Education…Privilege or Right?

Education…Privilege or Right?

            Laws dictate that children have the right to obtain an education.  However, once you reach the college level education becomes a privilege not a right.  Fresh out of high school I attempted college the first time at Eastern Oregon State College in LaGrande, Oregon.  I say attempted because I failed miserably.  Freedom from the rules of my parents I dove head first into the social life of college.  At the time, I did not yet know how to balance fun with work.  After my freshman year my grades were so poor that I could not get any scholarships, therefore, I would have to pay my own way.  I could not afford to do this and neither could my family.  Thus ended my short college career, or so I thought at the time. 

A college education was an entitlement I had earned, right?  As a young student, my teachers and mother told me that if I did well in school I could go to college.  I worked hard, did well in school, and earned the right to go to college.  What I did not understand is that I had earned the privilege not the right to attend college.  I had to fall from my entitled pedestal to begin the journey that would teach me the valuable lesson of education being a privilege not a right.

Once I recovered from the shame of dropping out of college I went to work.  I worked hard at a couple of different jobs for the next thirteen years.  During that time, I married my long-time boyfriend, Phillip, who I had met while in college.  He encouraged me over the years to return to school.  I had more excuses for not going back to school than all my toes and fingers combined.  Then in April of 2006 the best reason for going back to school presented herself early one Easter Sunday, we named her Meghan Adelaide.  As I looked into her angelic face for the first time, I realized that I could not encourage her to partake of the privilege of a higher education if I did not have one myself.  I also realized in that moment that I was now responsible for the well-being of someone besides myself.  My husband is active duty military, in today’s time of wars, there is always the possiblility that we will send him off to war and he would perish.  Should that happen, without a college education, I would have a difficult time supporting my daughter let alone myself.

To my husband’s relief I finally realized the importance of a college education, however, to his dismay with the addition of our daughter to our little family we would not be able to afford the education I now desired.  Then this summer when Congress passed legislation allowing military members to transfer their GI Bill to dependents prayers were answered.  Since my husband has already earned his bachelors and graduate degrees and we have already started a college fund for our daughter, he decided to transfer his GI Bill to me.

I left the halls of my high school with a sense of entitlement; I felt that I had the right to a college education.  After failing at college the first time, I worked hard and gained a higher level of maturity.  Now new legislation has handed me a college education on a silver platter.  Only now, I enter the halls of college with the realization that the silver platter containing my education is a privilege earned on the backs of the sacrifice given by millions of young men and women who serve my country to maintain my freedoms.  This silver platter comes from the sacrifices made by my husband.  My college education is a fountain running fresh and freely, a fountain that I am privileged to drink.

ATV Follies

23 September 2009

ATV Follies

Slathering lotion on my leg, my hand brushes across a small lump on my shin that reminds me of the adventures I have had on my all-terrain-vehicle (ATV). My husband, Phillip, and I purchased our ATVs in May of 2006. We lived in Alaska and thought, when in Alaska do as the Alaskans do. After months of research, Phillip decided on the perfect ATVs for us. I am not analytical like my dear husband. I would have been satisfied to pick out the prettiest pink ATV the dealership had on the lot. Alas, I did not get the pink ATV. In the end, we purchased a pea-soup green Polaris Sportsman 450 for him and a pea-soup green Polaris Hawkeye for me.

One Friday afternoon in June, while I was at work, Phillip drove to the dealership, in Fairbanks, to retrieve the ATVs. The next morning we decided to venture out with our new babies. Less than 50 yards from our driveway, I collided with a small tree. Phillip joked, “At least, we know the brush guard works.” Recognizing that I did not know how to drive an ATV safely, he took me to an empty lot on base used to teach ATV safety. Phillip taught me the fine art of shifting my weight to the front if going up hill, to the back if going down hill, into the curve when making sharp turns, and when navigating unlevel ground to lean into the higher side. As soon as I felt comfortable with my new five-hundred-pound beast, we decided it was time to hit the trails.
Somebody once told me, the trails are so numerous on Eielson Air Force Base that I could ride a new trail every day and never ride the same trail twice. Phillip quickly finds what appears to be a suitable trail for novices to explore. The trail starts out fairly flat and wide. Soon I am navigating deep ruts and an extremely unlevel trail. Just when I am feeling arrogantly confidant in my new skills, I find myself on the ground with my ATV on its side. It happened so quickly and yet so slowly. I am fortunate to have been quick enough to scramble out from under the beast before it rolled onto its side. Once I caught my breath, I hopped back on and finished our maiden ride.

