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Created January 6, 2020
Community? Engagements? Arts? Well, for starters this is a class taught at Transylvania University in Lexington, KY by professors Kremena Todorova and Kurt Gohde. The goal of this class is to form a relationship with the community by engaging in artistic projects with the community. The outcome of this will manifest itself in many ways, some recognizable and others not so much.
CETA 2020: Our first 2 emojis (of hundreds)
Created January 6, 2020
Individual Tasks
Collect addresses, make & write thank-you cards, design pronoun buttons--Anna Davis
Blog Manager--Paige Wessling
Recorder/archivist for This I Believe essays--Sarah Metcalfe
Social Media--Lydia Baggett & Garrett LeVan
Photographic Inventory (3 people)--Yousef Alsdudi, Sarah Bennett, & Faith Boles
Space, raw material, & tool inventory manager AND order enforcer--Emily Neat
Quality Control & Class Ethicist--Alex Toney
Software Design Team (3 people)--Shelby Barker, Emily Cecil, & Abby Pearson
Fabrication Team (3 people)--Brooklyn Greer, Will Hemingway, & Marissa Price
Finishing Team (4 people)--Nannie Baze, Emon Daneshmand, Ally Frederick, & Madison Phillips
Additional photographic documentation--Kremena and Kurt
Working with production design at Kre8Now Makerspace--Kurt and Kremena
Publicity for the class--Kremena and Kurt
Securing materials needed--Kurt and Kremena
Articles of Interest (optional)
Blog Archive
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2020
(23)
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January
(8)
- This I Believe #3-- 02/03/20
- This I Believe Essay #2- 1/27/20
- Wednesday, 01/22- Resilience 101 exhibition
- Questions and Comments for Wednesday, 01/22, assig...
- Class notes 01/15/2020-- Felice Salmon
- Questions & Comments for our conversation with Fel...
- Questions & Comments for our conversation with Aus...
- This I Believe essay #1---CETA 2020 begins!
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January
(8)
I believe weirdness is a good thing.
ReplyDeleteMy father taught me this. He’s quite weird himself.
Weird, to me, means being what you want to be and doing what you’re convicted to do without care for what other people are going to think.
Like, for instance, driving a wrecked car…
Our Chevy Cavalier is the perfect example of “weird.”
I don’t even remember what year it was, probably around 2009, when that car was wrecked. It wasn’t our fault. It was a hit and run, and we were spun around like an amusement park ride by an oncoming vehicle, making us dizzy and leaving the previously two-door car with only one operational door (on the passenger’s side).
Needless to say, we were shocked and indignant: we now had one less operational vehicle...or so me and mom thought. Dad wasn’t so quick to give up.
Somehow, the car still ran and, *spoiler alert* still runs. So my father just had the damaged tire replaced and proceeded to drive it like nothing had happened--oh, except for the fact that the driver’s door did not open and he had to climb across the gear shift to get in. Yet he proceeded to, as a 70-something year old man. Twisting and contorting each time he got in, he seemed to get a kick out of my mother’s hysterics and my indignation at being chauffeured around in that rolling death trap. I mean, think about it, if there’d been another wreck where the right side door became nonoperational for whatever reason, he’d be trapped! Or worse, I’d be trapped! This sort of recklessness is not exactly the “weirdness” I consider a good thing, but I do admire the way my father persisted to drive that car in spite of others’ opinions. He didn’t care if people thought him eccentric or crazy. The car worked for him and, eventually, for me even. Yes. I actually learned to drive in that thing. And my father still drives it to this day! The man’s a freak-show, but he embraces it. His example empowers me to embrace who I am, and I believe it’s a good thing.
I love this essay! This idea of being "weird" has been dragged up and down and through the mud for years. But I agree with you, I think it is a good thing. I think being weird is the exact same as just being yourself. I know for a damn fact that I am WEIRD, but often I try to hide that out of fear of being judged. I think everyone should be able to be who they are, even if someone else wants to call you weird. The odds are you think they're weird too. We are all pretty weird.
DeleteYour father's brand of weird is economical and smart. And perhaps it even makes his car more visible and for that simple reason, less likely to be hit by someone not noticing or paying attention.
DeleteI suspect I will wonder if it is your father every time I see a car with a wrecked driver-side door.
Haha,Faith and Kurt! Thank you. I definitely agree that "weird" is often mistaken for being oneself, so I say we embrace it!
DeleteIt was fun to meet your dad AFTER reading this essay! But I couldn't very well tell him what I knew about him, especially with your mom being there :)
DeleteAs a senior in high school, I had practically nailed down the I don’t care, I’m just ready to leave this town look. I walked around my high school just like every other senior, in sweats and comfy t-shirt. Grades came easy to me. I worked a job I hated. I literally would count down the minutes until 3:15 when I could finally walk out of those heavy metal doors.
ReplyDeleteOne of the main reasons I was so ready to leave was due to my homeroom teacher. Everyday for 4 years, I walked into the same classroom, with the same people I had grown very close to, and had to listen to the same teacher without fail. Now this would not have been so bad if my teacher wasn’t a disrespectful narcissist. From the first day I met her, I noticed right off the bat how rude and inappropriate her actions were.
One of my last days as a student of hers, I finally had enough. One of the sweetest girls I know raised her hand to ask a question. Now it should be said that this girl asked a lot of questions, she was always kind of confused and struggled to keep up with everyone else, but she tried hard and was always kind to everyone. After she asked her question, our teacher became silent and just stared at her. Her reply was “I don’t understand how you can be so stupid, I’m not answering that question.” As soon as she said that, my I don’t care about this place anymore attitude, mixed with an extreme protectiveness of this incredibly kind girl overcame me and I stood up in my seat and told my teacher she can’t talk to a student like that. I told her I thought it was so hurtful. She immediately made me go to the hallway where we had it out for awhile until I was sent to the principal for “disrespecting” her authority.
