Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Premonition
I stand atop a sea of black. A salty sea mist drips continually from my cheeks. The vessel that lies in front of me will never sail, again.
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
Deck The Halls With Ham and Morphine
I live in a world where the seasons are color coded. The yards are decorated according to the holiday that falls within the next month. "Everything must be perfect for my baby’s first Christmas, everything must be perfect for my in-laws coming down for the holidays, everything must be perfect for…" I live in a world where the unimportant is all that matters.
My yard lies bare. The grass has turned the appropriate shade of green-brown for the season. The trees hold their naked limbs up high, proud that they aren’t disguised by Christmas lights in the middle of November. They don’t know that they will never be dressed in the sparkling diamonds, however, they will forgive me in the spring. There is no giant Santa Claus standing on my roof, waving at nobody in particular. There isn’t a Christmas tree dripping with my childhood memories and mementos of housewarming parties and gifts I regretted to accept. There are no presents sleeping there, teasing the children of my house. They are all safely tucked away in the stores. All that resides in my house is an uninvited guest.
Death has invited itself into my life. No matter how I have barred the door, I couldn’t keep him at bay. Its breath is fogging up the windows of the ones I love. It blinds us all. It disables our ability to see, our ability to love and be loved. It keeps us walking on glass, tiptoeing around each other’s feelings waiting for someone to explode- leaving bits and pieces scattered on the walls. Death is a curse word in my home. Saying it is like calling his name, beckoning him to take off his shoes and enjoy a nice cup of hot chocolate.
Holidays are all about the food for my family, but a ham doesn’t taste quite as scrumptious when it is seasoned with tears and morphine. It’s all for him- it’s all for Grampa. The fake smiles, the Death- defying attempts at making him happy- and comfortable, they are all for him. It is all because of how much we–how much I love him.
I hope he knows. I hope he knows that my sun rises and sets in his eyes. I hope he knows that I would do anything to keep him a little longer, but we all know that Hospice can only sustain life for so long. I hope he knows how much he means to me. I hope he knows he is the only man I have ever loved. He is my whole heart, and I beg Death for one favor- let him know.
His shell sits on the broken down green recliner facing the television, being stuffed with turkey, glazed ham, freshly fried fish, pecan pie, chocolate cake, toasted leftover sandwiches, glucose, morphine, and anything else that might create in him a sigh of satisfaction. His mind is far away, abandoning the tension filled home. Abandoning the idea of Death.
I live in a world that is slowly loosing color. Our halls are decked with the black drapes of Death. Our hearts don’t lie in pretty wrapped packages nested under an over-decorated tree. Our hearts sit on the edge of their seats awaiting the inevitable. I hope he knows I love him.
My yard lies bare. The grass has turned the appropriate shade of green-brown for the season. The trees hold their naked limbs up high, proud that they aren’t disguised by Christmas lights in the middle of November. They don’t know that they will never be dressed in the sparkling diamonds, however, they will forgive me in the spring. There is no giant Santa Claus standing on my roof, waving at nobody in particular. There isn’t a Christmas tree dripping with my childhood memories and mementos of housewarming parties and gifts I regretted to accept. There are no presents sleeping there, teasing the children of my house. They are all safely tucked away in the stores. All that resides in my house is an uninvited guest.
Death has invited itself into my life. No matter how I have barred the door, I couldn’t keep him at bay. Its breath is fogging up the windows of the ones I love. It blinds us all. It disables our ability to see, our ability to love and be loved. It keeps us walking on glass, tiptoeing around each other’s feelings waiting for someone to explode- leaving bits and pieces scattered on the walls. Death is a curse word in my home. Saying it is like calling his name, beckoning him to take off his shoes and enjoy a nice cup of hot chocolate.
Holidays are all about the food for my family, but a ham doesn’t taste quite as scrumptious when it is seasoned with tears and morphine. It’s all for him- it’s all for Grampa. The fake smiles, the Death- defying attempts at making him happy- and comfortable, they are all for him. It is all because of how much we–how much I love him.
I hope he knows. I hope he knows that my sun rises and sets in his eyes. I hope he knows that I would do anything to keep him a little longer, but we all know that Hospice can only sustain life for so long. I hope he knows how much he means to me. I hope he knows he is the only man I have ever loved. He is my whole heart, and I beg Death for one favor- let him know.
His shell sits on the broken down green recliner facing the television, being stuffed with turkey, glazed ham, freshly fried fish, pecan pie, chocolate cake, toasted leftover sandwiches, glucose, morphine, and anything else that might create in him a sigh of satisfaction. His mind is far away, abandoning the tension filled home. Abandoning the idea of Death.
I live in a world that is slowly loosing color. Our halls are decked with the black drapes of Death. Our hearts don’t lie in pretty wrapped packages nested under an over-decorated tree. Our hearts sit on the edge of their seats awaiting the inevitable. I hope he knows I love him.
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
The Non-Drinker's Drinking Song
One for love
One for life
One for anything but strife
One for snowfall
One for rain
One to take away the pain
One for me
Two for you
Three for all things we’ll never do
Drop your bottle
In the gutter
Stop your drinking, switch to water
Take a chance
Make a choice
Search your heart and find your voice
Friday, November 6, 2009
Love Defines
I love you more than love defines
I love you here, I love you mine
Like the ocean loves the shore
I want you here forever more
And like the desert longs for the sea
I know it simply cannot be
Your love can’t tie you to the ground
Meaning you won’t always be around
A love that strengthens the strongest bond
The hold will last forever on
My selfish love longs to hold yours
You hands, your heart I do adore
You are my closest family
And in the end I still will see
Your love you’ll share from up above
The Lord delights just like a dove
Your face may fade from memory
But your love will always stay with me
Friday, October 30, 2009
Silence is Golden
He’s always been a quiet man. He is a little hard of hearing. He keeps his small, thin lips in a permanent frown. His green eyes droop with age and unhappiness. He has died twice. He has no teeth. He is my grandpa and he is my best friend.
My grandpa’s real name is James Theodore Mangum. Most of his friends call him Jimmy, John Deere, or Hey- Man. Everyone he meets falls quickly for his crude humor and lack of charisma. His gruff, Sling-Blade voice is well known in the hearts of all who accept him.
When I was very young, my grandpa took to calling me Monkey. He would sit with me for hours doing nothing at all. He would push me on the swing long after I fell asleep. He never uttered a harsh word to me. My grandpa plays the biggest male role in my life. As I grew, I too became quiet and withdrawn. My grandpa and I developed a silent, unspoken bond. The quieter we became, the closer we grew.
Two years ago, I found out that my best friend has cancer. Six inoperable tumors lie at the pit of my grandpa’s stomach eating away at his life. After a few failed attempts at slowing the cancer’s progression with chemotherapy, his body decided it wasn’t strong enough for treatment. Our family is praying for a miracle, but mostly we sit and wait. We wait for the cancer to steal his life. We wait as we watch the pain eat away his energy. We wait for his time to run out. I wait to lose my best friend.
There is no man on Earth who could have impacted me like this hard-shelled, warm hearted man. Although our time is limited, his love will stay with me forever, silently reminding me that I am cherished. He will always be my best friend.
Friday, October 16, 2009
Eat That Taylor Swift
If life could be a love story, would it still be as mundane or depressing? If we always got the prince charming, or the Cinderella, would we still have the need to dream? If everything was written out before us- page by page, we flip through full color illustrations of our life- would we still be able to find beauty in the little things? Would we still be able to love life? Would I be able to live with the generic, predictable plot, happily ever after, fairytale life that has become the American dream? Would we want to?
If living has taught me anything, it’s that a fairytale only highlights the good parts of the story. It doesn’t accentuate the negatives, in fear of wearing down all the bubbly feelings we receive from the warm world painted in story books. I have prepared myself to take the bad with the slightest hope that there may be some good hidden in the packaging.
If living has taught me anything, it’s that a fairytale only highlights the good parts of the story. It doesn’t accentuate the negatives, in fear of wearing down all the bubbly feelings we receive from the warm world painted in story books. I have prepared myself to take the bad with the slightest hope that there may be some good hidden in the packaging.
Friday, October 2, 2009
Furthermore
I hate to brag on myself, but I like to believe that I am better at English than the average person. I will even go as far to say I am equal or above some teachers. I know for sure that I am more competent than my current English IV teacher. It’s not that she isn’t smart or educated in the language; it is simply the lack of writing skill- something I happen to care a lot about.
Since I began speaking, my mother has drilled into me the convention of the English language. She, herself, was a partial English major, with the intention of teaching. Over the years she has instilled in me the writing skills necessary to rock the world with my ideas and concepts. She taught me it was important to never start a paper with the words, “In this paper, I will write…” or, “I will now talk about…”
This morning, my English teacher told me that I was incorrect for refusing to use these phrases. I suppose for someone of her intelligence, it is important to remind her that I am, indeed, writing a paper. She is a little aged and a mother, so, I can understand her being forgetful. But insinuating that it is necessary for me to dumb down my writing to pass her class enrages me. I would rather fail her class than compromise my beliefs and rejecting my God given talent.
She tells me that my transitions are unclear because I don’t use expressions such as, “First, next, furthermore, also,… etcetera”, to begin my sentences. Then, she proceeds to deduct points from my grade. I guess I should draw her a map to accompany my papers so she doesn’t get lost between paragraphs. I know it is a great distance to ask her to travel.
“Furthermore,” I have resolved to stand my ground in my English class. I won’t compromise my writing style for a fiery red-head who deems that having a style makes you incorrect. Ma’am, I am sorry to inform you, but I won’t need to know how a verb is conjugated when I get to my journalism class in college. I will simply need to know how to use that conjugated verb to state my belief and make other people believe my opinion is fact. And just incase you haven’t noticed, I am finished with my paper now.
Since I began speaking, my mother has drilled into me the convention of the English language. She, herself, was a partial English major, with the intention of teaching. Over the years she has instilled in me the writing skills necessary to rock the world with my ideas and concepts. She taught me it was important to never start a paper with the words, “In this paper, I will write…” or, “I will now talk about…”
This morning, my English teacher told me that I was incorrect for refusing to use these phrases. I suppose for someone of her intelligence, it is important to remind her that I am, indeed, writing a paper. She is a little aged and a mother, so, I can understand her being forgetful. But insinuating that it is necessary for me to dumb down my writing to pass her class enrages me. I would rather fail her class than compromise my beliefs and rejecting my God given talent.
She tells me that my transitions are unclear because I don’t use expressions such as, “First, next, furthermore, also,… etcetera”, to begin my sentences. Then, she proceeds to deduct points from my grade. I guess I should draw her a map to accompany my papers so she doesn’t get lost between paragraphs. I know it is a great distance to ask her to travel.
“Furthermore,” I have resolved to stand my ground in my English class. I won’t compromise my writing style for a fiery red-head who deems that having a style makes you incorrect. Ma’am, I am sorry to inform you, but I won’t need to know how a verb is conjugated when I get to my journalism class in college. I will simply need to know how to use that conjugated verb to state my belief and make other people believe my opinion is fact. And just incase you haven’t noticed, I am finished with my paper now.
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Thursday, September 3, 2009
Vocation Vocation Vocation
These last few days I have been doubting all the abilities I believed myself to have. It don’t feel like a writer. I don’t feel like an artist. It’s hard when your whole life you have searched diligently for a place to belong, a groove to fit into, and when you get to the end, you feel like you may have picked the wrong groove. I feel like a square peg who has been fooling herself into believing she belonged in a round whole. I feel betrayed. Why hasn’t anyone ever told me that I was a joke? Why hasn’t anyone spun me around to see the other side of the world and give me a chance to find where I belong?
