Laws of Life

2007 Essays

Danella Joseph
Julius Sprave School – 9th Grade

COURAGE BECOMES ME

Courage, a word we hear and use often. But what does it really mean? The dictionary defines courage as the ability to face danger, difficulty, uncertainty or pain without fear. Is lack of fear in a person courage? Does fearlessness, breavery or boldness make a person courageous? Is the courageous man the man who commits suicide or the man who wills himself to live? Harlod Wilson, one of the most prominent British politicians of the 20th century, said that “courage is the art of being the only one who knows you’re scared to death” and I quite agree. It is my opinion that courage is neither boldness nor lack of fear. I believe that courage is not the absence of fear but the willingness to face that fear or to act despite that fear.

When I first started school at Julius E. Sprauve in the fifth grade, I was thirsty for acceptance. What I wanted more than anything was to fit in. All I wanted was to be like everybody else. So I did stupid things and got in lots of trouble to impress the other children; to make them want to be friends with me. My biggest fear at that point was that they wouldn’t like me, so I pretended to be somebody else. Someone that I thought they would like.

Looking back now I realize that I pretended to be someone else because I didn’t have the courage to be myself. I realize that I didn’t have the courage to have my own voice or to do what I wanted to, and so I followed the crowd. I did what everybody else did and I was accepted. I made firnds, people liked me. Or did they? They liked the person I was pretending to be. The person I didn’t recognize when I looked in themirror. They like the person that did all the same things as them, the person that did things to impress them. They like the perso nehy could use and take advantage of. They liked the person that wasn’t me.

It is four years later and I’m now in the ninth grade. I’ve found myself losing “friends” over the years because my willingness to follow the crowd has gone from wholehearted to nonexistent.

The first time someone didn’t like me I was really scared. It was time to face my fear. Was everyone going to stop talking to me now? Was I going to lose all my friends? What was going to happen, I wondered? Then, when the world didn’t end, I finally decided to stop trying to fit in and just be myself. Right now I’m not afraid to say how I feel and it doesn’t bother me when someone doesn’t like me. I’ve realized that this is my life and I’m living it for me not for anybody else. People’s opinion of me don’t matter because I know my life can only be what I make it and worrying about whether or not people like me is not going to help me in any way.

I think courage is a virtue that everyone should posses. No one should be afraid to be themselves or should have to worry about who will or won’t like them. People who don’t have courage get taken advantage of and it is my mission in life to never let anybody take advantage of me. I believe that everyone should have the courage to speak up for themselves because everyone is unique and there is something in each of us that is beautiful. That is why COURAGE is my law of life.

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Dieudonne Sanon
Ivanna Eudora Kean High School - 10th grade

LAWS OF LIFE

As a young child growing up in St. Thomas I was introduced to a world of racism and narrow-mindedness. That is because the majority of the children who attended my school thought I was a Haitian because I told them I was from St. Martin (an island they had never heard about before.) Even though I repeated countless times that I was from St. Martin (another French island), they still considered me as Haitian. I didn’t mind because I just thought of Haiti as just another island. Then later on in the school year a new student arrived from Haiti and the children would curse him and wouldn’t socialize with him. It was as if he was not human or a diseased animal. I hated that they caused him to isolate himself just because he was from a country about which they knew nothing. I let it slide because they were just kids; they didn’t know what they were doing and how their actions would hurt other people.

Later on in my life I noticed that it wasn’t only the children who had mentalities like that. It was the adults also. I remember being on a safari and we would pass the Bovoni Gas Station and the old ladies would say, “Look at all these immigrants. Why don’t they go back to where they came from, they are not doing anything good here.” I would look at them thinking in my head, “At least they are trying to get jobs instead of trying to get out prison like some of your sons and grandsons.” I don’t understand how some people could say that they are not racist and not prejudiced, when they put down other ethnic groups just because they don’t understand where they are from and what is going on in their country. Growing up here I have noticed that most people on the island always get angry when they think Caucasian people are being racist but they don’t notice that they are ignorant enough to be putting down their own race just because they happen to come from different places. Is this not also a form of racism?

Up to this day I still witness such harsh behavior towards people that come from different places and have exotic cultures, not only towards Haitians but towards Santo Domingans, Arabs, and other ethnic groups who reside on St. Thomas. St. Thomas, being the melting pot that it is, shouldn’t have such vulgarity between its ethnic groups. Instead we should accept the different cultures that ethnic groups bring to the island and keep in mind that the constitution states that all men are created equal. Equal in everything: rights, dreams, hopes. A person is never as quiet or unrestrained as they seem, or as bad or good, as vulnerable or as strong, as sweet or as feisty; we are thickly layered, page lying upon page, behind simple covers. So who are we to judge people on any standards? May it be color of skin, where you’re from, or your gender, judging is wrong on all levels.

Being raised in St. Thomas I have learned that it doesn’t matter where you go to live. There will always be some people who just don’t think before they judge other people. I hope the world can be a place where people can migrate to other places and when you get there you don’t have to worry about people judging you just because of where you are from, or for anything for that matter.

Imagine a group of people who helped to make the world a better place by trying to change people’s mentality of being racist and prejudiced in my position. People such as Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. and Rosa Parks, who went through so much to at least get people on their way to a world of peace, would not be happy with what they see. They would think that all their hard work went to waste. Do you think they would be proud to see that we have come from discriminating against other races to our own? I think they would be appalled and we need to change our attitudes if we want to come anywhere close to achieving a perfect world.

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Sandy Bellot
Ivanna Eudora Kean - 11th grade

MOVE FORWARD

“You can’t go back to yesterday, so make today mean something for tomorrow.” Many of us let past struggles affect us, but in most cases it is best if we move forward and don’t look back. Recently, many factors that are beyond my control seem to be the ones that have affected me the most. Unlike most people, I refuse to permit these factors to be the wind to my sail. They do not change my mind about what or who I want to be.

Some of my motivation came from something that I least expected. While sitting outside, I witnessed how ants operate. One small black ant tried to pick up something that was too heavy to carry. The ant circled around the object slowly and then left. I was disappointed to see that the ant could not help itself. The little ant reminded me of our black generation today. Many of us let our past hold us from what we can achieve in the future. No one living in the world is to be blamed for slavery. Many of us use that excuse of being black to keep ourselves back. Being black should not affect your decision for college. Being black should not affect your dreams. Whether you want to become a professional at sports or a doctor, it is your willingness that will get you there. Entering into a college such as Harvard is just a dream to many of my African American peers, not because they can’t get in, but because they let others make them believe that they can’t. Many of the top colleges are paying for us to go to college. This is one of the best opportunities that Black Americans can receive. It is evident that they want us to succeed. Many people say that blacks should be given reparations for slavery. This should not be a concern to us today; instead, the best thing to do is move forward.

As I sat outside, my thoughts were interrupted by the return of the ant. A few seconds later a group of ants came back, and they worked to carry the object away. The first ant held one side of the object, while the others grouped to handle other sides. A few of the ants were guides for the object holders, and they led the way until they eventually got out of sight. It came as a shock to me that an animal so small as an ant did not give up. The ant was determined to carry the object away, even if he needed help from the ones around him: The weight was not a concern.

Like the ant, African Americans today should not feel that race is a burden to them. As a black person, and someone living on a small island, it is always said to me that certain things are not for me. Luckily, I have my mind set, and the motivation to succeed comes from those who care about me. I work hard and expect nothing less from other students around the country. As for my future plans, my dreams are going to be a reality. After all, the ant was black and so am I; the ant had friends and so do I; the ant pulled off what seemed to be impossible and so shall I. Harvard, here I come!

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Maive Jackson
Ivanna Eudora Kean High School - 12th grade

MAKING IT ON THE BROKEN PIECES

“You must learn how to make in on the broken pieces,” Reverend Louise Williams-Bishop

For a long time, my dad hasn’t been a part of my life. For as long as I could remember, my father was a ghost, an enigma whose involvement in my life was to be treasured because it was brief, fleeting, an interlude. The first time he left, I was about four or five. He contacted me once in a while, but it was never something solid. Something concrete. Then when I was nine, he reentered my life. He stayed for two years, and I was elated that I had ceased to be another “abandoned child statistic.” However the proverb “All things good can slip away,” rang true. About a year later, my family got called by the American Embassy in Barbados for our long awaited visa. I haven’t seen my father since, and it’s been six years. Until this summer we hadn’t had any type of contact either. No emails, phone calls, letters, pictures, smoke signals, telepathy, etcetera.

