Final Coming of Age Story

February 1, 2005

            I stare blankly at my flan. The one ominous candle stares back at me. The waiters and waitresses gather around and sing happy birthday. I smile meekly and hope no one realizes I am sad. We all are. We all are trying to celebrate my birthday by eating Mexican food and gathering together, but no one is happy. It is a lie to say we are happy on the inside. Our faces glowing with smiles say otherwise. I keep my smile plastered on my face. I secretly hope it is convincing everyone. I am thankful for everyone meeting on my birthday and I do not want anyone to think otherwise. But I am still sad.

            It is not a panging sad feeling in my chest. It is just tight. Tight like I am holding my breath underwater lying on the bottom of a swimming pool staring at the sky. But it is not even like that because I feel happy then. I feel happy when I watch the waves crinkle the rays of sunlight as they touch the bottom of the pool. It feels tight like someone is clenching my ribs in an iron grip and will not let go, even though I want them to.

            It is hard for me to look at the group gathered: my mom and dad, my sister, Lauren, Ms. Husband and her two kids Laura and Matthew, Mr. Lening, Mrs. Lening, and their son Jayton. Everyone acts sympathetic towards me, but I am not the one who needs sympathy. It just happened to be my birthday. It makes me want to cry, but not for myself, for them. It is not fair.

            I start to think about how there should be another chair at the table. It should be occupied. I decide to no longer dwell on that thought—salt water will not taste good in my flan.

            Once dessert is finished and the bills are paid, we gather to say goodbye to everyone. Hugs are given all around and exclamations of “happy thirteenth birthday!” Ms. Husband hugs me and apologizes that it had to happen on my birthday. It makes it hard not to cry—not for me, but for her. Her birthday wish to me is so selfless. She gathered everyone. She made the party. She picked a Mexican food restaurant in Pearland, TX to make it a short commute for everyone. But she still looks me in the eye and apologizes for something that affects her most. It just happened to be my birthday. No one could help that.

            My breath eases as my family and I enter the car. I stare out the window. I watch the light poles flick by. It is getting late. The sun is already down and I start to think of my early wake-up call for school. I hope to get some sleep, but I know it might be hard. I have to remember two years ago. If I do not, then it is like I am not paying homage to him. I am not remembering. I must remember. I feel like if I do not remember it will make him sad. Like he can see us from heaven and does not want to be forgotten. I know this is silly, but I cannot help but believe it. I do not want to be forgotten once I pass from this earth.

            Once the car stops, I tiredly walk into the house. It is getting late. I kiss my mom goodnight and my dad. Lauren does not grudge me a hug on my birthday, even though she is not a big hug person. I get ready for bed and then slide between the sheets. I stare at my ceiling. Tears well up in my eyes. My nose becomes obnoxiously stuffy. Despite this warning the tears still come. I must remember. It has only been two slow years since it happened. I think back to that day and the subsequent year that followed: my best friend moving, being put into the public school system, and the financial difficulty. That year teams with sad, heart-breaking events. Mr. Rick passing marks the beginning and saddest of the events. Death never knocked on the door of a close friend of my family’s until then. I begin to think about how different my life became. How different everyone’s life became. I became quiet and reserved. No more being a loud and rambunctious kid. Real life hit me like a speeding train on a track with no brakes that day. I took my school seriously and did not mingle much with others. Everyone began to adjust. Only two years and all of us still kept changing—like a ripple effect or dominoes falling in a line, one crashing into the next.

            I still cry, but not as much. The tears begin to slow. I hear a knock on my door. My mom enters. “Kara, honey, are you ok?” She knows. She always knows. No matter how hard I try to cry quietly. The tears come again. She holds me in her lap like a baby. She holds all 5’ 2” of me, even though I am sure it hurts her. I know I am too big to sit in her lap. But right now that does not matter. We both shed tears. I tell her about how I have to remember. She tells me “Kara, I do not think Mr. Rick would want you to cry every year. He would want you to be happy.” I find it odd it takes the broken to comfort the broken. Mommy is the only one who knows perfectly how.

January 16^th, 2003

The sun shines brightly in Florida despite the mid-January date. The cool breeze refreshes the crowd as we all stand there in anticipation. I look at the launch pad then back at the people surrounding me. Friends of the STS-107 crew stand packed like sardines on the bleachers. My dad stands there ready with his camcorder. My mom says prayers for the safety of the crew under her breath. Lauren and I stand goggle-eyed in awe of shuttle Columbia. I have seen retired spacecraft, such as a Saturn shuttle, at Johnson Space Center in Clear Lake, TX near my house, but nothing like this. A big black digital clock with red numbers stands in front of the bleachers to inform the crowd of lift-off.

            A man begins speaking to us through a megaphone: “Shuttle Columbia will launch soon, but remember, don’t watch the entire launch through a camcorder. It is breathtaking and can only be completely enjoyed with the naked eye.” I look at my dad hoping he will not make the mistake this kind man just mentioned.

            After some short delays, the man came back on the megaphone and began the countdown: “10-9-8-7-6-5-4-3-2-1-LIFTOFF!” The warmed-up engines light and launch STS-107 into the air. The noise deafens the crowd’s ears. I follow the shuttle with my eyes while covering my ears, craning my neck back to take in the sight as long as my 10-year-old eyes can. In an instant, the crew and Mr. Rick left the atmosphere in the shuttle.

I look at my father and he is still looking through the camcorder lens. He starts to kick himself for doing exactly what the man told us not to. Typical Gault move. Sometimes we learn best by making the exact mistakes someone told us not to.

January 17^th-18^th, 2003

             After the launch, my family and I stayed with the Husband family briefly, and then began the trek from Coco Beach, Florida to Universal Studios in Orlando. As exhilarating as this vacation seemed at the time, I cannot and do not look back at it often. Universal Studios and the roller coasters were amazing, but it was overshadowed by sad events to come.

           

Present—2012

After talking to me for a while or reading some of my short coming-of-age blogs, you will begin to notice I had a wonderful childhood. My family had no money, but we always had just enough. No large events happened to sully my short life. I went to school, had friends, and a wonderful sister, a loving mom, and a hard-working dad. While I grew up in small ways, like by catching my first fish, learning to juggle gymnastics and school, and entering public school, I can’t say that any of these left a large, marked, definitive impact on my personality. They all combined to form me, but none of them completely shaped me.

            After February 1, 2003 I cannot say I ever went back to being a carefree child. Not solely because of February 1^st and the events that unfolded, but also because of the year that followed. While the beginning of this full coming-of-age story is sad, it does end happy. A life continues to be celebrated and reaches out to impact others in a positive way.

February 1, 2003

            I sit in front of the television anxiously awaiting the birthday calls from my grandparents. My sister and I sit mesmerized, enjoying Saturday morning cartoons just like any other Saturday. Who could resist One Saturday Morning on ABC? I sit at my white “Little Tikes” table in a small gray-blue chair eating a bowl full of Cinnamon Toast Crunch.

My dad was working that Saturday and my mom was just picking up her Christmas present from Oklahoma City, where my grandma lives. My anticipation builds with each hour. When will they be home so we can start celebrating my 11^th birthday?, I think.

            Suddenly the phone rings.  As birthday girl, I allow my sister the luxury of answering the call. I briefly look away from the television set to look at Lauren’s face. Her brow wrinkles. The voice on the other end sounds like a man’s voice. I wonder who it is. Lauren snatches the remote and starts flipping through the channels.

            “What are you doing!?!” I exclaim.

            “Where are the news channels? Kara, we need to see this. Something’s wrong with Columbia.”