My whole life, I have had a passion for literature. It cries out from deep within my soul and begs me to write. It begs me to set the inner words free. I have allowed these words to flow freely for most of my life. It wasn’t until lately that I just don’t believe that I write well. I doubt that even belong in a world with authors and journalists. I suppose I will have to pick a simple career like being a doctor or a lawyer- those vocations have finite points. They are almost impossible to misinterpret.
I have come to accept that being and artist is overrated. I may be ‘talented’, but I shan’t subject myself to a world full of mentally distressed individuals who bear their souls for spare change. I couldn’t handle the stress that accompanies the rejection and criticism that make up art. I am more than aware that all my photographs won’t always be breath taking. I understand that not all my paintings will be suitable as Christmas gifts. It scares me to think about basing a career around these things because their world is ever changing. I wouldn’t ever be able to keep ahead of the curve. I would stand, hacking in the dust left behind by all those who went to chase the modern standard.
So here I am. I have no vocation. I have no realistic dreams. I have no decent interests. I stand alone before the wilderness I have come to recognize as my future and tremble. Not having a plan- not knowing isn’t something I am accustomed to, nor am I willing to become acquainted with. I refuse to shake hands with defeat or mediocrity. I will find a place to be, a path through the wilderness that hasn’t already been trodden. I will accept all my struggles with wide open arms and a smile on my face. Screw the groove. Future, this game of hide and seek is over. You’re it!
My whole life, I have had a passion for literature. It cries out from deep within my soul and begs me to write. It begs me to set the inner words free. I have allowed these words to flow freely for most of my life. It wasn’t until lately that I just don’t believe that I write well. I doubt that even belong in a world with authors and journalists. I suppose I will have to pick a simple career like being a doctor or a lawyer- those vocations have finite points. They are almost impossible to misinterpret.
I have come to accept that being and artist is overrated. I may be ‘talented’, but I shan’t subject myself to a world full of mentally distressed individuals who bear their souls for spare change. I couldn’t handle the stress that accompanies the rejection and criticism that make up art. I am more than aware that all my photographs won’t always be breath taking. I understand that not all my paintings will be suitable as Christmas gifts. It scares me to think about basing a career around these things because their world is ever changing. I wouldn’t ever be able to keep ahead of the curve. I would stand, hacking in the dust left behind by all those who went to chase the modern standard.
So here I am. I have no vocation. I have no realistic dreams. I have no decent interests. I stand alone before the wilderness I have come to recognize as my future and tremble. Not having a plan- not knowing isn’t something I am accustomed to, nor am I willing to become acquainted with. I refuse to shake hands with defeat or mediocrity. I will find a place to be, a path through the wilderness that hasn’t already been trodden. I will accept all my struggles with wide open arms and a smile on my face. Screw the groove. Future, this game of hide and seek is over. You’re it!
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
Over Achieving, Anti- Procrastinating
Beginning school could be compared to listening to a new song. We are skeptical in the beginning, we fall in love with it near the middle, and once we reach the end we don’t want it to be over. Once it’s over, it means we have reached the age that forces us out into the world.
Cliché as it may be, I am going to miss this place. I am going to miss its crowded halls, its small population, its family atmosphere. I will miss the days I spent dreaming my time away. I will miss the teachers who put all they had into teaching us. I’ll even miss cramming for exams at the last possible minute. I loved growing up here. I loved watching this place grow. There have been so many memories made here that I can’t take them all with me in one trip.
Aucilla has had no choice but to become a part of us- imbedded forever. I know it is a piece of me I won’t ever forget. It may not know, but Aucilla has become my source of friendship, entertainment, and love over the years. If I ever needed anything I know I could turn to any of the students or teachers I have encountered here for help, a laugh, or a prayer.
I have been with a particular group of students longer than should be allowed. It has been quite an experience. There were the good times, the boring times, the bad times, and there were the greatest times. But now that it’s all over, we have to move on. Some will keep in touch, some will attend school together. But for most of us, when we walk across that stage, it will be the last we ever see of each other. I wouldn’t replace not one second of the time we had together. It was truly a rare experience we had here. We were allowed to be a family, and a family is what we have become. Let’s not forget the great blessing we received from each other- I know I won’t.
I cannot even begin to say farewell. Adieu. Adios. Sayonara. Bye. But I suppose it is necessary. So I will say, see you later. May you walk in the Lord’s will.
-Jessica
Cliché as it may be, I am going to miss this place. I am going to miss its crowded halls, its small population, its family atmosphere. I will miss the days I spent dreaming my time away. I will miss the teachers who put all they had into teaching us. I’ll even miss cramming for exams at the last possible minute. I loved growing up here. I loved watching this place grow. There have been so many memories made here that I can’t take them all with me in one trip.
Aucilla has had no choice but to become a part of us- imbedded forever. I know it is a piece of me I won’t ever forget. It may not know, but Aucilla has become my source of friendship, entertainment, and love over the years. If I ever needed anything I know I could turn to any of the students or teachers I have encountered here for help, a laugh, or a prayer.
I have been with a particular group of students longer than should be allowed. It has been quite an experience. There were the good times, the boring times, the bad times, and there were the greatest times. But now that it’s all over, we have to move on. Some will keep in touch, some will attend school together. But for most of us, when we walk across that stage, it will be the last we ever see of each other. I wouldn’t replace not one second of the time we had together. It was truly a rare experience we had here. We were allowed to be a family, and a family is what we have become. Let’s not forget the great blessing we received from each other- I know I won’t.
I cannot even begin to say farewell. Adieu. Adios. Sayonara. Bye. But I suppose it is necessary. So I will say, see you later. May you walk in the Lord’s will.
-Jessica
Friday, August 21, 2009
Negative Nellie
I am a little disappointed, I shall admit, in hearing what I heard this morning. I suppose I should have caught it myself long ago. I suppose I should have worked on it as I grew, but I didn’t. This morning as we discussed books to possibly read this year, I had a comment on most of them because I have heard of, or read them. Suddenly from a corner of the room that I tend to avoid, I hear the comment that shut me up again- maybe for a while.
“You should be a critic. You have something negative to say about everything, but you say it intellectually so it turns out okay.” I turned slowly to the opposite direction and slipped into thought- as I often do. I felt terrible. I felt like I was incapable of saying anything positive about anything. I thought I was that giant negative Nellie that makes everybody feel bad. And I realized that I probably am.
I want to be better. I would like to learn the positive of all situations so I don’t seem like I am just walking around trying to make everyone miserable. I suppose we could call it a revelation- from hence forth I shall try my hardest to find a good, a silver lining- perhaps a copper lining, if you will- in every tiny little object, person, issue, or situation I come in contact with.
For the time being, I wouldn’t come to me with advice. The only advice I could probably give would be how much it sucks, how much it will suck, or how much it has sucked.
Come back in a week or so, then I can show you just how full your stupid glass is.
“You should be a critic. You have something negative to say about everything, but you say it intellectually so it turns out okay.” I turned slowly to the opposite direction and slipped into thought- as I often do. I felt terrible. I felt like I was incapable of saying anything positive about anything. I thought I was that giant negative Nellie that makes everybody feel bad. And I realized that I probably am.
I want to be better. I would like to learn the positive of all situations so I don’t seem like I am just walking around trying to make everyone miserable. I suppose we could call it a revelation- from hence forth I shall try my hardest to find a good, a silver lining- perhaps a copper lining, if you will- in every tiny little object, person, issue, or situation I come in contact with.
For the time being, I wouldn’t come to me with advice. The only advice I could probably give would be how much it sucks, how much it will suck, or how much it has sucked.
Come back in a week or so, then I can show you just how full your stupid glass is.
Friday, August 14, 2009
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
Monday, August 3, 2009
Lost
I'm losing my mind
I lost my best friend.
Well, I lost my most comfortable aquaintence.
I wouldn't call her a friend because she never treated me like one.
From the time we were little, my companionship has been useful to her.
I can't say it upsets me to be alone.
In fact, I feel more free than I ever have.
My entire life I have lived to please someone.
I have lived to help others.
For once, I think I left this alone for me.
I need to be set free of the drama.
I can't handle another wound in my back.
When she reads this, she think of me nastily and say under her breath, 'I didn't need you anyomer any way.'
Could I answer her I would say that I never needed you. It was all out of love and comfort. Don't feel badly for me, and don't think badly of me. I just can't handle all of the stuff on my plate right now. Your 'friendship' is something I am too busy to tollerate anymore. I think you know why.
Last thing- stop talking badly of me to my friends, they have enough reasons to dislike me already.
-JDHUNT
I lost my best friend.
Well, I lost my most comfortable aquaintence.
I wouldn't call her a friend because she never treated me like one.
From the time we were little, my companionship has been useful to her.
I can't say it upsets me to be alone.
In fact, I feel more free than I ever have.
My entire life I have lived to please someone.
I have lived to help others.
For once, I think I left this alone for me.
I need to be set free of the drama.
I can't handle another wound in my back.
When she reads this, she think of me nastily and say under her breath, 'I didn't need you anyomer any way.'
Could I answer her I would say that I never needed you. It was all out of love and comfort. Don't feel badly for me, and don't think badly of me. I just can't handle all of the stuff on my plate right now. Your 'friendship' is something I am too busy to tollerate anymore. I think you know why.
Last thing- stop talking badly of me to my friends, they have enough reasons to dislike me already.
-JDHUNT
Monday, July 13, 2009
Camoflauge Tears
As you walked out my front door
I felt my heart leave
And all of our memories were all I could keep
You went to a place that may take you away
You left me for something that can help you one day
Though basic, your training
It may save your life
Maybe not in war, but in ending all strife
As long as you're happy, happy and safe
I'll remeber you and know that I'll keep your place
I felt my heart leave
And all of our memories were all I could keep
You went to a place that may take you away
You left me for something that can help you one day
Though basic, your training
It may save your life
Maybe not in war, but in ending all strife
As long as you're happy, happy and safe
I'll remeber you and know that I'll keep your place
Saturday, July 4, 2009
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Lock it In, Keep Them Out
As a leader in the children's church department at my church, I prepared and hosted a Lock-In for all my boys and girls this past Saturday. There was pizza, cupcakes, sleeping, dress-up, indoor sports, water games, tiedye, movies, and Bible studies. We had a blast. Here are an assortment of photographs from the day.
Monday, June 15, 2009
Sticky Hot Summer
As the summer began, the hot sun dried up the inspiration I was receiving from all around me. While it brought warm colors and sleepy days, it brought nothing to replenish the fountain of words that usually flows from within me. In more simple terms, I suppose I have become too lazy to search for a topic that makes me speak my mind. I have allowed myself to be one of the commons who take each day at a time and don’t gain anything from basic experiences. I have let my vocabulary dwindle to the point of not knowing how to use the words I do comprehend. I have become nothing less than a regular high school student on her last summer break before she meets the big world face to face.
I will beg to differ with this cliché, I am no average student for I am hardly an average human being. I will not let the summer days be eaten away with aimless texting and tanning by the poolside. If that was the way God had intended for me to live, he would have created me with a cell phone in hand and less sensitive skin. No I will spend my days arguing with a five year old about the fact that her Mary Jane shoes are not to be worn with socks, that oatmeal is supposed to be lumpy, and issuing false threats of leaving her behind if she doesn’t hurry and get her butt in the car. I will spend my days pressure washing the seven puppies worth of poop off the concrete and constantly filling up the three food bowls on the back porch. I will spend my days wishing I had something meaningful to do with my time. Really, who am I kidding thinking that I will one day be a successful photographer.
Summer is bidding me a bitter sweet farewell as it rides away in the back of the car on its way to the beach. It waves and says, “Sorry you couldn’t enjoy your time with me like the rest of the world does. It really is pathetic that you hate the summer the way that you do. I will try not to take offense the way you have treated me.” And I honestly can’t blame the summer for leaving. I was unappreciative of the time I had with it. Then I suddenly realize that I am only half a month into this sticky hot season. Oh joy, oh sweet rapture, it is almost halfway over.
