identitynarratives2

[identitynarratives2]

[identitynarratives2]

Grandma’s tool

When I finished it looked...shitty. In reality it was my first time so I wasn’t slandering myself for how it came out. We had to create something so simple with grandma’s tools but I never did something like this.

First we brought out these rusty needles that look like they've been there since the school opened. Let’s just say my first impression on that class not fantastic. I already didn’t like going to class due to the fact it reminded me of my grandma’s house. Imagine carpeted floors that reek of cat dander and moth balls with strings of yarn trailing the floors like an extension cord. Ever since then I wanted nothing to do with fabric, but for this class I had to put my past experiences aside. Our first project was to create a fabric bag basically with buttons on it. When the teacher demonstrated how to successfully create the bag, she did it so swiftly. I never saw someone create a bag that quickly but she then let us do it ourselves. I probably was the worst in the class. I started by putting the thread in the needle which took basically the first 15 minutes to do. After that I pierced the fabric and almost cut deep into my skin. I tried to make my bag look like the one demonstrated but I ended up making it look sloppy. Everytime I sewed I left a murder scene behind. I constantly cut myself trying to be as swift as my teacher and she would always tell my it takes time to develop skills. I felt as if the only reason why I enjoyed the class was my drive to sew swiftly and I greatly improved at the end of the semester. In reality my teacher was the one who inspired me when she told me the possibilities of learning how to take sewing and embroidery to the next level.

Sadly, textiles ended for that semester so I then took a photography class. At that moment when I took the class I wanted to be a designer. I fell in love with photography more because I was excellent with taking pictures. I started creating my own designs and let my imagination run wild. I would always design in Adobe Illustrator to further my skill set as a designer. Even though we werent supposed to be using the application in that class, it didn't stop me from pursuing my dream.

I figured out what I wanted to do in my life. I found my identity creating designs in my free time, and being acknowledged by friends really motivated me to take this hobby to the next level. I went from watching Youtube videos basically everyday to taking pictures in my free time, embroidering clothing, and creating my new clothing line..KDK(Kevon’s Designing Kompany)

KDK was a clothing line that I started that I can use all my past experiences to create clothes originally to sell to my friends. I would sell t-shirts to my friends then host a photoshoot the next day. It was huge success! I made about $200 off my first drop and continued to create more clothing to boost my recognition. I then would travel to places like Philadelphia and have beautiful photo shoots featuring my brand.

I would love to continue this experience and hopefully become a designer. Everyday I humble myself waiting on my time because I know soon I will be able to further my company into something big! It's the small things in life that have such a huge impact and in this case it was grandma’s tools.

~Kevon Mitchell

[identitynarratives2]

Stronger Now

The day I no longer cared for the little excitements of Christmas time was December 22nd, 2017. Winter break was approaching, usually means finishing up finals and cramming in every last minute of studying, stressing about grades and hoping my GPA doesn’t get worse. In the midst of all the stressful work I’d still day dream of the long break from classes ahead. In these days I thought of how exciting it was to be home with my family and friends. I thought about the things I did every year around this time, the movie nights with my siblings and parents, baking cookies, and our big Christmas dinner surrounded by family, but this year things were different.

I was eager to be home. As I finished my last final, I walked out of the classroom to my extremely over packed car, I buckled up, and started my two hour journey home. As I came home and readjusted I spent a lot of time with my aunt and sister. Just relaxing enjoying my time off of school and work, nothing out of the ordinary happened. I spent time exchanging secret Santa gifts and catching up with friends from high school. December has always been one of my happiest months.

But on December 22nd my heart shattered and since then I’m still attempting to heal. It was a normal lazy day for me. My boyfriend was working, and everyone else was with family so I spent the day wrapping some gifts and watching Netflix. At around 9:30 on that chilly Friday I received a call from my mom.   We had recently had another one of those mother daughter arguments, so when I first saw her calling I wasn’t exactly inclined to answer.

My mother skipped any greeting and got straight to the point, she sounded distraught as she asked,  “Sabryn where are you right now?” I explained that I was at my aunts with my younger sister Korra, and my three cousins. My mother took a long pause, like she was terrified to tell me what she had to say.

Then I heard the words “Sabryn, they just found your dad, he passed away, I’m so sorry sweetie.”

When these words were spoken I froze up. I could not cry, I could not move, I could not understand what my mother was trying to tell me. At the time my mother was living in Virginia, so she explained she was on her way home to Pennsylvania, and asked if I   could talk to my younger sister and tell her this life shattering news.

I was in shock, then suddenly I snapped out of it. I felt my chest get tight, like I couldn’t get the air into my lungs. Tears started uncontrollably streaming down my face. I remember my cousin frantically pacing in the living room calling my aunt telling her to get home immediately.

I myself decided to call my boyfriend Thomas. When I called The Brick House, where he was working at the time, I tried to calmly explain to the person that answered that I needed to speak with him that it was an emergency. When he got on the phone I just let it out, “My Dad is dead.” Shortly after that he arrived and attempted to comfort me.

I attempted to gather my thoughts and tell my sister, this was one of the hardest things I have ever done. I  walked up the stairs to find her giggling with my younger cousins, I explained to her the phone call I just had and all she could ask is, “What, are you sure?” she didn’t want to believe the terrible news.

I thought of my younger siblings, especially my brother who was just eleven. I wondered how it would feel to grow up never feeling the embrace of my fathers hug again, I thought about all of the beautiful things my four siblings and I would do that he would now miss.

Not long after, everyone in my family gathered at my Father's home. We sat right in the living room and for a while there was no words spoken. Everyone sat and grieved in disbelief, my dads death was unexpected. That night seemed to last forever. I thought after crying for hours I would actually get some sleep, but that never happened. I was up the entire night just laying there. After that day, getting little to no sleep was a regular thing.

Three days later it was Christmas, we still opened presents and ate dinner together, but it wasn't the same. Christmas no longer seemed like a happy family day, it felt dull and ruined by the sadness we all carried.

The next day, we said goodbye to our father. 

He was 43 years old, he loved photography, and he was amazing at it, I have many pictures he took but my all time favorite are the two shown below. Other interests he had were video games, extravagant parties, and cooking. He worked hard his entire life, eventually owning his own business. We decided to have a private family viewing, and then about a week later we threw a celebration of life party, because my father would not want it any other way. I  met new people and heard amazing stories about him, I received all the condolences in the world, and in all the sadness I felt these little things helped at the time.

In the time that he has been gone, my siblings and I still carry out the traditions we shared with him. For our birthdays we still go to the restaurant called the nutty pear that he always insisted on. For fathers day we continue to do a cookout. This year we also let go chinese lanterns with little notes from each of us for him. My older sister Destrie and I got tattoos from birthday cards our dad wrote us long ago. Through the pain of such a big loss in our lives we try our hardest to find new ways to celebrate him and keep him with us everyday.

As I write this it has been eight long months without him. Before my father's death I struggled with depression and anxiety that at the time I thought couldn’t get any worse, but after this loss it seems unbearable. Its constantly there. Everyday it is something new,  I  will hear Pearl Jam on the radio, or see one of his favorite cars, or smell someone wearing his exact cologne and it is like a wave of sadness hits me and it's hard to get out of it.

Before he passed I sort of glided through life without worrying about much. My father always made sure things were taken care of. His death made me grow up, and taught me how to handle things on my own. I’m starting to learn to cope with this loss, It will always be apart of who I am. Ultimately this has made me stronger.

Sabryn Tarlecky

[identitynarratives2]

Grandma’s Tools

When I finished it looked...shitty. In reality it was my first time so I wasn’t slandering myself for how it came out. We had to create something so simple with grandma’s tools but I never did something like this.

