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Through the eyes of a woman

Posted by Isabela Supovitz-Aznar in English 2 - Block on


By Isabela Aznar

English

Mr. Block

9-20-11

 

The painting of a strange man with beautiful eyes looked down at me in my living room, but the eyes on his face were not his own. He had the eyes of a woman with long thick eyelashes, and glittering shadows on his eyelids. These eyes were clearly not his own as they were too large for his face, and they looked like they had been cut out of a magazine and glued over his own eyes. The rest of the painting looked like any ordinary photo of a man. His lips were calmly shut and expressionless, he wore a suit and had slicked back hair, the only unusual things about him were his beautiful eyes. This was the first time I had ever truly looked at this painting of the man with longing, feminine eyes that had been in my house for years. I now saw this painting through a new perspective; the man was trying to hide his feminine side. He like any other man, had emotions and another side to him that might be associated with women if he showed it. I was intrigued by this idea, and that’s what got me thinking.

I started thinking about the things I’d always been too afraid to do, because boys were considered better at them. I would never play four-square after school because only the guys could play, and if a girl played she had to be a tom boy, she had to be good, and she had to act just like the guys playing. They didn’t welcome new comers, especially not if they were girls. I always avoided sports games because my dad and brother already knew what all the rules were, but I being curious and a little timid didn’t want to have to experience the whole “learning how to do it like a guy” routine, because I wanted to watch or play sports my own way, and not be treated differently because of it.

When I was in eighth grade, I decided that I was sick of boy and girl stereotypes. I was sick of doing the things that girls were expected to do, and finally wanted to try something that “only guys” could do. I believed strongly that people should be allowed to be themselves, whether or not they’re following what’s considered normal, acceptable, or stereotypical. I decided that I wanted to be the one to change the possibilities different genders were offered, but I was still keeping in mind open to the fact that I couldn’t just expect everyone to begin changing their habits, and doing things they’d always wanted to, but never tried before.

I decided that I'd start with myself, and with sports. I didn’t want to be on the softball team, because I thought it was demeaning that sports had to be modified for girls. I wanted to be challenged just as much as any boy, and I wanted to prove to my guy friends that I too could play baseball, the “rougher” version of the sport.

            I explained my interest in trying out for the team to my best friend, and she nodded sympathetically agreeing with me that it was unfair and saying that she too would love to do baseball. We decided to talk to one of the two principles at my school, Teacher Ed. Teacher Ed was a small, strict man and when I saw him scurry into my study hall room I decided to seize my opportunity.

“Teacher Ed, I was wondering if it was possible for Emmi and I to join the boys baseball team bec-” I didn’t even get to finish my sentence before he cut in and said “No” in his sharp voice. I tried again “I want to play on the boys baseball team because there’s different rules, and the balls are smaller and harder, also overall I feel like I'd be more challenged” I said confidently, but this time he just laughed “No, just play softball” he said walking out of the room. I sat there frustrated, and disappointed as I watched him walk back to his office, thinking that I’d take his word as the final one on the subject, but he should have known better than to expect me to give up.

            The next day, I waited until school was over to go talk to my other principle, which was a woman. Tap-tap-tap! I knocked on her decorated office door. “Teacher Terry?” “Come in!” she said in a singsong voice from inside. I pushed the door open and stepped into her office. If anyone would vouch for me being on the boys team, it was going to be Teacher Terry, and I wasn’t about to let this opportunity pass by. Not to mention, Teacher Terry was quite the versatile feminist herself; she went to protests, traveled a lot, and her office was covered in scented candles and pictures in different countries. “I would like to know if Emmi and I could be on the boys baseball team” I tried slowly, eyeing her for any signs of an answer but she nodded so I kept going “I think we’d both be good, and I don’t want to do softball because I just don’t feel like it’s challenging enough for me. I want to be able to play the same version of sports that the guys get to play”. She nodded and looked up at the ceiling making a light humming noise “Okay” she said pursing her lips. “I think we might be able to make that work. The team needs more players anyways...I just have to run it by the sports coordinator. No promises though, it’s not every day that we have girls signing up for boys sports”. I smiled excitedly and thanked her. She nodded and shooed me out of her office with her hand.
            The next day at school, I told Emmi the good news. She was as excited as I was, even though it wasn’t official yet. We were jittery, and I felt the knot in my stomach twisting as classes slowly passed by. Throughout that day we talked about how awesome it was going to be to practice on the boys team every day, and to get to avoid all of the drama and attitude that tended to come with girls’ sports at my school. Sure enough at the end of the day, Teacher Terry told us she pulled some strings and we could join the team. We’d be starting the next day after school. I went home feeling proud of myself for getting us on the team, but I knew the hard part was going to be the actual practices and games with the boys’ team. I told my parents, and they seemed proud that I had taken an interest in something other than my social life. I felt a new motivation pumping down through my stomach and up into my fingertips, it was the beginning of a new me.
            The following morning, I packed my bag with a pair of cleats, high socks, a baseball hat, and a water bottle. I was now prepared to face the challenge I had set up for myself. I was nervous and jittery all day, I couldn’t wait for classes to get out. When it was finally time for practice, we got on the bus that took us to the field and introduced ourselves to the boys, who weren’t very happy to have girls on their team. They were territorial over their field, coaches, and traditions that we knew nothing about, but we were confident and no amount of pushing was going to break me. The practices were hard, and the boys were hard on us. We experienced blood, sweat, and tears. Rough practices and angry teammates. However, after a lot of bad throws, a lot of frustration, and a bloody nose from getting hit in the face with a ball, I began improving. And when the season was almost over, the boys were giving me high fives, cheering for me, and I even won a game ball!
            When the season ended, We were all closer than ever. We had all been through injuries together, being there for Emmi when her mom got cancer and she could barely keep herself together at practice, celebrating birthdays, sweating, laughing, and fighting, every day out on the field. When it was finally over the rest of the team told me they were going to miss me, and they had really warmed up to having girls on their team, especially since I wasn’t bad anymore they joked. Whenever someone said something to me about being weird for joining a boy’s sport, or for just joining in the midst of trying to get attention, the guys on my team would stand up for me and defend my new found passion.

My coach who went by “Wink”, gave me this whole speech about how he was so grateful to have a girl as dedicated as me on his team and that he was going to miss me. I remember him patting my head and saying “everyone has the potential to be good at what they love, silly old rules shouldn’t stop you from doing what you enjoy.” I gave him a hug, and was proud of myself for sticking up for what I wanted to do, and following through with it. His words never left my head, and I will forever live by the motto of doing what you love, regardless of who tells you can’t. I hoped that girls all over the world would begin sticking up for themselves and making opportunities to do the things they love, no matter the gender rule. Although it was a big goal, I was more confident that things would keep changing for the better. To this day, I’m still friend’s with every boy on that baseball team and they all have a different perspective on girls, and what they are capable of.  