            Nothing can be wrong with Columbia. It’s Mr. Rick. He will be ok. His family needs him, so God won’t take him yet.

            The first news channel Lauren found is CNN. I stop eating. I just stare. I cannot believe my eyes. I do not understand. My freshly eleven-year-old brain cannot comprehend what I see. Lauren begins to choke down sobs. I do not hear what the television announcer says, all I see is Space Shuttle Columbia in flames. I go over and sit by my sister on the burgundy ottoman. I put my arm around her and say, “He’s not dead. He can’t be dead.” I just know something like this cannot happen to the Husband’s. My mind cannot fathom it.

            Lauren calls my dad, still choking down sobs. He turns the radio on at work. He tells Lauren he is coming home immediately. Thirty minutes pass and he walks in the door.

            “Everything’s ok, right Daddy?”

            “No one can survive that, Kara. Mr. Rick is dead.”

            His face begins to contort into a weird shape. He almost looks angry, but he is not. Later in life, I realize he is trying not to cry. The only time I ever saw my father cry is at Mr. Rick’s funeral.

I cannot really say what happens the rest of the day. Everything becomes a blur. I only have snippets. I remember our close friends that called, the Myskowski’s, coming over. Their mom tries to comfort us since my mom has not yet arrived. I do not cry in front of them. Only babies cry, I think. My mom arrives later. People leave. Things quit down. Then nothing.

February 2, 2003

            Reporters swarm outside of the Husband’s house. We slowly pull up. NASA, after the disaster, quickly flew the crew’s families back home to Clear Lake for safety—at times the media can be brutal and prying. Everyone wants to interview Mrs. Husband, but she just wants to be alone.

            We ring the doorbell and a fellow astronaut of Mr. Rick opens the door. In case of tragedies, such as Columbia, astronauts about to be on a mission assign an astronaut friend to take care of their family. One such man opens the door for us.

            Lauren and I go find Laura and Matthew. We try to distract them or think of comforting words to say. Nothing comes to mind. Soon, we resort to the swing-set in the backyard. 13-year-old Laura looks at the sky and says:

            “I just feel like he’s still up there on his mission, floating around in space.”

            I become overcome with sadness for them. I try to hold back my emotion. Tears trickle down my small face. Lauren reprimands me for crying. We should support them, not cry. Laura hugs me and says, “It’s ok. I know it’s because you are sad for us.” My feeble tears show all I know how to express.

Present—2012

Looking back, I cannot remember any other details. It is like I blacked out. My brain shut off and nothing worked anymore. I did not cry about it in front of anyone. I kept to myself and only expressed my grief when alone. I know I cried in my room, but I have no implicit memory of it.

This past birthday marked 9 years since Mr. Rick’s passing. Almost every birthday Ms. Husband calls to wish me happy birthday and express regret that Mr. Rick died that day. We exchange condolences and silently remember.

I remember, but I do not cry every birthday. Age taught me that lives do end abruptly and unexpectedly, but instead of always mourning, I should rejoice in the wonderful life he lived. Mr. Rick is in heaven now. His life is a wonderful memory and his death is a trial, but one that continues to strengthen others.

Ms. Husband, now Mrs. Thompson is a speaker at Christian Women’s conventions and gatherings, and is wonderful at grief counseling. She assists in widow ministries at our church, Sagemont Church, in Houston. I would never wish for Mr. Rick to die again, but God has used a sad event to benefit others. Mrs. Thompson’s testimony speaks to many widows and brings new meaning to life.

Through Mr. Rick’s passing, personally, I realized life is short and precious. Things happen unexpectedly—life happens. Rejoice in the days you have. Rejoice in the good times and rejoice in the bad, for one does not exist without the other. Coming-of-age stories shape us. Mr. Rick’s passing opened my eyes to the world, but also became the catalyst for me to become the woman I am today. I will always remember. I will always miss him. I will always know that little girl is part of who I am today. 

"You're Too Tall"

"Mommy, Wendy acts like I am too tall to do gymnastics. She always talks about how the short girls are so great at it."

My mom looked incredulous. Wendy was my not-so-nice gymnastics coach. She rarely gave compliments, often gave corrections, and always showed favoritism. As the tallest girl in Level 3, I could feel it. She did not like me. She quickly moved girls up that did not work as hard as I did just because they were shorter. I worked the hardest, complained the least, and gained the least recognition.

With my distaste for my current gym growing, my mom set out to find a new one. A new gym named Acrofit was being built not too far from my house in Kemah, Texas. Soon, I was enrolled and beginning classes there.

I started at Acrofit in my current Level, Level 3. Within weeks they had moved me to Level 4--the level in gymnastics where you started to compete. I became ecstatic. Going from a gym that ignored me to one that embraced me felt good.

My first gymnastics meet quickly approached. It was called the Oni's Invitational. Just thinking about it made me want to vomit. Being in public on show made me nervous. Coach Tracy and Coach Perla were encouraging as ever. They believed in me.

The day came and I put on my competition leotard. It was a dark blue and green tie-dye design. It fit perfectly. I sat with nervousness before each event. Floor was my worst that day. I shook during every pivot and flip with nervousness. Finally, it was over, but the exhilaration still hung in the air. I felt like I conquered something. It was as if the world stopped and there was just me and each event I tackled. On bars I only saw the world spinning with each turn. On the beam, I only saw my toes grip the long, leather-bound elevated piece of wood. On the floor, the world spun by with each subsequent flip. In short, I felt thrilled, breathless--hooked.

I continued in gymnastics until I reached Level 6. It started to take over my life with 12 hours of practice a week. I knew it was time to move on. I still miss it and never found a sport good enough to replace it. I dabbled here and there in sports such as track and tennis, but it never felt the same. Sometimes I still dream about my old routines and the same feeling returns. I have never felt as exhilarated as I did during a gymnastics routine. That part of me has never been reawakened. It's a part that belongs in the past--something that only lives in memories.

Moving Day: Coming to TCU

My eyes became as big as saucers, my heart beat fast, and my legs hurried up the steps in anticipation. I enter the building pulling a cart with all my belongings in it behind me. Then it hit me, Milton is my new home. I am going away to college and I am living in a dorm. I now live in a 14' x 12' room and share it with another person I have never met before!

I took a deep breath. I rest my hand on the door handle to room 139. The first floor. That may prove convenient, I thought.  What if my roommate is strange? Why did I go potluck? I should have gone to a college where I actually knew someone! Too late now. I open the door. There she is. She has short brown hair, a big welcoming smile, and an outgoing personality. Maybe this will work.

The day flew by filled with many trips to Walmart, trips to the car, organizing, realizing how unprepared I was to live on my own, and uneasy feelings. As my parents car drove away, I began to reflect. I am in a town I do not know my way around, I do not know anyone but a handful of people, and tonight I have to share a room with a complete stranger! Why did I not go to school in Houston? I began to take in the sight of my room. I have to live here for the next 8 months of my life.

Due to my shy nature, I stayed in my room that night. My roommate ended up staying with her parents in their hotel room. They were not ready to part ways yet. I started to cry. The stress of the day and now staying by myself in a foreign place took its toll. I called my mom. "Kara, you need to tell the RA that you are sleeping alone tonight. It's not safe!" There was no way I was going to act like a baby and tell my RA I needed supervision. I just gained independence, I do not want it back anytime soon. My mother comforted me until she went to bed.

Then I decided to call my best friend from back home. We laughed at my circumstances. "This would only happen to me! Of course my roommate doesn't even stay the night the first night and I know no one else!" I laughed the rest of the night away and no longer worried about not make friends. I would have to push myself. Putting myself out there was always a struggle of mine, but I must make friends.