A few weeks later, we decided to venture off base with our ATVs. I had ridden a few more times with my husband and by myself. I was feeling confidant in my abilities. Phillip had heard about a great trail along the Chena River, north of Fairbanks. We decided to investigate. The trail started out as a fun ride, but quickly turned into a muddy mess. Phillip’s ATV became stuck in a deep, thick mud puddle. He motioned for me to take the second trail up and around the mud puddle. This would allow us to use my ATV to tow his out of the mud. The second trail started with a steep incline. I stood up on the ATV shifting most of my weight towards the front so I could travel up the hill. Then I pushed the throttle as far as it would go. All of a sudden my ATV is teetering on its back tires, and I am having visions of being crushed as it flipped over on its rear tires. Phillip later told me I had the look of shear terror, and my eyes had bugged out of my head. I am screaming for my husband as he runs to my side. Calming my nerves, he persuades me to turn on my wench. Phillip extends the cable from the wench, and wraps it around a tree. He returns to me, and jumps on to the ATV as I simultaneously jump off. Using the wench he pulls the ATV up the steep hill until all four tires rest on solid ground. Meanwhile, I am sitting by a tree on the far side of the puddle hyperventilating. Phillip positions my ATV in front of his. He attaches the wench from his ATV to the tailgate of mine. Then he asks me to get back on to my ATV. Using all the power my ATV has, I pull forward towing his out of the mud. After a quick discussion on whether we should turn around or continue, we decide it would be better to continue instead of trying to navigate that mud puddle again. I say a silent prayer hoping we do not encounter another puddle.

The view during the ride was phenomenal. The pale, almost neon, green leaves of the aspens mixed with the deep, rich greens of the pine are breathtaking. We travel for another hour without incident. Then my husband decides to change direction. For safety reasons we wear helmets when we ride our ATVs. With my helmet on I have a significant blind spot when looking behind me. In order to change direction, I would have to go in reverse to turn around. I looked behind me to the left and the right, every thing looked clear. However, I failed to see the tree directly behind me. I did, however, feel it when I slammed into its trunk causing me to bounce off the ATV. Phillip said I looked like a bull-rider being bucked off an angry bull. After making sure that I was all right, we hopped on to our ATVs and continued in the new direction. Eventually, we made a big loop and returned to where the truck and trailer were parked. The day was taxing both emotionally and physically, but it was a fun day spent with my husband.

A couple of weeks later it was the Fourth of July weekend, we decided to try riding on the Quartz Creek trail in the White Mountains north of Fairbanks. After packing lunch and drinks, we were on our way. There were numerous hikers on the trail, but they all seemed to be heading in the opposite direction. True to his nature, my husband soon decided that he wanted to turn around and follow a different trail. He turned around with ease. However, that darn blind spot thwarted me again! I failed to see that I was backing-up on to an incline. When my ATV was not reversing quickly enough for me, I pressed the little yellow button that read, “Reverse 4x4 override.” I have since learned this little yellow button should be avoided at all costs. Soon my rear, left tire was traveling up the incline. Unfortunately, the incline was so steep that my ATV had no place to go but on its side. The ATV rolled so swiftly; I did not know what was happening. All of a sudden my leg was pinned under a five-hundred-pound machine. After I caught my breath, I screamed for my husband. Fortunately, he had learned to never travel too far ahead of me. Phillip ran towards me. He lifted the ATV enough for me to crawl out from under it. As I lay on the ground crying in pain, he righted the ATV. With the ATV on all four tires again, we assessed my injuries. We did not know at the time the seriousness of my injuries. We simply assumed it was a bad bruise, and decided to continue with our ride. The rest of the ride was excruciating because we were driving over tundra. Tundra is not a smooth surface. It is riddled with ruts, and it is waterlogged ground that easily gives way under the weight of an ATV. This makes for a bumpy ride.

