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March 23, 2009 By MARLA KAUFFMAN It’s a strange time for a lot of 17-to-18-year-olds. Some of us are scared. Some of us are excited. Some of us probably don’t care much more now than we have cared throughout the past four years. Some of us will cry at graduation, and others will rejoice and say, “Thank God, I’m finally out.” I fall somewhere in between. Many of my friends have already started sharing how much they’ll miss each other when they go to college. Of course, I’ll miss my friends, but I’m looking forward to making new friends, too. Graduating from high school is an ending in the minds of some. And, in a way, it is. I see it, though, as a beginning, the beginning of something different from one person to the next. Some of us will go on to college; others will get jobs the day after graduating; a few will join the military; still others may take a little time off before deciding what to do. Whatever we choose to do individually, though, the fact is we will no long be together. We will not be wired to run on the same daily schedule—something we have done since Kindergarten. The mere thought of this leaves saddens some of my classmates. I, however, consider this fact with optimism. Although I may not see some of the kids I graduate with ever again, I know that having been together all these years, we have each had a hand in making one another the people we are now. We will take that with us. Compared to the amount of time we’ll be spending in the “real world” from here on out, our four years of high school will seem minuscule. However, we will take the important lessons we learned throughout those four years and use them daily when we start our own separate lives. Regardless whether a graduating senior is afraid of his quickly approaching adult future or excited to start it, he will all take with him the lessons he learned during those four years and use them until the day he dies. I don’t think I’ll ever be a believer in the phrase, “High school is the best time of your life.” However, I am beginning to believe that those four years are more important than I’ve credited them with being. Throughout the past four years I’ve grown up, and I’ve watched my friends and acquaintances grow up along with me. Some among us of us have fully matured while others still have quite a ways to go; regardless, we have all grown and learned. The girl in my freshman picture and the young woman in my senior pictures, are two different people. The child has grown into a woman. In August, I will be moving to Pittsburgh to attend Duquesne University. One of my closest friends will be going to school in Virginia, and the only time we’ll probably get to see one another in person will be during winter break. I’ll miss her, and she’ll miss me, but we will keep in contact via the internet and telephone. We will cherish the memories and take the lessons we learned from each other during our high school years and use them in forming new friendships at our respective colleges. On graduation day, departing seniors should smile through their tears—our high school days may be ending, but we’re building something new on the foundation we laid while we were here. |
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March 3, 2009 By JILLIAN BYLER I remember when we first got Penny. When I arrived home, she was running around with my dad in the back yard. My brother and I couldn’t have been more excited. When we brought her inside, she huddled in the corner, scared to death and shaking like a leaf. I t took us the rest of the night for us to think of the perfect name for her. Mom finally suggested “Penny.” Penny it was. It took that scared little puppy awhile to warm up to us, but
after she did, she loved us whole-heartedly. Penny quickly
developed her own personality. She loved us and was very
protective of us– even after years of living with us, she still
barked when my grandma came over. Penny knew her but was still
making sure we were protected when anyone else came into the
house My dog had many “favorites”. Being outside and running around
was among them. She enjoyed chasing our neighbor’s cows that
were on the other side of the fence from our yard. Penny also
loved to swim. She would have stayed in the water for hours if
we had let her. Throughout the years, Penny was a loyal and loving companion to all four members of our family. She always wanted to be with us. She watched TV with us, lay in the dining room while we ate dinner and played outside with us. She was the fifth member of our family. I came home one day in November after a normal day at school. I knew there was something wrong when I didn’t hear her barking and running to the door to greet me. Going inside, I found my dog lying on the floor, as if she hadn’t even heard me come in. I called to her, and she slowly got up and walked listlessly over to me. The rest of the evening with her was much the same. Later
that night, Dad took her outside before we went to bed. The rain
poured down, but Penny just lay there in the rain, refusing to
get up. Late that night, Mom and Dad put her in her bed in the garage so she could have some peace, and we could go to sleep. When I woke up the next morning, I rushed out to the garage. There Penny lay, stretched out in her bed, still and cold. I couldn’t stop crying. All of us cried for days over the loss of our faithful companion and friend. We had experienced a death in our immediate family, and it was horrible. I love my current dog, Bella, and she has become part of our family, too. But I often think of Penny and all the fun we had with her over those 14 years. She loved us, and we loved her. We always will. |
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December 18, 2008 By HEATHER ADAMS, KARLY RIDEN, JILL
SHAWYER
In the morning, wake up and get a shower before dressing for
the school. Wander out to the kitchen only to find that there
isn’t enough cereal to fill the bowl. Agitated, throw the cereal
away and storm out of the kitchen. Venture into the bathroom
where the toothpaste cap is missing from the tube. Despite the
setbacks, begin to apply some mascara which needs to be perfect
, i.e. zero clumps, or the day will be ruined. Apply makeup for
