|
|
|
|
|
Mattie Maloney
Corning Union High School
Corning
|
|
Dads play a significant role in the lives of their kids, and are a fairly important stitch in the Fabric of Society. I’ve had a number of dads throughout my life, although none of them were my own. I’ve always had to deal with the pain of not having a “real dad,” but it has been my custom to borrow and share father figures from my friends, and among my coaches and teachers. These surrogates have all come and gone, and influenced me in some small way or other, but I will forever be thankful for the guidance, knowledge, guardianship, care, friendship and love that I have received from one of the greatest men I’ve ever met.
Burnley Sutfin worked as a CAT skinner in the Paskenta Mountains since he was 23. The job was remarkably dangerous, but he was good at it and would face 100 dangerous jobs to provide for his family. Every morning, Burnley would fly his old ultralite plane up to the mountains, walk to his truck, drive to his CAT and work all day, then drive back and fly home every night. His ultralite did not have brakes, but after years of experience he could land using his feet to slow him with the precision of a surgeon. After 10 years of this same job, he finally bought a new ultralite. He took off and flew his usual route with no problem, but his world went black when he came close to the ground and brought his feet down to stop. He awoke face down in the dirt, surrounded by the wreck that was his new ultralite. He got to his knees and smiled, feeling perfectly healthy and happy to be alive.
Burnley tried to rise to his feet but fell. He tried again and again kept falling. Confused, he looked down and discovered that both feet were turned the wrong way. Dumbfounded but determined, he began to crawl. The longer he crawled, the more he began to feel the pain searing through his broken ankles up to his shoulders. Exhaustion had almost overcome him and his crawl had become a slow creep when he saw his old truck some 30 yards away. The sight gave him strength. He vigorously crawled to the door, pulled himself in and began using two long sticks to work the clutch, gas, and brake. He made his way down the road, but his heart sunk as the truck stuttered and came to a stop. He cursed himself for not filling his tank the day before. Again he plopped out and again he began to crawl. The pain was unthinkable, yet he knew that if he stopped he would die. Hours later, the excruciating pain ended when two hunters found him and took him down the mountain.
Burnley rolled out of that hospital two weeks later in a shiny, new wheelchair with one leg significantly shorter than the other. He laughed and shook his head when doctors told him it would take months, maybe years, to recover and walk again. Six weeks later, he slowly walked down his driveway in a pair of custom boots that a buddy had made him. They laced clear up to his knees and one boot’s heel was significantly taller than the other. That day he drove up to the Paskenta Mountains, hobbled onto his old CAT and went to work.
Burnley Sutfin is my best friend Vada’s dad. This man packs his two daughters’ lunch everyday, and he also packs mine. He attends every sporting event and ceremony that his daughters participate in, and he also attends mine. He fixes our cars and helps with our homework. He makes us finish whatever we start, no matter how mundane the task. I cannot count the number of lessons he has taught us, but I believe the greatest may be to keep going and never give up, and that, “Pain is temporary. Quitting lasts forever.”
He is one of the best and most respectable men I have met. His perseverance, devotion, and dedication have taught me more than I can put into words. I respect him beyond measure. I feel honored to have a man of his stature to depend on and turn to in my time of need. I strongly believe that Burnley Sutfin is an important stitch in the Fabric of Society, and I am proud to call him “Dad.”
Back >>>
|
|
|
|
Rosa Meza
Arroyo Valley High School
San Bernardino
|
|
Going through life’s obstacles can be excruciating, but these are the experiences that define who we become. Our individual consciousness, feelings and memories are all that pertain to us. They are the essential foundations for our future lives.
“Pain is temporary. Quitting lasts forever.” Lance Armstrong was saying that giving up isn’t the answer, even if that’s what we feel like doing. We see pain and suffering all around us. It’s important to make the right choices, of course, but that doesn’t always happen. Many people seek an easy escape, but wind up living with regrets, wondering if things might have turned out better if they had just stuck with an earlier challenge.
There has been pain in my life as a participant in sports and other activities. Running three miles in cross-country was no easy task, especially my first time. It would have been easy to stop, but that would have meant being a quitter. Pain throbbing from your feet, sweat scrolling down your body, and thousands of voices screaming all around you are a lot of pressure. Crossing the finish line, win or lose, knowing you did your best and did not quit, is a bigger reward. You might have some blisters, but the pain goes away with a leg massage and a bag of ice. Quitting, on the other hand, sticks with you like a piece of gum. Each time you quit, it stretches and becomes stickier, enveloping you in your own cocoon of misery and weakness.
A person is more than wins and losses. They are also measured by determination to fight hard until they have spent their last drop of strength. Think about this: someone who takes a rocky road and sticks with it is valued more than someone who takes a smooth road but doesn’t make anything out of it. People are finished if they throw themselves into the pool of quitters. After the first “I quit,” a person can get used to it and keep repeating the mistake. Feelings of regret build up that will not be washed away easily.
My own pain has taught me not to be afraid of failure. You only fail when you don’t try. I consider myself more fortunate than many to have learned and experienced the value of hard work, the fruits of perseverance, and the faith in myself to endure and succeed. And that’s exactly where I think Armstrong was heading.
Back >>>
|
|
|
|
Sheta Chatterjee
San Dieguito Academy
Encinitas
|
|
I had a goal and was working intensely to finish a project. I had implemented my first technology, allowing people to control their lights and electrical devices at home through their cell phones. I had already accomplished a large part of it, and had taken it to the science fair, where it was recognized by the U.S. Air Force and many other organizations. Little did I know that was all about to end.
The inspiration for my project was making my grandfather proud. He suffered from Parkinson’s disease for more than 20 years, but his eyes lit up whenever I told him about my project. I remember his excitement when I said my invention could cut energy use by more than 15% per household if it was further developed. He was curious to know if it would work in India, where power outages have knocked out hospital equipment and caused fatalities.
Two years later, a failed medical machine led to my grandfather’s death. He was in India and holding onto life, but the power was frequently out. I remember his eyes rolling back, people screaming and me running for the generator. I poured in gasoline and pulled the starter cord, but the outages began coming more often and, before I knew it, he was gone. I was haunted by the fact that his life was taken away by the scarcity of energy – the very problem he hoped I would help solve.
I felt guilty and devastated. My grandfather, who inspired and loved me, was gone for eternity. All those little moments we shared became obsolete; nothing new could be added to my memories. My heart was bleeding, but people never seemed to care when I tried to tell them how much pain I felt. After I stopped working, my mentors called continuously to ask me to finish my project, but I couldn’t. I had missed three weeks of school to be with him, remaining in India through his last week of life and funeral. I was falling behind; responsibility was overwhelming me. I just wanted time to stop. I could not move forward because my only inspiration had disappeared.
As the pain eased, I realized that I was heading down the wrong path. The pain was only temporary. If I had quit without giving myself another chance, regret and guilt would have taken over. After my grandfather’s passing, I realized that I had to work harder because his dream of alleviating suffering rested in me. That was when I discovered that technology isn’t just a method to flip through television channels; it is desperately needed products that give others a chance that my grandfather never had.
