Controllers Anonymous

As I continue down the dimly lit, carpeted hallway of the high school, I pull out the community education pamphlet. I cannot believe that I have to run this session. At least only about two people signed up for the class, so I plan to leave by eight.

I flip to the page that I had earmarked, which displays the advertisement for Controllers Anonymous: Help overcome your addiction to controlling others in a safe, welcoming atmosphere. Since, obviously, a room full of controlling people just seems so inviting. I continue to the end of the hallway to the door of the AP English classroom. I quickly flip on the lights and throw my bag down on a desk, briefly glancing out of the window to observe the falling snow. It had begun to let up a bit since earlier this morning, and now dances across the grey sky.

Suddenly, I hear a knock on the door and I stand up to greet the two individuals, a blonde-haired girl, and a regal man wearing a purple cape. Narrowing my eyes, I invite them to sit down with me and introduce themselves.

“Hi. My name is Adrian Veidt, more commonly, Ozymandias. I brought along trial-sized action figures of myself as well as those of my friends since I do not mind profiting off of the few people that care about me.”

“Thank you for joining us, Adrian,” I sigh as I take the gift. I quickly peer over to see a blonde girl sitting next to him, scribbling notes down onto a notepad.

“And you?” I ask expectantly. The girl sits up a bit more and smiles.

“I’m Lauren, Ms. Serensky’s AP English aid. She does not have time for this meeting because she needs to annotate another book and grade fifty projects to continue her goal of indoctrinating students’ minds and making her class control their lives. And she wants me to make sure no one touches anything in her classroom.”

Just wonderful, she sent a spy. I invite her to share more about her teacher, sympathizing with her and offering sub-par advice. Once she finishes, I turn toward Adrian and invite him to share his story, glancing up at the clock, hoping that he will finish his story quickly.

“Well, back in the 1980’s, I conspired to kill half of New York City to end all wars. But, ever since, I have wondered if I did the right thing. Peace necessitates collateral damage, right? And if my morals benefit people in the end, I surely did the right thing?”

Great. I suppose this may last past eight.

Mairin's Daily Life, According to Facebook

Note: I have only recently begun to get to know Mairin, so I have inferred her life based on her likes on Facebook. I italicized the pages she “Likes.”

I wake up to a typical rainy day in Chagrin Falls, Ohio. But, I like watching raindrops race across my window as I silently cheer for them. So, I eat breakfast and prepare to run through the rain to my car. When I turn on the car, an old song sounds from the radio. I just love hearing a song from so long ago and remembering all the memories! In a chipper mood from my car ride, I attend my first few classes. We work on free response questions in Calculus, and they only mention particles traveling along the x-axis. Times like these, I miss the weird names of kids in word problems in math books from elementary school, when I did not have to worry about a mock AP exam. A few periods later, I walk into the Biology room, quickly reviewing the nervous system and cell-mediated immune response in my head. Mr. Ricci’s substitute, who looks younger than the majority of the students in this class, begins to hand out the test materials. He runs up to the board enthusiastically and informs us that we must fill in our name, the date, the subject, and the class period on the Scantron. Right, because I thought I would also take the liberty of filling out my score. Anyway, I begin to fill in the information, beginning with my name. As I fill out the date, I mentally say “Wed-nes-day” while writing “Wednesday.”  I formed that habit back in elementary school, but I just cannot seem to shake it. As I begin to take the test, and look around at the shocked and defeated faces of my classmates (nobody understands the immune system), I begin filling in the Scantron. I feel pretty confident, but I begin getting paranoid when I notice patterns on the multiple choice test, so I fill in a C, since I have not seen one of those in a while. After that train-wreck of an exam, I walk to meet my friends at the lunch table, spotting them from a distance. They all perk up and begin to wave at me and I enthusiastically begin to wave back at them. But, as I approach them, they call out to the person walking slightly behind me. “Oh right, you waved at the person behind me. My bad,” I think as I join them. I open my lunch bag and begin to chat. Stories told at the lunch table are the best! The bell rings and I continue on to my next class (pretty uneventful, like usual). Some of these teachers get off track and tell you stories about their lives, and I just love it! But, it just annoys me that they yell when I begin to pack up before the bell rings. Seriously, I don’t care. This class ends in 30 seconds. I will pack up. Once I survive English class and the day ends, I head to my job at Math Monkey. I generally enjoy the students, but some of the parents hover and obsess over their children so much, they should just leash them so they will never leave their sight. I may appear biased though, since I find it so entertaining when people have their kids on those monkey leashes. I return home, eat dinner, and finish my homework. As I begin to prepare for bed, I check behind the shower curtain for murderers when I go into the bathroom, and finding none, I brush my teeth and go to bed. But not before reading through the pages I liked on Facebook in Middle School and regretting my choices. Although, who would actually look at those, anyway? 

