Nostalgia
Joshua Gilbert
They were always incredible, those summers in Idaho. Every year my family made the long drive to visit the place where all of our relatives lived. Just thinking about the times I spent there brings a feeling of wistfulness. The scenery was always incredible. The mountains, deserts, and the grasslands that seemed to go on forever inspired awe in me without fail. The rivers were incredible, too. Down in Georgia, they are all slow moving and a murky brown color, while in Idaho they were clear, cold, and filled with rapids—more treacherous maybe, but beautiful at the same time. Possibly the most incredible landforms, however, were the rocks. Years of weathering and erosion had shaped them into remarkable formations.
My parents took me and my four siblings camping roughly eight years ago at the City of Rocks National Park, near the border between Idaho and Utah. The park was a more or less a wasteland; only the sparsest bits of scrublike bushes inhabited the area. The rest of the space was taken up by the imposing monolithes for which the park was named.. Remarkably enough, there was a huge population of chipmunks in this desert area, though what they lived off of, I have no idea. The day we arrived at our campsite, I jumped out of the car and noticed that there were several of these curious rodents peering over the rocks at us. Delighted, I chased after the adorable creatures, and my sister and younger brother joined in. “You’ll never catch them,” my older brothers always said. “They can fit into small places where you can’t reach them.” They were right, of course, and the chipmunks always evaded us; meanwhile, the hot sun and dry air had us abandoning our endeavors due to our thirst and exhaustion. Whenever the open areas of the desert heated up, I would always go relax in the shade of the stone towers near our campsite. That specific summer was one of the greatest times of my life.
More recently, my family visited Dead Horse Cave in Idaho with an old friend of my dad’s. We rode out on four-wheelers for about 20 minutes before arriving at a gaping entrance to a black cave. As we began our journey into the cave, Dad’s friend—Uncle Eric, we called him—explained to us that the cave got its name from the remains of a herd of wild horses that had died in it. We did not have to go far before all sunlight from the cave entrance was gone. By this point, we switched off all lights to experience the darkness that existed within the lava tube. It was surreal to be in a natural setting that was so dark my eyes could not possibly adjust. Soon we turned the lights back on and then left the cave through a different entrance than the one we entered through.
Enough of those rock themed stories, though. Almost every time we went up north for the summer, we stopped by my great Uncle Dwight’s house in the mountains of Utah. I still do not know why we did it, but every time we visited, we insisted on swimming in Bear Lake, which was less than a mile away from his house. The water of the lake consisted entirely of melted snow, so it was very, very cold. Despite this, we would submerge ourselves in the freezing water until our hands and toes went numb. Afterwards, we always took a dip in Uncle Dwight’s hot tub to warm ourselves.
Without fail, we always began and ended these summer vacations with a stay at the Hyatts’ house. The Hyatts were cousins from Mom’s side of the family. The majority of our summers were spent with them. They had a large backyard with a trampoline, pool, and jungle gym. The grass of their lawn is the absolute best. In Georgia, almost all the grass has various types of weeds in it, namely the kind that produce “stickers”. Up in Idaho, however, the grass was thick, short, and somehow managed to be soft (I don’t know if that makes sense, but that’s how it felt). Best of all, it had no stickers or fire ants. Now, if you left a lawn it was another story: the grasses were tall, course, and produced goatheads, which are like stickers on steroids. Anyways, I could spend all day walking through the grass barefoot, without need of worrying about bugs and such.
The Hyatt’s had a great selection of animals. I remember how my older brothers would mess with me by calling their Saint Bernard, Astrid, over to where I was. She was about as friendly as a dog can get, but her sheer size terrified me and I would always run back indoors as fast as I could. Along with Astrid, there were two mutts, Shea and Roxie, and Pepe, the pomeranian. Shea was absolutely ancient yet got around great, while Roxie was about the fattest dog that has ever existed. Pepe was just absolutely annoying. Along with the dogs, they always had several cats, a few cows, and one or two horses in a pasture next to the backyard. The livestock always gave the area a “fragrant” scent. I never minded though, and spent as much time outside as I could. Very rarely did rain force me to come inside, as Idaho receives little, but it did hail a few times. Listening to and watching the hail was a unique experience for me. I had never seen such precipitation in my home state of Georgia.
All things said done, those times in Idaho were the greatest summers I have ever had. It is amusing that few of my favorite memories were focused on spending time with my actual family out there, but rather “out there” in general. The landscape was absolutely amazing, and I know I will never forget it. Rather, I will always think of Idaho with a peculiar feeling of nostalgia.
I’ve Got Your Back
Caleb Senters
When I was a young boy, no taller than one of my grandpa’s old timey shotguns, we would always go fishing. It was a hobby and lifestyle to us. Almost everyday we would go fishing as soon as the school bell rang. I would go home to change clothes and then head over to his house. My grandpa, whom we call Bubba, and I loaded his old 14 foot camo jon boat into the bed of his silver Tacoma. We then loaded the tackle box, oars, fishing poles, including one extra in case either of us birdnested one, and finally a small boat motor. Then we took off to his friend's pond.
I was young, around eight and my brother was around eleven years old. It was the beginning of January and the weather was trying to kill us with cold. Temperatures dropping constantly and usually settling in the range of 35 to 20 degrees. After school, usually, Mom would receive a call from my grandpa asking if me and my big brother wanted to go fishing. Of course we said yes and got ready. We layered our clothings. Blue jeans over sweatpants, hoodies over jackets, jackets over long sleeve shirts. Putting on skull caps as we left the house.