After we finished our ride and had the ATVs loaded onto the trailer, I rolled up the leg of my jeans revealing a softball-sized knot on my shin. Phillip and I decided it was simply a nasty bruise. Over the next week I iced the knot on my shin and took ibuprofen for the pain. After ten days the pain was not improving, and I began to get worried. Telephoning the clinic on base, I explained my injury. The nurse told me to come in immediately. My doctor lectured me on the dangers of a crush injury and ordered me to see the orthopedic surgeon at the Army hospital, thirty-minutes away, in Fairbanks. She called ahead, and he said he would meet me in the emergency room. Fear set in during the drive because my doctor had told me I was suffering from a compartmental injury, and they would have to rush me into surgery to release the pressure of blood trapped in my muscle. By the time we arrived at the hospital I had worked myself into a frenzy and was on the verge of tears. The orthopedic surgeon watched me as I walked into the emergency room, and quickly assured me that my injury was not a compartmental injury. Instead, it was as we assumed--simply a bad bruise. After lecturing me on the importance of going to the emergency room immediately should this ever happen again, he offered to buy my ATV. When I refused his proposal he teased me saying, “If you want to play with big boy toys, you should expect big boy injuries.”

A few weeks later we learned that I was pregnant with our daughter. I promised our family that I would stay far away from the ATV while pregnant. We did not have an opportunity to ride together after our daughter was born in the spring of 2007. Since I seem to be unable to keep all four ATV tires on the ground at all times, I am uncomfortable adventuring trails alone. The backyard of our house in Alaska butted up against the pipeline that ran through Eielson Air Force Base. Wide gravel roads run along this pipeline. On the rare occasion I ventured out on my ATV, I stayed on these gravel roads. They afforded me the beauty of Alaska, but in a safe manner. It was along these gravel roads that I enjoyed the blossoms of fireweed and wild irises. I also marveled at the enormity of a mother moose next to her babies--from a distance, of course.

Last summer, we moved to Utah. We began taking the four-wheelers to the cabin owned by husband’s parents. There we can ride the plethora of trails in the Fairview canyon. That September, we were there with the ATVs one last time before closing the cabin for the winter. My in-laws offered to babysit our daughter so we could ride together for the first time since her birth. We enjoyed a couple of hours exploring the trails near the cabin. As we headed back, my husband decided to change the direction he wanted to travel. The trail had come to a T-shaped intersection. At first Phillip headed to his left, but instead decided to turn right. Phillip signaled for me to turn right. There was a slight incline, so I increased my speed in order to turn right at the top of the hill. I am unsure what happened next, but before I knew it I had hit a fence post and landed hard on the ground. My ATV rolled on its side, thankfully, this time I did not get pinned under the ATV. When could stand I proclaimed, “I am done, I am just done!” Phillip expertly righted my ATV while I laid on his trying to catch my breath. Eventually, we made it back to the cabin. My mother-in-law, who is a nurse, immediately sprung into action making sure I was not seriously injured. Phillip and my father-in-law chuckled at my inability to keep all four tires on the ground at all times. After that incident the ATVs were put to bed for the winter.

So far this year I have managed to keep all four tires on the ground at all times. I also have not ventured much further than the gravel roads surrounding the cabin. I cherish the memories and adventures the ATVs have given me. Even if one of those memories is a small lump left on my shin because of a bad bruise. I look forward to many more safe rides with my husband, Phillip.

Birds of a Feather

Birds of a Feather

            They say birds of a feather flock together.  Sure, I have a family that I flock with, but I often feel that I am a bird of many feathers.  My father is an eagle, strong yet graceful.  My mother on the other hand, is a crow, just plain loud.  In my family, I have birds who are flighty, birds who are hard working, birds who are a little crazy, and even a few birds who are just plain annoying.  I am a bird of many feathers, sometimes unsure where I fit in with my family.

            I have a sweet tooth and enjoy the sweet nectar of life.  I am a hummingbird.  Once I discover a location to acquire juicy sweet nectar, I will faithfully return year after year for a taste of the good stuff.  Should any brave soul, or another hummingbird, attempt to prevent my access to the delicious treats; I will dive-bomb them aggressively until they back away. 

            As a native of Oregon, I take to water like a duck.  The water is my second home.  Like many other Oregonians, I have grown the webbed toes of a waterfowl.  I love the feel of cool water cascading over my feathers on a hot summer day.  If a human throws a chunk of bread my way, I do not complain one little bit.  Instead, I dive after that soggy treat with the zeal similar to the hummingbird going after sweet nectar.  With my head in the water and tail feathers pointed to the heavens, I search in earnest for the starchy treat of stale bread.