I didn’t get in trouble that day. My principle listened to my story and agreed that my teacher had no right to ever treat a student the way she just had. I walked back into class less than 10 minutes later. My teacher never called another student stupid. I believe in not being afraid to stand up to authority figures, especially when that authority figure is discourteous bully misusing their power.
I'm honestly not sure my high school self would have been brave enough to confront this teacher in person if I'd been in this situation. I'm glad you did and I wholeheartedly agree with you!
DeleteI had a teacher that spoke to students this way too when I was helping design sets for our musical. She was never around much to help us in any way, so when she showed up and called us all stupid for doing something wrong, I was lucky enough to have my mom there to see it and say something about it.
DeleteMy mom's a mother bear type, so she immediately let her have it. We got her removed from the play supervisors after we told the principle what happened. I feel like it's rare to get justice in situations like these, so it's very refreshing to see authority put in its place!
The world needs more people like you, I have had teachers similar to the one you described and was always too afraid to confront them. Your story is very inspirational!
DeleteIf I was the principal, the teacher would have been fired! Like everyone, I have had teachers that were mentally abusive. Props to you for sticking up for your classmate. Authority figures have to earn respect too.
DeleteThere are far, far too many teachers like this, but I'm glad you were there to stand up for that girl.
DeleteGood for you! I would not have the confidence to do this and glad there are people like you who do. you tell 'em
DeleteMMM. YES FAITH.
DeleteI was shocked to read your essay, Faith, and am now shocked to read the responses to it. Teachers like yours are NOT that rare? This is a stunning and terrifying fact. I am so sorry to hear about it. I hope such teachers are not tolerated much longer and, in the meantime, I hope there are more students like you.
DeleteWalking slowly down the sidewalk, I scan every inch in front of me. One, two, three, I snatch up earthworms and plop them far into the grassy lawn bordering my path. Yesterday was full of rain, meaning drivers were chaotic, roads flooded, and worst of all, earthworms were wrenched from their dirt homes and washed onto the sidewalk, left to die in the sun.
ReplyDeleteSince I was a little girl laying in the grass or playing in mud, I have felt a loyalty to these small, slimy creatures. When my grandfather took me fishing, I refused to participate, unable to impale the innocent worm. When I began noticing earthworms dried up on the sidewalks and roads after a heavy rain, I made a habit of wandering my local areas in order to rescue as many as possible.
I don’t know why I found friendship among these wriggly invertebrate. Most of my peers cringed at the sight of a worm, shrieking in shock when I scooped it up in my palms. Whether it had been instilled through a nightly reading of Diary of a Worm, or naturally accompanied my deep love for animals, I felt I had to defend these defenseless creatures.
Now as I walk through the streets, I begin considering what all these seemingly insignificant night crawlers contribute to our world. Not only do earthworms provide food for countless animals such as birds and rats, but they are essential in ensuring the quality of our soil. Earthworms tunnel into the dirt by consuming the soil, aerating the ground as they go. Further, during this process they are eating decomposing matter such as leaves, and transferring the nutrients farther below ground through their waste.
Without earthworms, the food cycle of countless creatures would be disrupted, and the quality of our soil would sabotage any attempt at agriculture. These little worms, often perceived as disgusting, are necessary to all of us. Therefore, I believe we should all make a habit of going for a walk after a heavy rain in order to save as many as possible. You may even find, as I have, a friend in all of them.
I think it is so important to recognize even the most seemingly "insignificant" creatures on earth for the worth. I never think about how important and truly fragile the earth's ecosystem is and how even these tiny creatures contribute far more than I do to making this world so beautiful.
DeleteBEAUTIFUL!! Invertebrae do not get enough love!! Every time I eat outside I lay a little food out for the various hungry and thirsty bugs scattered around. I like to joke that if I give food to an ant colony, the residents owe me a life debt, and it is no paltry thing for millions to owe you a solid.
DeleteWithin your story, it seems fishing could be seen as an acceleration of the process for a single worm to become nourishment for another body that needs it (provided you throw the fish back and it doesn't die from the injury of being caught).
DeleteI like that your willing participation in the process, though, is limited specifically to actions that extend the life of worms, your friends.
https://i.pinimg.com/originals/96/be/b9/96beb966310f9d2b8afe5dc3dcaa056c.jpg
DeleteI used to be scared of worms as a kid. I didn’t get over this fear til I saw a worm struggling to get to grass after a bad rain storm. I didn’t want to see the worm suffer so I swiftly picked it up and placed it in the grass. I realized then just how precious and important even the slimiest creature are.
DeleteMy father does this! I admire the sentiment and totally agree. I am squeamish, however and cannot handle the slimy nature of a worm. It does always break my heart when I see them on the sidewalk after a rain.
DeleteI believe in lines and shapes.
ReplyDeleteMy freshman year of high school, I took an art class with the teacher who would become my mentor. She was an eccentric lady from Texas. She only wore glass jewelry she had crafted, and I would venture to say most of her clothes were handmade. Usually, all of us students were free to do whatever we wanted in class, as long as we used the medium she had assigned for that week.
One week though, she gave us a xerox copy of a man drawn by picasso. He was, without a doubt, the ugliest man I had ever seen. Like most of picasso’s work, there was an uncomfortable play on proportions, so his hands were huge compared to his little head. His nose was hawk-like in shape, his hair was balding, and to top everything off, he had a skeevy little pencil mustache.
Obviously, none of us were impressed or pleased. She then told us to replicate the drawing, and we all did, albeit begrudgingly. Next, we were told to draw it upside down.
All this seemed absolutely pointless to me and to everyone else, but as we all struggled and mentally cursed this little rat man and his big hands she told us to stop thinking of him as a man at all. She told us to see him only as a series of lines and shapes.
Even after we finished, most people did not see the point of the exercise, but my worldview was rocked. Lines and shapes. Everything in the world is just a series of lines and shapes. There are times when I look at a subject and think to myself that it is impossible to draw, far too complicated and bizarre. I will try to get a nose right twenty times before I hear that voice in the back of my head plainly remarking, “Lines and shapes.” And when I stop looking at a nose as a nose, and start seeing it as a series of lines with various curves and angles, I can suddenly replicate exactly what I was seeing.