I will beg to differ with this cliché, I am no average student for I am hardly an average human being. I will not let the summer days be eaten away with aimless texting and tanning by the poolside. If that was the way God had intended for me to live, he would have created me with a cell phone in hand and less sensitive skin. No I will spend my days arguing with a five year old about the fact that her Mary Jane shoes are not to be worn with socks, that oatmeal is supposed to be lumpy, and issuing false threats of leaving her behind if she doesn’t hurry and get her butt in the car. I will spend my days pressure washing the seven puppies worth of poop off the concrete and constantly filling up the three food bowls on the back porch. I will spend my days wishing I had something meaningful to do with my time. Really, who am I kidding thinking that I will one day be a successful photographer.
Summer is bidding me a bitter sweet farewell as it rides away in the back of the car on its way to the beach. It waves and says, “Sorry you couldn’t enjoy your time with me like the rest of the world does. It really is pathetic that you hate the summer the way that you do. I will try not to take offense the way you have treated me.” And I honestly can’t blame the summer for leaving. I was unappreciative of the time I had with it. Then I suddenly realize that I am only half a month into this sticky hot season. Oh joy, oh sweet rapture, it is almost halfway over.
Friday, June 12, 2009
Explaining the Death
This is an excert from my novel which is currently still a work in progress. I am at that stage where I am not quite sure if i should continue on.
Henry Wilkes took to flying at age 19, while my mother was still pregnant with me. I had been an accident that was followed by the mistake of their marriage. My father and mother got along swimmingly during my first years of life. I started remembering when I was three, and all I could remember were fights. Broken dishes lying in the kitchen floor, overturned hampers in the living room, shattered picture frames, all because my dad wouldn’t let Mom leave him while I was so young. I was four when he went for a flight and never came back. He had crashed into the field thirty miles from our house because he had experienced engine failure. I secretly knew in my heart that it was a suicide, for the sake of me.
I was so young that I didn’t quite understand the concept of death. I understood that Daddy’s big truck had squashed my puppy, Scooper. I understood that Mommy’s parents didn’t exist, but I didn’t understand what those things meant. So when my mom dropped to one knee with false tears in her eyes and said, “Anne Marie, Daddy went for a ride in his plane and he liked the sky so much that he decided to stay forever,” I told her to tell him that I would miss him. When I was five, I realized that he was dead because his plane couldn’t fly forever without gas. I had run down the street as far as I could. I stumbled and scraped my knee right in front of Daniel while he was riding around on his bike. He jumped off and ran over to help me up. He and his dad helped me get a band-aid and took me home to my mom, who wasn’t the least bit concerned. Daniel and I had been friends ever since.
Henry Wilkes took to flying at age 19, while my mother was still pregnant with me. I had been an accident that was followed by the mistake of their marriage. My father and mother got along swimmingly during my first years of life. I started remembering when I was three, and all I could remember were fights. Broken dishes lying in the kitchen floor, overturned hampers in the living room, shattered picture frames, all because my dad wouldn’t let Mom leave him while I was so young. I was four when he went for a flight and never came back. He had crashed into the field thirty miles from our house because he had experienced engine failure. I secretly knew in my heart that it was a suicide, for the sake of me.
I was so young that I didn’t quite understand the concept of death. I understood that Daddy’s big truck had squashed my puppy, Scooper. I understood that Mommy’s parents didn’t exist, but I didn’t understand what those things meant. So when my mom dropped to one knee with false tears in her eyes and said, “Anne Marie, Daddy went for a ride in his plane and he liked the sky so much that he decided to stay forever,” I told her to tell him that I would miss him. When I was five, I realized that he was dead because his plane couldn’t fly forever without gas. I had run down the street as far as I could. I stumbled and scraped my knee right in front of Daniel while he was riding around on his bike. He jumped off and ran over to help me up. He and his dad helped me get a band-aid and took me home to my mom, who wasn’t the least bit concerned. Daniel and I had been friends ever since.
Anne Marie Wilkes
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Abduction
I miss nearly every single one of these humans, and the teacher too. It is close to killing me, this breaking of my schedual, this ruining my fun, this rediculous summer break. I can't take the separation from what I recognize as comfortable. I feel silly, like a waste of time. I can't believe it's over. I can't wait to have it back.
Monday, May 25, 2009
Feast Your Eyes on This
Sunday afternoons are a time of relaxation and experimentation for people like me. When the house is empty and the air is still, I love nothing more than to start fooling around with my Great Grandmother's recipe book.
This particular Sunday, I had no access to this book. Boredom closely by my side, I broke out the Jif peanut butter jar and did my best to alter their classic recipe.
Crunchy Peanut Butter Chocolate Chips were the delectable morsels I produced. They were slightly sinful. I made enough to feed a small province in Africa, and the dishes were satanic as well. I also managed to burn the entire palm of my hand as well as the majority of the tip of my tongue. I blame the entire situation on the absence of the cook book and lack of 'adult' supervision.
Thursday, May 21, 2009
After the Clouds Clear
The sky has been crying for a few days now. It chilled the world with its bitter mood. But now that the storm is over, the beauty is allowed to shine through.
I guess that is how life works most of the time. We have to go through the bad before we can see the good. Flowers bloom after a storm. Grass takes deep root after a fire. After we fall on our faces, we get a new chance at a new direction.
Choosing my direction isn't going to be the easiest thing for me, but it is an ugly task that must be completed so that I might experience the beautiful things in life.
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
A Cheers to the End of Cheer
Cheers to the School year:
Barf- here’s to being the closest thing I had to a best friend, the Kat mobile, the hand sanitizer, the creative writing assignments on my behalf, Lost, Chuck Palahniuk, six to eight black men, Larry’s escape, my Granddad, journals, your silly green car-truck-thing, over-digesting music, blogs, ‘secrets’, my OCD, the geniuses of 2010, your burlap plaid tie, Oedipus, ‘seriously?’, your lack of organization, the universe pass, Tori Slef, Mr. Casrson, slow yearbook dinosaurs we call computers, your media center, and here’s to being my favorite teacher (so far).
Kat- here’s to lunch scorching in the sun, thousands of useless yearbooks, G.H., “You just touched my butt!”, eleven blogs, global warming, sesame street, Korean subtitles, ‘The Great and Powerful Editor’, baby birds, John Cook, 8504557100, Clay, The Rat, Ignat and Olga, go green, WWF, photographs, yearbook, all the success, and here’s to you for being amazing!
Seth- here’s to high school, ‘it’s that big’, ‘NOW’, stalling out in front of subway, ‘I love you-r Jew Fro, l-y-e, PDA, Robert, homecoming, Deathcab, Keane, Iron and Wine, lots of other bands, Kayla Hairy, and all the stupid jokes.
Samantha- here’s to Masantha, Carsonade, green sharpies, dogs of various shapes and sizes, being my Prom date, and driving to Greenville at 3 am.
Slef the Riot- here’s to your rat, math homework, crabgrass, broken glass, Chelsea Dobson, your arms and legs, the upside down Bible, skinny jeans, fantastic shoes, odd ball mothers, locking my keys in my car, the really tall guy, being my apprentice, and here’s to a hopeful future for all your dreams.
Roletta- here’s to your fro, orange, purses, puppies, big dogs dragging little dogs backwards down the highway, permits, and here’s to your flat iron, may it serve you well.
Carrie- here’s to you not really liking South Park, refusing Barf’s orders, math, and here’s to the fact that I am nothing like your sister.
Nikki- here’s to Marsha, editor’s farewell, our lazy adviser, relax, your accent, Nathan, Chase, and Tyler, ‘Don’t get picky with the Nikki’, Jayce is such a guy, and here’s to how much I am going to miss having you around to take the blame.
High School- here’s to the pain, the suffering, the headaches, the tests, the bad grades, and the one more year until I never see you again.
Drink up me hardies yo-ho!
Barf- here’s to being the closest thing I had to a best friend, the Kat mobile, the hand sanitizer, the creative writing assignments on my behalf, Lost, Chuck Palahniuk, six to eight black men, Larry’s escape, my Granddad, journals, your silly green car-truck-thing, over-digesting music, blogs, ‘secrets’, my OCD, the geniuses of 2010, your burlap plaid tie, Oedipus, ‘seriously?’, your lack of organization, the universe pass, Tori Slef, Mr. Casrson, slow yearbook dinosaurs we call computers, your media center, and here’s to being my favorite teacher (so far).
Kat- here’s to lunch scorching in the sun, thousands of useless yearbooks, G.H., “You just touched my butt!”, eleven blogs, global warming, sesame street, Korean subtitles, ‘The Great and Powerful Editor’, baby birds, John Cook, 8504557100, Clay, The Rat, Ignat and Olga, go green, WWF, photographs, yearbook, all the success, and here’s to you for being amazing!
Seth- here’s to high school, ‘it’s that big’, ‘NOW’, stalling out in front of subway, ‘I love you-r Jew Fro, l-y-e, PDA, Robert, homecoming, Deathcab, Keane, Iron and Wine, lots of other bands, Kayla Hairy, and all the stupid jokes.
Samantha- here’s to Masantha, Carsonade, green sharpies, dogs of various shapes and sizes, being my Prom date, and driving to Greenville at 3 am.
Slef the Riot- here’s to your rat, math homework, crabgrass, broken glass, Chelsea Dobson, your arms and legs, the upside down Bible, skinny jeans, fantastic shoes, odd ball mothers, locking my keys in my car, the really tall guy, being my apprentice, and here’s to a hopeful future for all your dreams.
Roletta- here’s to your fro, orange, purses, puppies, big dogs dragging little dogs backwards down the highway, permits, and here’s to your flat iron, may it serve you well.
Carrie- here’s to you not really liking South Park, refusing Barf’s orders, math, and here’s to the fact that I am nothing like your sister.
Nikki- here’s to Marsha, editor’s farewell, our lazy adviser, relax, your accent, Nathan, Chase, and Tyler, ‘Don’t get picky with the Nikki’, Jayce is such a guy, and here’s to how much I am going to miss having you around to take the blame.
High School- here’s to the pain, the suffering, the headaches, the tests, the bad grades, and the one more year until I never see you again.
Drink up me hardies yo-ho!
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Sweet Dreams Are Made of This
I ran and I ran, it felt as though my heart was going to burst through my chest. My head was pounding and my breath fell heavily. I could taste blood in my mouth even though it wasn’t there. All I could think was what just happened? How on earth was I going to fix this? There was no escape from the future that now lay before me.
I stopped running and used a large tree to hold myself up. I heard something coming up behind me. My ears were roaring as I feared what the forest was about to produce. A bird flew from a bush and I crouched low, using the dusky night to hide me. My pursuer passed through the bush and burst into the clearing. I tried to hold my breath so he wouldn’t hear me. He flashed his flashlight over my face, but I remained unnoticed. He moved on and I relaxed. It seemed as though I melted into the earth. I thought back to earlier in the evening. It was a warm night, perfect for the hike I was taking with my co-workers. I walked with the usual group. We were laughing and talking about stress at work. I suddenly remembered I had left a bagel in the oven in my rush to get ready. I had to go back to keep my house from catching fire. I turned and explained to myself to Sarah, and then I began my trudging walk back up the hill to town. I cut through a few back yards in order to save time in getting to my house. Just then I heard a loud crash. A car had slammed into a light pole. The man spilled out of the car onto the curb.
Without giving my house a second thought, I rushed over to help him sit up. He was bruised all over and his head was bleeding badly. His clothes were filthy and torn. I asked him if he was alright, but he just kept mumbling something about a book. He just repeated take the book, please, don’t let him catch you with it. I was convinced he was delusional from the crash. I decided I would go to the nearest house for help. I ran and knocked on the door, no answer. The sun was fading quickly and the man wasn’t going to last much longer. I moved on to the next house and a little old lady came to the door. I asked her if I could use her phone and dashed into her house behind her. 9-1-1 the buttons beeped and I shakily pulled the receiver close. “Operator” the woman on the other end came through. I explained what had happened and where I was.