At the beginning of the summer, my long standing alienation from my father ended when I finally got his telephone number from one of my aunts. I had been angry at him for years for not getting in contact with me, and for ignoring all of my attempts to get in contact with him. I was just starting to forgive, if not forget so it took me a while to pick up the phone to call, and even longer to work up the nerve to dial. Finally, after giving it a lot of thought, I worked up the courage to call. I got his answering machine. I remember that moment so clearly. After all these years, I finally made contact, and it was with a machine. I left a message. “Hello, uhm, father, this is your eldest daughter speaking, I just got your number, so here I am, calling you. I’d appreciate it if you called me back. . . uhm, bye.” I was in school when he called back. My drama class was working on a play, and I was at the rehearsal. When I got home my grandmother told me that he’d called, and left a message saying he’d call later. I was happy, disappointed, and confused. Happy because he was finally trying, he was finally taking notice. Disappointed because I wasn’t there to talk to him when he called, and confused because I had been angry with him for so long, and yet his calling me made me so happy. I couldn’t understand how it was so easy for me to forget how much he hurt me just by anticipating his call.

Later turned into a day, and a day turned into two. Still my father didn’t call. So I called him again. The phone rang once, twice, three times, and then he picked up. Suddenly, I was tongue-tied. Me, who was never at a loss for words was speechless. It amazed and scared me. So many questions ran through my mind. What if he hurt me again? What if he abandoned me once more? Can I handle him not caring again? It had been six years and still my wounds were not completely healed. But they were beginning to. What if he opened them again, opened them and infected them as before, with his broken promises, and uncaring attitude. But he spoke the right words, and I wanted to believe him. I wanted to believe that the cared. That first call lasted a long time. I found out that he’s married, and has been for the past five years. I also found out that I have a five year old brother. Wonders never cease. Once again I was struck speechless. My father called me back a few days later, and we addressed the issue of him not calling me for the first time. He apologized and claimed that he had missed me everyday. I believed him.

The problem with utopia is that it never lasts, and when reality sets in and utopia fades away, it hurts because you are left with the realization that it was nothing but a dream, a fantasy, a figment of your imagination. My utopia came undone one day when I found a lump in my breast. I told my mom about it and we went to a clinic to check it out. We got sent down to the hospital for a sonogram, where I found out that I had fibrosis.

Fibrosis is an abnormal thickening and scarring of connective tissue. I also found out that although they’re not cancerous, or lethal, they can grow, so I opted to have them taken out. Better safe that sorry right? If only I had taken as much caution with my father. But of course I didn’t. I had begun to trust in him again. I had opened myself up to him. In just two phone calls he had taken down the protective barriers that I had put up against him so long ago. A few days before I went into surgery he called. I told him about the surgery, but he seemed disinterested. I was unafraid to have the surgery, but I was disheartened by his obvious apathy. A few days after the surgery, he called again. He had forgotten that I had the surgery. I reminded him. He cut the conversation short and didn’t call me for about a month. That hurt more than the surgery ever could. I tried calling, but this time even his answering machine seemed to have abandoned me. When he called again it was to inform me that he’d moved, and he would be calling me over the weekend to give me his new number. That weekend turned out to be about two months. He called a few days before Christmas to wish me a merry Christmas and to tell me that he’d be sending me some money in early January. The money arrived late February and he called the day he sent it to tell me that he had. My cousin answered the phone and relayed the information to me. He’s called twice since, both times I was out. I still don’t have the phone number my father promised me. However, I do have a few more broken promises to add to an already overflowing list.

Most people tell me that I should forgive and forget because he’s my father. Many say that it’s the “right thing to do,” and still others tell me that I should be thankful because there are children who don’t even know who their fathers are. But it’s hard to forgive, and harder still to forget. I haven’t just been hurt by my father, I am being hurt by my father. I hurt everyday that he doesn’t call, every time he shows he doesn’t care, every time he breaks another promise. And the fact that it’s the “right thing to do” doesn’t make it any easier for me to bear the pain of abandonment. In fact, it makes it harder. And that last claim is the worst of them all. Whey should it be okay for my father to hurt me simply because other fathers hurt their children. Why should any father choose to hurt his child? It is a phenomenon that evades my understanding and torments me waking, and sleeping hours. The whys of it. Why doesn’t my father want me? Why is he so cruel? Why doesn’t he care? Those are the questions that rise from the deepest reaches of my subconscious to torment me. They manifest themselves in my daily thoughts and nightly dreams.

My father’s abandonment taught me a lot. It taught me that trust is not something to be given freely, but something to be earned. Something to work hard for. It taught me that love is painful sometimes, and that sometimes it’s the ones you love that hurt you more than anything, or anyone else. It taught me that the only person you can truly count on is yourself. It taught me that no matter what happens, I can love with all my heart and survive on the broken pieces when that love is not reciprocated. More importantly, it taught me that despite people like my father who don’t know a good thing when they have it, there are people in the world who love like I do. With everything that they have.

At seventeen I have been afforded a luxury that few people have. The knowledge that I am a strong young lady who quite frankly has been through a lot. For the past eleven years, I have been battling asthenopia, an ocular condition that manifests itself through nonspecific symptoms such as fatigue, red eyes, eye strain, pain in or around the eyes, blurred vision, headache and occasional double vision. I am almost fully recovered from my surgery and although, my health has never been very good, I am handling it. I’m managing my life, and doing a good job of it if I may say so myself. I know that I am strong. I can take the pains, and the heartaches, and the sorrows. I can take it all and continue to go on, weary, but strong. I have learned that despite my father’s abandonment, I am still whole. I am no less of a person than I would have been had he been a key player in my life. I am in fact more. My foundation was built without him, and it is strong. Although he wasn’t there, I looked to the people around me who genuinely love me and I found the strength to stand tall, to stand proud.

That’s why my Laws of Life is to persevere. To learn to keep on going despite the obstacles in my way. Thanks to this valuable lesson, I will never let anything keep me down. I will succeed. I will keep on going. I will face the world with determination, and a willingness to work hard. A willingness to do whatever it takes. I face the plight of children like me all over the world. Children who do not know their father. Many of them, like me, haven’t seen their fathers in ages. Most, like me are emotionally exhausted. But I hope that they have learned what I have. To go on when your pieces are broken, and hope seems like the stars. Unattainable.

As Reverend Louise Williams-Bishop said, “My pieces may be broken, but I am going on anyhow.”

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Krythemer Edmead
Charlotte Amalie High School - 9th grade

EXPERIENCING LIFE THROUGH SADNESS

Life may be full of surprises, but whatever they may be, bad or good, we must be able to accept them. Unfortunately, at the age of six I was forced to accept a surprise that made a great impact on my life. One of my closest cousins, who was then ten, was diagnosed with a life threatening disease. With this information a cloud of sadness floated over our family. This unfortunate incident has taught me three vital life lessons: never to let anyone or anything stop me from fulfilling my purpose in life, to live life to the fullest, and always expect the unexpected.

The first important life lesson that I have learned is to never let anyone or anything stop me from fulfilling my purpose in life. When my cousin first took sick, the doctors at the Roy L. Schneider Hospital tested him and found nothing wrong. Who would have known it would take three seizures and an overnight observation to conclude to the diagnosis of lupus, a form of cancer? His purpose in life was not to die at that moment, but to keep on living his life in the best way possible. He did not stay in the hospital and let the cancer get the best of him, but continued on his journey through life. For my cousin, getting older and not physically maturing caused his peers to call him names such as: Gary Coleman and Emmanuel Lewis. His suffering did not break him down, but built him up and made him more determined to fulfill his goals. For he knew that once he kept his eyes on the prize that one day he would be someone great; someone to look up to. This taught me to be brave and to always pursue my goals no matter the obstacle. It encouraged me to do things I never thought I would do such as entering spelling bees, finishing school in the top ten, and speaking in public. Today I am a three-time spelling bee champion, second promotee of the Ulla F. Muller class of 2004, and a participant in the Communication Art Showcase. For me, my cousin not letting his ailment get the best of him was my inspiration to join the organizations that I am in today; such as the church choir, youth fellowship, and S.P.A.R.K.S. I am grateful for each day that he is alive and each day that I am able to show my appreciation to God. There were many times I thought to myself if that was me, I would have probably stopped trying. He taught me not to think like that, but to thank God for each day that I am given breath and I’m allowed to carry out my purpose in life.

