t really have a singing voice, to all of the greats. But at one event the singer was interacting with the crowd and getting them to sing along to his political song about the Second Gulf War. Delingpole realized that he supported the war and that it was wrong to sing along, “ Why Should I let this guy bully me into voicing an opinion I don’t hold?” (Delingpole 17). This is action made Delingpole take a look around and he began to view the world differently.
Delingpole, through out his chapters, likes to compare the lefties and the rights. By this I mean the liberals and conservatives. Often the left side is seen like the more glamorous side to vote for. You don’t have to justify your reasoning on why you chose the lefty side, “Vote Blair, vote Obama and your work is done: you have said all that needs to be said about the kind of person you are.” (Delingpole 23). But if you chose to vote for a rightist, you are judged and have to come up with an answer as to why you would want to go down the dangerous route and vote for someone who is a monster. Delingpole often points the finger of blame to the left side of the political system saying, “In fact almost everything that’s wrong with the world is the fault of the Left, as I hope fully to demonstrate in the course of this book.” (Delingpole 26). Delingpole writes that the Left side often are candidates who oppose war, are often younger and more popular, care about the environment, love all races and genders and the world eats it all up. While the Right side on the other hand is often seen as closed-minded, extremist, don’t care about the environment, and are truly evil. But as one who reads Delingpoles book, even though the world is overpopulated with lefties, he knows that he is right, and that is his main purpose on writing this book.
The most intertaining chapters in the book where the chapters that delt with the Health Care Program and the Global Warming policy. These chapters were not as funny, because it is something that we are dealing with in America right now. The health care system in Britain is called, “The Envy of the World”, the NHS (National Health Service). In the chapter Delingpole describes the horrible state that their hospitals have become sense the free health care system was passed. If you become hurt, you have to make the choice to either wait in the hospital and not get treatment, not the treatment you deserve, or just not go altogether. Delingpole argues that Americans are wrong in thinking that the health care system there is better than the current one, “What it makes you is a grown-up nation: one that has wrestled with a morally contentions problems and come up with the only fair and just answer.” (Delingpole 45) The only way that we can work is with a system that involves money. The whole concept of the free health care just doesn’t add up. And this Delingpole warns is the future of Obama’s Health Care Plan.
Delingpole touches many other topics that effect the world today like, the war, gun control, and the influence politics has on the youth. These are all topics that not only America but the whole world has had to think about getting control over. The environmental chapter called, Barbecue The Polar Bears, has a very different outlook on global warming than most of America. He believes that the Global Warming is a myth, and that if the temperature is really changing, the world is going through a Global Cooling. Delingpole expresses his opinion on global warming by saying, “What depresses me hugely as a professional journalist is how complicit our media have been in spreading the Global Warming Myth.” (Delingpole 98) The news is spreading all over and not all of them are facts or truths. Obama has declared that the Global Warming is actually happening because of all the facts have become clear. Yet, Delingpole believes that he knows nothing about the myth and has only seen and heard what he wants to from in formers like Al Gore. Delingpole ends the chapter saying that we should not be worrying about the dangerous Polar Bears, but that we should focus on our own lives.
Delingpole is a very interesting writer, his voice is splattered over every page of this book. This book was very enjoyable to read because Delingpole is a very quirky and funny writer. He writes in a way that would make anyone understand politics. Although I do believe that some of his ideals were quite out there, I do agree with many of his claims. Delingpole has been through a socialist economy, even if Britain didn’t know it and he can see what America is in for because Britain went through the same thing. Although the title seems straight forward it’s not all just about the president of the US, and the information inside has points that effect the world as a whole.
Monday, December 14, 2009
Blinded By Might Why The Religious Right Can’t Save America
By: Cal Thomas and Ed Dobson
Zondervan Publishing House
1999
1-193
1-90Blair Emsick
Book Review Project
AP Government
15 December 2009
Blinded By Might Why The Religious Right Can’t Save America
The title of this book, written by journalist Cal Thomas and pastor Ed Dobson, gives the innocent passerby a huge misconception. Judging from the title this book looks like it was written by a couple of left wing atheists (okay…that‘s a little harsh). Turns out the book was actually written by two adamant followers of Jesus Christ. The two men were also deeply involved and associated with the Moral Majority, a Christian political group that took a strong hold on America during the 1980’s founded by Jerry Falwell and played a huge part in electing President Ronald Reagan. The phrase “Don’t judge a book by its cove,” never seemed to truer after a passerby picks up the book and starts reading it.
In the introduction Thomas and Dobson make the purpose of their book quite clear. “We seek to influence the greater corporate body of the church and in doing so, leave a far greater imprint on culture.” (Dobson,Thomas. 13) The authors of the book intend to inform as well as influence their readers. The book appears to be mainly aimed at the audience of American Christians, whom many have had a violent reaction to it. Thomas and Dobson write, “Many of those who need to hear this message are the least interested in hearing it.” (7) Thomas and Dobson share an unconventional view on their Christianity and the political spectrum. They write in the introduction, “We have come to believe that a delicate balance exists between church and state and if each fulfills its proper role, the other is positively affected. But if one assumes the role of the other , or ignores and rejects that role, then both suffer.” (Thomas and Dobson. 12)
Cal Thomas worked for five years with the Moral Majority side by side with Jerry Falwell. Ed Dobson worked for almost fifteen years with the Moral Majority and often took the place when Falwell wasn’t available for television interviews and debates. The authors use their vast knowledge, experience, insight working within the Moral Majority, and watching Christianity grow bigger then it ever has in politics to provide a profound and enlightening, and quite controversial, view of Christians role in politics and the government. Dobson and Thomas identified many of the failures of the Moral Majority. Two decades ago the group The Moral Majority fought fervently against pornography, gay marriage, abortion, drug use. Dobson and Thomas urge the reader to look at the way these issues stand today. A poll taken in 1973 and again in 1991 asking the public if they were for or against abortion was compared in the book and the outcome was practically the same. After all the Moral Majority did for America in the 1980’s it seems that today nothing has been accomplished, in fact America appears to be worse off. “This was the Moral Majority’s greatest failure,” writes Cal Thomas (Thomas. 36)
The book is not simply a harsh pessimistic view of the social ills of America and a commentary on how none of them will ever be solved and that America will eventually swallow it’s self whole. No, the book provides a much deeper and enlightening message. Darold H. Morgan, who urges audience to read the book, wrote in Christian Ethics Today that, “The strength of this book is the repeated statement that it is only in the power of the Christian gospel, applied to the human heart, that transformation of people can take place. Legislation and manipulation of political position and power cannot change lives. The preeminent task of the Church is to preach the gospel of Jesus Christ. The Religious Right people have made a fatal mistake in making political power take precedence over the spiritual power latent in the Christian gospel.” The Wall Street Journal Also provide a positive review of the book, “Now there’s a fresh and very different line of criticism, coming from inside the world of conservative Christians….Cal Thomas and the Rev. Ed Dobson describe the Christian political movement as a paper tiger.”
Throughout the book Thomas and Dobson explain there work with the Religious Right, its flaws, and eventually why the left. Then the authors go into a more deeper message about faith and the social and cultural conditions of America. Dobson writes, “The Christian understands the wrongs of society are not merely social ills. As such, these wrongs require spiritual help, not merely political Adjustment. Ultimately, there are no permanent solutions to the problems of a society in a fallen world. But that does not mean that we should retreat to a monastery and allow social anarchy for the rest of the world.” (Dobson. 48). The authors then go into a descriptive way as to how Christian Americans can save the social ills of America. Thomas writes that to fix these problems we must start from the bottom up, not the top down. What he’s saying is that we can’t fix these problems by passing bills, holding fundraisers, and electing a republican president in the office to put ideas in people’s heads. No we must start from the bottom and move up, get a little dirty. Start with really influencing the people these social ills effect. Cal Thomas came up with the idea to give a woman a sonogram before she goes in to have an abortion, a tactic that has decreased abortions nationwide.
After reading this book, I’ll have to admit it is not for everywhere. It provides a message that may offend some people, but also provides a message that any person from whatever religious or political affiliations should share. That America has a heart wrenching amount of social ills that need to be solved. Whether through governmental action, or through actions from groups like The Christian Coalition these social ills with a lot of dedication, hard work, and sacrifice maybe one day be solved.
