Creative Piece: Showcase (6/20/09)

A Performance Piece--

inspired by a graduating senior's slam poetry

go back to spring days

where children played

and boys and girls went to high school plays

eyes on the stage

velvet curtains sway

red and deep, like Chardonnay

open Act I.

the players played,

they made gestures.

over the top, dramatic

they acted out the story

shouting their lines and

singing their hearts out and

falling in love.

the curtains came down for the end of Act I

casting shadows on the stage and

the players froze.

the children rushed out to buy snacks at the bake sale

change clanging,

that metallic ring,

in their pockets.

the intermission came

a fifteen minute dose of reality

the boy and the girl they stood in a courtyard

outside the school.

they talked--

no, they didn't.

they stood and they looked

at one another

like two dogs in the park

or two babies crawling on the ground for the first time!

dragging their legs behind them.

the air crisp and clear

a light breeze

like a movie!

a Sound of Music moment

Rolf and Liesel

although we all know how that ends

with Liesel escaping

scaling

those mossy green hills.

wind whistling, leaves whirling, branches rustling

everything comes alive

with color and clarity.

a Wizard of Oz moment.

then slowly, or quickly,

because that's not the point

the rain came

with a smash of lightning.

or maybe it fell

gently, in slow motion.

isn't it amazing how it can rain so hard, you can't even see it?

the lights dimmed

time for Act II

they came crashing

through the door

and took their seats.

the real stars shone again,

with makeup, and wit, savvy, and glamor

talent and youth like a Hollywood legend.

legends, who never die,

they take root like a flower

or a weed

and shoot upward forever.

those actors they almost always hit the perfect note-

the show came to a close

a miraculous ending! fantastic!

you'd never believe!

the bad guy came back in the end

and he wasn't caught either

what d'you know?

that thing was magic, like a broadway show

my mom took me to when I was little,

except for she didn't

I'd never been to New York.

but it only cost- five dollars!

after the show

they lined up to give their friends flowers;

because it was spring!

tulips and daisies and peonies

great big globes of velvet, oh!

how wonderful

some of the soft petals dropped to the floor

drifting and landing like those propeller things

that come off trees.

but it was alright because it was spring

where brooks bubble

and liquid sunshine works magic

and vines stretch up

breaking through the good earth

winding up the lattice in my mother's tomato garden

mother kneels down

in the deep, rich earth

and digs, like a worm.

in spring, you could dig down forever

pulling out magic like a magician pulls scarves from a hat

and in spring

you could see magicians and fantastical things at the circus

and the colorful lights play up the drama.

elephants tumble across the stage

like girls in ballets

with ribbons in their hair.

after the recital daddy took the girls for ice cream

and the girl pressed her nose to the glass

plump finger outstretched, pointing.

and the girl behind the counter plucks up the scoop

fingering it like a precious ornament

and plunges it into the cool, sweet cream

on a cone it is like a high tower,

a sandcastle

or the forts children make before dinnertime

out of blankets, forts for princesses-

in some worlds they're real.

and the sweet air, honeysuckle dew drops

as sweet as her dreams or her favorite teacher's perfume.

she dug her hand into the rusty bucket

the grubby hand emerges

this time with a small, silver fish she caught in the stream

oh! the hem of her dress is damp

but it is springtime so her mother laughs it off.

she looks at the fish and says to the girl

that it has to go back to where it came from.

so the girl skips back down the street and dumps the bucket over

the water floods the edge of the streambank

and the silver skimmer edges its way back into the water

disappearing under the surface.

the girl who rode her bike

fearlessly, and skinned her knee

and went to the farmers' market on Saturday morning

only to be stung by bees, dismisses this

and goes running into spring.

She runs down the hall

and buys two tickets to the spring musical.