Furthermore, I have learned to live life to the fullest. When my cousin was diagnosed, we acknowledged the fact that he may have taken a turn for the worse and had to be prepared for the problems he had to face. Even though we were preparing for the worse, he was planning all the things that he wanted to do when he got out of the hospital and was well again. This told me that you never really know what tomorrow may bring so take every opportunity that you may encounter. It taught me the meaning behind the saying “procrastination in the thief of time” and “never put off what you can do today for tomorrow.” For tomorrow, something may prevent you from completing whatever it is that you were supposed to do yesterday. It also taught me to live for the day. Meaning if you really want something go for it no matter how big or small it is. While you are doing this, you should also make sure you have no regrets. For example if, there was a sudden mishap you may regret not telling someone “I’m sorry” or “I love you.” The best thing would be to let everyone know your true feelings and try to remain true to yourself. This would help your loved ones to always know that you care. Most importantly, I have learned to always expect the unexpected. Who would think that a 10-year-old boy would be diagnosed with a disease that is prominent in women? Studies show that if this disease is found in males they would be much older than ten. So how did this happen to him? We really do not know, but someday we hope to find out. Never in our lives did we expect such uproar in our plans to grow up together. Never in his life, had he thought he would be separated from his mother and father for so long. Never did his parents think that they might have to face sending away their last child, at least not for this reason. It just so happened we were not aware of what was in store for us. Due to his disease he had to go, every couple of months, for treatment and the best way to do that was to move him closer to his doctors. This was when my cousin started a new life different to the one he had in St. Thomas. At the age of 12, he moved to New York to live with our grandmother, our two aunts, uncle, and other cousins. Their life has also now changed because there was a new addition to their immediate family. This taught me to always be prepared for a change in my life. It taught me that as each day goes by to try to learn a new skill. For one day, I may just have to use it. If he did not already know how to communicate well with others he might have not gotten along with the other people in the house or might not have made friends so quickly. If he was not as bright as he is, he might have not represented the Virgin Islands in the way that we would like to be represented. Fortunately, he was prepared and able to do what he was supposed to do to the best of his ability.

In conclusion, being able to learn from and accept change is one of the greatest things about life. If I was not able to learn from change I would not have learned to never let anything come between my purpose and I live life to the fullest, and to expect the unexpected. I am certain that I will be able to fulfill my purpose because I have learned from my cousin’s unfortunate experiences. I am prepared to live my life to the fullest because my cousin was never unmotivated to live his life and to live it well. I will be able to better adapt to the inconsistencies associated with life because I now value the importance of expecting the unexpected. Carpe Dieum! Seize the day. You never know what the future may hold!

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Lindeon Davis
Charlotte Amalie High School - 10th grade,

A FRIEND CAN SOMETIMES BE
OUR GREATEST TEACHER

What is a true friend? To me, a true friend is someone who is always there during your time of need. A true friend is dependable, loyal, and honest. A true friend will never lead you astray, but instead will lead you on the path of righteousness. I once had a true friend that possessed all of these exceptional qualities. His name was Jacob Richardson, and he suffered from a life-threatening disease. The disease that eventually took his life was known as leukemia, a deadly form of cancer. In the beginning, I thought this disease would be a roadblock in our friendship, but I soon learned that it made our friendship stronger. Not only did it strengthen our friendship, but this disease which took my best friend’s life, ironically taught me many lessons that have helped to enrich and fulfill my life. The most important lessons that Jacob has taught me through his illness were to make life what I want it to be, to always stay positive for there is a greater purpose in life, and to accept my problems first so I can enjoy my life after.

Although he did not have a long life, Jacob taught me that life is what you make of it. Even though he was dying, Jacob lived like he had his whole life ahead of him. He always stayed positive even though he was faced with this deadly, painful, disease. Throughout all of his chemotherapy treatments, Jacob never said one negative thing. I can vividly remember visiting his hospital room one day. He looked rather pale, somewhat like death, but through it all he still kept his signature smile on his face. I could sense his pain, but being the strong individual he was, he never let it show. I once asked him if he was scared to die; his reply was simply, “everyone has to go at some point.” I knew that his boy did not deserve this fate, but I knew I had no power to change it.

As sick as he was becoming, Jacob taught me to always be positive no matter how impossible it seems. He always knew there was a higher power. Instead of cursing God, and being angry at him for his situation, he thanked him for life. He enjoyed his days as though they were his last. Also, Jacob would joke, and imagine how life in heaven would be. He always had a curious imagination, and would ponder his thoughts on things that were not fully explained. Sometimes he would tell me that he would pull through this condition, even though we both knew that this was impossible. In addition, Jacob always looked on the bright side of life. When he woke up each day, the first thing he would do is kneel and pray. He would thank the Lord for giving him another day on Earth. Whenever I saw him do this I would say to myself, that this is such a remarkable individual. I would sometimes envy his aspects on life, but I knew that I would simply have to look, observe, and learn.

Throughout our early years, Jacob has taught me the only way to deal with a problem is to accept it. Jacob had accepted that he was dying even before his 10th birthday, and he never seem to let it hold him back. Even though he had a short time to live, Jacob seemed to live with his disease, as though he had an alter ego. He would act as though the disease were never there. In addition, because he had accepted that he was dying, he felt that others should accept that it was a disease and not a handicap, so that they would stop treating him like a child that was special compared to others. Jacob was able to enjoy his life because of his acceptance, but I just could not accept the fact that I was losing my friend to this disease. This dilemma tore at me for manynights; it sometimes seemed that I had the disease, and not Jacob who was enjoying his last days.

In the beginning, I thought nothing good could come from a life threatening disease like leukemia, but I soon began to realize I was wrong. This disease took my friend’s life, but before he left me he taught me three important life lessons. One lesson he taught me was that you choose your own destiny and your life is what you make of it. Another lesson he taught me was to be positive in your life for God has a better purpose for you. The final lesson he taught me was that the only way to deal with a problem, is to accept it first. Even in death, all these lessons will live on through my life, and help me to live life the way Jacob would want me to. In my final note, I would like to say that Jacob has blessed me with not only his friendship, but he also blessed me with his knowledge.

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Bianca Moscia-Harley
Charlotte Amalie High - 11th grade

BLACK, WHITE AND OTHER

The most difficult part of being multiracial is not the obstacle of coming to accept yourself for what you are, but in thinking about how the next person is going to perceive you. The problem is that in today‘s society, people immediately judge you based on appearance and the other little details that in no way can show how true a person is. For example, most people look at me and suddenly I am just a “white girl.” I am not ashamed nor deny that I am half white, but it hurts because I am black just as much as I am white. Occasionally I have had people ask me where I was from, If I was born on this island, and even what I am just because I talk proper English or that my Italian heritage makes my features and skin color different from everyone else. Being asked these questions always upsets me because nevertheless I am still a human being, just the same as you and anyone else despite their race! It surprises me how different people see me, including my own friends who like everyone else at my school, didn’t see me as anything else but Caucasian. They have usually suspected that there was something non-white than me because of the tint of “orange” in my skin or the slant of my eyes, but wasn’t sure it if was because I had Hispanic background or a really good tan.

Being multiracial has always created problems for me in understanding where I belonged in my family. I never felt black because I was raised white. With the absence of my father in my life, I was raised mostly by my Italian-American mother and knew little about my father’s family except that he was from New York and his parents were born in the islands. It was starting in my preteens that I realized the difference between me and my mother’s family. From the day that I realized I was the only one who was born in the Caribbean and even more so, half black, I felt that I had somehow ruined the family line somehow of their “pure” family line of all Caucasians. I remember that through most of my youth, I refused to accept that I had been born on an island in the Caribbean and instead claimed to be from my mother’s birthplace of Pennsylvania. It was hard for me and I always labeled myself as the “odd” one in her family because my skin was slightly darker than theirs and instead of straight silky locks like my mother, I was left with thick tresses that could only be suitable after placing frizz-ease on it every morning. Soon after, I was heartbroken to find out that my mother’s family did not approve of her being with an African-American and because they did not accept him I immediately felt as though I had never been accepted either and because I already did not know anything of my father’s side, I felt I was not apart from any of their families from the beginning.

