Upon Request
Upon Request I am posting my memoir from my COM class because SOMEONE asked to see a sample of my work. However I had to follow some strict guidelines for certain things so...As I write My 7 page paper you all can enjoy ..or not enjoy:
Yayne Hailu
02/19/05
Com.201
The Age of Innocence
In my precautious, 7-year-old mind, it had been my duty to repair the little things that God forgot to take care of. During his busy schedule, it seemed there were certain things that slipped his mind; a missing lunch box, a group of boys taunting a dog, swing-hogs who over stayed their welcome in the playground. These were all in my domain of “wrongs to set right.” I created a reputation for myself and planned to help mankind one neighborhood at a time. But the day I found out I couldn’t save the world was the day I shattered someone else’s. I guess I had missed the memo; good intentions were just not enough.
That year, I was in Ms. Burger’s second grade class. A tall and ominous woman, she was every juvenile delinquents worst nightmare. Her round 70s-style glasses, and cropped curly hair complemented her tight linear lips, a powerhouse for sharp words. She favored the girls, tormented the boys and gave me free range to execute my mission. Though she wasn’t my favorite, as a fairly “good girl” I had no problems with her, especially since she had the full series of Donald J. Sobol’s Encyclopedia Brown, boy detective books. The central character Encyclopedia Brown was my hero. Though only in 5th grade, to me he was a diligent young man and a genius detective who solved the crimes of his neighborhood. He was clever, looked up to, and most of all very adult-like. I longed to be like him more than anything in the world.
At first I started off with little things like helping Twan, my seat partner, find his glasses, which he had absent-mindedly left on the show-and-tell carpet. Then it moved on to settling disputes between the younger kids over whether the ball grazing a pigtail counted as an out in tetherball.
“ Wait a minute Melissa, you’re cheating!” one girl would scream, “I saw it touch your braid! You’re out! You’re out!” Then the chorus would start up only to die out long enough for the accused to state her argument, “NUH-UH! That doesn’t count! That’s not apart of your body, you’re changing the rules!” By this time a small circle of rowdy children would have formed around the heated girls like a playground version of a bar brawl. This was my cue to push aside the boisterous crowd, and settle it once and for all. “Look Melissa” I would say with my palm in the air and my head cocked to the side, glancing downward at her flushed cheeks like I thought an adult would do, “ do you feel anything when I do this?” Grabbing the ends of one of the long, shiny braids, I would give it a sturdy yank. The yelp from the unsuspecting Melissa would confirm the logic that if you feel it, then it’s a part of your body. The crowd would be satisfied, the game would resume and even Melissa would accept the decision and the sore scalp.
My random acts of “maturity” were mistaken for kindness, and though I meant well, subconsciously I felt superior to these childish issues. Before long, I adopted the title of the problem-solver and there was no stopping my ego. Kids came to me from every grade looking for a little piece of the justice they felt they deserved. And knowing that I was the one to give it to them exhilarated me beyond belief.
That spring, the world was in a frenzy over the Waco siege and the first World Trade Center bombings, but at that age of innocence I had little concern with those things. In fact for a time full of chaos, on the particular day I came up with my ultimate good deed, the weather was splendid. The sky was an ironically clear blue and the strong breeze brought in a lingering feeling of lethargy. My best friend Claireese and I surveyed the playground as we hung upside down like limp strings of spaghetti from the dome shaped jungle gym. Our gaze was focused on Ms. Burger, stuffing pistachio nuts between her non-existent lips and chomping away. “Don’t you think she looks like that weird lady from that movie?” Claireese asked. “No, more like an Ogre” I said. Our debate was interrupted by a shrill screech from across the playground followed by an all too familiar triumphant cackle. Turning our attention towards the direction of the noise, we spotted Rebecca Dawson running over to Ms. Burger with a completely soaked back. Minutes later Ms. Burger was leading a tall, lanky boy into to the building, yelling god-knows-what at his back. He was exaggeratedly dodging the pistachio shells flying out of her mouth like grenades and the chorus of laughter from the other boys only seemed to encourage him. As they passed in front of us, we caught a glimpse of the smirk etched on his face.