In my youth, some compared my mouth to the wings of a humming bird, going a hundred miles a minute.  Now that I have gained of few years of life experience, you could say that I am more a macaw than a hummingbird.  I talk just as much, but sometimes the things that come out of my mouth can leave one questioning, “Did she just say what I think she did?”  Along with talking, I love to sing.  My musical voice has been compared to that of both the lark, sweet and enjoyable, and the crow, painful to the ears.  In my youth I sang in organized flocks, nowadays I confine my singing to the shower.

            Stresses of the world can be too much to handle.  In those times, I am an ostrich, submerging my head in the sand.  Other times, I am a male peacock.  I proudly puff up my chest and fan out my tail feathers charging my perceived attacker.  Numerous times, I have made quite the spectacle charging my perceived attacker or stresses.  I can be quite the nag; just ask my dear husband.  For this reason, I know there is some chicken in me somewhere.  If there is an irritant in my life, I peck, peck, peck, and peck until I eradicate the irritant.

Now that I am older, there are days that I am sure I have some pterodactyl in me.  I feel just that old, old enough to be either a fossil or fossil fuel.  Old enough to have experienced many changes in this world we inhabit.

            I have the sweet tooth and tenacity of a hummingbird, the conversation skills of a colorful macaw, the singing voice of the lark or the crow depending on your ear, the boldness of a peacock, the shyness of an ostrich, the webbed toes of a duck, the pecking skills of a chicken, and the age of a pterodactyl.  You can see with the eclectic collection of birds I am made of, why it would be a confusing to determine which flock I belong in.  Fortunately, for me, my flock is just as varied as I am.

Written 14 September 2009

Birth of a Princess

Birth of a Princess

Meghan Adelaide Wheeler is a princess in the eyes of her parents. There was a time in our lives that we said, “Never!” The day we married we did not want children. One day my biological clock starting ticking and it was ticking loudly. My poor husband, Phillip, began to wonder what happened to his perfect bride; the bride who agreed that not having children was the life for us. Over time, he began to soften and decided that maybe a child would be tolerable.

Before long, we found ourselves in the infertility rat race. There were blood tests, biopsies, and more blood tests. Eventually, we tried the fertility drug Clomid. Ultrasounds showed the first round of fertility drugs would not be successful. We decided to take a camping trip, relax, and prepare for the next month of fertility medications. Three weeks later we learned that we were indeed successful and would be preparing for a baby arriving in the spring.

Phillip deployed to Iraq shortly after we discovered I was pregnant. He left a wife who was pregnant, but not yet showing. When he returned almost six months later, his wife was nearly seven months pregnant and looked every bit the part. The next couple of months were spent preparing a nursery, shopping for baby gear, and taking classes. By the time April, the month I was due, rolled around, I was ready to take my body back from my little parasite.

One Friday night, we went on what we felt would be our last date for the foreseeable future. I let Phillip pick the movie, not because I was being nice, but because I knew I would spend the evening going back and forth to the bathroom. It was not a surprise when he chose an action packed movie. With every loud explosion, I felt our baby girl startle. I was getting beat up from the inside.

The next day, I had appointments for a pedicure and haircut. By this time, my belly was so swollen I could not fit comfortably behind the wheel of the car. I asked my husband to drive me the thirty minutes into town. As we were getting ready to leave the house, I had this nagging feeling that I should finish packing my hospital bag and put it in the car. Pushing that feeling aside, we left the house without the bag. Phillip dropped me off for my appointments and left to spend the next two hours exploring Sportsman’s Warehouse and a local fly fishing store.

In the middle of my heavenly pedicure, I felt a trickle of wetness and thought, “Great I have peed myself.” I was embarrassed and hoped that when I stood up it would not be noticeable. Following my pedicure, I waddled to another station for my haircut. My stylist, Liza, gave me a relaxing scalp massage and then washed my hair. When I stood up after having my hair washed, I felt this gush of fluid rush down my legs. Turning to Liza I said, “Uh, Liza, I think my water just broke!”

Instantly the spa became a flurry of panic; employees were in frenzy over what to do. Ironically, it was the pregnant woman who calmed their nervousness. It took some quick talking, but I finally convinced them that an ambulance was not necessary. Assuring Liza and her co-workers, I promised, “She won’t come barreling down the chute,” and that Phillip would be there by 1:00 p.m. to take me home. I persuaded Liza to finish my haircut. Just as I promised, Phillip arrived shortly before 1:00 p.m. The look of disbelief on his face as I told him that my water broke was unforgettable.