US Naval Academy Summer Seminar: On the Strength of One Link in the Cable

     Just last week, I returned from one of the toughest and most traumatic experiences of my life. While I was at the United States Naval Academy, attending their exclusive Summer Seminar, and living alongside other elite high-school candidates from across the country, the majority of the time all I wanted to do was go home. Granted, I was much closer to home than many of my fellow candidates to begin with. I called my mom, and after a tear-filled phone conversation, I could have easily cut the cord on that adventure, packed my bags, and headed up 95 North. But for some reason, I also didn't want to be done with NASS. I didn't want to leave my new friends, and I wanted to prove that I could make it through the grueling six days. But even more than proving that I could do it, I wanted to make it through the next six days. And I did. And luckily, the experience ultimately reinforced that my original reasons for registering for the Summer Seminar, and for taking an interest in The Academy, were valid. I had gotten so many eye rolls, and questioning glances upon mentioning my interest in the Academy. So many "why do you want to go there?"s. I felt doubtful, but the NASS reaffirmed my original reasons for taking an interest in the Navy.

     My six days in Annapolis were by no means easy, and it didn't help that many of my peers seemed to find it exactly that; easy. (It's like getting a C on a test, which may be a great Chemistry grade for you, but then having some of your closest friends milling around complaining about their 92s. Although that does happen to me pretty frequently, so maybe  should be used to it.) The mission of the USNA is "to develop midshipmen morally, mentally, and physically, and to imbue them with the highest ideals of duty, honor, and loyalty  in order to graduate leaders who are dedicated to a career of naval service and have potential for future  development in mind and character to assume the highest responsibilities of command, citizenship, and government." (Don't quote me on that; it's from memory.) One week there did just that. With a broken toe, anxiety problems, and cramps, the 8 hour sea trials were like nothing I had ever tried to do before. 

     So why did a white girl from an upper-middle class suburban family, who attends one of the nation's top college preparatory schools, consider putting herself through this? More importantly, why did a girl with absolutely no upper-body strength, consider putting herself through this? The answer can be found in the mission statement, and the 5th Law of the Navy, and Article VI of United States Military Code that we had to memorize over the course of our week at Annapolis. The United States Naval Academy, at least in my opinion, more holistically represents honor, integrity, loyalty, duty, friendship, comradeship, and love, and fosters these ideas more effectively, than does any other service academy, educational institution, government building, or street corner in the world. This is not to say that the USNA is the only institution that demands these values and principles, or that the USNA is, in fact, the best or only place where one can undergo immense personal growth, or experience these concepts in their truest forms. Sure, there are so many places like this. I have taken note of many of them, whether they be little-known restaurants that are locals' favorites, community swimming pools, the Olympic Games, or a government. Nevertheless, I will take the Navy's advice and never give up the ship. I will also never give up my personal opinion that the United States Naval Academy is the primary definition of those values. 

     At the Naval Academy, officers and teachers, superiors and peers, preach the concept that is the collective, not the individual, that is, in the end, both the prize of freedom and the key to victory. All my life, I have wanted to take part in something bigger than myself, something massive, something incredible. Something I couldn't control. Being part of the Brigade provides this opportunity. It allows you to become a physically fit, elite, highly educated individual, but more so, it demands that you lose part of your individuality and meld with your fellow midshipmen into one physically fit, elite, highly educated team, dedicated to defending the United States's greatest principles, and motivated to be the best. I have always wanted to be part of a group, a piece of the puzzle that fits seamlessly with others as it is nestled into position. In the Navy and the USMC, not only are you part of such a cohesive unit, but you have no choice but to be part of one. Beginning with the Summer Seminar, and continuing through Plebe Year, your four Ac-Years, and your summers at the Academy, you are continually thrust into situations that require you to work with your squad, platoon, company, and brigade-mates. These situations require you to trust these people, to care about these people, to love these people, and to act as if each of them is really you. This is such an incredible concept to me, and so intangible, that I have trouble even thinking about it. And I definitely can't possibly understand it. 