By: Cal Thomas and Ed Dobson
Zondervan Publishing House
1999
1-193
1-90Blair Emsick
Book Review Project
AP Government
15 December 2009
Blinded By Might Why The Religious Right Can’t Save America
The title of this book, written by journalist Cal Thomas and pastor Ed Dobson, gives the innocent passerby a huge misconception. Judging from the title this book looks like it was written by a couple of left wing atheists (okay…that‘s a little harsh). Turns out the book was actually written by two adamant followers of Jesus Christ. The two men were also deeply involved and associated with the Moral Majority, a Christian political group that took a strong hold on America during the 1980’s founded by Jerry Falwell and played a huge part in electing President Ronald Reagan. The phrase “Don’t judge a book by its cove,” never seemed to truer after a passerby picks up the book and starts reading it.
In the introduction Thomas and Dobson make the purpose of their book quite clear. “We seek to influence the greater corporate body of the church and in doing so, leave a far greater imprint on culture.” (Dobson,Thomas. 13) The authors of the book intend to inform as well as influence their readers. The book appears to be mainly aimed at the audience of American Christians, whom many have had a violent reaction to it. Thomas and Dobson write, “Many of those who need to hear this message are the least interested in hearing it.” (7) Thomas and Dobson share an unconventional view on their Christianity and the political spectrum. They write in the introduction, “We have come to believe that a delicate balance exists between church and state and if each fulfills its proper role, the other is positively affected. But if one assumes the role of the other , or ignores and rejects that role, then both suffer.” (Thomas and Dobson. 12)
Cal Thomas worked for five years with the Moral Majority side by side with Jerry Falwell. Ed Dobson worked for almost fifteen years with the Moral Majority and often took the place when Falwell wasn’t available for television interviews and debates. The authors use their vast knowledge, experience, insight working within the Moral Majority, and watching Christianity grow bigger then it ever has in politics to provide a profound and enlightening, and quite controversial, view of Christians role in politics and the government. Dobson and Thomas identified many of the failures of the Moral Majority. Two decades ago the group The Moral Majority fought fervently against pornography, gay marriage, abortion, drug use. Dobson and Thomas urge the reader to look at the way these issues stand today. A poll taken in 1973 and again in 1991 asking the public if they were for or against abortion was compared in the book and the outcome was practically the same. After all the Moral Majority did for America in the 1980’s it seems that today nothing has been accomplished, in fact America appears to be worse off. “This was the Moral Majority’s greatest failure,” writes Cal Thomas (Thomas. 36)
The book is not simply a harsh pessimistic view of the social ills of America and a commentary on how none of them will ever be solved and that America will eventually swallow it’s self whole. No, the book provides a much deeper and enlightening message. Darold H. Morgan, who urges audience to read the book, wrote in Christian Ethics Today that, “The strength of this book is the repeated statement that it is only in the power of the Christian gospel, applied to the human heart, that transformation of people can take place. Legislation and manipulation of political position and power cannot change lives. The preeminent task of the Church is to preach the gospel of Jesus Christ. The Religious Right people have made a fatal mistake in making political power take precedence over the spiritual power latent in the Christian gospel.” The Wall Street Journal Also provide a positive review of the book, “Now there’s a fresh and very different line of criticism, coming from inside the world of conservative Christians….Cal Thomas and the Rev. Ed Dobson describe the Christian political movement as a paper tiger.”
Throughout the book Thomas and Dobson explain there work with the Religious Right, its flaws, and eventually why the left. Then the authors go into a more deeper message about faith and the social and cultural conditions of America. Dobson writes, “The Christian understands the wrongs of society are not merely social ills. As such, these wrongs require spiritual help, not merely political Adjustment. Ultimately, there are no permanent solutions to the problems of a society in a fallen world. But that does not mean that we should retreat to a monastery and allow social anarchy for the rest of the world.” (Dobson. 48). The authors then go into a descriptive way as to how Christian Americans can save the social ills of America. Thomas writes that to fix these problems we must start from the bottom up, not the top down. What he’s saying is that we can’t fix these problems by passing bills, holding fundraisers, and electing a republican president in the office to put ideas in people’s heads. No we must start from the bottom and move up, get a little dirty. Start with really influencing the people these social ills effect. Cal Thomas came up with the idea to give a woman a sonogram before she goes in to have an abortion, a tactic that has decreased abortions nationwide.
After reading this book, I’ll have to admit it is not for everywhere. It provides a message that may offend some people, but also provides a message that any person from whatever religious or political affiliations should share. That America has a heart wrenching amount of social ills that need to be solved. Whether through governmental action, or through actions from groups like The Christian Coalition these social ills with a lot of dedication, hard work, and sacrifice maybe one day be solved.
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Thrown
Chapter 1
Thermostat:
I woke up to the sound of my mother arguing with some unknown person. Her voice was shrill and antagonizing. “This is absolutely ridiculous! I refuse to pay a cent!” I envisioned her hands on hips yelling at some innocent man. “They have been checking my thermostat for free for the past…my whole life…no I’m not paying a cent!” I pull the covers over my head to try to drown out the noise. It is 10:48 a.m. My body aches, from to much sleeping, my head feels empty, will this feeling ever go away? I switch positions again, more muffled arguing from the living room. I lay on my back, my chest feels to heavy, and there’s this ache in my thoughts, just before my subconscious takes over.
I wake up an hour later to my mother on the phone. “Jill? Yeah can you believe they tried to charge me! I swear this is ridiculous, they’ve been checking my thermostat for free for the past…” I suppose I should get up, it’d be to painful to stay in bed. With these numbing thoughts that I’m sure will eventually paralyze. This isn’t apathy, this isn’t healing. This is…the scar tissue, permanent? Most likely, but I can only hope with years (oh..years can I last that long?) that it’ll fade. It’s time to get up
I sit at the kitchen table, my mother is across the phone still yacking her head off. I always feel odd eating breakfast in the afternoon, but waking up and eating lunch would feel wrong. Brunch? Too formal. All I can hear is the sound of my masticating. Cereal for breakfast. My mother continues her conversation as I tried to drown the sound out with my chewing… “I swear the world today is so upside down, so crooked and backwards….” Chew Chew Chew Chew. “Alright Jill talk to you later! Yep…uh huh….Buh Bye”
Silence. My mother stares at me, I can’t tell if the lines on her face are worried or annoyed, I don’t look up. “Beth you have an appointment with Lilly today at 2 right?”
Lilly? Two? I think still not looking up. “It’s Saturday” she says with a slightly worried slightly annoyed tone. “Yeah” I say pretending I knew all along. “Alright be ready.”
2 o’clock. It’s 12 now. Two hours for sleep. I crawl back into bed with a slightly heavier stomach. I tried to hide under my covers, but I can feel it, no matter where I go, as if it’s watching me. As if she’s watching me. I shudder at the pronoun and my cereal threatens to make it’s way out of it’s warm bed. I wait desperately for sleep to take over, feeling just as disasterous if not worse as when I walked out of it a half hour ago. She She She She. The words jab into my head. Forcibly painfully. I clutch my skull. Till I’m not conscious any more.
Chapter 2:
Lily
I remember it so vividly and I can’t help but feel like my brain does it just to spite me. What did I do wrong? Why do the good memories fade and whether while the bad ones become more deeply etched in as each day passes. I remember the day. I remember I had been thinking about a magazine article I had read about Mcjagger. He was from Ohio, not Okonkwo but about an hour away. I remember if he could get so famous why can’t I? I feel foolish now remembering my thoughts. People always desire honor, and fame, we don’t deserve that, we don’t deserve nothing. Then everything seemed to shatter and Mcjagger being from Ohio was a fickle thought. I looked up at the street and I heard the thud…..
“BETH!” my mother shrilly screams “Let’s go! We have 6 minutes to get there!” It’s 1:54. We’re always late.
We arrived to Lily’s office at 2:26. I slipped into the waiting room and found it empty with the exception of a pouty looking over weight mother discussing something the the secretary at the front desk. “So if my daughter refuses to go to the meetings the insurance stops paying.” The secretary looking flustered and noticed me, “Beth,” she said slightly annoyed “Lily is waiting for you.”
I had been going to Lily for about 6 months, after it had happened. The insurance gave me some temporary psychological disorder and sent me here. This wasn’t a real phsychologist office. Not to say that Lily wasn’t a real psychologist she had the placks on the wall and everything but she worked for the insurance company. It was a cheap one.