We did the usual routine. Loading the boat and other fishing gear and headed to the pond. Listening to 104.9’s old and classic country music going down the road in his small Tacoma still brings me nostalgia to this day.
We dropped the boat into the water and got in. I sat at the front of the boat and pushed us off with the oar. We crept silently into the pond. My grandpa would finish hooking up the motor and start propelling us through the water.
“I’m gonna pull us out around these fallen down trees along the bank. You should throw near them so you can catch the fish.” Bubba would always remind me.
I casted my torpedo popper by the trees, slowly reeling it in. Popping it everytime after I completed a lucky three rotations with the reel. After a couple tries, a bass finally hit it. Jumping out of the water he attacked the lure and swallowed it with ferocity.
“Pull ‘em!” He would always tell me.
I yanked the rod and hooked the fish. It was a big one! Luckily, I grabbed the worst pole in my grandpa’s shop. I reeled the small Zebco, with its thin fishing line. I was scared the fish would break off. The fish dragged my line, but I would reel it back in. Finally after a minute almost, my brother dipped the net into the cold, greenish grey water pulling up a four and a half pound bass. It was the biggest fish I had ever caught, and still is to this day.
We continued to fish and we caught more and more fish. I could always tell my grandpa had hooked one because you could always hear him yanked one of his three poles and say,” Mmm hmm,” and then he we continually do this until he reeled in the crappie he hooked.
As the sky turned dark grey from its usual pink and orange sunset appearance, we headed back to shore to put up the boat. We all put the boat into the back of the Tacoma, and drove back home with a full bucket of fish, listening to the classic country on 104.9 FM.
It was the beginning of deer season in 2017. My grandpa really wanted me to kill my first deer, but I disliked deer hunting because of all the waiting that you had to do, however, I went.
I woke up before sunrise, and prepared to go deer hunting. The weather was slightly cold, but I knew it was going to be sunny. I heard his truck pulled into my driveway, and I rushed out the door with my Winchester .243 slung on my shoulders. Bubba and I went down the road, and out to the county to his land. Though we could have gone to the club he hunts on occasionally, and where many deer roam the woods, or even go to his friends land where there are a lot of big bucks, I know why he wanted to go to his land. His land is just a piece of all the land my relatives own. My relatives own all this land because of my ancestors. Back in 1832, my great great grandpa built a white plantation house out in what is now known as salem. He was a farmer and bought as much land as he could, so much that he owned most of the land from Salem to Cary.
One time Bubba was with his grandpa sitting on the porch of the house, and asked,”How much land do we own?”
“As far as you can see,” his grandpa said.
My grandpa wanted me to kill my first deer on the land he grew up on, and the land where his dad and grandpa grew up and lived on, and possibly kill a deer on the same piece of land he killed his first deer on.
Riding down the road in the dusk of morning we listened to the radio. Once again it was 104.9 FM. Him and I rode in pretty much silence to his land. We pulled into a road that ran past the house and alongside a cow pasture, into the woods behind. We parked at a small building which we call the camphouse. Bubba and I got out of the truck, and crossed the fence into the cow posture. We turned right and headed into the woods. It amazes me still the way he can navigate the woods to the deer stand. Turning and walking through the woods, we finally came upon the deer stand.
“Hand me your gun,” he said as he settled down onto his seat.
Silently I handed him my gun and climbed up the deer stand, and waited. Waiting for what felt like an eternity. Finally a noise.
A rustling noise. My heart was racing, beating fast. Buck Fever! Raising my gun to line up a shot.
It was big! The squirrel was big. Somehow this small creature can make the loudest noises. It was doing skips through the autumn brown leaves.
We waited and waited. Centuries passed by and I was just waiting, and looking. Moving my eyes across the forest, twitching at every movement.
“How much longer ‘till we leave?” I asked.
“Just fifteen more minutes,” he replied while checking his watch.We waited some more.
Then my Grandpa bumped into me with his shoulder and grabbed my thigh. My heart raced I knew what it was.
“There’s a deer,” he whispered as he pointed to his right.
About fifty yards from the stand there was a spike, but at the time I didn't know that. I thought it was a doe.
“Get your gun up and shoot ‘em,” he told me.
Raising my gun up and taking it off safety, I looked down the sights. Looking for the notorious spot, behind the shoulder. Once steady, I took the shot. Dropped him dead in his tracks.
My grandpa turned to me with the biggest smile on his face. His smile was and expression of happiness and joy, one that I have only seen. It is the greatest expression I’ve ever seen him make.
Putting his hand on my shoulder, he shook me.
Laughing with joy, he said,”You dropped him dead in his tracks!”
I climbed down the stand and my grandpa followed. I hurried over to the deer I just killed, admiring it.
“That’s a good size doe,” I happily said.
My grandpa came up next to me,”Yeah, but it’s not a doe,” he responded as he pointed to the underside of the belly.
In the moment, I felt like the dumbest human being ever to exist in the universe. Turning red I replied,”Oh…”
My grandpa went to work with his knife, field dressing it, and afterwards, we grug it out of the woods and into the back of his truck. I rode home and called my mom and told her about it, and my brothers.
Bubba took me over to his house so he could cut the deer up and do one of the most famous traditions of all, rubbing the blood on your face.
He rubbed his hand on the bloody deer and with a smile he told,”Come here.”
I did and he rubbed the warm sticky blood onto my face, smearing it everywhere.
The best moments in my life almost all include my grandpa. He has been my best friend since day one. We would always tell each other that I have your back when we hugged, or when we felt like it. He has also been my teacher since I was born. When I was little I spent all my time with him over the summer. Working in the garden, helping him build, fishing, and always learning about things whenever he did something. I have become his man helper and he gives me nicknames such as “Can-do” or “The engineer” because of all the things I have helped him with.