In the coming weeks, my roommate met many people and her outgoing personality made it easier for me to make friends as well. She proved a good roommate and we complemented each other's personalities. I pushed through rush week and the first week of school and managed to make friends. Without the support base of my family nearby, it proved difficult to get out there, but when I did, I found myself. Just Kara. I became myself through moving out, meeting new people, and making my own decisions. This was the beginning of my autonomous self.

Conversation Partner: Meeting #6

This past Thursday WeiRan and I met for the last time. His face shone with excitement and happiness more than usual. As usual, I inquired after his week. Nothing out of the norm happened in his life that week. He played video games, stayed up late, and avoided homework. Then why did WeiRan appear so excited?

I soon came to find WeiRan's excitement came from his anticipation of summer. He cannot wait to go home and see his friends. He hates school and is excited about no longer having to do homework. However, WeiRan has one worry: his last test in the foreign exchange student program. WeiRan struggles with English. If he passes the class, he can begin school at TCU, if he does not then he must repeat the course until he passes.

Next, WeiRan asked me how many hours a day I study for classes. I told him between 4-6 hours at least. His jaw dropped and he said "So if I go to school at TCU I must study that much." I explained that I have goals and work really hard so I can get into graduate school. WeiRan did not like the idea that classes at TCU are hard. WeiRan admitted that he would rather enjoy the freedoms of college without the work. Wouldn't we all? But college is the precursor to the real world, so hard work is necessary.

After telling WeiRan that college is hard, I think he strongly considered not going. I still cannot understand why he is strongly opposed to school and learning. Maybe I would feel the same way if I attended school in China and struggled to learn the language.

Then, WeiRan asked me for television show recommendations. He wants to watch tv shows to assist him in learning English. WeiRan believes listening to the dialogue will help him in his own personal dialogue in English. I showed him Hulu and mentioned tv shows such as The Office, How I Met Your Mother, and New Girl. He mentioned liking action shows, so I referenced Bones. I think he will really enjoy the comedy and mystery aspect of Bones.

Soon, our time was up. I said my last goodbye to WeiRan. I wished him luck with his final exam and said I hoped to see him next semester. He left with a smile and wished me the same. I really enjoyed getting to know him and his culture. Talking to WeiRan always proved to be interesting.

Hello, Public School

I looked around the big lunch room, the long never-ending hallways, the dark blue, silver, and white tile. All seemed alien to me. It had been four years since I stepped into a school as a potential student (except for the brief stint in 3rd grade). The blatant difference between this school and my previous school was population.

For the previous four years I had been homeschooled. It was just Lauren, my sister, and I. My mom taught us and sometimes my dad. I loved being homeschooled. But, the time had come for change. In 2003, many events made it necessary for my sister and I to enter public school--specifically financial issues. My mom worked as a CPA for my dad's business now. No more stay-at-home-mom. My dad was just trying to keep his sub-sea drilling censor business alive. Before being homeschooled, we went to a private school, but we could not afford that option now.

This is why I stood here. This is why I stood here in this big, cold, school that had huge windows and kids running around in awkward polo and khaki uniforms. I didn't know how I felt about it. I felt scared, maybe, and just empty. I felt nothing. My best friend who I homeschooled with had moved to Alaska, for the first time I realized how financially unstable my families circumstances were, and other unhappy circumstances made 2003 an unenjoyable year. For now we will focus on the school aspect of that year.

I drew a deep breath as I entered the 6th grade hallway. I had my binder strap on one shoulder and my lunchbox strap on the other. I fumbled with my schedule. I strained to see the last names of teachers printed on white laminated paper stuck to the top of the blue cement bricks. This paper signaled the entrance of the small branching hallways that held the classrooms.

I scowled at my "regular" classes schedule. The Texas School Board did not think my homeschooling education entitled me to "advanced" classes, even though test results said otherwise (can you tell I haven't exactly let this go?). These classes bored me.

The fiery, loud, and outgoing girl changed into a quiet, subdued individual. I learned to stay quiet in class, work hard, and keep ideas to myself. Reading became my favorite class because I could get lost in books. I could forget that year when I read. I became the protagonist in stories when I read. I empathized with their losses and rejoiced with their gains. I loved reading.

I had some friends. The outgoing people who chose to reach out to me became my friends. But I mostly focused on school. My thought process was I must do well in school in intermediate school to do well in high school and get a scholarship so I can go to college. With my families financial circumstances, college became only a hope, not a certainty. I became determined.

Being thrown into public school taught me how to adapt. My financial circumstances and other humbling experiences helped me empathize with other people. This is when I decided I wanted to be a psychologist. I wanted to help people who felt just as alone as me.

BFBU: Best Friend Break-ups

I sat in the passenger seat of the car holding the brown-paper bag. I did not dare look at its contents until I was safely off the tennis court and in the car. Now I looked into the bag. My vision began to blur and my eyes swim. Under some of my forgotten night clothes laid my homecoming mum. All these items had been left at my best friend Katie's house.

"Are you ok, Kara" my mom asked.
"Yeah, I'm fine."

Once safely inside, I ran to my room and threw myself on my bed. The sobs would not hold themselves inside any longer. I could not hold myself together anymore. I buried my face in the pillows and let out all the sadness, anger, feelings of injustice, betrayal, and hurt. How could Katie stop being my friend? We were inseparable. We played tennis together, had the same private instructor, had sleepovers almost every weekend--we did everything together. As a shy individual, I really only needed Katie. I loved having one best friend and some acquaintances.

The break-up began to show its cracks when Katie's boyfriend of four months wanted more and more of her time. It started in about January of our freshman year. The distancing, ignoring, and irritation at my growing distaste for the boyfriend she "loved." She would ignore me at assemblies and sit with Josh. She hung out with him on the weekends. She walked with him in the hallways. Every second he was there. I felt suffocated. Sometimes I just wanted to scream and say "I want to hangout with my best friend without you there!"

I began to voice my distasteful opinions about him. Bad idea. Katie told Josh everything I thought about him. Wasn't I supposed to be able to trust my best friend?

By May, the break was complete. That's why after my private tennis lesson and at the beginning of hers, Katie gave me back my stuff. She did not want to see me again. My heart broke.

Our freshman class was being split in half because the high school was having half of the inhabitants be redistricted to the new high school. This meant Josh was leaving. The small hope I had of Katie and I becoming friends again vanished when I found out she received permission to transfer to the new high school. She transferred to be with Josh. She left me completely to be with him. She convinced the district that it would be bad for her "emotional and psychological health" to be separated from him. Pathetic. That's what I thought it was, pathetic.

My fear of abandonment and losing people I cared about resurfaced. After losing people when I turned eleven I struggled with that. Losing Katie made me realize "you can't put all your eggs in one basket," as my mom says. I learned to try to put aside my shyness and make many friends.

Since then, Katie and I have reconciled. We rarely talk since high school, but are still on good terms. Her and Josh broke up two months into going to the same school. We both learned a lot through those experiences. No matter how painful, she taught me a valuable lesson.

About A Boy

I sat there eating my lunch quietly. I just stared. He had the biggest blue eyes I ever saw. He was tall and lanky. I had seen him around school a lot and he went to my new church. At 13, he was my first big crush. In middle school, I was quiet and reserved. After the shock of being transferred from homeschooling to public school in 6th grade, I did not talk much. I did not talk to boys. I barely talked to girls. It is a miracle I had friends. My few friends came from being neighbors with half of them.