Musings from the Best Western

Writing live from the Best Western “Envy” Hotel in Baltimore. Future classmates, I may in fact meet some of you today at an admitted student’s day. So, I would like to inform you that certain aspects of this sub-par hotel room do reflect my character. As I sit here, on my bed, I face the closet which has a cracked mirror on its doors. Like this mirror, I do have flaws—I may overreact, I may appear uptight—as everyone does. Some try to hide their flaws from others, but I acknowledge them, just as the Best Western does not cover the cracks in the mirror, so others may fully understand my character and accept me, not just a façade of perfection. But, if flaws fear you, you could always hide behind the bathroom door in this hotel room, which has four locks and could serve as the vault door in a bank. An admitted introvert, I enjoy solitude, and may close myself off from others. Therefore, if I do not wish to share my feelings or if I spend a lot of time alone, you should not take this as an insult. But, as I often need to remind myself in English class, introversion does not excuse me from participation in class and sharing, and I will continue to try to improve myself in this aspect over the next four years. On another note, the lighting in this hotel room simply intrigues me, especially as I tried to sleep last night. The main light flashed like a strobe-light all night (not an exaggeration). The other light fixture flashed different colors of the rainbow. Like the main light, my synapses fire constantly, and I love to learn. I understand and acknowledge that many of you will dominate me in intelligence, but I too, love learning and will work incredibly hard at college. Do not count me out. Similar to the rainbow light fixture, I accept different nationalities and cultures and respect them. College will open my eyes and introduce me to many new, diverse students, and I look forward to learning from those who do not come from the same background as I. Now, let me acknowledge one last aspect of this reduced-rate room: the bus stop in front of the hotel that the lady at the front desk reminded us “was the city’s fault, not the Best Western’s.” I love to see new places and travel, as does the bus, as it made a stop below our window about every half-hour through the night.  If you live in an interesting place, I will join you for Spring Break visits to your home. After reading this, you may ask me why my family willingly booked and signed up for the strobe-lights, rainbow light fixtures, cracked mirrors, and vault doors at the “Envy” hotel. Well, it cost $80 a night for AAA members, and we refuse to spend money. No need to envy that. 

Carry on

Dear Reader,

As I shared on the board with my English students the other day, dealing with men proves the most aggravating for our gender. So, I have simple advice to share with you: move on. You should respect your boyfriend’s desires because, honestly, would you like to trap him in a relationship? Though his decision may trouble you now, imagine the heartbreak if you continue to invest yourself in the relationship while your partner does not. Move on. Cut your losses. Women face this trouble every day; some face adversities much greater than boyfriend troubles. So, I recommend to you what I recommend to my students who receive low rubric scores on essays. Embrace this less-than-ideal situation as an opportunity to grow. Do not begin to spiral into the abyss of despair. Just imagine the opportunities of your new-found freedom! You could focus more on work. You could form a book club. You could even take pen to paper and write about it; the best books often stem from deep emotions like heartbreak. Eventually, you could meet someone new, someone much better for you, who will respect you and your resilience. So, do not mope and try to avoid the conflict. Do not sit around complaining, crying, wishing for your situation to change. You cannot control others’ desires, try as you might. However, you do have the power to react well and to learn from your experiences. In short, all women struggle to deal with men. So, stop complaining, you sound like my teenage students. In time, they recover from a failing essay grade and learn from it (see my AP passage rates), and so can you.      

Sincerely,

Ms. Serensky 

Nursery University

I sat on the couch, flipping through Netflix, as the four-year-old I babysat came into the room and complained that he could not sleep. Sighing, I told him to lie down on the couch, but to close his eyes and try to fall asleep. “What movie could put a child to sleep?” I questioned myself as I settled on a Frontline documentary on Chinese adoption. He fell asleep within ten minutes. Once it ended, I continued to flip through Netflix and discovered what has since become one of my favorite movies: "Nursery University." This documentary on the insane nursery school admissions process in New York City intrigues me and concerns me. The filmmakers follow a few families through the process: a Harlem family, an IVY League couple from the West Village, and an interracial, affluent, and sarcastic Upper East Side couple. As the title suggests, applying to these nursery schools causes the same level of stress as applying to college, which makes the movie extremely relatable for me. I too face the same fears as the couples when they explain their “Pipe-Line to the IVIES” theory: that the best nursery schools lead to the best kindergartens, which lead to the best primary schools, which lead to the best high schools, which will inevitably secure a child an acceptance to Harvard. Though I did not attend an exclusive nursery school, throughout the college process, I too must take into account which college degrees will lead to more job opportunities for me in the future. Though these ambitious parents worry about securing their children spots at Harvard, they too consider job opportunities. As they scribble notes down at admission counseling sessions, they often ask how going to a certain school will help their children secure high-paying careers. I laughed as the admissions counselors indulge these parents, explaining that such a nursery school education will help the child develop skills that will help him/her prosper in future careers, such as a stock broker, Pulitzer Prize winning novelist, or the president. I would hope so, for $20,000 a year for a two-year-old. As I observed such scenes, they reminded me of my parents at college admissions sessions, how they would quiz the admissions counselor and would then obnoxiously talk me up after the session. Seeing other parents compete for admission into nursery schools made me realize how normally my parents act (relatively, of course!) and made me grateful for the simplicity of the preschool admission process in Chagrin. Once I finished the documentary, I called my parents, who lived in New York for many years, and told them about the film. On the other line, my mother scoffed: “Don’t laugh, Meghan! That process is so stressful, and it could have been us!” Yes, it might have. But instead, I now attempt to reach the Ivies without ever traveling down the “Pipe-Line.” I wonder to myself whether this theory has any validity. Maybe in New York City; but it only seems plausible there.  Although I may joke about these parents, I know that if I lived in New York and had a child,  I would surely buy in to it. I can almost imagine myself sitting in a preschool admission session, viscously scribbling down notes as I look around and eye my competition. I, like the parents in the film, would go to great lengths as I agree with the filmmakers’ message, a quote which interviewees stress repeatedly: “There is nothing more important than your child’s education.”        