It seemed like everything in my life had been that way. I didn’t resent this, I was used to it. I even took a little pride in it. People with brittle bones had to go to real psychologists and paid tons of money to cry about problems that weren’t really their.
Did I have a problem that wasn’t really there. I don’t know. The insurance company sent me here. That is all.
I thought about the woman at the counter. A lot of kids don’t like coming here. For the past few months I’ve seen all sorts of them come in and out. I never really minded Lily, it always seemed normal that I should dislike her. When my mother first brought it up she stated it solemnly as a loss cause. Almost as if she knew that I’d refuse to go, but I didn’t mind it, there were some aspects that I didn’t like but Lily was nice.
I walked into Lily’s office and found her sitting in her chair writing something. The room was dimly lit with two chairs and a coach. There was a mini fountain trickling on one of her shelves amongst various books from psychology to young adult. I sat down and started playing with a zen garden which sat next to a big vanilla candle. This is what I didn’t like about this place. Everything was so strategically placed.
“How are you today Beth?” Lily asked me putting what she was writing down and looking up at me. I tried to figure out something to say. How am I today? I regular question, but did I know how I feel?
Lily didn’t like me to call her Mrs. Sanchez, when we first met she insisted on me calling her Lily, but I hated the informalness of it all. She wasn’t just Lily she wasn’t my friend. It used to upset me a lot. Why should I tell everyone to someone who does not care about me? “I do care about you Beth,” She insisted one afternoon. “I know because I’m your patient you want to see me heal.” I said my voice heavy in teen angst, “but what if the insurance company suddenly decided I was okay, and they stopped paying for these sessions?” She sat silently waiting for me to continue. “I would disappear from your life and you would disappear from mine. The End” “What’s the point of all this”
I could tell she wasn’t sure what to say. She shrugged and said, “We’re trying to heal you, I don’t know what else I can do for you, all I know is that until the insurance company stops paying for these sessions, I’ll be here for you.”
I don’t think about it anymore. It just leaves me dizzy if I do, so all I can do is come to these sessions and try to figure out whatever it is I’m trying to figure out.
“How are you doing?” She asked again, with an unfailing patience I could never hope to have. With Lily sometimes we talked about it sometimes we didn’t.
“I don’t know…” I mumbled telling her the plain truth, “I’m not bad, but I’m not good either. I’m like some particle in the air letting the air push me and take me where it goes…” There was truth in what I said, that is all I knew. Lily paused, whether it was for dramatic effect or if she really did not know what to say I did not know. What is something interesting about Lily is that she believes most people can be fixed, by one way or the other. I left the end open would if somebody can’t be fixed? What if I can’t be fixed, but then again am I even broken? Was I even made in the first place?
This is what silence does. Silence is so good; distractions have saved me since the incident, distractions sweet loud distractions. “Interesting…so you believe you have no feelings what so ever that you’re just going with the flow?” She asked regaining her composure. “I guess so..” I replied. “Are you happy with this? Mad about it or feel nothing about it. Is it easier this way.”
I tried to process all what she was saying she was speaking rather fast. “I’m not sure, I’m not mad about it doesn’t make me really happy either, I just feel unsatisfied, starving, yet full at the same time.”
She laughed unexpectedly, “You’re such a contradiction.” She said, I thought about It, I suppose it’s true.
She turned serious again, professional Mrs. Sanchez. She adjusted her skirt, moved the non existent hairs from her face. “Now Beth, we have to think about this…Is this whatever floats your boat, if that’s what you want to call it, is this healthy. Can someone live like this? Is it normal? Is it sane?”
“Does it matter?” I said immediately regretting it. Lily responded simply. “If it didn’t matter we wouldn’t be here, so while we’re here let’s pretend it does matter. I don’t know how you feel but this matters to me, you matter to me.” She looked at me, I was never good at reading people, was she lying I didn’t know, did it matter?
(There’s a possibility.)
“I have to think about this more, Beth, for once you have me slightly speechless, there isn’t a problem, but then you’re not fixed. Now I shouldn’t use that word fixed, heal is a better word or “get better” you don’t need fixing…just some tinkering.”
“The mind is a strange thing.” I said letting the atmosphere take me in, wanting to forget about being broken and being fixed.
“Ahh, the human is a strange thing, it isn’t just our minds, there are impulses drives, emotions, aches, pains, and numbness all at once.”
“Numbness….” I said as I slowly began pinching the side of my arm. Lily was silent for a while. “This is quite interesting though….is it unheard of? I’m not sure, I’m sure the numb really said anything about it.” Lily had a funny way sometimes of talking out load to herself.
“Well,” she said glancing at her watch, “There is something else I have been working on for a while. It concerns you.” She said looking up at me. I felt a muffled curiosity reach my brain. “Next week I’d like you to meet someone, can you handle that?”
Who did she think I was? I could meet people I could be social. “I know you can handle it,” she said as if reading my thoughts, “But you may or may not like what this person has to say or what they represent. But I think it will help you immensely.”
I felt curious and yet I couldn’t believe her. I was quiet on the drive home, my mother filled up the silence with obnoxious talk radio. I tried to imagine who Lily would want me to meet. Another crazy person? A person who’s a specialist and what I’ve been through, some post traumatic stress disorder scholar? She said someone to help me immensely…hmm. I stared out the window at the occasional pedestrian, my mom always avoided the street the accident happened on, I’m not sure if the avoidance made It better or worse.
I tried to listen to the voices on the radio. “It is not right for a woman to with hold sex from her husband, it is a crime.” My thoughts turned back immediately to this person. Lily what have you got in store. Until next Saturday….I wait.
Chapter 1
Thermostat:
I woke up to the sound of my mother arguing with some unknown person. Her voice was shrill and antagonizing. “This is absolutely ridiculous! I refuse to pay a cent!” I envisioned her hands on hips yelling at some innocent man. “They have been checking my thermostat for free for the past…my whole life…no I’m not paying a cent!” I pull the covers over my head to try to drown out the noise. It is 10:48 a.m. My body aches, from to much sleeping, my head feels empty, will this feeling ever go away? I switch positions again, more muffled arguing from the living room. I lay on my back, my chest feels to heavy, and there’s this ache in my thoughts, just before my subconscious takes over.
I wake up an hour later to my mother on the phone. “Jill? Yeah can you believe they tried to charge me! I swear this is ridiculous, they’ve been checking my thermostat for free for the past…” I suppose I should get up, it’d be to painful to stay in bed. With these numbing thoughts that I’m sure will eventually paralyze. This isn’t apathy, this isn’t healing. This is…the scar tissue, permanent? Most likely, but I can only hope with years (oh..years can I last that long?) that it’ll fade. It’s time to get up
I sit at the kitchen table, my mother is across the phone still yacking her head off. I always feel odd eating breakfast in the afternoon, but waking up and eating lunch would feel wrong. Brunch? Too formal. All I can hear is the sound of my masticating. Cereal for breakfast. My mother continues her conversation as I tried to drown the sound out with my chewing… “I swear the world today is so upside down, so crooked and backwards….” Chew Chew Chew Chew. “Alright Jill talk to you later! Yep…uh huh….Buh Bye”
Silence. My mother stares at me, I can’t tell if the lines on her face are worried or annoyed, I don’t look up. “Beth you have an appointment with Lilly today at 2 right?”
Lilly? Two? I think still not looking up. “It’s Saturday” she says with a slightly worried slightly annoyed tone. “Yeah” I say pretending I knew all along. “Alright be ready.”
2 o’clock. It’s 12 now. Two hours for sleep. I crawl back into bed with a slightly heavier stomach. I tried to hide under my covers, but I can feel it, no matter where I go, as if it’s watching me. As if she’s watching me. I shudder at the pronoun and my cereal threatens to make it’s way out of it’s warm bed. I wait desperately for sleep to take over, feeling just as disasterous if not worse as when I walked out of it a half hour ago. She She She She. The words jab into my head. Forcibly painfully. I clutch my skull. Till I’m not conscious any more.