First we brought out these rusty needles that look like they've been there since the school opened. Let’s just say my first impression on that class not fantastic. I already didn’t like going to class due to the fact it reminded me of my grandma’s house. Imagine carpeted floors that reek of cat dander and moth balls with strings of yarn trailing the floors like an extension cord. Ever Since then I wanted nothing to do with fabric but for this class I had to let my past experiences aside. Our first project was to create a fabric bag basically with buttons on it. When the teacher demonstrated how to successfully create the bag she did it so swiftly. I never seen someone create a bag that quickly but she then let us do it ourselves. I probably was the worst in the class. I started by putting the thread in the needle which took basically the first 15 minutes to do. After that I pierced the fabric and almost cut deep into my skin. I tried to make my bag look like the one demonstrated but I ended up making it look sloppy. Everytime I sewed I left a murder scene behind. I constantly cut myself trying to be as swiftly as my teacher and she would always tell my it takes time to develop skills. I felt as if the only reason why I enjoyed the class was my drive to sew swiftly and i greatly improved at the end of the semester. In reality my teacher was the one who inspired me when she told me the possibilities of learning how to take sewing and embroidery to the next level.

Sadly, that semester ended for textiles so I then took a photography class. At that moment when I took the class I wanted to be a designer. I fell in love with photography more because I was excellent with taking pictures. I started creating my own designs and let my imagination run wild. I would always design in Adobe Illustrator to further my skill set as a designer. Even though we werent supposed to be using the application in that class it didn't stop me from pursuing my dream.

I now figured out what I wanted to do in my life. I found my identity creating designs in my free time and being acknowledge by friends really motivated me to take this hobby to the next level. I went from watching youtube videos basically everyday to taking pictures on my free time, embroidering clothing, and creating my new clothing line...KDK.

KDK(Kevon’s Designing Kompany) was a clothing line that I started that I can use all my past experiences to create clothes originally to sell to my friends. I would sell t shirts to my friends then host a photoshoot the next day. It was huge success! I made about $200 off my first drop and continued to create more clothing to boost my recognition. I then would travel to places like philadelphia and have beautiful photo shoots featuring my brand.

I would love continue this experience and hopefully become a designer. Everyday I humble myself waiting on my time because I know soon I will be able to further my company into something big! It's the small things in life that have such a huge impact and in this case it was grandma’s tools.

~Kevon Mitchell

[identitynarratives2]

Art Remains

When I was called to my principal’s office in first grade, I felt sick to my stomach. My knobby little knees shook as I walked down the friendly halls and I clearly recall wondering what I did wrong. Bright, generic posters smiled down at me from the pristine walls, unnerving me further. I dragged my hand along the wall as I walked, feeling the cool surface slide beneath my fingertips, occasionally interrupted by the edge of a poster.

I later found out I did nothing wrong, but in fact had won an award for a watercolor painting I’d done. At the time, I didn’t even know that it had been entered, or was capable of winning anything. I’d only painted and enjoyed doing so. The exact contest, I don’t recall. When the smiling blonde principal told me that my painting had won, I was unsure of what that meant. I was only six years old- to me, winning a contest was receiving a piece of candy or a smiley face sticker. I received neither, and was perplexed. On my way back to my class, I thought about what had been relayed to me. To be quite honest, I didn’t think much of it.

After about a week, I’d already forgotten I had won anything.  I went about my business, playing pretend by myself on the playground, drawing pictures for my mom, playing with my toys- six year old things. One night, I was dressed up unexpectedly. My hair was brushed and I was dressed in a cute little outfit my mom had picked out. I was driven to a location I still can’t quite remember, where I saw brilliant artwork hanging on the walls. Among all of the sophisticated paintings and drawings, there was my little watercolor of a tree and a sunset. My art teacher and principal were there, and I was shocked. I distinctly remember looking for my classmates. They couldn’t possibly have been there just for me. But they were.

I was seated right next to my principal, and felt as if I had been bestowed the greatest honor a six year old girl could receive. A long and boring speech from an unknown man followed, and I remember wondering what I would have for dessert after. Suddenly, my name was being called. My gentle, willowy art teacher took my hand and guided me to the stage, and at one point my painting, now framed, made its way into my hands. My art teacher gestured for me to go on stage, so I did. The man at the podium reached out, as if asking for the painting. I reluctantly handed it to him, and warmly shook my hand. I turned as the people in the audience erupted into applause. It hit me, as I was standing in the hot spotlight, that they were clapping for me and for what I had created with my own two hands.  Time slowed nearly to a stop around me. A few precious seconds turned into minutes. The thunder of the applause became distant. I realized, then and there, that creating was my purpose.

I was guided off stage after another handshake, still feeling as though I was floating through space. I was in shock. I later found out that the man who took my painting was the president of the school board, and that the piece would hang in his office for a long time. I now realize how important that kind man was, and what an honor it was that my little painting was selected to be presented to him.

After my piece was presented, I watched much older students receive various awards. Their pieces were displayed on a large screen, and I marvelled at the beauty produced by the big kids. One piece still stands out in my mind- a pencil drawing of very realistic hands, with different heads of animals protruding from the fingertips, where the nail would be.  I ‘ooh-ed’ and ‘aah-ed’ and wished with every fiber of my being to be like them, to be able to create things of such magnificence too.

I’d never known what it felt like to have a purpose before then. I was an odd, awkward child who sought refuge in made up worlds and coloring. Connecting with other children was hard for me. At birthday parties, I much preferred to talk to the adults. As time went on, I was invited to less parties, less sleepovers, less anything. A lot of things changed in my life, but art remained. My purpose remained.

Art has become more than a hobby to me- art is my livelihood. The very foundation upon which I build every day of my life. Even in my darkest hours, when I’d lost sight of all that was right and good in the world, I always could draw something. Every time, it helped. Every time, it took me somewhere better than where I was, even if just for a little while. It kept me sane when I swayed on the edge of the precipice.

In my worst moments, when I feel like a scared child again, I will myself back into that moment. Where not having many friends didn’t matter, where those whose opinions I valued above all were clapping for me. For what I’d created without knowing what I’d done. They were there to see me. They were clapping for the only elementary school child among many big, scary middle and high school kids. Clapping for the little girl who marveled at the rest of the art, completely unaware of what had happened. They were clapping for the little girl who cried because people didn’t like playing pretend or coloring with her and she didn’t know why. At that moment, all of that fell away. All that mattered was the painting I no longer held in my hands.  

At the end of the night, as I lay in my bed with my multitude of stuffed animals, I considered what had happened and what had awakened inside of me. I’d been waist deep in art’s current since I was able to think coherently, and I was ready to plunge all the way in.

I fell asleep with a smile on my face, ready to be the odd little girl again the next morning. I continue to be that odd person, only bigger now. Art still remains.

-Micah Beebe

[identitynarratives2]

The Snowboarding Accident

I tumbled down the icy hill before finally coming to a stop. When I got up and dusted the snow off my friend pointed out a big tear on the leg of my dark grey snow pants. My first thought was anger that I had ruined these pants, followed by the fear of explaining this to my mom, then I noticed the blood. It was at this moment when I looked through the tear I found my leg covered in what looked like a fresh coat of blood red paint. I then realized the severity of the situation and told my friend to go and get the ski patrol. I sat there alone watching the blood drip like a leaky faucet onto the ice white snow. It was at this moment I felt a strange combination of loneliness and calmness that I had never felt before. This feeling was cut short when I heard the familiar sounds of a snowmobile racing up the hill.

He asked if I was okay with them cutting the leg off of my snow pants. I of course said yes but it triggered something in my mind that brought me fully into the present moment. Whenever I recall this event in my life this simple question brings me back to that moment in time and helps me deal with current situations. I think that this event has helped me to become resilient in my life.I have experienced many challenges in my life but when I look back this snowboarding accident has served as the starting point for most of my current attitude in life. After theaccident I was out of school for almost a week and upon returning I had anxiety that I had never had before. This was the first major event in my life that has given me experience to deal with many more events in my life that I would have never been able to deal with if I hadn’t gone through this event before.