Living on an island where a majority of the population consists of blacks, I wasn’t teased a lot because of my light skin, but it did happen. My worse memory was in junior high where I would walk to my mother’s job after school. On the way there was another junior high school with the same uniforms as ours except this school was for troubled kids only. I was constantly harassed both verbally and the most physical being almost getting struck with rocks being thrown at me from above. To avoid this, my good friend Kyle decided to walk with me to her job one after school only to find that it only made matters worse. Despite being up on a hill, four boys stopped us from walking when we ignored their insults and accused us both of being Hispanic and mistook Kyle for the “Spanish boy” that they wanted to beat up. I eventually began walking the back route to my mother’s job until I confessed about what had been happening and she complained to the school about the boys. I had always learned in history classes how whites were the racist and always have been, but after that I realized that blacks were just as “racist” as whites had been. My mother had suggested asking my father to bring me to school one day so that the kids could realize that I too was like them, but I instead accepted my label as the “white girl.” For a while I kept my multiracial status to myself, mentioning it to a few friends only. Despite what I was hoping for, it never did change people’s perspective of me and I was reminded of my “race” daily. When we were required to sign documents that required filling in your race, the options “black, white, and other” had always been present, but never the both as one race. So, sometimes I would shade in white and another time black and white, until I finally grew tired of not knowing where I stood and slowly accepted being an “other.” It seemed that for years I was being labeled by everyone but me and I was made fun of for something that I felt I wasn’t. Just because I looked different, why should I feel that I was different? I remember looking in the mirror and trying to find someone who was black and then someone who was white, but I couldn’t find anything except for me.

When the Supreme Court decision in the Plessy vs. Ferguson case of 1896 ruled that if a person is just one eighth of a non white race, then that is what the person is considered to be. I still haven’t been able to accept that. As stated before about marking forms asking about race, if I were to mark white simply because that is what I felt I was, I would be going against the Supreme Court’s decision. If I marked black, I don’t feel that I am acknowledging my entire background and simply marking “other” makes be feel less than a person. This year, it is said that a decision issued by the U.S. Census is expected to get the word multiracial put on U.S. Census forms. The thing that seems the most unfair and frustrates me the most is when I hear someone demeaning an entire race of people based on the actions of one person. Since it is often easier to someone who is like you, as a multiracial person I am able to feel a bit like everyone and I am able to understand the challenges that other races face in their struggle of not fitting in or the feeling that society will see them as different or inferior. It seems human nature for everyone to be somewhat prejudice and as concerned that some people may try to be, it is really impossible for them to completely understand the lives of a non white or multiracial American without experiences it themselves.

In the end, I have come to realize that being multiracial has enabled me to see everyone as shades of gray and I am given the chance to experience more of the world and what it has to offer me. Yes, in some aspects it does make living a little difficult and painful at times, but I don’t think that it is right for the government to try and force a child to choose one of his parents over the other, or otherwise be labeled an “other.”

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C'Neesha Williams
Charlotte Amalie High School - 12th grade,

ANSWERING THE "SILENT" CRY FOR HELP

Homeless, smelly, dirty, physically disabled sometimes even mutilated or maimed. It’s all the same. We see them everywhere, we sympathize, we wonder, we question: How did this happen to this person? Were they born into this condition or was this the result of a terrible accident or mistake? It is a materialization of the fact that there will always be poor, destitute, numberless ciphers; outcasts existing on the fringes of society. They are everywhere, and one can only try his or her best to help them.

The realization of this fact did not simply dawn on me after one particular significant event. Instead, this was more of a slow and steady knowledge after a number of insignificant events during my travels, and my observations at home in St. Thomas, United States Virgin Islands.

I can recall one particular event that led to the realization of this fact. I was 14 years old, and at the point in my life where I was costing my parents an excruciating amount of time, effort and most importantly, money. It was spring of 2004; I was spending the week with the CAHS French Club in what is arguably known as the most beautiful place in the world: Paris, France. It was definitely the trip of a lifetime. One of the first things that I noticed on the trip were people that would stand outside the major tourist destinations such as the Eiffel Tower, the Arc de Triomphe, the Sacre Cour Cathedrale, and the Notre Dame Cathedrale. The most significant of these was the latter.

Outside of one of the most famous churches in the world, were scores of people, particularly women and children. They were holding up cardboard signs written in broken English. Some said: “I am 15 yers old and I am frum Bosnia. My family and I have been here for 3 manths and all we have is what we came here with – nothing.” These sign-holders, some of whom have severe disabilities, all gather around the church, in an attempt to gain charity and maintain their existence. This picture stayed with me ever since my trip to Paris, because I never expected to find so many needy people in a place that is known for its beauty and sophistication. It was like a rose garden with a single red rose being choked to death with shrubs, vines, and yellow dodder that are all craving the attention of the rosebush.

Another picture that stayed with me since my travels is that of the young boys that I encountered in the Central American country of Panama. I was in Old Panama City, sitting with my group in our seemingly lavish air-conditioned tour bus, when all of a sudden my attention was turned to where about 10 or 12 small boys had appeared. They all seemed to be no more than 10 years old, and having congregated they started chanting “Mo-ney, mo-ney, mo-ney.” Our hearts went out to these boys, and we each began reaching into our personals and giving them small portions of our spare change. One of my group members then made the mistake of pointing out one boy in particular who had exquisite green eyes. The little boy took her gesture as something entirely different, and proceeded to reach into his pants and reveal his manliness for the world to see! He began dangling his penis and increasing the volume of his plea for “Mo-ney, mo-ney, mo-ney.” His action made my head spin with bewilderment, and consternation. Was this little boy simply doing what all small boys in his country do, or was he reduced to prostitution in his struggle to maintain his existence here on earth? Where was his family, his teachers, the government, law makers? Did he even have a family, or were the other boys the only family and security that he knew? I cannot figure out the answer to this question up to this day. It is just one of the many unanswered questions that exist in the matter concerning the poor.

At home in my paradise island of St. Thomas, our situation is similar, yet quite different. In other parts of the United States, “loved ones” who somehow end up on the street, are often given one-way tickets to “Paradise.” They board the airplane, and they arrive to their destinations, the Virgin Islands, English-speaking US soil, where they will not freeze to death when winter comes. Their families are spared the harassment and embarrassment, and they probably take comfort in the fact that these people are “safe.” The “loved ones” become acclimatized, and soon learn to roam the streets of beautiful downtown Charlotte Amalie (an eyesore for tourists.) However, all of these people are not imports from other places to the V.I., but some are native sons who have simply lost their way. Some are very intelligent, sometimes degreed individuals, who maybe get involved in the wrong things, or have suffered a mental breakdown due to unforeseen circumstances.

These events to some may seem so miniscule, but they mean the world to others who happen to be, or have been in similar situations. When I think of them, I often think of the movie “The Pursuit of Happyness,” which for many people was an eye-opener to the fact that many people are one paycheck away from homelessness. The movie is a true story of a very intelligent and indomitable man and his son, who ended up on the street, after a bad business venture. Seeing this movie was a moving experience for me, as I imagined how it would be if my family was placed in Chris Gardener’s position. Chris eventually became a very affluent stockbroker, and is touching lives by sharing his experiences. His story also showed many people that “The American Dream” though illusive is possible. However, this also makes me wonder about those people that do not ever accomplish this dream, those people that are forced to remain in destitute conditions for the rest of their lives. What will happen to these people that will suffer from the simple lacking of basic human necessities? Who will cry for them? Who will help them? Who will save them? Isn’t it our duty as a people to care for the homeless, destitute, and penniless? Alas, a large percentage of these people will be forced to fend for themselves, on their own, with no one to save them from the cold, dark streets. This knowledge is a heartrending burden that everyone tries to duck. Some say that even if we give all that we have to save some, there will still be many others. This does not change the fact that we are our brother’s keepers, and all that we can do, is what we are obligated to do: try!

The plight of the poor is like a huge birthmark on the physical being of the human race. We were born with it, we have to learn to live with it. These people are our sisters and brothers who have been dealt a bad hand in the deck of life. Let us agree to help them, one person at a time. They are our pain, our shame, and our eyesores. Let us not turn a blind eye and pretend that they don’t exist. Our contributions to soup kitchens, charities, homeless shelters, and other organizations are small steps in the right direction. I want to be your conscience, and your eye opener. The homeless is our concern, let us agree to help them.

