Founding Fathers

Dear Thomas Jefferson,

Two hundred and twenty three years ago, you, and the rest of our Founding Fathers, wrote the Constitution with hopes to clearly declare that ‘all men are created equal’. But what you failed to execute was the definition of equality. What I would like to tell you is that, before signing off on one of the most momentous documents in our nation’s history, you should further portray your thoughts behind the meaning of that line; all men—male or female, black or white, gay or straight, are created equal—with the same rights, same privileges, and same opportunities.

I find it hard to understand that a slave owner himself would go the extra mile to help write a manuscript stating that people should all be treated the same. Clearly what fall short on realizing is that you don’t just own a slave, you own a man. His life and his soul. You tell him what to do and make all of his decisions yet you still have the audacity to publicly display your plea for freedom of all people. Maybe, back in your time, you were know as a bright, kind hearted man but today, you would be seen as a critical, judgmental hypocrite.

Now, maybe you wanted it to be the way it was: having others do your work while you sit around on your lazy butt and pretend you know how help run this country. Or maybe people just got the impression of what ‘all men’ meant. All that I’m asking for, is clarification. If you wanted only white men to be free, say it. If you want all people of color to forever be slaves, sign it. But if you want all of America to be able to come together in unity, no matter what kind of racial, sexual, or financial differences, change it.

Thank you for your time

Sincerely,

Katie Koplien

Neglect.

Author's Note: This piece was written as a reading response assignment. In it I explain a conflict and resolution from the book 'My Sister's Keeper' written by Jodi Picult.

Did you know that 20% of our world are affected by dyslexia? That one out of five people struggle day after day with reading, writing and spelling disabilities? Or that three quarters of the children who show primary difficulties with basic reading skills cannot be helped to overcome those difficulties to a great extent? Any dyslexic person, especially children, require a large amount of attention, patients and care when it comes to learning.

While reading the book My Sister’s Keeper, one of the conflicts that really stuck out to me was Mr. and Mrs. Fitzgerald’s lack of concern about Jesse’s mental instability.

Their son had been suffering from dyslexia his whole entire life, yet, they didn’t give him the proper attention he needed. Instead, all their interest and awareness was on their daughter, Kate, who was a cancer patient. Throughout the story, Jesse gets himself into a lot of trouble because of his frustration about having to deal with dyslexia on his own. We see him take part in self destructive activities when he comes home very late one night after smoking.

This conflict wasn’t resolved, though, until after the death of the second daughter, Anna. It was then, when this tragedy hit the family, that both Mr. and Mrs. Fitzgerald began to realize their neglect to their troubled son. Jesse then got the attention he needed and deserved and wound up turning his bad decision- based life around. He proceeded to graduate from the police academy in hopes to teach other teenagers, like himself, how to use proper judgment to make the right choices.

Though this may not be the biggest or most important conflict in the book, I feel that this struggle was a very interesting and stuck out to me a lot. In real life, this conflict my be even more vital to a child's lifestyle.

Runaway Baby

Author's Note: This piece was a personal narrative assignment. Throughout the piece I focused on using descriptive, yet appropriate, word choice and demonstrating my knowledge of colons and semi- colons.

As a young child, perhaps the worst thing your parents could ever say to you is ‘no’. No, we cannot go there. No, it will not happen. And the most famous, yet dreadful of all: no, you cannot have that.

I was five years old, the age you are when you start to believe that you’re all grown up. I had just learned to ride my bike, started piano lessons and began to attend my first year of kindergarten. I was on top of the world, or, so I thought. The only thing I didn’t have, was a trusty sidekick. Inspired by our new class pet, I had attained the will, want and withering crave for a bunny.

For the next week or so after school, my post was behind the computer, equipped with a notebook and pencil researching all there is to know about bunnies, domestic and non- captive. I had checked out each and every bunny book in the library to read hours and hours on end when one day, I had finally known it all.

Like every other kid my age, one of the most horrifying things that I could every do was ask my parents. Bringing up the topic and trying to support my reasoning before they cut me off with an immediate “no”, was nearly impossible. So I took a different approach; I made a book. The cover displayed my advanced artistic ability with a picture of a little brown haired, blue eyed girl (me) crying. From my miserable face there emerged a dream cloud, and in it was nothing other than a bunny. The rest of the book continued to explain everything I had learned about this fascinating species, why I deserve to have one and everything I would do to maintain its good health and wellbeing. Now, it may not have been the nicest or neatest book in the world, but in the eyes of a five year old, it was pretty cool!

But in the end, it failed to reach my parents high standards and my request was turned down. And that is when I created an entirely new and more outrageous plan: I was going to run away. Away from my parents who denied me my wish. Away from the many tears I cried when they did. Away from anything and everything I had, because of one thing I couldn’t get.

Almost instantaneously after looking into my father’s eyes and hearing the magical word, ‘no’, I leaped off the couch, ran to the front door and burst out of it. As I began to run down the street (which I still wasn’t allowed to cross by myself), the wind blew through my hair and little gravel rocks dug into my bare feet.

About thirty yards later, I came across the home of my best friend, Shelby. Without reluctance, I pushed open their door and made my way up into her bedroom where I found her sitting on the ground playing with her dolls. Fortunately for me, I was quick on my feet so when she questioned why I was at her house I  made up a story explaining my appearance without so much as a stutter or hesitation. But, when her mom walked in and asked me the same question, that’s when I began to panic. My words jumbled up together and my thoughts trailed off. Eventually, I got my story straight but something was telling me she didn’t buy it. She just smiled and closed the bedroom door leaving us to play in peace.

It was only about an hour later when the high pitched ring of the doorbell disturbed our game. Curious to see who it was that interrupted us, we ran downstairs and watched as Shelby’s mom let them in. When she opened the door I could clearly see that the couple standing in the doorway was no one other than my parents. My mom stood holding my pink and purple polka dotted suitcase and my dad stood tall over her. Upon making eye contact, my mother began to explain the contents of my suitcase.

She told me that she had packed it full with my clothes, pajamas, toothbrush, and a few other items so that I would have my things while I lived at Shelby’s. It was then after when she lay my suitcase on the ground, gave me a kiss on the forehead and began to walk out, when I realized I didn’t want to live there at Shelby’s. My home was at my house, with my family (with or without a new pet). As she reached for the doorknob I flew toward her. And without a word, she took my hand and suitcase and we proceeded to walk back to our house.

When arriving back at home, I couldn’t help but ask my mom the one question that had been weighing on my mind the whole walk home. The one thought I couldn’t shake. Was she actually going to leave me, let me live at Shelby’s house? When approaching her with this she just smiled, let out a heavy breath and told me to look in my suitcase. Unzipping it, I expected see all of my clothes neatly folded into two piles and my socks laying in between them; but I didn’t. When I opened my suitcase I revealed a single item: a toy bunny.

Re- Written.

Author's Note: This piece was an assignment to demonstrate my understanding of re- telling.

After cancer deprives her of an ordinary life, all Hazel Grace has left is her favorite book and the support group that her mother insists on her going to. There she meets a boy that she instantly feels attraction towards. But while taking a trip to Amsterdam together, the many twists and turns leave both of their lives rewritten.

This book expresses all emotions from love and loss, to faith and courage and is an excellent look on what life would be like as a cancer fighting teenager.