Bubba is my inspiration, a role model, and I will always have his back.
Losing Her
Ivy Wynne
Growing up in the small town of Cochran, GA was nothing less than amazing. I lived near my family, so I spent a lot of time with them. Grandparents, aunts and uncles, cousins-- they were all right there. My nana always put a smile on my face even when I was sad. She was filled with a brightness that never failed to make a room shine. I was always taught that family was the most important thing in life. Family will stand by your side and love you no matter what. Nana would always remind me how much family meant. She showed everyone around her the value of family, and how it can be taken away at any moment. Her life taught us all to enjoy the moment, and never take it for granted.
I would go to Nana and Papa’s house a couple times a week along with some of my cousins. We would run around outside in the garden under the blazing sun. We built a small fort that had a water spicket, and leaves overhead providing shade. Pots, cups, and even spoons that we used when playing house, were strewn around the ground. At sunset, we would go inside to eat supper, or just sit around the living room enjoying family time. I would always sit with Nana, and help her peel pea pods gathered from the garden. We would throw the peas into a bucket for her to cook another day. Late at night, we would finally get home and I would fall asleep within minutes of laying down.
The next day, we went to Nana and Papa’s house again. After playing outside, my cousins came inside and plopped down on the living room sofa, worn out from the long day. I sat on the floor in front of a fish aquarium set. The colorful fish swimming around and the sound of ocean waves brought me back to the amazing times spent at the beach with family. After a few minutes, the adults asked us to go to the playroom for a while. The play room had toys for children of all ages, and a sofa that I would occasionally nap on. Although I enjoyed playing, I was very upset I didn't get to spend time with Nana. When it was time to go home, I told Nana goodbye by giving her a big hug. With tears in her eyes she looked at me and said that she would love me forever no matter what.
We started going to Nana's house more, so I spent more time with her than ever, but I didn't have any problem with that. Months passed, and one evening at Nana’s house I walked into the living room where the adults were. I looked at nana and noticed that she didn’t have any hair. I went and sat down beside her like nothing was different. Everyone talked and laughed like everything was fine, but I knew that something was wrong. When we left I looked at mom and said, “Where did nanas hair go?” My mom then said, “Nana is sick.” A confused look flashed across my face as I asked, “Why would that make her have no hair?” My mom responded, “The medicine the doctors gave Nana to help her is making her hair fall out.” I then said, “So she’ll get better?” Mom replied, “Hopefully she will get better.” A wave of hope crashed into me as I sat back in the seat of the truck going home.
A few years passed, and Nana wasn’t doing well. She seemed fragile because she had gotten so small. Her lack of energy and strength was clearly shown through her appearance and actions. The brightness inside her seemed to have dulled. Furthermore, she needed more help with basic activities like walking around or taking a shower. I woke up September 21 to hear that Nana had passed away the night before at around 11 from the cancer in her bladder. I sat with my family who seemed prepared for this day. Our eyes were red and stinging from tears. Silence filled the room except for the occasional sniffles. I couldn’t wrap my head around what was happening. Nana was gone. She told me that she would love me forever, but forever didn't seem so long anymore. I knew nothing would ever be the same without Nana.
A few days after Nana’s passing was her funeral. When we arrived at church, I noticed many adults standing around quietly talking or crying. I didn’t know why so many people were upset, but I remained silent so I didn’t bother them. My family and I sat down in the front pew with an unusually large closed box in front of us. Pink, yellow, and white flowers surrounded the box. The flowers were so bright and light-hearted, reminding me of Nana. As music filled the room I looked over to see my dad crying with his face buried in his hands. Worried, I tugged at my mom’s sleeve in an effort to get her attention. She looked at me with a sad expression on her face as a tear fell from her eye. I asked her what was wrong with dad and she said that he was sad about nana. Hearing about nana, my face became hot and I began crying. I didn't expect her to leave so suddenly. I lost one of the most important things in my life, a piece of my family.
Life can change at any given moment. One moment I was with my nana, and suddenly I was at her funeral. It’s important to cherish your loved ones because they could be gone with a blink of an eye. My Nana’s death put this in perspective for me and my family. We aren't promised tomorrow, so we should never take loved ones for granted. Instead, we should spend as much time with them as possible.
My Journey of Staying Busy as a Youngon
Chase Jones
It all started in 3rd grade when I decided that I wanted to get my first ever compound bow.I was so excited about my new compound bow! I was not sure if I would use my bow for hunting, or shooting competition archery. I decided that the best approach to take with this bow would be to shoot competition archery. The first year of archery, I shot both indoor and outdoor. I did not do very well at indoor, but I was a little better at outdoor. The outdoor team placed first and we claimed the first ever 4-H archery team award in Bleckley County. I continued to shoot archery and won another state outdoor competition first place team title. Also an individual indoor award, a second place outdoor team title, and an individual outdoor 2nd place title. To win first place as an outdoor individual I only needed one more point. It all came down to one shot. If it was a 10, I won the competition, but if I shot a 9, I would tie. The shot missed the mark by a fraction of an inch, a disappointing 9. The tie was broken by the number of 11s that were shot and I was 1 shy of the other guy. So, I came in second. I quit shooting outdoor when I was in 7th grade but still continued to shoot indoor. Up until recently, I have competed in archery tournaments. However, I have decided that it is time to move on from archery due to not having the time to compete and practice.