I thanked the old lady and back to help the man. As I got to the end of her walkway I saw someone else there with him. A big man towered over him. He was holding him by the collar. He was close to his face but still screaming, “Where is the book?” He hurled obscenities at him then threw him onto the sidewalk. His head crashed against it with a sickening thud. The big man tore through the crumpled car until he found a rough brown book. He turned around with a snicker and pulled out a pistol. It had a silencer on the end which led me to believe this wouldn’t be the first time he had used it. He aimed and shot the man in the chest. I let out a gasp before I could stop it. I dove behind the old stone wall at the end of the drive way. The whole time I was praying he hadn’t seen me, but he had. I bent low and ran through the old lady’s back yard until I came to the back wall. I leapt over the wall and found myself in the woods. I stood up and saw a bullet shatter the back on the tree next to my head. I ran as fast as I could, dodging braches, rocks, holes, branches, hole, rock, hole, hole. Down I fell. I felt my ankle twisting right before I fell into a tumble. I swallowed the cry of pain that had welled up in my throat. I got up to run some more. With every step I shed a tear. The pain was excruciating, I felt like I couldn’t go on. So here I lie. Fearing for my life, wondering about that book and why it’s so important. Yet at the same time, I want nothing to do with it.
I bolted up from my resting place, I have to get to the police and tell them what I saw. I reach up and grab the tree to pull myself off the ground. I look above the trees in the direction of town and I see the cloud of smoke streaming up from where my house once stood. I smelled the burning, but I thought I was too far away to smell it. I heard the chambering of a round behind me and spun around. There stood the big man, with the gun in his hand and a cigarette in his mouth. He through the cigarette to the ground and pulled the trigger. Instead of the bang of the gun, I hear a telephone ringing. I sleepily answer. It’s Sarah, asking me to go with her on a hike. I get up and get ready to go with her. I turn on the news and walk to my bedroom. I dressed while the reported drones on about some fugitive, armed and dangerous, but I wasn’t worried, after all this is the suburbs. I walk to the kitchen and put a bagel in the oven…
I stopped running and used a large tree to hold myself up. I heard something coming up behind me. My ears were roaring as I feared what the forest was about to produce. A bird flew from a bush and I crouched low, using the dusky night to hide me. My pursuer passed through the bush and burst into the clearing. I tried to hold my breath so he wouldn’t hear me. He flashed his flashlight over my face, but I remained unnoticed. He moved on and I relaxed. It seemed as though I melted into the earth. I thought back to earlier in the evening. It was a warm night, perfect for the hike I was taking with my co-workers. I walked with the usual group. We were laughing and talking about stress at work. I suddenly remembered I had left a bagel in the oven in my rush to get ready. I had to go back to keep my house from catching fire. I turned and explained to myself to Sarah, and then I began my trudging walk back up the hill to town. I cut through a few back yards in order to save time in getting to my house. Just then I heard a loud crash. A car had slammed into a light pole. The man spilled out of the car onto the curb.
Without giving my house a second thought, I rushed over to help him sit up. He was bruised all over and his head was bleeding badly. His clothes were filthy and torn. I asked him if he was alright, but he just kept mumbling something about a book. He just repeated take the book, please, don’t let him catch you with it. I was convinced he was delusional from the crash. I decided I would go to the nearest house for help. I ran and knocked on the door, no answer. The sun was fading quickly and the man wasn’t going to last much longer. I moved on to the next house and a little old lady came to the door. I asked her if I could use her phone and dashed into her house behind her. 9-1-1 the buttons beeped and I shakily pulled the receiver close. “Operator” the woman on the other end came through. I explained what had happened and where I was.
I thanked the old lady and back to help the man. As I got to the end of her walkway I saw someone else there with him. A big man towered over him. He was holding him by the collar. He was close to his face but still screaming, “Where is the book?” He hurled obscenities at him then threw him onto the sidewalk. His head crashed against it with a sickening thud. The big man tore through the crumpled car until he found a rough brown book. He turned around with a snicker and pulled out a pistol. It had a silencer on the end which led me to believe this wouldn’t be the first time he had used it. He aimed and shot the man in the chest. I let out a gasp before I could stop it. I dove behind the old stone wall at the end of the drive way. The whole time I was praying he hadn’t seen me, but he had. I bent low and ran through the old lady’s back yard until I came to the back wall. I leapt over the wall and found myself in the woods. I stood up and saw a bullet shatter the back on the tree next to my head. I ran as fast as I could, dodging braches, rocks, holes, branches, hole, rock, hole, hole. Down I fell. I felt my ankle twisting right before I fell into a tumble. I swallowed the cry of pain that had welled up in my throat. I got up to run some more. With every step I shed a tear. The pain was excruciating, I felt like I couldn’t go on. So here I lie. Fearing for my life, wondering about that book and why it’s so important. Yet at the same time, I want nothing to do with it.
I bolted up from my resting place, I have to get to the police and tell them what I saw. I reach up and grab the tree to pull myself off the ground. I look above the trees in the direction of town and I see the cloud of smoke streaming up from where my house once stood. I smelled the burning, but I thought I was too far away to smell it. I heard the chambering of a round behind me and spun around. There stood the big man, with the gun in his hand and a cigarette in his mouth. He through the cigarette to the ground and pulled the trigger. Instead of the bang of the gun, I hear a telephone ringing. I sleepily answer. It’s Sarah, asking me to go with her on a hike. I get up and get ready to go with her. I turn on the news and walk to my bedroom. I dressed while the reported drones on about some fugitive, armed and dangerous, but I wasn’t worried, after all this is the suburbs. I walk to the kitchen and put a bagel in the oven…
Monday, May 18, 2009
Feathers
Flying was all she ever wanted to do- not in a plane, that was no different than riding in a car. She wanted to fly freely like the birds. Her dream was something of a cliché. Everyone in the world had the dream of flying like a bird. But few took the actions that she took in order to achieve her final dream.
When she was six years old, she ran from home for the first time. More or less she ran from him. Her father abused her dreams daily. “You’re crazy,” He’d say, “Just like your mother was before she committed suicide.” He told her that it was her fault. She drove her mother crazy- she never believed it, but it was enough to make her want to fly to heaven and ask her mom.
When she ran, she didn’t make it further than the mailbox before he found her. She ran as he drove the truck slowly beside her. “If you don’t get your butt in this truck right now, you’ll never walk again!” He repeated his threat annually, every year when she ran away on her birthday. One day when her nanny asked her where she kept trying to go, she’d answered, “I am going to live with the birds. They will teach me how to fly. Then I can see my mom and ask her if it really was my fault.”
When she was ten, he let her leave. He didn’t chase her. He didn’t threaten her. He didn’t even search for her. She just kept going. After three days of walking on the side of the old dirt roads, a man offered her a ride. In the back of his rusty truck, he had a dozen white cages. In each cage, there was ten white doves. The second she heard the feathers flutter, she leapt into the back of the truck and never looked back.
After a short while, she arrived in heaven. The man’s house was big and white, but the back yard held treasures beyond her wildest imagination. Mountains of dove filled bird cages surrounded a small shed. She turned to the man and made her first request. “May I sleep there?” she asked while pointing to the shed. With a puzzled look, he nodded. Her first wish was granted, she lived with the birds.
The first night in the shed was warm. There was no window to let the air in, or out. it took her almost an hour to finally fall into a deep sleep. She heard a flapping sound, then felt as though she was thousands of feet off the ground. She rubbed her eyes and saw that the doves had broken free of their cages and lifted her into the air. It didn’t take long before she was flapping her arms and lifting herself even higher. The birds had taught her to fly. Her second wish.
She slowly lowered herself back to the dull earth. White feathers floated around her in a whirlwind powered by the flapping wings of the thousands of doves. In her cloud of white happiness, a figure formed and stepped into the clear. The keeper of the birds stood and silently looked at her as she was saturated with her hearts desires. When the keeper raised their arms, the birds vanished and the feather began to fall. In the storm of feathers, the keeper was blinded from her sight. Then the feathers settled. There, in a bright light stood her mother. In a voice that soothed her soul, she said, “It was not your fault. I love you more than there are feathers in the world.” With those words, she disappeared with a gust. And that was her third wish.
When she awoke the next morning at her mail box, she doubted that it had ever happened. Then suddenly a white feather fell from the sky and landed in her hand. More than there are feathers in the world. She just knew that everything in her life was finally at peace. She lived as a bird with her father the rest of her days and all was well.
When she was six years old, she ran from home for the first time. More or less she ran from him. Her father abused her dreams daily. “You’re crazy,” He’d say, “Just like your mother was before she committed suicide.” He told her that it was her fault. She drove her mother crazy- she never believed it, but it was enough to make her want to fly to heaven and ask her mom.
When she ran, she didn’t make it further than the mailbox before he found her. She ran as he drove the truck slowly beside her. “If you don’t get your butt in this truck right now, you’ll never walk again!” He repeated his threat annually, every year when she ran away on her birthday. One day when her nanny asked her where she kept trying to go, she’d answered, “I am going to live with the birds. They will teach me how to fly. Then I can see my mom and ask her if it really was my fault.”
When she was ten, he let her leave. He didn’t chase her. He didn’t threaten her. He didn’t even search for her. She just kept going. After three days of walking on the side of the old dirt roads, a man offered her a ride. In the back of his rusty truck, he had a dozen white cages. In each cage, there was ten white doves. The second she heard the feathers flutter, she leapt into the back of the truck and never looked back.
After a short while, she arrived in heaven. The man’s house was big and white, but the back yard held treasures beyond her wildest imagination. Mountains of dove filled bird cages surrounded a small shed. She turned to the man and made her first request. “May I sleep there?” she asked while pointing to the shed. With a puzzled look, he nodded. Her first wish was granted, she lived with the birds.
The first night in the shed was warm. There was no window to let the air in, or out. it took her almost an hour to finally fall into a deep sleep. She heard a flapping sound, then felt as though she was thousands of feet off the ground. She rubbed her eyes and saw that the doves had broken free of their cages and lifted her into the air. It didn’t take long before she was flapping her arms and lifting herself even higher. The birds had taught her to fly. Her second wish.
She slowly lowered herself back to the dull earth. White feathers floated around her in a whirlwind powered by the flapping wings of the thousands of doves. In her cloud of white happiness, a figure formed and stepped into the clear. The keeper of the birds stood and silently looked at her as she was saturated with her hearts desires. When the keeper raised their arms, the birds vanished and the feather began to fall. In the storm of feathers, the keeper was blinded from her sight. Then the feathers settled. There, in a bright light stood her mother. In a voice that soothed her soul, she said, “It was not your fault. I love you more than there are feathers in the world.” With those words, she disappeared with a gust. And that was her third wish.
When she awoke the next morning at her mail box, she doubted that it had ever happened. Then suddenly a white feather fell from the sky and landed in her hand. More than there are feathers in the world. She just knew that everything in her life was finally at peace. She lived as a bird with her father the rest of her days and all was well.
Friday, May 15, 2009
How Much Time is Left
I hate goodbyes.
It’s like promising we’ll never see each other again
It’s like leaving and forcing me to stay behind
How much time do we have?
No time at all
The time danced off into the night
It left us blind and alone
I refuse your promise
I refuse to admit I won’t ever see you again
I hate your goodbye
I’m going to miss you
I’m going to miss your frustration
Your voice
Your laugh
You
So go on
Leave us all here
Leave us in the world of the past
Leave us where you can have a fresh start
But don’t forget us
Don’t forget me
I say goodbye
Where did the time go?