10 minutes, finish the rest of the morning routine and head to
the car. After the unnecessarily long drive to the school, I arrive to a crowded parking lot where some of the students never pull through the parking spots, leaving the front row empty and forcing other students to drive around the lot. I impatiently wait till I can enter the school at 8 o’clock. Upon my entry into the learning facility, there is a blast of unbearable heat as I walk to my first period class but as soon as I enter the class I am freezing. There are multiple pet peeves which can occur in just one class period such as the clipping of a pen or pencil, the over abundance of blowing bubbles and snapping gum, or there might be just a certain boy or girl who talks the entire period trying to get the attention of a teacher and their classmates. Or there might be that certain person that complains the entire period about their “oh so many problems in life.” After spending just one period with these pet peeves swirling around the room, the annoying bell rings and everyone begins to file to 2nd period. The hallways are a complete traffic jam and if you should have to go through a certain intersection at our school, be strong, hold onto your books tight and start pushing, you’ll be there for awhile fighting the crowd. When you finally get to your 2nd period it’s just like 1st period all over again, the annoying clipping of pens, gum chewers, and those certain attention seekers, there is always one in each of your classes. To have 7 periods just like this each day for 180 days, can really get to you. By the end of the day everyone is trying to escape this place and head home or to a practice or job. As students begin pouring out of the classrooms the hallways begin to fill up quickly and became crowded immediately. The intersections and stairways are a mess, then the upperclassmen, who drive, go to their cars and try to get out of the parking lot as swiftly and as safe as possible. You sit and wait in a long line of cars in the parking lot and hear the squeals of car tires as students peel out of the lot. You can hear the sound of honking horns and the sound of a teacher’s voice telling you to slow down. This would be the absolute worst day ever. Hopefully you never experience a day like this but if you ever do, try not to sweat the small stuff. Do not let insignificant details ruin your day. |
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December 17, 2008 By TARA CASNER
She will throw an insult at you for just walking past her and, generally, slap you on the back of the head. Nothing slides past this woman. Don’t ever think you’re going to take a piece of candy out of the candy jar without her knowing. No one is quite sure whether she keeps an actual count or just measures the weight of the jar every few hours. Local tradition is that during the last few weeks of November, everyone busies themselves decorating their houses, trying to give them the Christmas vibe. In our town, a favorite thing to do is to drive around looking at houses decked out in colorful lights, a plastic Santa sitting on the roof, a red-nosed Rudolph beside him. One such house that is always decorated inside and out is that of this same woman who would insult Santa if she ever saw him coming down her chimney. “You couldn’t have been louder, could you?” It’s not hard to imagine the scene. Home-baked Christmas cookies are a staple that cannot be denied from late November all the way through Christmas. Of course, the hassle of having to bake them prevents some people from enjoying the tree--shaped cookies fresh from the oven. However, if you happen to live near this woman—who will be snarling as she puts the sprinkles on the sugar cookies—you have nothing to worry about. She’ll provide you with all you can eat. She is known throughout the neighborhood for making hundreds of cookies each year, keeping only a batch or two for herself. Although everyone fears her, goes out of their way to avoid her, takes her way too seriously, and has been hit by her at least once, at Christmas time she is the most giving person I know. Who knows whether it’s the spirit of the season or the joy the holidays bring, but between Nov. 12 and Dec. 25 she is Christmas cheer. That’s when I make my presence known around her house. Everyone has a “crazy aunt”—this one is mine. I wouldn’t trade her for anyone else’s, at least not at Christmas. |
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December 16, 2008 By ASHLEY REIS
The first positive aspect would be; without crime why would the world need police, probation officers, and prisons. People usually say the world would be a lot easier without crime in it. I would rather have a job than live in an easier world. Second, college professors who teach criminal justice, what would be the point without crime? If there is no crime, what would the point of having teachers teach crime and justice? It would be a waste of time for the people who are in the crime field. Third aspect, what would the journalists write about? The papers around the world would be extremely bare. Also what would people make conversations about? The world would be a very dull place. Around 6 o’clock at night some people turn the news and you hear, “Someone raped someone or someone killed someone.” Without crime, news casters and journalist would be out of a job. Without crime, why would we need prisons? We wouldn’t and the prisons wouldn’t need to buy their food from other restaurants. So there would be a lot of restaurants that would be losing a lot of business. The next time you want to say something about crime around the world; just think what would the economy be like. Just think how many people would be out of business, jobs, and conversations. The world would be a very dull place. |
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November 26, 2008 By VALERIE BONSON