Running cross country was the next thing I did. I started in 6th grade and ran all the way through 8th grade. Although I was not the greatest at cross country, I really enjoyed it and strived to do the best I could possibly do. Each year my time continued to improve and I was getting better. I never placed individually however I contributed to the team score.In the middle of my running years, I found another sport that I really liked and wanted to become good at. After my 8th grade season I decided to quit because I wanted more time to focus on the new sport.
As I was growing up my neighbor always played something that I looked at as being very boring. He always watched it on T.V. and talked about it. One day in about 6th grade he took me to a little place we call Uchee Trail Golf Course. I never thought that I would consider myself a golfer because no one in my family played golf. But when my neighbor took me out that first time something changed. I felt a spark ignite inside of me about this sport, I simply fell in love with golf and will play it for years to come. I started out not so great at golf but I continued to practice and take lessons and I became a better golfer. I played on the middle school team my 7th and 8th grade year, through that I became a better golfer and learned the rules of the game. I also formed a close bond with my coach. My former coach and I always play golf together, talk about hunting and fishing and just make the game of golf a whole lot more fun and interesting. I still continue to play golf to this day and I am gearing up for my first year of high school golf. It keeps me very busy and I enjoy playing, golf allows me to be free from schoolwork for a while, spend time with my friends, and even meet great people like my old coach.
The last thing I am involved in is an organization called FFA which stands for the National FFA Organization. I have only been part of this for 2 years now, my 8th grade year and currently in 9th grade. When I was in 8th grade I was not very active in FFA at all. I was simply in it because I was in an agriculture class at the school and I earned 5 bonus points on every assignment if I was an FFA member. This year I have become more active in FFA because I have more time since I quit cross country. I have competed in 2 competitions, one of which was land judging where you judge the quality of the land and find the slope of the land. I competed in this event as an individual competitor. The other competition was Jr Ag Mechanics where you identify tools, complete a wiring problem, take a written exam, and measure things. We competed in Area and won 1st place and qualified for state. At the state competition we won 2nd place overall as a team and I received 3rd high individual out of everyone who competed! We will travel to the state convention in April to be recognized for our accomplishments. FFA has provided me many opportunities over the course of this year. I have met many new people, accomplished some things that I never thought I would accomplish, and I have been able to get to know my agriculture teacher a little better.
All of these activities have kept me very busy, I have met a lot of good people through them, and I have learned how to manage my time. My coaches have always led me in the right direction whether it was how to practice what I am doing or just advice in general. I have been taught a lot through all of these sports and I one day hope to pass these teachings on to someone else who enjoys all of these activities. The journey of staying busy will continue to happen throughout the rest of my life and one day all of this work and effort I have put into these events will pay off.
Ya Dingus
Jacob Swenson
The fire alarm was blaring. I was three and a half and crying. My parents were apologetic, and the Museum of Aviation staff, understanding. That was the day that started my long past of starting messes and having no idea on how to fix them without breaking down on the floor. I give you fine people today the story of my rather short and bland life, complete with mistakes, horrible decisions, and absolute agony; now on DVD!
Once upon a sad, cringey part of my life, I was about 10 years old and in 4H camp. I didn’t really know who any of these people were, but I sort of had fun anyways. The kicker was they had chickens. I absolutely love chickens. So anyways, I think the first activity we did was getting trash out of the woods, which sounds absolutely thrilling, I know. But after the two, long, hot days of boring disappointment, we went Zip-lineing. Now keep in mind this was the first time I had ever Zip-lined before in my life. Can you see where this is heading?
No, you can’t, not if I have a say in it… AND I DO. After that chafing trip, we went to Stone Mountain, which is pretty much the largest rock in all of Georgia. It was fun and all, up until I realized I put on some underwear that was too small, and got the worst leg rash in my entire life. Luckily after that we went canoeing, and dummy me stood up and fell into the water (low-key was hoping I would).
Welcome to middle school baby, where all the kids are moody, mean, edgy, or just shy. I regret to inform that I was, in fact, #3 on that list. I never really had that many friends, so I just mumbled to myself and got obsessed with a lot of cringey things that would come round to bite me later. Then Lily happened. It was 7th grade in gifted science when she wanted me to be her partner, and we became friends after that. We slowly became best bros until a bit past summer of last year. Lets just say my life gained one more person, and I’m not complaining.
This dingle butt single-handedly helped me to overcome a lot of my fears and made me the person I am today. She’s done so much, and if you’re reading this ya goober, thank you. She dragged me out of the hole I had dug myself into, and for that, this dink has my undying gratitude and faith.
But more on that matter later (gotta save the best for last). My mom is from Alabama, and her parents are as well. Her dad we call Paw Paw, and her mom we call Granny. They live in Alabama, and the hills there are rather pleasing to the eye. So we make the four hour drive up and west to visit them every once in a while, and see what else is new or what has stayed the same.
My Paw Paw served as a flight mechanic in Vietnam, and as such has a lot of stories I can’t share here. But what I can say is all the things he’s taught me and the adventures he’s taken me and my brother on. I think it was about Thanksgiving of 2016, and he had a turkey in his old brick stove, the kind with a chimney built in, red brick, and cast-iron doors on the front, with handles you could swear were once doorknobs. Anyways, he was splitting some logs by driving a hatchet into the center with a hammer, when he asked me if I could rehandle his hammer. So I went to the shop room in his WW2 era barn and got to carving.
