Lack of motivation doesn’t plagues students in rural African villages and urban American schools alike. My friend is a French teacher in a high school that serves low-income minority students who don’t always see the point in learning French. She found a grant, enlisted in my help to write it and it was funded. The grant will allow both of us (and her husband) to travel to Senegal and Morocco to learn about Francophone culture outside of Europe. Africa has more French speakers than any other continent with 120 million people in 24 countries communicating in French. 

My temperament is as unpredictable as the weather. Although I attempt to be optimistic, far too often I blow insignificant annoyances out of proportion. I enjoy laughing and making others laugh more than anything in the world, thought on the whole I believe I am far too serious. I rarely feel comfortable talking about myself, and usually defer conversation to those who don’t mind hearing their own voice. I am considered a good conversationalist, not for my riveting pontifications, but for my ability to be genuinely interested in conversation that does not revolve around me. My disposition greatly depends on my comfort level. When I appear aloof or disinterested, it is often because I am feeling self-conscious and painfully shy. 

My science teacher told me the Geminoid Meteor Shower was scheduled to make an appearance in our corner of the world. It’s rare for the cosmos to be aligned to allow stargazers in northeast Ohio to experience galactic phenomena in the own back yards. Usually, comets, meteor showers, and the like are best seen from obscure islands in the South Pacific, where the only inhabitants are high-powered telescopes. The newspapers show breathtaking views of sights most people never see. 

This year has been unlike any year before it. I’m finally comfortable in my own skin. I’m no longer worried about being the best, or the most popular, or the most involved. I do activities that matter the most to me: theater and band. I make a conscious effort to talk to people and find our what they have to say I consider school my second home, and as much as I’ll enjoy graduating and moving on with my life, I will miss the people who walk the high school halls.

Being in elementary school band means giving up recess. Being disinterested in kickball, football, and soccer, and having spent more than my fair share of time on the swings and jumping rope, skipping recess was not a problem. I chose to play the flute. My mom had played the flute and she still had hers. I don't remember even considering any other instrument. I didn't so much as try out a trumpet or a sax at the information night. My mind was set in stone, and I would not change it. I’m stubborn once I made a decision, and I blind myself to options without one iota of consideration. I wish I were more open minded. 

The rich and extensive history of Spain is exhibited in countless breathtaking edifices. Churches and castles were plentiful on the touring agenda. The dark, quiet space inside a cathedral is inexplicable. I have no words for the awe I felt looking up at the mural-covered ceilings, high-vaulted arches, and football-filed sized sanctuaries. Here was this extremely holy place, where people come to pray and hear sermons, take communion, and praise God. I was merely a tourist. I came, not to repent some deep sin or pray, but to gawk. Among countless others, I was an ugly American with a camera and a tendency to talk to loudly and too often, who came on vacation to stare at the lavish decor and experience the culture. I felt sorry for God, who had to share his home dedicated to Him with people like me, who wrote it off as another stop on the tour de Spain. 

I am irritated by most of the human race. Humans are appalling creatures. How we ever became the high beings of our planet is far beyond my comprehension. We are lazy, self-centered, arrogant creates, and most of us are rude, ignorant, and unhappy. People are so cruel to one another, and yet we claim to be social creatures. Man complains by nature, but no one seems to do anything to solve the issues they are complaining about We are destructive; we’re ruining our planet. We are intolerant of both innocent mistakes and those who are not exactly like ourselves. Most days I’m sick of the human race. My harbored contempt often goes unnoticed, but on occasion, I can not help but speak out against behavior that annoys and irritates me. 

Molten sugar is the perfect adhesive when it comes to holding the gingerbread frame together. The deep-brown, boiling liquid lends itself to two main methods of application. The first involves dipping opposite ends of the gingerbread into the hot pan and scooping it onto the piece. I find the method to be the more dangerous of the two. Burns seem most frequent when one side already has the sticky hot sugar on it and the opposite side needs dipped into the pan.

What we so often forget is our work is not about the product, but rather, the process. We insist we are only successful in school if our answers match those printed in the back of the book. The content of what we write doesn’t matter as long as the commas are all in the right places. Everyone is brought down to the lowest common denominator and then told they’re not working to their potential. My work at school is to engage my mind, and to familiarize myself with the world outside my frame of reference. However difficult it may be, my job is to ignore the pressure to “just get and A” and instead, learn for the intrinsic value knowledge has. 

Fridays are usually a blur. From August through November, football games fill the evening to the brim. Of course, the only reason to watch high school football is the halftime show. Marching band is by far the most amazing extracurricular activity I have had the pleasure of participating in. Something extraordinary happens when 200 kids line up underneath the stadium lights, wearing feather in their caps and march to the music of their own making. Playing my piccolo on Friday nights, riding the bus ride to away games, wearing the wool parts, traipsing through the muddy fields, and attending the band parties afterwards create a perfect end to hectic a week and a nice segue into the weekend. 

Day of cramped quarters and crowded decks left Giovanna longing for the signs of land to the west. On August 8, 1920, the first glimmer of Lady Liberty’s shining torch pierced the blue sky, awing the masses that passed beneath her. Giovanna felt the most difficult part of her voyage to an American life was behind her, but in reality, it was only beginning. My great-grandparents, like the millions of other immigrants from Europe, entered the country through Ellis Island. Neither one spoke any English, which made their transition into the country all the more difficult.