Chapter 2:
Lily
I remember it so vividly and I can’t help but feel like my brain does it just to spite me. What did I do wrong? Why do the good memories fade and whether while the bad ones become more deeply etched in as each day passes. I remember the day. I remember I had been thinking about a magazine article I had read about Mcjagger. He was from Ohio, not Okonkwo but about an hour away. I remember if he could get so famous why can’t I? I feel foolish now remembering my thoughts. People always desire honor, and fame, we don’t deserve that, we don’t deserve nothing. Then everything seemed to shatter and Mcjagger being from Ohio was a fickle thought. I looked up at the street and I heard the thud…..
“BETH!” my mother shrilly screams “Let’s go! We have 6 minutes to get there!” It’s 1:54. We’re always late.
We arrived to Lily’s office at 2:26. I slipped into the waiting room and found it empty with the exception of a pouty looking over weight mother discussing something the the secretary at the front desk. “So if my daughter refuses to go to the meetings the insurance stops paying.” The secretary looking flustered and noticed me, “Beth,” she said slightly annoyed “Lily is waiting for you.”
I had been going to Lily for about 6 months, after it had happened. The insurance gave me some temporary psychological disorder and sent me here. This wasn’t a real phsychologist office. Not to say that Lily wasn’t a real psychologist she had the placks on the wall and everything but she worked for the insurance company. It was a cheap one.
It seemed like everything in my life had been that way. I didn’t resent this, I was used to it. I even took a little pride in it. People with brittle bones had to go to real psychologists and paid tons of money to cry about problems that weren’t really their.
Did I have a problem that wasn’t really there. I don’t know. The insurance company sent me here. That is all.
I thought about the woman at the counter. A lot of kids don’t like coming here. For the past few months I’ve seen all sorts of them come in and out. I never really minded Lily, it always seemed normal that I should dislike her. When my mother first brought it up she stated it solemnly as a loss cause. Almost as if she knew that I’d refuse to go, but I didn’t mind it, there were some aspects that I didn’t like but Lily was nice.
I walked into Lily’s office and found her sitting in her chair writing something. The room was dimly lit with two chairs and a coach. There was a mini fountain trickling on one of her shelves amongst various books from psychology to young adult. I sat down and started playing with a zen garden which sat next to a big vanilla candle. This is what I didn’t like about this place. Everything was so strategically placed.
“How are you today Beth?” Lily asked me putting what she was writing down and looking up at me. I tried to figure out something to say. How am I today? I regular question, but did I know how I feel?
Lily didn’t like me to call her Mrs. Sanchez, when we first met she insisted on me calling her Lily, but I hated the informalness of it all. She wasn’t just Lily she wasn’t my friend. It used to upset me a lot. Why should I tell everyone to someone who does not care about me? “I do care about you Beth,” She insisted one afternoon. “I know because I’m your patient you want to see me heal.” I said my voice heavy in teen angst, “but what if the insurance company suddenly decided I was okay, and they stopped paying for these sessions?” She sat silently waiting for me to continue. “I would disappear from your life and you would disappear from mine. The End” “What’s the point of all this”
I could tell she wasn’t sure what to say. She shrugged and said, “We’re trying to heal you, I don’t know what else I can do for you, all I know is that until the insurance company stops paying for these sessions, I’ll be here for you.”
I don’t think about it anymore. It just leaves me dizzy if I do, so all I can do is come to these sessions and try to figure out whatever it is I’m trying to figure out.
“How are you doing?” She asked again, with an unfailing patience I could never hope to have. With Lily sometimes we talked about it sometimes we didn’t.
“I don’t know…” I mumbled telling her the plain truth, “I’m not bad, but I’m not good either. I’m like some particle in the air letting the air push me and take me where it goes…” There was truth in what I said, that is all I knew. Lily paused, whether it was for dramatic effect or if she really did not know what to say I did not know. What is something interesting about Lily is that she believes most people can be fixed, by one way or the other. I left the end open would if somebody can’t be fixed? What if I can’t be fixed, but then again am I even broken? Was I even made in the first place?
This is what silence does. Silence is so good; distractions have saved me since the incident, distractions sweet loud distractions. “Interesting…so you believe you have no feelings what so ever that you’re just going with the flow?” She asked regaining her composure. “I guess so..” I replied. “Are you happy with this? Mad about it or feel nothing about it. Is it easier this way.”
I tried to process all what she was saying she was speaking rather fast. “I’m not sure, I’m not mad about it doesn’t make me really happy either, I just feel unsatisfied, starving, yet full at the same time.”
She laughed unexpectedly, “You’re such a contradiction.” She said, I thought about It, I suppose it’s true.
She turned serious again, professional Mrs. Sanchez. She adjusted her skirt, moved the non existent hairs from her face. “Now Beth, we have to think about this…Is this whatever floats your boat, if that’s what you want to call it, is this healthy. Can someone live like this? Is it normal? Is it sane?”
“Does it matter?” I said immediately regretting it. Lily responded simply. “If it didn’t matter we wouldn’t be here, so while we’re here let’s pretend it does matter. I don’t know how you feel but this matters to me, you matter to me.” She looked at me, I was never good at reading people, was she lying I didn’t know, did it matter?
(There’s a possibility.)
“I have to think about this more, Beth, for once you have me slightly speechless, there isn’t a problem, but then you’re not fixed. Now I shouldn’t use that word fixed, heal is a better word or “get better” you don’t need fixing…just some tinkering.”
“The mind is a strange thing.” I said letting the atmosphere take me in, wanting to forget about being broken and being fixed.
“Ahh, the human is a strange thing, it isn’t just our minds, there are impulses drives, emotions, aches, pains, and numbness all at once.”
“Numbness….” I said as I slowly began pinching the side of my arm. Lily was silent for a while. “This is quite interesting though….is it unheard of? I’m not sure, I’m sure the numb really said anything about it.” Lily had a funny way sometimes of talking out load to herself.
“Well,” she said glancing at her watch, “There is something else I have been working on for a while. It concerns you.” She said looking up at me. I felt a muffled curiosity reach my brain. “Next week I’d like you to meet someone, can you handle that?”
Who did she think I was? I could meet people I could be social. “I know you can handle it,” she said as if reading my thoughts, “But you may or may not like what this person has to say or what they represent. But I think it will help you immensely.”
I felt curious and yet I couldn’t believe her. I was quiet on the drive home, my mother filled up the silence with obnoxious talk radio. I tried to imagine who Lily would want me to meet. Another crazy person? A person who’s a specialist and what I’ve been through, some post traumatic stress disorder scholar? She said someone to help me immensely…hmm. I stared out the window at the occasional pedestrian, my mom always avoided the street the accident happened on, I’m not sure if the avoidance made It better or worse.
I tried to listen to the voices on the radio. “It is not right for a woman to with hold sex from her husband, it is a crime.” My thoughts turned back immediately to this person. Lily what have you got in store. Until next Saturday….I wait.
Thursday, November 19, 2009
Sarah Emsick
6009 Franklin Street 68014 Omaha, NE
Home Phone: (402)-614-1698
Cell Phone: (402)-213-9181
Education:
Harrison Elementary - 7 years
Lewis and Clark Middle School - 2 years
Central High School - 3 years, 2006 - Present
Experience:
Coco Keys Lifeguard:
- June of 2009- Present
- Keep Coco Keys safe and clean, while enjoyable for the guests
- Always making sure the guests are happy
Teaching swimming lessons:
- Omaha Public Schools
- The teacher aide
-2006-2008
Child Care:
- Church Nursery and Sunday School helper
- From 2003-2008, Emmanuel Fellowship
- Babysitting From 2004-Present
Sarah Emsick
6009 Franklin Street 68014 Omaha, NE
Home Phone: (402)-614-1698
Cell Phone: (402)-213-9181
Values to hold
Parents, the people who shape us in to who we will grow up to be, making sure that we grow in knowledge and love. They share their warmth and kindness and they protect us from evil things so that no danger will ever be present. One should never have to fear for the life of their own or the life of their parents when they are still very young and still looking up to their parents for guidance when things turn ill. But, when ones parent are not in the right mind set because he/she has been drinking alcohol all night what is one to do? Does one run and hide, confront him/her, help, or lay in bed dreaming of the terrible things that could happen if they were to do something stupid while drunk? Should you wait it out and see if you can make it through the night or should you call some one and tell them what is going on? So you decide to wait it out and by the morning they will not remember any thing and you will not bother to mention the nights previous tales.