It had been about two hours when I came stumbling out, exhausted to my core, and immensely proud of my work. I just rehandled a hammer head with hickory that was so hard you couldn’t tell the difference between the steel and the handle. And the only thing keeping me alive and going was my girlfriend talking to me on the phone. So this barn; my grandfather’s dad built it in 1948 with local wood, wood jointery, nails, and the spite of a man who hated many things and loved his mule. At the time it housed all his farm equipment (and it still does today, just not used, save the red tractor) and a few other odds and ends. Today that old, moldy, gray barn collects saw dust, normal dust, and cries of pain from the yellow jacket stings because nesting in the barn sounds like the best idea in the world.
Ok ok fine, I’ll tell you about the zip-line story. The day started out fairly normal. I woke up, and waddled my egg-shaped body over to the mess hall and got some waffles. I then proceeded to make my way to far deeper in the woods than I would actually do under orders. I waited until it was my turn and strapped in. I will only say that what came next was fun, but pure pain and agony.
And now it’s time to trail forward and backwards at the same time. Don’t get me wrong, all of these stories are nice, but I think this certain person takes the #1 spot for my favorite anything ever. This human being is Lily. She is the sweetest person I’ve ever met or ever will meet, and I would give the world for her. To say that I love her would be like calling a blast furnace a campfire. This knuckle head means everything to me and I’m proud of the person she is and has yet to become. I love this dingus with all my heart, the place my soul used to be, and every fiber of my being. And on that wonderful note, I bid y’all farewell, and safe travels.
Two Thousand Miles Away
Emily Arnold
I walked into her office, but this time it was different. The moments when she would let me come in and visit with her all flooded back. Not that I visited much. Living two thousand miles away creates some barriers. I slowly sat down in her chair and looked at the walls covered in pictures of family and cross stitched quotes of inspiration. This room showed what she stood for and what she loved.
My great-grandma passed away about three weeks ago. That was one of the hardest weeks I’ve experienced. She fell and was taken to the hospital. Everything went downhill from there. I constantly checked in with my grandma, who was with her, to hear the latest news. A few days later, my mom told us that my great-grandma was dying. At ninety-two years old, we knew that her time would come soon. Just not that soon. It was so hard. To know that I would never see her again during my lifetime. I just felt broken. This was the first time anyone close to me had passed away.
A week later, my family boarded a plane and flew across the country. That night we arrived in my great-grandma’s home town and went to the family viewing. Being surrounded by family during this time was a blessing.
I walked to the table with pictures and words and things that represented who she was. I read and looked and learned things I had never known. How many people she had impacted. All of her accomplishments. Just how much she loved everyone. Her life story.
I visited with many family members and realized that even though this was a sad time for all of us, it allowed us to be together and know that she is in a better place now.
As soon as I saw my grandma, I rushed up and gave her a hug.
“How are you doing?” I asked her softly.
“I’m just glad you are here,” she responded. Tears came to my eyes, as I finally was able to share the loss and speak to my grandma in person.
The following day was the funeral. Our family gathered, all seventy-eight of us, to celebrate my great-grandma’s life. All four of her children spoke and shared stories, memories, and lessons they learned from her.
“Mom always made sure that we never left the house without knowing that she loved us,” her son told us, as he recalled his childhood.
“As I was helping Mom clean out her garage, we came across a box of rocks. To me they were just plain, old rocks, but to her, each one had a special story behind it. By the end of her stories, I agreed to keep them and helped her make a rock garden with each one. She always made everything seem special,” one of her daughters said, as she related her memories to us.
At the end, all the grandchildren and great-grandchildren stood and sang a simple song, that reminded us all of the way she lived.
After all the funeral services, our family visited with one another the rest of the day. I learned that even though we go through hard times, good will come from it. My great-grandmother died, but that led to our family, four generations of people, coming together. We were able to focus on the most important thing: the family we still have and making memories with them.
I realized that to have no regrets in life, we have to love. No matter who the person is or what they have done to us or others. Because we never know. We might be the only one who has ever shown them love. We may somehow make an impact on them for the rest of their lives by responding with love.
We all have our own stories, and being apart of just a few pages and the epilogue of my great-grandma’s, made me think about how I am writing mine. Where will it take me? After the fleeting moments, all I will have left are these pages of memories to look back on. If I don’t write a good story now, I will have nothing enjoyable to read in the years to come.
So, over the next few days at my great-grandmother’s house and surrounded by family, I realized these things. I realized that one day all we will have left is memories. One day the people in our life will be gone. One day we will be gone. If we don’t love now, then when?
As I sled down snowy hills, with two little cousins snuggled next to me so they wouldn’t fall out, I saw that this is part of my story. This is a part of my cousins’ stories. Being ten years older than them and living two thousand miles away, moments like these are not likely to happen again anytime soon.
As I played card games and charades with my mom’s cousins, they made efforts to get to know me, even though I am ten years younger than them. They are writing their stories, and I have the chance to be apart of just a few pages. Yes, it was out of my comfort zone, but it was definitely worth the laughs and jokes we had.
Even on the flight back home, the conversations I overheard between a dad and his little son talking about going to Disney World, a mom and her daughter talking about who they were going to see when they reached their destination, and little twins talking to their mom about who has “flower power”, all gave me a glimpse of their stories. Each of them have lived lives that have brought them to this point in time, and I had that chance, the fleeting moment, of being even just an extra in their big movie and story of life.