Sometimes, things seem overwhelming, it feels like the world is on your shoulders and you are singled out as the bearer of all these burdens. You aren’t. You’re just faced with a series of lines and shapes, and everything will be alright once you figure out your curves and angles.
I really like your ending-- that's a perspective I should keep in mind!
DeleteOoh I really like this one! What a nice point
DeleteWhat a great way to see a drawing lesson as something even more useful.
DeleteI relate a great deal with this. Like my foot painting, I struggle recreating the human face a lot, especially noses. To challenge your "line and shape" theory, I contend that the world is more so only "value and shapes" where the lines which we observe are only created by a difference in color or value. This is not to say your theory is wrong, just that lines are perhaps even simpler than lines.
DeleteWhat a beautiful essay. I love how you turn an art lesson into a life lesson.
DeleteThis was such a cool essay! I know I personally struggle hard with remembering that a tiny inconvenience is not the end of the world for me. Trying to see everything as just lines and shapes and not an impassible barrier is a great way to face the world.
ReplyDeleteI believe art is just as important as science. For a long time I felt that art was second tier to being interested in STEM courses which of course as an art history major made me feel incompetent, even though it was just a matter of different interests. It has taken me a long time to get here, because I grew up with my brother who excels in math and science while I struggled in science and barely made it in math. However, after watching our most recent Ted Talk “Mallika Sarabhai: Dance to Change the world” I was able to fully realize and understand the true importance of art in a real world perspective, instead of just in my perspective and how it helps to communicate with all people whereas science (still very important) communicates in its own exclusive language. In this Ted Talk Mallika Sarabhai shows the power of art. In her speech she makes an amazing point of saying art can go where we can’t and she’s right if you think about it. Art has a more subtle way of bringing about hard discussions then bluntly stating it. It reaches a place where others can’t. Art can talk to many when attitudes are not willing to change. Art is a language: mainstream art, cinema, soap operas. Art is not the cherry on top it is the yeast in the cake necessary to continue to improve society. While it is my own flaw to feel less than pre-med majors I am glad to have worked past it and accept my weaknesses as well as my strengths.
ReplyDeleteArt is absolutely the yeast and unsurprisingly I suppose (given my career choice), I agree completely with your points here.
DeleteI often think of artists as the closest present-day relatives to court jesters (also known as fools). A fool had special privileges in court and was able to say "the Queen is sleeping with the Duke" without being killed for such a terrible suggestion. The fool, instead, was laughed at. The king could later look into the claim to see if there was any truth to it.
It was not only the fool's privilege to say such things without being killed, it was the fool's job to do so.
If artists share this privilege of being able to point out the wounds of society without being cast out, it seems they should also share the fool's responsibility to do so.
I love the court jester analogy, Kurt, and I see a lot of similarity between the modern day artist and a jester. I think the camera was a major philosophic turning point in art history, where it became less about recording history than reflecting on the present. Art is so so important for asking questions about our reality and our past. I hadn't realized this until recently. Choosing my math major, it felt slightly more marketable than philosophy or a humanities major, yet now I see it becoming less and less related to humanity. Art connects me where math isolates.
DeleteEmily, I love that you are finding more connections through art and the humanities more generally.
DeleteAnna, thank you for beginning this kind of conversation.
I, too, absolutely believe in the power of art--visual art, dance, the literary arts. Most of the time, I teach books (literature) and I know books(literature) can get to emotional places very few other subjects can.
Every time I eat a blueberry it tastes different from the one before it and also from the one I’ll eat after it. No blueberry is exactly the same. Some are small. Some are big. Some are mushy. Some are ripe. But yet they are all still blueberries.
ReplyDeleteThe other day I was eating blueberries for lunch. I was just sitting there mindlessly eating them or so I thought. I started tasting different things with each blueberry I ate. I began to wonder why but didn’t think too much into why exactly because a different thought popped in my mind.
Hear me out if you think about it blueberries are kind of like people. Everyone is different in their own way. No two people are exactly the same. But yet they are all still humans.
If you were to examine every person individually then you would see that it is very obvious no one is the same. For example, Kremena and I are both people, but we are very different. I like to wear sweatpants, am an undergrad student, and prefer wearing dark colors. Kremena likes to wear skirts or dresses, is a professor, and wears bright colors. We are different, but still people.
I know it is a bit of a jump to compare people to blueberries but just think about it. Yes, blueberries are fairly simple compared to the complexity of people. But the idea that no matter the differences they are the same applies to both people and blueberries. No person is more important than another and the same applies to blueberries. As people, we need to just learn to love each other for our differences just like blueberries.
I sat in my apartment that day eating blueberries and just appreciating the differences in every bite. I believe in blueberries.
I can barely tolerate mushy blueberries and prefer to think of them as something other than blueberries as a way to eat them without thinking of them as rotten versions of their firm cousins.
DeleteI admire your ability to appreciate (not just eat but appreciate) all blueberries and really like how you have extended that appreciation to thoughts about people.
I really love this Paige! Blueberries aren’t all the same , I personally like the really sweet ones.
DeleteI love this! Blueberries are all different, and I cannot eat many of them for this reason (like Kurt the mushy ones are not my favorite), but I love your point about how they are like people because we're all different too!
DeleteThis is one reason that eating blueberries annoy me. I understand the whole "value uniqueness" thing, but like, I want the sweet, juicy blueberries, not the sour ones. The sour flavor is unpleasant for me. Is this a lack of tolerance? Should I suffer through happily? Lmk
DeleteI love blueberries, but have have failed to make this observation. After I read your essay I popped a handful of blueberries into my mouth and appreciated the range of flavors.
DeleteTrue, we are different in some ways. True, you wear darker colors. BUT you always brighten my day, Paige! And so I feel close to you...