Lane Frost was killed on July 30, 1989 in Cheyenne, Wyoming. He was twenty-five years old and the World Champion PRCA bull rider. He was killed in the prime of his life and career. It’s not even conceivable to imagine what he would have accomplished further, than being the world champion, if he would have lived. Lane rode “Taking care of business” for the full eight seconds and rolled of his side once the ride was through. But the bull turned suddenly and charged him hitting lane in the back he fell to the ground and the bull slammed his horn into Lane’s side. He lay in the mud as the bull was distracted by the rodeo clowns. He stood up and tried to run back to the gates, motioning for help but before he could receive it he fell to the ground. It was said that the cause of death was a severed artery due to broken ribs. A cowboy is not a title given a man who is involved in rodeo. It’s deeper than what a man does. A cowboy is what a man is. It starts in his heart and is seen through how he rides. Lane Frost was the very definition of a cowboy. He loved to ride and even sacrificed his life doing it. Lane said on April 18th, 1989 only three months before his death,” Just being able to come up with a ride makes you feel good. It gives you the confidence that you can still ride. I just have to keep a positive attitude. I know I’ve done it before so I will just have to be patient and keep on trying.” Lane was a fantastic bull rider but more than that, he was an unbelievable man. He rode for the fun of it and always kept a good sportsmanship attitude. He understood that bull riding isn’t competition against anyone else, it against the rider and the bull. Lane is not only a model of perseverance and passion he is a model for every man and competitor. Lane’s story has affected me tremendously. Every time I climb on a horse I think of the strength and courage that Lane displayed through his career and right up to the ride that ended his death. The tragic story reminds me to pursue whatever dream I want to accomplish. I have become a better person in my efforts to push aside doubt and fears and strive for what I want. Those dreams may not include becoming a World Champion Bull rider, but whatever those dreams include I will try my hardest to succeed just like Lane. If one pursues their dreams with half the passion and sacrifices that Lane possessed one is bound to change ones world and the people in it. So if you ever attend a rodeo or watch one on TV, take a moment to remember a man who sacrificed his life for passion, excitement and a unselfish career, in hopes that respect will be gained towards those men and women who participate in rodeo. Its more than the publicity that causes this addiction, it’s the core of a person, the strength, the excitement and the love for what they do. Lane is an example of a man who understood the phrase “Cowboy Up.” He still is a cowboy and there will never be another cowboy like him. The one thing that gives me hope is that Lane died doing what he loved best and that is what makes Lane Frost a legend. |
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November 24, 2008 By NICK EVERSOLE
Shearer had big shoes to fill, however. In 2007, the football team finished with overall record of 11-3 and had 19 senior starters on offense and defense. The pressure was on Coach Shearer and although he had been an assistant for nearly a decade, running the show is much different. Shearer kept the playbook the same for the most part, with a few tweaks here and there but he wanted to establish hard-nosed football. He wanted to run the ball and stop the run with success. This would be no easy task with a whole new offensive front, backfield and quarterback. Nevertheless, the Warriors came out on top of their home opener against West Perry with an electrifying win in front of the home crowd. The team was streaky throughout the year, losing six of their next seven games, but finishing strong with their lone road win at Bellefonte on a goal-line stand followed by a huge win against Lewistown to keep the Old Iron Kettle. “It was huge to get the first home win, road win, and Iron Kettle win in my first season,” said Shearer. The Warriors qualified for districts but found themselves on the wrong end of a 35-7 final score, finishing the 2008 season with a 4-7 record. Despite their losing record, Coach Shearer called his first season as head coach a great success. He was very content with the hard work and dedication his players played with on a daily basis at practice and on Friday nights. Coach Shearer also mentioned that the physicality his team played with was exactly what he wanted. He sought work ethic and bodily play; his Warriors were to “outhit and outwork” their opponents every game. For the most part, he was very pleased with their efforts. The first year coach said that he wished they had done the “little things” more efficiently and he thinks that was one of their downfalls. The loss of the leadership and of their veteran players will hurt for sure, but next season Coach Shearer hopes to establish better discipline in his players and continue to push his players to be better students in the classroom and better citizens in the community. Injuries were surely an issue as well, losing two of the team’s four captains at various times throughout the season, and unable to establish a consistent quarterback placed a damper on the offense’s chemistry. Coach Shearer’s eyes are wide and bright for the future of the football program with big expectations for seasons to come. Coach wants to do more summer workouts this year with his younger players in order to get them in shape and more prepared for the ’09 season. By and large, Coach Shearer enjoyed his first season as the head coach and could not be happier that he was given the job. He was satisfied and gracious with the support from the school board, staff, students and fans this football season. Next season, with a little more consistency and continued hard work, Coach Shearer hopes to take his Warriors to the state playoffs. |
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November 21, 2008 By JILLIAN BYLER