William Cosgrove

[identitynarratives2]

Shot Down

I took a deep breath and gave every last bit of energy I had in me as I approached the basket. I tried to remember the phrase BEEF (balance, elbows, eyes, follow thru)  as I prepared myself to shoot the ball in hopes of making it in.  Everyone was yelling at me to shoot in the other basket and run the other way, but all I could think of was making this shot in front of me. I made the shot and I was so excited. The gym was filled with laughter as I had just embarrassed myself. That was the first and last time I would make a shot in the wrong basket.  All of my other teammates were so good and able to make their shots in the correct basket, while I was still five steps behind struggling to breathe after one sprint. I didn’t know how to run drills, I didn’t know the terminology for where to go and I didn’t know how to dribble.  I don’t know why I decided to stick with a sport that I was naturally awful at, but thank god I did. I loved it and hated it all at the same time. I loved the feeling of making a shot, making a good pass, and finishing to the basket. But I hated all of the social pressure and anxiety it brought me.

I was on the hard gym floor anxiously waiting to be pulled aside by my basketball coaches. I was dreading to hear the words “You didn’t make the team, try again next year”. Apart of me wanted to just walk out and never give myself the chance to hear those words. It was only a passive thought of leaving. The door looked so appealing to me in this moment. I tied my laces, stood up off that hard gym floor that was comforting to me and slowly walked towards my coaches who were staring at me. The lights were so bright and it felt like a ton of bricks were on my back and I could hardly breathe. I had to be a big girl and I always hated being that. I was proud of my performance at practice, because I made more shots then the practice previously.  But I also made a fool of myself majorly from going the wrong way.

As I was walking towards the coaches I thought of everything. From every missed shot I took, every awful pass to my teammate, to the numerous amount of times that I have tripped over my own two feet. I thought of how many times I had let my family down for not being good enough or making them proud. Not only was I aware of every single mistake from practice and the mistakes in my life , but I could feel my joints not moving, my body aching, and this overall need to escape from the situation that I had put myself in . My head was spinning and my stomach was turning. I was my own worst enemy. I was the one who always doubted myself, no one else.. Just me. After what felt like a lifetime , I was finally in front of the adults that would decide my fate for that year in basketball. They smiled at me and for a second I believed that maybe this wasnt going to be too bad. But that friendly smile slowly changed into a pity smile. I could tell that they felt bad for me.   I felt like I was stuck in quicksand and there was no way of getting out as I was standing in front of two people who would ultimately choose my path for the year.  They had no idea how badly I wanted this.

After the coaches told me what team I was on, I was really happy that I made a team. I was embarrassed though for I knew that what they just told me meant I would not be playing with the girls in my grade. Up to this point I was happy to make either team but in the back of my mind I was hoping to make the Varsity team because that is the team that 8th graders should make in middle school,  and that was the team that I knew my father wanted me to make.  I was not experienced, talented nor coordinated . So why I thought I would make the Varsity team still questions me. Maybe I felt since I gave it my all, that meant I was good.

I made the Jv team and I was so disappointed in myself after I realized how upset my father would be when I told him the news . The coaches kept reaffirming me that they saw potential in me and that they wanted me to stick around to see how far I could go. I had this lump in my throat and I felt ashamed for I had not made the socially acceptable team. I say thank you and as I turned I was holding back the tears.  I just wanted to fit in, and this felt like another blow to the heart. I kept thinking of just picking up my bag and running out of that gym and never look back. Forget these past three days of my life , as if they never happened. But I sat back down on that not so comforting gym floor and waited eagerly as I had to wait for my sister Cassie and friend Brooke who were still waiting to hear their position on the team on the team.                

Cassie and Brooke both made Jv. The car ride home felt like the longest car ride known to man. Thankfully my neighbors took my sister and I home from practice, so that gave me time to think of all the ways I could sugar coat the disappointment.  Cassie and Brooke were all giggly and cheerful because they made the Jv team. But I was not happy because I wanted to play with the girls in my grade, I just wasn't developed nor ready. Cassie and Brooke were in 7th grade so it makes sense on why they were overwhelmed with Joy, but I sat there with such sorrow and regret in my heart. I tried to think of everything possible to make this terrible news, sound so not so terrible. I came up with nothing.

As we pulled into my stone driveway I was hoping that Brookes dad would slow down or turn around. But he didn’t. I started to feel the anxiety more than ever before. Trying to gather my water bottle and bag was a hassle. As Cassie and I said our goodbyes and thank you’s for taking us home I felt like I was going to throw up. I slowly walked to the door of my house, while my sister bolted, exhilarated to tell my parents the good news. As I approached the door I took a deep breath and just came to the conclusion that I had to tell them. As I walk I see my  Dad hugging Cassie and I knew that I would not get the same reaction as her. When my dad saw me he could see I was in distress so he asks me “What’s wrong?”. I just blurt out “I didn't make the varsity team I made the Jv team”. I stuttered every other word. My dad still managed to pick out what I was saying. He stared at me for awhile before responding. I could tell he was disappointed without him having to say a word. He takes a deep breathe and sighs before saying anything. I always hated when he would sigh before saying something.

I could feel my legs getting weak and feel my pulse in my entire body. He says “ Oh wow, I was hoping you would make Varsity… Looks like you'll be playing with your sister so I guess that makes scheduling things easier”. He never said “I’m Proud of you” or “next time Kiddo”, which were the words I so longed to hear. But with him that was never obtainable. We talked for only a little before I dragged myself upstairs. I close my bedroom door and throw myself onto my bed. I cried for what felt like forever. I was so upset that I wasn’t good enough to make him feel proud of me, I was disappointed at myself, and I was embarrassed.

I woke up the next day feeling more empowered than ever, after I cried myself out of my sadness. I told myself that I would never feel that bad about myself and performance ever again. I was going to make a name for myself and prove everyone wrong by working my hardest everyday. I felt like I now had a purpose and a goal to work towards. I knew that next year I was going to do something unexpected and better then the year before.  I was going to make my father proud and myself proud.

Corrina Smith 

[identitynarratives2]

Freefall

I’ve reached terminal velocity, I’ve touched the clouds, and I have become addicted to the sport that is skydiving.

Skydiving is something that is on everyone’s bucket list. Just the thought of skydiving is enough to give people a rush of adrenaline. It's a desire that so many people have, but so few people act on. Like everyone else, I wanted to go skydiving. Correction, I really wanted to go skydiving. So, when my dear friend Alex suddenly said, “Does anybody want to go skydiving with me?”, I jumped at the chance (pun intended). At first I thought she was kidding, but about two months after she threw out that wild notion I found myself in a place I wasn't sure I'd ever actually end up: Maytown Sport & Parachute Club.

There the three of us stood. Two of my closest friends and I had decided to take the leap of faith. Alex and I were overly excited, with little to no nerves. Garrett was another story, however. We somehow convinced him to join us in throwing ourselves out of a plane, but, let me tell you, he was a nervous wreck. He was also bursting with excitement, but as someone who was scared of heights, he couldn't help but be terrified at the same time.

The plan was that Alex would go up in the plane first with her tandem instructor and her photographer, since she paid an extra hundred dollars for pictures and videos (a luxury my broke self can't afford). Garrett and I would be able to watch Alex from the ground, and then we would fly up next with our instructors. However, before we could go up, we had to sign our lives away.

The only time I actually felt a little nervous was when I had to initial fifty tiny boxes that said I wouldn't sue if I was injured or killed. By far, my favorite box was the one that read, “I recognize that skydiving is not necessary to the functioning of society, and I do not need to do this”. It really instilled confidence in a me when I not only read a bunch of things saying I might die, but also had to sit and watch videos saying I might die.

After throwing down our signatures onto a paper that now seemed equivalent to our very souls, we trained with our instructors for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, it was go-time.

Garrett and I watched as Alex got suited up with a very fashionable jumpsuit that looked as though it came straight out of the 70's. Her instructor helped put on her harness, and she was ready to go. About half an hour after the plane ascended into the sky, we were able to see a tiny dot falling; getting closer and closer until we could see a parachute fly out. My palms were slick with sweat, and at that point I couldn’t tell if it was because I was excited or because it was 90 degrees outside. I watched as my best friend drifted towards the Earth and... touchdown! She survived!