I took my invention to the second stage, a method for individuals to configure all their electrical devices into a financial budget, saving money and energy. My idea: users can visit a website and view live graphs displaying how much energy their home appliances are using. By entering a dollar figure with a cell phone or other wireless device, they can set limits on their appliances.
Each household has appliances that consume energy, and each appliance has its relative importance. A life-support machine, for example, has a higher priority than a table lamp. I compiled energy usage statistics of families and operating ranges of appliances, then computed the power budget of each appliance so total usage conformed to the user’s defined budget.
In 2009, I submitted a plan based on this idea to a statewide competition and received a grant from Southwestern College. Since then, I submitted a patent application that was expedited by the patent office as part of the community’s first 3,000 green technologies in the nation.
Armstrong’s observation that pain is temporary, but quitting lasts forever appealed to me. I realized I had to transform my pain into something positive. The fight ends when you give up, not when you have a setback. Because I did not quit, I was able to carry my invention forward, file my first patent, and show the world that technology can prevent others from suffering like my grandfather did. After the pain, I became ten times stronger and ready to face the world without fear.
Back >>>
|
|
|
|
Lorenzo Thompson
Mission High School
San Francisco
|
|
I never really thought one event could change my life. I transferred from a private school, S.R. Martin, to a public school, Mission High, to play sports. At that time, sports were my life, and I was playing basketball and football and running track. Coming to Mission, I held my head high and my self-confidence was through the roof. Some people called me cocky, others called me arrogant, but I paid no attention to any of them. All I knew was that sports were my chance to go to college, and I wasn’t going to be stopped.
In tenth grade, I was playing varsity football and junior varsity basketball, and everything seemed to be going well. I always had a sharp pain in my knee, but I thought it was normal. I kept icing it and taking ibuprofen to ease the pain, but when track season began I found out I had torn my lateral meniscus. I dropped out of track mid-year and on May 16, 2008, the doctors at U.C. San Francisco Medical Center first operated on my knee. I thought I was going to die, but my worst fear was that I would die before the world knew who I was. I woke from surgery with a mindset that I needed to train harder and recover – fast. Shortly after my surgery I began eight weeks of rehab, and as soon as I was done with that, I began to play in some pickup basketball games.
Through the Athletic Scholarship Advancement Program at Mission High, I was accepted to the Wallis Annenberg Scholarship Program at the University of Southern California during the summer. I attended USC for a month and studied writing skills for the college-bound student. I was also playing on my knee, and as I started to get back into my flow, I hoped everything would be all right. In the back of my head, though, I knew my knee was still messed up and that I shouldn’t be playing on it. When school started again, my knee felt like it did before I had surgery. I found out I needed a second surgery and, even worse, I wasn’t allowed to play on the football or basketball teams. If I didn’t rest my knee, the doctor warned, I might never play again.
My arrogance became bitterness, my cockiness turned into ugliness, and my pain began to accumulate in abundance. I gave up on the idea of going to college. I stopped training and I let my grades slide. I was still in a dark place as my second surgery approached. Lying there in the hospital bed on Dec. 14, 2008, I started thinking how I was affecting my mother, father, cousins, and myself. I prayed just before going into surgery and asked God for another chance to make things right. When I awoke from my surgery I began to cry. The doctor and my mother began asking me why I was crying and if I needed more painkillers. I told them I was crying because I was happy to be alive, and that I could come away from this surgery bettering myself. I had a second chance.
I knew that I had to make things right and began to take charge of my life by studying, doing my regular work, making up work, and having a positive attitude. I spent a lot of my time studying and helping anyone who needed help. Looking back, I have changed for the better. I caught up on the physical aspect of my surgery and, with proper guidance, found that this surgery was a blessing in disguise. Overcoming physical problems taught me that hard work pays off, and I know that college is filled with difficult challenges.
Back >>>
|
|
|
|
Juli Sorenson
Grossmont High School
El Cajon
|
|
I suspect that equine-inspired proverbs began circulating as soon as man first swung onto the back of a horse. Age-old sayings implore us not to “look a gift horse in the mouth,” and to “hold your horses” if we want to succeed in life. Winston Churchill once said, “There is something about the outside of a horse that is good for the inside of a man.” One of the most common axioms advises fallen riders to “get right back on the horse.” A related observation notes that, “Riding is the art of keeping the horse between you and the ground.”
This tongue-in-cheek description has become my mantra, my prayer and my supplication to whoever may be listening (including my horse) when I hop into the saddle. After numerous “communication errors” with my horse, I have learned that falling can be painful and embarrassing, but those mishaps have taught me my most valuable lessons as an equestrian.
I have been a great aficionado of horses since I was very young, and was allowed to lease my first horse in middle school. I was not the most experienced rider, but was enamored with Brighton, a blood bay Arabian gelding. I reasoned that he would shape me into a more confident equestrian. I was invited to participate in a “fun show” the day my lease began. The first of several classes was a simple walk-trot-canter that started innocently enough and escalated into a catastrophe when Brighton spotted a dog and bucked me off into the dirt.
I was terrified of my horse’s reaction, but quickly remounted and finished the class in fourth place (thanks to a very sympathetic judge). By keeping the ordeal out of mind – and ignoring a bruise spreading outward rapidly from my calf – I worked Brighton through the rest of the classes without incident and earned a blue ribbon. By getting back on the horse after our less-than-graceful beginning, I proved to myself that it is possible to move on through pain and fear to become a better equestrian and person.
Brighton continued to “mentor” me throughout our time together. He showed me how to stop a bolting horse, a lesson I learned after being pitched into a tack shed and metal fence. He taught me how to ride a buck during a tumultuous jumping lesson and how to rate a horse that charges at jumps, a common occurrence with flighty geldings. Those skills are invaluable additions to my riding repertoire, but it was the falls themselves that taught me the most about who I am and what I can overcome. All my bruises, sprains and pains have shown me that how a person copes with setbacks and hardships can be even more important than how they deal with successes.
At best, riding is a glorious, unique sport in which the minds of horse and rider meld into one entity. All too often, however, a miscommunication leaves both rider and mount compromised mentally or physically. There is no limit to what you can accomplish if you are willing to push through the pain and terror that surge through your body after a bad fall.
If I had quit when Brighton threw me during one of our first “communication errors,” I would have never learned how to course a full set of fences, to execute a proper flying lead change, or to perform a correct turn on the haunches. Riding – and falling – have shown me that failures and setbacks can be precisely what we need to succeed and become our best.
Back >>>
|
|
|
|
Brenda Marin
San Fernando High Shool
San Fernando
|
|
Please excuse my daughter for being absent on October 18, 2009.” I wrote that note for myself, not because I was cutting class, but because my mother never had an opportunity to go to school and does not know how to read or write.
I have gone with my mother to countless places where her signature was required. Other people may not give a second thought to signing documents, but she says frankly, “I don’t know how to write.” When I hear that, I feel as if something has gotten stuck in my throat and won’t let me breathe. I force myself not to blink or tears will begin running down my face. I get closer and start telling her how to spell her name, letter by letter, so she can get it on paper. As I was growing up, I saw a cycle that is common in Mexican families. The norm is that girls are supposed to grow up and bear children, and boys are supposed to support their family economically. And we are supposed to apply this pattern to our children and future generations.