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A’Jada Burke
Central High School - 9th Grade

FATHER TO DAUGHTER

We live in a nation where teenage girls are now being exposed to sexual activities at an earlier age. People seem to think that we need all kinds of tests and scientific studies to show that sexualized children are irreparable damaged but common sense isn’t that common. All kinds of theories have been made about why this generation is moving at such accelerated speed. The only theory that I have yet to see appear is the absence of fathers in their lives. Of course the media might portray an image to “parents” about talking to their daughters about sex and to always tell them that they are beautiful, while at the same time they show teenagers as young as myself engaging in sexual acts. Through all of this commotion there is very little mention about the unique role that a father plays in a girl’s life. Fathers, after all, are the ones who tell their little girl that they are beautiful just the way they are and that under no circumstances are they going out the house dressed that way. Has not it dawned on anyone that girls looking for male attention in all the wrong ways have risen since the father presence has declined?

America has funded numerous organizations to help the situation however would it not be better to bring fathers back into the lives of teens? Wouldn’t it take less funds to reunite families? When I was six years old my parents divorced leaving a hole in my heart that has yet to be sewn. It has been eight years since they split up and life has just been one small circle since then. I keep trying to get over it and move on with my life but when I think I’ve accomplished that, I always end up asking my self “What if?” What if they were still together? What if I still had my family? Who would have thought that eight years later I would still be affected by my parent’s divorce?

The absence of a father in my life has caused me social and emotional stress. Fortunately for me, I know who my father is, but does knowing who your father is fill the gap that has lived in you for so many years? No, it doesn’t. Even though most adults might not see it as I see it, I think children living in single parent homes are victims of child abuse. Because of the unhappiness at home females tend to look for happiness among their peers. As time passes the character and demeanor of the girl begins to change. I can tell you because I have been there. As I got older and entered junior high I experienced so many things that I never knew existed, during my first year.

Peer pressure was one of my biggest problems. Of course my mother talked to me ALL the time about boys, and sex, and company, but seriously, at that age who listened to their mother? Luckily for my mother (and myself, as I would later find out), I was a tomboy. I managed to end up with more boys as friends than girls and they treated like I was their sister. They really looked out for me. I would hear how they talked about girls and what they did do from what they didn’t do to them. I must admit I did feel sorry for them, but the choices that they made were wrong. I used to wonder why would they risk their whole reputation by being promiscuous just to be talked about by the entire school. I took it upon myself to ask one of my friends (a female) why does she do the things she does. She simply replied, “Because Dem Man Tellin Me Exactly Wha I Want To Hear”.
I replied “What are they telling you?” She paused for a moment and then answered “They tell me that they love me and that I’m beautiful”. I had an instant feeling of devalue.

I remembered wanting to hear those same exact words from someone else besides my mother. That’s when it hit me. Neither my friend nor me had a father at home. We both just dealt with the pain in different ways. I realized that females, who aren’t used to having male role model being showed at home, are extremely gullible to the words that they hear from the boys around them. The difference between them and me is that I was taught right from wrong and I learned my f my surroundings. I always got invitations to do wrong, but I knew where I wanted to be and I knew where I didn’t want to end up. However, I still wanted to hear that I was beautiful from my father. I wanted to hear that I was worthy of his love. Sometimes, I would just thing it was all my fault my parents split up, I thought my father never told me I was beautiful because I really wasn’t. It was tearing me apart. I would always hear my mom tell me I’m beautiful but when I looked in the mirror I never saw what she saw. I figured as a mother she was obligated to say those sort of things.

I know I had to stop stressing myself so much. I knew I could no longer punish myself for my father’s acts. My father never in my life told me that I’m beautiful, but I can’t let that hold me back forever can I? Life goes on whether you want it to or not. My mother is happily married and I’m happy for her, but it has been hard to accept the fact that my father is never coming back. All of these girls are looking for someone to talk to, someone to look up to. I’ve learned that every second that you spend with a frown is a second in life you’ve wasted. My heart aches for the millions of teenage girls with no father. No one seems to hear my silent cry. Everyday we are around people that we haven’t the slightest idea of what they have been through. Not every smile is a happy smile. Behind it is pain, agony, hurt and the want for love. There is a story behind every smile. My smile is to be continued…..

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Shernelle James
Central High School - 10th Grade

LAWS OF LIFE ESSAY

“Wisdom is born of mistakes, confront error and learn” by J. Jelinek. I try to live by this quote as much as possible. I believe that when you make a mistake you should deal with it and its consequences and learn from it. If I could rewrite this quote, I would add “…..Don’t let it affect you for the worst, but let it influence you for the better.” What are some ways this can influence you for the better instead of the worst?

First you should not let a mistake keep you from doing what ever it is you want to do. The mistake you made would only make you a better person. Since you have already learned form it, you are less likely to make that mistake again compared to some one who never experienced it. This does not mean you should use this as an excuse to do something you know is wrong.

Another way is to keep a positive mentality towards every situation and remember everything happens for a reason. So, no matter what happens or what people say, keep your self respect, self esteem and your head up. You should take responsibility for all your actions and use your experience to influence and educate others, so that they learn from your mistakes.

Leonard is seven years old. He enters a local grocery store with his mother, but had no money to buy anything. While looking around, something catches his eye, a Hershey’s chocolate bar. He looks up and asks his mother if he could have one. She said “Sorry, we only have money for one thing.” Now Leonard was a little upset, so he waited till no one was looking and snatched the candy bar and put it in his pocket. While his mother was driving he tried to sneak a piece of the chocolate. Just then she looked up in the rear view mirror and saw him stuff something in his mouth. She pulled over quickly, thinking is was something harmful he was eating. Then she turned around and shook him, while saying “What are you eating?” She saw the chocolate wrapper and immediately figured out what happened. After scolding him she brought him back to the store to apologize to the owner. She then paid for the chocolate bar with the last bit of money she had and scolded him again in front of the owner and the customers. This is a good example of using your mistakes to make you a better person to this day, Leonard has never stolen anything again.

In conclusion, though Leonard was embarrassed that day, he still learned from his mistake and now he is an honest man. This experience influenced him for the better, that is what I believe J. Jelinek was referring to. What makes you a better person is not the mistakes that you make, but how you deal with them, what you learn from them, and how they affect you in the future.

“Wisdom is born of mistakes, confront error and learn, don’t let them affect you for the worst, but influence you for the better.” Originally by: J. Jelinek. Improved by Shernell James.

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Michelle Rivera
Central High School - 11th Grade

LAWS OF LIFE ESSAY

She cried. Alone in her room, surrounded by the security of her walls, that promised to never speak her secrets. No one heard her silent tears. No one could see her broken heart. Her feelings lay behind the concrete wall of her smile.

If there is one thing I have learned in life it is that a little kindness goes a long way. People may not always remember exactly what you said or did by they will always remember exactly how you made them feel.

She was new to their world. So they viewed her as an alien. The way she spoke must have been from another planet because it was far different from theirs. The things she knew were different. The things she did were different. That is what she was. She was different.

She had recently transferred from private to public school and she was excited. She wanted to meet new people and she wanted to know more people. She walked into the fourth grade classroom, labeled “4G5”, and clutched her mother’s hand as the butterflies began to rise in her stomach. She sat down and her mother left. Then it hit her. She was alone.

The girl was soon scrutinized by the class, literally from head to toe. The things she once thought made her special became the things that they hated most. Her skin and speech were that of a “white person”. Her hair was that of a “mutt”, and she was too smart. She was a “nerd”. The girl spent the rest of her elementary years in the peace of a classroom immersed in books. She even secretly wished to be her favorite character “Harry Potter”, so that she could zap the bullies away.

Her days were torturously filled with teasing. Her nights were filled with sadness, alienation and drenched pillows.

She wanted to die. Just literally lay down and die. Many nights she prayed, “Oh God please take me.” She didn’t feel pretty. She didn’t even feel like she existed. For in her heart was a void and she longed to fill it with the word “friend .”

She started Jr. High, with just a little bit more hope for better days. Sadly and to her dismay, the same people who teased her before were there again. She sat by herself and always carried a book, even if she had already read it.

During the second week of school, she was about to sit down in art class when a girl grabbed her hand and said, “Don’t sit there! They put glue in your chair.” The class shot angry looks at her and she gave the girl a smile and said “Thank you”.