Like two Opossums, Claireese and I watched a very distraught Rebecca try to wring out her purple flower print dress. When that proved unsuccessful, she sat on the curb with her back to the sun in hopes of drying it out. But every once in a while, when the breeze picked up, her body shuddered violently. I felt sorry for her. Not because she was the kid everyone picked on. In fact no one paid Rebecca any real attention. She was the girl who blended in. Plain brown hair, plain brown eyes, plain flower-print dresses; she was a classic case of wallflower. What gained my sympathy was that she was always harassed by the worst boy ever, Kevin Victor. Everything about Kevin screamed bully. From his dangly arms and legs to his pencil neck, there was nothing good about him. His hair always looked like a wet porcupine and in the rare event that he was concerned, he wrinkled his nose creating a rouged patch across his freckle-sprinkled cheeks. After witnessing the whole charade, I resolved to myself that once and for all, I was going to put Rebecca out of her misery. I just didn’t know how.
Coincidently that day, on my walk home after school, I ran into Stacey and Christine, classmates of both Rebecca’s and mine. Like any other time, we talked about the events of the day and new gossip we had just found out.
“ Did you know Ms. Burger is entering the class in the talent show in May? Me and Lisa are going to do the poem from Alice in Wonderland,” Stacey boasted.
“ Yeah, me and Claireese are probably going to do something sophisticated,” I responded smugly. But as I was conjuring up the sophisticated talent neither Claireese nor I possessed, I saw Rebecca walking down the next block out of the corner of my eye.
“ Hey do you guys know Rebecca that well?” I said instead.
“ Well sort of,” Stacey replied, “Last year we went to her birthday party and her mom made a really pretty cake with - “
“Yeah but her mom is dead now,” Christina blurted out. Instantly, she regretted it especially because of the glare Stacey gave her.
“What do you mean, what happened?” I was curious now and my “Encyclopedia Brown” instincts told me to pay close attention.
After a moment’s hesitation Stacey explained how the day after Rebecca’s birthday, her mother stepped outside at 6 in the morning, and there, in the middle of the street, put a gun to her head and pulled the trigger. I had heard enough. I knew I finally had my genius plan. With this story, there was no way Kevin could EVER torment Rebecca again. The poor thing had already been through so much. Even the worst of bullies had to have some kind of heart.
All night long I couldn’t sleep, the next morning I couldn’t wait to get to school and all through morning class I was antsy. I had decided that recess would be the best opportunity for my mission. Knowing what I was about to do gave me a sort of elation, as if I was already proud of my achievements. When recess came, I declined Claireese’s offer to eat chocolate Easter eggs by the front gate and instead waited against the wall for Kevin to come out of the building. That day (since it was a special occasion), I had worn my favorite turquoise matching pants and sweater. The sweater had pink ballerina slippers on it and pink butterflies across the chest. I felt very dignified and mature wearing it. When I heard the first bell ring indicating everyone to line up to go back into class, I started getting annoyed. The one day I was looking for filthy Kevin was the day he was nowhere to be seen. At that moment I saw him shoving and pushing a bunch of boys as they approached the line. I quickly pushed past them and pulled him to the back of the line. “Hey! What are you doing?” he exclaimed
“Listen, I have something to tell you,” I said hurriedly before Ms. Burger reached the front of the line. I leaned in close and whispered what I had heard about the heart-wrenching tale of Rebecca’s mother. In my haste, I had forgotten to mention why I had told him this but I figured it shouldn’t matter because any human being would realize the delicacy of this ill fortuned girl and take this information as a reason to leave her alone. I waited for the look of sympathy on his face, but surprisingly he looked back at me blankly. Then to my utter horror, he spun around and yelled at the top of his lungs, in the middle of a rambunctious elementary school playground, “REBECCA’S MOTHER KILLED HERSELF!”
From that moment on I do not remember too much. I remember Rebecca’s stunned face looking from me to Kevin then back at me and Stacey and Christine’s disgusted glares, and a vague recollection of Ms. Burger yelling about how other people’s mothers are none of our business. But what I vividly recollect is that I took refuge in the bathroom for the rest of that day. I stood in front of the mirror looking myself over in that matching turquoise outfit and I remember wanting to rip it apart. I despised it with sheer passion. I felt young and naïve, like Melissa and the rest of the kids my age, not like Encyclopedia Brown. And that’s when it struck me. I was only 7 years old.