Sick as a Dog

The slobbery hound walked up to me in the park today

His owner tried to control him, but alas, he would not stay.

He jumped up and panted, his vile breath tickled my face

Then he promptly licked my lips, and dragged his owner on a chase.

I watched the dog run away and sniff another’s tail

I watched as he mouthed a decaying squirrel on the trail.

Of course, he stopped to lick himself and to eat some waste

Balking in disgust, I wished the memory would erase.

I have often heard people say that the dog’s mouth appears quite clean

Yes, the cleanest, I repeated, trying to forget what I had seen.

Most dog owners, like me, have experienced a time in which their dog has lovingly licked their face. Of course, once the dog has walked away, I often find myself considering all of the disgusting dead animals, garbage, etc. that a dog encounters and consumes on a daily basis. These thoughts often cause me discomfort and disgust, reactions I express in the poem. For example, the appalled speaker notes the dog’s “vile breath” and consumption of “waste” (3, 7). The negative connotations of “waste” and “vile” directly characterize the disgusting nature of a dog’s mouth, arousing disgust and discomfort. Furthermore, the speaker observes the hound as it mouths “a decaying squirrel” (6). The revolting diction of “decaying” evokes pathos and appeals to the repulsion of dog owners, who ignore the reality of their dogs’ hygiene.  In the end, I refer to the cliche that the dog’s mouth proves its cleanest part (9). This statement juxtaposes the previous revolting characterizations of the dog’s mouth and thus creates irony.  Though I do not challenge the science and statistics behind this claim, as I watched my Springer Spaniels drag a dying baby rabbit to the porch last month, I wondered about the cleanliness of their mouths. Overall, I do not advocate ignoring a dog’s love, but I do encourage humans to acknowledge what their dogs eat—anything and everything.  

Compulsive Line Leader

Dear Meghan ‘06,

Do you remember two years ago, in 4^th grade, when you had an obsession with leading the line? Every day, you would try to finish your work fifteen minutes early so you could clean up and stand by the door and wait for people to line up behind you. The teacher punished you, in the end, and made you the official line ender. Of course, you never accepted the job—you cut past the rest of the students and walked at the front of the line. I roll my eyes when I think about all the time I spent and wasted waiting at the door just to lead the line. Sadly, this childish behavior sparked an unfortunate trend and inspired an obsession which still afflicts me today. Admittedly, I tend to compete when it comes to academics. In my defense, in what other area can I compete? My fifth grade art teacher gave me my first C as I glued “sloppily”, so goodbye art! I dry-heave on mile runs, so I have eliminated athletics. So, I focus my time and energy on my coursework and checking off elements of the mental list of awards competitive academics “should” win. And now, after four years of high school, I have achieved much of what I have wanted to achieve, but I still feel unfulfilled. Maybe I feel this way because I have transformed myself into an antisocial workaholic. Maybe I feel this way because the brief glory of an award fades. Or maybe I have lost sight of myself.   Whenever I see someone who has won awards or has scored well on a test, I strive to achieve what that person did. Unfortunately, in the process of trying to mimic another, I lose sight of myself and devalue my own accomplishments. So, Meghan, remember throughout middle school and high school that you have your own talents which will, in time, bring you success. Do not let this desire for success define you and hold you back from forming new friendships and enjoying life. Do not, as you did in 4^th grade, waste away in front of the door for fifteen minutes just to fulfill your desire to lead the line. Spend a little more time on the homework. Study a bit more. Read. Even talk to friends. In time, the teacher will instruct you to clean up and stand at the door. She will turn to you and call you over and ask you to lead the line to the library. Your time has come. Lead that line thirty feet down the hallway with pride.  

Best,

Meghan ‘13

If you're not the lead dog, the view is always the same.