My mother’s parents strictly followed the norm and never allowed her to attend school. She suffered very much throughout her life because good jobs all require an education. The only jobs she can get mean long days just to put food on the table. When she gets home I give her soft massages. Her body cannot handle all those hours of hard work anymore. I can see the pain in her eyes because she can only provide us with necessities, but never any luxuries.
My mother tells me she tried to go to school when she was a little girl, but her parents would tell her to get down off the cloud she was on, that school was not for her. Once she enrolled herself in a school without telling her parents, but when they found out they threatened to send her away with an aunt if she did not obey. She never tried again to go to school.
As I walk the halls of San Fernando High School, I hear students complain about their teachers and class work, and say they look forward to never having anything more to do with school for the rest of their lives. They don’t want to continue studying because it seems like school will never end. In reality, this pain is temporary because an education pays off later in life. An education gives people knowledge, which in turn gives them opportunities to discuss ideas, understand others, and live a comfortable life.
Lance Armstrong once said, “Pain is temporary. Quitting lasts forever.” My mother has paid a high price because my grandparents forced her to accept the idea that school was not for girls. Sooner or later, those who quit school today will begin asking themselves, “What if I hadn’t given up?” Avoiding temporary pain caused by teachers and work can have lasting effects. Ask my mother. To this day she still asks herself, “What if I hadn’t let my parents make me quit?”
Back >>>
|
|
|
|
Brandi Hervey
Skyline High School
Oakland
|
|
Pain is temporary. Quitting lasts forever.” My mother never said those exact words, but she has certainly lived by them. In fact, everyone should apply this motto in his or her life. Many people get demoralized and give up when they face a difficult situation. Giving up is an easy decision to make, but it’s never the best decision. My mother’s success in fighting the pain of Oakland’s cruel violence is an example for all of us when we think about giving up. As I tell you about her life, the truth of Armstrong’s quotation will become more apparent.
Roxanne M. Bender embodies power. She was only three weeks pregnant with me when my father was shot and killed on Oct. 1, 1991. She felt the pain and knew how difficult it would be for her to raise a child as a single mother without a college degree, high school diploma or even a GED. Yet she chose to raise her child instead of opting to abort me.
Roxanne faced plenty of early challenges. She scrambled to prepare for the arrival of her baby. She didn’t know how she would get money, but her faith kept her strong. She did not quit. Brandi M. Hervey was born nine months later, on June 7, 1992. My mother began working part-time to pay the expenses of a child and, after graduating from nursing college, worked at the local Native American Health Center. Our financial situation started falling into place; we moved into our own apartment and raising me became easier.
Roxanne created a non-profit organization to raise awareness of gun violence and how it had caused single mothers in Oakland to suffer. Women With A Dream began to grow and became a focus for their resolve. The Oakland Tribune published an article about the death of my father, my mother’s experience, and her non-profit. Oakland has always been considered a tough city, but the group was finally getting single mothers some justice.
Our economic problems returned when the health center closed and my mom was laid off. She returned to school and earned a Master’s certificate in Web Design in 18 months. She received government help until she could get her new business off the ground.
I was getting older and my high school graduation was getting closer. Roxanne was determined to be an even better role model and began working on her GED. My mother has been a great fill-in for a father. She taught me right from wrong, made me independent at a young age, and shaped me into the lady I am. By starting a non-profit, becoming a certified web designer, and earning that GED, she gave me the strength to stay strong in school, graduate, and go on to college.
Lance Armstrong and Roxanne should meet. They have a great deal to share. My mother doesn’t race bicycles and hasn’t fought a disease that could cause such pain that she would embrace death. Her pain was caused by street violence and “enflamed” by financial and career trouble, but she never even thought of quitting. My mother achieved in life. She achieved me.
Back >>>
|
|
|
|
Matthew Plummer
Grossmont High School
El Cajon
|
|
Lance Armstrong’s famous quote, “Pain is temporary. Quitting lasts forever,” is an inspiration for anyone with a dream. It motivates athletes, entrepreneurs, students and other people confronting obstacles in pursuit of their goals, and celebrates the tenacity that we so admire in our heroes. Whether it’s “The Little Engine That Could,” Rocky Balboa or Armstrong himself, we Americans love somebody that can keep chugging, take a punch, or get back on the bike and become the champion.
Sometimes, however, people find themselves thrust into extraordinary situations that aren’t born of great ambition or lofty goals, horrific situations they never sought and would never have chosen. For these people, simply continuing to put one foot in front of the other is a daily act of courage or faith, and is something to be admired. In rare situations, some people are able to summon the strength to not only continue living, but also to turn their personal tragedy into something noteworthy. These are the true heroes among us. In San Diego, we have two new heroes: Brent and Kelly King.
It is impossible not to know the Kings. Their story has been front-page news since the death of their daughter Chelsea, who went missing one afternoon and was found four days later in a shallow grave. Parents all over the country have shown tremendous sympathy for them, and many – like my own – have wondered aloud how anyone could ever recover, much less display the Kings’ grace and courage in interview after interview.
Yet, there they were: thanking volunteers who searched for Chelsea, speaking at her memorial service, and hugging the thousands of people who showed up to complete the run their daughter started when she was attacked. Brent Kelly told the San Diego Union Tribune it would be easier for his wife and him to “crawl in a hole and curl up in a ball and disappear” but, he added, “It’s not who we are.”
Instead, the Kings created Chelsea’s Light Foundation, a nonprofit dedicated to legislative and educational approaches to prevent sexual predators from harming children. As the first order of business, the foundation has teamed up with State Assemblyman Nathan Fletcher to introduce Assembly Bill 1855, nicknamed Chelsea’s Law. As I write this essay, the Kings and supporters are on the news, having taken a bus from San Diego to the state capitol for a rally in support. It is mind-boggling that they have accomplished all this in the six short weeks since Chelsea disappeared. Their strength and resolve is hard to imagine during a time of such all-consuming grief. For the Kings, however, quitting was not an option, and their pain could never be described as temporary.
Armstrong’s full quote reads, “Pain is temporary. It may last a minute, or an hour, or a day, or a year, but eventually it will subside and something else will take its place. If I quit, however, it lasts forever.” He was talking about how difficult it was for him to return to competition after cancer, and how any goal worth pursuing requires people to dig deeper than they ever thought possible to achieve.
The pain never subsides for families that lose a child, but it is possible for something good to come out of it. In 1995, a 14-year-old gang member, acting on orders from an 18-year-old leader, killed Tariq Khamisa while the 20-year-old was delivering pizza. When his son was killed, Azim Khamisa didn’t seek revenge. Seeing victims on both ends of the gun, the father got busy figuring out how to prevent youth violence, and reached out to the killer’s grandfather to join him in the effort. Together, they created the Tariq Khamisa Foundation, a San Diego-based nonprofit offering violence-prevention curriculum and mentoring services to more than 20,000 students annually.
The message in both tragic situations is that what we do amid adversity, rather than advantage or success, truly defines our character. That is the spirit of Armstrong’s quote. On its surface, it says the path to any goal worth achieving is littered with roadblocks and setbacks. Persevering in spite of them is not only how we succeed, but also how we learn and grow. The lesson from the King and Khamisa families’ actions is that our greatest achievements may not come from situations we plan, but from those that are thrust upon us, even the unimaginably painful ones. In these cases, it is not a simple matter of keeping one’s “eyes on the prize,” but seeing the opportunities to transcend. American author Napoleon Hill wrote, “Every adversity, every failure, every heartache, carries with it the seed of an equal or greater benefit.” That is the lesson I take away from the example set by these two families.