Dads Help Us
James Fordham
“Get the poles,” Dad yelled from the boat. I rushed back to the truck, picked up the poles, and ran back to the boat. Dad said, “Are you ready for your first trip on the river? I threw him thumbs up gesture so he gripped the key and twisted it as the old mercury four stroke roared to life. Dad was sitting in the front with the stick steering and throttle controls, while I sat toward the back, closer to the motor. Dad pulled the throttle into reverse and we backed out away from the dock. He pointed us up te ocmulgee, pushed the throttle into forward, and he gradually increased the speed. Soon enough we were flying as we made our way to fish. While we rode I enjoyed the wind as it rushed through my hair. As we approached the bend of the river he gently pulled the stick to his left side backwards or pushed it forwards. On one of the bends to the left there was a dead lake, a still body of water connected to the river, on the right side. He eased off the throttle and we detoured off the river onto the dead lake. As we cruised into the back corner I looked at the land around us. On the edges of the river there were trees with branches that were hanging over the water. We pulled off to one side of the lake where there were some trees growing out in the water and we dropped the anchors and got ready to fish. I took one of the poles, unwrapped the line from around it and got ready to bait the hook. Dad told me, “ Now this is how you bait a cane pole. You take the hook, take your worm, and hook him a couple times like this. When your ready you have to toss it around the edges of the tree and watch the bobber for movement.” When I had baited my pole I tossed the worm and bobber into the water next to the tree trunk. I watched the bobber and when I saw it dive under I set the hook and pulled the brim onto the boat.
Dads are the ones who teach their children a lot of the stuff that they need to know to one day grow up and one day teach their children. My dad taught and guided me on how to fish on the river, and how to drive a boat on the river. He helped me to secede in these two things so that one day I can do that for someone else.
Gun on shoulder, I opened the door to be hit by a breathtaking chill. Just behind me my dad followed as we made our way out to the truck. I sat the gun in the back and I hopped in the front seat. I peered through the frosted window as my dad made his way around to the driver’s door. As he opened the door and sat down he said, “It should be a good morning. There is no wind, it is cold, and the grund is frosted over.” He turned the key and the truck roared to life. He backed out of the carport and we made our way to the hunting spot. When we arrived I opened the door to feel a similar rush of cool air hit my face. The dark woods held no sounds except the crunching of our feet as we went on our way. I felt brave as I went beyond my comfort zone and walked through the woods in the dark. But I would not be able to do it without the comfort of my dad at my side. The only guidance I had through the woods was my dad. I had no idea where I was going other than that it was a deer stand. We walked until the forest was coming to an end and he pointed me to a tree with a deer stand in it outlined by the star lit sky. I went to the base of the ladder and started climbing to the top. As I got towards the top I could feel the gentle shaking of the ladder beneath me as my dad climbed below me. When I got to the top I turned around and prepared to take the gun out of his hands So he could get into the stand also. More of a habit from the many early mornings and patient nights I grabbed the gun, sat down, and pulled the bolt back to put a bullet in the chamber. When it was loaded I leaned it against the corner of the stand. Now it was time to wait for daylight which would bring the deer with it. I sat back, leaned my head against the tree and dozed off into a light sleep. I was awoken by a gentle shake of my dad’s hand as he shook my shoulder. When I opened my eyes I saw that it was now light enough to see and there was a deer out in the now lit field in front of me. Dad said, “Take the gun and get ready to shoot that deer.” I took the gun, aimed at the deer and got ready to shoot. When I was ready I gently squeeze the trigger and watched the deer fall in his tracks.
Dads are always there with you to guide you and protect you. In this case while I was in the woods and I was out of my comfort zone he was by my side and brought me a feeling of safety. Then As I got ready to kill a deer he was beside me guiding me and correcting my moves so that I could secede in what I put my mind to do. Dads are always there for us and they help us learn and mature.
Lessons to be Learned
Chase Rogers
The day before the first soccer game of the season I was practicing in the yard. My parents gave me a soccer goal to practice taking shots. I was dribbling around my yard acting like there were real people trying to stop me. I ran in and took a close shot and made it, but I was not happy with myself. I went up and kicked the net with my foot because I was mad. My foot got stuck in the net and I fell, but I tried to catch myself by sticking out my arm. I went inside and told my mom what had happened and she said I would be fine. My arm hurt terribly, even over the next several days. The swelling continued to get worse. My mom decided to take me to the doctor. When I got there they immediately took me back for an x-ray on my left arm. We sat in the office waiting on the doctor to bring us the news. When he came in he told us my arm was broken and I needed to get a cast put on it soon or it may not heal correctly. We got the cast and went home. When we get there my dad said, “It is your fault son because I told you not to be acting stupid.” I told him that I was sorry.
He said, ”You better learn to control yourself or you are not ever gonna play again.”
The next day I went to school and everybody wanted to sign my cast. It kind of felt good for people to ask you to sign your cast. I had many names on it and when I got home my grandma said,”You know you can only have one girlfriend at a time.”
Then I would say,”I just can't help it.”
My mom was not very happy about this either because she had to help me do everything. She constantly reminded me of how I should not have done this and it would be so much better off. She would say you would have been a day late and a dollar short if you would have been practicing before a big game and had done this, but lucky for me I wasn't so it is okay.
Not too long after that I was at school and got in trouble. I talked back to a teacher. I knew when I got home it was not going to be good. When I got home my parents gave me a talk after they spanked me. They just said the same exact thing as to when I broke my arm. They said I needed to learn how to control myself. I was very disappointed in myself after trying so hard and then this comes up to stop what I thought was getting better. My parents were not happy about this either. They would not stop talking about it. Everytime from then on they would always refer to this incident and say the same exact words.