DeleteMarissa Price
ReplyDeleteOne of my first-ever This I Believe essays (from when I took Kurt's August Term in 2016) was about how I believe in journaling. At the time, I'd been documenting what I did every day in a journal for about 8 months.
I've now been doing that for four years-- give or take because there are some places where I forgot.
Because many of my entries from the first few years were handwritten, I've taken some time to start typing them into Google Docs so that I have a backup copy of them.
I was typing some of these entries over winter break-- the first entries. The ones I wrote before I'd even started at Transy. This involves laughing at my former self quite a bit.
They're incredibly strange to read because I was living a whole other life then. Most of my high school friendships have melted away, and I’m no longer very close even with the friends that do remain.
I lived with my dad then, and now I live at Transy. And, now, when I’m not here, I live with my mom.
I have an entirely different group of friends, and I try to branch out more because I hated realizing when I left high school that I’d put most of my time into the same group of ten people and not talked much with others.
I went vegetarian, made mistakes about what was vegetarian, and decided not to be a strict vegetarian.
I declared a studio art major instead of the theater major I planned.
And last August, after years of thinking about it, I asked my good friend Kyla to cut my hair much shorter than it used to be. I disliked that I still looked like my high school self, despite being so different from her now. And I wanted to try out having short hair for the first time since I was eleven.
Plenty of things haven’t changed, though-- I’m still mostly vegetarian, I still love theater, and I still believe in documenting what I did every single day.
I love to look back at my old journals to see how far I have come and changed over the years.
DeleteI have just recently tried getting into journalling, and I am amazed at your dedication to it! I hope I'll be as consistent with updates as you are one day!
DeleteOne day, several months ago, I enjoyed pizza at a restaurant with Marissa and another student on the way back from a trip to Cincinnati.
DeleteA month or so after sharing that pizza, I wanted to stop there again but couldn't remember the restaurant's name. I texted Marissa and the other student to see if either of them could remember.
Marissa had it in her journal and I was able to stop at that same pizza place again. Because they gave us the pizza free of charge on my first visit (due to the service being slower than they like), I wanted to stop there again out of appreciation for the gesture.
Also, the pizza was good. All of this to say: I, too, believe in Marissa's journaling.
I believe in lying to children. Children deserve good answers to their wonderful questions. They ask “Why is the baby crying?”, and they should be told about how teeth grow and cut gums. They wonder “where are Komodo Dragons from?”, and we should respond “I’m not sure. Let’s look it up.” Again, they deserve wonderful answers, but not always accurate ones.
ReplyDeleteFive days into a cross-country trip three-year-old Bryson decided that if he did not apparate directly into Utah to see his big cousin he would absolutely lose his mind. The problem was his aunt was not even halfway through South Dakota. The state did not matter to him, he needed a time, a date. Upon request, he was given a number. Four more days before he arrived. He began to cry. Hard. He screamed too, for effect. His tiredness exhausted him. His crying did too. He wanted to get out, to run. He needed to know why, “why aren’t we there yet?” He surely could feel everybody else’s weariness from the trip as well. He knew his crying was making it worse, but he couldn’t help it. He hated being in the car. Why weren’t they there yet?
Finally somebody answered him. “Because we are taking the long way...just so you can see The Creature.” He shut his tears off. “What creature Tudd Tudd?” He had heard all about the Bison of Yellowstone and had seen the wolves in videos. He was not aware of any other big animals living by his Emmie Lou. His aunt was surprised by his ignorance. “Haven’t you heard of Rushmore?” He most certainly had not. He pelted her with questions. He was imagining it so hard he barely noticed the other adults in the car were asking questions like they had never heard of the creature. That creature sleeping in the mountains, waiting until somebody finds the remedy to their growth potion and frees them from their prison of stone, and he had never heard of it. How? He asked her to retell the story over and over until he fell asleep. He didn’t cry once more on the trip. It turns out there are a lot of hidden mysteries that his aunt knows all about without ever looking it up.
I share this belief completely. Children don't realize there is a distinction or separation between the magic of fantasy and mundane nature of reality--why not grant them more magic and wonder through lies?
DeleteThis is a very interesting essay. I can see where the story definitely improved the rest of the road trip, yet I cannot help but wonder what sort of conversation or feelings Bryson will have when he learns the truth or talks to some of his friends about the reality of Mt. Rushmore. Probably no harm will be had, but I myself would harbor slight resentment
DeleteI love this essay. By the time I got to the end I was hunched into my screen. I agree children should be granted the naivety of youth for as long as appropriate. These are the things that make childhood so magical.
DeleteWell, should I confess I believe in lying to adults too. Maybe not lying, but embellishing stories, not adhering to the truth too strictly. Because we all need a bit more magic in our lives.
DeleteI believe in living your life to its fullest.
ReplyDeleteMy grandfather is like a second father to me. He and my grandmother helped raise me when my mom was a single mother until I was seven when she married my step-dad. He has end-stage COPD. He suffers from little to no lung function, he can no longer walk and is home-bound. This was caused by him smoking cigarettes for thirty-ish years. At his biggest, my Uncle stood at 604 pounds. He is a single man, known as “the Polar Bear” for his white skin and hefty, statuesque figure. His weight has fluctuated off and on throughout my lifetime, but it has been a constant battle for him. He is unable to walk far distances, he suffered a Diabetic scare, and much more. My grandfather and my uncle both represent two major issues discussed today. I have lived with and see the negative consequences; I know how horrible smoking and obesity is for you. So many things are. Yet, I still believe in allowing yourself to live the life you want to live. In no way am I condoning the abuse of harmful substances or habits, but I have eaten countless Happy Meals and I have smoked cigarettes and I have used electronic cigarettes. I should eat more vegetables and fruits and less processed food, but I like it - so, I am going to eat it. I don’t think people should restrict themselves when it comes to cravings. Do what you want to do, try the things you want to try, you never know what the next day holds.