This may sound horrible, and it pretty much is, but I want to start off by saying that my mother is a wonderful women. Any day and every day she is my super hero and she just amazes me on how she made it through this far. Yes life was pretty rough and crazy when I was little. My mother was facing depression and she didn’t know how to deal with the pain. She never took her pain out on us, her children, but she almost drank her self to death and that almost ripped our family apart. My mother has been sober for almost 5 years now and she has made some great changes in her life because she have chosen a different path. One great accomplishment that she was finally able to achieve was to becoming a music teacher after many years of hard work and focus.
Alcohol and drugs are not something that I am quick to run to, I am not a fan of either. They have both personally effected my family in the negative way and only terrible things can come from messing with chemicals that change your way of thinking. From personal experience, I value my own state of mind and I do not plan taking any thing or drinking any thing just for a few hours of fun. If people do not know how to cope with the world with out the help of other substances than how do they plan to get through the rest of their lives? I do not want to be limited in life, addicted to some thing that I will never be able to give up. I want to live freely and happily, substance free.
When I ended my Junior year, I was feeling the pressure from both of my parents to get a job, most of the nagging was coming from my father’s end and he saw to it that I get a job. His slogan and favorite saying when talking about college and the future is, “Once you get this done you’ll be set for LIFE!” sure dad it is really that easy. But because of the parent pressure and million and one job applications I finally succeeded in snatching a job. Blair, my twin, and I ended up working at the same place, Coco Keys, and so every thing was fun and great over the summer because I had my sister there. But once school started I had to deal with both the dead line of homework and projects all while keeping up with my work schedule. I still find it a constant struggle to choose between work or school. If I have to work one night I know that I will not be able to finish my homework for the day because there will just be no more gas in the engine. This Senior Year has been probably my hardest year at Central, but I am giving it my all.
6009 Franklin Street 68014 Omaha, NE
Home Phone: (402)-614-1698
Cell Phone: (402)-213-9181
Education:
Harrison Elementary - 7 years
Lewis and Clark Middle School - 2 years
Central High School - 3 years, 2006 - Present
Experience:
Coco Keys Lifeguard:
- June of 2009- Present
- Keep Coco Keys safe and clean, while enjoyable for the guests
- Always making sure the guests are happy
Teaching swimming lessons:
- Omaha Public Schools
- The teacher aide
-2006-2008
Child Care:
- Church Nursery and Sunday School helper
- From 2003-2008, Emmanuel Fellowship
- Babysitting From 2004-Present
Sarah Emsick
6009 Franklin Street 68014 Omaha, NE
Home Phone: (402)-614-1698
Cell Phone: (402)-213-9181
Values to hold
Parents, the people who shape us in to who we will grow up to be, making sure that we grow in knowledge and love. They share their warmth and kindness and they protect us from evil things so that no danger will ever be present. One should never have to fear for the life of their own or the life of their parents when they are still very young and still looking up to their parents for guidance when things turn ill. But, when ones parent are not in the right mind set because he/she has been drinking alcohol all night what is one to do? Does one run and hide, confront him/her, help, or lay in bed dreaming of the terrible things that could happen if they were to do something stupid while drunk? Should you wait it out and see if you can make it through the night or should you call some one and tell them what is going on? So you decide to wait it out and by the morning they will not remember any thing and you will not bother to mention the nights previous tales.
This may sound horrible, and it pretty much is, but I want to start off by saying that my mother is a wonderful women. Any day and every day she is my super hero and she just amazes me on how she made it through this far. Yes life was pretty rough and crazy when I was little. My mother was facing depression and she didn’t know how to deal with the pain. She never took her pain out on us, her children, but she almost drank her self to death and that almost ripped our family apart. My mother has been sober for almost 5 years now and she has made some great changes in her life because she have chosen a different path. One great accomplishment that she was finally able to achieve was to becoming a music teacher after many years of hard work and focus.
Alcohol and drugs are not something that I am quick to run to, I am not a fan of either. They have both personally effected my family in the negative way and only terrible things can come from messing with chemicals that change your way of thinking. From personal experience, I value my own state of mind and I do not plan taking any thing or drinking any thing just for a few hours of fun. If people do not know how to cope with the world with out the help of other substances than how do they plan to get through the rest of their lives? I do not want to be limited in life, addicted to some thing that I will never be able to give up. I want to live freely and happily, substance free.
When I ended my Junior year, I was feeling the pressure from both of my parents to get a job, most of the nagging was coming from my father’s end and he saw to it that I get a job. His slogan and favorite saying when talking about college and the future is, “Once you get this done you’ll be set for LIFE!” sure dad it is really that easy. But because of the parent pressure and million and one job applications I finally succeeded in snatching a job. Blair, my twin, and I ended up working at the same place, Coco Keys, and so every thing was fun and great over the summer because I had my sister there. But once school started I had to deal with both the dead line of homework and projects all while keeping up with my work schedule. I still find it a constant struggle to choose between work or school. If I have to work one night I know that I will not be able to finish my homework for the day because there will just be no more gas in the engine. This Senior Year has been probably my hardest year at Central, but I am giving it my all.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Rifle Team
Row 1: Connor Lasly, Mayra Gaytan, Jordan Marescalco
Row 2: Adam Sheridan, Brandon Hall, Kyle Stevens, Logan Miller
Orienteering Team
Row 1: Torrell Booker, Donovan Kopystynsky, Devin Bigelow, Gabriel Bridgeford, Ryan Peatrowsky, Mayra Gaytan, John Hogan, Kris Malleny
Row 2: Steven Bovill, Kyrie Lynch, Brandon Hall, Connor Lasly, Jordan Marescalco
Row 3: Chris Dady, Michael Rieger, Adam Sheridan
Courtesy Patrol
Row 1: Connor Lasly, Torrell Booker, Devin Bigelow, Devon Chonis, Mayra Gaytan, John Hogan
Row 2: Steven Bovill, Gabriel Bridgeford, Kyrie Lynch
Row 3: Xiomara Avalos, Donovan Kopystynsky, Tamerea Marion, Jaeden Carter
Row 5: Gage Dawes, Tyler Shearer
Staff
Row 1: Logan Miller, Torrell Booker, Mayra Gaytan, Jordan Marescalco, Matt Wolford
Row 2: Adam Sheridan, Kyrie Lynch, John Hogan
Row 3: Sheylah Olvera, Alisha Floyd
Not pictured: Seth Pope, Spencer Welton
Drill Team
Row 1: Torrell Booker, Devin Chonis, Ryan Peatrowsky, Mayra Gayton, Jordan Marescalco, Matt Wolford
Row 2: Steven Bovill, Kyrie Lynch, Connor Lasly, Cassandra Hannah, Gabriel Bridgeford
Row 3: Tyler Shearer, Brandon Hall, Michael Rieger
Row 4: Nick Rosa, Adam Sheridan, Gage Dawes
Row 1: Connor Lasly, Mayra Gaytan, Jordan Marescalco
Row 2: Adam Sheridan, Brandon Hall, Kyle Stevens, Logan Miller
Orienteering Team
Row 1: Torrell Booker, Donovan Kopystynsky, Devin Bigelow, Gabriel Bridgeford, Ryan Peatrowsky, Mayra Gaytan, John Hogan, Kris Malleny
Row 2: Steven Bovill, Kyrie Lynch, Brandon Hall, Connor Lasly, Jordan Marescalco
Row 3: Chris Dady, Michael Rieger, Adam Sheridan
Courtesy Patrol
Row 1: Connor Lasly, Torrell Booker, Devin Bigelow, Devon Chonis, Mayra Gaytan, John Hogan
Row 2: Steven Bovill, Gabriel Bridgeford, Kyrie Lynch
Row 3: Xiomara Avalos, Donovan Kopystynsky, Tamerea Marion, Jaeden Carter
Row 5: Gage Dawes, Tyler Shearer
Staff
Row 1: Logan Miller, Torrell Booker, Mayra Gaytan, Jordan Marescalco, Matt Wolford
Row 2: Adam Sheridan, Kyrie Lynch, John Hogan
Row 3: Sheylah Olvera, Alisha Floyd
Not pictured: Seth Pope, Spencer Welton
Drill Team
Row 1: Torrell Booker, Devin Chonis, Ryan Peatrowsky, Mayra Gayton, Jordan Marescalco, Matt Wolford
Row 2: Steven Bovill, Kyrie Lynch, Connor Lasly, Cassandra Hannah, Gabriel Bridgeford
Row 3: Tyler Shearer, Brandon Hall, Michael Rieger
Row 4: Nick Rosa, Adam Sheridan, Gage Dawes
Monday, November 9, 2009
Thrown
Chapter 1
Thermostat:
I woke up to the sound of my mother arguing with some unknown person. Her voice was shrill and antagonizing. “This is absolutely ridiculous! I refuse to pay a cent!” I envisioned her hands on hips yelling at some innocent man. “They have been checking my thermostat for free for the past…my whole life…no I’m not paying a cent!” I pull the covers over my head to try to drown out the noise. It is 10:48 a.m. My body aches, from to much sleeping, my head feels empty, will this feeling ever go away? I switch positions again, more muffled arguing from the living room. I lay on my back, my chest feels to heavy, and there’s this ache in my thoughts, just before my subconscious takes over.
