ERIKA GUTE '08
The day I learned the most about my place in the world started as a normal Tuesday. My mother and I were walking through a crowded market in France shortly after the U.S. invasion of Iraq. It was extremely hot and people were pushing and prodding. Someone must have overheard my mother and me speaking English, because suddenly a ball of spit reached out and slapped us. A man called after us, “Stupid Americans!” We were appalled. However, instead of being personally offended, I learned from the experience. I realized that the man’s actions were not directed at me. They were directed at the politics of my government. I thought about the stereotypes of many Americans and from that day forward I tried my best to be a good ambassador of the United States. I have tried, in my small way, to change the stereotype that many have about Americans.
My father is a university professor and part of his job is to be the academic director during the summer at the university’s campus in France. Through this very fortunate circumstance my family has spent a portion of our summers in France for almost as long as I can remember. The town of Menthon St. Bernard is compact and quaint, bordering on claustrophobic. The splendor of Paris is enticing, but my village in the mountains is real. Living in this small town in France has made me want to know and experience more of the world and has shown me the importance of a global perspective. I have realized through my summers spent in Menthon that it is crucial to understand a culture and the perspective of a country. History, for example, is a very important factor. France is an old country. It remembers the wars fought on its soil. Verdun is still scarred from the bombs of World War I. I have walked those undulating fields, and I can understand that when a country has had a gruesome past it would insist on exhausting diplomacy before engaging in war. My time in France has led me to other pursuits. It has motivated me to learn French, of which I now have a fairly good grasp. It has inspired me to pursue a career in International Relations. It has prompted me to start the day with the newspaper. (I should explain a bit more; my family has never owned a television. I begin with a newspaper or radio not only because I have grown to enjoy this habit but also because it is the only option).
Even in Boston, I have participated in many programs and events that support my goal of becoming a part of a more international world. I want to differentiate myself from the typical “footprint” of an American. I want all my choices to reflect my goal. Thus, I have been a member of the Model United Nations for the past four years and am now the President. I am an appointed member of the City of Boston’s Mayor’s Youth Council. Boston is a very diverse, multi-ethnic community. Reflected in the lives of this Youth Council are the real life problems of a major city such as gang violence, drug use and discrimination. I still have much to learn and much to accomplish, but since recognizing my interest in the international world my objective has been to create change wherever I can including my hometown.
It’s true; I am a typical teenager. I stay up all hours and sleep too late, and my room verges on chaos. I believe I have a heightened sense of others’ feelings, and I think this helps me to make others feel comfortable. I am friendly to everyone, but I reserve the word “friend’ for people with who I share similar values and morals. I do not get mad easily and am very patient. I am optimistic and am always laughing at myself.
Eight years ago, I noticed a bracelet with a quote from Gandhi. The bracelet read,
“Be the change you wish to see in the world.” I realized that this was the quote that summed up my then ten years of life. Not only that, but I hoped that it would continue to be the way I approach life. I have kept that bracelet’s message from that day on. My experiences in France have helped me to realize the importance of being a global citizen and living my life according to this challenging objective. Although, this can be sometimes difficult when I get caught up in my “high school” world, I feel most alive when I am globally aware.
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Tuesday, April 15, 2008
College Essay XIV: Erika
Friday, March 14, 2008
Heliconian: PDF of issue and more!
DAN KATZ '08 & The Heliconian Staff
Spring break lends itself to hours of unorganized time, perfect for sitting down with a good poem, book, or perhaps the print issue of The Beaver Reader. We at the Heliconian want you to remember the literary voice at our school, and so we felt it important to provide the PDF of the Heliconian in our little literary corner here. Take a look at the past issue, and look forward to the new issue of the Heliconian this spring.
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The PDF can be found here: https://www.bcdschool.org/ftpimages/40/misc/misc_51007.pdf.
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Spring break also lends itself to ample time to write your own poem or prose. Sit down at your computer, start typing, see what comes out, and send it to us- we might just publish it!
To get those creative juices flowing, take a look at the poem below.
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Introduction To Poetry
Billy Collins
I ask them to take a poem
and hold it up to the light
like a color slide
or press an ear against its hive.
I say drop a mouse into a poem
and watch him probe his way out,
or walk inside the poem's room
and feel the walls for a light switch.
I want them to waterski
across the surface of a poem
waving at the author's name on the shore.
But all they want to do
is tie the poem to a chair with rope
and torture a confession out of it.
They begin beating it with a hose
to find out what it really means.
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Thursday, March 13, 2008
College Essay XIII: Kelly
KELLY KRETSCHMAR '08
Sometimes what is most important in life is revealed in an instant, like a flash of lightning or a moment of truth. Often a significant event, like a wedding or a death, can strongly impact a person. For me, there has not been a single event, but rather a special place that, for five years, has allowed me to grow, learn and share myself in a way that makes me proud. That place is Allandale Farm, where I have found independence and a sense of identity.