     You can read "Band of Brothers" and watch documentaries and movies of combat units and similar experiences until you are blue in the face, as I have done, and you will still never get it until you live it. During my week at the Academy, I got an inch of the tip of the iceberg of it, and it left me hungry for more, completely obsessed with the loyalty and comradeship that the experience fostered. Frankly, I still don't get it. I have been reading 'The Gamble,' a novel by journalist Tom Ricks about the American strategy in the Iraq War since 2006, and I think a couple of guys in there might get it. All of them actually. But in terms of all of the people in the world, very few get it, and the USNA provides an opportunity to make you someone who "gets it." I want to live alongside people like the midshipmen who guided me through my week in their home. I want to work alongside people of that moral character, that quality, that impressive nature and sense of calling that words cannot describe. I want to be one of those people, someone I can be proud of. Those who enter and successfully graduate the Academy are inarguably the most outstanding United States citizens, and extend their values and ideals to the entire world. I want to be able to depend on someone as much as I can depend on myself. I want someone I can proudly walk into battle with, someone that I know will be with me to the bitter, or glorious, end. I want unequivocal friendships built off of unconditional trust, loyalty, and love. 

     In addition to singularity rather than individualism, the Naval Academy promotes other values that I find incredibly important; honor and commitment to one's country, particularly the United States of America. Today, sitting in the lifeguard chair, and attempting to stay as alert as possible, I realized that lifeguarding for days on end is boring, but is also stress-inducing and taxing. You are not quite doing anything, at least nothing physical, which makes it boring, but at the same time, you are constantly scanning the pool, counting children in certain areas, making sure they come up for air, or don't jump off too close to the diving board. But as unfortunate as it may seem to be sitting in the lifeguard chair, I began to realize some other things. Like how I was sitting in a lifeguard chair, wearing the sunglasses I wanted to wear, and a bathingsuit that didn't cover me from head to toe. My face was not veiled, because I did not want it to be. Even more miraculous, the children in the water were similarly clothed, and splashed around doing whatever they pleased on a mid-June day. Not in all corners of this world are scenes like this tolerated, even possible. The kids making grabs at their parents wallets as the ice cream truck rolled on down was such a stark contrast from the way that in the Dominican, the children's bright eyes would sadly follow the flavored-ice truck as it navigated its way around a goat and then out of sight behind a corner. Those children didn't even bother to ask their parents for money, and a lot of them didn't even have parents. Prosperity. 

     The bathingsuits, particularly of the women, suddenly brought me to remember the images I have been watching on TV for the past week. Images of violence, and slaughter, and chaos, in Iran, where citizens continue to protest last week's announced election results. Perhaps this leap was me stereotyping Iran, and radical governments, as those who demand the veiling of women and restrict women's rights, but nevertheless, that is what I thought about. Freedom. And then it came to me. That scene witnessed from the lifeguard chair was a manifestation of all of the "principles which made my country free" (Art VI, USMC). That was what I had been learning about, reciting, trying to grasp for the past week.  That scene at the pool? That is what graduates of The Academy preserve. I LOVE this country. Heck, I love President Bush just as much as I love President Obama. And THEY both love our country. The Navy is a steadfast defender, dedicated to keeping America around, and is filled with like-minded midshipmen, who also feel the utmost respect for our nation's leaders, and devotion to our country and its principles. 