Then the next few days passed. Then I finally had my cast off and I could play soccer. We had made it to the championship. I was so excited that I was able to recover in time. I passed the ball off then I ran down field to try to get open. I was open next to the goal. I received a pass from my teammate and kicked it in the goal for the first goal of the game. The other team started the ball fast. They charged down field only to get stopped. The next play the other team had the ball again and then made a lucky shot from the corner of the box. We had only a few minutes left. I was getting worried. Possession changed frequently with no one scoring. I had the ball. Running downfield I looked up at the clock just to see a few seconds left. I had two defenders on me. I had made it almost into shooting range. Then the final second was left. I kicked the ball with the most power I ever have. It went up and dropped down right up under the crossbar to score a goal to win us the game.
Ever since that day my parents always say that I've learned from my past mistakes. They say I showed great leadership and so now they know the real me. I may do something stupid maybe once or twice but after that I am going to learn to not ever do that again. I have learned to control myself because I do not want to miss another game if I can help it. If I had broken my arm later than when I did we could have lost the championship game and that would not only affect me but it would affect my team. All in all, now I have learned from past mistakes and other experiences and do not want to ever make those same mistakes again.
Sometimes It’s Better to Not Say Anything
Mai Lei Long
I don’t remember much about being four. Sure, I remember that I went to Pre-K, and I even remember my teachers’ names, Mrs. Sarah and Ms. Lisa. I can recall that Mrs. Sarah had a lot of dogs, and Ms. Lisa had a son. I can remember that everyone in my class (including myself) would play pretend and fight over the fake, little cellphones. Other than that, Pre-K is just a fuzzy, little blob in my mind, except for this one very vivid memory.
There was a substitute teacher for the latter half of the day. I can’t recall why both Mrs. Sarah and Ms. Lisa were absent. Being a four-year-old, it didn’t seem to matter at the time. The substitute was rather stout, and I was one of the last kids still waiting to be picked up by our parents. She asked us, “What game do y’all want to play?” We answered that we wanted to play duck, duck, goose.
Just before we started the game, I whispered to another kid, “She’s fat.” Now, thinking back to that time, I feel mortified to admit I said such a rude thing. I would never say that to anyone now because I know it is an impolite thing to say. Maybe I wouldn’t say it now because I learned my lesson from Pre-K.
The poor, hapless kid I chose to say such an ill-mannered comment to started to laugh uncontrollably. The substitute told us to stop laughing, but we couldn’t. She then proceeded to ask us what was so funny, and my terribly honest friend blurted out, "You're fat!" The teacher was furious and embarrassed. She sent my friend and me straight to the office. Being four, I had no filter, and whatever I thought, I said. I didn’t know that then, but now I know that having no filter is a bad thing.
Beginning in kindergarten, my teachers have always told me and my classmates to think before we spoke and used the acronym THINK (Think is it true, helpful, inspiring, necessary, and kind?) I think they should start teaching that concept to kids earlier. Back in Pre-K, I did not understand the concept, but if I did, I would have been saved from a lot of embarrassment and trouble as a four-year-old.
My friend and I marched slowly to the office like convicts being sent to their execution. If someone would have asked me for my last words and my final request, I would’ve said, “‘I’m sorry.’ and Blankie.” Blankie was my special blanket’s name (As you can tell, I was a very creative four-year-old).
When we arrived at the office, my friend and I dissolved into tears of terror. The lady at the office sternly told us that calling someone fat was very mean and an unacceptable thing to do. Somehow, she managed to lecturing us while comforting us at the same time. She told us to never do anything like that again and conveyed to us that we would not be in trouble. However, she said she was going to tell our parents, and I started crying again. I knew my parents would kill me for getting in trouble and for being disrespectful. I didn’t (and still don’t) like my parents to be mad at me. Their anger always upsets me deeply.
The lady in the office made us march back to the room and apologize to our substitute, which we did quite adamantly. Despite her previous reaction to us, the substitute, probably realizing that we were only in Pre-K, accepted our apology and told us it wasn’t a big deal.
Back at the office, my friend and I waited dreadfully for what felt like an eternity. The minutes ticked by so slowly, and it seemed as if fear itself would kill us before our parents did.
At last, my mom finally arrived. I was tremendously relieved that my mom picked me up because I knew she would be more lenient than my dad, but I still broke down into tears. While the office lady recounted to my mom what had happened, I grew more anxious. After she finished narrating the incident, my mom and I proceeded to leave the school. When we got in the car, I knew I was done for.
First, my mom told me that it wasn’t nice to tell someone they’re fat. “But it was true,” I protested. Then, my mom told me that I shouldn’t say anything if it isn’t nice. She told me that what I said was very hurtful to the substitute and that I should not say something just because it’s true.
The world is quick to tell its inhabitants to speak their minds and to not let people suppress your ideas. The world also tells everyone to be honest no matter how brutal the truth is. However, I learned my lesson in Pre-K. You don’t need to say anything that is unnecessary and rude, even if it’s true.
Grandma’s House
Breanna Arnold
The floor was hard, and had a small layer of carpeting down, then was the floor which was as hard as concrete. I remember crying and getting into my family’s little blue van to drive home. The next day we went to the doctor, he said that I broke my arm. We had to go to another doctor to get it fixed. I faintly remember a lot of nights where I woke up crying because my arm hurt. After it healed, it was not fixed correctly. The doctor had messed it up, but it still worked fine. I have had a lot of bad things happen at my grandma’s house, but I have a lot more memories of good things that have happened.
I have always loved going to my Grandma’s house even when I was a little kid. One time I was at my house, I was about two or three years old, I woke up from my nap and I would not stop crying. My dad was at my grandma’s house with my siblings. My mom drove me to my grandma’s house to tell my dad that she was going to take me to the doctor because she did not know what was wrong. When we got there, I looked around and I stopped crying. It was because I wanted to be there.