Allandale Farm is the only working farm in Boston. It has beautiful fields and greenhouses, which I have grown to appreciate. On the farm, I feel comfortable and needed, both working with counselors and campers in the summer nature program, and as a year-round store employee in the retail greenhouse. Every day at the farm, I have had the opportunity to experience something special and to share my knowledge and personality with others, no matter what age they are.
On one particularly hot morning last summer at Allandale, my four-year-old camper, Sophie, needed my help in catching a frog. Whispering in her ear, I told her that the best way to catch a frog is to pretend that you are a detective. Together we stood on the pond’s bank, so still that the frogs could not sense us. Within a minute, green eyes started to appear on the surface of the water, and I spotted a small frog facing away from us. With Sophie holding on to the net, I moved quickly and swung it over the creature. On tiptoe, Sophie tried to see into the muddy net, and with one small hand, she felt around inside. Suddenly, she smiled brightly and lifted her catch to show me. Moments like that make me happy to be involved with children in a natural farm habitat.
In addition to the summer camp, two years ago, I began a new challenge, spending my summers and weekends in the Allandale retail store as a member of the hardworking and friendly staff. I performed various tasks as a cashier, shelf stocker, display designer, and store opener and closer. Some jobs required me to step outside my comfort zone by interacting with customers of all ages and styles. Gradually, I developed confidence in my ability to communicate with retail clients. Questions that customers asked me ranged from what organically grown means to why there are white spots on a tomato plant. Learning how to respond to all of these questions was difficult, but I was able to find answers directly from the farmers who work every day in the fields. Since they are mostly from Latin America, we communicated in Spanish, and through them I have been able to get a good sense of what farm work is. No longer afraid of not knowing an answer, I now am comfortable asking others for help.
One part of Allandale Farm that I love very much is its connection to the surrounding community. Many of the customers come from great distances to use Allandale’s produce for their homes, shops, parties, and restaurants. Last summer, a customer came in and filled three shopping baskets full of food. When she arrived at the check out, I questioned what she was doing with all of it, and she told me she was a personal chef. Two of the baskets were for the families for whom she cooked, and the third was for her. Every Sunday, she returns to the farm, refilling her baskets with fresh produce. I have continued to ask her what she plans to create, and she always makes my mouth water with the amazing meals that she is about to prepare. It makes me proud to know and communicate with talented people who appreciate the farm that I cherish.
At Allandale Farm, I continue to experience something different from many of my peers at school. I have the opportunity to share myself in a public place where food is grown and sold, children are welcome, and the environment is respected. Though I am used to the fast-paced traffic and crowds of Boston, I am proud to work in the tranquil environment of a farm, both for others and myself.
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Tuesday, March 11, 2008
College Essay XII: Maddy
MADDY KIEFER '08
I come from a family of artists. My grandmother’s basement is full of her hand-made dollhouses, complete with intricate furniture that she carved, and I spent much of my childhood in my mother’s studio, which was full of her graphic designs and canvases of landscapes and cityscapes. If that weren’t enough, my sister has a life ambition of seeing every single Vermeer painting, and we’ve spent our summers helping her achieve this. My family and I have been fortunate enough to visit a total of nine major European cities, and we spend the majority of our time there looking at portrait after portrait, landscape after landscape, and fruit bowl after fruit bowl, staring at gaudy gold ceilings and furniture in royal palaces, and craning our necks to get a glimpse of faded stained glass windows in cathedrals.
It’s not that I dislike art, churches, or palaces; I just don’t enjoy them the way my parents and sister do. For them, museums are a way of seeing the different cultures of each country and how they differ from one another. The way I take in the culture is harder to identify, however. It is not each individual painting or exhibit that stands out in my mind but smaller, seemingly insignificant things.
On every trip we go on, after spending a few days in the major city, we go hiking or biking in the countryside for a week. These rural parts of the trips are what I value most. The small villages and the varying landscapes capture for me what makes each place unique. I absorb the little details: I watch the villagers, look at the scenery and imagine what life must be like there. People and places mean more to me than art. For example, in Scotland what I remember most is the feeling of isolation from atop a hill we climbed where there was no sign of modern civilization anywhere, not even an electrical wire. In Holland, I noticed the cycling culture. Bikes had the right of way, and there were biking lanes on every single street, even in the countryside. We would see cyclists eating an ice cream or carrying enormous paintings, giving the entire country a unique culture that no other location possesses.
