"Keep America a Christian Nation."

I babysit for three different families, and they all live in the same general direction. I take route 43 up to route 14. To paint a better picture, route 43 is a windy, two-lane, get-stuck-behind-someone-slow-you're-screwed, kind of road. Each time I drive this dreadful road, I see something new and interesting; like a structurally appealing house that I never noticed, roadkill that is bigger than the one last week, or a patio that the Tavern at Twin Lake is building. But, despite all of these new findings, the church on the left hand side caught my eye first. They have a sign near the road that reads, "Keep America a Christian Nation." I have never wanted to spray paint over something more in my life. Each time I pass this sign, I think of some clever, witty remark that I could paint in neon green, over the black that I cover the entire picture in.

Ignorance is something that I have a horrible time dealing with; and to me, that sign is a display of the type of people that enter that church. America is supposed to be a land of diversity, yet each day I am faced with hate toward anyone that "isn't one of our own." What is our own? The man from Georgia that flies the confederate flag and doesn't have any front teeth?

I read in the news today that a Christian group is boycotting GAP for their new commercial that includes all religious holidays. ARE YOU SERIOUS? When I read that, my heart sank and fell onto my purple-striped rug. It boggles my mind that people have the time to protest a corporation for embracing all types of people. Is that very Christian-like?

I am not a very religious person, because I do not necessarily believe in all of the rules that certain religions put into play, but I do strongly believe in the freedom of religion (or lack thereof). Isn't that one of the reasons that America was founded? And now, different religions are scrutinized for disagreeing with the greater populous. I know that I am just a dreamer and I picture a place where all can be accepted, but at the very least it would be nice if people didn't protest other people being accepting.

I hope that the generations to come can make this problem a little less of one, but until then have a Happy and Merry Chrismahanukwanzakah!!

"Nobody wants to live forever, and if they do they're crazy."

(One of the oldest women in the world.)

I never realized how important a living will is until recently. It's a scary thought, death. I don't want to think about getting into a horrific car accident or becoming terminally ill, but it happens to people everyday, and everyday these people's families are left with the difficult decision; "life" or death? It's a hard decision to make for someone, live longer on a feeding tube or die sooner with less pain?

What is the definition of life anyway? Google tells me it is the experience of being alive. So what if you can't experience being alive? Is that life? I've been in the sunshine state of Florida all week, but my Grandpa can't experience anything that the sun has to offer. Instead, he lays on his air mattress (because he has bed sores), gets fed a liquid diet of soup and pudding, mutters a few "me too"s and "bye bye"s, and sleeps. At times he looks comfortable and at others he doesn't. I want so badly to shake him and for him to snap out of it, but I know it can't happen.

He was 6'4" and about as funny as they come. He had a sense of humor like I have never seen on someone 55 and better and had more zeal than I have at 20. He is definitely where I got my fire from because he was always making change around his community. Crossword puzzles were his specialty and his engineer mind was never at rest. He could run circles around me and beat Venus at tennis and Tiger at golf, all the way up until his first stroke.

His feeding tube came out yesterday because he would not have wanted it in the first place. Watching my mom and grandma make that decision was not easy. How do you decide someone else's fate? My grandma was called an executioner by her own son, and that was not easy to hear either. I can't understand why people are so selfish. Life is meant to be lived, not vegetated away. He is a great man and he lived a healthy life. He is remembered by many and has made a lot of change in the world around him. I hope he is comfortable, and that is about all that we can hope at this point.

"Oh Lord, it's hard to be humble, when you're perfect in every way. Every time I look in the mirror, I get better lookin' each day." --A song frequently sang by the man I am proud to call Gramps.

"I don't even know what drugs are"

As I have probably stated before, I babysit. My most long-term family consists of a 5-year-old red-headed little boy, a seven-year old girl that can slip into a 15-year-old mindset, and two wonderfully quirky and accepting parents. I love this family, and their kids I sometimes talk about as if they were my own. I fit in here because there is no judgment being made and whether or not I get drunk on the weekends is never a concern, as long as the little rascals are taken care of.

It was a typical Friday after-school routine: get kids off bus, walk kids up driveway, feed snack, talk about school, and so on. During the "talk about school" portion of the day, Lily pulls out a pretty red ribbon that flaps so beautifully in her hand. She shines it over my way and it reads "Drug free 24/7 365." Lily holds it proudly, then her pride-filled face transfers to a bit of confusion.

"I don't even know what drugs are," She states as she seemingly regrets being so prideful about something she didn't really understand. Then from the background I hear, "They are making you promise not to do drugs when you don't even know what they are?" This statement is coming from the bedroom of the most understanding and accepting mother out there. (Read her blog, and find out for yourself why I think so highly of her... chagrinandbearitall.blogspot.com)

This little exchange of words made me think even more about the drug education system in our schools. Being a future teacher, it bothers me that schools are letting children make these promises that they don't even realize they are making. A drug, according to the true definition is, "any substance that, when absorbed into the body of a living organism, alters normal bodily function." I am wondering what kind of promise the DARE program hopes to get out of 2nd grade children; that they will never drink coffee? eat too much sugar? take the medications their doctors prescribed them? What is it that DARE is looking for?