I can still see the inside of the old house that was Pappy Ernie’s and Grandma Jean’s; I’d walk in through the kitchen, turn into the living room, and hear Pappy say to Grandma, “Oh, look, the kiddies are here!” My brother and I would run over to them, giving hugs and kisses, the sound of “Wheel of Fortune” in the background. Pappy would say, “Sing us your piece,” and we would start with “Up So High in the Apple Tree,” and when our song was finished, they applauded us until our faces beamed with pride. That is one of my most vivid memories of visiting my great-grandparents. This is not the only memory I have of them. I also remember going out to the barn to feed the hunting dogs with Pappy and digging for potatoes in the big field across the road. One of my favorite things to do there was to pick pears from the trees in the front yard. Pappy and grandma would help me because I was not big enough to reach the branches yet. I never did get the chance to get big enough to reach those pears while Pappy lived. I did not understand, being a four-year-old, that his kidneys had failed. All I knew was that he was gone and there would be no more picking pears or digging for potatoes. No more old house where I had spent so much time. I had lost one of my very best friends. You can never really explain that to a four-year-old. I had five more years with Grandma Jean. They weren’t spent in the old house, but they were treasured years nonetheless. Visiting her in the nursing home, I shared with her what was going on in my life. She always listened. But then her time came to go. I was nine then and better understood what was happening. But it still hurt, and I miss her even today. Of the three great-grandparents I’ve had, my Grandma Benn was the one with whom I was closest. I can still see the inside of the trailer she lived in for years. It was small and nothing fancy, but I loved going there. When I was a young child, I enjoyed playing with the toys that were in the little red, wooden toy box. There were wooden blocks, old metal cars, and other toys that her children had played with. I spent many hours of my childhood playing with those toys. When I was a few years older, I enjoyed just talking with my grandma. We always had great conversations. I have so many fond memories of my grandma, but one of my fondest is that she saved everything. Nothing went to waste in her house. It used to make my family members and me laugh and laugh. When we would lend her books, she would give them back in cereal bags that she had rinsed out to use again. She was also grateful for anything and everything she received. I remember when people asked her what she would like for Christmas, she would ask for some toilet paper and other small necessities. She never asked for things she wanted. I cannot fit into this small space all of the wonderful memories I have of her. It was March when we got the call that she had died. Although her death was not a surprise, I have never cried that much in my life. At the viewing, I could not go over to the casket and look in; that was not my grandma in there. I was thirteen at the time, and I had just lost my biggest role model, and I wanted to remember her as she had been in life. Today I wish that I still had all three of these wonderful people in my life. I may not have them physically, but I have all the wonderful memories and the lessons they taught me. What it means to stay completely in love for over sixty years, to be thankful for everything and not take anything for granted, and to have unfailing faith no matter what happens. I will take these lessons with me everywhere I go and never forget what a blessing it is to have had such a personal relationship with three of the best people I will ever get the chance to have known. |
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November 20, 2008 By JITEN SUTHAR
We have even heard time and time again from various studies that first impressions form in anywhere from 20 to 30 seconds and that they can take three times as long to change once formed. Maybe these studies are true. Then again, maybe they aren’t. What I do know as fact, however, is that my own initial impressions of a certain individual were formed not only very rapidly, but they proved shockingly accurate. … I vividly recall handing the taxi driver the address given to me and halting to a sudden stop at an area that I would regard as “bellow average.” Unsure of where I had ended up or how this place could possibly be my destination, I tentatively moved forward. “He is a professional,” I told myself reluctantly, “and after all, this is India. Areas like these are not uncommon.” After what seemed to be a great amount of time, my eyes finally rested on a tiny building squeezed into the midst of the poverty-stricken area. To my dismay, I espied the “Music School” sign posted beside it. “He is a professional,” I repeated, with waning confidence. I had imagined something grand, something that would scream prestige to me over from a great distance. I sighed: It took me about a half hour to form my initial impression. Supposedly, it would take three times as long to override it. … Upon entering the building, I felt something instantly change. I was unable to pinpoint exactly what it was, but the sensation is something I would compare to what Lucy felt when she discovered that doorway to Narnia—the usual excitement and exhilaration I feel every time I notice a piano or keyboard—a sense of uncertainty, and the remaining feelings of skepticism. My speculation, however, was cut short. The first thing he said to me was an enthusiastic, “Hello,” followed by a strong handshake. Based on those two actions (or maybe the hundreds of other subtleties of human communication), oddly enough, my thoughts rapidly assembled into a now confident “He must be a professional.” I smiled to myself for the first time since leaving that taxi: I must have formed the initial impression of the area very fast. … Thus, my regular keyboard lessons with Vipul Samani officially began. Three times a week, I look a taxi to the same location, and never again did I look at the area with the negativity I had embraced on that first day. My favorable impressions of his experience and expertise were quickly confirmed when he began playing various pieces, fully orchestrated, on him recently purchased Yamaha synthesizer. The very first lesson he taught me was to play was passion, and I noted how he seemed passionate not just about his music, but about everything, about life. From his family to his very poignant compositions to his comprehensive teaching, he gave