We left the spa; however, we did not rush to the hospital. I knew from the birthing class we attended, that once I arrived at the hospital the likelihood of them letting me eat was slim. With that in mind, we went to Carl’s Jr. for lunch. My water broke at noon, and we arrived at the hospital at 2:00 p.m.

My doctor, Dr. Temple, happened to be the doctor on call when we arrived at Bassett Community Army Hospital on Fort Wainwright in Fairbanks, Alaska. I was relieved to see her. Dr. Temple had been with us through a rough miscarriage and was the doctor that helped us conceive our daughter. It was only fitting that she be the doctor to deliver Meghan. The doctor performed a test to confirm that my water had broken. I was then admitted to the hospital. My nurse quickly went to work setting up my IV and getting me settled into my room. I sent Phillip home to go running, have some dinner, feed the cat, and finish packing the hospital bag. Phillip does not have the patience to sit and wait.

Since walking the halls did not bring about labor, the nurse administered Pitocin at 7:00 p.m. Pitocin is the synthetic version of oxytocin; the hormone a woman’s body produces to start labor. Not long after the Pitocin was started, labor began. Shortly thereafter, I requested an epidural. Thanks to the epidural I was able to sleep, as well as one can in a hospital, the rest of the night. The nursing staff did a great job of waking me up every hour to take my vitals. Meghan did a wonderful job of keeping the nurses on their toes with her dramatically fluctuating heart rate. Her heart rate would plummet and they would rush in to have me roll over. She would settle back down for a short time, only to have the nurses come rushing back in to have me roll the other direction. While all this was happening, my darling husband snored on the chair next to my bed.

By 8:30 a.m., I was ready to deliver my daughter. Just sixty short minutes later, the most beautiful little girl I have ever laid my eyes on was born. With her birth, the mystery behind her fluctuating heart rate was solved. Meghan was born with a tight true knot in her cord. Both Dr. Temple and the nurse commented that since her true knot was tight, we were fortunate. The outcome could have been tragic.

Meghan is our miracle baby. She is the miracle we never thought we would want, but soon figured out that we did. She is the miracle that was not supposed to be after the first round of fertility drugs. She is the miracle born with the true knot in her umbilical cord that could have proven deadly. Our little miracle has introduced us to the world of pink and princesses. Our little miracle is a princess.


Written 9 September 2009

My Right to Choose

My Right to Choose

            Censorship takes away my right and ability to choose what forms of media I listen to, read, or view; it leads to the death of free thoughts.  What about the innocence of youth?  I firmly believe it is my responsibility as a parent, to censor what my child listens to, reads, or views.  This form of censorship is different, because I am not damaging works of art or destroying my child’s ability to be a free thinker.  Instead, through my guidance, as a parent, I am teaching my child what is appropriate for her at this point in her life.  It is my hope, that I will give her the tools that will enable her to decide what is appropriate for her. 

            Even though I do not want to give someone else the power to determine what is appropriate for me; I feel it is my responsibility, as a parent, to protect my daughter from harmful books, images, and music.  Through censorship, we limit the exposure our children have to harmful art forms or media.  However, we must teach our children what is appropriate and how to decide for themselves.  If we constantly decide what is appropriate for them, how will they learn to make decisions for themselves?  Would I allow my two-year-old watch a movie that is rated PG-13?  No, I would not.  Conversely, would I allow sixteen-year-olds to watch the same movie?  I would allow them to use their decision making skills to decide if it is appropriate for them. 

            Chelsea is the daughter of my friend Marsha.  In Chelsea’s English class, they had to do a book report on a book Chelsea felt uncomfortable reading due to its violent content.  Chelsea and her mother worked with the teacher on choosing a book Chelsea felt comfortable reading.  Chelsea would not have known what she felt comfortable reading if her parents had not censured her reading as a young child and taught her how to decide for herself as she matured.  In the end, Chelsea reaffirmed her belief that it is acceptable to stand by your convictions of what are appropriate and inappropriate forms of media for oneself.  Her parents realized that Chelsea was capable of making proper decisions because of the skills and values they had taught her.  