I wake up an hour later to my mother on the phone. “Jill? Yeah can you believe they tried to charge me! I swear this is ridiculous, they’ve been checking my thermostat for free for the past…” I suppose I should get up, it’d be to painful to stay in bed. With these numbing thoughts that I’m sure will eventually paralyze. This isn’t apathy, this isn’t healing. This is…the scar tissue, permanent? Most likely, but I can only hope with years (oh..years can I last that long?) that it’ll fade. It’s time to get up
I sit at the kitchen table, my mother is across the phone still yacking her head off. I always feel odd eating breakfast in the afternoon, but waking up and eating lunch would feel wrong. Brunch? Too formal. All I can hear is the sound of my masticating. Cereal for breakfast. My mother continues her conversation as I tried to drown the sound out with my chewing… “I swear the world today is so upside down, so crooked and backwards….” Chew Chew Chew Chew. “Alright Jill talk to you later! Yep…uh huh….Buh Bye”
Silence. My mother stares at me, I can’t tell if the lines on her face are worried or annoyed, I don’t look up. “Beth you have an appointment with Lilly today at 2 right?”
Lilly? Two? I think still not looking up. “It’s Saturday” she says with a slightly worried slightly annoyed tone. “Yeah” I say pretending I knew all along. “Alright be ready.”
2 o’clock. It’s 12 now. Two hours for sleep. I crawl back into bed with a slightly heavier stomach. I tried to hide under my covers, but I can feel it, no matter where I go, as if it’s watching me. As if she’s watching me. I shudder at the pronoun and my cereal threatens to make it’s way out of it’s warm bed. I wait desperately for sleep to take over, feeling just as disasterous if not worse as when I walked out of it a half hour ago. She She She She. The words jab into my head. Forcibly painfully. I clutch my skull. Till I’m not conscious any more.
Chapter 2:
Lily
I remember it so vividly and I can’t help but feel like my brain does it just to spite me. What did I do wrong? Why do the good memories fade and whether while the bad ones become more deeply etched in as each day passes. I remember the day. I remember I had been thinking about a magazine article I had read about Mcjagger. He was from Ohio, not Okonkwo but about an hour away. I remember if he could get so famous why can’t I? I feel foolish now remembering my thoughts. People always desire honor, and fame, we don’t deserve that, we don’t deserve nothing. Then everything seemed to shatter and Mcjagger being from Ohio was a fickle thought. I looked up at the street and I heard the thud…..
“BETH!” my mother shrilly screams “Let’s go! We have 6 minutes to get there!” It’s 1:54. We’re always late.
We arrived to Lily’s office at 2:26. I slipped into the waiting room and found it empty with the exception of a pouty looking over weight mother discussing something the the secretary at the front desk. “So if my daughter refuses to go to the meetings the insurance stops paying.” The secretary looking flustered and noticed me, “Beth,” she said slightly annoyed “Lily is waiting for you.”
I had been going to Lily for about 6 months, after it had happened. The insurance gave me some temporary psychological disorder and sent me here. This wasn’t a real phsychologist office. Not to say that Lily wasn’t a real psychologist she had the placks on the wall and everything but she worked for the insurance company. It was a cheap one.
It seemed like everything in my life had been that way. I didn’t resent this, I was used to it. I even took a little pride in it. People with brittle bones had to go to real psychologists and paid tons of money to cry about problems that weren’t really their.
Did I have a problem that wasn’t really there. I don’t know. The insurance company sent me here. That is all.
I thought about the woman at the counter. A lot of kids don’t like coming here. For the past few months I’ve seen all sorts of them come in and out. I never really minded Lily, it always seemed normal that I should dislike her. When my mother first brought it up she stated it solemnly as a loss cause. Almost as if she knew that I’d refuse to go, but I didn’t mind it, there were some aspects that I didn’t like but Lily was nice.
I walked into Lily’s office and found her sitting in her chair writing something. The room was dimly lit with two chairs and a coach. There was a mini fountain trickling on one of her shelves amongst various books from psychology to young adult. I sat down and started playing with a zen garden which sat next to a big vanilla candle. This is what I didn’t like about this place. Everything was so strategically placed.
“How are you today Beth?” Lily asked me putting what she was writing down and looking up at me. I tried to figure out something to say. How am I today? I regular question, but did I know how I feel?
Lily didn’t like me to call her Mrs. Sanchez, when we first met she insisted on me calling her Lily, but I hated the informalness of it all. She wasn’t just Lily she wasn’t my friend. It used to upset me a lot. Why should I tell everyone to someone who does not care about me? “I do care about you Beth,” She insisted one afternoon. “I know because I’m your patient you want to see me heal.” I said my voice heavy in teen angst, “but what if the insurance company suddenly decided I was okay, and they stopped paying for these sessions?” She sat silently waiting for me to continue. “I would disappear from your life and you would disappear from mine. The End” “What’s the point of all this”
I could tell she wasn’t sure what to say. She shrugged and said, “We’re trying to heal you, I don’t know what else I can do for you, all I know is that until the insurance company stops paying for these sessions, I’ll be here for you.”
I don’t think about it anymore. It just leaves me dizzy if I do, so all I can do is come to these sessions and try to figure out whatever it is I’m trying to figure out.
Chapter 1
Thermostat:
I woke up to the sound of my mother arguing with some unknown person. Her voice was shrill and antagonizing. “This is absolutely ridiculous! I refuse to pay a cent!” I envisioned her hands on hips yelling at some innocent man. “They have been checking my thermostat for free for the past…my whole life…no I’m not paying a cent!” I pull the covers over my head to try to drown out the noise. It is 10:48 a.m. My body aches, from to much sleeping, my head feels empty, will this feeling ever go away? I switch positions again, more muffled arguing from the living room. I lay on my back, my chest feels to heavy, and there’s this ache in my thoughts, just before my subconscious takes over.
I wake up an hour later to my mother on the phone. “Jill? Yeah can you believe they tried to charge me! I swear this is ridiculous, they’ve been checking my thermostat for free for the past…” I suppose I should get up, it’d be to painful to stay in bed. With these numbing thoughts that I’m sure will eventually paralyze. This isn’t apathy, this isn’t healing. This is…the scar tissue, permanent? Most likely, but I can only hope with years (oh..years can I last that long?) that it’ll fade. It’s time to get up
I sit at the kitchen table, my mother is across the phone still yacking her head off. I always feel odd eating breakfast in the afternoon, but waking up and eating lunch would feel wrong. Brunch? Too formal. All I can hear is the sound of my masticating. Cereal for breakfast. My mother continues her conversation as I tried to drown the sound out with my chewing… “I swear the world today is so upside down, so crooked and backwards….” Chew Chew Chew Chew. “Alright Jill talk to you later! Yep…uh huh….Buh Bye”
Silence. My mother stares at me, I can’t tell if the lines on her face are worried or annoyed, I don’t look up. “Beth you have an appointment with Lilly today at 2 right?”
Lilly? Two? I think still not looking up. “It’s Saturday” she says with a slightly worried slightly annoyed tone. “Yeah” I say pretending I knew all along. “Alright be ready.”
2 o’clock. It’s 12 now. Two hours for sleep. I crawl back into bed with a slightly heavier stomach. I tried to hide under my covers, but I can feel it, no matter where I go, as if it’s watching me. As if she’s watching me. I shudder at the pronoun and my cereal threatens to make it’s way out of it’s warm bed. I wait desperately for sleep to take over, feeling just as disasterous if not worse as when I walked out of it a half hour ago. She She She She. The words jab into my head. Forcibly painfully. I clutch my skull. Till I’m not conscious any more.