Back >>>
|
|
|
|
Ana Tapia
Fowler High School
Fowler
|
|
I was born and raised for six years in one of the most undeveloped and rundown pueblos in Mexico. I grew up with the idea that education is just a luxury, and the only goal I was expected to have was to get married and raise a family. But once I arrived in the United States, I became aware of how much getting an education can benefit a person. I have received many opportunities in my new country, but it is still very difficult to see how my parents must live paycheck to paycheck to keep a decent amount of food on the table for themselves and their three children. I see how sad their faces become when they cannot help me with my homework because they do not know enough English. I see how tired and dirty they are when they come home from working in the fields on a long, hot summer day or in a packinghouse on a long, freezing winter day. I have lived in a 2-bedroom, 1-bath mobile home since I arrived from Mexico 11 years ago because my parents cannot afford anything bigger.
Coming from a low-income family can prevent a person from continuing their education and pursuing a career. Every college student comprehends that college expenses add up. If parents cannot support their child, the student must work to pay for their books and all the other bills that accumulate. Attending college and working can become very stressful and, in the end, many students would rather work because they feel they cannot get anywhere without money. Neither of my parents finished elementary school because they had to work as children and, later, to support their own children and provide for our education.
Seeing my parents suffer this way has motivated me to aim higher and continue my education. I plan to get a Master’s degree as a Registered Dietician, which will allow me to achieve a prosperous life without undergoing the same hardships as my parents. I also want to prove that anything is possible for people who come from a humble background and whose parents did not receive the best education. I want them to recognize that they do not need to conform and be sentenced to a life in poverty. Anyone can get ahead and that is exactly what I want to do. I do not want to be just another student who did not finish college because she did not have enough money. I want my family to know that all their struggles and hard work paid off. I want to make them proud to have a daughter who succeeded, not because she has money, but because she pursued her dream.
Lance Armstrong states, “Pain is temporary. Quitting lasts forever.” I have also faced some adversities in life, but that wasn’t a reason to quit. My hardships will eventually become memories and inspirations to help others in need. I did not grow up with strong role models for academic success, but I have achieved a solid and substantial academic record. Being one of 24 candidates selected from 314 applicants – and the only one from the Central Valley – for Stanford’s Medical Youth Science residential program in 2009 speaks to my determination and initiative. Great opportunities like this to continue my studies do not present themselves every day. I will not quit, no matter how many sacrifices the program requires of me.
Back >>>
|
|
|
|
Hannah McNeil
San Rafael High School
San Rafael
|
|
Last year, I joined Youth for Youth, a local Big Brothers/Big Sisters program. I was asked whether I wanted to be matched with a boy or a girl, and replied, “I’m up for anything.” In about a month I began to question my reply. Before meeting Tommy, I was given some confidential information to help me understand his needs. My “Little” was dealing with big problems that go beyond anything I could have imagined, but I thought I was up for the challenge and soon I was going to Highland Elementary School every Friday afternoon.
I was told that Tommy would be difficult to connect with, but I had worked with children the previous four summers and felt that one of my strong points was an ability to connect. I tried for months with no success. Tommy attended art club after school, so I spent most of my time sitting with him and his friends, talking about school and his interests. His answers, when I was lucky enough to get an answer, were short and to the point. Often he just shrugged his shoulders to my many questions. It was evident that Tommy surrounded himself with barriers, blocking the outside world from hurting him.
Every Friday, I would go home frustrated by my inability to connect with Tommy. I wanted to support him and make an impact on his life, but I was not making progress. The Youth for Youth program ended in May and I was glad to take a break. I looked forward to starting fresh in the fall, but very little had changed in September when I came back to Highland Elementary. Tommy was still distant and uninterested in spending time with me. I saw other “Bigs” spending time with their “Littles,” and I envied the bonds they had built. More importantly, I wanted to show Tommy that I could be a constant and positive person in his life.
Despite my frustrations, I am glad I did not give up on Youth for Youth. I still spend most Friday afternoons following Tommy around, trying to spark a conversation and hoping my little brother will suddenly gain interest in me. I have not had a lot of luck, but little moments of progress keep me going. One recent afternoon I had spent about an hour sitting with him in video games club. There had been very little conversation between us, and I was a little relieved to look at the clock and see that only 15 minutes remained. As Tommy and I walked toward the bus line, one of his friends passed us a soccer ball and we started playing one-on-one for about 10 minutes. Once, when I looked up from the ball for a second, I saw him smiling and laughing, genuinely enjoying the time he was spending with me. Our soccer game only lasted a few minutes, but they were the most enjoyable few minutes I have spent at Highland Elementary.
Tommy is still distant. He still does not give a huge smile when he sees me walk into school, but I am happy with the progress we have made together. It is hard to handle some of the frustrating experiences at Big Brothers/Big Sisters, but it is worth the pain to see my “Little” smiling when we have a moment of connection, even if it only lasts a short time.
Back >>>
|
|
|
|
Monica Hernandez
Hawthorne High School
Hawthorne
|
|
You should read this book. It’s helpful,” said my friend Katie as we were scanning the aisles of Borders on a warm summer afternoon in 2007.
“Helpful?” I wondered. “What’s it about?”
Her smile widened as she handed me the book, making me both curious and anxious. “Just read it,” she replied.
I grabbed the book and stared at the cover: Ultramarathon Man. I fixed my eyes on the man on the cover and was just about to ask another question when she suddenly snatched the book out of my hand and headed straight toward the register. She was on a mission of sorts. I later learned it was a mission to get me to run as much as she did. This was the book she read before cross-country races. For weeks we had been discussing whether I would join the team that fall. I couldn’t picture myself running and didn’t feel fit enough to try it. Oddly enough, all it took was a book to get me started. I was sucked in and wanted to experience what author Dean Karnazes did as he ran.
For the rest of that summer, I jogged during the week and read the book whenever I wasn’t feeling motivated. Toward the end of the season, my throat became severely infected and it was difficult to catch my breath. My mom prohibited me from joining the cross-country team so I could recover. My doctor said my tonsils and adenoids had to be removed, but that I needed to wait a few months before that could happen. I was sick throughout sophomore year, but didn’t want to miss classes. I finally had surgery in summer 2008.
After recovery, I began to jog, but much to my dismay I learned that the cross-country team and other athletic activities were eliminated because of state budget cuts. I was distraught! I had put all my effort into preparing for cross-country during my junior year. My hopes to run on a team were renewed when I heard about Students Run Los Angeles (SRLA), an organization dedicated to teaching at-risk students to set high goals, including running in the Los Angeles Marathon. I thought it was a great idea, but feared I wouldn’t be able to achieve something that seemed so extraordinarily difficult. SRLA made me change my mind.