Our instructors wasted no time getting us suited up as well. It went so fast, and in the blink of an eye we were already in the plane. It was small and cramped inside, my knees were curled to my chest, and the four of us were packed into the miniscule plane like a can of sardines. Every now and then I’d look over at Garrett, and we would try to say something but it was so loud in the plane that we could barely hear anything. The incessant thrum of the engine rattled my brain, and it was so hard to sit still. I’d constantly glance at the altimeter on my wrist to see how high up we were. The arrow would slowly crawl from one number to the next, telling me that we were thousands of feet in the air.

Everything looked so small from so high up, and I couldn’t believe that we were actually about to hop out of the plane like a baby bird would jump out of its nest. Our instructors looked at each other, acknowledging that it was almost time. They harnessed us to them, and by then we were finally at 10,000 feet. Garrett’s instructor opened up the door, and the wind rushed in. I could feel it pulling me, beaconing us to descend into the bright blue sky. Garrett and his instructor were the first to go. I watched as my friend stood dangerously close to the exit on the plane, and then “whoosh”. He looked like a napkin caught in the wind. It was something that appeared hilarious yet horrific at the same time.

Now, it was my turn. We made our way to the side door of the plane, and it’s really hard to move with someone strapped to your back. So, it was more like we were waddling. I followed my instructor’s lead as we both put one foot out onto the metal step outside the plane. I did as I was trained to do, and held onto the straps of my harness.

“One, two, three!!!”, yelled my instructor. Then we were in the air.

For the first few seconds everything was a blur. The land down below turned into paint, and it all ran together into this big colorful mess. If I reached out, I could grab a cloud and it would become my paintbrush. I was free, and everything was possible. I’ve always been a victim of that dream where I’m falling and when I am about to hit the ground I wake up with a startled jump, but this time it wasn’t a dream. I was flying. The world seemed looked so small, and I could have sworn I was some kind of superhero ready to save the world.

The wind whipped against my face, and I could have sworn that my helmet was going to fly off, but I didn’t care. I basked in the thrill. The adrenaline was soaring through my veins, just as I was soaring through the sky. When the parachute came out it was almost disappointing. Don’t get me wrong, it’s a good thing that the parachute came out, but I wish I could have kept flying. We peacefully looked out as we drifted through the sky, and in the distance I could see Garrett’s canopy getting closer to our landing zone. My instructor handed me the steering lines, and allowed me to make turns. He even taught me how to do spirals with the parachute. I would have to pull left, and then pull a hard right and just hold it. We would then just spin extremely fast, and although it was really cool it also made me pretty dizzy.

We reached the landing zone, and I could see my mom and my friends. I yelled down and waved as we got closer and closer to the ground. My instructor then guided us safely to the ground, and we did a sliding landing. One of us lost our balance when we were landing(I’m pretty sure it was me), and we ended up rolling in the plush, green grass. I was back on the ground, and so were my friends. We had just gone skydiving, and I wanted more. I had grown a pair of wings and learned to fly in a single day. Now, I can hardly keep my feet on the ground.

By: Caylee Hayes

https://drive.google.com/open?id=1_s8e_QVjf0K5jaUQ44YiIJINiAyVyTOM

[identitynarratives2]

Flying Past My Fear

My right hand nervously tapped on the aluminum. I was told that touching the plane before you stepped in was good luck, and in no way did that help calm me down in the slightest. I was finally at the entryway to the plane, and my legs slowly but surely trembled in. I had an hour bus ride to the airport and another hour in the waiting area to calm my nerves, yet nothing had seemed to help. I could feel my anxiety rise the second I stepped on. My hand began to shake, and I was biting my lip in attempt to not break down. Not having been on a plane since I was two years old, the whole idea of being 35,000 feet up in the air did not sound pleasant to my ears. At that age I went to Australia, but I was too young to acknowledge that there was something to be afraid of. I should not have been complaining to my teammates surrounding me about getting on this plane, considering I was getting to go to Florida with my softball team for a week, for only 200 dollars.

Growing up in a family of five with not a lot of money was difficult. We have struggled at times to pay for groceries and other basic necessities, and the thought of going on a vacation rarely crossed my mind. My softball coach knew of this, and I had spoken to him prior to the organization of the trip, explaining that my sister and I would not be able to go because of the price. Due to his kindness and dedication to his players, he was able to arrange it so that we could go on the trip without paying the full price. It was a great opportunity -- to bond with my teammates who I did not know all too well, get better at a sport that I’ve loved and played for ten years of my life, and go to a state I had heard so many amazing things about, but never got to see for myself.

I was walking down the thin aisle of the plane with shaky knees, and I could feel droplets of water begin to form in my eyes. All I wanted to do was walk off, but I knew that I couldn’t. My uncle flies planes for a living. There are so many flights in a day throughout the world and the chance of crashing or something going wrong was so slim, yet nothing could erase the worst possible outcome from my mind. I was terrified.

I was staring back and forth between my ticket and the seat numbers, attempting to find the tight-spaced place I would sit for the next three hours. I got towards the back of the plane and it finally caught my eye. I took the window seat and my sister took the middle, wanting to be in between our friend and I. She was even more nervous than I was, and at that particular moment, finding someone more nervous than I was for this flight came as a shock to me. I tightly gripped her hand and reached over her lap to place my other hand in the protection of our friend, who had been trying to cheer the both of us up ever since we arrived at the airport. At this point, my heart was racing harder than before and I could easily feel the pounding of my heart in my chest. Despite how bad my nerves were, my sister’s was worse and I had to be strong for her. If I could not calm my nerves for this flight, my only option was to pretend that I was okay. If her older sister was freaking out, how would she ever feel better? The saying “fake it till you make it” doesn’t always work in all situations, but for this one I was going to try. I saw it as my only option.

After what felt like forever, I felt a slight rattling. At that moment, I knew the plane was ready to go. As the plane rolled towards the runway, the place where it would be taking off - my attempt at trying to hide the terror inside me failed. The tears that were forming in my eyes earlier finally let out, and it felt as if my heart would burst out of my chest at any moment. My anxiety hadn’t been that bad in awhile, and the ideal place to feel this way was definitely not in a plane about to take off. My hand did not let go of my sisters, and before I knew it we were both hugging each other in an uncomfortable position, considering there wasn’t much room. We were both hoping for an ounce of comfort, anything to make us feel better. I said a small prayer and put my head down as the plane took off. It was going at speeds I had never experienced before, and the moment the wheels lifted from the ground my body tensed up. I gripped my sisters hand tighter than before, and I watched out the window as I elevated into the air.

Once we were in the air I was still anxious, but my ability to relax increased. It was almost as if a switch flipped in my mind. I was suddenly not as scared and once I got used to the height I was at, I tried as hard as I could to make this experience the best it possibly could be. I took advantage of the seat I was sitting in and took photos of the insane view I was seeing for the first time. Photography is a passion of mine, so I began to relax even more and enjoy myself. At times when the turbulence wasn’t great, I had spurs of panic. Besides that, I felt at ease. I plugged my headphones in, munched on some snacks, and felt my heart rate calm down.

Approximately three hours later, it was time to land. I popped a piece of mint gum in my mouth to help with the pressure that would soon be filling my ears. Once again I grabbed onto my sisters hand, and the plane began to speed towards the ground. My anxiety definitely began to rise again, but I was nowhere near as bad as I was during take off. Once I felt the wheels of  the plane touch the runway I felt a humongous weight lifted off my shoulders, a sense of relief.

Not long after I stepped outside the airport doors and saw the beautiful state of Florida with my own eyes for the first time, I could not help but smile. The rays of sunshine beat down on my face, and the warmth was comforting. During this week trip, I began to create bonds with teammates I had never expected. I worked hard, but also had loads of fun. I formed memories that are going to stay with me forever. It was the best trip I have ever been on and because of my amazing coach, I had the opportunity to play at ESPN, a goal of mine that had always seemed unrealistic up until this trip.