 

Revised Descriptive essay by Ryan Shaw

Posted by Ryan Shaw in English 2 - Block on

Ryan Shaw September 20, 2011

Copper-English 2 Freedom in School


My high school is very different from my middle school. In my middle school, we had to wear uniforms, navy blue shirts with khaki’s with the school logo on the shirt. You had to go to classes with the rest of our homeroom class, and had little to no freedom. My old school was demanding, filling our thoughts with false freedom, saying how we had a small locker in the room, we could bring in whatever we want, and that we didn’t need a policeman in the building. In reality, my middle school was just an extension of elementary school, and it had just as many freedoms as middle school. Timed classes that you were escorted to by teachers, coinciding lunches, in which you had to sit at the cafeteria, and you couldn't move from your assigned seat.

My high school is far more laid back, and it gives me freedom, where before, there was none. In my old school, I learned much of what I know now, but I didn’t like it. I expected that to be the best there is, since it’s a charter school. One day, at lunch in my old school, I was sitting at my assigned seat, eating lunch peacefully, with the logorrhea of hundreds of other student’s voices in the background. All of a sudden, the cacophony grew exponentially larger, and there was a disturbance in the lunchroom. I looked behind me, and there was a lunch aide, a school official who makes sure that the students follow the rules, yelling at a couple of the students. The tiled floor was shaking from her voice combined with the student’s loud conversations. It’s a large room, but it had great acoustics, and the sounds of everything resonated within the room.
“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! THIS IS THE FIFTH TIME! GO TO MS. D’s OFFICE!” Ms. D was the principal and a former nun, she was a tall, lanky woman with a short brown perm, and large spectacles. Before she could walk into the hallway to her office, she came walking into the lunchroom with a frown on her face, yelling,
“I DON’T KNOW WHAT’S GOING ON HERE,” the lunchroom was quiet, for the moment, “but you all need to stop talking now!” She lowered her voice, but it still sounded above the current volume. “Now it’s a silent lunch.” A ‘silent lunch’ was something that she had made up a few years ago, this was the first instance of such a phenomenon. “In a silent lunch, no one talks, you just eat your lunch, and go back to class.” Quietly, she said to the lunch aide nearest to her, Ms. Sidney, the head of the lunch aids, “Send anyone who talks to my office” She was careful to say it quietly so that it seemed like it was meant for Ms. Sidney, but loudly enough for the lunchroom to hear her.
It was humiliating, being quieted for the only free time in the day, and yet we were still being silenced by the school’s policies. My old school was filled with dread with simply following the strict rules. My old school was just like a Catholic school, without the church! In my school, everyone looked happy, with the colorful walls, and the multitude of posters scattering the walls, but inside, we all hated it there.
One day, at the lunch room, my friend Brianna wore 4 bracelets at the same time, and the principal told her to take them off. The principal actually told her to take off her bracelets, because she was wearing too many. My school was so strict with their rules that they wouldn’t let my friend wear some bracelets.  
My old school was very strict. The part that really bothered me about my old school isn’t the rules, it’s the fact that in that school, you have to keep your identity hidden. You have to wear a uniform, but not just wear it, you have to be uniform. Everyone has to be a perfect cookie cutter after another; any difference or individuality had to be dealt with immediately. That’s why I like my school so much now. There is no dress code, and everyone is so laid back. It’s calming. Instead of having to keep your guard up, you can relax. While being cliché, it’s true that in this new school, I can be myself.

Desc Essay Revision: Can I Tell You Why?

Posted by DeShawn McLeod in English 2 - Block on

I started poetry club in the beginning of my freshman year. First meeting, first day, so many new people. I had never thought about writing poetry. I never believed I had the skill to. My typical image of a poet was an African talking about the struggles of it’s continent. Maybe a regular person with a lot of life experiences. To my surprise, I wasn’t the only freshman in that room. I sat down on the far left side of the room near the windows. I could still feel the sting on my butt from my friends hand, so I sat with a wince. Thankfully no one saw. My advisor, Mr. Kay, introduced me to the room. I was kind of shy, so if my skin was a tad bit lighter, there may have been a hint of a blush. I was with people I didn’t know. Then we went around the room and said our names. Frdea… De… Imani… Taylor… Jameka… Marchella… They all seemed to be pleased with everyone there. Mr. Kay went on about his long journeys with the seniors in the room. It was interesting to see his enthusiasm about such a topic.  My first task that Tuesday evening, in room 309, was to write about myself. That was the worst thing I could’ve been told, but I ended up doing it. It started out like this:

“Highschool.

The summer before I was an anxious little 8th grader that knew nothing.

Thoughts going through my mind

Like

Am I going to be cool enough?

Am I going to fit in?

I think of my anxiety of that first year.”

With my first stanza, I felt like a spark had jolted inside me. Words continued to flow…

“That year adults have legit conversations with me

That year my individually blossomed

That year when I asked myself

Who are you?

 

I came to a new school to start fresh.

I came because I wanted something different.

I came to finally be accepted.”

 

Second… Then third… Came right out of me. I didn’t think about it much. As I continued to write, I didn’t realize the key things I had actually observed, but never thought about.

“Accepted that I am weird.

Accepted that I have a different way of seeing the world.

Accepted that I love to have fun.”

Then the last and final stanza came of my first poem, written in room 309…

“I look at myself now.

I look at what I made of myself through these years.

I look at the fact that

I am no more an anxious freshman.

I am no more that person that thought she wasn’t worth much

I am no more that girl that questioned herself about being ‘cool’

I am a confident girl.

I am that girl that you see walking the streets with priority

I am that girl you see walking into a room knowing I have the respect of e            veryone.

I am that girl that thinks something of herself”

That was it. I was finished. With my fresh, new, raw, poem, I wanted to say it out loud. I was the first to share. “Highschool…..” I didn’t get much of a reaction from the room. To them, it was just another poem read by a freshman. But Kay lightened my mood, by commenting on my strong voice. But that was it. Others said their poems and it was time to go.

