When I think back to when I was little, I always remember my dad trying to keep me and my sisters happy. When I was bored, he’d bring me into the backyard and play catch with me, or do some sort of activity along those lines. I remember when he took me to my first baseball game, and got me this cool mini baseball bat that I really wanted. Whenever I told jokes or tried to be funny, he always laughed, even though half the time it wasn’t really funny at all. As I got older, my mother always said that I had the same sense of humor that my father did, so that made me feel pretty good, because I wanted to be just like him. My father always used to make sure I understood what I was doing in school, especially in math since he was a math teacher a while ago. I still remember the time that my second-grade teacher got mad because my dad taught me multiplication. When all the kids were practicing addition and subtraction, I was practicing multiplication and trying to understand division. Whenever I was nervous when I was younger, my father always tried to cheer me up. When I was scared about going to school on my first day of first grade, he gave me a nickel that he told me was his lucky nickel, and would cheer me up if I got sad. I still have that nickel, along with another lucky charm that my dad gave me. The other charm was a pendant that can be hung from a necklace. It was a small baseball glove with a baseball inside of it, and it’s a little smaller than a mouse ball from the mouse of a computer. One morning at the end of a bad week, he was right there when I woke up. He said, “I have something for you,” and he reached his hand on top of the armoire. He pulled something down and said that one of his relatives gave it to him when he was a little kid. Then he handed me the small pendant and said it would bring me good luck. Joshua and his father When I found out that my dad was diagnosed with Lou Gehrig’s disease, which is really called A.L.S., I was really shocked. I felt that he no longer was going to be able to take care of me, and that I was going to have to take care of him. All I knew about his disease was that it caused the muscles in his body to stop working, muscle by muscle. We could start to tell that the disease was affecting him gradually month by month, the way the doctors said it would. What I remember happening to him first was the loss of his ability to straighten his fingers . Then he started having trouble walking and lifting things, and then as things got worse, he ended up in a wheelchair, almost completely helpless. Even though he was handicapped, he never stopped working. He even got an award from the government for being handicapped, only capable of moving his neck and legs, and still doing just as much work as any other person who had been working for them. People at his work even put a sign up on the door to his office saying “Miraculous Mike.” Over time he kept getting worse; however, he still kept trying to keep the family happy. It seemed to me that he started getting better when he stopped smoking, but I guess I was wrong. When I was at a Thanksgiving party for my mother’s work, my mom got a call. She started crying and I just knew something was wrong with my dad. That night my mom’s best friend Kate drove me and my sisters to the hospital where my dad was. I saw a bunch of people I knew there, and they said my dad was OK. But deep down inside me I knew they would be saying that even if he was on his deathbed, which I had a feeling he was. The next day was the last full day I had with my father, and he died the next night on November 16, 1996. I knew this would cause a total change in my life from the moment I had the feeling it was going to happen. Now I realize how lucky I was to have him for the time that I did, and how I never should have taken him for granted. Now, I can’t believe my ears when I hear someone say they hate their parents. I guess they won’t realize how lucky they are to have them until they actually don’t. joshua Maclean, 13Braintree, Massachusetts
March/April 2001
Rhia’s Renaissance
Rhia thought she was an ordinary girl. From her mousy brown hair to her average height, she was not physically remarkable. Her life was ordinary, too. Every weekday she woke up, went to school, got good grades, came home, and did her homework. When she arrived home one afternoon in March, her mother had a very telling look on her face. This was an ordinary occurrence at this time each year. It was time to choose a camp for this summer. For as long as Rhia could remember, when March came she had to make this stressful and unpleasant decision. While she was at camp, her parents always went on an exotic vacation. She dreaded going to camp; it was never her style. Every year it was the same; her mom would say she found the “perfect” camp. However, camp was only “perfect” for Rhia’s parents, who were able to go on their vacation without worries about their daughter. The door to the cabin opened and in walked her three bunkmates and their counselor, Judy To Rhia, camp was boring, just like the tiresome succession of baby-sitters her parents had