Thursday, May 14, 2009
Dear You
Dear you,
I have written this letter in my head so many times. I haven’t ever figured out what my point is exactly, but I know that I must get it out as clearly as possible or you won’t ever hear me. I thought about telling you all that you are doing wrong, but I’m sure you know exactly what your faults are. I thought about telling you how bad you are hurting us all, but I’m sure you can see the effects of your actions. So here I am, without a solid foundation to stand on. I have no podium to stand confidently behind and hand you my two cents. Let’s face it, if I had two cents, you’d have already taken them.
When opening this conversation, you may ask exactly why I hate you. I just want you to know that I don’t hate you. Actually, I love you and my heart is heavily burdened for you and mostly your children. What I can’t stand about- the things that bring my blood to a boil- is your denial that anything ever happened. I hate that you lie to everyone, even yourself. I hate that you steal from everyone, including your children. I hate that you have lost your conviction. Mostly I hate that my aunt has turned into the person I lock my car doors for, the one who makes my mom lock her valuables in a safe. I want to shake you by the shoulders until you wake up! *****, if you need help, if you’re on drugs, if someone is threatening your life, tell us the truth! Lying has never fooled anyone, despite what you believe, we can see right through your façade. It is only hurting you. We can’t keep you out of jail forever.
When you were born, you were given every opportunity to be good. You were probably handed more than any other being on the planet. You never wanted for anything. You never had problems that money couldn’t fix. You were- you are smart. You have two beautiful girls and a tongue that can sooth a lion. But at the same time, all these attributes work against you. All your blessings turned into your greatest curses.
I will be totally honest with you- I couldn’t care less about you. What I care about is all the people you are hurting. Your parents, who by the grace of God still love you- you steal from the home they let you live in. Your girls- there is no coming back from all the trauma you have put those two through. Do you understand how you hurt them? Do you even realize all that you do?
I have found it very hard to love you. I have prayed and prayed for God to give me the strength to forgive all you have done to this family. I believe that the only reason his light is able to shine through me and shed an ounce of grace on you is because you haven’t touched my personal life. You haven’t entered into my room and touch my belongings, or, that I’m aware of, taken money from my bank account. That is probably the only reason I have begged God to put in my heart the forgiveness that you don’t deserve.
Then I realized that I didn’t deserve the forgiveness that God gave me. I deserve hell just like you or the pope or my mother. I realized that God loved me, despite my flaws and despite my sins and he forgave all my sins before I could ask. It is with that knowledge that I can say, “If God can forgive me, then I can forgive you.” I forgive you for all the pain that you inflict on my Grampa, my Grandma, my daddy, my cousins, my mom, and the old people at the nursing home. *****, I forgive you.
I spoke to a very wise woman on this subject. I spoke to her about the ability to forgive. She pulled me close and told me that we are commanded to forgive. I knew she would say this, but she encouraged my prayers. She encouraged my strength. And so now I have to ask you for your forgiveness. As a follower of God, I mustn’t hold back the love that I should share. I am sorry.
If not for me, if not for your parents, if not for your sister, if not for your children, will you for God- who has forgiven you infinitely, who knows all your lies- will you turn your life around and attempt to right the wrongs. Stop lying, stop stealing, stop committing adultery, stop coveting, for these sins are all as if you murdered. I have your soul in my hands and I ask you, for my heart’s burden, get right with your family, get right with your friends, and get right with God.
I love you and will continue praying for your awakening.
I have written this letter in my head so many times. I haven’t ever figured out what my point is exactly, but I know that I must get it out as clearly as possible or you won’t ever hear me. I thought about telling you all that you are doing wrong, but I’m sure you know exactly what your faults are. I thought about telling you how bad you are hurting us all, but I’m sure you can see the effects of your actions. So here I am, without a solid foundation to stand on. I have no podium to stand confidently behind and hand you my two cents. Let’s face it, if I had two cents, you’d have already taken them.
When opening this conversation, you may ask exactly why I hate you. I just want you to know that I don’t hate you. Actually, I love you and my heart is heavily burdened for you and mostly your children. What I can’t stand about- the things that bring my blood to a boil- is your denial that anything ever happened. I hate that you lie to everyone, even yourself. I hate that you steal from everyone, including your children. I hate that you have lost your conviction. Mostly I hate that my aunt has turned into the person I lock my car doors for, the one who makes my mom lock her valuables in a safe. I want to shake you by the shoulders until you wake up! *****, if you need help, if you’re on drugs, if someone is threatening your life, tell us the truth! Lying has never fooled anyone, despite what you believe, we can see right through your façade. It is only hurting you. We can’t keep you out of jail forever.
When you were born, you were given every opportunity to be good. You were probably handed more than any other being on the planet. You never wanted for anything. You never had problems that money couldn’t fix. You were- you are smart. You have two beautiful girls and a tongue that can sooth a lion. But at the same time, all these attributes work against you. All your blessings turned into your greatest curses.
I will be totally honest with you- I couldn’t care less about you. What I care about is all the people you are hurting. Your parents, who by the grace of God still love you- you steal from the home they let you live in. Your girls- there is no coming back from all the trauma you have put those two through. Do you understand how you hurt them? Do you even realize all that you do?
I have found it very hard to love you. I have prayed and prayed for God to give me the strength to forgive all you have done to this family. I believe that the only reason his light is able to shine through me and shed an ounce of grace on you is because you haven’t touched my personal life. You haven’t entered into my room and touch my belongings, or, that I’m aware of, taken money from my bank account. That is probably the only reason I have begged God to put in my heart the forgiveness that you don’t deserve.
Then I realized that I didn’t deserve the forgiveness that God gave me. I deserve hell just like you or the pope or my mother. I realized that God loved me, despite my flaws and despite my sins and he forgave all my sins before I could ask. It is with that knowledge that I can say, “If God can forgive me, then I can forgive you.” I forgive you for all the pain that you inflict on my Grampa, my Grandma, my daddy, my cousins, my mom, and the old people at the nursing home. *****, I forgive you.
I spoke to a very wise woman on this subject. I spoke to her about the ability to forgive. She pulled me close and told me that we are commanded to forgive. I knew she would say this, but she encouraged my prayers. She encouraged my strength. And so now I have to ask you for your forgiveness. As a follower of God, I mustn’t hold back the love that I should share. I am sorry.
If not for me, if not for your parents, if not for your sister, if not for your children, will you for God- who has forgiven you infinitely, who knows all your lies- will you turn your life around and attempt to right the wrongs. Stop lying, stop stealing, stop committing adultery, stop coveting, for these sins are all as if you murdered. I have your soul in my hands and I ask you, for my heart’s burden, get right with your family, get right with your friends, and get right with God.
I love you and will continue praying for your awakening.
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
A Year from Cover to Cover
From the outside, you’ll see an average composition book. The corners are worn and folded over. All white space had been doodled upon in some way. It seems to be of little interest to anyone. Nothing important lives in this book. That may be what you’d think, but you’re wrong. What lives in this book is self discoveries, little pieces of literature, random thoughts yet to be translated, and bleeding wounds starting to heal. This is the journal of a high school student.
Upon opening the tattered cover, one might find awkward attempts to open up to a deaf audience. Small pleas are sent out, one by one, begging for someone to hear what they have to say. Slowly the student reveals her true identity. She lays down her mixed emotions and we discover her hidden meaning. We are enticed by her family problems: a father who shares an odd flavor of love, a grandfather who is slowly dying, an aunt who has sticky fingers and no heart, and remnants of distaste toward one another. She pours out her pain until her cup is empty. Then suddenly everything in her life takes a turn for the better. She looks up to find that she can love herself, despite what has been drilled into her over the years. She begins to grow and discover a love for writing.
Short stories soon find their way onto the pages. She replaces her complaints with expressions of creativity. Each story has a hidden meaning that even she barely understands. The air, now free of contempt and harbored hate, holds promises of spring and fresh starts. Her character develops a grateful persona. She holds every little thing close to her heart to help block out any attempt for the negativity to move back in.
Eventually we find that she has grown up- I have grown up. I learned what was important in life. I learned not to sweat the small stuff. I learned not only to be okay with who I am, but to be proud of who I have become. But most importantly I learned to be thankful. I have so much good in my life, that the bad just seems to not sting at all anymore. I am that high school student, and this was my journal, cover to cover.
Upon opening the tattered cover, one might find awkward attempts to open up to a deaf audience. Small pleas are sent out, one by one, begging for someone to hear what they have to say. Slowly the student reveals her true identity. She lays down her mixed emotions and we discover her hidden meaning. We are enticed by her family problems: a father who shares an odd flavor of love, a grandfather who is slowly dying, an aunt who has sticky fingers and no heart, and remnants of distaste toward one another. She pours out her pain until her cup is empty. Then suddenly everything in her life takes a turn for the better. She looks up to find that she can love herself, despite what has been drilled into her over the years. She begins to grow and discover a love for writing.
Short stories soon find their way onto the pages. She replaces her complaints with expressions of creativity. Each story has a hidden meaning that even she barely understands. The air, now free of contempt and harbored hate, holds promises of spring and fresh starts. Her character develops a grateful persona. She holds every little thing close to her heart to help block out any attempt for the negativity to move back in.
Eventually we find that she has grown up- I have grown up. I learned what was important in life. I learned not to sweat the small stuff. I learned not only to be okay with who I am, but to be proud of who I have become. But most importantly I learned to be thankful. I have so much good in my life, that the bad just seems to not sting at all anymore. I am that high school student, and this was my journal, cover to cover.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Seventeen for Never
I "celebrated" my seventeenth birthday on May 9th. It was rather fun. It was more like a going away party for one of my best friends, Chris. The menu featured icecream cake and scrumptious homemade lasagna. Yummy birthday for me.
The Wrong
In everything I do- I have ever done- I only put half my heart into it. I have used it as an insurance policy. As long as I never give all I have, I will always have something left. And nobody wants half of anything so they always give my heart back.
That, I will have to admit, is a lie. I never only give a half hearted effort for anything. No matter what it is, I give all I have. I get attached so easily. I am fully anchored anywhere I have ever been, to anyone I have ever been involved with. That is why I am so good at getting hurt.
I met this girl when I was four years old. She was a little older than me, missing a tooth, and dressed in an overly frilly dress. It was blue. Her homemade haircut left some scraggily straight bangs hanging in her eyes. We were at church- my first time. We went as an obligation because the church had helped us get back on our feet when our house burned down.
“My name is Ashley. I’m five years old,” she said because her mom had pushed her toward me. “My name is Jessica, I’m only four,” I answered back. We went on in this I-like-your-dress- fight for about ten minutes. “When is your birthday?” I finally asked. When she replied, “May 9th“, we immediately became best friends because my birthday was May 9th too.
This Saturday we celebrated our birthdays- I was seventeen, she was eighteen. I called her early morning to wish her a happy birthday. She promised she’d be at my house by four in the afternoon. I went on about my day, getting ready for my party and helping my mom cook and clean. People started to arrive at three, first my grandparents from out of town, then my dad’s best friend, then my uncle and all his teenagers, but no Ashley.
It was six when we finally dined on some scrumptious homemade lasagna, but no Ashley. By the time we had finished eating I had decided that something had gone wrong. I went upstairs and saw I had no missed calls. I worried as I dialed her number. “Hello?” she answered happily. “Are you coming at all?” I asked, very frustrated because she wasn’t there because she was eating at Pizza Hut with her ugly, fifteen year old boyfriend.
When she showed up at 8:30, I decided to ignore her kindly; after all, it was her birthday too. She walked around with her boyfriend and said hey to my family. It was already dark so we were all just sitting around, rather than walking or playing basketball. She left thinking she had done nothing wrong.
The next morning, at church, when I walked over to sit in my usual pew she looked up and asked, “Are you sitting with us?” I replied, “Well, this is my seat.” The argument proceeded as such:
“Well you are being a little snippy.”