Other memories include the interactions I have with villagers. Ironically, many times the people I remember are the ones that don’t speak English. In Spain, I used my Spanish vocabulary to explain to our bus driver that my mother was carsick and wanted to pull over. In the Czech Republic, we ended up playing charades with our waiter, trying to understand that “bůček” meant bacon. Although it can get frustrating, these circumstances are the ones that I remember the most clearly and, often times, with the most pleasure.
For me, the art is in the people, places, and experiences, and because of this, I am headed in a different direction than my family. Although I don’t know exactly what I want to do with the rest of my life, I know that the idea of discovery and tangibility in social and natural sciences intrigues me more than arts and humanities, and this is what excites me so much about continuing my education next year.
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Thursday, March 6, 2008
College Essay XI: Laura
LAURA BULKELEY ‘08
With supplies for four days on my back, thick mud underneath my feet, and impossibly tall, lush trees clouding the Costa Rican sky, I started on my first backpacking trip with fourteen strangers from all over the world—the first segment of a three-week adventure tour. The trip would open my mind to other points of view and teach me how to enjoy the moment in ways I never would have predicted.
A few weeks after I got back from my trip I noticed pimples on my chin. The pimples went away, but one large bump stayed. I was diagnosed with a staph infection and given medication. As my bump got larger it turned into what looked like a scab. One hospital visit and two prescriptions later I was diagnosed with a drug-resistant staph infection, even though every confused doctor knew that was not what I had.
The confusion that surrounded me in hospitals, school, and my job was evident. No one understood why I had such a disgusting abnormality on my face. Everyone asked what was wrong with me; some feared they’d catch it too. Unfortunately, I could not give anyone answers to their questions or their fears. The embarrassment became who I was, not just a part of me. All conversations led to my chin, and it was all I could think about, especially since it was starting to spread to other parts of my body. Being in school was almost unbearable.
After a month of perplexity, I had my annual appointment with my dermatologist. I was finally told I should get a biopsy to test for Leishmaniasis. Leishmaniasis is caused by a parasite that is found in some female sand flies. It can inflame the organs and lead to death. This disease affects many countries around the world daily, but the United States only sees about a dozen cases a year.
The only place that can test for Leishmaniasis is the Walter Reed Hospital in Washington, D.C. It took a week for my biopsy results to come back. I had cutaneous Leishmaniasis, which is only on the skin, but my case was bad and I needed to start treatment immediately. I missed parts of days of school meeting with doctors and getting tubes in my left arm for the infusions I would need every day for twenty days. Walking around with tubes in my arm made me feel even more self-conscious than I had before. However, I was relieved to be able to tell people what I had.
But instead of people being more understanding and sympathizing with me, I found myself defending my condition. Since no one had ever heard of this obscure disease, they did not know what to say or how it actually affected me. My peers knew it affected my appearance, but they did not know that I was also achy, tired, and had lost my appetite from my medicine, that I could not take showers and had to wrap my arm in saran wrap every night when I bathed so I did not infect my bloodstream through my tubes; and that many nights I could not go to sleep because my lesions caused an icy hot pain. I made frequent trips to the nurse’s office to change the band-aid on my chin, and I had strange fluid coming out of my lesion that neither the doctor nor I could explain.
Once my schoolmates became accustomed to my condition, I still had to deal with it in the hospitals. In my endless hours in the ER, doctors constantly came in to look at my disease. I was an object of curiosity, not a human being, but a picture out of a medical textbook. I was asked to take off my band-aids and my shirt, and a couple doctors took pictures. One doctor that I had never met before left the ER saying, “I wish I had brought my camera.”
After the initial shock of being diagnosed with this strange disease, I started to gain my confidence back. The infusion center at the hospital became my own little community where I knew I was safe. I felt myself maturing among the adults I was constantly around. My doctor became my “best friend,” and I grew comfortable around sick adults who needed to get blood and chemo transfusions. I became more accepting of people who were not entirely like me, but were like me because we were in the hospital together.
In one of John Steinbeck’s books he states, “People don’t take trips. Trips take people.” He was certainly right. Leishmaniasis was not a reason for me to regret my Costa Rica experience, but only to appreciate it more. My experiences and memories in both life-changing journeys will stay with me forever.
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Thursday, February 28, 2008
College Essay X: Jessica
JESSICA PENZIAS ‘08
Sitting in a brown, leather La-Z-Boy chair, feet aloft, back reclined, and cell phone in hand, I regularly engage in what has become for me a profound activity: Tetris. Tetris consists of a simple premise: one strategically pieces together differently shaped blocks to create a solid row. Once a line is completed, it vanishes with a flourish. Despite the simplicity of the game, I enjoy the thrill of fitting puzzle pieces together. The commonplace triumph that occurs when putting together virtual puzzle pieces gains importance when I apply the simple premise of Tetris to my intellectual pursuits. I constantly pull concepts and ideas from numerous sources, piece them together, and make a whole idea.