Before I knew it I was back at the airport getting ready to board the plane once again. The difference though, when I stepped into the airport this time I felt more ready to go up in the air. The memories and opportunities I had created in Florida with my teammates allowed me to feel closer to them, and getting on a plane with them this time felt more comforting than on the way there. This trip taught me a lot. One important thing -- that I am not my flying anxiety. It did not define me on that trip. I was able to overcome this obstacle, and if the chance comes, I would do it again without second thought.

Kylie George

[identitynarratives2]

The Ten Year Old Officer

I remember seeing it on TV.  I remember the headlines coming across every news channel.  The headlines read “Mass Shooting at Fort Hood Military Installation,”  and, “thirteen people dead and several wounded.”  I knew by the look on my parents faces that this was serious and something big was happening. Their eyes wide open, not with excitement, but with horror. Their eyes glued to the old box shaped television.  Although I was young,  I knew what was going on.  The whole room was silent as my family and I watched what was happening live.

I was only ten but this event was the first time I realized I wanted to make a difference in this world.  As I was watching the brave military men and women sacrifice their lives to save the others, it inspired me to do the same.  The look on the victims’ families faces were concreted into my mind.  It made me want to help people along with our country.  

The shooting took place on November 5th, 2009 by Nidal Husan.  He was a U.S. Army Major and a psychiatrist at Fort Hood, Texas.  It left 13 people dead and over 30 injured.  It was the largest mass shooting on an American Military base in history.  I still remember myself asking so many questions.  I could feel the sorrow I had towards the victims and families.

A few weeks passed and I was sitting in my 4th grade English class when my teacher explained to us our next assignment.  We were asked to write goals for our future selves and my teacher was going to send them to us when we graduated high school. I remember talking to my friends about what they were going to write about. Most of them being professional sports athletes, or singers, or becoming famous for this or that reason, but my future plans were unique. Ever since I had witnessed the gruesome shooting, I was set on becoming a Military Police officer in the Army. It was especially important to me because I wanted to save lives of the innocent people that died that day. I wanted to serve and protect my country.  That career was at the top of my list, followed by a few more Law Enforcement careers. She handed out the old plain piece of notebook paper, which to me looked awfully small for what I was going to write about. I instantly knew what I was going to write about.  I put the tip of the old yellow Ticonderoga pencil down on the paper and began to fill the page with my chicken scratch. That assignment was the easiest assignment I ever had. I finished writing to my future self, and turned it in.  

It was now the year 2017.  I had just graduated high school when I received a letter in the mail which looked like a small child had wrote it.  I was confused as I was opening this letter, but just after reading the first line, my confusion transformed into realization. I was the one who wrote this letter.  The first line read, “When I get older, I want to be a Military police officer in the army.” I could barely make out the words because my awful looking script, but I managed to read the whole paper. I was overcome with amazement due to the fact that in a few short weeks, I was being shipped off to Fort Leonard Wood, Missouri to become the exact thing I said I wanted to be in the letter, a Military Police officer. I was ecstatic.

Growing up, my career choices fluctuated, but being an MP must have stuck in my heart.  I remember showing my parents this letter and they gazed at me with astonishment. They couldn’t believe 4th grade me still had the same mindset as teenager me. At that point they knew where my heart was at and what I wanted to do for the rest of my life. My parents were not very fond of my decision to join the military, just like most parents would be, but they got over it and supported my decision and were very proud of who their son was becoming. I was the only member of my family who chose to join the military.  

It felt surreal that the occupation I chose when I was young was actually coming true.  It only made me more confident in my decision, because it seemed as if it was meant to be. Especially after years of contemplating several career choices.  The one that I always came back to was the one my 10 year old self dreamed of doing.  Although the mass shooting at Fort Hood military installation was tragic and extremely unfortunate, it is responsible for my drive to serve this country and the people that live in it.  Even though I didn’t know it at the time, my younger self seemed to already have myself figured out.  I’m glad to be serving my country in an organization that’s greater than myself.  As psychologist Haim Ginott said, “Treat a child as though he already is the person he is capable of becoming.” I am proud that this is true. Back then, I was already becoming the Military Police Officer I am today. 

[identitynarratives2]

One of Three But Just Me

“How is that possible all four of you to be born in the same year? Wait, so you guys a quadruplets then?” people ask with shock.Something I’ve heard all my life. It gets rather annoying having to explain the logic, confusion, and mystery behind it all.

The day I actually stopped explaining was the day I left for college. That day is the day I became an individual. No more being compared to each other, sharing clothes, being mistaken for the other, or getting in trouble because someone did something when it wasn’t me, I was free. Free to have my own experiences in college instead of the same with her. I was an adult, to make my own decisions, and to not worry about her judgement. To make my own group of close friends who I can hang out with all the time.

Some people may wonder why this was such a big thing for me, but they do not know my story.  It starts out like this: my mother had my sister Gabby  in January of 2000, she was supposed to be born in ‘99. A couple months after having her, she got pregnant with triplets, myself, Mia, and David. We on the other hand came early, at 25 weeks to be exact, August of 2000, due to my mother being on active duty in the air force caused complications in the pregnancy, which really shocks people when they hear this part of the story.

Being a premature baby comes with a lot of health problems for most, especially with us which was the scary part. We had heart murmurs, oxygens tanks, retinopathy: where the retina separates from the back of the eye. I did not come home from the hospital until Christmas Eve, my sister didn’t come home until New Year’s Eve, and my brother until November. Not only that, but my brother had a brain hemorrhage at birth, causing him to have autism. Sounds like a miracle story doesn’t it. But this set of triplets is simply unique, Mia and I are mirror image twins so that is really cool. We are not like any average set of triplets, there is just something about us that you wouldn’t find in any other set.

First day of College: that morning I woke up, like a regular morning, lay in bed for a good amount of time, watching “ First Day of College- Move in Day” vlogs on YouTube for the past 2 weeks because I was so anxious and excited to begin the journey of my life. I get out of bed, washed and dressed and start bringing my things downstairs to pack the car. Right now I feel so overwhelmed, running around the house like a chicken with it’s head cut off, making sure I have everything I need. The car is finally packed, and the time has come for me to say goodbye. I say goodbye to my boyfriend, and now my brother, sisters, and the dog. It didn’t feel as though I was leaving for a while to them, so the goodbye wasn’t a sad thing. I hugged David and the dog, Mia and Gabby were making it a funny and happy kind of goodbye. It was casual, short, and sweet like it wasn’t the end of me in the house, it was kind of like an “ Okay, she’s leaving for college. I’ll talk to you in three hours.” Nothing big. We finally get to Kutztown, the air smelley like cow manure,  farmland everywhere I turn, something new.  I had a nervous feeling in my stomach, not knowing what to expect about my dorm, or if my roommate was in the room already, thinking people will look at me like “ why is she just now moving in?”. But when I get out of the car, the feelings and thoughts disappeared from my body.

As my parents and I finished unpacking, about to leave me behind realising the baby of the bunch was the first one leaving the nest, going on to pursuing her dream.

I thought to myself “ wow, I’m really a college student, where has the time gone.It’s not going to be the same, waking up at 4:30 every morning, to get myself, David, and the rest out the house late every morning as usual.”, then going back, thinking about David and how he will be when the school year starts, how much he is going to miss me.

Being a triplet is something that I could appreciate and thank God for everyday. However, it can be a challenge. There are times where we just do not get along at all at one point. Constantly fighting everyday, and sometimes to the point where my anger gets the best of me. Full out frustrated with the things David does sometimes like breaking things and acting out because he doesn’t get his way on purpose knowing that gets my blood boiling. Using his autism as an excuse to not being held responsible for his actions, not being able to retaliate due to the fear I may get carried away, getting all of my anger out towards him.But at the end of the day, there’s nothing I can be more grateful for. That is a huge part of my identity, what makes me the person I am today.