     The Academy truly does value tradition, and memory, and legacy, perhaps more than any other school in the world. It honors those who came before you, and preserves the memory of their lives. Furthermore, it has endearing school-wide traditions, such as the Spirit Missions, or Recons, that each company goes on during the week preceding the Army-Navy game, or the unique way of passing Lefty's BBQ Sauce at the tables in Kings Hall (left hand only and to the left.) Or the way midshipmen open new jars of Skippy, by rolling the jar upside down between their palms until warm, and popping its seal by smashing the jar against their foreheads. Even the most unpleasant of traditions, like the Sea Trials, or Indoc-Night, or Drill, are traditions nonetheless. The cliche USNA tradition of graduation and the tossing of the caps cannot be forgotten, nor can the great feats accomplished by the men and women who graduated before you. Now, each incoming plebe class finds partnership through a mentoring program where the graduating class of 50 years prior sponsors the midshipmen and guides them through their time in Annapolis. Traditions like bringing the Ac-Year to a close with Herndon Monument, and hanging posters on Captains' Row before big football games. Taking MOs (moving orders) to lacrosse games, and filming spirit spots, and singing Anchors Aweigh, and doing pull-up contests. My squad leader scaling every monument and statue on campus to put covers on top of each one. Midshipmen scribbling their company number (with chalk) on every single tile in T-Square. Humiliating plebe initiation rituals. Dress-whites, and the chapel, and Princess Leias (ask about those,) Bancroft, and PEP, and morning runs. Parking for Firsties on The Yard. Because the Midshipman sense of pride is so deeply tied to all of their other values, these traditions are all the more impressive.

     Finally, honor, the foundation upon which the US Military and the USNA is built, is so incredibly special, that naturally I see this institution as the best place to discuss honor openly and to immerse oneself in an educational, professional, and general culture steeped with honor. I believe so deeply in my school's honor code that attending a university with an honor code and council is essentially a prerequisite to making my college decision.  I still have the daisies I received sophomore and junior years for signing the honor statement at my school, and at all times try to keep in mind what I have agreed to and, furthermore, why. Whether it be a matter of academic integrity, or following other school policies, I remember the teachers and peers I stood in front of on the stage as I signed my name into that old, black, leather book. And likewise, midshipmen do not forget or take lightly their commitments and responsibilities. When trying to take in the full extent of the midshipmen's commitment to honor, all one really can do is feel amazement and awe, and drop his jaw like the fourth-grader, on her elementary school field trip, who is led past Bancroft Hall during noon meal formation. It is that dumbfounding.

   

     The Naval Academy may have one of the top engineering programs in the world, and excellent faculty, two other commendable characteristics of the experience offered there. It may have one of the most beautiful campuses, and be located in the most scenic and historic of cities in the world. But the Naval Academy is actually so incredible because the things that make it incredible cannot be seen or taught. Rather, these principles are present, perhaps indiscernible and impalpable, yet dependable, and unwavering as the flag, in the Academy's inherent nature. These principles live among the men and women who gave their lives to greater things than themselves. These great people now reside on the hillside, facing the water, where the sun stretches out across the bay and up the hill, warming the cold marble slabs. They reside in the deep seas, and in foreign lands, and most of all, in the minds and hearts of the next generation set to protect the same things that their predecessors gave their lives for. These principles are echoed from sea to shining sea, and nowhere do they ring as loudly as they do from hall to hall, across the green expanses and grassy hamlets, on the Naval Academy campus.

     While the USNA may not be my future place of residence and scholarship, there are so many reasons it could well be. I want to do something when I grow up. To work with others with whom I have unbreakable bonds. I want to bring social change, stability, light to children's eyes. I want to master the art of language and take in the vibrant cultures the world has to offer. I want to be part of the same sort of collective, the same principles and ideals the Academy preaches and instills in midshipmen. My single week at the Academy was largely unenjoyable, at least while I was there, and I found it to be stressful and taxing, like lifeguarding, but at the end, I feel the greatest sense of accomplishment I have ever felt, the greatest respect and admiration for those who have gone to the Academy, and the greatest patriotic fervor and love for America that I have ever known. I am a romantic and a realist. An idealist and a pragmatist. Compassionate. Dedicated. Intense. Devoted. I love tradition, history, ancient scrolls, and the past. I also love the future. Hopes, plans, ideas. I believe in force, and I believe in diplomacy. I love this country, and truly believe that it is the greatest nation in the world. I have the greatest faith in the potential of mankind, but also see places where improvements could be made. I simply love the gifts that, in the Navy, one is taught to treasure and to preserve. I guess those are pretty good reasons to like a place, right? Hoorah.