It does not take much to be kind and it gives a lot to the person who receives it. The girl in my story was wasting away in her loneliness and depression. I understand this girl more that anyone, because that girl was me. The girl that saved me from embarrassment might as well have saved my soul. We have been best friends ever since.

The law of life that I live by is kindness. It is important to be kind because everyone in the world is fighting an inner battle. To be kind is to give and not expect anything in return. To be kind means that you do good deeds and not just have good intentions. Kind words can be short and easy to speak and their echoes resound throughout eternity. Kindness should have no limits or boundaries. It should not differ because of color, race or gender. Everyone needs love and everyone needs compassion. We should love and not hate. Accept and not alienate. To give kindness is to give the love someone may be missing. I was missing the kindness of a friend and often cried because of that void. For that reason, I never want to make someone cry intentionally. “Tears are easy to wipe off on a sleeve, but the hurt behind them is a stain on the heart nearly impossible to remove.” -Anonymous

Kindness is the chain that helps link humanity together. I am forever in debt to those who have been kind to me and I am paying it off by returning the favors. To love, live and care is to be kind. For kindness is the root of all these things. –“Life is not lost by dying; life is lost minute by minute, day by dragging day, in all the thousand small uncaring ways.” Stephen Vincent Benet

So let us savor it all in sweet kindness.

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Elias Encarnacion
Central High School - 12th Grade

Being a part of the Hispanic minority group was a challenge in itself. Learning to speak, write, and read a different language to the one taught at home, while remaining competitive in class was hard. Factors of poverty, feelings of inadequacy and inferiority, when added to this equation, made the perfect potion for disaster. I could have chosen to remain helpless at these seemingly insurmountable odds, sit idly by wracked with self pity and feel insecure and worthless all my life. Instead, I chose to rise above it all and comfort myself with my mother’s constant reminder, that every cloud has a silver lining.

Being placed in a class with English speaking students was synonymous to being tossed into tumultuous waves, or being forced to face a raging tempest. Difficult proves too mild a work to peg onto my working environment. I knew I had to study twice as hard. Going home to play, watching television, or going out as many of my classmates did was neither an option nor a luxury I could afford.

I can still remember going to school and listening to my classmates give accounts of their weekend escapades (usually wild ones); the buckets of fun they had had at the movies, a party, or a show they had attended that had proven to be a blast. While everyone seemed to be having fun, I stood out as the nerd who spent all his time studying and missing out on all the fun things in life. My classmates laughed at me and ridiculed me, calling me unsavory often very offensive names. They couldn’t fathom the reasons behind the long hours dedicated to my studies. I wanted them to realize that I was not as fortunate as they were. After all, English was not my first language and grasping it while remaining competitive within the classroom environment was not easy for me. I spent many nights feeling lonely and hurt inside; I felt left out; that I didn’t belong. I felt that life was unfair, that had I been born to an English speaking family, things would have been much easier for me, and that there would have no need for such diligent endeavors on my part, to succeed; to be the best.

By the end of the school year, I realized the error of my thoughts when I had reached the perimeter of my dark cloud. The time spent studying had paid off. I had excelled in all my classes, whereas, my classmates had not done quite as well. The silver lining behind my dark cloud was the sunshine of success, a mark of achievement.

While being Hispanic was hard, being poor proved to be a bigger challenge. As a young lad, I did not realize that living in a two bedroom wooden house, sharing a room with three other siblings, and not having enough to eat meant that I was poor. My father (who did not go to high school) hardly worked and my mother was a housewife. As I grew up it seemed as if the house had become smaller and emptier. When things broke we could not afford to replace them. The furniture had practically disappeared, and all that was left was one dining chair out of six.

I hated the days when there was not enough to eat. I sometimes wondered why we even needed a fridge, for we hardly had anything to store in it. The room that I shared with my siblings for sleep and play had become a site for constant brawls. I grew bitter and resentful. New clothes for me were my older brother’s hand-me-downs. Life just did not seem fair! I felt that I was being punished, first by being Hispanic and second by being poor.

Every visit to my cousins’ house to use the computer or to enjoy a hearty meal was a constant reminder of what I didn’t or couldn’t have. I took a long hard look at my life and I hated it. I wanted more; I deserved more! I pitied myself and considered many avenues of escape even running away from home. Instead, I stayed and reminded myself of the promised silver lining. I told myself to stop focusing on the dire circumstances but on the sunlight attempting to shine through. I took comfort in knowing that every bad situation was really life’s lesson disguised as a hurdle – once conquered, would serve to make me a stronger person. What lay ahead was better; I had one more year in school, my grades would gain me admittance to any good university, and my discipline would help me succeed. I now have the fortitude and courage to surpass other hurdles because those encountered thus far have taught me to see the silver lining.

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2006 ESSAYS

Shakwana Albert
Julius Sprave School – 9th Grade

MY CHANCE FOR ACCEPTANCE

All men are created equal but each individual is unique. No one person is the same, many similar, none the same. Learning to accept yourself the way you are can be rather challenging. It took me a long time to realize that I am beautiful and blessed in my own way. It was a challenge that I had to and did overcome. From the teasing to the competitive mindset of my fellow young ladies to my insecurities, I had to learn to get over it; I just had to!

Growing up on a small island like St. John, everybody knows somebody. If they don’t know you, they know your mother, your aunt, your cousin, or your best friend. So everybody always has a lot to say. At the age of 12, I was attending the Prophecy Elementary/Middle School on our sister island, St. Thomas. I loved it because everyone got along and helped each other out. However, we were getting older so our focus shifted a little. No, we weren’t worried about what grade we got on our spelling and vocabulary test or what time Lizzie McGuire season premiere was going to be airing, we worried about how our hair looked, if the boy sitting in front of us liked any of us, what the latest gears were, and who was gossiping about who. We all noticed the change but we’d just laugh at it and brush it off. For that reason, things changed and we were affected especially me. As time went by, things got worse.

When I looked at myself in the mirror all I would think is “Who is this girl?” “Your face is so bumpy.” “You are so big.” “Why won’t my hair grow?” “What boy would ever like me?” These things were built up on the things that were going on in my life. I would go to school and have boys call me names like “Crunch,” “Dirt Road,” and “Pimple Face.” When I was in their presence, I would fight for myself but behind close doors I would constantly cry myself to sleep. It got so bad that I would fake illness just so that I don’t have to go to school, got into a lot of arguments, and blame God for making me this way. That’s just one issue though. My mother is a single parent with four kids and works her butt off so we can live comfortably. A lot of my friends had both parents in their life or were the only child so they were fortunate enough to be blessed with a lot of things I can’t get every single time I wanted it. Coming to school everyday to hear them boast about the new Air Force Ones or gold Gucci chain they got after they lost their first one a week ago was really getting to me. It wasn’t envy just another excuse to blame God for creating me. I was emotionally, verbally, mentally, and physically exhausted from the way things were going for me. It was like the world was closing in on me and the more I kept it inside, the more it was breaking me down. I was younger so I wasn’t stable enough to deal with my issues appropriately. I needed to talk to someone with experience. I had to talk to my mother.

Going to my mother was frightening; I usually didn’t have to present any serious issues with her especially dealing with my personal life. The day came when I had to converse with her about what was going on. To my surprise, talking to her was the best decision I could have made. She was able to relate, compare, and contrast. How she got over her issue was the big part since I was ever most anxious to get over mine. First, she told me she had to learn to love herself and that was the most complicated part. How she did it? She made a list of all her positive traits and blanked out all the negative. Everyday she would carry one of her traits with her and when someone threw an insult she would chant that trait in her head repeatedly. Eventually, she learned to ignore all attempts to bring her self-esteem down. I took her advice into consideration though I was a little skeptical. To my astonishment, I had quite a list of traits that I never knew I had. They would try to break me down and I would chant that trait. I was finally beginning to feel good about myself and I was not going to allow anyone to take that feeling from me.

Now that I am older, I am getting wiser. I learned to love and accept myself for who I am. I have become physically mentally, socially, verbally, and emotionally stronger. God made me unique and I must acknowledge that. I have imperfections and flaws but also have thoughts, qualities, and traits that give me something to stand for. I have a purpose in life, I wont allow anyone to change it. I don’t need them and when I see them coming again, I’ll run.

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Aletia Hodge
Ivanna Eudora Kean High School – 9th Grade

MISSING YOU

There are many events that occurred during my life that I learned from, but my fondest memory was that of my father’s death and burial, as well as the events that occurred before, during, and after his tragedy.