Mia is the person out of my family who I talk to the most, and considering we are mirror image twins, she wants to be like me. And that brings us closer with David, since we play a huge part in his life as well, all of us do. My sisters and I will be the ones taking care of him for the rest of his life when it’s time for my parents to leave this earth. They both, have helped me shape myself, I am not just apart of the triplet gang, but I am my own individual, same with David and Mia. I like to do my own things without them looking over my shoulder all the time. Mia trying to include herself in my plans with my friends. I understand that some of my friends are hers too, but we don’t have to hang out with them together all the time.

To go on, thinking about having to help take care of David, he has provided every one of my sisters’ and I some leadership, and has really opened my eyes to look further down the road into the future, to see how my life will be with all of my sisters, him, and my family in it. But the journey has begun for me, and her leaving for Rider University, I wonder what her journey will be like. Probably totally different from mine of course, but us being a part is not a bad thing at all, but actually a good thing, especially for her.  Out of the two of us, I am the more outgoing one, when it comes to making new friends. So this gives us time apart to really find ourselves out in the world, not together, so we can each be our own person.

Finally, it is the end of hearing that forsaken question being asked of me, never have to be explained throughout my college career, the start of everyone’s journey. Even though we are at different colleges and David is at home with Mom and Dad, when we come home for Thanksgiving Break, it’ll be like nothing has changed, except we are now having different experiences with college, but some will be the same, and I can guarantee David has missed us so much, and can feel our connection getting stronger no matter where we are in the world.

[identitynarratives2]

Finally Mine

As I ran my fingers across the hideous teddy bear wallpaper I realized that all of this was now mine. The bears’ bulging creepy eyes stared at me as if they could see right through me.  I wondered what the story of this room was.

“Blue or purple for the walls?”, My mom asked as my eyes skimmed the empty room. “Blue of course”, I said with a smile.

As I walked through this strange house, the thought of all of this being a fantasy traveled through my brain. Soon, I was going to open my eyes and wake up from this dream in my small two bedroom apartment. This place was a mansion compared to my past homes. A driveway leading up to the house, a mailbox that I didn’t need a key to access, and a front porch with a bushel to the left of it. I could see myself in the summer sun drawing figure with chalk on the hot matte black macadam.  

Everything I’ve owned in my life I��ve had to share whether it was clothes, toys, a bed, or a room. This was one thing that was finally just mine. No more sharing a closet or fighting with my sister over who has to get up and turn off the alarm clock. When I would go over to friends’ houses I would be envious of them. I would walk through their big houses with family vacation photos on the wall and wondered if I would ever have a life like everyone else. Thoughts and ideas started to pile up in my brain one by one. Where would my bed go? Will my new TV fit on that wall? Will I keep the wood or put down a rug? More questions ran through my mind the more my heart vigorously started to race.

I crept down the stairs and made my way into the kitchen. I stepped back for a second and was amazed, it looked like one those houses you see on British cooking shows. The yellow walls held old wooden cabinets that looked as though the hinges would fall off as soon as they were opened. The cabinet above the refrigerator was just tall enough for me to reach standing on a kitchen chair, so I can easily sneak access at the hidden chocolate stash my parents kept. The smell of burnt crumbs filled the air as I opened the oven to get a quick peak.

Gazing out the glass doors that led to the backyard I pictured the picnics, birthdays, Fourth of July celebrations that had happened there. My smile gradually grew on my face as I started to think about all of the celebrations and memories of my own will take place here. The sudden taste of s’mores just appeared on my tongue just as I remembered that Trick-or-Treat was coming up in a few weeks. I opened one door after another, closet after closet. I was shocked that a house needed more than bathroom. I stepped outside and just listened. No more busy streets and cars honking obnoxiously out my window. The only people I saw on the street were dog-walkers, runners and elderly couples on their daily strolls around the neighborhood.

Coming from a broken family I never really had a place to call home. After my parents split they couldn’t afford to live somewhere on their own. Between both houses we stayed with family members, friends, and in motels. Sure I lived in houses, but I knew none of them were permanent. I had enough belongings to fit in a cardboard box.

Moving into a new house meant I had a home. This place to me wasn’t just a roof over my head and the place I receive my mail. This old brick 2-story home was the start of my new life and a new me. Anyone can slap paint on some walls and call their houses a home. The house is not what makes this house my home, it’s the love for the people inside of it that makes this place so special. I knew the memories we made and will continue to make here, I will hold close to my heart for a very long time.

As I stand in my room today I can tell people who I am without saying a word. My original photos hang proudly from string, soccer trophies stand tall on a dresser collecting dust and collection of pressed pennies are protected in a frame on my desk. This was the first place in my life that was permanent. It was mine. This house wasn’t going anywhere and neither was I. This place I get to call home isn’t just a house to me. My room and my house grew just as I did. The themes changed, frames were hung, old holes were patched. Today I look around at the faded blue walls and the wood floors and I am reminded that this is where I am supposed to be. I belong here.

[identitynarratives2]

The Summer I Became a Filmmaker

Spending a week at Kutztown participating in their SFI ,Summer Film-making Institute, program was one of the best weeks I had this past summer. During SFI we each created two films, one silent and one group project, and spent almost two days editing. We spent everyday walking from Berks to South Dining Hall to The Learning Center, back to South, and then finally back to Berks. When we weren’t …… we were scouting locations for certain scenes. Even during lunch and dinner we would discuss our own ideas and stories to eventually create together.

After a long day we would gather in the rec room and play Freeze. I watched as they started off a scene with two people and then when someone yelled ‘freeze’ you would pause it and that person would tag someone out and start a whole new scene.

This week was special because I always knew in the back of my mind I wanted to do something with film as long as I was behind the scenes. I’ve been creative all my life and I felt like the movies, T.V. shows, and music I listened to made me into the person I am today. It was a hard choice to make. Should I write? Should I film scenes? Should I be a set teacher and work with young actors?

I joined the drama club my sophomore year in high school and I loved being a part of it. Our high school’s Drama Club taught the students many valuable skills. We went from doing Footloose our freshman year to Singin’ in the Rain our senior year. I started by just watching rehearsals then one day I decided to bring my video camera. Junior year went by and we did Grease. I recorded rehearsals as well as made sure everyone had their props during their performances. Finally it was the summer before senior year and we found out that we were doing Singin’ in the Rain. It was going to be a lot of hard work but they were up for the challenge.

One night at rehearsals I was talking about needing a new camera. I knew it was broken because every time I looked through the lens it would be on a thermal setting and I couldn’t fix it. After I got a new camera, I showed it to my friend Ben, who was in the process of getting a new camera. Film was a topic we could talk about together since he was into filming videos himself and posting them on YouTube. I decided to ask him where he was thinking about going for college. Even though he was only a sophomore at the time he had two schools picked out: Kutztown and Temple.

After discussing it and comparing three options, the other being LCCC, I applied to Kutztown. My dad also informed me that Kutztown was doing a one week film camp and asked if I would like to do that. I got my acceptance letter before camp started.

This camp, along with touring the campus, gave me a better understanding of where certain buildings are and which path is quickest. Also at KU, I met a lot of nice people who all had one common goal: create good stories for other people to view. At the end of the week it was cool to see how everyone’s silent films and group projects came together and how much we could accomplish in a week.

Not only was this the best week of the summer but it was also the week that everything clicked. It made me realize that I belonged at Kutztown and I could see myself creating films.

Holly Wagner

[identitynarratives2]

Best Friend

When I was a kid I had one friend and one friend only. His name was Chris and he was the ONLY person I would talk to. He was my best friend. Everyday after school, we would go over to each other’s houses and sleep over. If he said to jump I would ask how high. There was nothing in the world that could separate me from him until one fateful day.