Later that month, I had acquired a few skills about writing. I had some free time and I sat in a dimly lit living room. The couch to the right, the foyer to left. The piano in front of me. Over head of it was a painting. The background has a jazz theme. On the right side, black, fading into a deep red, to a bright red blood color. The left has deep violet turning into rich light purple. Down at the bottom of the picture of piano keys. The keys come out in a fine curved way. Black sharp keys and the regular white keys. But since it’s a jazz theme to it, the ends of the keys are a chalky brown. Over the keys is a fine colored black man. His body is positioned so his ear is close to the keys he feels over with his large hands. Eyes closed, he looks as if he’s engrossed into the sounds coming from his big instrument. One hand at the end of the piano with the other accompanying it not too far away. This man has large lips, with a large nose. But his facial attributes are all proportional. His close cut beard matches his hair which is buzz cut. Eyes slightly strained with tense eye brows, he seems to be concentrating of the sounds coming with, what it looks like, his precious noise making object. His right hands glides over keys, with big knuckles and great embedded nails. With great hands, they have a angular look to them. Not rounded like normal fingers. This painting has many basic shapes to it. Angular knuckles with angular tips. But his thumb has a curve to it as it’s bent. His pinky stands out feels a key on it’s own. His shadow slightly covers the keys. Mainly his face’s shadow slightly over edge of the keys. The front part of this man’s shirt is yellow faded into a light green. The back is a violet color. The collar is split, so, half is purple and half is yellow and green. His sleeve is rolled up on the right side of the painted. On the arm with the hand at the edge of the piano. Other than that artwork, there were detailed Chinese vases. They had scenes of their culture  on each side. Then the coffee table with parallel to the piano on a tan rug. I sat in the office chair. Pondering… The beginning of this self motivated poem started out like this:

“Darkness.

Darkness.

Darkness.

Dark is black.

Dark is cold.

Dark is dark.

Dark is heartless, emotionless, endless…..”

I stopped. This start wasn’t myself. I wasn’t a dark person. I began to think of colors. Then this is what flowed through my finger tips:

“Can you tell me?

Tell me why the sky is blue.

Tell me why fire is red.

Tell me why the birds sing those unknown songs that wake me in the morning.

Tell me why….”

I halted. There needed to be some order in this poem. The colors needed to be in their natural pattern. I thought about each color. Red… Orange… Yellow… Green… Blue…. Violet… White… Black… Then this came from my mind:

“Can you tell me why?

Can you tell me why roses are red?

Can you tell me why fire is orange?

Can you tell me why the sun is yellow?

Can you tell me why the grass is green?

Can you tell me why the sky is blue?

Can you tell me why lilies are purple?

Can you tell me why the clouds are white?

Can you tell me why darkness is black?

Can you tell me why?”

I wanted to tie in all the colors together. To show a certain relationship they had with each other.

“I can tell you red roses burn in orange fire.

Each peddle falling

Falling

Falling to the ground withering from the hot serpent that has taken away it’s red beauty.

I can tell you the yellow sun beats down on the green grass leaving it dry and brittle, taking away it source of life. Water.

I can tell you the clear, blue sky protects the purple, velvet lilies in the streams they wade in.

I can tell you, you can’t see the white, fluffy clouds in the pure darkness that is black.

That’s what I can tell you.

Now, can you tell me why?”

I felt so proud of my final product. I was so eager, I needed to read it to someone. My mom was the only one in the house at the time and she sat down to hear my poem.

“Can you tell me why?.....” I said the poem with a pure confidence. My mom enjoyed it, so that was a definite “GO” to read it in poetry club that next Tuesday.            

Once basketball season started, the teacher supporting poetry club, the basketball coach, couldn’t come to the Tuesday get together. The students ran it. I kept saying to myself, “I’ll go next week,” I kept saying that in my mind until I didn’t care about it anymore. I didn’t even think about going. I’d always hear talk among the club goers about the poetry slams that happened on Saturdays and the about California trip to nationals. It made me feel guilty. So, I felt it’d be awkward if I stepped in room 309 to venture in my poetry writing. The shame inside myself overcame the courage I needed to walk back in  that door again. I felt like the longtime writers going there would give me weird stares and talk about me. I just had this internal fear inside my self that I let sway my decision to start writing again.

What made me change my mind was this summer. I had taken a trip to Atlantic City and while on our way to catch some lunch at a burger place, I had read my Can you tell me why? poem to my friend. He thought my poem was absolutely amazing. I was flabbergasted at his reaction. I didn’t expect to have such a great response because I’m my worst critic.

            My sophomore year, I wanted to take up poetry again. Now, here’s my chance.

 

ETHAN REESE MONOLOUGE

Posted by Ethan Reese in English 2 - Block on

​ SIGNING OFF FROM TEXAS U

( Student at Texas university majoring in economics uncertain about the tar sands making a third blog video about the tar sands )

Hi, this is my third video blog this month regarding the tar sands XL pipeline, I have been unemployed for almost two years now. (pause) My whole life my family has struggled with money, (rub eye) and I always wanted to go to my dream college Texas U. With no money and no where to get it I had to work twice as hard as other kids in school did, but now I’m sitting here in my dorm at Texas U doing this blog. When the professor gave my class this project he suggested I should look into the tar sands XL pipeline and tell him my thoughts on it. From what I understand the pipeline will be carrying 56,960,000 dollars worth of oil a day and the profit will be made on day 123 which is relatively fast compared to the 7 billion dollars that are being put into the project. My father a highly renown high-school engineering teacher and grandfather one of the heads of the project got the company to give me a job offer. I have been unemployed for two years and on a resume this job would look amazing the job would keep me employed for at least four years. But I grew up in a house with some of the greatest minds in the world and they taught me everything has a price and i think this pipeline is going to have a steeper price than 7 billion dollars. I think that the release of these tar sands will cause a domino effect ultimately coming back to bite us in the butt, once the climate becomes unable to ignore than the real price of the pipeline will become obvious. I studied economics to become a CFO of a company like Trans Canada, if their was ever a opportunity to make that dream come true it is this. The thing I guess I’m most afraid of is being used as a scape goat in case this project just doesn’t turn the overall profit. I feel like i  should say no to the job this oil is dirtier than  normal oil it’s twice  as harmful I know what the repercussions of releasing it is, but this job is well paying low hours and a way  to get my foot in the door with larger companies. I’m against this  100 percent but i cant let my family down i cant let my professor down...(sigh and turn from camera ) i cant  let myself down. I cant pass this up ( Pause as you  hear sound of a watch ) Until next time  this is Robert Walsh signing off from  Texas U ( Give two finger salute sign off ).