one hundred percent. High energy is addictive; there is no doubt about that. I felt that even an individual who despised music would see differently, so my love of music naturally and fully complemented his instruction. I learned an overwhelming amount of information, from theory to specific instrumental technique. However, simply listening to him fueled my desire to make music. I had never met a teacher who could so effectively communicate in three languages, as well as the universal language of all humans—music. … Perhaps the most touching aspect about Vipul, however, was his genuineness. He was not teaching for money. He was not teaching for his family. He was not teaching to impress others. He was teaching for the love of teaching. Of course, I had formed all of these impressions (as humble as he was, he would never come out and verbalize these traits). But they were confirmed when the time and question of pay surfaced. Throughout our lessons, I had kept detailed notes on what I had learned and how long each class had lasted. Because I had visited his studio for only a month, my classes lasted two hours or longer (whereas the standard class length should have been forty-five minutes). Desiring to pay him fairly, I began calculating the total time he had instructed me, dividing by forty-five minutes. However, before I had had time to add on the second lesson, he grabbed me and insisted that I pay based off the number of classes rather than total time. Taken aback by his refusal to accept the amount of money he deserved, I came to an important moment of realization: Vipul Samani serves as the ideal model of teaching. Teaching that is not for money, not for oneself, but for the genuine love of teaching. The adage “Don’t judge a book by its cover” proves quite difficult in practice as humans naturally form impressions subconsciously. Sometimes an event must shake an individual to realize the scope of the saying. I’ve had my event, and I’ve learned an important lesson. My subconscious mind will never again become disheartened upon seeing an old, run down building with a posted “Music School” sign. Instead, my heart will leap with excitement at the adventure that sure and absolutely waits inside. |
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November 20, 2008 By JOHN COTTRILL Indian Valley Student Journalist
Think about it. Why was Hollywood so up in arms for the last several elections? The celebrities have realized that they have power. They can influence the thoughts of others. One could hardly turn on the television without seeing a political advertisement or at least some form of propaganda for one or multiple candidates. Media has drastically changed our culture in the last several decades. In the First and Second World War, the main form of media was the newspaper and the radio. Franklin D. Roosevelt would have his fire-side chats and most families would tune in to hear his regular speeches about the progress of the war. This, newspaper headlines and letters from those serving troops were the only way that any average individual could gain information about what was happening in the world. Nowadays, one just has to turn on the television and they are bombarded by images of the War on Terrorism and the conflicts that the United States is facing overseas. Unfortunately, it seems as though these images are often negative. In World War II, many people were for the war. By the time the Korean War ruled around, the television was gaining popularity and the image of the war was only slightly distorted. However, by the time the Vietnam War was affecting the United States, practically all the images that the citizens were being exposed to were negative. All of the protests were on prime time. Once our veterans returned home, they were immediately immersed in a country of hate and despise all because the media showed the war in negative ways. Yet one should not think that news is the only form of media. For instance, look at the affect that rock and roll had on its generation or what rap and hip hop has done to this generation. These forms of music are often the purveyors of sex, drugs, alcohol and other illicit acts. How many music videos have been made in the last year that show scantily clad women or show a gangster riding down the street in a very nice car with his gang? Then there are songs like T.I.’s Whatever You Like, where he openly brags about his monetary possession by buying innumerable amounts of expensive things for a woman. Even ‘safe’ forms of music, like country, have references to such things. Whiskey Lullaby by Brad Paisley is a good example for it is about a double suicide by alcohol poisoning. Media has total control. The influence that media has on not only the younger generation but even the middle and upper ranges is unbelievable. Just think what our culture will be like if the amount of censorship lessens even more that it has already. It is time to take a minute to think. |
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November 11, 2008 By KARLY RIDEN
Family and friends stressed how much fun I was going to have and the amazing sites I would see. Being the extremely worrisome person that I am, I could only imagine the worst. I was literally dreading the day my family would drop me off at the high school, say their good-byes, and I would board the bus to Philly, wait in the airport and then eventually board the first plane that I would take, en route to the Spanish Club’s destination of Mexico. The only time I was looking forward to was the day I would arrive back home, the day I would be back in good ol’ Miff Co. I wanted those ten days to go as fast as possible. So, before the big trip happened, I worried and prayed that we would all be safe, that the trip to and from Mexico would be a success. Swirling around in my mind were images of our plane crashing to the ground as we embarked on this adventure. Thinking, “What have I gotten myself into?” I was more scared than excited about the trip. I jokingly said to my mom, “Do I have to go? Can we get our money back?” Of course, I already knew the answer to that. The day came for my family to take me to the high school so I could begin the long trek to Mexico. We loaded