It was the 7th week into the 5th grade and we were all going outside for recess. As always, I looked for Chris so we could race since he was always faster than me I was certain that this time I would beat him. Instead he told me that I was antisocial (which was true) and that I needed to go out and make some more friends. “He couldn’t be serious,” I thought to myself and for the first three minutes, I did believe that it was a joke. Over time he just stared at me with an emotionless face that told me no matter how much I didn’t want to believe it, I knew he wasn’t lying. At that moment I didn’t know what to do or think.  I was in such a shock that all I did was slowly back up and turn around.

I never thought that there would be a day that I would need to make new friends. Still, Chris went off to his other friends and for the rest of recess I tried to make new “friends.” When I looked around the park for anyone that looked friendly enough for me to talk too, I saw a kid named Justus who I met in art class a while back. He was a short chubby kid that was in the same grade as me. I noticed him on the other side of the park talking to some girl I never saw before, so I didn’t know if I should go and talk to him. Still, it was that or having no one to play with for the rest of the day. So I went up him and we started talking. Before I knew it, we became friends. Of course we weren’t as close as I was to Chris but over time I ended up hanging out with him more than Chris in school.

We started getting along very well. I started talking to Justus more in art class and lunch. He introduced me to his other friends like Kaisy (the girl he was talking to before) and Mat a stranger that I never knew. We all quickly started to get to know each other more and began hanging out with each other every day. Making more friends was amazing. I was surprised that I never thought about making more friends. One day I decided to talk to more people inside my school. Before I knew it, I started talking to more kids in my class and became friends with Tim. Tim and I started hanging out on the weekends. We would either go to the pool or stay inside and play video games. After a while it reminded me of the times when I would hanging out with Chris all the time. I didn’t realize it but I completely stopped going to his house, and I would only talk to him once a week at most.

I still saw Chris as one of my closest friends even though we didn’t hang out as much. I decided to ask him if he wanted to come over after school. He said sure and asked if I wanted to race him during recess. I told him that I can’t since Justus and I were planning to play soccer with some other people. Thinking about it now, I can see that he wanted to hang out with me just like we used to do, but at the moment all I was thinking about was soccer. When school was over, Chris and I did the same thing we always did, make a bowl of cereal, open our books as if we were actually going to do our homework, then go upstairs and play video games.

While we were playing video games, I started to tell him all of the stories about what I have been up to for the past two years. As I went on for hours, I wanted to hear what he has been up to. Then he gave me the answer that I still hate to this day: nothing. It has been two years since we hung out and you’re going to tell me nothing happened in all that time? At the time, I didn’t care because I was focused on the game. As the day went on, I ask if he was going to sleep over so we can walk to the bus together. He told me that he had to do something important at home. I didn’t believe him because I know that he hates going home but I wasn’t going to stop him.

Over the years when on I started more and more friends. The more friends I make saw me Chris less and less to the point where I don’t even see him anymore. Still I try to check up on him time to time but it's hard since he is always on the moving and he will change is number. Their times where I would just give up and thing he is just gone and every time he would just show up out of nowhere. We would go somewhere and hangout. We would tell each other what we have been up too and what we got plans for the future. We would talk about all the good times we had back in the day when life was just simple. We never hanged out longer than two hours and then it would be years until we meet again. Still I patiently wait until the next time we can hangout again. If it wasn’t for him I would of grew up as an antisocial person who kept to himself.

[identitynarratives2]

Miss Buffa

Just a few months ago, I was back in the second grade. I was roaming the, what seemed to be, endless hallways, meeting skillful teachers, and getting used to my new surroundings. But, I was not there to learn about opinion writings, the stages of matter, or the proper components of a sentence, oh no. I came to observe what it takes to be that one teacher standing in front of those second graders. I came to learn about everything it takes to make that classroom run as smoothly as possible. I was the teacher intern.

Not long before I started this internship I was at a low point in my life. Nothing seemed to be going how I planned. Every moment I spent alone tore me apart. I never enjoyed spending long hours by myself where all I had were just my thoughts. I would often lay in bed at night dreading falling asleep because it meant I would have to wake up and go about my useless day. The tears always hit me like a hurricane and if no one was awake to talk to me at that moment I would slowly feel myself melting into complete numbness. Depressing thoughts would just take over my brain. There always seemed to be a little person inside my head telling me I was doing anything and everything wrong. I couldn't help to think I had no purpose in this world. At least not enough to make an impact. Being alone in any situation never seemed to do me justice. I realized being surrounded by people I loved is what kept me going, even to this day.  

I was able to explore this elementary classroom and go on this amazing internship throughout my senior year of high school. I was taking a class geared towards the teaching profession and it wasn't until the end of that year that I felt so confident about myself. I was feeling hopeless while I was still in the class, until the opportunity came for me to explore an actual classroom. I realized my worth in this world and just the overall happiness I felt in that type of setting directly after the first day there.

That first day in that second grade classroom validated how much of a people person I am. I knew I belonged in this type of atmosphere. I would always be surrounded by students or colleagues that would keep me focused on the favorable moments of life.  Even as a young mentor to those children I was respected, wanted, appreciated, and interesting to each and every student.

I could never forget the first day I stepped foot in front of the room to teach them about the crazy world of homophones. The air was filled with excitement, happiness and of course the smell of a fresh box crayons. Everyone sat straight up in their chairs anticipating the first words to come out of my mouth. My palms were sweating and my heart was pounding insanely fast, but somewhere deep down I felt comfortable in that moment. Throughout the lesson every hand was raised. I couldn’t believe my eyes. There was so much participation happening because I was teaching. The children wanted to see what I was capable of teaching them. Pencils were scurrying on their papers after every question I asked. No one wanted to miss anything Miss. Buffa was about to teach.

I’ve never seen so many interested kids. Their eyes were wide and all their attention was kept on me and every word that flowed out of my mouth. I belonged up there. Being surrounded by these children made me feel comfortable and the little person in my head went on break, for what I hoped would be for an eternity. This moment took me back to my year in second grade. Everything became clearly visible why second grade was my favorite year. Something about these classrooms makes me feel warm. Maybe it’s the cute little paintings hanging around each classroom or even just the inspirational quotes you can find throughout the building. I know for sure that I can be my true self when I’m surrounded by people. It makes me feel comfortable because i’m a people person.

Everything about teaching it makes me feel like I belong. The people, and even just the open, welcoming atmosphere of the building has always drawn my attention. It makes me realize that it’s the reason I never hated coming to school. Every elementary classroom is filled with joy, energy, and overall excitement for learning. A room filled with diverse, energetic learners is what intrigues me most. Teaching has shown a quality in myself that I never quite understood I needed until I spent those few months in that Patrick Mcgaheran Elementary School second grade class.

                                                                                                  Gianna Buffa

[identitynarratives2]

Maya Gelnett

Coffee With A New Sister

I was at my favorite coffee shop with my parents and sister when I met the sister I never knew I had. We were all sitting outside, coffees in hand, as cars whizzed by and the smell of fall danced around us. I was with my parents and one of my older sisters. It was open mic night at St. Thomas Roasters, one of my favorite events to attend there. It was an early evening in late summer. The sky was streaked cotton candy pink and purple as a sign the sun was about to set. The evening air was cool as a light breeze brushed my skin and ruffled my hair but my coffee was hot enough to keep me warm. My parents and I were sitting at a table placed right outside the coffee shops main entrance and my sister was inside talking to a few of her friends. I looked up from my coffee and saw a man and a woman walking around the side of the shop. They looked oddly familiar to me. Then I remember. It was her. The sister I’ve never met before.

She stopped feet away from the steps that lead right to my table. She was standing there one hand clutching her Michael Kors purse and the other placed above her heart. Her middle length dark shiny hair flowed around her shoulders as the wind dances through it. She vaguely reminded me of someone I used to know. With her proud smile and very light skin tone. The longer I stared the more I notice the wrinkles around her soft face forming around her smile and eyes. Her eyes were like mine, dark, except for that one small tear forming in the corner of her eye ready to spill. Yet still smiling, wide.    