employed. Rhia survived each summer without complaint until her mother suggested returning to that camp for another year. Therefore, each March, Rhia’s mother was forced to come up with another “perfect” camp. Rhia shrugged her shoulders and resigned herself to another boring summer. * * * On the twenty-second of June, with their car loaded with gear for a safari in Africa, Rhia’s parents delivered their daughter and her trunk to Camp Renaissance. As they pulled away, Rhia took her first deep breath of the clean New England air. Thank goodness her parents were scheduled to leave from Boston, or Rhia would have been stuck in another hot and muggy camp in the South. Rhia rubbed the slight chill from her arms and proceeded to the camp office to check in. A local teenager helped Rhia move her trunk to her assigned cabin. The cabin was small, with beds for four girls and one for the counselor. No more bunk beds to hit your head on from below or twist your ankle when you jumped off. The cabin was charming, all the beds had quilts, and there were the most unusual flowers on each bedside table. The blossoms were pale purple with pink edges, and so delicate. She smiled as she turned to place her things in a small chest that smelled of wild roses. The sights and smells of this place beckoned her to reexamine how she felt about camp. The door to the cabin opened and in walked her three bunkmates and their counselor, Judy. Margaret was the smallest of the girls, with long, curly red hair and an infectious giggle. The serious-looking blond with glasses was Amy, who didn’t seem so serious when she unpacked her huge stuffed octopus. Then there was Kim, who was glamorous, but kindly began to suggest that she could work wonders with Rhia’s hair. All the girls seemed so different; Rhia had a feeling Camp Renaissance would be a unique experience. After a dinner without bug juice or hot dogs, the girls went to sign up for their activities. Rhia chose some of the usual like swimming, jewelry-making, pottery and canoeing. Most of the other campers had made their final decisions and had gone on to the campfire. As Amy was about to leave, she noticed Rhia was having trouble. Amy sat down next to Rhia and asked if she could help. Rhia’s confusion and inability to decide was foreign to Amy, who was so confident and always knew what to do. She suggested that Rhia take a chance and go for a challenge. Advice taken, Rhia decided to choose something new, different and maybe exciting. She chose photography. The first few days of photography class were spent learning to load film, work the camera and develop pictures. At the end of the first week they were sent off to explore and take pictures. As she wandered around the camp property, the sun beat strongly on her back. The shade beneath the trees seemed so enticing. When Rhia walked through the outer rim of trees and moved farther into the woods, peacefulness fell over her. The sounds of other campers dissolved in the distance. Ten minutes into her forest walk, Rhia could see the edge of a clearing. As she came closer, she was surprised to find a lovely marble statue of a man in the center of the clearing. He looked almost like a god in this tiny piece of heaven. To Rhia, he appeared peaceful and content, as if he knew the magic that permeated this area. She felt that same sense of excitement and hope that she had felt when she first entered her cabin. This sensation made her feel like she belonged here and urged her to move closer. Rhia had to blink and shade her eyes as she stepped out from beneath the trees. The ground below her was as soft as a pillow and she looked down to see a dense, green ground cover. When she looked more closely she could see little stems supporting minute buds. She remembered her mission and pulled out her camera. She focused on the delicate buds and hit the shutter again and again and again. Over and over she adjusted her view, from a wide slice of the ground cover to a close-up of the perfectly posed single bud. From her position behind the viewfinder, all the shots looked like the professional pictures she had seen on gallery walls. Full of anticipation, she rushed back to camp and the darkroom. Rhia missed canoeing and pottery the next day. She spent hours focusing and adjusting the enlarger to print her pictures to her satisfaction. The buds were perfect and seemed to have a mystical power over her. She felt compelled to return to the clearing, but would have to wait
The Day Before Fat Tuesday
Whenever I smell potato leek soup, I drift back to the Mardi Gras dinner, While serving the steaming hot side dish. Instead of hearing the soft music Playing in the background of the cafe I hear the clash of a glass plate falling to the floor And the loud chatter of hundreds of people. And whenever I eat pearl couscous, I’ll wander back to the tables Littered with plastic crawfish and beads. When it’s the day before Fat Tuesday And it’s seventy-degree weather, I’ll think of when we played Truth or Dare in the playground. Wherever I am, I’ll always remember that night, The day before Fat Tuesday. Alice Baumgartner, 12Chicago, Illinois