Chapter 2:
Lily
I remember it so vividly and I can’t help but feel like my brain does it just to spite me. What did I do wrong? Why do the good memories fade and whether while the bad ones become more deeply etched in as each day passes. I remember the day. I remember I had been thinking about a magazine article I had read about Mcjagger. He was from Ohio, not Okonkwo but about an hour away. I remember if he could get so famous why can’t I? I feel foolish now remembering my thoughts. People always desire honor, and fame, we don’t deserve that, we don’t deserve nothing. Then everything seemed to shatter and Mcjagger being from Ohio was a fickle thought. I looked up at the street and I heard the thud…..
“BETH!” my mother shrilly screams “Let’s go! We have 6 minutes to get there!” It’s 1:54. We’re always late.
We arrived to Lily’s office at 2:26. I slipped into the waiting room and found it empty with the exception of a pouty looking over weight mother discussing something the the secretary at the front desk. “So if my daughter refuses to go to the meetings the insurance stops paying.” The secretary looking flustered and noticed me, “Beth,” she said slightly annoyed “Lily is waiting for you.”
I had been going to Lily for about 6 months, after it had happened. The insurance gave me some temporary psychological disorder and sent me here. This wasn’t a real phsychologist office. Not to say that Lily wasn’t a real psychologist she had the placks on the wall and everything but she worked for the insurance company. It was a cheap one.
It seemed like everything in my life had been that way. I didn’t resent this, I was used to it. I even took a little pride in it. People with brittle bones had to go to real psychologists and paid tons of money to cry about problems that weren’t really their.
Did I have a problem that wasn’t really there. I don’t know. The insurance company sent me here. That is all.
I thought about the woman at the counter. A lot of kids don’t like coming here. For the past few months I’ve seen all sorts of them come in and out. I never really minded Lily, it always seemed normal that I should dislike her. When my mother first brought it up she stated it solemnly as a loss cause. Almost as if she knew that I’d refuse to go, but I didn’t mind it, there were some aspects that I didn’t like but Lily was nice.
I walked into Lily’s office and found her sitting in her chair writing something. The room was dimly lit with two chairs and a coach. There was a mini fountain trickling on one of her shelves amongst various books from psychology to young adult. I sat down and started playing with a zen garden which sat next to a big vanilla candle. This is what I didn’t like about this place. Everything was so strategically placed.
“How are you today Beth?” Lily asked me putting what she was writing down and looking up at me. I tried to figure out something to say. How am I today? I regular question, but did I know how I feel?
Lily didn’t like me to call her Mrs. Sanchez, when we first met she insisted on me calling her Lily, but I hated the informalness of it all. She wasn’t just Lily she wasn’t my friend. It used to upset me a lot. Why should I tell everyone to someone who does not care about me? “I do care about you Beth,” She insisted one afternoon. “I know because I’m your patient you want to see me heal.” I said my voice heavy in teen angst, “but what if the insurance company suddenly decided I was okay, and they stopped paying for these sessions?” She sat silently waiting for me to continue. “I would disappear from your life and you would disappear from mine. The End” “What’s the point of all this”
I could tell she wasn’t sure what to say. She shrugged and said, “We’re trying to heal you, I don’t know what else I can do for you, all I know is that until the insurance company stops paying for these sessions, I’ll be here for you.”
I don’t think about it anymore. It just leaves me dizzy if I do, so all I can do is come to these sessions and try to figure out whatever it is I’m trying to figure out.
November 9th, 2009 Always Dizzy
It is strange being back. As if I had been in a big whole all weekend and I had just climbed out of it. When I look back on it I just fall. People seem different, but at the same time they feel achingly the same. The things they say, the things they laugh at. It is high who is different, and I know it will fade. I walk through the hallways and see face after face after face. It is all the same. We’re moving forward, we’re moving to 4th hour 5th hour 6th hour. This trip has given me some strength, some nutrients to carry me ever onward. I can’t look back at this writing because it will all end up gone. There is a difference between Vanity and Pride says Jane Austen. Vanity is how we think the world sees us, Pride is how we see ourselves. These ideas have been floating in my head and not much else. What else can I say? Flying is what I expected. Airports are sort of lonely average places. They’re not like the movies. You don’t see Young beautiful lovers running through them begging their other half to stay. People come, people go. They’re always moving. Some wait though. Some work here. And I am just another face. Coming and going. Flying is what I expected. It’s a form of public transportation and like all the public buses I’ve been on is constructed to fit the needs of all people. It had been used by all sorts of people. And it seems a constant theme in my life, as some remain forgotten and some are quiet and ambivalent. This is a constant, deflated expectations. Once I get to wherever I’m going I find that I’ve forgotten something where I was at, and long to go back. There always seems to be something missing. In everything I go and I everything I do. I have found lately that I have internalized this notion and it has become a sort of characteristic in me. Yesterday I went to the Pennsylvania University campus. It was one of the most beautiful places I had ever seen (the only college campus I have seen apart from UNO’s) There were students every where walking and talking studying, going somewhere. And I longed to be one of them walking down these streets, and have some place to go, somebody to meet, something to do. But I knew deep down, that there would be something ticking if I were them. Some impending doom –there always is-. There would be nothing there would be everything there would be something wrong. I knew If I went to school here, it would never be as good as it seemed. But maybe it would. Maybe this is just my internally defense mechanisms installed in order to make things seem not as good as they seem, but really they are. And to be quite honest I have no idea how to feel anymore. Someone. Somebody tell me how to feel. This weekend seemed to spent in lusty awe. I want, and I am in awe that such lives could exist. But secretly I know it’s never as good as it seems. Is it just me? Is it always not as good as it seems. It reminds me of a book when I was little. To little girls who lived across town from eachother. They stared at the other ones house and wished if only they lived there. The other one wished the same thing. Some how they switched homes for a day and realized that their own house looked just what they wanted it to look like. The story ended up happy, but will I end up happy. Why must everyone be happy. I heard a little blurb on talk radio. The man said something along the lines of why does everyone think god owes them something. Whenever a natural disaster happens the nations cry how could God do something like this. Why doesn’t he answer my prayers? What does he owe us, what have we given him?
The best thing I can hoped to be is humble and loved.
It is strange being back. As if I had been in a big whole all weekend and I had just climbed out of it. When I look back on it I just fall. People seem different, but at the same time they feel achingly the same. The things they say, the things they laugh at. It is high who is different, and I know it will fade. I walk through the hallways and see face after face after face. It is all the same. We’re moving forward, we’re moving to 4th hour 5th hour 6th hour. This trip has given me some strength, some nutrients to carry me ever onward. I can’t look back at this writing because it will all end up gone. There is a difference between Vanity and Pride says Jane Austen. Vanity is how we think the world sees us, Pride is how we see ourselves. These ideas have been floating in my head and not much else. What else can I say? Flying is what I expected. Airports are sort of lonely average places. They’re not like the movies. You don’t see Young beautiful lovers running through them begging their other half to stay. People come, people go. They’re always moving. Some wait though. Some work here. And I am just another face. Coming and going. Flying is what I expected. It’s a form of public transportation and like all the public buses I’ve been on is constructed to fit the needs of all people. It had been used by all sorts of people. And it seems a constant theme in my life, as some remain forgotten and some are quiet and ambivalent. This is a constant, deflated expectations. Once I get to wherever I’m going I find that I’ve forgotten something where I was at, and long to go back. There always seems to be something missing. In everything I go and I everything I do. I have found lately that I have internalized this notion and it has become a sort of characteristic in me. Yesterday I went to the Pennsylvania University campus. It was one of the most beautiful places I had ever seen (the only college campus I have seen apart from UNO’s) There were students every where walking and talking studying, going somewhere. And I longed to be one of them walking down these streets, and have some place to go, somebody to meet, something to do. But I knew deep down, that there would be something ticking if I were them. Some impending doom –there always is-. There would be nothing there would be everything there would be something wrong. I knew If I went to school here, it would never be as good as it seemed. But maybe it would. Maybe this is just my internally defense mechanisms installed in order to make things seem not as good as they seem, but really they are. And to be quite honest I have no idea how to feel anymore. Someone. Somebody tell me how to feel. This weekend seemed to spent in lusty awe. I want, and I am in awe that such lives could exist. But secretly I know it’s never as good as it seems. Is it just me? Is it always not as good as it seems. It reminds me of a book when I was little. To little girls who lived across town from eachother. They stared at the other ones house and wished if only they lived there. The other one wished the same thing. Some how they switched homes for a day and realized that their own house looked just what they wanted it to look like. The story ended up happy, but will I end up happy. Why must everyone be happy. I heard a little blurb on talk radio. The man said something along the lines of why does everyone think god owes them something. Whenever a natural disaster happens the nations cry how could God do something like this. Why doesn’t he answer my prayers? What does he owe us, what have we given him?