the luggage and then gave out hugs, kisses and “I love you, see you soons.” It was tough, especially for me. By midnight we were on the bus, heading to Philly to catch our plane, which we would not board until the wee hours of the morning. That meant even more waiting, more time for worrying. However, my friends kept me occupied by passing around some gossip and playing cards on the airport floor. When the time came to board, all I wanted to do was sleep, hoping that would mean a quicker flight. Safely arriving in Houston, we boarded our connecting fight to Mexico City. Arriving in Mexico City left me feeling better. From then on, it was smooth traveling over the next nine days. Remembering all the events from Mexico is impossible, but having taken 600-some pictures has helped. The memories are good ones. We saw and climbed some of the highest pyramids in the world, snorkeled among fish in Cancun, bargain-shopped and haggled on the streets for jewelry and other items that already were so cheap. We even swam in a cave. On our day-long tours, we explored the jungles, streets and buildings of Mexico, accompanied by our humorous tour guides, who were hard to understand sometimes. Locals, performing for fun and tradition, entertained us. At night, we attended festivals, street fairs and a couple of concerts. Back at our hotels each evening, we hung out and played cards until late into the night. After that, we went to bed to get up for another long and exciting day’s adventure. Another exciting event we participated in was swimming in a cave. We also endured some of the hottest weather you can imagine. I tasted many new foods such as chicken that was made in a pit underground. We observed some of the most gorgeous cathedrals in the world, and I hate to say it, but I learned a lot along the way. One bit of information is that the pyramid known as Chichen Itza, can no longer be climbed and explored because a woman actually fell off it and died. This pyramid is listed as one of the wonders of the world. Oh, I almost forget one of the grandest aspects of the trip: we spoke Spanish and had to adapt to the Mexican lifestyle. I could go on and on for hours--which I did to my parents when I got home--about this once-in-a-life time experience, but one really would not understand the wonder and excitement unless one were really there. I could tell all the stories and show all my pictures, but it will never amount to the feeling of being there, feeling sweat running down my face or that overwhelming heat. I hope there will be a day when I can go back to Mexico, experience that excitement (and even that terrible heat) all over again. Oh, and in case there are those who may be wondering; the thoughts rolling through my mind about the plane of course did not come true because I’m here writing this column to express how scared I was about taking the trip that allowed me to have the time of my life. I imagined the worst and in return got the best. |
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October 31, 2008 By MARLA KAUFFMAN As a youngster my sister refused to wear anything but dresses. With her sun-bleached blonde hair and humongous brown eyes, she was what everyone might have imagined to be a sweet little girl, always running around and laughing in a paisley dress of some sort. For my parents, though, Katie was something of a “hell on wheels”… especially for my Dad. Katie’s devilish antics were the cause of many a headache, but I don’t believe anyone’s head pounded any harder than my dad’s on her account. My first memories of witnessing my sister aggravating my father come from the winter of 1996. Dad had been cleaning snow off our roof when the ladder slipped, causing him to fall onto our back deck, shattering his heel. Mom called 911. I ran around the house in a fit of fear. Only five, I feared that the ambulance would take me away, too. While Dad lay on the back deck in pain, probably more pain than he had ever felt in his life, Katie, who was only two at the time, crawled onto the deck to sit beside him. Giggling, she ate snow off of his chest until the ambulance carried him off on a stretcher. Getting Katie ready to go out the door was never easy. As an infant, she usually refused to wear any clothing and often ran around the house in the nude. As she grew older and began wearing clothes, Dad helped with her socks and shoes. After her shoelaces had been tied, Katie would start bawling. “What’s wrong?” Dad would ask. As if the world were ending, Katie would shout, “IT DOESN’T FEEL RIGHT!!!!” as she ripped off the shoes and socks Dad had just helped her to put on. He would patiently try again. This ritual would sometimes repeat itself until Katie literally had to be carried barefoot out the door. Some of her antics happened in public. Until both my sister and I reached double digits, our parents often took us to Burger King. On one such trip, Mom took me to the restroom, leaving Katie with Dad as he sat talking to some work friends who had stopped by the table. At some point, while Mom and I were in the bathroom, Katie had slunk out of her booster seat, on a mission to discover where her mother and sister had gone. When Mom and I returned to our table, Katie was missing. Dad told us he had thought she had gone to the bathroom with us. Thus began a frantic search throughout Burger King. After a very long and drawn out five minutes without finding my sister, my parents began to worry that she had somehow escaped to the parking lot. This would not have been a far-fetched assumption. Mom had always described her as a child whom you could not take your eye off of for one second. In all the excitement, my Dad had to use the men’s room. Meanwhile, Mom and I questioned everyone in the restaurant, asking whether they had seen Katie either walk outside or hide under a table. Dad re-emerged from the bathroom with Katie in front of him. He had found her crying in the men’s bathroom stall. Having not found Mom, she considered it a defeat that she had gotten lost. Now that we are older, I am 17 and Katie 14, we laugh about all the different “Katie Moments” which at some point in the past have made my father cringe in aggravation, irritation, and sometimes even pain. Although some of them (the Burger King incident, and another time when Katie was almost sucked into the ocean) were downright scary, we have to laugh when looking back on them. Dad and Katie still feud often. Many-a-morning Dad has gone to work fuming because Katie has refused to get up and get dressed on time causing Dad to be anywhere from five to fifteen minutes late. Katie has calmed down somewhat since her childhood years, but I am certain she will always find a way to lovingly aggravate my father as long as he lives. Their bond is a rare one, though. They couldn’t be closer. |