“That’s okay Micha, you can sit back down,” I said to her boyfriend who had gotten up to give me my seat. I walked out of the church with all my rage clenched in my fists. I took a minute to decide to go and sit in my place anyway. I walked back to my seat and sat as far away as close was to her.
I would like to point out I hadn’t said a word all day. I had been depressed from goings on of an entire different elephant. I had planned to just keep to myself and keep peace among the ranks. But I just couldn’t handle the slander from my “best friend.”
As I sat she turned to me and says, “I’m sorry. I thought you were mad at me.” When my face remained turned down, she proceeded to ask, “What’s wrong?” I got up and walked from the church and hid myself in the bathroom to have a good cry.
I wasn’t upset because she had slandered my tactics on how to handle my depression. I was angry at her for standing me up, yes, but that want the reason either. I wasn’t dwelling on the cutting eyes I had received from her the months prior to this moment. I was just realizing that at this moment, I had lost my best friend. She has “grown up” and come to an age where she doesn’t need me anymore. My advice, knowledge, and assistance on English papers is no longer needed. It hurt, still does. And I bet it always will.
I poured twelve years of my life into this. I put all I had and more into this friendship, and it was all a waste. I don’t regret having this lifelong affair with her, it taught me many lessons. She taught me to exercise patients, kindness, and the one I struggle with most, love. I learned to love unconditionally. And if the opportunity ever surfaces to restore this relationship to its former glory, I certainly shall.
I think I left a piece of my heart on your bedroom shelf, could you bring that back please?
-Jessica D Hunt
That, I will have to admit, is a lie. I never only give a half hearted effort for anything. No matter what it is, I give all I have. I get attached so easily. I am fully anchored anywhere I have ever been, to anyone I have ever been involved with. That is why I am so good at getting hurt.
I met this girl when I was four years old. She was a little older than me, missing a tooth, and dressed in an overly frilly dress. It was blue. Her homemade haircut left some scraggily straight bangs hanging in her eyes. We were at church- my first time. We went as an obligation because the church had helped us get back on our feet when our house burned down.
“My name is Ashley. I’m five years old,” she said because her mom had pushed her toward me. “My name is Jessica, I’m only four,” I answered back. We went on in this I-like-your-dress- fight for about ten minutes. “When is your birthday?” I finally asked. When she replied, “May 9th“, we immediately became best friends because my birthday was May 9th too.
This Saturday we celebrated our birthdays- I was seventeen, she was eighteen. I called her early morning to wish her a happy birthday. She promised she’d be at my house by four in the afternoon. I went on about my day, getting ready for my party and helping my mom cook and clean. People started to arrive at three, first my grandparents from out of town, then my dad’s best friend, then my uncle and all his teenagers, but no Ashley.
It was six when we finally dined on some scrumptious homemade lasagna, but no Ashley. By the time we had finished eating I had decided that something had gone wrong. I went upstairs and saw I had no missed calls. I worried as I dialed her number. “Hello?” she answered happily. “Are you coming at all?” I asked, very frustrated because she wasn’t there because she was eating at Pizza Hut with her ugly, fifteen year old boyfriend.
When she showed up at 8:30, I decided to ignore her kindly; after all, it was her birthday too. She walked around with her boyfriend and said hey to my family. It was already dark so we were all just sitting around, rather than walking or playing basketball. She left thinking she had done nothing wrong.
The next morning, at church, when I walked over to sit in my usual pew she looked up and asked, “Are you sitting with us?” I replied, “Well, this is my seat.” The argument proceeded as such:
“Well you are being a little snippy.”
“That’s okay Micha, you can sit back down,” I said to her boyfriend who had gotten up to give me my seat. I walked out of the church with all my rage clenched in my fists. I took a minute to decide to go and sit in my place anyway. I walked back to my seat and sat as far away as close was to her.
I would like to point out I hadn’t said a word all day. I had been depressed from goings on of an entire different elephant. I had planned to just keep to myself and keep peace among the ranks. But I just couldn’t handle the slander from my “best friend.”
As I sat she turned to me and says, “I’m sorry. I thought you were mad at me.” When my face remained turned down, she proceeded to ask, “What’s wrong?” I got up and walked from the church and hid myself in the bathroom to have a good cry.
I wasn’t upset because she had slandered my tactics on how to handle my depression. I was angry at her for standing me up, yes, but that want the reason either. I wasn’t dwelling on the cutting eyes I had received from her the months prior to this moment. I was just realizing that at this moment, I had lost my best friend. She has “grown up” and come to an age where she doesn’t need me anymore. My advice, knowledge, and assistance on English papers is no longer needed. It hurt, still does. And I bet it always will.
I poured twelve years of my life into this. I put all I had and more into this friendship, and it was all a waste. I don’t regret having this lifelong affair with her, it taught me many lessons. She taught me to exercise patients, kindness, and the one I struggle with most, love. I learned to love unconditionally. And if the opportunity ever surfaces to restore this relationship to its former glory, I certainly shall.
I think I left a piece of my heart on your bedroom shelf, could you bring that back please?
-Jessica D Hunt
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
Beautifully Grean
There is a pretty way to be a hippie. It doesn't involve skipping showers or growing out armpit hair. You can wash all your clothes and keep your home clean.
Being a lover of nature doesn't make you a tree hugger. It simply makes you appreciative of all the beauty in our world.
model: emily luellen
Being a lover of nature doesn't make you a tree hugger. It simply makes you appreciative of all the beauty in our world.
model: emily luellen
photography, hair, and makeup: jessica diane
Friday, May 1, 2009
A Day In The Life Of A Poolshark
These men have next to nothing. But what they do have is unfathomable amounts of character. Every wrinkle on their forehead is another story of their past. There very movements tell an epic story of a battle lost or a battle still being fought. They may not be much, but these men are an editorial without the camera. Even in black and white, they shine through with so much color.
Thursday, April 30, 2009
I Think I Am A Communist...
I think I am a communist. The reason I think and don’t know is that I don’t quite understand all the facets that make up communism. I understand that it is a system that evenly distributes the wealth, which is something our country could use at a time like this. I understand that we would have one supreme ruler who could not be voted in or impeached. But the consequences are possibly more numerous than the benefits.
The American economy is indubitably crashing, but part of that reason might possibly be the extreme wealth of a movie star sitting opposite the empty bank of a minimum wage family living off of food stamps. If we took the wealth from the famous and distributed it evenly among the community, we might possibly see a difference in not only living, but the personalities of those who receive the new wealth. I don’t doubt that the wealthy would have a problem giving their well invested, hard earned cash to those who have made poor business decisions. They would eventually become accustomed to the maximum, minimum wage that would have to set.
The part of communism that bothers me the most is the rule over our lives. We would lose the right for an opinion. We would lose the right to be a true human being. Even the Father of the entire planet gives us the right to choose, but I suppose a dictator would not. They would tap our phones, watch our television consumption, ration food, make us go to a state church, and various other enforcements that make my skin crawl. They could make me eat lima beans- I don’t like lima beans.
I don't think I am a communist anymore. I don’t think that this system would survive among this country. Americans are too opinionated, too wealthy, and too egotistical to distribute the wealth and let someone tell them what to do, where to work, and how to live. I myself am too selfish to allow any such system to prevail in my own environment. I have successfully talked myself down from the ledge of communism.
The American economy is indubitably crashing, but part of that reason might possibly be the extreme wealth of a movie star sitting opposite the empty bank of a minimum wage family living off of food stamps. If we took the wealth from the famous and distributed it evenly among the community, we might possibly see a difference in not only living, but the personalities of those who receive the new wealth. I don’t doubt that the wealthy would have a problem giving their well invested, hard earned cash to those who have made poor business decisions. They would eventually become accustomed to the maximum, minimum wage that would have to set.
The part of communism that bothers me the most is the rule over our lives. We would lose the right for an opinion. We would lose the right to be a true human being. Even the Father of the entire planet gives us the right to choose, but I suppose a dictator would not. They would tap our phones, watch our television consumption, ration food, make us go to a state church, and various other enforcements that make my skin crawl. They could make me eat lima beans- I don’t like lima beans.
I don't think I am a communist anymore. I don’t think that this system would survive among this country. Americans are too opinionated, too wealthy, and too egotistical to distribute the wealth and let someone tell them what to do, where to work, and how to live. I myself am too selfish to allow any such system to prevail in my own environment. I have successfully talked myself down from the ledge of communism.
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Writers' Blockade
Expedition. Car. Kayla*. Whore. Sex. Gender. Girl. Pink. Purple. Bruise. Scrape. Band-Aid. Hole. Bury. Shovel. Hoe. Rake. Leaves. Tree. House. Room. Clean. Clorox. Wipe. Tears. Rip. Paper. Draw. Abstract. Ugly. Pretty. You. Me. Pattern. Mess. Coagulation. Confused. Blonde. Brunette. Redhead. Jokes. Funny. Serious. Matter. Atom. Bomb. Pain. Suffering. Peace. Love. Rock-n- Roll. Music. Silence. Volume. Mute. Play. Stop. Go. Away. There. Here. Anywhere. Lost. Left. Behind. Front. Back. Side. Yard. Green. Field. Ball. Goal. Walk. Run. Fall. Summer. Vacation. Work. Pay. Bills. Money. Broke. Fix. Done. Finished. End.
This happened to be a poor attempt at removing my writer’s blockage. It helped almost as much as running naked through a briar ridden forest. It helped almost as much as smashing my car windshield out with a bowling ball then using the class to carve my name into my second cousin’s flesh. While I can vividly describe these instances, I cannot develop an opinion on the effects of streaking or smashing windshields.
I would like to thank Seth for his original word- expedition. It was a terrible beginning word, but better than my word- cake.
This happened to be a poor attempt at removing my writer’s blockage. It helped almost as much as running naked through a briar ridden forest. It helped almost as much as smashing my car windshield out with a bowling ball then using the class to carve my name into my second cousin’s flesh. While I can vividly describe these instances, I cannot develop an opinion on the effects of streaking or smashing windshields.
I would like to thank Seth for his original word- expedition. It was a terrible beginning word, but better than my word- cake.
Monday, April 27, 2009
JWMC
It all started while she was a baby. She had fierce green eyes- like her father. They were the only trait they shared- the only thing they ever had in common. She was born with her hands held out. She came into the world expecting everything to be handed to her and she got it- every single desire became her reality.
As she grew, she realized the advantage she had on the rest of the world. She had a mother who had taught her exactly how to manipulate any being on the planet. She had a father with deep pockets and a sympathetic heart. She had all the assets she would ever need to conquer the world- to ruin everyone’s life.
If she gained a little weight, she got liposuction. If she wanted bigger boobs, she got them. If she wanted a new Cadillac, it was hers just as soon as she totaled her Mercedes Benz. She blinded the world with her lies. She snatched their shoes from their feet when they weren’t looking, then she hacked their feet off at the ankles all while convincing them that they were too tall anyway.
When the money ran out, she had to feed her dirty habit- her addiction to beauty, power and alcoholics. She stole from everyone. She sold her mother’s barbiturates, her disabled father’s pain medications. She stole her sister’s children’s college fund. She took them all and gave nothing back. She never had to. There was always someone to make excuses for her wrong. There was always someone to say it was her trashy husband’s fault.
But this time, this time is different. Her fierce green eyes- like her father’s- they burn through everyone. Her conscience ceased to exist a decade ago, so she feels no remorse for the pain she inflicts on her family. They are the only ones she have left that wont betray her- that was, until today.
Today, when she conned her own father into handing her $3500 to add to the $3500 she stole from an old lady at the nursing home, we all turned our backs on her. We shut our doors. We put her furniture, with all its mold and mites, out into the yard where it belongs. We kicked her green eyes out the door and told them to never comeback. Her green eyes- the last tie she has with the family- we kicked those out.