In the spring of 8th grade, adolescence bloomed and I started to take notice of this boy. We will say his name is Roger. I remember sitting at the long, dark blue and gray flecked lunch table and thinking "I'm gonna date that boy." Strange, I know. Blame it on the awkward phase.

Fast forward four years later. It is 2010 and we are both seniors in high school. Roger and I ended up hanging out and "dating" at the beginning of 9th grade for 3 months. Then in the spring of 9th grade for 2 months. Then the spring of 10th grade for 1 month. We went through phases of having crushes on each other, to hating each other, to finally being best friends. If you asked me to explain how this happened I would not be able to tell you. Roger and I just somehow always ended up being a part of each others' lives.

Being best friends with Roger was great. He is still one of the few people that knows me like the back of their hand. He could be exasperating at times, but ultimately he was my best friend. I could be mad at him, but no one else was allowed to.

Oblivion is something I live in often when it comes to the opposite gender. Throughout Junior and Senior year of high school people told me Roger liked me. I blew off their remarks. I had a long-term boyfriend, who was an idiot, but I was too googly-eyed to notice.

Spring semester of Senior year I finally broke up with my silly boyfriend of 14 months. The first person I turned to was Roger. A lot of other things began to fall a part in my life at the same time. Roger broke up with his girlfriend two weeks later. We began to hang out frequently. Our parents were close and we just clicked. It was easy being around Roger. I could tell him anything.

Some nights we just sat by a lake close by and talked. We talked about college, hopes, dreams, aspirations, beliefs. I felt safe with Roger. Roger began to disclose his feelings for me. I reciprocated. I was really happy that summer. But practical Kara knew I could not go into college with a fresh relationship. I broke it off at the end of the summer. Maybe it was cold. I just thought it was best for both of us. I knew he had to find himself and I had to find myself.

I went through a brief, unstable relationship at the beginning of college. When Roger found out I think it really hurt him. I did not mean to, but I was naive. I became defensive. It wasn't like he went to college and made the best choices. I still don't think he knows how hearing about his college experiences affected me. He changed. I changed.

Roger now has been dating a girl for 1 1/2 years. But at breaks when we hang out, the same feelings resurface. After he re-confessed his love for me this past summer despite still being in a relationship, I knew something had to change. I could not sleep with a clean conscious if I knew just by contacting my best friend I could be hurting another woman.

I learned I had to let go of something I love. We weren't broken, he didn't do anything mean to me, we just changed. He moved on. I had to let him go. Sometimes I think about calling him. Sometimes I want to text him about funny things or struggles of mine. I can't. He's not available. He's not there. Sometimes I wonder if they broke up if we would start talking again. If we'd become friends and maybe more. I suppress these thoughts because you can't think like that. It is selfish that I wish him unhappiness just so I can have my best friend back. It won't ever be the same. Learning to let go for someone else's happiness is hard. I still struggle with not saying I like him just so I can have him back. Deep down I know he would drop everything to be with me. But that is wrong. I don't deserve him. I had my chance.

I miss him a lot. Things will never be the same between him and I. Honestly, I do not know when I will even see him again. We're growing up and changing, but we will always have that summer.

Conversation Partner: Meeting #5

Today, WeiRan brought both Simon and Chris to our meeting. The conversation began with Simon talking about his dog. Apparently, his roommate sold the dog to their neighbor; however, their neighbor bought the dog while intoxicated and did not remember buying the dog in the morning. Simon said his neighbor woke up in the morning and could not figure out why their dog stood in his room. Simon's roommate had to explain to him why the dog slept at the neighbors house. After sobering up, the neighbor decided he no longer wanted the dog and returned the dog to its original home--the farm. When Simon told me this I became sad. Simon saw it all over my face. When they said farm, I thought they meant the dog would be euthanized. Isn't that what every parent tells their child when an animal dies? "It's ok, honey, your dog, Lulu, is just at a farm!" Simon quickly explained to me that the dog would be ok and now stayed with its original parents. I accepted this explanation and the conversation moved forward.

Next, WeiRan showed me the new book he must read: The War Horse. I tried to encourage him and say it would be a good read, but I do not think he believes me. WeiRan hates reading. He only likes math and science. He mentioned how he just wanted to read a book about chemicals or math. WeiRan does not see the point in reading. I explained to him that reading is important because no matter how smart you are with numbers or chemicals, if you cannot express your ideas in language, then no one will be able to share your knowledge. If you cannot express your ideas, you cannot hold a job. WeiRan agreed with this explanation, however, I think he still hates reading.

The conversation briefly moved to movies. They told me that Titanic is a classic in China. I tried to talk about other movies, such as Avatar since it is by the same director, but they became lost on them. Talking about movies and books with them is hard. The titles of movies and books do not translate well into Chinese.

Then, they showed me apps on their phone. Apparently there is an app for iPhone's that allows you to shake your phone and see who else is shaking their phone. I do not understand this app... They made jokes that Chris did it to find new girls. I think Chris really wants a girlfriend. They make jokes that he tries to find girls online. I got a good laugh out of this. After these jokes other jokes followed, but only spoken in Chinese. I became extremely confused. WeiRan just said "they are bad boys and making dirty jokes. I am a good boy. I do not make dirty jokes." I decided I did not want to know what they talked about in Chinese. One thing that is the same cross-culturally is boys love for dirty jokes. I guess I cannot blame them, that is just how they are wired.

While being left out of the jokes, I looked up and saw a girl in my sorority walk in the door. I smiled and said hi. I tried to explain to them what a sorority was. I cut the sisterhood mumbo jumbo and decided to classify it as a "social club." They understood. Simon said that could not happen in Chinese colleges because they are poor colleges and kids are not allowed to have events. I think they find sorority and fraternity life frivolous. Simon would probably be the most on board. He finds social life a key part of his well-being. WeiRan and Chris were raised to believe education the most important thing. Simon believes a good balance of friendships and education is the perfect mix. I agree with that statement.

Our conversation began to dwindle and I had to leave to complete other school work. We agreed upon meeting next week. WeiRan, I believe, is looking forward to next week because our meeting means school is almost over. He is homesick, poor guy.

Time: Vol. 83 No. 1 January 3, 1964

America's coming of age story is an interesting one. In 1776 we declared our independence from Britain. As a young nation, coming of age happens in rapid succession, especially on the stand of human equality. This began with the Civil War in 1861. The emancipation proclamation followed, but no true equality. In 1964 racial equality issues thickened in the minds of every American with the Civil Rights Movement.

In 1964, 9 years after the beginning of the Civil Rights Movement, Time magazine took a big stand in favor of equality. Time magazine in January of 1964 dubbed Martin Luther King, Jr. "Man of the Year." Times did an entire write up on not only King, but his family and other reputable African Americans. African Americans that were teachers, architects, state senators, bishops, surgeons, etc. America grew up, came of age, made changes, became better.

Like any coming of age story, the article did not mean the end of the process, but merely a huge step in the right direction. The Civil Rights lasted four more years, but the bulk of the growing pains ceased in 1964. I don't think any American in 1776 thought an African American would make the front page of a magazine. Life changed for Americans.

Now racial prejudices still exist, but mostly in the older population of America. Whites are free to marry Blacks without prejudice, they can hold corporate jobs, vote, eat in the same restaurant, ride at the front of the bus, go to any school, receive a college education without racism, and even become president. King said he "had a dream" of equality. I like to think his dream came true. The growing pains of racism may always exist due to the imperfection of humanity, but most prejudice is gone.