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October 24, 2008 By NATHAN SALTZER
Today’s senior citizens, for example, witnessed the most
massive world war in history. The first: Election Night 2000. It is a cold November evening. Sitting on the floor in front of the television, I eagerly await the winner of the next state to be called. To my dismay, California goes to “big bad Al.” My parents explain to me that Gore has been expected to win that state anyway. My hopes are not completely dashed. The wait continues. The time nears that the critical state of Florida is to be
called. The whole family is on edge as the final word comes in. But, as everyone now knows, this was not to be the case. George W. Bush became our 43rd president after the longest election in the history of this country. Memories of the 2000 election are something that this generation will pass on to future generations. It was an election punctuated by controversies over: the popular vote, military absentee ballots, butterfly ballot confusion, recounts, lawsuits, court decisions and appeals, and sore losers. This era of our history will rank among the greatest pieces of nostalgia for the current youth of America. The second: 9/11. Most people can remember the moment they learned of the attacks of Sept.11, 2001. Like Pearl Harbor, it was a “day that will live in infamy” and an event that would unite a divided America, if only for the time being. I remember sitting at my desk along the window of Mr. Ivan Wilson’s fifth grade classroom at Union Elementary School. He had just been summoned to the office to take a call. Because phone calls were a regular part of Mr. Wilson’s routine, I thought nothing out of the ordinary about this one. What I didn’t realize as I sat there at my desk was that one of the greatest tragedies in American history had begun to unfold. Whether witnessing the event live from the sidewalks of New York or watching the film footage on TV, many Americans sobbed uncontrollably at the sight of the planes crashing into our Twin Towers. Some cried over a loved one lost in the attacks, others for the end of both innocence and the myth of American invincibility. We were shaken. And for the first time in a long time, we Americans stood together. This decade has certainly been among the most significant in
the history of this country. The upcoming election will no doubt
be an event that will change America as we know it. It will be fascinating to see whether America really is tired enough of the Republican reign in the White House over the last eight years to vote for the most liberal man in the Senate—a Senate controlled by the Democratic party for the past two years. Political parties have really strayed from their original
purpose. While Republicans have stayed towards the capitalist
end of the spectrum, it seems that the ACORN has fallen off the
oak (in more ways than one) for the Democrats as they have
started to sway toward the socialist end of the spectrum . Election night 2008: I am certain that this same kid who feared the possibility of a Gore-Lieberman ticket will be in front of the television anxiously awaiting Brit Hume’s call of the important swing states in this election of profound importance. The biggest difference this time is that my vote will be among those that decide the outcome. Regardless who is elected, it will be enthralling to witness over the coming years the historical events that will shape the lives of my generation and of those to come. |
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October 22, 2008 By HILLARY RIDEN
I learned that there would be real human cadavers on display, even unborn fetuses. At first, from a moral standpoint, I was hesitant about seeing the fetuses, but once I got there I realized this was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity that I had to take. The different stages of the human fetus were absolutely mesmerizing to examine. I walked through the exhibit almost in a trance, my eyes transfixed on all of the cadavers, each intricately placed and positioned. Just to think of the time spent putting the exhibit together, preparing all of the cadavers and individual parts and body systems, amazed me. This thought especially came to mind while viewing the circulatory system. The whole system of blood vessels and arteries hanging there in a glass box seemed almost unreal to me. To think, someone had actually dissected this delicate system out of a human body—mind-boggling. Also, after having seen the lungs of a smoker, I will never smoke, and I will even try to be more careful about being around second-hand smoke. As I walked from display to display, viewing all of the individual organs and body parts, I marveled that each and every one of these are inside my own body. I will never forget this experience and all that I was privileged to see. This exhibit was mind-blowing and completely changed my perspective on the human body. Exiting the building, I wondered whether the others on the trip realized two things: how lucky we are to have viewed what we did and what a miracle our bodies truly are. |
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October 20, 2008 By JOHN COTTRILL