Yayne Hailu
02/19/05
Com.201
The Age of Innocence
In my precautious, 7-year-old mind, it had been my duty to repair the little things that God forgot to take care of. During his busy schedule, it seemed there were certain things that slipped his mind; a missing lunch box, a group of boys taunting a dog, swing-hogs who over stayed their welcome in the playground. These were all in my domain of “wrongs to set right.” I created a reputation for myself and planned to help mankind one neighborhood at a time. But the day I found out I couldn’t save the world was the day I shattered someone else’s. I guess I had missed the memo; good intentions were just not enough.
That year, I was in Ms. Burger’s second grade class. A tall and ominous woman, she was every juvenile delinquents worst nightmare. Her round 70s-style glasses, and cropped curly hair complemented her tight linear lips, a powerhouse for sharp words. She favored the girls, tormented the boys and gave me free range to execute my mission. Though she wasn’t my favorite, as a fairly “good girl” I had no problems with her, especially since she had the full series of Donald J. Sobol’s Encyclopedia Brown, boy detective books. The central character Encyclopedia Brown was my hero. Though only in 5th grade, to me he was a diligent young man and a genius detective who solved the crimes of his neighborhood. He was clever, looked up to, and most of all very adult-like. I longed to be like him more than anything in the world.
At first I started off with little things like helping Twan, my seat partner, find his glasses, which he had absent-mindedly left on the show-and-tell carpet. Then it moved on to settling disputes between the younger kids over whether the ball grazing a pigtail counted as an out in tetherball.
“ Wait a minute Melissa, you’re cheating!” one girl would scream, “I saw it touch your braid! You’re out! You’re out!” Then the chorus would start up only to die out long enough for the accused to state her argument, “NUH-UH! That doesn’t count! That’s not apart of your body, you’re changing the rules!” By this time a small circle of rowdy children would have formed around the heated girls like a playground version of a bar brawl. This was my cue to push aside the boisterous crowd, and settle it once and for all. “Look Melissa” I would say with my palm in the air and my head cocked to the side, glancing downward at her flushed cheeks like I thought an adult would do, “ do you feel anything when I do this?” Grabbing the ends of one of the long, shiny braids, I would give it a sturdy yank. The yelp from the unsuspecting Melissa would confirm the logic that if you feel it, then it’s a part of your body. The crowd would be satisfied, the game would resume and even Melissa would accept the decision and the sore scalp.
My random acts of “maturity” were mistaken for kindness, and though I meant well, subconsciously I felt superior to these childish issues. Before long, I adopted the title of the problem-solver and there was no stopping my ego. Kids came to me from every grade looking for a little piece of the justice they felt they deserved. And knowing that I was the one to give it to them exhilarated me beyond belief.
That spring, the world was in a frenzy over the Waco siege and the first World Trade Center bombings, but at that age of innocence I had little concern with those things. In fact for a time full of chaos, on the particular day I came up with my ultimate good deed, the weather was splendid. The sky was an ironically clear blue and the strong breeze brought in a lingering feeling of lethargy. My best friend Claireese and I surveyed the playground as we hung upside down like limp strings of spaghetti from the dome shaped jungle gym. Our gaze was focused on Ms. Burger, stuffing pistachio nuts between her non-existent lips and chomping away. “Don’t you think she looks like that weird lady from that movie?” Claireese asked. “No, more like an Ogre” I said. Our debate was interrupted by a shrill screech from across the playground followed by an all too familiar triumphant cackle. Turning our attention towards the direction of the noise, we spotted Rebecca Dawson running over to Ms. Burger with a completely soaked back. Minutes later Ms. Burger was leading a tall, lanky boy into to the building, yelling god-knows-what at his back. He was exaggeratedly dodging the pistachio shells flying out of her mouth like grenades and the chorus of laughter from the other boys only seemed to encourage him. As they passed in front of us, we caught a glimpse of the smirk etched on his face.