That was almost a year ago. The day I met my half-sister, we have the same father but different mother. Her name is Nicte and the man with her that night was her husband Danny. Nicte was born and raised in Central America, where I’m from. She has 6 other siblings that are also considered my half-siblings, because we all have the same father, I just haven’t met them yet.

Only a few years ago she moved to the US, surprisingly enough to Pennsylvania, with her husband to raise a family here. They first contacted my older sister over Facebook about a year ago realizing who she was through mutual family friends on Facebook. My sister then realized how this woman, we never heard about or knew, was connected to us. It was greatly shocking and quite frankly overwhelming to find out that we had another whole set of siblings no one else felt inclined to tell us about.  Although, it was exciting because we saw it as an opportunity to connect and understand more about our ethnic background and our biological family. Something my sisters and I left behind when we were adopted at a young age.

I was adopted from Central America along with two of my sisters a bit over 13 years ago. The three of us grew up with 4 other siblings and my mother before she put us up for adoption. The family we were adopted into already had three children of their own. It was a good adoption, I grew up in a second class Caucasian home and attended good educational schools. But there was always this part of me that never really felt apart of a specific race nor did I ever feel well rooted in my ethnicity. I can’t deny that physically and biologically I have Central American blood in me, but that’s different than mentally accepting and being aware of my background. The blood flowing thru my veins didn’t match my language, they way I dressed, or my personality.   

It was only recently that I’ve been able to be connect deeper with my Latina background, and all because of my newly profound sister. She lives fairly close to me and every once in a while my sister and I go visit her and her husband. Everytime we go to her house she makes us Hispanic food, which is to die for. Both of them also speak Spanish fluently which is super cool to me because I stopped being able to speak Spanish around age six. I got to meet their daughters as well which are technically my nieces. That’s still a little shocking to me, but their family is so loving and welcoming it’s crazy to me that these people who hardly know me can just embrace me as if I’ve been part of their family for all these years. It makes sense though because that’s how the Latino culture is, if they get word that you’re blood related, no matter how significant or insignificant, they treat you as if you’re their twin sibling.

I’ve been truly blessed to have Nicte and her family become part of my life. They’ve taught me so much about my culture and who my biological family is. They radiate such positivism and kindness in my life. Before I felt so disconnected with my culture and my family, but now I don’t stutter or hesitate when people ask me what my ethnicity is. I’m confident in being Latina and I don’t shy away from identifying as part of the Hispanic race. Biologically I may be Latina but I’m also not ashamed of my Caucasian upbringing, I embrace both aspects of my culture and ethnicity. All of this thanks to a cup of coffee and the day I met my biological sister.

[identitynarratives2]

Conquering The Bull

I felt like I was going to throw up. It was my first time riding on a roller coaster and I did not like the feeling that my stomach was having. On top of the how terrible I felt, the attendant added in before we went up that this is the fastest roller coaster on the east coast.

I looked to my friend next to me and said, “Yes, I am definitely going to throw up.” The roller coaster attendants went down the line making sure everybody’s lap bar was pushed in tight, and pushed mine in so tight my stomach started hurting even more. The upper half of my body was free to do whatever, and that did not give me any security at all. The roller coaster cars jolted forward, and we began our journey up to the top of the roller coaster track. On that sunny day, as we made our way to Six Flags for our senior trip, I had no intention of riding a roller coaster. Originally we were suppose to go to Florida, but nobody ever paid the bill so we had to change our senior trip to a day at Six Flags. Now it was my senior year, and I figured I’ll go just to hangout with my friends, because this might be the last time we all get to hangout before we go to college. I figured I would just hangout, while my friends went on roller coasters, and wait for them to get done. Even the thought of going on a roller coaster made me feel sick. I didn’t know if it was the height aspect that made me feel uneasy, or if I was just being scared. Once we got to Six Flags, I started looking around at the place and saw nothing but roller coasters everywhere. I thought to myself, there has to be other things to do right? It turns out that the majority of attractions at Six Flags are roller coasters. I decided that I was going to pretty much be sitting on my phone the whole day waiting for my friends to get off of roller coasters. For some reason I couldn’t overcome my fear and just go on the roller coasters.

The first roller coaster my friends went to was the Superman roller coaster. I sat outside waiting for almost 30 minutes until they got done. I was sick of hanging out by myself, and figured what was the point of even coming on this trip. I realized that this was ridiculous and I needed to just go on roller coasters with them.

When they got off, we went over to the Green Lantern roller coaster. I got in line and my stomach started turning. I was starting to not feel good, and felt as if I was going to throw up. Then I saw people go down on the roller coaster and saw that it was a standing roller coaster! I did not like the idea of standing when going upside down and straight down, so I jumped out of line and waited for my friends to get off. At this point I wish I never went on this trip. Once my friends got off of Green Lantern, they started getting after me. “Are you gonna do anything today?” my one friend asked.

I answered, “I want to, but roller coasters are just not my thing.” My friend thought for a moment.

“What if we go on a simple roller coaster? One that doesn’t go upside down, and that you sit in. A wooden roller coaster, I believe there is one here, I think it’s called El Toro.”

I looked at  my friend, who was now giving me a stare like, come on just do it. “Okay fine, let’s go check it out.” I finally thought to myself, I have to do it and just get it over with. We walked over to El Toro (in English this stood for “The Bull”) and I was already starting to feel sick. The roller coaster was tall and was pretty long. I put my stuff in the locker in front of the roller coaster, and started my way into the entrance. I kept repeating in my head, “everything is going to be fine”, “final destination is just a movie”, “what's the worst that could happen”.

We got to the roller coaster, and luckily there was no line, so I had no chance to second guess myself. We got into the roller coaster car, and put our lap belt down. By this time I was in full panic mode, but I tried to stay calm. My stomach was upside down and I was starting to shake. The roller coaster cars jolted forward and we started going up. As we were going up I did the worst thing you could do, and I looked down. I started freaking out, but I knew that wouldn’t help, it was too late.

We reached the top, and started going around. At this point, my stomach was fine, I stopped shaking, and I wasn’t in a panic anymore. Instead, adrenaline filled my veins and I went straight down. Except it wasn’t a straight drop, the drop curved inwards and almost felt like it was going backwards. This made me worry for a minute until we began going back the other way. We were going so fast, and all I could remember was the attendant saying how this was the fastest roller coaster on the east coast.

I was holding on to the bar in front of me so tight my hands were turning purple. I wasn’t able to pick up my head because of how fast we were going. Eventually I was able to pick up my head and look at my friend next to me. We made eye contact and I started screaming. At this point, it wasn’t screams of fear, it was screams of joy. I took my hands off the handle bar and put them in the air. My hair blew in the wind, and I was having the time of my life.

We finished the roller coaster and when we got off I was shaking again. This was the adrenaline rush that I was feeling this time. “Let’s go do another roller coaster!” I said to my friends. It was at this point that I conquered my fear of roller coasters. Would I skydive out of an airplane? Most definitely not, but this was a step in the right direction. We went and spent the rest of the day going on different roller coasters throughout the amusement park. It turned into the one of the best days of my life.

My friends wanted to get after me a little bit more as the day went on. “What happened to you being scared of heights?” they asked me. I thought for a moment and realized I wasn’t thinking about the height anymore, I was thinking about the fun and the adrenaline rush that you get from riding the roller coaster. “I’m just not thinking about it anymore and I am just having fun with you guys for the day. I didn’t spend the money to come here to just sit around all day and do nothing.” My friends started to laugh and I laughed with them.

This was a big event in my life that helped me figure out that I cannot be scared to do things in my life. If I don’t try to do something, then I’m not going to have any fun in life. There is always something new to try, and I cannot let anxiety stop me from trying new things.

Now I am able to climb the rock wall at my job, I’ve already had to do it twice to save kids because when they get to the top, they look down and realize that they have a fear of heights as well. I let them know they are not alone and I help them overcome their fears and come down the rock wall. I can now help them because on that day at Six Flags, I conquered The Bull.

Joshua Paduano