When I was three and a half years old the most tragic thing happened to me. This was one of the most life changing things that can happen to a person.

As most three year olds I was happy, energetic, living life to the fullest, and learning more about the world around me everyday. Then my father started to complain about headaches that he was having. Then he came home one day and told my mother that he hit his head and this was why it was hurting. The next day my parents went to their doctor’s office and the doctor told them that my father had a tumor. All of a sudden my normal, safe, uneventful world came crashing down. Every couple of weeks after that my parents were either in a doctor’s office or on a plane to the United States. My brother, sister, and I usually stayed with our grandmother until they returned. During this sad time no one was happy and my brother, sister, and I rarely saw our parents. After their last trip things seemed to be getting better. However, after a check up the doctors noticed that there was still a small portion of the tumor surrounding a vein in his head. Then things became grim again. My father was then placed on bed rest. My mother was forced to work two jobs to pay doctor bills and my brother, sister, and I had to help feed, bathe, and care for our father. After a while he just slept a lot. The doctors visited our house regularly. When I checked on my father and he was awake we would talk about how important my mother, brother, and sister, and I were to him. Then one sad day in March, I walked into my room to give my father a sandwich and noticed that he wasn’t moving. The first thing I did was to call my brother, he called my mother, and my mother called the ambulance. By the time the ambulance got to our house my father had died. After his death was confirmed my mother called the family, and friends. Everyone was crying and sad. After the sadness came the bills and the funeral arrangements.

During the funeral my mother, sister, and I cried. Everyone else in my family cried except my father’s mother. While we were at the burial ground as my father was going into the ground I nearly jumped in with him. My mother and aunt had to hold me. I cried for days and I was alone a lot.

After this very sad event in my life I was left with one parent and a lifetime of questions asking “what if?” What if I didn’t go into the room? What if my father was still alive? What if my father didn’t have a tumor? All of these questions will forever go unanswered but one thing I am sure of is that I miss my father and the wonderful times we had and could have had together. I will cherish my father’s memory and the happy times we had together. I am a lot more appreciative toward my family and life and I embrace both with whatever may come. I miss my father and I hope to see him again someday. I have learned a lot of valuable lessons during my life but this is, was, and will always be the most important and dear to my heart. “Cherish what you have while it’s here because you don’t know when or if you may loose it when you least expect it.

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Joshua Jno-Pierre
Ivanna Eudora Kean High School – 10th Grade

RESPONSIBILITY

There are days in all of our lives that we never forget. Such a day occurred for me when I took my nephew to the mall. I woke up around twelve o’clock p.m. and started to brush my teeth. While brushing, my brother who had just come back from Atlanta, showed up with his son, which was a big surprise to me. I never had any idea that he had a child. As I was getting ready to go to the mall my brother asked, “Where are you going?”

I replied, “No place just to the mall.” The look on his face was a look I could never forget, it was that look (you know that look that says I want you to do me a favor). I remember that look so well. I asked him what he wanted me to do and he asked if I can take his son to the mall with me, because he had many things to do on that day. Me being the nice person I am could not refuse, because that was my nephew and he looked so cute with his nice brown puppy eyes, small Michael Jackson nose, and his tiny little voice. I just gave in. How could I refuse such a precious thing like that? I didn’t think it would be any trouble. Plus that would bring all the attention from the girls in the mall to me. What I didn’t know then was that would be the day I learned about responsibility.

On my way out of the house my brother told me I needed to bring him home before seven o’clock, which I didn’t have a problem with because you know how children could get. As I took my first step into the mall I saw one of my ex-girlfriends. She looked at me with a dazzling glitter in her eye and shouted, “I can’t believe you got a child without me!”

I shouted, “It would have been ours if you didn’t dump me!” She came over and started asking me all kinds of questions like what year was he born in, what month, and what day was he born on. I had no idea what to tell her, and I did not want to lie because if I did I would not remember the dates I told her. So I told her I was in a rush for an appointment with one of the doctors in the clinic. When I walked off I thought to myself, “She really thinks I have a child.” I continued to walk up the mall.

Walking through the mall with my nephew made me feel so good! I felt like I was a man with power and responsibility. So I decided to take him to the toy store to get anything he wanted. That was the worst mistake I could ever have made! While walking up and down the store for about an hour, I realize that this child is really apart of my family. He reminds me of his grandmother. Just when I was about to tell him we had to leave, this pretty girl came up to me and asked, “Is that your child?”

I said, “Nah, that’s my nephew.” She said, “Wow he looks just like you.” I started to blush and we were having a very interesting conversation. Man I was so happy. It seemed like my nephew was a great way to meet girls.

At that point I forgot my nephew was with me and time was coming for me to bring him home. When I looked around the boy was no place in sight. I was so scared that the thought of my brother killing me passed through my head ten times in one second. I couldn’t believe it I took my eye off of him for one minute and he was gone. I was so worried I started to shiver in the knees. I was so worried, tears start running down my eyes like the Niagara Falls. Twenty to forty minutes passed when I thought matters could not get any worse, my brother called and said, “you need to hurry up and bring my lil boy home mison.” I thought to myself to was the right time to tell him I lost his son, but knowing how he would react I said, “Nah I would find him in time.” Five more minutes passed and I had no idea what to do, so I told the security I had lost my nephew. He told me, “Stick around I will make an announcement for you.” So I waited about fifteen more minutes, but no one came with my nephew. I asked the security guard if he could do me a favor and hold him if anyone showed up with him. So I went searching for him some more. After almost an hour of searching for him I finally found him. He wandered off in K-Mart; he was playing in the toy section. I was so relieved to see his little face again. I didn’t waste an extra minute in the mall; I headed straight home. On my way home I realized that I wasn’t ready for any children at this age. Even though they attract many girls, which is cool, I could wait. The powerful man I felt was in my heart got ripped away from me in one day. For in order to take care of a child one needs lots of responsibility, much more than I have today.

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Jenae Richardson
Ivanna Eudora Kean High School – 11th Grade

ADJUST YOUR FOCUS

“Why is the moon so round?” “ How come there are so many stars in the sky?” As a four year old, I stood inquisitively gazing at the sky, my heart full at the sight of the moon and stars. Tears filled my eyes, and as I wiped them away and leaned against our truck, I felt so happy. Interrupting my thoughts, my mother called me inside for I had been outside too long, but as I closed the door that night, I silently exhaled at the sight of my marvelous viewing. When I opened the door to examine the stars 12 years later, my perception had changed. I peered closer at the night sky, unlocking a secret that I hadn’t known and wisdom that I hadn’t possessed before.

As the years passed by, my emotions of happiness turned into sorry and anger. I oftentimes tried to force the words of my peers out of my head. I walked the hallway of my school blending in with the darkness, for I was the darkness. I was black. I was too black as told by my peers, too black and too thin. The taunts of my peers circled into my head, and I heard one say, “She so black, you can’t even see her if you turn off the lights!” Others yelled, “She so bony!” and “She think she so cute!” Those words pierced me like a sword, but I kept on walking. I heard laughter behind me, but I held back tears that refused to shed. “Why am I always being teased?” I wondered sadly. “Can’t they see that it’s just a skin color?” Just as I was about to crumble in defeat, I decided that I needed to find a solitary place to think. I walked for a while, took a flight of stairs and finally opened up a door to the laboratory.

I was glad that no one else was there. I grabbed a stool, propped myself on it, and folded my arms on the table. Tears flooded my eyes, and I tried to think about a more positive occasion. I recalled a recent conversation I had with my father at the breakfast table one morning.

“Good morning,” he greeted. “Good morning,” I replied, sighing. “Why the sad face?” he asked inquisitively. “It’s nothing.” I replied quickly. “ I know that something is up, so just tell me.” he responded. I sat down for a while wondering if I should tell him or not. Seconds turned into minutes, and I heavily weighed my options when he interrupted saying, “You’re such a beautiful young lady. Why are you pouting?” “I’m not beautiful!” I shot back. “Who convinced you of this?” he asked. I sighed. “My peers did. Everyday I walk the halls hearing that I’m as black as the night sky. I just can’t take it anymore.” He looked at me for a while before saying, “ I read an interesting article last week. It featured a quote by Socrates that said something about “the unexamined life is not worth living.”’ “What does that mean?” I asked. “It means that if you can’t examine yourself first and then others to find ways to grow, then you are bound for failure.” “But why is it not worth living?” I questioned. “I can’t tell you that,” he replied, “but I can say that sometimes you have to adjust your focus and look beneath the surface for the answers.”