 THE FACE OF OIL

Oil...  the blood of America, the blood of money. To answer your  question directly you must understand oil’s place in global economics... oil is the greatest money maker the modern world may ever encounter. It is traded,sold,bought by the tons it is a trillion dollar industry that i being a former CEO of BP know the ins and outs of. Let me take you into the mind of the CEO of trans Canada, right now he is sitting on the largest source of oil known to current  date, with Canadas low reliance on oil they will turn the largest profit  this industry has ever seen by selling it to  countries with a high dependence on oil like the U.S, this is their plan. Moving through this pipeline everyday will be 800,000 barrels of oil a day to put that into a number that you will understand 56,960,000 dollars worth of oil a day flowing from Canada to Texas.This will only take 123 days to turn a profit on the 7 billion dollar investment, which is relatively fast given the  size of this project. Though i will play devils advocate the pipeline like any has the chance of a costly leak and a big spill or leak can cost big money, the  total loss of money during the BP oil spill was  12.5  billion dollars  in cleanup, repair, and the spilled  oil. So although the profit is coming  quick it could all be lost by  a major spill or leak, this isn’t a rare thing either on average a  pipeline leaks  12 times  a year. I see this as the push that might get us out of debt but might put us in debt  even further. I’ m all for the pipeline America was formed on a  gamble and that’s how we have to save it, i say take the risk its your  only  realistic option right now. So Obama i’m going to say this once and hope you listen approve the pipeline...

  

Pipeline Monologue Project

Posted by James Prell in English 2 - Block on

This Project had us research the Trans-Canada Keystone Pipeline Project and learn both sides of the story. We then had to write a series of monologues to illustrate what we'd learned. My stories show the lives of an Amish and Trans-Canada employees.


(An Amish Farmer is distressed about a decision he made under stress)

(Pacing back and forth) I didn't have much of a choice when I was offered the chance to have the pipeline run through my land. But how will my neighbors react to it when I tell them? (Waves arms) The Amish of Kansas don't let this sort of thing happen, I should have been a better person and put the land and nature before myself, but I needed money.

I don’t make much money as it is, I never really have (sigh and glance down). The farming business isn’t something I’m good at, but it’s my only option, it's all I know. When TransCanada came to offer me money for the land they needed for the big pipe they were building, I wasn’t doing very well back then either. I was in between plantings after a failed harvest and I needed money pretty bad. These men offered me a deal; they would pay me lots of money if I let them cut through my land with big machines. And lay down this big pipe that would pump thousands of barrels of dark, crop killing oil from Canada to Texas.

            I’M A FARMER! (Shouts) What was I thinking? One mistake along any inch of that huge thing could completely destroy my work, my house, and I wouldn’t be able to plant for years afterwards. Not even the huge amount of money they paid me would be able to help me then. I’d have to leave everything I know behind. That poisonous fuel would forever taint all of my work, my father’s work, and his father’s work.

        I can’t turn back now. I’ve already signed a contract. I just wanted to be able to support myself, but I might end up destroying myself. I can only hope that our president stops the company from building the pipe. It might be selfish, because I know it will give a lot of people jobs. But if I ever have kids, I guess I want them to carry on my legacy here on the farm.

 

A Change of heart

(Trans-Canada employee wonders if what he does for a living is ethical)

 

I’ve worked on these oil sands for most of my adult life, long before these protesters started objecting to what we did over in America. I’ve taken part in setting up a lot of the more recent extraction plants too. (Shakes head) I grew up here in Alberta and witnessed the start of the dirty oil era. (Stretch arms and yawn) My life hasn’t really taken off yet though. At least, I hope it hasn’t. I spend all day operating the steam extraction machinery, and the pay isn’t great. (Cough) I’ve been wondering lately if working like this is worth the years taken off my life from inhaling the fumes.

Maybe those people down in Washington have the right idea; they’re working for a good cause fighting against the new Keystone pipeline. They’re passionate about what they believe in.

For a long time I saw the oil as a good thing. It was a miracle of modern science that we could extract fuel directly from the earth, without expensive drilling equipment. I was proud to work for the sake of helping people drive and provide oil to the world. I felt like a pioneer, leading my country forward.

(Nods) These Americans have opened my eyes though. If I help with the Keystone project, I could take a huge part in the pollution and destruction of North America. Sure, I might help a man get to work, but I might also kill someone by polluting his or her water supply. I don’t want that blood, or oil, on my hands.

 

Russ Girling (CEO of TransCanada):

 

            Walks into room and sits on couch. Today was a tough day at work. It’s hard to hear myself think with so many protestors yelling outside your window. I know a lot of these people just see me as some greedy CEO that will do anything to get more money. Is that really me? I know I wouldn’t see myself as that, but if I look from their perspective, put myself in their shoes and look at myself? What am I? This pipeline would bring so much money to this company, and would benefit Canada and the USA in many ways. Jobs, money, oil. Does all that outweigh any potential environmental impacts? Right now we need oil, and we need a lot of it. In the future we may not need oil so much, but right now we do. This would at least postpone the energy problem for a while, until we have the means to postpone it further, or maybe even finally solve it. But is that what we really need? Would that make the problem worse? I doubt there will be any problems caused by this while I’m alive, but what about my children? No, I don’t think this pipeline will make or break the environment. It’s just one pipeline, and what people really need to do is stop wasting so much. Besides, if you ignore the environmental impacts this may or may not have, this is only beneficial to everyone.

 

Bill Mckibben:

 

            We have lived and taken from our planet for tens of thousands of years. We started off just taking what we needed, but then we kept taking more and more and more, and now look at what that’s gotten us. We are polluting the air we breathe, the water we drink, and the food we eat. At the same time unemployment is rising, along with gas prices and debt. It seems as if every single unsustainable thing we’ve been doing in the history of this country has finally collapsed on us at once. We need money, and oil, and jobs. We also need to conserve the environment. If we aren’t mindful of how much we waste, and render the planet uninhabitable with our pollution, the planet will be fine. After a few thousand years, the planet will repair itself, and be back to the way it was before humans. The only thing we’d be killing is ourselves, and everything we share the planet with. The XL pipeline would do two things. It would bring money, oil, and jobs to America. And it would be another nail in the coffin of environmentalism. Will this completely destroy the environment in one fell swoop? No, but will it solve our debt, and job problems? No to that too. What we have to do is weigh what options would be best overall. Should we build it and generate a few thousand jobs, and billions of dollars in revenue, or should we not build and save countless plants and animals, and reduce our oil dependency. Transcanada says their pipes will not leak, but can we really believe them when their own pipes leaked 12 times? We can’t risk it leaking, because the pipeline goes over a major aquifer that people drink from. And it would pollute the drinking supply of millions with crude oil. I don’t think we should build the pipeline, because I believe that there is other ways of improving the economy, but there is only one way to protect the environment right now, and that is to stop the XL pipeline from being built.