This is an awesome essay and I totally agree!
DeleteI agree with you 100%. This makes me think of the time I took cultural anthropology and we talked about homeless people. During that class we talked about how some people believe that you shouldn't ever give a homeless person money because "they will just go to the liquor store up the block". The teacher said, "we all do things that aren't good for us. what makes us any better?" This class stood by me ever since. It is so true. You should always do what you want to do, and make your own choices. Of course, cigarettes are not going to make you live longer and healthier but if someone wants to smoke a cigarette, they should be able to do it without anyone judging them.
DeleteI loved your essay. <3
I hear what you're saying, and I appreciate your perspective. However, I cannot help but think that some cravings are detrimental to the point that life is no longer enjoyable. This is definitely a subjective threshold, but I do think there is a level of self-care/control that, if observed, can make life fulfilling as well. Maybe that's me being hypercontrolling--which is definitely possible. I have found myself often on the other end of this spectrum and exhibiting too much control.
DeleteI believe in visiting your grandparents.
ReplyDeleteEver since I was born, the relationship between my papaw and I has been the most important and special bond of my life. He loves cracker barrel, vegetable soup, and sports. When I say he loves sports, I mean that he will sit on his recliner and watch golf for hours. When I was in highschool he would always be there an hour before my basketball games because he wanted to watch us warm up. Speaking of basketball, before he hurt his shoulder he would always beat me and my brother in a game of horse. He shot with two hands, but it always went in.
He went to Morehead on a full ride football scholarship, left a week later and joined the army. I ask why and he said because that's what he wanted to do so he did it.
The way he talks about my mamaw is how you would hear a man talking about his wife on a movie. Its admirable. She died when I was two, and he talks about her almost every day.
I could honestly go on for hours about my papaws life and his stories, but the point of this I believe essay, is that anyone that is able to visit their grandparents should do it. They are wise, and have an endless amount of stories. Sometimes it is easy to become so involved in school, friends, etc. and forget to go visit them, or even think about them. I wish everyone had a tight bond with their grandparents, like I do with my papaw. I believe everyone should go visit their grandparents.
I wish I knew better while my grandparents were alive what you know already, Brooklyn. Though their time with us may be limited, the time we can spend with them is informed by lives rich with experiences we can only have vicariously through their stories. Time with grandparents is a gift, for sure.
DeleteI love visiting my grandma. She loves Kentucky basketball so much it scares me for her health when they lose a game. I call her right before they play to make sure she is ok, and she always laughs and says she is. Grandparents are people we should treasure while we have them.
DeleteMy grandparents are like second parents to me! I love your essay, I relate to it so much - I have been to Cracker Barrel so many time (but only with my grandparents!). Grandparents are so important, they have so much wisdom and love to teach and share.
DeleteMy brother punched me in the face. Without thinking, I punched him back. I don’t know why he ever stopped hitting me after getting started. I guess it was boredom. I rarely gave him a good challenge.
ReplyDeleteSpitballs rained down on me for five miles of the bus ride home from school. Though I couldn’t see them over the tall back of the seat in front of me when they ducked behind it, it was a brother and sister shooting the spitballs. I knew this when I heard them laughing as they sat back down to rip and chew more paper. I swung my fist around the edge of the seat and hit someone in the face.
My brother and older cousin always told me, “You have to learn to fight.” They trained me to look up to them for their ability to defend themselves with fists.
The morning after I hit my spitball attacker, I was called to the Principal’s office. The sister, Heather, and her father were there. Heather’s left eye was swollen shut.
Months later, my brother punched me in the face at the edge of our back porch. I did nothing in return. I didn’t punch him. I didn’t run. He punched me again. I did nothing. With rage, he punched the porch post next instead of me. His fist bled. He was done. The fight bored my brother because it wasn’t a fight at all. It was the last time he punched me.
I believe most of us learn to control the natural tendency towards automatic and violent response. Those who do not should terrify everyone.
I feel violence is often a cry for expression. Someone has something within them that they do not know how to articulate, something that pressurizes and exasperates them...and BANG. It comes out. I saw this in my own brother. I've felt it myself. It's not often that I am physically violent, but it is usually when I feel threatened and words fail.
DeleteI believe in fated meetings
ReplyDeleteIf someone were to tell me that an encounter I had in a DC bathroom would impact my life, I wouldn't believe them. This story is odd, I believe that it’s strangeness makes it more meaningful to me.
Over Christmas break my parents, sister and I travelled to DC for a weekend for my sisters graduation. We visited museums, ate great food, and celebrated my sisters accomplishment. The afternoon after the graduation ceremony my family headed back to the hotel. On our walk there I noticed an elderly woman walking behind us. We made eye contact and I smiled.
Once when we were in the hotel we changed into the bag of clothes we brought. We had already checked out of the room that morning so we had to use the hotel lobby bathroom. When my sister and mom finished dressing, the same elderly woman walked into the bathroom. She immediately struck up a conversation with us.
She noticed our accents and asked we were from. We told her that we were from Kentucky, but just visiting DC for the weekend. I noticed that the woman too had a specific accent. She told us that she was from Russia and had been in the US for 27 years. She then asked us to guess how old she was. I honestly thought she was 65 or something. No, this woman was 97. I couldn’t believe that she was that old. She told me that her great grandkids were probably around my age. I was blown away.
In this tiny DC bathroom we all shared info and stories about our lives. It was surreal. I still think about the woman I met in the bathroom, I think it was sort of a fated meeting. Little moments like this should be cherished.
I cannot help but agree bc I have had similar encounters. From German women, to NYC artists, some people are meant for us to meet and never forget.
DeleteI believe brothers aren’t so bad after all.
ReplyDeleteIf you asked me 5 years ago to talk about my relationship with my brothers, I would have politely declined. I am the youngest of three children, and the only girl. Growing up with two older brothers was difficult to say the least. When we were in school all we ever did was fight. Most of my afternoons I spent crying or hiding in my room because they made me so upset. I was always told, “thats just how brothers are." I just wanted them to love and respect me. I would pester everyday because I craved their affection. As we got a bit older, my relationship with my brothers only consisted of them driving me to school. We never talked and I gave up on trying to earn their approval.