It is proven that the DARE program is not working and has no affect on whether or not a child is going to use drugs in the future, so why not present the facts? I am not saying that there are not drugs out there that are definitely scary and life-threatening, but instead of using scare tactics, why don't we have a little faith in the children of our nation and tell them the truth. "Just Say No" is not realistic and has proven this throughout the years. Good try Nancy, but the truth is, people are curious, and by not telling them the whole truth it makes them want to experience it and find out for themselves.

Students for Sensible Drug Policy (ssdp.org), takes a "Just Say Know" approach. Why don't we teach about the actual drug, what it does to your body, how much is too much, the addiction level, and so on and so forth. Why don't we get rid of what doesn't work and try something new. Worst case scenario, it'll turn out just like our current DARE program, unsuccessful.

Twilight Zone

I am living in the twilight zone. I don't know the people around me as well as I thought I did, people are changing each day, and the most random happenings have occurred. I am not even sure where to start on all of this, but I'll do my best to make sense of it all.

Roommates: I love them, well at least most of them. They are my family out here and the ones that I know that I can always turn to when times get rough. They have proven to be so much more than my best friends and I think that is why I have become so protective of them. One of the eight of my roommates does not deserve the friendship that my other roommates have to give. I can't stand when people do not take responsibility for their actions and when they can't realize that a simple sorry would have made things better. But that was then, and this is now, and those apologies, and lack there of, have proven to mean nothing. I can't live in the fake bubble of happiness and pretend that I don't get sick to my stomach every time I see her sitting on the couch, because the truth is, I DO. YOU CAN'T TREAT PEOPLE THAT WAY. It angers me when I see my roommates offering to take her out for her birthday and chatting like everything is okay when no apologies have been made. I won't get over this and I think she is finally understanding that. It's time for me to move out and whether or not that is letting her win, that is what will make me happy.

Enough about her, and onto the most recent event in my life... getting hit by a car. In order to explain this crazy string of events, I am going to post a memoir I wrote about it for my Reading class and then I will expand on the ending...

So here it is:

I had a writing assignment due in a week with nothing to write about. When we were assigned this memoir I thought about my particularly boring life and how, even if I tried my very hardest, I would not be able to find anything to write about that would remotely interest anyone. Then, my friend Gwen and I decided to take a walk.

We were walking to my boyfriend’s house to relax before the rest of the week swamped us with homework. Normally, this commute is a four-minute stroll down Lake Street, but this night turned out to be a bit different. As we were crossing over Marvin, I saw headlights coming our way out of my peripheral vision. This seemed normal because cars drive down Lake Street all the time, and considering we were walking parallel, I did not think anything of it. I continued to watch the car come closer noticing a slight shift in direction. Unfortunately, the slight shift in direction turned the car straight for us. At first, I thought I was seeing things because there was no blinker on, but then I remembered Americans’ irresponsible use of the blinker, and reality sunk in. I heard the tires squeal as the black Ford Fusion made eye contact. I remembered thinking, “Here it comes. This isn’t going to feel good.”

Before I could think anything more I heard the steel take Gwen’s legs out from under her. She slid onto the hood with all four limbs pointing to the sky. I have never seen a face look more terrified in my life. I knew it was coming for me next, so I braced myself for impact. The next thing I knew, I was ten feet from the car, purse-less, hatless, and sore. I looked up and saw Gwen, still on the hood, starting to slide off. I noticed a little white light start to shine from the rear of the car, then it hit me; she was trying to run. I could not even fathom hitting two pedestrians and not stopping to see if they were okay, but I had no time to contemplate her character. It was like an innate ability that was with me since birth, “Get the license plate number.” I got off the cold pavement faster than I thought was possible. I started running towards the heartless driver screaming, “No, you are not trying to run away from this.”

That was the only utterance I could manage. I ran faster than an Olympic medalist for just a second, but long enough to comprehend EPT 9491. Despite my horrible vision, I got it. I knew my mom would be proud, considering she is responsible for my innate ability to take down a license plate number.

A man from across the street ran over in disbelief. “I am surprised I’m not coming over here to blood and broken bones,” he states.

I started whispering, “EPT 9491,” out loud because I wanted so badly not to forget it. I found my cell phone on the street in “Emergency Mode,” and without a second thought I dialed 9-1-1. The dispatcher answered and said, “What’s your emergency?”