On the strength of one link in the cable,

Dependeth the might of the chain,

Who knows when thou mayst be tested?

So live that thou bearest the strain!

I will never forget that I am an American, fighting for freedom, responsible for my actions, and dedicated to the principles which made my country free. I will trust in my God and in the United States of America.

The Process: Man, I love College..

I'm sure Asher Roth is right. I might love it when I get there. Then again, he and I seem like pretty different people with very different life goals. I don't exactly "drink my beer and smoke my weed." But what I do know is that right now, I'm not so into college. Literally and figuratively.

Now that exams are over, I can finally relax and have a great senior summer. Pause- this Saturday are the SAT IIs. Three of them. Then come teacher recommendations, writing essays, preparing your common app, narrowing down your list of schools, finding schools that will actually accept you, etc...

Now that Jay Leno has departed, Osama Bin Laden's released another tape, and our economy still sucks, I'm sure you could use a laugh. In the mood for a joke? The college process is actually a joke. Recently, I went to another college fair. But this one; this one was supposed to be different. When the invitation came in the mail, it was not a flyer on cheap yellow paper. No, this was good stuff. Neatly printed on a little white card. We got it and I thought, “Gee, maybe this actually means something. Maybe it is some kind of an honor that I got invited to this thing. It looks like a semi-personal invitation, right?” Hosted by Harvard, Stanford, Georgetown, Duke, and Penn, and held at the Inner Harbor Sheraton, it is needless to say it was a step up from the usual college fairs that take place in back rooms of seedy business centers off the interstate, or hotels that remind me of the one Holden Caulfield stays at in 'The Catcher in the Rye. ' But anyways, we decided to give it a shot. Maybe I'd have some personal interaction with an admissions representative this time? Or they'd actually tell us something, rather than saying there is no model student or no model experience at their school, and explaining that they look at each student "collectively." We arrived downtown with 30 minutes to spare (we know B-More like the back of our hands) only to find that the hotel’s garage parking cost $15 dollars. Doesn’t the Sheraton, or Harvard, for that matter, know we’re in a recession?! No, I guess their multi-million dollar endowments made them forget. Which reminds me; why is it that we must pay so much to be told that we are inadequate or to risk rejection from our dream school? (NOT that Harvard is my dream school. It may be though.) $83 dollars for each AP exam. Countless more for SAT books, classes, tutors. Self-addressed stamped envelopes to send for information. Admissions/ application fees. It never ends, and it adds up. This doesn’t even count the, oh, 60,000 dollars a year easy you can tack on for tuition, room, and board, at your "institution of higher learning", assuming you are admitted to one. College is just kind of ridiculous. I sometimes wonder whether the difference in income between what I and a non college graduate make one day will actually pay off. But anyways, then you get upstairs to the conference room and realize that the mugs for the complimentary tea and coffee are already gone from the back of the room. You have come up just short once again, this time to the college-obsessed, crazy, personal-trained, espresso-hyped, super peppy moms who never stop interfering in their children’s lives, and snapped up the refreshments so that they would have enough caffeine to run on for the duration of the night’s festivities. I suppose they need their energy to ask those questions about sliding scales, GPAs, IBs, pre-professional programs, and whether Georgetown prefers one SAT II over another. Who cares. Really.

And all it does is make you feel inadequate. Your test scores aren't high enough. Your GPA isn't high enough. You don't do enough extracurriculars. You're not good at sports. You don't take challenging enough classes. Your application will make you look lazy, even if you're not. You're not oblong enough; you haven't pursued one interest or passion to a point of excellence, and you're not well-rounded enough. They tell you they will look at you as a complete candidate, but what if you, like the majority, are lacking in all or many of these departments? You're out of luck.