Then they moved away. Everything changed. I missed them. The house was so empty. So quiet. Canyon, my eldest brother, moved back to California for two years to work and them Dakota graduated and went off to school. I did not know why I missed them so much. We never talked. The last time they told me they loved me was over a decade ago. Out of the blue I texted them individually, and they responded with more than an one word, one syllable answer. It was the best day ever. It was more contact I had had with them since I was a kid. They told me of their troubles and fears they had after they left home. I was in tears wishing they never left. The first time Canyon came home, I shocked my family when I hugged him and cried. My family was even more shocked when he hugged me back. And Dakota was never great in school because he never applied himself. College was a huge wake up call for him and he has grown so much. Canyon now lives back home and works in a very promising field. Dakota is now a senior in college at EKU and has worked so hard to graduate on time. He has a job lined up for after graduation and I could not be more proud. We ask each other to hang out all the time and it makes my week. He’s my best friend. He help me through a really tough time in my life when I thought no one would understand. But he did. I talk to my brothers everyday and I love them unconditionally. I believe brothers aren’t so mad. They used to be though.
This hits home for me, as I had a similar experience with my older brother. I think it is true that we often don't appreciate our siblings until they aren't around anymore. Absence makes the heart grow fonder.
DeleteI didn't realize how much I missed and appreciated my younger brother until I went to school. Now he is my best friend.
DeleteI do not have siblings, but this made me feel connected to you and your family. It is a very emotional thing to have someone in your family move away. This is a great story!
DeleteMy family has always encouraged reading. Some of my first and most defined memories include watching my mother and grandmother devour whole books in one sitting, waiting in bookstore lines for the final two Harry Potter books, going to Half-Price Books and being allowed to pick as many books as I’d like, reading Moby Dick at age eight for fun, and playing with the stacks of books in my mother’s makeshift sunroom-turned-library, pretending that I was Godzilla among the towers of books taller than me.
ReplyDeleteI’m lucky to have grown up in a family that truly valued reading and literacy because I really don’t think I’d be who I am now without that. A love for literature and a love for sharing that literature made me choose my future career at the ripe age of ten. I decided that I wanted to spend the rest of my life making kids fall in love with books the way I did. I wanted every single child I worked with to leave my classroom with a newfound appreciation for the written word.
The past few years, most of the reading I’ve gotten in has not been for pleasure, but been the kind shoved down my throat for a grade. It’s not that I like it this way; I just don’t have time to get invested in a good book while I’m juggling what seems like a million other things. Last semester, I took what was essentially a book club class. We read YA Lit, wrote journal-like short essays on them, and discussed them in a circle. Even though that reading was done for a grade, having a set amount of reading time week to week was incredible; most of my Saturdays were spent sitting in the sun and reading.
Last semester was the happiest I’ve ever been since coming to college, and I really believe it was because of the amount of reading I got to do that I didn’t have to feel guilty over. I didn’t have to justify how much I was reading or what I was reading because it was all for class. I’ve realized that in order for me to be happy, I have to have literature in my life; I have to give myself breaks from everyday life and jump into the kind comfort of the written word. Literature has always given me hope and relief and sanctuary from my life, and I can’t neglect that. My life is much different than it was when I was roaming through my mother's library as Godzilla. I’m older, I have more responsibilities; the way I have to read now is different--I can’t devote an entire day towards pleasure reading. But my love for literature will never change, and it will always be a part of me.
This is really cool how you and your family found something to bond over early on and up to now in your life. I remember I had friends that waited in line dressed up as Harry Potter wizards for the book opening haha. I even became motivated the read those because of their love for them.
DeleteI relate that reading is something that enhances life. It sweeps me away from reality and helps me find contentment in the moment. I often say that I don't like to read. However, when it's the right thing, I enjoy nothing more, I think. Reading is something I aspire to do more of and I admire you for pursuing.
DeleteI love to delve into a good book. I agree it is very hard to find the time and mental energy to do pleasure reading during the semester. I try to fill my breaks with as many books as possible.
DeleteI, too, love books! Take an English class with me and we can read amazing books together!
DeleteI believe in morning showers. When I was younger, night showers were part of my typical routine. But that was before I realized morning showers were obviously better. In my opinion there is nothing that helps start my day than to wake up myself up with a hot shower. I already feel like I’m being productive and I won’t be seeing everyone looking with an alfalfa look in the morning. That is probably the main reason I started taking morning showers was because when I would wake up, every time I would have a cow lick in the back of my head that would drive me nuts. But then I started realizing the extra benefits of morning showers like waking up myself up and feeling better about myself the rest of the day. Also I have time to mentally prepare myself for the day. If I just choose to lie in bed before getting up it will only make me dread the day ahead of me.
ReplyDeleteI still have faith in night showers and still take them myself. Because I promise you I'm not going to wake up 15 extra minutes early every time to take a shower in the morning. Also I can’t put myself into my own bed if I feel nasty. Night showers are still really good to take because they are a relaxing way to end the day. But I am just saying I believe in morning showers more because of the feeling and benefits that comes along with it.
Will, I love how you openly challenged the night-showerers in our class :)...well, until the ending of your reflection anyway :)
DeleteI appreciate that night showers make for unpredictable hair the next day. If you grow your hair out, you could braid it and know exactly what it will look like the next day.
DeleteLast week, my next-door neighbor and good friend made the following Facebook post:
ReplyDelete“Our sweet trumpet player is SCAPA (School for the Creative and Performing Arts) bound! He worked so hard and we are so proud and excited for this new chapter, starting in the fall!”