For the next eight months, I trained rigorously for the marathon. After four pairs of running shoes, three visits to the doctor, and burning hundreds of thousands of calories, I was not the same person I once was. I had discovered the marvels of running through SRLA. Before, I never would have thought I could run 26.2 miles without stopping. I refused to quit, despite starting the season with shin splints and suffering from tendonitis the entire season. I set a goal and was determined to reach it, even though others told me to quit and my coach reminded me that I could run the race the following year. I sat in his class, cried and told him I would not be a quitter. I didn’t care about the pain. Armstrong’s quote, “Pain is temporary. Quitting lasts forever,” accurately describes my thoughts throughout Marathon Week.
On the morning of May 25, 2009, I ran through downtown Los Angeles with tens of thousands of other people. I finished the L.A. Marathon for the first, but certainly not the last, time. I experienced grueling pain and was tempted to stop, but I did not want to quit, a decision I would never be able to take back. Today, as I write this essay, I am proud to say that I recently ran and finished the marathon again on March 21, 2010. Pain and running have taught me that I can attain anything as long as I try. Quitting will never get me where I want to be.
Back >>>
|
|
|
|
Kimberly Wong
Burlingame High School
Kimberly
|
|
It took me more than 30 days to decode three pages of dots and lines.
“You have got to be kidding me,” I murmured softly as I gazed at my next piano assignment. Tekla Badarzewska’s “A Maiden’s Prayer” was only three pages long but the styling baffled me. The thought of my small hands playing a 9-octave scale in staccato was laughable, if not absurd. I could not comprehend how I could play this piece without physically elongating my fingers – or borrowing hands more suitable to playing the piano. How could I play a piece that I was incapable of playing? Despite my reservations, I forged ahead.
For “A Maiden’s Prayer,” I practiced each note one at a time, hands separated and together, knowing that I could not rush this vital process. I singled out certain elements, such as the swift triplets, sharp staccatos and melodious arpeggios, and practiced until my patience wore out. The first few tries resulted in horribly off-key chords and disjointed melodies. Even so, the mantra “practice makes perfect” remained glued in my brain. The musical arrangement puzzled me at first, but I gradually improved until I could play the song perfectly by heart.
The piano episode was an especially vivid example of physical attributes posing seemingly insurmountable obstacles. Through unrelenting effort and unwavering commitment, I overcame my disadvantages and established a pattern to conquer any future problem. The microcosm of a problem evolved to help me handle a macrocosm of situations in life.
First, I refocused my perspective from a zoom lens to a micro lens. I learned not to panic over the big picture, but to break larger pieces into more manageable sizes. “A Maiden’s Prayer” seemed impossible to decipher, with its never-ending staccatos and multitude of chords, but practicing each segment on its own greatly improved my understanding of the composition.
Taking one step at a time has become an important part of the method I employ to accomplish tasks. For example, in my architecture class, I found that if I drew the individual elements of my house one at a time, such as walls first and windows second, I could complete my AutoCAD drawing quicker and more efficiently than by drawing them all at once. Small steps may seem insignificant at first, but they accumulate and can produce a larger effect.
The piano, in addition to altering my outlook on life, has helped relieve my fear of failure. I have always been a perfectionist, always striving to be the best. In the past, if I had a difficult test coming up, I would have panic attacks and chills even before sharpening my pencil. When I took my first piano exam administered by the Associated Board of the Royal Schools of Music, I worried about the possibility of failing, and what would happen if I failed. Fortunately, I passed with a good score. But as I was playing one of my three examination pieces, I realized that I could always take the test again until I was satisfied. Likewise, I knew I could practice “A Maiden’s Prayer” until I could play it to my heart’s content.
Music has helped me to no longer be deterred by obstacles that might stand in my way. The world would remain stagnant and history books would be blank if great leaders abandoned their ideas due to possible consequences or setbacks. I might not succeed on my first attempt, but I will put my heart and soul into achieving my goals. I remain committed to my career goal of pursuing architecture and design, even as the recession devastates American households and redefines home ownership as the American Dream. The 5-year program is time consuming and demanding, but no reward ever comes without hard work and perseverance.
The road to the finish line might seem long and bumpy, but navigating the potholes one at a time leads to success. A challenge may appear impossible to overcome, but challenges are not impossibilities. If I can refocus myself, break down each obstacle and look past the pain, I will be nearer to the finish line than if I had given up earlier. Success may be distant, but I know it is out there waiting for me – just like my next 19-page sonata.
Back >>>
|
|
|
|
Jessica Leary
Luther Burbank High School
Sacramento
|
|
One of my greatest sources of inspiration has been my mother. When she was young, my mother made plenty of mistakes. She gave birth to my oldest sister when she was only 14 years old. She would party all night and rob people. And she continued to live an out-of-control lifestyle, even after spending two years in the California Youth Authority. My mother regained custody of my sister when she was in her twenties and moved to Los Angeles. She joined a gang known as the Bloods, and remained a member until she moved to Fresno, where she earned the nickname “Slasher” because she was known for stabbing people.
My mother’s lifestyle didn’t begin to calm down until she had my older sister and me. She stopped partying and seeing random men, and even moved from Fresno to Sacramento. One day I asked what made her change, and she said she did not want us to end up like her.
I recently watched a television show, “Sixteen and Pregnant,” about a couple who gave their baby to an adoptive family because they did not believe they could properly provide for the child. They said that they were too young and that their baby deserved the best. I thought of my mother, who was 14 when she had her first child. My grandmother kicked her out because she felt she had disgraced our family. My mother was not receiving financial aid because she did not know what it was and, to top everything off, she had to raise a child without a father.
Under those circumstances, my mother had every reason to give up her baby, but she didn’t. When I hear the quote “Pain is temporary. Quitting lasts forever,” I think of her pain as she raised three children without a high school degree to qualify for a job good enough to support her family. When I think of the quote “Pain is temporary. Quitting lasts forever,” I think of how she and my sister once lived in a homeless shelter. I think of how she gave up her youth to take care of us, and of the time when we were evicted from our apartment. Those painful moments, however, were only temporary.
Now that my sisters and I are no longer children, my mother can see the results of her sacrifice. Both my sisters are successful, and this year I will be the first person in our family to attend college, the University of California, Merced. In pursuit of my goals, I was elected sergeant in the John F. Kennedy Criminal Justice Academy, completed more than 100 hours of community service, joined the Sacramento Black Chamber of Commerce’s Young Entrepreneur’s Academy, and volunteered to play bass guitar for my church. None of this would be possible if my mother had quit on me.
When I look at my mother now, I see a hard-working woman, not a criminal or party addict. When I look at her, I see myself – not because I look like her, but because I share her strength. When I feel discouraged, I think of the things she has endured and the pain she has faced. I think of the desolate position she was in, and how much she struggled so I could have a better future. Then I think of other women with similar stories, who lost their youth to raise children. Mothers like this remind me of activists fighting for their children’s rights, struggling so that the next generation will not have to endure the situations they did.
The pain that these women faced was momentary, yet the rewards from not quitting will continue forever. And I am a part of that reward.
Back >>>
|
|
|
|
Kevin McAtee
Buena High SChool
Ventura
|
|
Have you ever dedicated your life to one goal, one activity, or one art? Dedication isn’t just spending an eternity of time playing a sport, practicing an instrument, or researching a topic. Dedication is embracing a goal, maturing into an artist, and evolving into a well-rounded athlete.