 

Kenneth Hewitt:

 

    I’ve been unemployed for almost a year now, and my unemployment benefits are starting to run out. I’ve been living out of this crummy apartment in this terrible neighborhood for about as long. I was laid off from my first job as a construction manager, and for the first few months nobody would hire me. After that nobody was hiring me because of how long I’d been unemployed. I heard about this new pipeline TransCanada is planning to build between Canada and Texas. I could maybe get a job helping building this, it shouldn’t be too difficult since it’s such a big project, and they’d need to hire a lot of people. Sure, it wouldn’t be permanent, but it would be something to put on my resume so employers wouldn’t immediately ignore my application due to not having been employed for a long time. But at the same time, do I want to help this project? So many people are protesting this because huge negative environmental implications. Maybe I could get a different job somewhere else, but where? This is the surest bet. But what do I care about more, my own wellbeing, or the wellbeing of my children and their children. Then again, the world’s already messed up for my kids; surely this one pipeline wouldn’t be that big of a deal. But if it’s not such a big deal, why are so many people protesting it? I can’t turn down work, but is this the work I want to do? I guess if this is going to be built I have no choice but to work on it, my only other option being unemployment. But I hope Obama blocks this from being built, so I don’t feel obligated to work on it.

 

 

Unemployed Worker Monologue from Jack Grier on Vimeo.

Value Family

Posted by Jermel Langley in English 2 - Block on

​“Value family because they are not always going to be there forever.” Summer time, beginning of august, playing call of duty on the new zombie map, shangri la in my living room with the lights off so I can focus on the game while on the phone with my girlfriend. My dad walks in from work hard day at work and turns on the lights, “Hey dad how was your day at work” I said. He came home very happy for some reason, with his usual three laptop bag but I didn't bother to ask, I just sank back into my game. “ Busy as always son but i only have a couple more days until till my break,”

After an hour or so of playing my video games and speaking on the phone with my girlfriend I started to feel tired and that’s when I noticed something. There they were in the kitchen my mom, sisters and my dad were playing around very loudly with a Spanish accent. I felt a little left out and couldn't really hear them that well, But I wanted to be funny, so i said something to him “Dad why you acting so hype and loud,” my dad replied “What What ! I can acted how i feel because i do what i feel you know”  right after his reply I knew he was playing because he was still speaking in the accent, I told him, “ha ha i understand but you acting real weird” then he changed his accent to imitate Scarface and replied, “look listen to me, ever day until Friday when my vacation start I'm going to come with a different accent “I thought about what he said and the only thing i kept thinking was it’s Tuesday and I’m going to have to listen to his ridiculous act for another three day’s. but then i said my thoughts out loud “This is going to be funny” he heard me say that with no problems “What’s so funny about the way I act jermel” he said this with a female voice it was by far the funniest voice i ever heard. I just had nothing to say to that so i told him “ you know what you got it.” then he started to laugh and was like okay “I'm done that was to funny” Then he yelled “Who you talking to on the phone, Tiye”  everyone always knew i was talking to tiye on the phone because i was always on the phone with her. “ Yea” then he asked this question he always asked “ how do y’all talk on the phone so much and never get bored or anything.” i just replied the same way i do any other time. “ We just talk i don’t know” but then he changed the subject and told me to tell tiye something “Yo for real tell tiye she crazy” Then i pauses the game and asked him to repeat what he said. “She crazy if she messing with you” i laughed, unpaused the game and told tiye “ My dad said your crazy because your going out with me” she replied as she laughed, but she felt awkward and said “ Ummm okay” she said this fairly slow like she didn't know what to say. “ Dad she said okay” I'm guessing he didn’t hear me because he stayed talking to my sister. I just continued to play my game and talk to tiye.

My dad was talking about how he is so happy that his vacation is coming and i was happy too because really i don't get to see him that much because he work all the time. We was supposed to have a great vacation.But not everything goes as planned.

It’s been two day’s and with one blow everything changed. Again I’m on the phone with tiye playing around with her. “ I gotchu don’t speak no words to me good bye.” I hanged up the phone to mess with her but as soon as i hanged up the phone my mom call me in the kitchen. “ Jermel come here i need to talk to you” I’m nervous because when she say that i know it’s ether I'm in trouble or somethings wrong , but as soon as i walked i realized something was terribly wrong, my mom face had tears running down them and her face was down. She started to look up at me and i said “Mom What’s wrong?” with tears poring she said “ Uncle Rif passed away”  the feeling of a very strong punch to the heart but i didn’t cry. it was weird, i said to her “ Mom what happen” she just said real fast “He stop breathing” I just  hold her until she let go and she went in her room and i went to my room. When i went to my bed I Called her to talk to her. I really didn’t have anyone to talk to because everyone always tell me i have to be strong for other people even if I’m hurt, but she didn’t answer my call so i texted her and explained that i need to talk to her I wasn’t playing around. After i sent the texted her, I call again and she answered and i told her what happen.

Later on that day i was just in my room relaxing playing my PlayStation 3 and my cousin Aquil walk in With a 76ers Jersey on and basketball short. Aquil is my uncle rif  “Yo Mel-Mel wassup” He looked like he was 6’5 “Nothin playing call of duty as always man, but how you been, you good” “Yea I’m good chillin over grammy house, you should come over sometimes.” when he said that all i thought was ever time i go to grammy house i get in soo much trouble because i act so retarded over there. I Just replied “ I Will but you know my parent be drawlin all the time” I Guessed he believed me because he looked at me as if he understand exactly what I’m talking about then he just said “ True Cuz they do be drawlin all the time ha-ha but what’s up with you and all the Lady’s” I laughed in my head because he always trying to make a joke. “Man I Have a serious relationship right now don’t laugh at me ha” then he replied ”Man I'm not going to laugh I'm in one to and I’m enjoy it.” Then he look at the game and said “Come on cuz let me trash you in this real quick” He seemed okay but i knew he was feeling hurt and sad because his father just passed and i know if my father passed i would be hurt. At this time i had so much respect for him and i kinda looked up to him. One thing that always hurt me is to have to watch my family cry and be hurt, and for my cousin to a have to watch his 5 year old brother talk about “Daddy, Daddy, where is Daddy” And His little Sister that is 14 cry her heart out because her father will not be coming home anymore. I really don’t know how he Did it but he showed me a different part of him and i will never look at him the same.