Unbelieving I stated, “We just got hit by a car.” I was then connected to the Kent Police Department where I told the monotone woman my story. I told her of the heartless driver that sped off in the opposite direction and she assured me that an officer would be there soon.

Gwen, our newfound friend, and myself started re-enacting the events of the accident trying to make sense of it all. Tears started streaming down my face out of shock, anger, and happiness that Gwen was standing next to me. I remember during the accident being fixated on Gwen and trying to make sure that she was okay. The car hit her hard. I then thought about why we were crossing the street and remembered that we were on our way to Chris’s house. I called him to let him know we would be a little late. After another minute, the police officers and Chris and Andrew arrived. We start to recount the accident, explaining the events that took place. It didn’t seem real.

Shortly after, a second police officer came to the scene. Gilliland, a cocky, seasoned, K-9 unit stomped toward us insensitively. We then recounted the events a third time. It got easier to explain with each instance. Gilliland finally spoke, “You know jaywalking is illegal, right?”

I couldn’t believe what I had just heard and started to get even more upset. Gwen, our new friend, and I angrily started to explain that we were innocently in the middle of the crosswalk, in violation of no laws that I was aware of. Because he did not understand what we had already told him, we recounted the events for a fourth time, again becoming easier than the last. He finally understood our story and started to look our ID’s up and down.

As he was staring at mine he asks, “Have you ever been to Europe?”

Not understanding where he was going with this I replied, “Yes, I have.”

Seeming to have ruined his witty remark, he stumbled, “Uhh, oh, well then you should know that in America cars don’t stop for pedestrians like they do in Europe.”

Gilliland became a master at boggling my mind. I regretted calling the police. I just wanted to walk home and forget this ever happened. The first time I had ever called the police for help, and I wanted to make sure I never had to do it again. He assured me that he would try to find the car, but that there was not much that they could do. I still wonder how much he really looked for that car. We wrapped up our statements with the police officers and they got back into their cars. We thanked our witness for getting involved, despite the stigma American’s have in this department.

Then Gwen, Andrew, Chris and I started to walk the path that Gwen and I should have been finished with an hour ago. Still in disbelief, we thought about how much worse the situation could have ended up and started the, “What if we would have done this differently?” questions. About halfway to Chris’s apartment I thought, “This story could remotely interest someone.”

A random twist to a relaxing night and multiple bruised ribs later, I had finally had a life experience that was interesting enough to write my memoir about. I learned that when you can’t think of anything to write about, the world will give you something good.

Basically it ends like this; we know the girl that hit us with her car and took off. My roommates ended up finding the black Ford Fusion a street away from our house and we called the police and let them know. They went over there, and she denied the whole thing until the officer threatened her with taking fingerprints from the car. She finally admitted to "coming into contact" with us, but she said she just brushed up against us and we put our hands on the hood for stability. I was unaware that flying ten feet from a car was considered being brushed up against, but that is beside the point. Gwen and I ended up going down to the police station to press charges because I had to go to the E.R. and get chest x-rays. Now we are in the middle of all of this mess, and to put the cherry on the sundae, the girl that hit us with her car is life-long friends with our next door neighbor who we have become good friends with.

I have learned that nothing comes out as easy as you think it would. It couldn't have been some Jo Shmo that hit us, we couldn't have made it to Chris and Andrew's without a hitch, we couldn't have had the year of our dreams living with our dearest friends, because that would all just be too easy. Becoming an adult comes with the responsibility, life-lessons, and ultimately picking and choosing who you want to stay in contact with throughout the years. It is hard to not forgive, to do what's right, and to be true to yourself. I can't sweat over the little things anymore; I am too busy for that. But, I am also finished with letting people take advantage of me. I can't put myself into a friendship in which I get nothing but horrible things in return. I have come to realize all of this in such a short period of time, but I guess that is just part of growing up.

Clique, Cliquey, Crappy.

I left high school early for two reasons:
1. My mom offered to help pay for more of college
2. I went to the stereotypical American high school and hated the willingness to fit the mold.

When I started my search for the university where I would spend the next four years of my life, I chose Kent because it seemed eclectic, positive, and open-minded. I am a final away from being finished with my second year here, and I have just discovered my theory to be wrong. I have recently realized that high school follows you wherever you go. Not necessarily the building, but the mindset. I have done all the necessary precautions to avoid this unfortunate happening from catching up to me, but it seems that no matter how hard you try, it will find you.

The group that I hang around with is not your typical group. We are all very different, but yet all the same in our principles. Unlike other groups of ten girls, we rarely fight and we all get along. Recently, this has taken a turn for the worse, and considering the last year and a half went off without a hitch, I am unsure of how to handle it. My docile nature tells me to wait it out and see how the summer and fall play into everything. My fear is, if I wait will it get better or worse?