Have you ever taken a goal to heart and have it grow into who you are as a person? I have. My passion in life is performing music. My flute was the only constant that kept me sane as I faced the obstacles of teenage life. After an unsupportive mom, a drug-ridden brother, parental wars in court and much more, I grew and matured as an artist and a citizen. The prestigious Juilliard School of Music was the “shining city on the hill” I set my sights on throughout high school.
“Pain is temporary. Quitting lasts forever.”
My high school schedule was rigorous and demanding: wake up early for zero period German, trek through a schedule full of rigorous AP classes, head to marching band rehearsal after school, drive home for dinner, do homework. The reward: practice for a couple of hours before going to sleep.
This schedule also rewarded me with many opportunities and, before I knew it, my senior year was here. More than 300 flautists applied for Juilliard and sent in demonstration tapes. I was one of 40 applicants invited to a live audition. I spent more and more time in the practice room, dedicating myself to my goal. The spring auditions came at last and 12 of us advanced to the final audition. Nerve-wracking months passed, and as I waited for their decision I calculated and recalculated my chances of being one of the four to be admitted. And then the letter came: I was rejected.
“Pain is temporary. Quitting lasts forever.”
I was more than crushed. Everything I knew in life was now up for question. Tears blurred my eyes as I ran away. Three hours a day for the past four years, competitions, travel, lessons – it was all for nothing. My shoulders were heavy with the disappointment of all my friends and family. Throughout high school, if someone asked where I would be after graduation, my answer was Juilliard. I planned my whole future around getting into Juilliard. Now that I did not get in, I sat in a pool of my own dark and empty sorrow. Where would I go? What would I do? I had become one of the many rejects. There was no future for me in music anymore. The obvious choice was to give up my dreams and walk away.
Suddenly, something warm and comforting lit up my insides: love from my friends, love from my dad and, most of all, my love and passion. Playing the flute was what I wanted to do with my life and I was determined to not let anything dissuade me from achieving that goal. I would not – could not – give up. That night I practiced.
“Pain is temporary. Quitting lasts forever.”
One week later I was accepted to the world-renowned Manhattan School of Music. I have decided to make my art my life. I will never quit and will persevere through temporary pains. Now I need to figure out how to raise $50,000 to make my dreams a reality. I have picked a goal and worked very hard to achieve it. Lance Armstrong’s quote describes my life perfectly as I fight my way to the top.
Back >>>
|
|
|
|
Kelsey Smith
South Tahoe High School
Fowler
|
|
Lance Armstrong’s quote, “Pain is temporary. Quitting lasts forever,” describes my junior year. I felt like a superhero after winning three state titles in cross country and track, but my feelings changed dramatically as spring became summer. Weakness, depression and pain spread through my body and made me want to curl up in a ball and roll into another world. Running was painful, and I couldn’t concentrate in school. When my doctor said, “Kelsey, I think you have Celiac Sprue disease,” my ambition vanished and pain overwhelmed me.
After months of tear-stained cheeks and being too weak to even blow-dry my hair, at least I knew my true affliction – a genetic intolerance to gluten. My uncle has this same disease, so I know that a simple diet change can make all my problems go away. The pain during this struggle will be temporary, and I know that I cannot quit my quest to deal with my disease.
In the weeks following my diagnosis, banishing gluten from my diet made me feel better physically and emotionally, but the everyday challenge of avoiding it has also given me insight into how pain can shape one’s life. Gluten comes from wheat flour, and I am dismayed to learn that most of my favorite foods – pizza, bread, pasta, cookies – contain it. Dining out requires advance planning, and I must scrutinize food labels for hidden gluten ingredients. I need to bring my own food if there is no store or restaurant with a gluten-free menu when I travel or eat out with friends. Giving up is an attractive alternative, but gluten is to me what kryptonite is to Superman.
No one knew about my affliction. My friends thought they knew a determined runner with nothing to hide. But I was hiding an Achilles’ heel. Sometimes I want to give in to the disease, succumb to the pain, and quit trying to become healthy. When friends noticed my caution around food, rumors spread at school that I had an eating disorder or some other mental condition. I felt like a suspect, and the questioning and suspicious looks of my peers made me feel two feet tall.
Finally, one of my friends asked, “Why aren’t you eating anything?” Now my flaw is out in the open and everyone knows it. I explain that Celiac Sprue disease has caused me to become deficient in nutrients, and how I can no longer eat many typical foods. My friends are dumbfounded by the amount of information I throw at them. My secret identity has been revealed, my kryptonite exposed.
I will deal with my disease for the rest of my life, but the pain I felt for years will never return. Somehow, I found strength I didn’t know existed, and it has helped me to accept and adapt to my diagnosis after enduring dozens of doctor’s visits and medical tests. My friends and family helped me overcome my disease and not quit when I felt the most vulnerable.
I recently won my fourth state title with my family and friends’ help, but as I crossed the finish line I knew it meant more than another championship. It meant never giving in to my pain. Nothing has made me feel more human than my doctor telling me I had Celiac Sprue disease, but nothing has made me feel more like a superhero than conquering my kryptonite.
Back >>>
|
|
|
|
Denise Nguyen
Saddleback High School
Santa Ana
|
|
I saw everyone sprawled on the ground, then jump to their feet. They counted in unison, then dropped to the ground again and did push-ups, sit-ups, mountain-climbers. They did whatever the wrestling coach wanted them to do. One girl was having trouble. Her heart raced and fatigue swept through the room. Her arms pulsated, her legs trembled, and her body shook. “If you want to quit, quit,” the coach yelled. “Either you’re with us or you’re not.”
Suddenly, I thought of my mom. Growing up, my mother was always active. I remember holding her hand as we browsed South Coast Plaza, or being carried around the San Diego Zoo because I was too tired to walk. If she wasn’t working, she was doing something else. My mom hated to be idle.
One day I came home and my dad said, “Mommy’s going to go to the hospital for a bit, so you’re going to stay with your aunt.” I wasn’t sure what was going on, and merrily bounced around as we approached my aunt’s house. I ran upstairs without a care while my dad and aunt talked.
Later, I was told my mom’s kidneys had failed and she needed an operation to insert tubes for dialysis in her body. I didn’t understand. When I saw her, she looked the same. She didn’t look like her kidneys failed. Within months, though, she had changed greatly. She was always irritable and exhausted. Despite her sickness, she had to keep working because she was our breadwinner. When she came home, she had no energy left and would slump into bed.
My mom was working herself to death. For months, she kept getting bacterial infections and going back to the emergency room. As soon as she was released she would go right back to work because our family needed the money. After seven hospital visits in three months, she had completely given up. One night she refused to let me take her to the hospital. “Just let me die, please. Then it won’t hurt and I won’t be a burden.”
I was shocked, but pushed her into the car and drove off to the emergency room. After she was admitted, I sat by her bed and waited for the doctor. She looked up and said, “Denise, why did you make me come? All they’re going to do is give me a shot and send me back. I know I’m dying. I’d rather be at home with you all.” I tried to be strong and blink back my tears. She said, “Every time I go into surgery, I think about you guys and how I must be able to wake up and see you every day.”