By the Night i went to talk to my dad because he always told me how close uncle rif was to him. all i asked him “Are you he okay” and he just replied “yea man” but i really didn’t  have anything to say about it to him. i really was worried for him. but i didn’t know what to do.

After the funerals Day’s later. I Reflected on everything. Everyone knows that Men always have to be strong for the Woman, but I've learned that it’s not something you learn, it’s something that comes naturally. No Matter how hurt we are as men, we will always try to keep our feeling to our self.  I can say with being a male our job is to make sure everyone Else is okay and stay strong for females in our life. It comes natural like a habit but it is something we have to do and will always do.

Love Them While You Can!

Posted by Lexus Forman in English 2 - Block on

​Just coming home from school, with the heaviest weight that has been placed on my heart in my life. Traveling with a whole marching band of my family with me, I didn’t understand why this was happening to me. My grandmother was my best friend and she was gone. It was no going back now.

I stepped in my house very eager because I couldn’t wait to go upstairs in my room and rest my brain. Instead I was greeted by all of my family members. I guess they expected me to be an emotional wreck. However, it was the complete opposite. I was expecting myself to flood Philadelphia with my tears, but my eyes were as dry as the Sahara desert. This was not healthy for me. I needed to let it out. I felt since everyone around me needed somebody to lean on, I had to be the strongest thirteen-year-old there was.


I sat down at my dining room table, frustrated with life. My sister approached me with her big brown eyes filled with water. I didn’t need that right then. I needed a break from everyone’s tears and heartbreak. Anybody could tell that I was tight-lipped because I needed to find out how to deal with my pain. However, I sucked it up and told my sister “What did grand mom always tell us to do when we felt like there was nothing left?” She was so hysterical she could barley answer, so she shrugged. My grandmother always told us to pray. I grabbed my sister’s hand very gently, and brought her over to the piece of art work (The Lord’s Supper). She looked at me and grinned.


My mother handled this situation better than I thought she would. I didn’t see her shed a tear. I did something I was very wary about because I didn’t want to say the wrong thing. I asked my mother why didn’t she cry when her mother died. She looked at me and said, “I had nothing to cry about.” She did everything right by her mother she stated. She felt that her brother and sisters were so emotional because when their mother was alive, they didn’t do everything for her that they were capable of doing. As a result of that, they felt guilty. I started to think how my aunts and uncle felt at this moment. I asked myself “If my mom died today, would I be pleased with how I treated her?” I couldn’t help but cry myself a river. In my eyes I treated my mother so poorly.


Waking up on Sunday mornings are complicated. I am always plotting a plan so it can keep me from going to church. Every Saturday night my mother tells me, “Get your clothes out Lex and be ready for church”. Then I say in my head, “Yea yea, I’m not going to be anywhere but my comfy bed”. Usually my excuses like “My tummy hurt mommy”, or “I’m so tired”, works on my mom. This Sunday morning, my mom was on something totally different.


I heard the creeks of my floor on this beautiful Sunday morning, and automatically thought “Get your game face on Lex”. I turned around peacefully and opened my eyes to my mother’s big round head and Chuckie look alike glasses from the Rugrats. She startled me, but I had to get back in character. I turned around and mumbled “Mom, my stomach hurts so I can’t go to church”. My mom said, “The heck you aren’t, I’m tired of your B.S Lex!” This came as a shock to me because I was use to the answer yes, not the two letter word that begins with the letter “N”.

My mom thought she had won but there is always a plan B in Lexus’s book. I figured maybe if I took forever, by the time my mom was ready to go, I wouldn’t be dressed and she would just leave me. I had another thing coming! My mom said, “Come on Lex!” I barely had any clothes on, so I yelled, “Mom are you kidding me… I barely have one leg in my pants”. She said, “Oh well whose fault is that, now come on”. I was almost devastated about this. I didn’t want people to see me at my worst in church. I know church is not supposed to be about showing off, it’s supposed to be about your worship time with the higher source. However, in my head first it’s about worshipping and second it’s a fashion show.


Getting in the car with my hair all over my head, no make-up, and no phone just seemed unreal to me. I was so appalled with the whole situation. I was furious with my mom. I dared my mom to ask me a question because she was definitely getting the silent treatment on this morning. I couldn’t let my mom tell that this was getting to me though because then she was going to feel that she won this war. I held my tears in that felt like they were trying to push out like a fifty-pound weights all the way to the church. Once we got to the church I finally snapped on my mother. I told her that she was a mean and horrible mother. I finally realized what I said and how much I hurt my mother’s feelings. My mom does everything in her power to take care of me and I don’t know what I would without her.


I don’t want to end up like my aunts and uncles. If my mom was to die today I would like to know that I did everything in my power to make her feel like she is the best mom in the world only because she is. I would be up to me head in guilt if she had died and I knew that I didn’t treat my mom with respect and expressed to her that I appreciated her.











Families Are Like Rollercoasters

Posted by Dakota Foster in English 2 - Block on

​ We were never the ‘socially accepted’ family. My parents were never married they only lived together long enough for it to be considered a common-law marriage. They met at a young age, my mom being 13 and my dad being 17. It wasn’t love at first sight it was hatred at first sight. Eventually, they grew to love each other, love each other enough to move into together. Loving each other enough to have a kid together, and  this is where I came in.
        My parents split up when I was 7 years old. I wasn’t very aware of the fact that they were arguing and upset with each other most of the time. I didn’t know that they couldn’t even talk to each other sometimes I felt so clueless. I was pretty certain that I knew everything that my parents did, but I obviously didn’t.
The day was like any other day it was just another day of second grade. A regular morning, everything was going great but there was a different feeling in the house. The house felt emptier. I walked into the kitchen and my mom is just standing there. My dad’s things packed in his bags. Finally, the tension broke; my mom and dad were splitting up.

“Dad and I need to talk to you about something,’ my mom said in a stern voice.

“Is it bad? Cause you seem sad.”

“You won’t be happy about it.”

“What is going on,” I ask cautiously.

“Your dad and I, we need to talk to you about something important.” My mom states firmly.

“What is it?’

“Your mom and I have been having some problems. Problems that aren’t getting ironed out,’ my dad says

        “What kind of problems,” I ask franticly.
        “Your dad and I aren’t getting along as well, as we use to.”

“WHAT? What does that even mean? You guys love each other and you are supposed to get along, perfectly.”

“Your dad and I are separating. He has to move out.”

“SEP-ER-ATING? What does that mean,” I state more confused than before.
        “Dakota, your mom and I aren’t getting along. We argue a lot more than is normal.”