As America enters into its adulthood, we have become mature in equality. Martin Luther King, Jr. assisted in this transition as did Times magazine. Time took a stand and joined with the African American community to make a difference. Time showed America's transition from childhood to maturing adults.

The House on Mango Street

I love this book. I love how it shows me a whole different culture--a whole different way of life. I relate to some aspects of the book and feel intrigued by others. The ambiguity of the disjointed vignettes create an atmosphere of creativity and mystery. It felt like a puzzle I pieced together. It is like a puzzle that each reader pieces together, but in a different way every time. Every reader comes to the same conclusion for the plot, but the holes are filled by each readers imagination. That takes talent.

Relating to Esperanza may be easier for myself than some of the class because I am a female as well. Some of her experiences are experiences that every girl has. Playing dress-up, running around outside, refusing to grow up, the first time you have a crush, etc. Being able to relate to a storing makes it more interesting.

Also, the format of the story reminds me of how I think. I am a scatterbrain. If someone lived inside my head they would feel like they are on a crazy roller coaster going 80mph with twists and turns everywhere. I do not think there is a human being alive that can follow my thought processes. Relating to her writing style makes me feel connected to Sandra Cisneros. Her amazing talent to put together a puzzle before your eyes is impressive.

Another part of the book I enjoy is being connected to her culture. I find learning about other cultures intriguing. Growing up, my mother told me stories about my Native American heritage. Her grandmother had many mystical beliefs that the white man never purged from the Indians. They passed them down through generations. Now my mother tells me the silly stories and beliefs. They sound funny now, but I still like hearing them because that is a part of my heritage. For this reason, I love hearing about other people's cultures, even if they are "out of date." Sandra Cisneros's desire to pass down her heritage is beautiful. There's the saying, "you don't know where you're going until you know where you've been." She embraces this by sharing her culture in the past as well as Esperanza's view of the current Mexican culture.

During class we discussed Sandra Cisneros's original dream to be a poet. I found it ironic because the whole time I read the book it reminded me of poems and the ambiguity of their meaning. I enjoy reading some poems because of the challenge of figuring them out. I face the same challenge when I read The House on Mango Street. I love trying to piece together all the vignettes.

Overall, The House on Mango Street is one of my favorite stories. It is a real and colorful portrayal of one girls coming of age story. She embraces her heritage and makes some rules of her own.

Conversation Partner: Meeting #4

Today, WeiRan and I met at the bookstore to talk. Originally we were to meet on Tuesday, but he had an emergency. The minute I got the email saying he had an emergency I became concerned, but suspicious as well. WeiRan's emergencies usually mean he made other plans and forgot we were supposed to meet. Today when I met him, my suspicions were justified. He had gone to Dallas.

WeiRan has a love for Dallas that I will never understand. He thinks Dallas is a wonderful city. Fort Worth pales in comparison to Dallas. He looked nervous when he told me his real "emergency." He said "I forgot I told my friend two weeks before that I would go with him." I chuckled to myself. Why would I be mad he went to Dallas? I am no teacher. His obligations to meeting me are minor.

Our subject turned to school. He became nervous that TCU would be hard once he got in. I reassured him that it is challenging, but he would do well. He's a smart kid. He just hates English. He skipped his class twice this week. He says he stays up until 4:00 a.m. playing a spaceship game on the computer with his roommate, Chris. I'm dumbfounded. He says his reason is he does not like being on American time. He stays on Chinese time, which is why he is too tired to make it to all of his classes.

I began to question WeiRan on how his parents would react if he did not pass the course. He shrugged, "I do not know." Maybe it's my own expectations, but I assumed he would be a driven student. WeiRan's apathetic responses confuse me. I wonder if it is because he does not look forward to the career his father has chosen for him. He does not want to be an engineer. If I had my life planned out for me by my father I probably would not be driven, either.

The conversation moves back to California. WeiRan and his roommate, Chris, wanted to move to San Francisco, but not anymore. He explained that two Chinese people were recently murdered. Now he considers San Francisco too dangerous. TCU appears to be his home for the next 6 years or so. I think he likes it here, but is homesick. He began to talk about his excitement to return home. "What is the first thing you will do when you get home" I asked. He said hanging out with his friends. He brightened up at the thought of being back in Shanghai. I would be extremely homesick, as well, if I lived in another country.

Next, we discussed his prospects if he graduated with a degree from TCU. I tried to tell him about how we are a selective university with great colleges, but it did not translate well. I kept trying to explain it to him, but with few results. We finally gave up on trying to understand each other upon the subject.

The conversation began to dwindle. Plus, I needed to take my car to get inspected. It is not smart to have a 3-month expired inspection sticker. We parted ways and agreed to meet again next week.

Conversation Partner: Meeting #3

I met with WeiRan the day of the tornado warnings. I swiftly walked into the bookstore with the upcoming storm close on my heels. I saw my friend sitting there and waited with her. Soon the TV warned us of the coming tornados. My phone buzzed with a TCU alert. I no longer thought WeiRan would show up. However, he proves me wrong. WeiRan walked through the door wet and cold. I felt so bad! He still came even though there were tornado warnings!

I began with my usual intro of "how are you" and "how was your weekend?" While we were in the middle of our usual dialogue, I noticed a confused looking guy soaking wet trapesing around the bookstore cafe. I looked up and then WeiRan did as well. He recognized the boy and began to speak to him in Chinese. After the boy left, WeiRan explained to me that he borrowed his umbrella to come meet me. The boy had come running after it! I chuckled to myself and pitied him for braving such an awful storm for his umbrella.

I asked WeiRan if he was worried about the storm. He said he was not worried about a thunderstorm, but that he had never seen one like this. I tried to explain to him what a tornado was and that it is dangerous. He did not think they were dangerous at all! He told me his roommate (who is Jacob, the one that I could not remember his name) blew off their RA's warning to go to the basement. He just shut the door and kept playing his video games. I laughed at this, but still warned WeiRan of the danger of the storm. I tried comparing a tornado to a tsunami, but that did not help either. Honestly, they are completely different storms, but I stooped to grasp for anything just to explain my point. By the end of the conversation, WeiRan still had no idea what a tornado was.

After a long stare at the television to keep tabs on our danger, WeiRan mentioned that his other friend, Simon, got bit by his dog last weekend. He said he got onto him for chewing something up and the dog bit him! I remember Simon talking about his big German Shephard. I told him I was afraid of German Shephards and Simon just laughed at me. I wonder if now he understands why...

Next, WeiRan showed me his phone. He had an extra battery pack attached to the back. It aligned seamlessly with his phone. He said it allows him to only have to charge his phone once a week! Impressive.

Then, he showed me how he changed his phone into Chinese! I enjoyed looking at all the symbols. Chinese looked so interesting and complex.

As the rain began to stop, we turned to other subjects. I still wanted to explain to him what a tornado was. I decided to use an online translator. I thought I was being smart to find the translation for "tornado" in Chinese means "thunderstorm." Fail. I guess I'll have to call in a meteorologist to explain it. Honestly, I don't think I fully understand how tornadoes start. Hurricanes, that's a different story. I have been avoiding those in Houston for almost all of my life.

With the sky dry, I said my goodbyes and gave WeiRan an opportunity to run home without getting drenched. I really enjoyed talking to him even if I am an awful translator. He laughs off the silly things I do. I'm glad he has a good sense of humor.

Conversation Partner: Meeting #2

Today, I met with WeiRan and his friend again. We decided to meet at the TCU bookstore for some coffee at 2:00 p.m. True to form, WeiRan and his friend appeared precisely, if not before, 2:00 p.m. His punctuality is convenient and kind. When I walked up, they were already in line getting coffee. We talked some and they kindly offered to pay for my coffee.