Censorship is a hot topic for many.  The views on this span a full spectrum of opinions, from the extreme conservative to the extreme liberal.  Do I want someone else to dictate for me what is suitable?  Absolutely not!  No one knows me better that I do; I know what my mind can handle.  I do not like violent films, I do not watch them.  Even though they are not desirable for me, this does not give me the right to dictate that violent films are wrong for everyone.  It is my opinion that they are not healthy for the mind and soul, but I am not entitled to decide for others.  The same can be said about the sappy romance novels and movies I enjoy.  I feel they are right for me, but can not dictate whether they are suited for someone else.  When we allow others to censor what we hear, read, or see, we allow them to take away our ability to be free thinkers, our ability to choose.

Written 9 September 2009

Out of Necessity Great Inventions are Born

Out of Necessity Great Inventions are Born

My name is Stan G. Sack, I am an inventor. The words of my favorite American philosopher and poet, Ralph Waldo Emerson, capture the essence of who I am. He once said, “The ancestor of every action is a thought.” As an inventor I spend the majority of my time deep in thought. The cogs in my brain are constantly turning and thinking up new ideas. Only after I come up with a good idea can my hands leap into action. I drive my wife, Sarah, to the edge of insanity with my constant tinkering in the garage. In my life I have had many good ideas. However, I am known only for one small creation.

One wintery afternoon I was deep in thought, contemplating the many mysteries of the universe. My wife came grumbling through the door, irritated because once again on her trip home from the market she had dropped groceries along the path. Being the problem solver, I suggested that she might want to consider making a couple of trips into the village market so that her arms would not become overloaded. I knew that she did not like that suggestion when she huffed, turned on her heels, and grumbled about insensitive males all the way to the kitchen.

I am a thinker; that is what I do. Her reaction to what I thought was a logical solution started me thinking again. Surely there was something I could make to help her carry the groceries from the market to the house without leaving a trail of produce behind her.

I started by emptying her knitting basket of its needles and yarn. My dear wife was none to happy with me when the kitten began playing with a ball of yarn; undoing most of the blanket she was knitting for the baby down the street. I thought it was a good idea at the time. Then I emptied the metal pail we had in the garage. She did not like the idea of her fresh produce touching the dirty, rusty pail. I convinced her to give it a try. This time her bananas and grapes made it home, however, they were a soggy, bruised mess when she arrived home. Next I emptied the wooden crate our Christmas pears arrived in. The pears had been delicious, but now the crate was being used to collect the odds and ends of inventions that had gone horribly wrong. Sarah thought I had solved her grocery woes, until she tried to use the crate. When full, the crate is heavy and cumbersome. Back to the drawing board it was for me.

I spent many a restless night trying to come up with a solution for my dear wife’s dilemma. Months later I shot up in bed, I had a dream. In this dream I had seen millions of brown paper sacks used in markets all over the world. I would be famous! I would be rich! The next morning I marched into the village mercantile. My step was light; I was excited to get started. After speaking to Henry, the mercantile owner, he agreed to sell me a roll of the brown paper he used to wrap parcels for his customers. He also agreed to order several more rolls for me. I could barely control my excitement during the walk home. Getting started as soon as possible was the only thing on my mind.

Once home I sequestered myself in our garage. Like a dog with a bone, I was a man on a mission. My sweet Sarah brought my meals to me, staying long enough to clear the previous meal’s dishes and kiss me on my check. She had never seen me in such an absorbed state, she knew in her heart that I was creating something big. She knew this would be the invention to make up for all my past failures.

After what felt like an eternity, but was really only 72 hours, I emerged from the garage. I held up my invention for Sarah to inspect. She was delighted! We named it grocery sack. That very afternoon my wife went into the village to do her shopping. Under her arm she carried my beloved invention. I was on pins and needles while she was gone, nervous that this would be another failure. The smile on Sarah’s elated face as she came through the door told me that I had not been a failure; instead I had been a success. Now you know the story behind my greatest invention; the grocery sack, a simple device born out of a great thought.

Written 2 September 2009

Standing Upright

Standing Upright

Someone once said, “’Tis impossible for an empty sack to stand upright.”  As a sack, I take offense to that statement.  My life began in a factory.  I am cut from a large roll of paper.  With great care, my creator glued me together.  Taking extra care to be sure my seams and creases were perfect.  We come in all sizes; I knew I was destined for greatness when my maker cut me to be small. 

After creation, and after being bundled with one hundred of my closest friends and family, we are stacked in a box with other similar bundles.  It gets dark when that box is sealed, but we know the darkness will not last forever.  We hope the darkness does not last forever.