Her story will reach its end. One day, her desires will be her demise- I think that day might be today. Today might have been the day when someone finally said, “No!” She has used up all her beauty. Her surgeries have worn off and all the real skin is peeking through. All the money is gone, and so is her power. All the faith is gone and all that’s left are her fierce green eyes- the ones like her father’s. It was the only thing they ever had in common.
Good riddance mooch!
J D Hunt
As she grew, she realized the advantage she had on the rest of the world. She had a mother who had taught her exactly how to manipulate any being on the planet. She had a father with deep pockets and a sympathetic heart. She had all the assets she would ever need to conquer the world- to ruin everyone’s life.
If she gained a little weight, she got liposuction. If she wanted bigger boobs, she got them. If she wanted a new Cadillac, it was hers just as soon as she totaled her Mercedes Benz. She blinded the world with her lies. She snatched their shoes from their feet when they weren’t looking, then she hacked their feet off at the ankles all while convincing them that they were too tall anyway.
When the money ran out, she had to feed her dirty habit- her addiction to beauty, power and alcoholics. She stole from everyone. She sold her mother’s barbiturates, her disabled father’s pain medications. She stole her sister’s children’s college fund. She took them all and gave nothing back. She never had to. There was always someone to make excuses for her wrong. There was always someone to say it was her trashy husband’s fault.
But this time, this time is different. Her fierce green eyes- like her father’s- they burn through everyone. Her conscience ceased to exist a decade ago, so she feels no remorse for the pain she inflicts on her family. They are the only ones she have left that wont betray her- that was, until today.
Today, when she conned her own father into handing her $3500 to add to the $3500 she stole from an old lady at the nursing home, we all turned our backs on her. We shut our doors. We put her furniture, with all its mold and mites, out into the yard where it belongs. We kicked her green eyes out the door and told them to never comeback. Her green eyes- the last tie she has with the family- we kicked those out.
Her story will reach its end. One day, her desires will be her demise- I think that day might be today. Today might have been the day when someone finally said, “No!” She has used up all her beauty. Her surgeries have worn off and all the real skin is peeking through. All the money is gone, and so is her power. All the faith is gone and all that’s left are her fierce green eyes- the ones like her father’s. It was the only thing they ever had in common.
Good riddance mooch!
J D Hunt
Friday, April 24, 2009
Growing Down
Growing up is one of the hardest tasks I have ever faced. I have always convinced myself that I was as mature as I could possibly be. I’ve always thought I was very diplomatic, very classy, and very diligent. I am an adult- what I have always imagined an adult should be anyway.
I have recently realized that, it’s not your age that makes you an adult. The older I get, I seem to remain in a certain frame of mind that is far beyond the age my birth certificate says I truly am. I’m not exactly trying to say that I am advanced and mature, but more along the lines that my mind was forced to grow up before the rest of my body was ready.
My parents expected more out of me than any five, six, seven, eight, or nine year old previously have had expected of them. I will sheepishly admit that I thank them for it every day. While everyone else was playing with Pokémon and Barbies, I was learning reading comprehension and language arts far beyond my level. People used to overlook my proper grammar with a simple, “Her mom was almost an English major. She makes her talk good at home.” To them I would reply that she makes me speak correctly, not talk good. People hated me for that. It was never a child’s place to correct an adult.
What I didn’t understand then that I understand now is that as long as you can keep someone guessing at your age, the longer you can enjoy an intelligent conversation. Once they figure out you are merely twelve, not sixteen like they had assumed, their vocabulary level drops, their ideas wander to things of lesser value, and they start asking you about your elementary school.
The reason growing up is hard is that you have to admit your immaturities and move on. You have to be willing to say, “I am still a child here. Can you help me fix this?” Admitting your weaknesses is what growing up sums up to. It takes someone who has completely dropped their guard, to advance another level of maturity. That is why most people never fully reach adulthood.
It’s a peculiar subject- this growing up. It is open to interpretation. One might say at age 18 you are fully matured- I’d say this person is an idiot, but that is the child in me. Debatable as the specifics of the matter are, growing up is the over purpose of life. Growing up is what keeps the youth of today striving for the promise of tomorrow.
Guide us well parental units
-Jessica D Hunt
I have recently realized that, it’s not your age that makes you an adult. The older I get, I seem to remain in a certain frame of mind that is far beyond the age my birth certificate says I truly am. I’m not exactly trying to say that I am advanced and mature, but more along the lines that my mind was forced to grow up before the rest of my body was ready.
My parents expected more out of me than any five, six, seven, eight, or nine year old previously have had expected of them. I will sheepishly admit that I thank them for it every day. While everyone else was playing with Pokémon and Barbies, I was learning reading comprehension and language arts far beyond my level. People used to overlook my proper grammar with a simple, “Her mom was almost an English major. She makes her talk good at home.” To them I would reply that she makes me speak correctly, not talk good. People hated me for that. It was never a child’s place to correct an adult.
What I didn’t understand then that I understand now is that as long as you can keep someone guessing at your age, the longer you can enjoy an intelligent conversation. Once they figure out you are merely twelve, not sixteen like they had assumed, their vocabulary level drops, their ideas wander to things of lesser value, and they start asking you about your elementary school.
The reason growing up is hard is that you have to admit your immaturities and move on. You have to be willing to say, “I am still a child here. Can you help me fix this?” Admitting your weaknesses is what growing up sums up to. It takes someone who has completely dropped their guard, to advance another level of maturity. That is why most people never fully reach adulthood.
It’s a peculiar subject- this growing up. It is open to interpretation. One might say at age 18 you are fully matured- I’d say this person is an idiot, but that is the child in me. Debatable as the specifics of the matter are, growing up is the over purpose of life. Growing up is what keeps the youth of today striving for the promise of tomorrow.
Guide us well parental units
-Jessica D Hunt
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Earth
Earth has been around for a long time. It puts up with a lot of crap from us. Have you thanked your earth today? Thanks Earth, way to just be!
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
For Example
Everyone has met one of those people- you know the ones I’m talking about. They’re the ones who stand out the most. They may not stand out because they are outstanding. They may not be able to hurl a sixteen pound bowling ball fifty feet or spell disestablishmentarianism backwards, let alone forwards. They may be a simple personality that you only get to experience for just a fraction of a second- but somehow, by the grace of God, we remember them.
One may call them a role model. I prefer to call them an example because a role is for acting and a model is supposed to be flawless. I don’t want to be flawless. And I don’t want to act like something I’m not- so an example is what I shall call these people.
I met my “example” on the first day, in the first class of my junior year in high school. I didn’t like him, his personality, his voice, his music, or his sense of humor. I wrote him off immediately. It took about a week for me to get over my first impression. Shortly thereafter, I realized that he was put into my life to help me grow up.
Any adult who knows me, or has spoken to me for just a moment, is well aware of how grown up and mature I am. But this is not the growing that I needed. No, I grew much too fast in that department at a very young age. I needed to overcome some of the walls that had built in my life before I met him. I needed to grow stronger, but before I could do this, I had to be broken.
I had to break myself to make me weaker. Why fix what isn’t already broken? You see, I was broken- more than I had allowed anyone to know. I had to chip away the tough façade. I had to destroy everything I thought I knew about myself, so that I could move on from all the hurt I was carrying around in my heart.
He didn’t mean to help me- he probably never wanted to help me. But the important thing is that he subconsciously guided me by grabbing my interests in certain areas that eventually led to self discovery. He helped me with encouraging words concerning all matters. He treated me like an adult- the adult I had been for a while that no one had bothered to notice. He coaxed out my personality. I won’t give him all the credit. He was simply a free lance guidance counselor and a shrink on occasion. But those random acts of kindness are what helped me realize my value.
To all those who live to be an example- remember that you aren’t living for only you. The smallest things are sometimes what mean the most. You may never be called a hero out loud, but know that you are a hero in someone’s heart. Remember that those you guide are your responsibility and look after them. Know that you will never fail in their eyes- you are flawless in their hearts.
Thank you for always listening from behind my walls,
Jessica D. Hunt
One may call them a role model. I prefer to call them an example because a role is for acting and a model is supposed to be flawless. I don’t want to be flawless. And I don’t want to act like something I’m not- so an example is what I shall call these people.
I met my “example” on the first day, in the first class of my junior year in high school. I didn’t like him, his personality, his voice, his music, or his sense of humor. I wrote him off immediately. It took about a week for me to get over my first impression. Shortly thereafter, I realized that he was put into my life to help me grow up.
Any adult who knows me, or has spoken to me for just a moment, is well aware of how grown up and mature I am. But this is not the growing that I needed. No, I grew much too fast in that department at a very young age. I needed to overcome some of the walls that had built in my life before I met him. I needed to grow stronger, but before I could do this, I had to be broken.
I had to break myself to make me weaker. Why fix what isn’t already broken? You see, I was broken- more than I had allowed anyone to know. I had to chip away the tough façade. I had to destroy everything I thought I knew about myself, so that I could move on from all the hurt I was carrying around in my heart.
He didn’t mean to help me- he probably never wanted to help me. But the important thing is that he subconsciously guided me by grabbing my interests in certain areas that eventually led to self discovery. He helped me with encouraging words concerning all matters. He treated me like an adult- the adult I had been for a while that no one had bothered to notice. He coaxed out my personality. I won’t give him all the credit. He was simply a free lance guidance counselor and a shrink on occasion. But those random acts of kindness are what helped me realize my value.
To all those who live to be an example- remember that you aren’t living for only you. The smallest things are sometimes what mean the most. You may never be called a hero out loud, but know that you are a hero in someone’s heart. Remember that those you guide are your responsibility and look after them. Know that you will never fail in their eyes- you are flawless in their hearts.
Thank you for always listening from behind my walls,
Jessica D. Hunt
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Cell Phones
Cell phones and other multimedia devices are absorbing the brains of our current generation. Parents ignore their children and children ignore their parents whenever cell phones are present. They are a hindrance in the development of personal relationships. Cell phones, despite their convenience, are a negative contribution to society over all.
It is a common occurrence to find an adolescent’s face buried in his or her media device. Constantly they are texting, talking, navigating the internet, or various other activities found in that specific cell phone’s programming. They are slowly losing their ability to communicate with the breathing world. It isn’t only the teenagers who are completely mindless with a cell phone in hand. Adults are ignoring their families when they pick up a cell phone. Whether it is used for business or gaming, a cell phone is one of the most distracting tools known to man.
Because no one has time for anything but their cell phones anymore, personal relationships are harder to come by. We are teaching the younger children that you cannot exist without a phone in your hand. Our world is be downgraded as our phones are continually upgraded.
A cell phone may be more convenient than a radio or other slower ways of communication, but they are slowly replacing real communication. When the only way we let our authorities know we aren’t going to be around is by text message, something must be horribly wrong. Cell phones have their place, and it is not in front of our noses at all times.
It is a common occurrence to find an adolescent’s face buried in his or her media device. Constantly they are texting, talking, navigating the internet, or various other activities found in that specific cell phone’s programming. They are slowly losing their ability to communicate with the breathing world. It isn’t only the teenagers who are completely mindless with a cell phone in hand. Adults are ignoring their families when they pick up a cell phone. Whether it is used for business or gaming, a cell phone is one of the most distracting tools known to man.
Because no one has time for anything but their cell phones anymore, personal relationships are harder to come by. We are teaching the younger children that you cannot exist without a phone in your hand. Our world is be downgraded as our phones are continually upgraded.
A cell phone may be more convenient than a radio or other slower ways of communication, but they are slowly replacing real communication. When the only way we let our authorities know we aren’t going to be around is by text message, something must be horribly wrong. Cell phones have their place, and it is not in front of our noses at all times.