Once everyone received their coffee, we found a table to sit at. I situated my burdensome backpack in its own chair. Sometimes it feels like I am carrying around a 2-year-old child on my back.

"How was your spring break" became the first question asked. I found that WeiRan went back home to China; however, his parents remained oblivious to the fact for awhile. This is the second time I have sensed a lot of tension between WeiRan and his parents. His friend, Jacob, went to New Mexico. The only thing Jacob said about New Mexico is, "the girls are skinny." They soon asked where I spent my spring break. I briefly mentioned my trip to Destin and how beautiful Florida is. The conversation soon became stagnant. I turned to my old standby--the weather.

You can truly never go wrong talking about the weather. The only time you can go wrong referencing the weather is if you mentioned it in the conversation previously. I quickly blurted "it is so humid outside! I think it might rain." Operation save-the-conversation-with-weather-talk: successful. Jacob, WeiRan's friend, made an astute observation, "in China, we have four seasons. I do not think you have four seasons in Texas." I laughed. After living here for 6 months, Jacob already knows we have minor weather changes. The Texas weather talk progressed into talk about the weather in China. In Shanghai, where they are both from, the weather is hot, but it gets cold at night.

With talk of weather in China, a new conversation sparked: where to visit in China. They described Beijing as a great tourist place as well as the "Alley," a small town historical district (I think that is what they were describing). Jacob made a sly joke in chinese. WeiRan blushed slightly and then Jacob spilled the beans (payback?), "Couples go to the Alley, like WeiRan and his girlfriend." While WeiRan found this somewhat personal and embarrassing, I found it wonderful. Jacob did not know it, but he just gave me a conversation jackpot. As a female, keeping a conversation going about people's relationships is an art I have perfected. When am I not listening to relationship stories or problems? I could keep this conversation going for as long as necessary. No more awkward silences!

I started with the basic queries, "Where does she live?" Beijing. "How long have you been dating?" 2 years. WeiRan did not gush, but he seemed to enjoy conversing about it. He mentioned Skype as the easiest way to communicate and how he wants to go to San Francisco to be near her next year. She will be attending UC San Diego next year. Finally, my state geography knowledge came in handy. I explained to him how far San Francisco is from San Diego and drew him a little map. I jested that he should frame it, but I do not think he understood my joke.

From here, we discussed colleges. They both want to go to San Francisco for college to be near the their girlfriends/interests. Now WeiRan threw Jacob under the bus, "Jacob interested in a girl, but she will not receive him." Jacob is still determined to go to San Francisco next year to win her affections. I found this very sweet. Their commitment to relationships shocked me. Most guys I know are extremely opposite.

More small talk and quips about relationships ensued. Before I knew it, our time came to a close and I prepared to leave in order to come to this class. We agreed to meet again next Tuesday in the same place. I think the bookstore cafe workers will be recognizing all of us soon.

To Kill A Mockingbird

To Kill A Mockingbird is a fascinating and endearing book. I read it in high school and loved it. I read it this year and loved it more. After this last read, it became one of my favorite books. There are a variety of elements that make it relatable to a diverse group of people.

The first element that really grabbed me is the vulnerability of the characters. How could you not relate to the outdoor shenanigans Jem and Scout continually get themselves into? Playing outside stayed an integral part of my childhood for a solid decade, if not longer. Lee portrayed the essence of their childhood with ease, humor, and vividness. Combining all these elements endeared each character to me while prodding me to keep reading. I really enjoyed reading about all the quirky creative ideas that Jem, Scout, and Dill thought up. 

The plot grabbed me next. Lee tactfully wove the story from mere neighborhood rumors and childhood play, to the weighty subject of racism and judicial injustice. By the second half of the book, I became enthralled and invested in each characters life. Atticus made me proud. I found myself fighting for him during the trial. The jury and Ewell family infuriated me (I must admit, I may get a little too into the plot of books). Scout and Jem made me proud; however, it broke my heart that Jem began to lose hope in people. Naturally, this happens in the course of life, but 12-years-old is too young to lose hope. Ultimately, the children had to grow up at a young age. I think that is rare now. On average, most children have the opportunity to live sheltered comfortable lives. To Kill A Mockingbird reminded me of the rawness of reality of life and how blessed I have been. 

After researching the book for my presentation, the background of the writing of the novel intrigued me next. In reference to only writing one book, Harper Lee said "I have said what I wanted to say and I will not say it again." Harper Lee made her point. She stood up for what she believed in and never backed down. To Kill A Mockingbird was first published in 1960 right in the middle of the Civil Rights movement. A white southern woman took a stand against racism. Despite being set in 1933-36, the novel voiced the struggles of the African American community in the late 1950's and early 1960's. This background and the fictional elements of the story made me respect and enjoy the novel even more. It is a novel with a purpose and a moral. Not many novels produced today have the depth that To Kill A Mockingbird has. Twilight, The Hunger Games, etc have no substance. Yes, they can be fun reads, but what do they even stand for? Nothing. Reading about vampires or kids having to kill each other are not stimulating my mind or making me think about changes that should be made in the world.

Overall, this is my favorite novel that we have read so far. It is a great coming of age story with substance. I did not want to put it down. I fully understand why it has been translated into 40 different languages now--the amazing message. 

Conversation Partner: meeting #1

Yesterday, I met with a foreign exchange student named WeiRan Feng. We met in the TCU bookstore. He brought two of his friends along as well because they had a big English speaking exam the next day. Conversing went well with the three of them and interesting topics were discussed.

To start the conversation, I kept to the basics. I asked each of them where they were from, what they wanted to study, and how they decided upon it. They said they were all from the middle of China close to Shanghai. One of them (I forgot his name, but I think he went by the American name of Jason) wanted to study economics or film at TCU. He is eighteen and has lived here for four months. Right now he is in the English program, which upon completion allows him to study at TCU. Simon, the other friend of WeiRan, wants to study business, but he is still undecided. He is twenty-one or two. He said both were his age. I think he mixed up his numbers a bit, but he is one of those ages. He has lived here for a full year and has a German Shepard dog. Once he completes the English program, he will be able to begin studying at TCU. WeiRan had a different story. His father is making him come to TCU and study engineering. He never had a choice. He sounded very disappointed about it. At the age of nineteen he has no freedom and is living under his father's authoritarian rule. The other two boys raved about how TCU became their top pick in secondary school for college, but WeiRan said he heard about TCU because his father said he had to go here. My heart went out to him. Having to grow up with no choices is sad and stifling.

Soon after covering the basics, we began to discuss food. Sadly, I must admit, I started this conversation as well. I learned that in China they rarely eat cheese, unlike Americans. My mouth dropped. They looked at me like I had two heads. They giggled some at my astonishment and obsession with cheese. Yes, I love cheese: blue cheese, cheddar, provolone, brie, parmesan, etc. They said that in China you sometimes have cheese on meals at restaurants, but rarely at "home dinner." I asked them what were the typical dishes they ate at home. Since they all live by a sea, they ate a lot of seafood, such as different kinds of fish. After looking at a map of China, I think we had a miscommunication about where they live. There are no seas in the middle of China and If they are from Shanghai, they are from the western part of China.

Annie, the cutest dog alive! Still beautiful at 14-years old!