“I’ve never seen you guys argue.”

Well, we have been so we decided to separate. This is for your own good; we want you to grow up happy in a healthy home,” my dad says.

“Okay, I guess,” I say in an unsatisfied voice.

I didn’t know what else to say, I didn’t know what to do. How was I supposed to go to school with this feeling in my stomach? I cried for as long as tears were still coming out of my eyes.

After my parents split, I use to lie to my friends or to anybody new I met. I didn’t want people to think I was in a broken home. I didn’t want people to think I was the reason why my parents split up. I never talked about my parents, never said anything about where I lived, or whom I lived with. For about 3 to 4 years, I never said anything about my parents or my home life.

I didn’t see my dad for a while, but when I did see him everything was different. My parents tried to work on getting along more just for me. They were getting good but I was still worried. The next thing I know we are going on vacation together. I never understood how a split up family could go on vacation. I swore my parents hated each other, I swore they never wanted to see each other again. I know they still loved me, but they didn’t love each other. How could they be together, at the shore for a week? I was scared for my dear life; I didn’t want to witness my parents getting into an argument. The drive to the shore was slow and full of anticipation I was just so excited to go to the shore, but in the back of my mind, my parents were always there. As the week went on, there weren’t any arguments; there weren’t any viscous looks at each other, just love. Everything was fine and dandy.

As I got older, life got better. My dad and my mom were getting along better. We went out to dinner together, to the movies together, and different places. We went to Longhorns together and everything was amazing. We were able to laugh and eat in peace. We tried each other’s food. Things became clear. My parents became closer because of me. If I did something amazing, like getting great grades, they were happy. If I did something horribly wrong, they both showed the same amount of disappoint in me.

On my 8th grade graduation, I went out to dinner with them. We ate with the whole family. Everybody was laughing, and getting along. Nobody argued all day, it was just like the vacation to the shore. I wished for more days like this, when we looked like a normal family. The conversation was loving and not disrespectful.

“Dakota, what are you going to do now? HIGH SCHOOL STUDENT,’ my dad yells in the middle of the restaurant.

“Hahahahahaha, Troy. Don’t pressure the girl, she is fresh outta middle school,’ my mom giggles.

“You guys are so weird,” I say in a loving voice.

“We are so proud of you, Dakota,” they state in the most loving voice.

I made it all the way to high school, with the grades. I knew everything that I needed to know. I graduated 8th grade on June 13th, I never failed any classes or was left back.  Just like any other married couple with a family, I had higher grades then some of than those kids. When I walked onto that stage, my parents gazed up at me, and then looked at each other. Right then, they knew and I knew. There wasn’t anything to every be ashamed of. They knew splitting up was better than me seeing people fight everyday or them holding it off. They knew that they raised me well. They were so proud of me and I was so proud of them. I rather am in a home with one parent, then being in a home with both parents who argue all the time.
        We are a normal family, no ifs ands or butts. My parents love me; they care for me it was always like this. I was just too young to understand. I thought a family had to be together, in the same house but I was wrong. We were able to have family events, see movies together, and go to dinner together. What was there to be ashamed of? My family was like any other family. I had nothing to hide; I didn’t realize that when I was younger. I thought your parents had to be together, but they don’t. I met more and more kids my age that had divorced parents I realized that things happen. Things change and sometimes the best thing to do is to split up.

Now, I am older and the problems aren’t arguments between them, but arguments with me. I wouldn’t want to talk to them because I felt like they wouldn’t listen to me. I felt like a kid and they were ganging up on me. Now, it was 2 against 1. Some days I didn’t want to talk to my dad or on other days I didn’t want to talk to my mom. It was just like if we all lived in the same house. I would see my dad every other weekend or during the week. I live with my mom and we got into arguments. We were still a family, just in different houses.

I never should’ve hid anything; I am proud of where I come from. People still give me dirty looks when they find out about my parents. Why? Because they are just jealous. Jealous of the fact that my family had a rollercoaster of a life, and it isn’t even over yet. Jealous that the rollercoaster isn’t even done yet, the hills will get higher and then downfall will get longer. Only my parents can keep me anchored to the rollercoaster seat.

Descriptive Essay: Trust In Family

Posted by Roger Bracy in English 2 - Block on

“Wake up wake up” The eagerness inside me filled as the smell of pine needles and a shinning sun rushed into my room. It was Christmas, I rushed down the stares eye wide as bus and in surprise to find out which of the big red shining boxes were mine. Almost slipping on the bottom step, my little body flung to the gift of my parents. Ripping into the boxes, not caring where the pieces would land, although opening the first present wasn’t my greatest joy. A Mature and well living elder woman, crept down our stairs, to see her grand children, and watched me open her gifts. One of the only times I see her is during the Christmas. She greeted me with a “good morning” and with the biggest smile glued to here face. Not very often did I get to see my grandmother, as she lives in South Carolina. I always cherished these moments with her, watching and learning from her. Slippers robe and a bright face, she rubbed me on the back and observed the trash my sister and I had made.
Times like these make me realize one thing I’m lucky. I’m lucky too have people who love me, people who care and cherish the times they have with me. Holidays bring us together too catch up on the events that we’ve been through.  Grandmother although wise and mature always finds ways to make me feel bight inside when I’m with her.
Drawn to the smell of the soul food I arrived with my family into my grandmother’s house. Headed strait toward the kitchen, we passed the living room, with a set of couches and a lone piano. Passing by the well lit dinning room, my mouth watered and eye peeked to see what types food my aunts and grandmother had made. Arriving in the kitchen we all greeted each other as if we hadn’t seen each other in years. Long kisses on the forehead and hugs from my aunts, along with the strong grip hand shake from my uncles. Since everyone had now arrived my family decided once again it was time to give thanks on this special day. Once in the dinning room the crowded room got quite as one started to give thanks. As my Aunt Kimmy spoke her words, they were true as she told us that my cousin Vernon, who was placed in Afghanistan, was alive and well. As she finished one tear rolled down her cheek I knew she missed him. As if a spotlight fell on me it arrived at my turn, I looked around at my relatives smiling and waiting for me to go. My mind was blank as a paper with no ink, I peered out once again at my family but this time looking at my grandmother, she nodded. Then spoke “ Go a head, speak your mind so it will be from the heart.” I did just that thanking my mother and father for there guidance through out my life. I was thankful for the meal and ride that I got to the school bus everyday from my grandparents. As my turn ended, I thought to myself what my grandmother had told me had in fact worked, and what I was thankful for was true to the heart, and they accepted it. Knowing that if I had said something completely different they would’ve acknowledged my voice anyway. You can always rely on family to have your back.
                      Some may think twice about seeing family on a holiday because they might not be on good terms with one or two members of their family. As far as my family goes, I believe we are healthy family because we can have good times and bad times but still leave each other happy. Having this strong bond between a group people is fantastic, having someone to lean on when times are hard. I have been given a gift and sometimes I may abuse it.
                    Red lights beaming out the back window, we stop in front of the school. Glimpsing through the window, almost fogging up from the heat of the air conditioner, I rubbed the glass with my sleeve. Then I look up to an “Alright Buddy” from my grandfather signifying we had arrived at the school. Struggling to make it out the back seat, I hulled my blue backpack out the car. Closing the door my grandmother spoke those same words, “Do you want me to walk you inside?” Quickly as possible I replied with a shaking of my head, “No.” But she insisted to proceed out the car to fix my jacket and hat. Straitening my clothes, I disrespectfully told her, “I have it, stop” brushing her elderly hands off of my jacket. She then asked, “Do you know how to get to your classroom? Maybe I should walk you there.” This being my third year at GFS, a private school with a huge campus, I could understand why she would think I would get lost. I was scared that if she guided me to the classroom I would look a certain way to my peers. What would they think of me having a 75-year-old woman walk me to class? Maybe that I lived with her and not my parents, or they might have thought I was scared to walk on my own. In my head at the time this was a risk wasn’t ready to take, so insisted to keep her here in the parking lot where no one could judge me. Cold and mean spirited I told her once again, “I could walk by my self, and you can go home now.” She gave me an agitated face and waved “Alright I see you back here after school.” Blowing kiss as they drove she made me reach my highest point of humiliation. Why was I so embarrassed of my grandmother who cares what others think. This was not the real me, I love my family why was I so disrespectful?
        Wishing that those days of school went away, I regretted what I did to my grandmother. I was embarrassed by my own family. She was just looking out for my well being, and I shunned her away like she didn’t belong. I was making assumptions on how people would react to her, when she really had good intentions for me. Embarrassment should not lead you to disrespect your family.  Your family’s intentions are always good and sometimes you should just let the embarrassments go and allow them to take care of you.