When my mom said that my family and I are her last thought before going under the anesthesia, I realized we are her reason for pushing through the physical pain. She hasn’t given up on life, despite her setbacks, because she knows how much it will affect the people around her.
Quitting is never an option. It’s a sign that you have given up on yourself and the people around you. No matter what, you know deep down that there is always a reason to keep moving forward. My mom showed me that pain goes away with time, but if you give up you will always second-guess yourself. I think about this every time I want to roll over and quit.
The girl I saw writhing on the ground in gym refused to quit. Her fatigue ebbed and she pushed herself even harder. With time her body became resilient. She wrestled for three years and ended her senior year as a 2-year varsity starter. I was that girl.
Back >>>
|
|
|
|
Zeve Sanderson
Franklin High School
Los Angeles
|
|
My high school years did not follow the linear path I expected but, in retrospect, I would not change a thing. I am who I am today because of those tumultuous experiences. I never let unfortunate circumstances define my future. Rather, I have found strength in my struggles, strength that now leaves me confident and calm moving into my uncertain college years. This is my story.
During freshman year, I dealt with religious intolerance – anti-Semitism – at an all-boys Catholic school near downtown Los Angeles. Once my Jewish heritage became known, some of my Loyola classmates called me a “kike” and “cheap.” I made some friends, but struggled to keep my religious and personal identity.
As sophomore year approached, it became evident that a change was needed. I transferred to the secular Harvard-Westlake School, but the transition provided no solace. During the second semester, I began to show signs of depression and started seeing a psychologist. This was my first true step toward taking control of my recovery. I took responsibility for my well being by revealing to my parents the extent of my depression and asking for help. I learned that participating in a therapeutic program was helpful, but that no one else could make me well. I would need to do the hard work. Later that semester, I suffered a major depressive episode and my therapist advised me to take five weeks off school. Once I returned, I was able to make up my work and finished the semester with straight As.
As I started my junior year, it became clear that I would again need to step outside the linear path of high school to advance my recovery. My family and I thought it best for me to withdraw from Harvard-Westlake. Soon I was working part-time at a frozen yogurt shop and reading voraciously under my father’s direction. These readings opened up the world for me. I was able to connect my story with those on the printed page. Rilke’s Letters to a Young Poet became like a Bible for me, and Spoken Word introduced me to a more personal form of poetic communication. I also began writing more and finding comfort in the process of self-expression.
Those two months out of school gave me time for introspection and were the true turning point in my recovery. I began attending my local public school – Franklin High – and haven’t looked back since. I found a warm, inspiring environment in the varsity basketball team, which I led to an undefeated league record and was voted All City by the Los Angeles Times. I continue to excel in the classroom and just accepted an offer to attend New York University and play on their basketball team. Three years ago, I could not have imagined the exciting future I now have.
Depression didn’t make me a victim or a passive observer. My struggles gave me a greater understanding of myself. I have learned to not personalize criticism, to make my own goals outside of others’ expectations, and to become reflective rather than reactive. This new freedom to be myself has empowered me to holistically explore who I am. In doing so, one stark reality about my experiences shines through: I never quit.
Back >>>
|
|
|
|
Paula Sainz
Corning Union High School
Corning
|
|
It is human nature to want to get away from things that may cause us pain, but avoiding these things may cause us a great deal of strife later. Lance Armstrong’s quote, “Pain is temporary. Quitting lasts forever,” from his autobiography, Every Second Counts, is a great example. We avoid things that make us uncomfortable because we don’t want to face the situation we have put ourselves into. Dealing with a problem can be intimidating, even frightening, but we must look past the fear and realize that, if we don’t confront the issue, we may regret the decision for the rest of our lives.
I remember my childhood as a carefree and happy time. I didn’t think of choices my parents made that later brought me into this world. I was just a normal kid who laughed and played outside, like the rest of the children. I never thought about how different I was until third grade. One day in homeroom, we were discussing the diversity of families. Each student went up to the blackboard and put a mark in each of the appropriate areas: mother, father, siblings. When it was my turn, I only put one mark on the board. After all, I only had a mother. At the time I didn’t think much of it, but the gravity of the situation hit me after all the others had made their marks on the blackboard. I was the only kid in class who didn’t have both parents or any siblings. Until then, I thought I was just an only-child who lived in a home with her mother and her grandparents.
I wasn’t wrong. I am an ordinary kid. I just happen to have grown up without a father. I’m sad to say that I don’t have a father because he doesn’t want to be in my life. I wish I could say, “He misses me,” but I would probably be wrong. I wish I could say, “He thinks about me,” but if he did, he would have come back. I wish I could say these things for the sake of my mother. I know she worries about what effect not having a father will have on me later, but all I can think about is what effect raising me alone had on her.
I can only imagine how hard it was for her to put her life on hold at 17 to raise me. She put aside her dream of being the first in her family to graduate from college to raise me as a single mother working 10-hour days. She did her best to be both my mother and father and I thank her. I will be eternally grateful to her for not giving up on me, for not terminating her pregnancy, and for not walking away from me like my father did.
Of course, a small part of me always wonders if at some point she regretted bringing me into this world. The answer to that question is always spelled out across her face. All I have to do is look and I know for sure she never has. She has done her best to raise me as an intelligent, well-rounded person but it is up to me to make her proud.
Lance Armstrong knew what he was talking about when he wrote, “Pain is temporary. Quitting lasts forever.” My mom’s pain as a single mother will never compare to the pain she could have felt if she had given up on me. Who knows how I would have turned out if she had put me up for adoption, or left me with my grandparents and gone off to make her life without me? I can conform to the fact that she didn’t give up on me, even when things were most difficult. She stuck with me, and for that I am proud to call her “Mom.”
Back >>>
|
|
|
|
Anna Tiglao
Pittsburgh High School
Pittsburgh
|
|
People either crumble in the face of adversity or fight back, and when they do start to fight back, they set a positive direction for the rest of their lives. I have never known anyone more deserving of gifts and rewards than Dulce Arroyo. As a young girl living in an unstable environment, Dulce has already beaten all the odds by taking numerous Advanced Placement classes and college-level courses. During the three years I have known her, she has always come across as a fighter and not a victim. She is such a dedicated student that her thirst for education shields her from persistent family problems. She never allowed anything to get in the way of becoming an architect.
Looking back on Dulce’s journey to California Poly San Luis Obispo, I have concluded that she is one of my heroes. Not only did she make academic success look easy, she managed to get involved in school sports and the community. Her actions may have seemed effortless to a bystander, but everyone close to her knew she deserved everything that came her way. Seeing her push through the difficult moments in her life so she could get one step closer to her dream showed me a fierce desire not to quit. She always tried to be the best version of herself, no matter what her situation was.
As I compare my life with Dulce, I realize that quitting is neither an option, nor the solution to my struggles and difficulties. I try not to quit any commitment I make. By allowing myself to “throw in the towel,” I am letting down my peers and myself. Challenges should be welcomed with open arms because they make you a better, stronger person. If I ran away from everything that was difficult in life, I wouldn’t be where I am now – a high achieving Filipina athlete. Being classified as a minority has already given me enough reason to prove the majority wrong and to start fighting back.