Sitting in a hard blue chair, feet firmly planted on the ground, posture upright, and book in hand in my English class, I explore F. Scott Fitzgerald’s use of language. While my peers note Fitzgerald’s ability to create an insufferably hot atmosphere as Gatsby and Tom subtly contradict each other, I pause to contemplate a simple sentence that seems to contradict the torrid tone. “A silver curve of the moon hovered already in the western sky” (Fitzgerald, 120). While the characters drip sweat and marvel at the heat of the sun, Fitzgerald emphasizes the moon. This seemingly irrelevant observation in the midst of a tense and palpably hostile scene exudes a feeling of calm, serenity, and beauty—contradictory characteristics that remind me of lessons I’ve learned in my Drama class.
I then recall sitting on a worn brown couch, feet folded underneath me, shoulders relaxed, script in hand, while the voice of my Drama teacher casually explains the world of opposites. Opposites, a practice in which actors portray two contrasting emotions at once applies to real-life situations as well. My teacher quotes esteemed casting director Michael Shurtleff, telling us to “find the love” in scenes that are typically played with hostility. She cites examples in which lovers abandon each other despite their desire to be together and parents spew diatribes in order to shelter their children. In these moments, my teacher clarifies, an actor must search for the love that is driving outwardly hateful actions.
My thoughts return to my English classroom and my hand shoots up in the air. Fitzgerald’s language, his use of light is, in fact, his way of telling his reader to “find the love” in his writing. Tom and Gatsby’s feud is not motivated by hatred at all. It is, in fact, a battle for Daisy’s love. He intentionally adds beauty and nobility to the scene because the fight is induced by love. Through his writing, Fitzgerald juxtaposes heated arguments with an image of the moon, displaying Fitzgerald’s concern for love. A Tetris-like satisfaction engulfs me as I explain my observations to my peers. I have made a connection; I have taken a puzzle piece and filled it in. I have “found the love” in the scene.
When I play a game of Tetris, rows of strategically placed blocks disappear. However rewarding the satisfaction of making rows vanish may be, it is more rewarding when puzzle pieces fit together outside of a Tetris screen. After all, when an idea is comprehended in life, the concept does not merely disappear with a flourish. Instead, it reshapes and becomes a puzzle piece that will fit somewhere else. I feel inclined to continue this never-ending game that can be played outside of a recliner, with any object, in any posture, in boundless locations.
Jessica will be attending the University of Pennsylvania
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Tuesday, February 26, 2008
College Essay IX: Jeff
JEFF HIGGINS '08
As the crisp harvest air brings an end to the sweltering heat of summer, my yard is bombarded by leaves. The vibrant foliage falls from over a dozen majestic oak and maple trees to form a vast sea of red, yellow, and orange, carpeting every inch of the lawn. My family is left with the enormous task of transporting these leaves into the woods behind our back yard.
My parents have dubbed this challenge, “Doing the leaves,” (what my dad called it when he was young). For most people, including my family, doing the leaves is a tedious and mundane task. We start with the painstaking process of removing the leaves stuck inside bushes. Holding a blower in one hand, we have to reach into a bush and physically pull them out. Then we are ready to begin the process we call, “tarping.” That involves laying a ten square foot blue tarp on the grass, blowing and raking as many leaves on to it as possible, then hauling the tarp into the woods behind our back yard and dumping it. It is often overwhelming to look at the thousands of leaves on the ground, and the thousands more still on the trees above. Yet, all we can do is work, one tarp at a time, chipping away at the giant task ahead.
But, with my family, nothing is ever tedious or mundane. Growing up in a house with three younger brothers, everything becomes an adventure. Over the years, our times doing the leaves have turned into both complete fiascos and quality family time. I can always count on a fight over the best rakes and the two leaf blowers. And often my dad, who can be a bit neurotic about yard work, gets impatient, concerned that no one is working hard enough and that we are running out of time. But, there have been so many great moments; throwing a football around, wrestling in a huge pile of leaves, seeing who can catch the most leaves as they fall, and family jokes during hot chocolate breaks. Even though it is almost always chaos, I have learned to love it.
When I was younger, the leaves were always overshadowed by other things, the homework I could be doing, the friends I could be playing with, or the football game I could be watching. I never really saw doing the leaves for what it was, irreplaceable time with my crazy family. It is often said that a New England fall is a special thing, but I’ve just never really taken the time to notice. I have been too busy with the rush of life, with homework, cross country, Hebrew school, and piano lessons. I seldom took moments to pause and take life in. Now, with a snap of my fingers, I am seventeen writing my application, wondering where my childhood went. I always saw college as some far off place, some faraway destination. But now it’s here, beckoning me. Among many memories, I will have moments like doing the leaves captured in my mind, as something to look back on and remember, to remind myself of where I’m from.
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