Descriptive Essay:The Last two goals....

Posted by Dejah Harley in English 2 - Block on

Joy was seen in my smile, but nervousness was shown in my eyes. I was happy that it was a new school year. It was my sophomore year. I have three goals and one of them is to get rid of my clumsiness habit. I trip and stumble all the time. I have tried to be more conscious of my surroundings but it doesn’t seem to help. I feel like I am cursed. Whenever I injure myself it is always on a day where something bad is going to happen or already did. I know that from then on, I am just going to have bad luck that day. Can I break free from this curse? Can I?

I hear my grandmother calling my name, DEJAH DEJAH! I overlook it. Its 6:00 in the morning and I can’t get out of bed. She comes back half an hour later and shakes me saying, “WAKE UP”! I can barely see her face and I attempt to open my eyes. My eyelids felt heavy and dropped back down. Tiredness got the best of me. I was finally able to overcome it. After I did, I was able to get dressed, brush my teeth, do my hair, and eat breakfast in 30 minutes.  Mental stability was key in this process. My day began to pick up and I THOUGHT it was going well. I was wrong.

As my grandmother was leaving our driveway, I asked her if I could go to Dunkin Donuts to get a hot chocolate. After getting back inside the car I let the hot chocolate cool in one of the cup holders. My grandmother went to start the car and nothing happened. The engine light was flashing. We were stranded for 20 minutes until we found a cab to take us back to the house to get my mothers car. It was a good thing that she was out of town. I prayed and hoped that today wouldn’t be a bad day.

There was so much traffic. It made the car ride to school tedious. I tripped twice while in school. In each class I received homework to put in my day planner. Joy was visible by the smile on my face when I found out that school ended early.  I took the bus home.

I have been stumbling through my life. Literally. My friends and family call me clumsy or accident-prone all the time. When I was younger I never felt like a sturdy walker or the most athletic person. Almost every sport that I have tried to do I have injured myself in some way, shape, or form. The only two sports that I succeeded in were tennis and volleyball. That is only because my father is a tennis instructor and my mother used to play volleyball. They both helped me. However, there are still so many injuries that happen on a daily basis.

When I got home, I went into my kitchen to make myself a quick snack. When I was cooking grease popped onto my face. I was startled. My arm flinched and I hit the handle of the pan. It went onto the island of the kitchen. I went into my dinning room to get some paper towels. Ironically, I slipped on some water. While I was falling I tried to catch myself by grabbing the dinning room table. However, I ended up actually knocking over a candle with a glass case onto the floor. I picked up all the glass pieces and try to get more paper towels to wipe up the mess that I made in the kitchen.

I was on my way back into the kitchen when a piece of glass went through my sock and into the ball of my foot. I limped into the kitchen to sit on a stool to try to get the large piece of glass out. I slowly tried to pull it out flinching from the pain. Then, the glass shattered and the tip was still in my foot.  It was a stinging sensation. Every time I would step, it felt like I was getting a needle in my foot.

The next day, the glass was still in my foot. However, I would walk and I could fill the glass going into my foot deeper and deeper. My brother had to tear into my skin and finally get a piece of glass out smaller than a pea. I am not really sure if all the glass is gone or if some is still in there because the sharp pain in my foot is still there. However, it might just be the pain from all the skin that had to be taken off my foot.

Having glass in my foot was less pain than when I spilled hot chocolate on myself. I opened the bag of coco powder packet and ripped the top flap off. I was so excited to make my hot chocolate that I sloppily poured the coco mix into the cup. I missed and 1/8 of the powder ended up next to the cup. I mixed the water and powder together to create a brown hot liquid. There was so much steam coming from it. I grabbed a paper towel and sat down. I wiped up the powder that I had spilled. However, I wiped too much and knocked the cup onto my left leg where my left hand also was. I was screaming at the top of my lungs “AAHHHHHHHHHHHHH”. Thankfully I had on a large sweat suit that absorbed most of the hot chocolate. However, the chocolate seeped though it enough to give me a second degree burn.

The people around me flinch whenever I fall. My friends sometimes giggle and I do the same. What am I supposed to do? All I can do is get up and walk it out. My family just ignores it. They know that I injure myself all the time. My brother just tells me to man up and my parents just let it go. I feel accident-prone. I can never change that because I can’t change me. I won’t change me. Therefore, maybe I should only have two goals this year; to get straight A’s and scholarship money.  

ENG2-008

Term
2011-12

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