Every day, people with greater hardships than mine try to beat the odds. I look around the hospital where I volunteer and see all kinds of people fighting to stay alive. If they quit, it wouldn’t be fair to them or their family members. This is why quitting is the ultimate sign of failure. If I were to quit, I would be making a mockery of those who have had tough childhoods and lives. Dulce has gone through so much at such an early age and still perseveres. For me to give up would be extremely disappointing and, as a result, I am always pushing myself to improve.
Just like Lance Armstrong said, “Pain is temporary. Quitting lasts forever.” People don’t become great just by trying. They must suffer through pain and hardship to be the best. Reaching your dreams and goals becomes even sweeter when you overcome adversity.
Back >>>
|
|
|
|
Breanne Haeger
Grossmont High School
El Cajon
|
|
Look at me: I stand straight without assistance, my skin possesses the pink undertones that prove well being, my lips form a genuine smile, no bald patches spot my head. But I am sick. No moment passes without some awareness of my own pain and fatigue. No step is completed without the urge to cringe in agony. No task is accomplished without giving a little bit of myself in the process. But this is not to say that moments do not pass, that steps are not completed, and that tasks are not accomplished. The world goes on and so do I – slowly.
At the age of 10, after countless shrugged shoulders, multiple hospital visits, and a narrow escape from death, I received longed-for answers. I have Addison’s disease and hypothyroidism. Little did I know that ongoing bouts with these two autoimmune diseases would become a perpetual cycle filled with tears, uncertainty and enlightenment.
Acceptance is not, as I once thought, surrender to the forces that now govern my body. Instead, it is a self-respecting recognition of my own reality. I accept that my body is not as efficient as it once was, but this does not mean that I cannot occasionally push myself physically to mentally attain some sense of normalcy. I tightly grasp at any control I have, and refuse to let my afflictions be an excuse for wallowing in misfortune. I accept that most people cannot fully comprehend my physical and mental transformations, but I refuse to isolate myself from others. Acceptance is the unwavering knowledge that my pain, although undetectable to most, is undeniably present. My illness may be invisible, but my hope is not.
Hope has given me the energy and inspiration to work with the National Adrenal Disease Foundation, starting a nationwide fundraiser for awareness and research. Volunteering for this organization not only confirmed my confidence that great strides can be made in understanding of autoimmune diseases, but also that I can be my own advocate for advancing my health. I am determined to find a medical explanation for my symptoms, and I refuse to let my illness thwart the lofty goals and aspirations I have set for myself. Volunteering for the NADF and caring for patients at the local hospital has helped me focus my career goals on helping children with chronic illnesses. With my unique perspective, I will strive to spread the hope that I have come to cherish to those who face circumstances that seem daunting.
My pain may not be “temporary,” but Lance Armstrong’s deterministic statement is pointedly relevant to my situation. Surrendering to my pain would transform into life-changing consequences that I am not willing to endure. College will be stressful and will, in turn, tax my body. It will challenge my health, and it will be difficult, but I will not crack under the pressure. My life and my potential are too important to allow my diseases to prevail. Quitting is not an option.
The medical challenges I have faced have allowed me to gain invaluable lessons and insight into my true character. My health, although unfortunate, gives me a definite form of individuality that I embrace, and while the strength I feel may not be physical, I feel mentally ready to overcome all struggles that come my way. I am prepared to branch out into the world with the security of mind that no body – even my own – can stand in the way of my future.
Back >>>
|
|
|
|
Angela Muñoz
Bret Harte High School
Angels Camp
|
|
Growing up in a family that wasn’t educated in the United States had its ups and downs. Both of my parents were born in Mexico and only attended elementary school there, but for as long as I can remember, they always made it very clear to my younger siblings and me that education is the key to success. They supported and encouraged me through all my school years and, now that I am moving on to college, I trust they will always support my decisions.
I always enjoyed going to school, learning information and having experiences that will help me later in life. At times, it seemed as if I was trapped and couldn’t continue, but I tried my best and never gave up. My goal was always a higher education, but there was a time early in high school when I thought I could never make my dreams come true. Fortunately, last summer I applied to and was selected for the Chicano Latino Youth Leadership Program. It taught me much about my heritage and the people who played an important role in the Chicano movement during the 1960s. I also learned how Chicanos have made many major contributions to our country, states and communities.
After returning home, I looked back at everything I learned in just one week and realized what an impact the experience had made on my college plans and future goals. Perhaps the most valuable lesson was to never abandon the goals I set for myself. Like Lance Armstrong says, “Pain is temporary. Quitting lasts forever.”
At the Youth Leadership Program, I heard many stories from peer counselors and staff regarding their college education. They told us there is always a way to reach your goals, to never give up, and to always give it your best effort because, with enough motivation and effort, we will eventually become someone in life. They are role models for me because they always focused on their goals and had graduated or were attending college.
The program inspired, encouraged and motivated me in many ways. I found an incredible amount of helpful information on post-secondary education and financial aid. I heard many anecdotes that allowed me to think that, even though Hispanics are still a minority in the United States, we should not consider that an obstacle to our success. I am now confident that I can overcome future challenges because I am more prepared.
When I look back at what I have been through to get where I am today, I can see that pain is temporary, but that my efforts will eventually pay off. Last fall, for example, I spent many stressful hours filling out college applications, but now I feel relieved to see the acceptance letters arrive in the mail. No matter what problems I might face in life, I will always follow my goals and never give up. If I don’t accomplish my plans, at least I will know I endured the pain and tried my best. Quitting is the only choice I would regret later because quitting lasts forever.
Back >>>
|
|
|
|
Maria Medina
Santa Paula High School
Santa Paula
|
|
Lance Armstrong states, “Pain is temporary. Quitting lasts forever.” Pain might last for a few minutes, hours, weeks, months and even years, but it will end. If you quit, however, you might never get a second chance. If you are struggling with a challenge and can stand the pain for however long it might last, the pain will eventually fade and you will be in better shape than you were before. But if you take the easy way out and quit, that action could affect your life forever.
A person should never give up on school. For example, I am under a lot of pressure with colleges, grades and financial aid. I am struggling to keep up, but I know the pain I am going through now will be worth it in the end if it leads to a career that I look forward to each morning, and allows me to earn enough to support my future family. And I know that, if I quit, I would always wonder what my life would have been like if I had endured the pain. I don’t want to ever regret not completing a task.
The second thing a person should never give up on is in a job. Work is really important to survive and support a family. My cousin, for example, did not graduate from high school. Instead of taking the pain while she worked toward a better life, she took the easy way out and it led to more trouble. Now she has a job she does not like and that barely pays enough to support her family, but she cannot quit because she has children to feed. In other words, now she has more pain than she would have had if she hadn’t quit. She will never know if she would have had an easier job that she actually enjoys.
Finally, a person should never give up on himself or herself. You are the most important individual of all. Never quit because someone tells you to or because others are giving up. Be a leader, not a follower. Quitting leads to regrets. Going through pain will make you a stronger individual. Pain also increases the value of what you achieve because of all the effort and sacrifice you personally invested.
In conclusion, if you don’t quit on something that you care about and can take the pain for whatever time you need, the final outcome may be a much better life and time to enjoy it with your family. On the other hand, if you quit you will face more challenges than you wanted or expected.
Back >>>
|
|
|
|
|
|