The best thing I can hoped to be is humble and loved.
Monday, November 2, 2009
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Emsick 1
Blair Emsick
Mrs. Martinez
APLAC
October 2009
The Double Shift
It is a beautiful Sunday morning, to warm for October, to bright for 9:30 a.m. Leaves fall lazily to the ground and everyone else in my house is asleep. I am working the double shift at CoCo Keys; 9:45 a.m. to 9:45 p.m. I get there and spot another guard Annie, we walk to the break room together talking about UNO and color guard. We walk into the break room and are welcomed by fellow tired faces. I clock in and put on my shorts and coco keys t-shirt. Big Dan our newest supervisor asks me what position I’d like to go to. “Surprise me.” I reply he says, “Alright river backyard.” We sit in the break room for a while more joking about who had a hangover, while folding towels, when Dan tells us to head out. So all of us 11 guards head out. The park feels empty and warm as I watch the other guards head to their positions. I try my best to mentally and physically prepare myself for the 12 hour day. I notice three dripping trash bags someone forgot to take out from the night before,
And also notice that one of guests from Saturday night thought it was appropriate to defecate on the steps(as a lifeguard you deal with a ridiculous amount of poop). I whistle one of the head guards over and show him the mess, he rolls his eyes and gets supplies to clean it up. I reach my spot put my tube on and settle in for the day. It’s just another
Emsick 2
morning at CoCo keys.
This place seems to be as much as my home as it is my prison. With about 40 other guards somehow we’ve all managed to become pretty close. We’re like a big family or inmates, waiting for our sentence to come to an end, waiting for closing time, but the majority of the time you’re not talking to other guards you’re watching your water. Sometimes I’ll get asked by a guest if we get bored walking back and forth just staring at the water. The truth is we can’t get bored. Working a 12 hour shift one has to find something to occupy their mind, or else they might go insane. I memorized the alphabet backwards once (Z, Y, X, W, V, U, T…) but most of the time I day dream. What if that man right there had a heart attack? What if I suddenly started seizing would any of the other guards save me? What if I get a 36 on my ACT. I think that’s one of my favorite parts about working at CoCo. I can let my thoughts turn and fall where they may, sometimes I create a whole different life in my head, but sometimes on a bad day with only me and my thoughts I can feel your mind slipping away from me.
The day lurches forward slowly, I take my break and gossip in the break room with Heaven, another guard. 3 o’clock rolls around and I see my sister Sarah come on to work the evening shift. Five more hours till closing time I think (plus a half our of cleaning then an hour of in-service.)
At CoCo Keys one sees a lot of things. I meet hundreds and hundreds of people a week and learn a lot about the world. It’s a place where families come old and new, unconventional, and conventional come to relax and have fun. The oddest part is that everyone seems to be happy. Sometimes I find myself wondering can people really be this
Emsick 3
happy? CoCo key even as a my work place offers a temporary escape from the world, where your only worry is when if it going to be your turn on the slides. Is it ironic that I find my sense of place, at a place that is so disconnected from the real world? I’m not sure
I really enjoy meeting and talking to all the guests at CoCo. I build connections with these people, if only for a day, and I really feel at home meeting and talking to all the guests. We have this motto at work, “Make their day” but often I find that the guests make my day.
The evening is winding down and I anxiously watch my watch. CoCo keys is lit up almost majestically and it is one of the coolest things you’ll ever see. Our Supervisor closes the park a half hour early because all the guests have gone. All the guards are feeling good as we get assigned our jobs. I’m assigned women’s restroom and finish at 8 o’clock the time we usually close. In-service doesn’t start till 8:45 so the other guards and I sit and hang out in the break room. Finally in-service begins and we head to the lobby. Tonight’s topic: CPR. For an our we practice cpr on an adult, child, and infant. Finally 9:45 rolls around and my sister and I walk out to my car discussing interesting guests we met, or weird tattoos we saw, and I glance back at the glowing building. Even after a 12 hour shift I find myself I little hesitant to leave.
Blair Emsick
Mrs. Martinez
APLAC
October 2009
The Double Shift
It is a beautiful Sunday morning, to warm for October, to bright for 9:30 a.m. Leaves fall lazily to the ground and everyone else in my house is asleep. I am working the double shift at CoCo Keys; 9:45 a.m. to 9:45 p.m. I get there and spot another guard Annie, we walk to the break room together talking about UNO and color guard. We walk into the break room and are welcomed by fellow tired faces. I clock in and put on my shorts and coco keys t-shirt. Big Dan our newest supervisor asks me what position I’d like to go to. “Surprise me.” I reply he says, “Alright river backyard.” We sit in the break room for a while more joking about who had a hangover, while folding towels, when Dan tells us to head out. So all of us 11 guards head out. The park feels empty and warm as I watch the other guards head to their positions. I try my best to mentally and physically prepare myself for the 12 hour day. I notice three dripping trash bags someone forgot to take out from the night before,
And also notice that one of guests from Saturday night thought it was appropriate to defecate on the steps(as a lifeguard you deal with a ridiculous amount of poop). I whistle one of the head guards over and show him the mess, he rolls his eyes and gets supplies to clean it up. I reach my spot put my tube on and settle in for the day. It’s just another
Emsick 2
morning at CoCo keys.
This place seems to be as much as my home as it is my prison. With about 40 other guards somehow we’ve all managed to become pretty close. We’re like a big family or inmates, waiting for our sentence to come to an end, waiting for closing time, but the majority of the time you’re not talking to other guards you’re watching your water. Sometimes I’ll get asked by a guest if we get bored walking back and forth just staring at the water. The truth is we can’t get bored. Working a 12 hour shift one has to find something to occupy their mind, or else they might go insane. I memorized the alphabet backwards once (Z, Y, X, W, V, U, T…) but most of the time I day dream. What if that man right there had a heart attack? What if I suddenly started seizing would any of the other guards save me? What if I get a 36 on my ACT. I think that’s one of my favorite parts about working at CoCo. I can let my thoughts turn and fall where they may, sometimes I create a whole different life in my head, but sometimes on a bad day with only me and my thoughts I can feel your mind slipping away from me.
The day lurches forward slowly, I take my break and gossip in the break room with Heaven, another guard. 3 o’clock rolls around and I see my sister Sarah come on to work the evening shift. Five more hours till closing time I think (plus a half our of cleaning then an hour of in-service.)
At CoCo Keys one sees a lot of things. I meet hundreds and hundreds of people a week and learn a lot about the world. It’s a place where families come old and new, unconventional, and conventional come to relax and have fun. The oddest part is that everyone seems to be happy. Sometimes I find myself wondering can people really be this
Emsick 3
happy? CoCo key even as a my work place offers a temporary escape from the world, where your only worry is when if it going to be your turn on the slides. Is it ironic that I find my sense of place, at a place that is so disconnected from the real world? I’m not sure
I really enjoy meeting and talking to all the guests at CoCo. I build connections with these people, if only for a day, and I really feel at home meeting and talking to all the guests. We have this motto at work, “Make their day” but often I find that the guests make my day.
The evening is winding down and I anxiously watch my watch. CoCo keys is lit up almost majestically and it is one of the coolest things you’ll ever see. Our Supervisor closes the park a half hour early because all the guests have gone. All the guards are feeling good as we get assigned our jobs. I’m assigned women’s restroom and finish at 8 o’clock the time we usually close. In-service doesn’t start till 8:45 so the other guards and I sit and hang out in the break room. Finally in-service begins and we head to the lobby. Tonight’s topic: CPR. For an our we practice cpr on an adult, child, and infant. Finally 9:45 rolls around and my sister and I walk out to my car discussing interesting guests we met, or weird tattoos we saw, and I glance back at the glowing building. Even after a 12 hour shift I find myself I little hesitant to leave.
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