Next, I asked them if they ate dogs. I know, probably a bad idea, but I HAD to know. They laughed at me once more and said that some people do, but they haven't. I can't decide if they made up this answer because they saw the sad look on my expressive face or if they really don't eat dogs. I then proceeded to whip out my phone and show them a picture of my dog back home. I said "could you ever think of eating that cute face?" They caught on to my jest and laughed again. I think my enthusiasm made them nervous at first, but they soon warmed up to me. I'm sure in their heads they were thinking "crazy American."

We continued with the wonderful topic of food. They began to tell me of the Asian Buffet, a restaurant off of W Berry that they love to eat at. They offered even to take me to eat there sometime with them. I asked them if they ever ate sushi, but they said that is predominantly Japanese and they do not eat it often.

Once the topic of food became exhausted, we moved on to the topic of family. I asked if each of them had a sibling. WeiRan is an only child, Simon has one brother, and Jason (the unknown) is an only child. I asked if they were homesick, but they acted like they were well adjusted and only missed their families sometimes. I told them I got homesick often even though my family lived in Texas. They all got a good chuckle out of that. WeiRan said "you can go home any weekend you want! Your family is not far." Compared to the thousands of miles they must travel home, my 200 odd miles seems measly.

With a lull in the conversation, Jason started to say something to the other two in Chinese. I sat there a little confused. Jason said something else to WeiRan. WeiRan replied, "would you like me to tell her?" Then WeiRan looked at me and said, "he thinks you are pretty." Jason became quite flustered at this and felt awkward. Obviously, Jason did not intend for WeiRan to let the cat out of the bag. I just said thank you and tried to move on with the conversation to stop the awkwardness.

Next, we began to discuss adjusting to Fort Worth and how they liked the city. They all found Fort Worth boring and liked Dallas better! I mentioned Billy Bob's as a joke, but they did not catch on. They really enjoyed Dallas because of the big city and Chinatown. This made complete sense. If an "Americantown" existed in China when I lived there, you could bet big money that every weekend I would be haunting the place. We then discussed different Chinatowns around the country, such as in New York City and San Francisco. They all found California, especially San Francisco, cool and interesting, but came to Texas for diversity.

Somehow, we soon got on the topic of ethnicity, probably from talking about how diverse America is. Each one of them is pure Chinese. I started to list off all of my heritage: "I am British, French, German, Irish--" Jason interjected "Spanish" This gave me a chuckle. I replied, "no, but I am part Native American." Poor Jason stood 2 for 0 on the embarrassed scale. They seemed intrigued at how many ethnicities I had combined in my genealogy. Jason thought that I spoke some of the languages since they were all a part of my history. I sadly replied, "no." I then jested about how the American school system failed me. They nodded emphatically in assent.

The American school system brought us to our next topic: the Chinese school system. I found out that school in China is very competitive. They have five weeks off for summer and no weekends during the school year. If you do poorly on the college entrance exam, you can only go into drawing, music, or medicine. The latter shocked me. In America, the medical field is held in high-esteem and full of prestige. Again, they began to giggle at our blatant cultural differences. Simon mentioned that if he had his way, he would draw all the time. He loves drawing, but his family does not view it as a viable career. For this reason, he will study business.

After exhausting most of these topics, our conversation came to a close. I had an appointment to go to soon. We agreed to meet again next Tuesday at 2:00 p.m. in the same place. I greatly enjoyed my first visit with all of them and look forward to meeting them again.

Hills Like White Elephants

Intrigue, pure intrigue. As I read this short story, I continually racked my brain about what the "operation" could be. And what operation could solve all problems? The rawness and reality of the story hit me through the dialogue. I found myself rereading paragraphs trying to make sense of the story. Ernest Hemingway's writing could be criticized as short, uninteresting, and dry; however, by giving little information and fluff, his writing fascinated me more than most. 

The story starts out with an innocent drink at a bar by a couple waiting for a train. The simple setting and simple descriptions made the story appear tame. The woman asks the man typical questions. They sit in a typical bar and gaze out on a typical landscape. In an instant, the tempo changes. The man begins to speak of an operation that could solve all their problems. At this point, I believed the operation to be an abortion. 

The mood begins to shift to a more sad tone. The woman is willing to sacrifice her own happiness for that of her partner. The despair and apathy with which she treats the importance of her own life is heart wrenching. The man continued to speak of the "operation." Brief mentions of lost land and money began to be sprinkled in the dialogue. Now I began to think the man wanted the woman to have a lobotomy. Could he have spent their fortune on failed medical attention for her mood swings? Lobotomy's were in vogue at this time, which made it a logical assumption. The reference to many hotels and travel made me think foreign medical attention could be a plausible idea. 

The disconnect between the couple soon heightened as the man continued to discuss the operation. The woman's desire to weigh her options in silence surfaced. She beseeched the man to be silent, but he continued to jabber on. I found the man insensitive and selfish. Maybe I viewed him that way because I am a woman, but he still seemed selfish. 

The story comes to a sudden end when the train is close to coming into the station. By then the couple had separated at the bar to reflect on their upcoming choice. I became quite frustrated with the ending. WHAT WAS THE OPERATION? Would they stay together? How could they think an operation would solve ALL their problems? Why did she have to have the operation? Why were they always on the road? All these questions remained unanswered. Hemingway intrigued me, but then left me at a cliff hanger. The ambiguousness left me to my own devices. In my mind, the woman did not get the operation and they worked out their problems a different way. Despite filling in the holes of the story on my own, I am still dying to know what Hemingway meant for the operation to be.

Huck Finn Experience

1. I read Huck Finn junior year in high school. We read it for my AP English class as a classic novel.
3. My only memory from reading Huck Finn the first time is that I enjoyed it. It proved interesting, thought provoking, and emotionally stimulating. I read the entire novel, not any online notes.
4. The whole class usually just grumbled about reading. It was high school, so making fun of the reading list was cool. My instructor assigned the novel because it is a well-written teaching tool. Mark Twain exhibits satire, different English dialects, and colorful language. Since it has been so long since I read the novel, I do not remember how he taught the novel.
5. We had timed writes, quizzes, and class discussion over Huck Finn. During discussion, the class interacted in open-ended questions with our teacher.
6. Huck Finn is controversial because of the close-mindedness and ignorance of many of its readers. It is a satire that makes fun of slavery, religion, and education. The most provoking part of the satire is religion, but Twain did not intend to make fun of all religion, just how some people carry about their religious lives. The legalistic aspect of christianity in the 19th century stifled many people's belief in God.
7. Huck Finn is still relevant. History repeats itself, which means history in novel form should still be taught. While most people will not face the same obstacles as Huck, we will still face many choices in life and have to go against norms.
8. The flaws can be found in the original easiness in which slavery is portrayed and the false representation of stuck-up Christians.

Huckleberry Finn: Difficult Choices

Throughout the novel, Huckleberry Finn, Huck is faced with many difficult choices of right and wrong. He forms opinions about religion, education, and slavery. Ultimately, Huck is used by Mark Twain as a simple mouthpiece to show the hypocrisy of social norms in the 19th century.

Growing up in the south with no family support or any moral compass instilled within in him, Huck relied on his own wit and thoughts. In his mind, God appeared impersonal and demanding, an education seemed worthless, and slavery a strange norm. While reading the book, I rooted for Huck to save himself and Jim from the adult world's continual injustices. His simplistic mind grasped the importance of human life more than "educated" Miss Watson, the Judge, or any of the other "well-meaning" townspeople.

The first time we see Huck come-of-age in his mindset about living is when he escapes from Pap. The new judge's ruling to have Pap keep custody proved the judges short-sightedness and ignorance. This kept with the social norm of having a child stay with their biological parents, even if they abused them. This is one of the first jabs Mark Twain makes at society. Huck escapes and fakes his death to get away from the "helpful" adults previously in his life.