I have grown close to these girls by being randomly thrown into rooms on the same hallway, and I would not have had it any other way. I feel that my friendship with these ladies was random, unplanned, and life-changing. I never had that "group" in high school that I knew I would stay close with throughout college; I felt that college finally gave me the group of girls that I would go on vacations with for the rest of my life, and I am scared to death of losing that.

Things from here can only go one of two ways, up or down. I am preparing for the worst, while hoping for the best and willing to accept anything in between.

A Day of Rememberance.

Today was the 39th anniversary of May 4, 1970. It tends to be a pretty important day around here, but my recent feeling is that it is not important enough. I found out that the marble memorial at the top of the hill is only 7% completed. 7%? Disappointment. I have a lot of pride in my school most of the time, but I feel as though their efforts for May 4th are lacking. I am in no way speaking of the citizens of Kent or the other people that come out each year for the commemoration, but I am speaking solely of the University itself. Next year is the official opening of the May 4th Visitor Center. Forty years later is better than nothing I guess.

Each year on May 4th I think about the abuse of power that took place that day and the four people that were killed as an example of it. It gives me the chills to walk around the candle-lit, individual memorials of where the four students fell. Why weren't more Kent students there to feel this? Disappointment.

As I sat in the commons today watching all of the speakers reflect, I became reminded once again of how important this day should be. The speakers were wonderful and full of emotion. The grass was covered by blankets filled with students, faculty, staff, community members, family members, and those that feel the need to remember May 4th each year. As I looked around, I was satisfied with the number of people that were there, but where were all of the students? Classes were canceled during the hours of the commemoration, so where were all of the students? Kent State University consists of approximately 22,700 students and I'd say about 150 of them, and that is a generous estimate, gathered their blankets and dedicated their time. Disappointment.

After the commemoration, the Kent State Anti-War committee organized a march from the commons to Sheetz, stopping at the ROTC and recruitment buildings. The reason Sheetz was the culminating pit stop is because of their greed that has become apparent in the city of Kent. The corporation already has a store on Maine Street, across from the Acme plaza, and now wants to build another store two miles up the road, smack dab in the middle of downtown Kent. Mind you, Kent's "downtown" is mostly comprised of local businesses, bars, and the river overlook. No place for a corporate giant. In these building plans that Sheetz presented, many zoning laws were being broken, so the city of Kent turned down their proprosal for a second Sheetz in Kent. Instead of taking the loss respectably, they decided to sue the city. This is the reason that we graced Sheetz with our presence. There were about twenty-five of us that made it to the Sheetz parking lot and argued with the Portage County Sheriffs about our right to peacefully assemble, especially when we are paying customers. Again my question seems to be, where was everyone? The city of Kent, citizens and students, all love to go down to the river on a warm summer day to escape the responsibilites of life for just a moment. If Sheetz is able to build, the river will be robbed of its quality and serenity. So why were there only twenty-five people standing in the bays trying to save our small town appeal? Disappointment.

My hope from this blog is that someone will read it and decide to stand up for what they believe in, in honor of May 4, 1970. It saddens me that the people have lost their passion. Nobody fights for anything, if everything is handed to them anyways. People do not care unless it direcly effects themselves. Why is this? Very few people do things out of the goodness of their hearts anymore. What ever happened to looking out for your fellow man? Chivalry is dead. Yet again, another disappointment.


Whose streets? Not Sheetz.

Wakes and Wars.

I am going to a wake today. I know it is selfish, but a bigger part of me does not want to go because I hate seeing people laying there stiff, motionless, and knowing that there is nothing I can say to the family to help them get over their grueling pain. I want to remember his smiles, his happiness, and his incredible demeanor rather than his emotionless face in a cold casket.

It makes it harder to go to someone's wake who is in my age category. You never think about the immediacy of death until you realize that it could be you laying there with just a little twist of fate. It's scary. I have never been one to fear death or think about it regularly, but now I see a 20-year-old boy dead and his family in shambles and I think about how the tables could be turned. I think about my family falling apart at the seams and how I would wish that someone was there to sew them back together.

The rumor as of now is that he was on mushrooms and ran out of his dorm room window. I have been reading all of the on-line news articles, and everyone keeps focusing on the mushrooms, and how they are certain that it was his first time on them because he was such a good kid. My focus is, what is the difference? Whether or not he was on mushrooms at all, for the first time, or for the 80th time, debating the issue does not resurrect him. College kids experiment with drugs, and that does not make anyone less of a person. I feel that our drug policies in America are the cause for deaths like this, because we take a "don't do it, don't talk about it" kind of stance. If we could come to the realization that kids are going to experiment whether or not we give them the go-ahead, we could re-shape our high school drug programs into truth-tactics instead of scare-tactics. If we taught students the real side effects of these drugs and what happens when you take them, kids might be more prepared to handle the experience that they are going to endure either way, and this approach might save thousands. It's frustrating. I am frustrated.