You're also out of luck if you're a white, suburban, upper-middle class girl from a private school in Baltimore. Because, like giving a moose a muffin, if you receive an invitation to a college fair or event, chances are, you're going to run into about, oh, 50% of your class. And not only this but, oh, about 10 other people from your class of 60 are going to be applying to your first choice school with you. So good luck on getting in. Sorry that your demographic has suddenly become the least desirable one due to the college frenzy of the 21st century.

Soon enough you are startled from these thoughts by a young, uptight woman whose hair is pulled into a bun on the back of her head, as she clears her throat. She begins to speak about her school, and what makes it special, but all the facts begin to run together, like a Monet. You have a sheet of statistics, and can almost instantly count yourself out, for your credentials are not nearly good enough to get your Common App even a second glance. But you listen on anyways, and soon a man comes up to talk about his school. It is founded by Ben Franklin, and you think, "Hey, I love Ben Franklin. American History is my favorite subject. That John Adams series was pretty darn good. I love 'National Treasure.' And one time, my godsister took me to the Franklin Institute, that was pretty fun. Philadelphia's awesome." But then he stops talking about Ben, and begins to list interdisciplinary majors and teacher-student ratios. After a night of this, and no, you do not actually get to speak with any representatives, you head home and think.

"What am I supposed to write about? I have so much to say. I don't want to write it about a specific person or experience. I don't want to limit it to 2,000 characters. I wish I did more than devote my time and energy to intangible things, and thinking, and writing. Where does thinking get you, if there is no physical manifestation of your thought? Where does writing get you, if only three or four people read it, and it is not published, not entered in a contest? Where does playing lacrosse for eleven years because you love it? And what about being on a bad team, and being a benchwarmer, but being orally presented with the "unsung hero" award at an athletics awards ceremony? What about being pulled aside by your coaches one Wednesday afternoon for them to tell you that you are the hardest worker on the team? What about how I like to spend time in the English Department office at school, talking with the teachers about, literature, politics, and my crusades against improper grammar? What about my love for sports, and how I read the economist on Saturdays, or how every Sunday I do the New York Times crossword puzzle with my mom?

'What about how I dedicated myself last summer to running and eating healthy, losing 30 pounds and keeping it off? What about how I make babies smile, and can talk with adults for hours, even though people my own age take no interest in me. What about how I lost two elections for leadership positions in school this year, but I still ran? What about how I convinced the entire grade to go all out for spirit week, for the first time ever? The sad thing is, and please excuse the narcissism, I feel like these are good qualities. Or at least defining ones. But how am I supposed to compete with someone so much "better" qualified for a school, even if they b.s. an essay about their summer program or grandmother?" I can't. But I guess all one can do is laugh. That's the biggest joke about college. I know a few great people, thoughtful people, insightful people, driven people. And all I can hope is that this rule isn't true for them. These friends and colleagues are deserving, relentless in their work effort, and devoted.

But it's some sick and twisted game. Not like Candyland, no, because for this one, we're trying to find the path to the rest of our lives rather than to a fictionalized Oz of sugary confections. And let me tell you, I already know that life is not sweet. 'The Baltimore Sun' recently ran an article (yes, it printed more than just auto ads and photos and copies of other newspapers' articles for one day) about the college process. It effectively, and surprisingly, characterized the entire process by telling the story of two students. Same school. Same classes. Almost identical grades. Similar outside credentials. One boy got into Penn and Princeton. Yale and Harvard said 'no.' A girl was accepted by Yale and Princeton but wait-listed by Harvard. She had also been wait-listed at Tufts, where a third, who did not apply to any Ivies (although he wanted to) got in ED. I know, it's hard to keep track of all that. So what can we learn from this? Nothing. The college process is as big a gamble as throwing your entire savings into the current financial market would be. In fact, it's like using your life savings to buy GM stocks. Kind of.

The point is, this process is not clear. It is not fair. And it is not fun. So college better be, for the stress and sacrifices it has caused and will continue to cause for the next nine months. And one thing is for sure. Asher Roth better be right.