With Huck's independence, he begins to transform from a boy to a young man with opinions about life and the value of it. Next, Huck finds Jim and is faced with the decision of turning him in to Miss Watson or not. After hearing Jim's sad story of almost being sold to an abusive plantation, Huck votes against turning Jim in--a second break from social norms. He forms a bond and friendship with Jim that Miss Watson, as pious as she was, never took the time to do. Huck believes he will go to hell for all his mistakes, but really he is making the right choices. Throughout their time together on the raft, Jim teaches Huck more about life than the educated society of St. Petersburg.

Hucks final coming of age is demonstrated in his willingness to save Jim, even if it meant being injured, from Tom's aunt and uncle. Also, Huck is going against the law by freeing Miss Watson's "property." Putting value on a life that most white Americans did not demonstrates Huck's final transformation. He may not have been educated like Miss Watson and the widow Douglas, powerful like the Judge, or worldy like Pap, but he saw things that none of them could see. He saw through the blinding film of society and saw how the world should really be.

With Huck's transformation and realizations about life, he finds that independence in the West is the life for him. Also, Huck comes to put value in his own life now that he realized the value of others. He no longer listened to his previous "mentors," but made his own choices and found happiness in them. Growing up does not mean conforming to society, but finally being happy with yourself and your own beliefs. Simple Huck found this by the end of his adventures.

How to NOT Catch A Fish

As a child, I loved the outdoors. Fear did not exist in my young vocabulary. I played outside all the time. My feet were usually bare, which caused some minor injuries. Since I never picked up my feet high enough while walking/running (which is still true and causes me to have embarrassing falls around campus), I almost always came home with bleeding toes, knees, and elbows. In essence, pain and dirt did not phase me. Tomboy should have been my middle name.

Being a tomboy made interacting with both my grandpa's easier. One taught me how to ride a horse and the other taught me how to fish. My Grandaddy loved fishing. Teaching his granddaughters how to fish became one of his favorite pastimes when we visited. Due to my aggressive, impatient, and dysfunctional use of a fishing pole, I rarely caught any fish. Instead, my grandaddy put me in charge of grabbing the minnows from the bucket and re-baiting everyone's hook. They dubbed me "minnow girl."I knew to aim for the really fat ones to catch the best fish. It also helped that the fat minnows swam the slowest.

One day, while everyone still had bait on their hook, I took up my fishing pole and started to fish. As the breeze off the lake swirled around us, I suddenly felt a nibble on my line. With a semi-coordinated jerk I hooked a fish and began to quickly reel him in. Due to my excitement, I reeled in the catfish so fast that before I knew it his mouth hit the end of the fishing pole. Little did I know this would cause problems later.

I called for my grandaddy to show him that I finally caught my first fish. I could not wait to see the proud look on his face. His face beamed with pride. He did not tell me yet, but how fast and unmercifully I reeled in the fish caused some minor difficulties getting him off of the hook, as well as keeping the fish alive. Fish cannot breath in the air and winding my fish before he came off the pole caused him to struggle to survive. My grandaddy grabbed the catfish off of the hook and put him in the "well." The well is where fresh lake water circulated through the boat in a closed container to keep the fish we caught alive.

After catching my first fish, my lucky streak soon ended. I still strutted around the pontoon boat like I caught the world on my fishing pole, not a little catfish. Being a sassy four-year old came naturally to me. I continued to go to the well and grab minnows out of their separate container for everyone else still fishing. This gave me a job and an opportunity to periodically check on my "catch of the day."

While watching the rest of my family fish, I thought of how proud my grandma would be when she cooked my catfish for dinner. I would be able to tell everyone that I provided part of their dinner! I finally caught my first fish, which meant my big sister no longer had license to tease me about my previous failures.

Soon, someone got cheated by a fish out of their minnow and needed another one. A call for "minnow girl" soon rang through the air. I walked over to the well, which I ruled over, and opened the lid. To my surprise and great dismay, my little catfish lay floating at the top. In an agitated voice I called for my grandaddy. He walked over and looked at the crime scene. I frantically waited for his verdict. He diagnosed the problem as the fish had fallen asleep. Of course due to the delicacy of my age, he made it sound like it happened all the time.

My grandaddy disposed of the "sleeping" fish overboard. I still sat in denial. How could the fish have fallen asleep? It couldn't have been that tired. The clock barely read after twelve! I soon rebounded, as every four-year old does. I had my minnows, the sun shined intensely, the breeze swept through my nostrils, and we still had awhile longer to fish; how could I be sad? My four-year old logic told me to stick to where my talent lay: catching minnows.

As the years passed, I still rarely caught fish. Over the past decade and a half I have only caught a couple fish. Most of the time they were not good for eating. At the age of twenty, my grandaddy still calls me "minnow girl" while I am on his boat. I still get requests to catch the biggest minnow and rebait hooks for people. I may not have learned to catch fish very well, but I caught a great memory with my granddaddy and family. When the time comes for him to pass from this world I will still have this memory and my lovely nickname "minnow girl."

1936 Life Magazine: The Future Queen

Taking an occasional trip down memory lane can be a refreshing and nostalgic experience. I enjoy reminiscing on times when I only worried about if I could play with my best friend or not. At the age of ten, my life was simplistic, fun, and easy. I left the worry of growing up for future Kara. For some, growing up came at an early age.

In 1936, Princess Elizabeth of York became the tentative heir of the British throne. Her picture was found in almost every British and American magazine, including the newly founded Life. The weight of the throne became heavy on her father, Albert the Duke of York, as he became next in line for the throne with the abdication of King Edward VIII. 

The whirlwind and gossip of the time could not be lost on Princess Elizabeth. Prime Minister Stanley Baldwin forbade King Edward VIII to marry the infamous Mrs. Simpson if he wanted to remain king. The king abdicated. The royal family and advisers considered Mrs. Simpson ineligible for marriage for many reasons. The largest being her divorcee status and being married to another man during her affair with then Prince Edward. 

The Duke of York, Albert, became coronated early in 1937 as King George VI. Young Elizabeth started making decisions based on the responsibilities she could inherit at any moment. Life in the first issues kept continual tabs on the young girl. From that moment on, every move she made Life and other magazines documented, such as her first royal appearance as an heir. Laws were changed all throughout her lifetime to allow her more responsibility as a female heir.

Through the past decades, the royal family has received heat for being strict on moral codes. One can only assume this stemmed from Queen Elizabeth’s early coming-of-age story. Due to her uncle’s “scandal” and poor decision-making, the respect by some of the empires subjects became lost. Living such a high profile life from an early age must have shaped most of Queen Elizabeth’s habits and beliefs.

An ironic correlation between Life and Elizabeth is that they both began to grow-up at the same time. Life was first published in November 1936. Elizabeth became an heir in December of that same year. The irony is that Life was one of the few magazines to publish about the royal family scandals happening in Britain. British magazines refused to even print Mrs. Simpson's name unless it was next to her husbands. Life acted as a leech to the royal trouble, being brought to life by their trouble by printing gossip most magazines would not touch. 

From December 1936 and on, Queen Elizabeth continued to be a person of interest in Life. An issue of Life almost always had stories on the new princess. She began growing up at the end of 1936, but by the time of WWII at age 18 she was acting as Counselor of State. She continued to be groomed to accede the throne all starting with one man’s abdication of the British throne. Life has become a staple magazine in American culture. Both came "of age" in the tumultuous year of 1936.