In the 2004 presidential election, 35 percent of the nonvoters did not even know who the candidates were, 16 percent said that, in their own view, the candidates were equivalent, and another 16 percent said they were not provided enough information about the candidates to make a “decision”. There are several other “excuses” ,but to me the most shocking is from the roughly four percent who absolutely do not care whatsoever. Why? Some may be familiar with the “voting campaign” by rapper Sean “P. Diddy” Combs which he deemed “Vote or Die”., It is ironic that celebrity Paris Hilton, also a member of this “campaign”, did not even register to vote, let alone go to the polls on that Tuesday in November of 2004. Why? On a personal trip that my family took to New York City the other weekend, I happened to see a man wearing a t-shirt with the slogan, “Don’t Vote or Die”. When I saw this shirt, I was standing in the middle of the sidewalk, people crammed around me, and I felt the constant urging nag of others, trying to push by to get to their destination faster. Even in the midst of this chaos, I stopped dead in my and thought to myself, “Why?” Why would someone create propaganda against one of, if not the greatest, rights given to the citizens of the United States of America? Why? One should know that I am only a sixteen-year-old junior at Indian Valley High School, but if I were of age, be sure that I would find the maybe half an hour that it takes to help my government move in the direction I wish it to move. In all seriousness, take five seconds and think to yourself what a difference half an hour of your time could make on the world for the next four years. Yes, four years. Is it not worth spending one half hour tops to try to help the next 70,080 of your life? I know that many people have their own views, and the do not always match up with mine. I accept that. But how can people not care? How can you not want to take three hours and watch the conventions of the political parties if you do not know who the candidates are and what they stand for? How can you sit aside and say it does not matter and then later complain about the government, the president and the decisions that are made by those whom other people elected to power? Make the decision to vote! What’s stopping you? The war on terrorism. The was in Iraq. The “No Child Left Behind” Act. Taxes. Pro-life. Pro-choice. For gay marriage. Against gay marriage. Alternative fuels and energy. Health Care. Social security. Quality of life. Have a say in what you believe! Libertarian, Republican, Democrat, Independent, Donkey, Elephant. Take a stand! We are privileged and incredibly lucky to live in one of the oldest and most strongly established democracies in the world. We have been handed the right to vote and decide how we want to live our lives. We have the power to make the choices of what we want to say, whether we want to own a firearm, and if need be, carry a sidearm for protection, to worship whatever god we choose in whatever manner we choose. We are protected from unjust treatment from the government and have the right to trial by jury. We are also protected from the taking of life, liberty, or property. Does the Declaration of Independence say “they [the citizens of the United States of America] are endowed… with certain inalienable rights, that among these are Life, Liberty, and the pursuit of Happiness”? Those are the exact words of Thomas Jefferson. Our forefathers fought for us to be able to have these rights, and our soldiers are and have been fighting for these rights for 230 plus years. We have even helped other countries through their times of need and trouble and to reform their own governments. Still I have not listed one of the most important rights that we have been granted. The right to vote. Something that many people of the world have never gotten to participate in, and probably never will. People in Cuba, China, North Korea, Arab Nations, and so many more. Yes, voting is a right, not a suggestion, and not an obligation. Voting is just something that you ought to do as an American citizen. Take advantage of what has been given to you. Why refuse Mr. Opportunity when he comes knocking? Vote. It is that easy. |
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October 20, 2008 By ASHLEY REIS
I recall an ordinary night, perfect for just hanging out with
friends, no one thinking of the worst that could happen. The night is ending, and the morning is approaching. My friends come up to me in school and ask me if I want to go to a party. I say, “No, I can’t, especially because of who is driving!” I’m afraid to ride with him. When he is around his friends, he tends to show off, and I’m afraid he’ll go too far sometime. As the day goes on, my one friend keeps trying to persuade me to change my mind. Let’s just say it doesn’t work. The night of the party, I’m at home doing my never-ending homework. It is 6 p.m., and I get a call from one of my friends who is at the party. She pressures me to come, saying, “Oh, you should be here; you don’t know what you are missing.” I hang up the phone. I’m not even tempted to join them. The next day is April Fools Day. I walk down the steep hill by my house to catch the bus. One of my friends runs down the hill after me. She calls, “Hey, did you hear what happened to [the friend who had called me the night before, begging me to go to the party]?” Chills run down my back, and I mutter back at her, “What?!” She yells back her response. I begin to shake and cry hysterically as what she says sinks in: my friend and two others were killed in an accident last night. But somewhere in the back of my mind, I am telling myself it’s not true. I think, “It’s April Fools; maybe she is kidding.” But as soon I set foot on the bus, the reality of it starts to sink in. Everyone is talking and crying about the horrific accident. Walking into school I notice that everyone’s emotions, even their movements, are different than usual. My emotions are off balance, and I am extremely on edge. By the first bell, I am starting to talk to people. I learn more about what happened. Someone says, “The driver of [my friend’s] car was showing off and lost control … the driver made it out alive.” Judging from the pictures taken and comments made around the school, there was glass, teeth, blood, CD’s, and car parts all over the road. The crumpled car looked like a slinky. Everyone knows that Route 30 is a dangerous road, especially on fall evenings when the leaves are covering the roads. Three innocent teens died on a night like that. Had I made a different decision that evening, I could have been the fourth. Back to top |