What this announcement neglected to mention is that the parents of said trumpet player had both gone to a SCAPA open house last fall to determine the easiest path to SCAPA admission. At the time, he didn’t play the trumpet. He played the piano. At the open house, it became clear there were a lot more parents of piano players (27) than parents of trumpet players (1). So my neighbors spoke with the SCAPA band conductor, inquired about trumpet teachers, and signed their son up for private lessons. Knowing the SCAPA band needed at least 4 new trumpet players and given the single parent of a trumpet player at the open house, they expected their son’s chances of getting in were quite high. Entry into SCAPA is competitive; they had figured out the system.
SCAPA is Lexington’s highest ranked public school.
You might wonder why my neighbor attributed her son’s success to his hard work if it had to do with his parents’ ability to attend the open house, to inquire about private teachers, and to pay for private lessons. You might say my neighbor felt entitled to her child attending the best school in town.
Two days after my next-door neighbor’s social media announcement, some former neighbors joined us for dinner. They had left our street to move to one of the most desirable neighborhoods in town: a small enclave of large and architecturally diverse houses, an old park in the middle, only a short walk from downtown. The neighborhood is also known for its tight knit community: they host porch crawls, progressive dinners, and spectacular dress-up parties.
At dinner, our former neighbors brought up friends we have in common. Our mutual friends are temporarily renting the top floor of a house in my former neighbor’s current neighborhood while waiting for some remodeling work on a house they bought to be completed. Their new home is a well-preserved mid-19th-century house next to the city’s premier swimming pool: a great find, I had thought. Not according to my former neighbors. “Who would want to live on a street where all those people park their cars to go swimming?” one of them asked.
This wasn’t really a question. It was a statement about “those people”—black and/or working class—people who don’t live in our part of town. People who are undesirable.
Both my current neighbor’s social media post and my former neighbors’ assumptions about desirability are the products of white privilege. The same privilege that allows me to be their neighbor, friend, and dinner companion. This privilege envelops us. It makes us feel safe and cozy. And also mostly unaware of the ways race, history, and class mark our lives, including our children’s access to high-quality education.
I believe white privilege is toxic: it creates expectations of success predicated on others’ lack of access. It means not welcoming those without access to even park their cars near our houses.
Sorry, folks. I know this is long, but I've been stewing about this for a week now...
ReplyDeleteI appreciate this, Kremena. This is a struggle for me often. The dilemma of planning well for myself, or living the best life I can often encounters guilt in my life. It is hard to both realize and balance. Often I am ignorant of my own privilege. I did not ask for it, should I feel guilty for having it? To what extent does pumping the breaks on my own ambition "make up for" injustice done to others? Is it moreso a mindset that those with white privilege need to have?
DeleteThis essay stopped me in my tracks. As a white women, I try to be aware of my privilege every day. These stories progressed in a way that reminded me of the ignorance privilege creates, and how blind we can be to it.
DeleteEmily, you ask really important questions. Thank you.
DeleteLet's talk. I have a lot to say in response--too much to fit in the little rectangle box I am writing in.
I believe in quality time. It was a warm summer day. Out in the back yard of our house, on the golf course playing soccer. We were definitely not allowed to go play there but the grass is cut so well so we loved to anyway. The countless hours of hot sweat all over my face, the beaming sun on my back, and the repetition to make sure I got the drill correct were certain things that I had mentally trained to get numb too .I remember all the drills he made me go through and how I had wanted to quit so I could go inside multiple times but I can still hear his voice in my head; “Keep Going”, “You Got This”, and “Don’t give up”. He had taught me that no matter what the adversity I'm going through is, the pain is only temporary but the reward is forever. Therefor, you cannot be mentally weak to give up when things get hard but only work harder because there is an exponential reward for sticking through the pain. This was not just a lesson I had learned for soccer but can also be carried onto the rest of my life. Its the little things that help you remember things forever.
ReplyDelete^^^ Emon Daneshmand
DeleteI believe each day we have on earth is a gift. I am not sure if everyone knows this, but a very big sports icon passed away in a horrible helicopter accident yesterday. What makes it worse is that his 13 year old daughter was with him. He was 41 years old and just recently retired from playing in the NBA. He won an Oscar and was a major impact on lots of young people in the NBA today. It is an awful tragedy, and most everyone who loves basketball was shaken up and is still shaken about how quickly someone’s life can be taken.
ReplyDeleteKobe Bryant was someone that tons of people my age looked up to. Not just for what he did on the court, but for how his family looked up to him. He did make mistakes and paid for them, but that still doesn't take away all of the great things that he accomplished. This is why we should never take a day for granted. We should live life like we have something to prove. We should never take anything for granted, no matter how small. We never know when it can be quickly snatched from our hands.
This I believe.
Garret LeVan
I believe in Mexican dominoes.
ReplyDeleteAfter I got back to my house in Lexington from winter break, I awaited the return of my housemates. Some of them had stayed in Lexington with their families, and others had traveled over break to Ohio, Georgia, and Mexico. The first to arrive back after me was my friend Harper. She had been on a two week vacation to Mexico to visit her boyfriend’s family. I knew how excited she was to meet his extended family and to learn more about the culture in which he grew up, so I greeted her with a big hug and smile as soon as she came in the door. As she brought her things in with the help of her boyfriend, I was informed of the places they went in the village as well as their nights on the town visiting various tourist locations and bars. I could feel the joy radiating off of their faces as they shared their experiences with me. I was the first person they had seen since leaving the airport in Lexington; I was honored to take part in their excitement as they filled me in on the many details of their trip. As they showed me the various knickknacks they had brought back from Mexico, I asked them what their favorite part of the trip was, and they began to tell me of the nights they spent sitting around at his relatives’ house playing Mexican dominoes. I was shocked at first. Since I have never traveled out of the country, I figured there would have been some elaborate story of a night out that the couple would recount to me, but instead, they had the most fun sitting around playing a game. I inquired more about Mexican dominoes, and before I knew it, we were all sitting around a table as I learned to play with the hand painted wooden pieces. Eder, Harper’s boyfriend, slowly explained the rules to me, and told me how his family would play for hours as they placed small bets and engaged in meaningful conversation. After I got the hang of the game, we began to pick up the pace. It’s a very fast-moving game, and I will admit that I lost a few dollars that night. Although my Mexican domino skills were lacking, I enjoyed a night of bonding with my friends who I hadn’t seen in several weeks. Eder’s willingness to include me in a game that he found so much joy in made my heart swell with happiness. We laughed, talked, and hung out for hours as we played dominoes. Before they had returned from their trip, I had been sitting alone missing home and wishing I had stayed a few more days in Western, KY. However, I was able to feel a sense of belonging and inclusion as Eder shared his family’s favorite pass time with me. Mexican dominoes brought us together, and we made a promise to play frequently so that maybe I can gain some skill and money in our next games. I believe in Mexican dominoes.