Thursday, April 9, 2009
What If...?
My English teacher assigned this assignment as a response to our spring break- I almost took it seriously.
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Spring break is nothing but an extra long weekend for me. It’s not a time for vacations, nor trips to unusual places. It is simply a time when I have to sit home and clean, watch television, and take various trips to town to run errands. This spring break was no exception. There was nothing remarkable or exceptional which occurred within this past week.
After a forgetful weekend, I was locked in my home to perform various tasks which would improve the overall appearance of my abode. My mom left with a few stern instructions for me to fold the laundry and clean my room. There is something one must understand about laundry in my house. My mom has the horrendous habit of letting load after load pile up on her bed. Usually after six weeks, she realizes that the drawers are bare and people collecting clothes from her room at all odd hours. Then she instructs me to take care of her problem. I folded clothes all day- socks, underwear, baby clothes, oversized tee shirts, work jeans, and pajamas. I was down to the last basket which contained seven socks, and I had to leave for a work day at church. Realizing that my mom would understand, I left to perform my civic duties.
While I was cleaning the church, my ill grandfather called and requested my presence. I consented and left to visit. I thought nothing of the visit since the location was less than a mile from my house. So as I sat on the couch with my grandpa, listening to him snore as he watched an old John Wayne film, my mom began her journey home. Twenty minutes later my cell phone started to sing at me. “Where are you?” my mother grumbled from the other end of the phone, “get home now!” When I arrived home she told me to forget the rest of my spring break just like I had forgotten the seven socks.
Tuesday, I was taken to the office as my initial punishment. As I applied for various stores around town, my phone rang. My best friend requested my attendance to a movie with her and her boyfriend in Tallahassee. I asked my mother in what I thought was vain. But to everyone’s surprise, she permitted me to go if I promised to run an errand for her. The three of us piled into Ashley’s small gray car and drove to the movies.
After a brawl with the Garmin GPS system we arrived at the back side of the AMC Theater. Flustered and late we pulled into the parking lot at an illegal speed. We swerved around a fair that was setting up in a separate parking lot and pulled around the front of the theater. Just when we thought we were home free, just on time, an ever so sneaky goose bolted in front of the car. Narrowly, it escaped a gray death and we made it to the movie just in time. But what if we had hit the goose?
Feathers flew everywhere as the oversized duck lay convulsing on the hood of the car. A spider web had etched itself into the windshield from the impact. Every passenger gripped the armrests of their seats as Ashley gripped the steering wheel. The sneaky goose wriggled its way to the ground and let out a honking screech of death, and then it ceased to move.
We slowly slipped from the car surveyed the damage which had caught the attention of an approaching security guard. His yellow lights were glinting off the shattered windshield and onto the face of the goose murderer. He slipped from the Ford Explorer and walked over towards us slowly. He was fat and had a ketchup stain in the center of his starched white shirt. “What have you done to this goose?” he asked as though he couldn’t see the disheveled animal lying limp on the ground with its feathers all over the hood of the car. He hoisted his belt and cocked his hip to the side, waiting on our reply. Ashley was too distracted by his Hitler mustache to give him a comprehendible answer so I volunteered my voice.
“Well, as you can see, this goose flew in front of our car just as we rounded the corner. The death really was uncontrollable. We are so sorry.” I offered with as sincere a smile I could hold in the situation. He licked his mustached lips and pulled out his notebook. “Do you realize,” he began, “that this particular breed of geese is endangered?” I was unable to control her tongue, “Of course they are if they keep darting out in front of Hondas.”
“Hey! This is no time for a sense of humor,” Then the mall security man grabbed Ashley’s arm and put her in the backseat of his car. Turning back to Ashley’s boyfriend and me he said, “There is a fine for the slaughter of this innocent animal which must be paid at the time of the accident.” He hoisted his belt once more and cocked his hip in the other direction. “You will need to bring $3500 dollars to the security office on Munroe St.” With that he got into his patrol vehicle and drove off.
I had no experience driving in Tallahassee and no money with which to bail out my friend. So the boyfriend and I got into the feathered car. He turned on the Garmin and typed in the name of the office we were in search of. Twenty minutes later, the Garmin told us where we needed to go. We pulled out of the parking lot and hit the highway. The second my tires hit the highway, it started to pour, and while it washed the feathers from the car, it made the roads dangerous. After the Garmin’s robotic voice led us to the office, I was given the task of parallel parking. It took five minutes for me to finally get the car strait in the space, but I finally killed the engine and we ran into the office.
Ashley sat in room with a glass door reading DETAINEES. The secretary behind the aged counter smacked her gum and twirled it in her fingers. “Can I help you?” she asked in a Jersey accent. “Yes ma’am,” I replied. “I am here to rescue that detainee. You see, there was this sneaky goose…” She held up two fingers and shhh-ed me. She typed furiously and said, “I need thirty- five hundred dollars.” My debit card was declined due to insufficient funds and the boyfriend just shrugged.
Frustrated, the secretary stood and led us to a back room. The walls were papered in an odd green color. In the room sat this old man with grayish hair and horn-rimmed glasses. “Bring that other girl in here too,” he instructed the secretary. Ashley entered the room and sat across from us. “Do you understand that you have killed an endangered goose?” We all nodded. “Do you concede that the accident could have been avoided?” We all nodded. “Good. I can lower the charge to $1500, but I can’t let you get away any cheaper than that.”
Ashley always wear clothes that are a little too low cut, revealing a little more than we would all like to see. But today, her overexposed chest is what saved us a hefty fine. She slid her chair back a little and leaned over the table, giving the old man a perfect view. “Please, let us off with a warning, just this once. I promise it won’t ever happen again.” With a crooked grin, the old man nodded and waved to the door.
Triumphantly we strolled to the damaged little gray car. We decided to skip the movie due to the day’s events and just head home. The drive home was quiet. Inside however, we were all laughing. We had hit a goose, been arrested, parallel parked, flashed an old man, and lived to tell about it. Good thing, we hadn’t actually hit the goose, or I would have had some story to tell about my spring break.
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Spring break is nothing but an extra long weekend for me. It’s not a time for vacations, nor trips to unusual places. It is simply a time when I have to sit home and clean, watch television, and take various trips to town to run errands. This spring break was no exception. There was nothing remarkable or exceptional which occurred within this past week.
After a forgetful weekend, I was locked in my home to perform various tasks which would improve the overall appearance of my abode. My mom left with a few stern instructions for me to fold the laundry and clean my room. There is something one must understand about laundry in my house. My mom has the horrendous habit of letting load after load pile up on her bed. Usually after six weeks, she realizes that the drawers are bare and people collecting clothes from her room at all odd hours. Then she instructs me to take care of her problem. I folded clothes all day- socks, underwear, baby clothes, oversized tee shirts, work jeans, and pajamas. I was down to the last basket which contained seven socks, and I had to leave for a work day at church. Realizing that my mom would understand, I left to perform my civic duties.
While I was cleaning the church, my ill grandfather called and requested my presence. I consented and left to visit. I thought nothing of the visit since the location was less than a mile from my house. So as I sat on the couch with my grandpa, listening to him snore as he watched an old John Wayne film, my mom began her journey home. Twenty minutes later my cell phone started to sing at me. “Where are you?” my mother grumbled from the other end of the phone, “get home now!” When I arrived home she told me to forget the rest of my spring break just like I had forgotten the seven socks.
Tuesday, I was taken to the office as my initial punishment. As I applied for various stores around town, my phone rang. My best friend requested my attendance to a movie with her and her boyfriend in Tallahassee. I asked my mother in what I thought was vain. But to everyone’s surprise, she permitted me to go if I promised to run an errand for her. The three of us piled into Ashley’s small gray car and drove to the movies.
After a brawl with the Garmin GPS system we arrived at the back side of the AMC Theater. Flustered and late we pulled into the parking lot at an illegal speed. We swerved around a fair that was setting up in a separate parking lot and pulled around the front of the theater. Just when we thought we were home free, just on time, an ever so sneaky goose bolted in front of the car. Narrowly, it escaped a gray death and we made it to the movie just in time. But what if we had hit the goose?
Feathers flew everywhere as the oversized duck lay convulsing on the hood of the car. A spider web had etched itself into the windshield from the impact. Every passenger gripped the armrests of their seats as Ashley gripped the steering wheel. The sneaky goose wriggled its way to the ground and let out a honking screech of death, and then it ceased to move.
We slowly slipped from the car surveyed the damage which had caught the attention of an approaching security guard. His yellow lights were glinting off the shattered windshield and onto the face of the goose murderer. He slipped from the Ford Explorer and walked over towards us slowly. He was fat and had a ketchup stain in the center of his starched white shirt. “What have you done to this goose?” he asked as though he couldn’t see the disheveled animal lying limp on the ground with its feathers all over the hood of the car. He hoisted his belt and cocked his hip to the side, waiting on our reply. Ashley was too distracted by his Hitler mustache to give him a comprehendible answer so I volunteered my voice.
“Well, as you can see, this goose flew in front of our car just as we rounded the corner. The death really was uncontrollable. We are so sorry.” I offered with as sincere a smile I could hold in the situation. He licked his mustached lips and pulled out his notebook. “Do you realize,” he began, “that this particular breed of geese is endangered?” I was unable to control her tongue, “Of course they are if they keep darting out in front of Hondas.”
“Hey! This is no time for a sense of humor,” Then the mall security man grabbed Ashley’s arm and put her in the backseat of his car. Turning back to Ashley’s boyfriend and me he said, “There is a fine for the slaughter of this innocent animal which must be paid at the time of the accident.” He hoisted his belt once more and cocked his hip in the other direction. “You will need to bring $3500 dollars to the security office on Munroe St.” With that he got into his patrol vehicle and drove off.
I had no experience driving in Tallahassee and no money with which to bail out my friend. So the boyfriend and I got into the feathered car. He turned on the Garmin and typed in the name of the office we were in search of. Twenty minutes later, the Garmin told us where we needed to go. We pulled out of the parking lot and hit the highway. The second my tires hit the highway, it started to pour, and while it washed the feathers from the car, it made the roads dangerous. After the Garmin’s robotic voice led us to the office, I was given the task of parallel parking. It took five minutes for me to finally get the car strait in the space, but I finally killed the engine and we ran into the office.
Ashley sat in room with a glass door reading DETAINEES. The secretary behind the aged counter smacked her gum and twirled it in her fingers. “Can I help you?” she asked in a Jersey accent. “Yes ma’am,” I replied. “I am here to rescue that detainee. You see, there was this sneaky goose…” She held up two fingers and shhh-ed me. She typed furiously and said, “I need thirty- five hundred dollars.” My debit card was declined due to insufficient funds and the boyfriend just shrugged.
Frustrated, the secretary stood and led us to a back room. The walls were papered in an odd green color. In the room sat this old man with grayish hair and horn-rimmed glasses. “Bring that other girl in here too,” he instructed the secretary. Ashley entered the room and sat across from us. “Do you understand that you have killed an endangered goose?” We all nodded. “Do you concede that the accident could have been avoided?” We all nodded. “Good. I can lower the charge to $1500, but I can’t let you get away any cheaper than that.”
Ashley always wear clothes that are a little too low cut, revealing a little more than we would all like to see. But today, her overexposed chest is what saved us a hefty fine. She slid her chair back a little and leaned over the table, giving the old man a perfect view. “Please, let us off with a warning, just this once. I promise it won’t ever happen again.” With a crooked grin, the old man nodded and waved to the door.
Triumphantly we strolled to the damaged little gray car. We decided to skip the movie due to the day’s events and just head home. The drive home was quiet. Inside however, we were all laughing. We had hit a goose, been arrested, parallel parked, flashed an old man, and lived to tell about it. Good thing, we hadn’t actually hit the goose, or I would have had some story to tell about my spring break.
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