He left and I pondered deeply about his words. “How can I look beyond the surface?”

As I looked around the laboratory, I caught eye of a microscope and realized that that was my solution. I picked up the microscope and brought it to my station. Clearing the desk, I plugged in the microscope and sighed. “Well here it goes.” I first, diligently, cut out a piece of my heart and placed it on the slide. I then used the eyepiece to focus in on my sample and was surprised at what I saw. In fact, I adjusted the lenses and focused in more closely. I noticed, amazingly, that magnified, a huge part of my heart was filled with love, another portion filled with kindness and compassion, but a smaller portion was stained with anger and sorrow. I flinched at my results, and in discouragement, I packed up the microscope and decided to embark on a journey to analyze and study the qualities of others, hopefully finding a solution to my dilemma.

I found my mother later that day and asked her if I could perform the same examination on her as I had done on myself. She agreed, and I began the procedure. As was done before, I first diligently cut a piece of her heart and placed it on the slide. Once again, I adjusted the eyepiece and lenses and focused in on the sample of her heart. I was pleased to note that we had qualities in common. I saw large masses of love, compassion, strength, and joy, but when I saw a mass of sorrow, and a larger mass of anger, I asked her what had brought about these qualities.

“I’m sorrowful at all the starving children of the world regardless of their skin color,” she said, “and I’m angry at others that use and abuse others for their own personal gain.”

I smiled half-heartedly and she noticed my troubled disposition. “What’s the matter?” she asked. “Why do I have to be so black?” I cried. “A few shades lighter wouldn’t hurt.” She looked at me for a few seconds before enfolding me in her arms and said, “Beauty is defined by inner character, but most people don’t examine that deep. They laugh and tease you just to have a better day, but if you can dig beyond the surface, you will find true beauty indeed.”

I thought about her words for a moment, but I couldn’t stay. I kissed her and said goodbye, for my journey was far from finished.

Next, I tracked down a friend and asked her if I could perform and examination on her that I had done twice before. She agreed, and I started by cutting out a part of her heart. I placed the sample on the slide of the microscope and began my examination. I adjusted the eyepiece and lenses and focused in at the sample of her heart. I was impressed at what I saw – determination, honesty, and understanding. However, when I saw a slight discoloration and noticed that she had large masses of sorrow and disappointment, I faltered.

“Why are you disappointed?” I asked. “I’m sick of school,” she vented. “I’m tired of coming to school everyday to have students tell me that I’m going to turn out a failure like my mother. Who are they to judge?”

“I know what you mean, “ I replied, “but at least they don’t compare you to burnt charcoal. I can’t remember the last time one of them looked at me without snickering.” “But how do you do it?” she asked. “How do you walk the halls everyday with confidence, never looking at them, but always walking straight?”

“It’s not confidence, I confessed. It’s insecurity. I’m too afraid to look to the left or right for fear that I’ll crumble, fear that I’ll give them the satisfaction of being affected by their words, but I am affected. There words hurt me more than you can ever imagine.”

She took in my confession, and hugged me saying, “There are shallow people out there, but always remember that “Beauty is not characterized by outward appearance, but interior examination yields a power all on its own.”’

I looked at her in awe, shocked at her profound declaration, but thanked her for her advice and left.

Finally, I visited my adopted grandmother, who at age 84, was the epitome of youthfulness and ebullience. I explained my purpose for visiting her and she smiled submissively. I began my final examination, first, by carefully cutting out a piece of her heart and placing it on the slide of the microscope. I then adjusted the eyepiece and focused in on the sample and became completely astounded at what I saw. There were huge masses of love, compassion, empathy, dignity, integrity, wisdom, and joy. I was literally shaken, for there were no indications of any malignant qualities.

“You have to impart some of your wisdom to me, Grandma!” I exclaimed. “How were you able to live such a long life with such great qualities?”

“Well my dear” she replied, “I’ve learned and gained much wisdom and knowledge by examining the lives of others.”

“How did you do that?” I asked.

She thought and explained, “Well, by examining the lives of others, I’ve made subtle changes here and there in mine. I decided that I didn’t want to make some of the mistakes that I’ve seen others make.”

“Weren’t you accused of being judgmental?” I asked. “Yeah, I was,” she admitted, but I’ve never been the kind to cast judgment on others. I look at the soul, not the physical appearance.”

“I wish people really wouldn’t judge you based on your physical appearance,” I replied. I pondered carefully about whether to tell her about my insecurities or not, but I decided not to. I was too stunned by her words.

“How do you tell others not to be so judgmental?” I asked inquisitively. “Tell them,” she directed, “that the unexamined life is not worth living.” At this point, I recalled what my father had told me a few days earlier, but I still did not fully understand what it meant, so I asked her. “What does that mean?” I inquired. “Well, she replied, “it means that if you can’t examine your life and others, and explore ways to grow and change, then you’re ignorant about how to really live life.”

“But why is it not worth living?” I questioned with curiosity. “Think about it,” she smiled. “Just look beyond the surface. Sometimes you have to adjust your focus and look farther away for the answers.”

I returned home quickly that night and paced back and forth in my room. My grandmother’s words reverberated in my mind. “Look farther away for the answers,” I thought, “But how do I do that?” As I passed my desk, I caught sight of my telescope. I quickly picked it up and examined it. “This must be it!” I thought. A telescope helps you to look farther away while bringing the image closer. I decided to test this idea. I went outside, climbed into the bed of our truck, and propped by telescope on the roof of the truck. I then looked into the eyepiece, adjusted the focusing knobs, and tilted the telescope up into the night sky. I saw a myriad of stars and then the moon caught my eye. I focused in and saw what appeared to be a huge round circle, light yellow with dark gray spots. Yet again, my grandmother’s words struck me, and I focused in once more on the moon. I realized then that sometimes there are certain qualities that appear far away, but you have to pull them closer and look beyond the surface. You have to examine closely, not superficially, but beyond the surface.

As I sat back and analyzed what I’d learned earlier, I finally understood why the unexamined life is not worth living. I thought about the words of advice from my father, mother, friend, and grandmother and concluded, therefore, that the unexamined life is not worth living because those who don’t closely examine themselves live an ignorant life, a life void of compassion and understanding, qualities needed to recognize the actions and motives of others. Furthermore, they lack the tools necessary to conduct this examination and look beyond the exterior. A microscope is needed to magnify images in detail and a telescope brings images that are farther away closer. For example, my peers that scorned me lacked the microscope necessary to look beneath my skin color and magnify the person I really am inside. They lacked the telescope necessary to look beyond my physical appearance and amplify my inner characteristics that they couldn’t see as they stood afar in judgment of me.

For the first time ever, I looked at the color of my skin and smiled. Interrupting my thoughts, my mother called me inside for I had been outside too long. I grabbed the telescope and hopped out of the bed of the truck smiling as she questioned my cheery disposition. “Well Mommy, I replied, “I think I’ve just discovered a law of life: The unexamined life is not worth living.” She looked at me in agreement and I turned to the night sky, smiling, saying, “Sometimes we just have to adjust our focus to find the answers.”

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Latisha Ramsey
Ivanna Eudora Kean High School – 12th Grade

DEFEAT IS NOT BITTER UNLESS YOU SWALLOW IT


As a child growing up, I imagined life filled with everything I wanted, including my very own home, car, pets and an exciting, lucrative career. I never for once thought about actually wanting a healthy life. It occurred to me that once you were born healthy, you would remain that way. I quickly realized my assumptions were wrong. My realization began this way!

One day, I found my mom in bed unable to move because her feet and hands were swollen and cramping. My mother explained to me how serious her arthritis was then. She answered many of my unspoken questions, while I decided to take upon myself the duty of caring for my mom in her time of need. I sacrificed my after school chats with friends and paid no attention to extra-curricular activities, so I could come home early. At eleven, I had no idea how to handle the situation. After much thought I pulled up my boots and acted as the mother around the house for my kid sister and my older brother, who didn’t accept our mother’s illness.

Many times, I came home and met my mom collapsed on the floor, especially during the rainy season. Her body was having a hard time adjusting to the arthritis in this type of weather. It usually seized up and sent shocking pains through her