I love your story of bonding over Mexican dominoes, Lydia! Though I never want to play board games, I have recently come to appreciate them for grounding people in each other's presence, for taking us away from our phones and the many virtual realities we inhabit.
DeleteI love being horribly straightforward. I love sending reckless text messages (because how reckless can a form of digitized communication be?) and telling people I love them and telling people they are absolutely magical humans and I cannot believe they really exist. I love saying, you’re a good person, and, You brighten my day. I live my life as straight-forward as possible. Because one day, I might get hit by a bus. Maybe it’s weird. Maybe it’s scary. Maybe it seems downright impossible to just be—to just let people know you want them, need them, feel like, in this very moment, you will die if you do not see them, hold them, touch them in some way whether its your feet on their thighs on the couch or your tongue in their mouth or your heart in their hands. But there is nothing more beautiful than being desperate. And there is nothing more risky than pretending not to care. We are young and we are human and we are beautiful and we are not as in control as we think we are. We never know who needs us back. We never know the magic that can arise between ourselves and other humans. We never know when the bus is coming.
ReplyDeleteI like this a lot.
DeleteI also like this a lot! That last line is chilling
DeleteGrowing up on a farm there were many cats that would randomly show up on our doorstep. We always would take them to the vet care for them until they were well enough to be rehomed and then find them a new home, until one special kitten came along. It was around five in the morning my dad was doing his daily routine of making coffee tending to the animals etc until when he let our dog out. The dog chased a tiny kitten into the wheel well of his car.
ReplyDeleteAfter eventually getting her out of the tire we took her to the vet, she was very sick and needed lots of TLC. Just every other cat we found my mom was adamant that “She doesn't need another animal to take care of” and that we “are NOT keeping it so don't get attached”. In hopes to not get attached we had always named previous cats that we had found names that resemble the places they were found so her new name was Wheel Well, at least for the time she was going to stay with us.
Turns out my mom fell in love with Wheel Well, she never left and her name never changed. She is the fluffiest most loving cat with big ears, a large head, big feet, super laid back and mellow personality.
Years later, now a college student, I went home one afternoon after having a breakdown. I felt as if my whole life was upside down and I could not go on without cutting some things out of my life, but the only things I could think to cut were the only things worth doing. I felt hollow, dead, an empty shell of a person. I had failed. I had no idea what pieces were even worth picking up again.
I found Wheel Well curled up in a pile of laundry that afternoon. She had been asleep, but she lifted his head and looked at me when I came in. I reached a hand toward her. She nuzzled it, immediately burst into a deep, loud purr, and gave me a perfectly content cat grin. I moved my hand down to scratch her back and sides, and she stretched luxuriously, lolling and showing off his belly to be rubbed, giving me looks of absolute adoration.
At that point, it hit me: this cat loved me and she always would love me. No matter how I failed, no matter what was going on in my life, no matter what I did, Wheel Well would still nap in clean laundry, would still look up from that nap when I entered the room, would still love to be touched by me.
I believe love is steadfast. I believe that real love, whether it comes from God, a friend, or a cat named wheel well, is offered unswervingly and unconditionally. Love doesn’t consider past transgressions; love doesn’t wait to make sure it will be returned; love isn’t looking for something better and settling for less. We are all of us empty
This was beautiful?????
DeleteAlex Toney:
ReplyDeleteOne time I kicked my younger brother down the stairs. He was sitting there at the top of the stairs, playing with some toy, and I did that sort of “crab walk” that you sometimes see kids do, and I used it to playfully kick my younger brother on the back. You know, like a friendly punch on the arm? But it’s a kick, with both feet, while he’s sitting at the top of the stairs, ready to fall at least five feet? Makes total sense, right?
I was a lot more playful back then. I know that seems obvious- of course, I’m an adult now- but when I say that, I mean that more in the sense of “i’m depressed now”. I’m a lot less keen to do risky things now and I kind of just… stay in my room all day. I find it hard to recognize when I’m hurting as a result of all this, and yet I worry excessively about hurting others. I don’t think pain is a bad feeling, necessarily- it comes when you’re in danger, when you’re being hurt, when you need to tend to yourself. If it’s emotional pain, then it shows how much you care.
Obviously, when I accidentally kicked my little brother down the stairs, I felt absolutely terrible. How could i know this could happen?! I had no idea how physics worked at the time, but I was a child, of course I couldn’t have known. People have to have these formational experiences. And that, personally, is another reason why I’d argue pain is a positive feeling- it helps you build yourself, to learn who you are.
I still feel pain as I’m writing this. I feel pain for having hurt my brother so long ago, and pain for much more, for my plant that died this weekend, for my Spanish class where I’m not doing well, for people like Kobe Bryant who lose their lives all of a sudden. But I don’t think that pain is bad. I’ll treat my next plants better, I’ll do better in Spanish, and assuming I meet a man like Kobe Bryant in the future, someone who’s destined to find greatness and then lose it all as fast as it came, i’ll be able to make their short life at least a little better.
In summary, this I believe: even if pain feels bad, that doesn’t mean it isn’t bad. We all go through trials in our life, and we all come out better in the end.