My grandma’s house has always been a part of my life. When I was about nine or ten, every Sunday I wanted to go to my Grandma’s house early to do stuff with her. I bothered my mom, my brother, or my sister to try to get them to drive me there. Most of the time they said no and wanted to know why I wanted to go. When they asked why I wanted to go, I would say “Because I want to.” I did not know why I wanted to go to my Grandma’s house. I just wanted to be there. Later on, I learned how to drive a four-wheeler. Instead of bothering my brother or sister and asking if they would drive me, I drove myself there. I always went slow because I was scared of crashing. I would drive to her house which was about a mile away to spend time with her.
I remember lots of times, when after making the cookies and putting them in the oven, we would play games while waiting for them to bake. It was always a lot of fun. We played with each other and most of the time, every once in a while one of my other cousins would come over early and play with us. Most of the time when we played games, I won. She was so happy when she beat me, she would say let’s play again. There is this one game we played which is like connect four, but it is three dimensional. For example, you can four in a row stacking them on top of each other. You could have the diagonal, like a staircase. That game was my favorite out of the ones we played the most. We always enjoyed ourselves and had fun.
Another thing we have done and still do at my Grandma’s house is tacos on Sunday night. Since I always go early to my Grandma’s house, I help her make tacos. We first cook all of the hamburger meat in a pot, then we drain the grease off. We put the meat back in the pot, then my Grandma seasons it. We put the beans in a bowl, then we do the salsa. We get some salsa from the store, and we add tomatoes to it to make it more chucky. After that we put the sour cream in a bowl, then we chop up the lettuce. We put cheese in a bowl, then lastly we put chips. We put them out last because people will start eating them. I know I have. At five-thirty a lot of my family comes over, we have the blessing then we eat. It is always so much fun being with my cousins and talking to them.
Some of my favorite memories are from Christmas time. I would help put up the tree and decorate it. My grandma and I would wrap presents for all of my cousins. She may have gotten everyone something small, but she tried hard to make sure everyone had a gift. I have over fifty cousins, and she makes sure every single one of them, their parents, and their kids get a present. She does not want to leave anyone out because she loves us all so much.
My grandma is one of the people who mean the most to me in my life. Her house is like a second home to me. Last year for their anniversary, I made them a cake. It was shaped like a heart because I love them tons. I am so grateful to have my Grandparents because a lot of people do not have them. I am lucky to have such wonderful grandparents who love and care for me.
Mind Block...What’s That?
Rebecca Bowling
We were there, warming up on the opponent's field. Our biggest rival. I knew this would be the hardest game for me personally. Just a couple months ago I was one of them. Back during the summer I had decided I was changing schools and going to play softball for my new school. I knew there would be a lot of hate from Dodge towards me as I was moving to Bleckley (2 of the biggest rivals). Summer training went great, and everyone was super nice. Everyday we worked towards beating Dodge. Bleckley softball had not beat them in six seasons, equalling 12 games. They seemed to have a mental block that it was impossible to beat them. Especially considering previously in the same season we lost the first time we played them due to errors. The game was on. We are in the first inning up to bat first batter makes it to first. All I needed to do was get on base to secure that runner. I struck out. When we played other teams all season I never struggled, when I was up to hit I was usually a guaranteed hit or to move a runner. We ended the first inning with 4 points and a perfect defense. We are in the field and have perfect inning no errors. First 3 batters hit and are all out.
Everything is going well. We are still beating our rivals for the first time in years by 4-0 perfect defense game being played. Third-inning comes and I'm up to hit. No one wants to hit as much as I do considering we are playing my old school. I strike out, again. It’s as if I have a mental block for hitting when we play dodge, my catching is on point just not my hitting for the day. When I was younger it didn’t matter what team I was playing, nothing seemed to get in my head. This day was different for some reason.
We were still ahead by 4. My coach knew how bad a major hit during this game meant to me. I was up to hit and the head coach whispered in my ear, “No one wants a hit as bad as you do right now. I know the stakes are high for you in this game and you need to prove to them, but honestly it doesn’t matter to me if you get this hit i just need you to continue doing your job behind the plate this game. Now HIT THE BALL! ” I foul off a couple balls while at bat but ultimately strike out. I know I have to hold back all the emotions and frustration so I don’t bring down the whole team who have this great thing going on. I feel as if I am the only one who is not playing to their full potential. Coach Meadows can tell I am holding back tears while in the dugout, so she tells me to take some time and walk to the pole outside the dugout. As soon as I get out of the dugout I start crying. I came back and am ready to play. We have another inning and there is a runner on first and the girl hitting hits one over, then the next girl right after hits one over. We finally got the third out. We’re up to hit and they play a shutdown defense. We go into the field with the score being 4-3 all we have to do is hold them and we win. Yes we have two outs, but the problem is bases are loaded and the girl that previosusly hit one over is up to bat. We know that even if she doesn’t hit this one over she will still hit and score one run so we have to strike her out and can’t walk her. (Reminder I am playing the school I moved from big rivalry. Out of all the players on my team I am the one the other team hopes will mess up more than anything). The big batter is up and she fouls the ball off in the air between home plate, third base and close to the fence. I of all people jump up and call everyone off so I can make the play and catch the ball. I feel the ball go in my glove. It's there. It stayed in MY glove. I made the game winning catch against the team Beckley had not beat in 6 years. Everyone comes up screaming and hugs me. It's as if we had won a college softball world series. Tears in our eyes. We did it, we broke the mental block we had against this team. We now no longer have the mindset going into softball that Dodge is better than us and that we are going to lose. We know that we can beat them, and the game winning point helped me get over my mind block knowing that I can play well when I play against my old school.
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