            The bundles bump against each other in the box; I can sense that we are on the move.  With a soft thud, we feel as if we have fallen a small distance.  This must be what it feels like when we are stacked on top of other boxes filled with my compatriots.  The box sits still for what feels like an eternity.  Will we be in darkness forever?  I begin to fear we will stay in darkness for an eternity.  Then one day we feel the jolt of our box on the move again.  Hope spreads amongst us that we will see light again soon.

            Once again, we feel the soft thud of being stacked with other boxes.  Murmuring begins to spread amongst my kin; they fear they will never see the light of day.  I am hopeful that we will; I am hopeful that we will serve to be useful one day.  This time is different.  There is a soft swaying motion.  Our journey has to be nearing an end, right?

            Countless times, we go through the excitement of feeling movement.  Every time we bolster our hopes up.  We will see the light again.  It is a roller coaster of emotions.  At last, one day we feel the sensation of movement again.  This time I do not get excited; I have come to accept that I will never see light again.  I hear the sound of the tape on our box being punctured and then cut open.  Could it be?  Yes!  I see the light.  I can hear my friends and family shouting for joy, crying tears of relief.  Finally, the day we have prayed for has arrived!  Light floods the box we have lived in for what seems like an eternity.  It is so bright it hurts my eyes.  That does not matter, I am happy to feel the light on my face.  Slowly a pimply faced kid takes us out of the box and stacks us on a shelf. 

            Soon an exhausted looking mother with two screaming kids in tow throws us into her shopping cart.  I begin to fret about what the great creator has in store for us.  Our next journey is a short one.  The mother throws more groceries in her cart.  We are plunked on a conveyor belt, dragged across a beeping machine, and thrown into a larger bag.  This larger bag is just like us, only made of thicker paper and a great deal bigger than we are.  Suddenly there is an intense light shining in my eyes.  The big bag teases me because I do not know what sunshine is.  I like this sunshine; it feels good and warms me up.  It is a short ride to my new home.  I remember the soft lull caused by a road trip and find myself nodding off to sleep.  Once at our destination, the woman unloads the larger bags from her car.  Again, my bundle of kin and I find ourselves in darkness.  Before it got dark, we heard the woman tell her son, “Put those lunch sacks in the pantry.”  What is a lunch sack?  Several days of darkness pass.  Nevertheless, it is better than the darkness of being in the box.  The darkness of the box was continuous.  In the pantry, there are numerous times in the day when the door opens and we get a quick ray of light.  This goes on for many days.

            Then one morning the pantry door opens and the woman reaches in for us.  Cheers of excitement break out amongst us.  Finally, we are going to be used.  We get to work in the manner we were created.  After recovering from the jolt of being thrown onto the counter our bundle is torn open.  She removes two sacks from the bundle; I am one.  A plethora of emotions runs through me.  I am excited to work, but I am sad to be separated from my kin.  The woman opens us up, sets us on the counter.  We are standing upright.  Therefore, you see, I am a lunch sack, I am currently empty, and I am standing upright.

Written 24 August 2009

Created Equally

 

Created Equally?

            In “The Declaration of Independence” Thomas Jefferson wrote, “We hold these truths to be sacred & undeniable; that all men are created equal & independant,…they derive rights inherent & inalienable, among which are the preservation of life, & liberty, & spirit of happiness.”  Because Thomas Jefferson was a slave owner, I stumble over those words whenever I read that passage.  I know slavery was commonplace at that point in time, and any person who was not white was thought not human.  Our magnificent country has made immense strides in realizing all men are indeed created equally, however, many discriminations and prejudices still exist.  Education is one area we fail our young children, especially minority children

            Latinos and African Americans are just two of the minority groups that make up our blended population.  These two particular races suffer inequality in education, jobs, and power.  They tend to live in poorer neighborhoods, thus receiving a substandard education.  The lack of quality education leads to mediocre jobs.  These second-rate jobs perpetuate a cycle difficult to break free from.  Generations continue to live in poor neighborhoods, receiving substandard educations, and obtaining mediocre employment.  Thus, they lack the power to change this vicious cycle.  They are not treated as equals.

            Until education becomes equal for all of our children, no matter their race, there will not be equality for all.  An education is the only way to break the vicious cycles of poverty and inequality.  With adequate educations, our children can gain exceptional employment.  By way of improved employment, those who are impoverished can break the cycle of poverty.  Only then will we be on our way to realizing the dream of all men being equal.

This essay was written in October 2009 for ENG105.