Like two Opossums, Claireese and I watched a very distraught Rebecca try to wring out her purple flower print dress. When that proved unsuccessful, she sat on the curb with her back to the sun in hopes of drying it out. But every once in a while, when the breeze picked up, her body shuddered violently. I felt sorry for her. Not because she was the kid everyone picked on. In fact no one paid Rebecca any real attention. She was the girl who blended in. Plain brown hair, plain brown eyes, plain flower-print dresses; she was a classic case of wallflower. What gained my sympathy was that she was always harassed by the worst boy ever, Kevin Victor. Everything about Kevin screamed bully. From his dangly arms and legs to his pencil neck, there was nothing good about him. His hair always looked like a wet porcupine and in the rare event that he was concerned, he wrinkled his nose creating a rouged patch across his freckle-sprinkled cheeks. After witnessing the whole charade, I resolved to myself that once and for all, I was going to put Rebecca out of her misery. I just didn’t know how.
Coincidently that day, on my walk home after school, I ran into Stacey and Christine, classmates of both Rebecca’s and mine. Like any other time, we talked about the events of the day and new gossip we had just found out.
“ Did you know Ms. Burger is entering the class in the talent show in May? Me and Lisa are going to do the poem from Alice in Wonderland,” Stacey boasted.
“ Yeah, me and Claireese are probably going to do something sophisticated,” I responded smugly. But as I was conjuring up the sophisticated talent neither Claireese nor I possessed, I saw Rebecca walking down the next block out of the corner of my eye.
“ Hey do you guys know Rebecca that well?” I said instead.
“ Well sort of,” Stacey replied, “Last year we went to her birthday party and her mom made a really pretty cake with - “
“Yeah but her mom is dead now,” Christina blurted out. Instantly, she regretted it especially because of the glare Stacey gave her.
“What do you mean, what happened?” I was curious now and my “Encyclopedia Brown” instincts told me to pay close attention.
After a moment’s hesitation Stacey explained how the day after Rebecca’s birthday, her mother stepped outside at 6 in the morning, and there, in the middle of the street, put a gun to her head and pulled the trigger. I had heard enough. I knew I finally had my genius plan. With this story, there was no way Kevin could EVER torment Rebecca again. The poor thing had already been through so much. Even the worst of bullies had to have some kind of heart.
All night long I couldn’t sleep, the next morning I couldn’t wait to get to school and all through morning class I was antsy. I had decided that recess would be the best opportunity for my mission. Knowing what I was about to do gave me a sort of elation, as if I was already proud of my achievements. When recess came, I declined Claireese’s offer to eat chocolate Easter eggs by the front gate and instead waited against the wall for Kevin to come out of the building. That day (since it was a special occasion), I had worn my favorite turquoise matching pants and sweater. The sweater had pink ballerina slippers on it and pink butterflies across the chest. I felt very dignified and mature wearing it. When I heard the first bell ring indicating everyone to line up to go back into class, I started getting annoyed. The one day I was looking for filthy Kevin was the day he was nowhere to be seen. At that moment I saw him shoving and pushing a bunch of boys as they approached the line. I quickly pushed past them and pulled him to the back of the line. “Hey! What are you doing?” he exclaimed
“Listen, I have something to tell you,” I said hurriedly before Ms. Burger reached the front of the line. I leaned in close and whispered what I had heard about the heart-wrenching tale of Rebecca’s mother. In my haste, I had forgotten to mention why I had told him this but I figured it shouldn’t matter because any human being would realize the delicacy of this ill fortuned girl and take this information as a reason to leave her alone. I waited for the look of sympathy on his face, but surprisingly he looked back at me blankly. Then to my utter horror, he spun around and yelled at the top of his lungs, in the middle of a rambunctious elementary school playground, “REBECCA’S MOTHER KILLED HERSELF!”
From that moment on I do not remember too much. I remember Rebecca’s stunned face looking from me to Kevin then back at me and Stacey and Christine’s disgusted glares, and a vague recollection of Ms. Burger yelling about how other people’s mothers are none of our business. But what I vividly recollect is that I took refuge in the bathroom for the rest of that day. I stood in front of the mirror looking myself over in that matching turquoise outfit and I remember wanting to rip it apart. I despised it with sheer passion. I felt young and naïve, like Melissa and the rest of the kids my age, not like Encyclopedia Brown. And that’s when it struck me. I was only 7 years old.