Be Brave for Me.

Author's Note: I wrote this letter as a creative piece relating to Christmas. This year especially, I've realized how little the materialistic gifts really mean on this day of love and family. Then I began to think of what it would be like for someone without a family on Christmas. I wrote this from the perspective of an eight year old girl whose widower father went to war leaving her with a poor foster family. Let me know what you think!

Dear Santa,

I know you're very busy this year and Ms. Jones says that sometimes you don't have enough time to make it to all the kids houses or read all their letters. And I understand that haven't been a perfect, little girl all year long, either. Sometimes I fight with the other foster kids and last week, when Ms. Jones asked me why I was crying, I lied and told her it was because I bumped my elbow. But anyways, if you're even reading this, I have a favor to ask you. For Christmas I don't want a bike or new toys, what I really want, more than anything in the world, is for you to bring me my Daddy back.

Three years ago, he dropped me off here at the home. I still remember that day. He knelt down in front of me so we were face to face and gently grabbed my arms. He told me that he had to go away for a while. He was going to some place called Afghanistan to catch the bad guys so that here in America I'd be safe. He told me that he was going to be brave for me so I had to be brave for him, too.

I've been very brave the past few years, but i can't grow up without him and he can't stay there forever. The other kids you can make miracles so I was thinking, if you're not too busy this Christmas, maybe you could bring him back to me. And then I could be like all my friends at school, with a real father, and a family of my own.

Thank you for reading this Santa.

Sincerely,

Addie.

Brainwashed.

Author's Note: This was an assigned piece to fit the standards of theme analysis. In this piece I explain the importance of government knowledge and how it is expressed throughout the books Fahrenheit 451 and 1984.

The other day, while doing her social studies homework, my sister began to complain about how knowledge of our government and the history of it serves no importance to people of our society. She then went further into detail about how only people expecting themselves to go on into congress or politics should "have the misfortune of learning this stuff". But, with my newly gained intelligence about the significance of governmental wisdom I got from books, I was able to explain to her why she needs to be educated in this subject. The less you know about your government, the more vulnerable you are to the control of that government.

In George Orwell's 1984, from a very young age, people are brought up learning, or more frankly knowing, that Big Brother is almighty and it is impossible and unimaginable to attempt to rebel against him. From the age of four, children are sent to a facility to be trained to become Junior Spies working for The Party. From there, they continue to be brainwashed by the telescreens that are set up in each and every house, work building and even a midst crowded cities to monitor peoples actions. Blindly controlling people of their country is how the government keeps their power.

In Fahrenheit 451, the government takes a completely different approach when it comes to control, stripping society of their intelligence. Books are prohibited and schools are eliminated. Day after day people sit in their parlors and watch mindless television, unaware of the power their government has over them. They do not dare to own books for they know of the consequences that come from doing so. The uneducated community members are so caught up in their shows and gossip that they don't realize how much power the government has over them.

Lastly, citizens of the community in The Giver, follow the rules of 'sameness' where everything is the same. Everyone has the same amount of money, food, and luxuries as the next one. But the one thing they don't get is power. No one really realizes their lack of control in the community and this is the way the government wants it.

So when my sister wanted to know why we need to know how having knowledge in the history of the government affected her, I referred to these books, more importantly, their common theme. Not only government control but the blind control of it. In every one of these books, the characters were so oblivious to the power that was being held against them that the government held complete power over everything. If we were as uneducated as these people, we could be forced to do practically anything they want and all of our freedom would be taken from us. Thoughts, ideas, emotions...they'd all be gone. And what would we be left with? Nothing. Nada. Not a dollar to our name.

Bold, Bitter, Black.

Author's Note: I wrote this piece to achieve my goal of getting scored a 10 on word choice. This scene in narrated by a blind man who wants more than anything to be able to see again. Let me know how you like it!

As I sit on the hot, dry sand of Pewaukee Beach, I can hear the sound of laughter coming from the children around me. A cool breeze blows against my skin as the night grows older and the sun begins to tuck away until morning. I try to think back to the last time I watched the big, golden mass of fire hit the clear, blue waves of the lake creating even more color and immensity to the already beautiful image. But I can't recall it. I can't see it. It has been far too long since the last time I had opened my eyes to absorb the natural beauties of our world. The wonders of an unforetold future that we take advantage of day after day. Suddenly, the "ooo's", "aww's" and gasps of amazement coming from  people around me sends me plummeting back into reality. A lady next to me nudges my arm and in an anxious tone of voice insists me to look up and experience the astonishing sight they all are watching. But when I do, when I open my eyes and aim my face towards the sky, all I see is bold, bitter, black. 

From Rags to Riches

From the beginning to the end of the book Pretty Little Liars, by Sarah Shepard, Hanah Martin changed herself and her image so drastically, classifying herself a dynamic character. She started off as an overweight, insecure, bullied seventh grade girl but once meeting, befriending and falling under the influence of Ali DiLirentes, her whole life began to change.

Once Ali identified and expressed to Hanah that her weight effects the way people see her and her popularity status, Hanah decided to re-invent herself. So after Ali's passing, Hanah ocuired a sever case of bulimia. With this, she lost so much weight she went from being unquestionably the largest girl in her school to being one of the skinniest. And because of her dramatic change of weight, Hanah also dropped multiple clothing sizes forcing her to have to buy a completely new wardrobe. With her mom's credit card and help from her new best friend, Mona Vanderwal, Hanah proceeded to purchase the entire Louis Viton store and every Chanel handbag on the market.

Now, with her new look also came a new attitude. As her apperence changed her popularity grew, and as people began to look up to her, she started to look down on them. Because she was forced to live in Ali's shadow her whole life, Ali's old and bitter attitude was beginning to rub off on Hanah. She then proceeded to claim her role as alpha and rule the school.

Now, as you can see, one summer changed Hanah a lot. It brought her a new look, new friends and a new attitude. This same occurrence happened in the book Speak, by Laurie Halse Anderson. On the last day of school, main character, Melinda Sordino, called the cops on an 'end of the year' high school party after being sexually assaulted there. Melinda's image changed a lot after that one summer, too. She was neglected by all of her old friends who thought she called the cops due to the amount of under aged kids drinking alcohol at the party. She also became quieter; much, much quieter. Getting a word out of Melinda was as rare as an honest politician. And her nervousness and anxiety caused her to form the habit of biting her bottom lip leaving huge scars in its place making her look much less appealing.

The difference, though, between these two characters was that Melinda went from being one of the most popular girls in school to being the girl who didn't have anyone to sit next to at lunch and spent her weekends sitting in her bedroom alone. On the other hand, Hanah had gone from an over weight, bullied child to a popular, beautiful teenager. She changed herself for, what she thought was to be for the better. But, what she didn't realize was that even though she may have been becoming a better version of herself, it negatively impacted others.

The way she saw herself was just like the way Ali had seen herself; superior. One big change in Hanah's attitude, as stated before, was the way she saw others. She would act as though she were greater than them which made them feel inferior. Many people were intimidated of her, especially her old friends. Hanah's change influenced their lives as much as it did hers. They began to loose their confidence and feeling of importance when Hanah would put them down. And as she acted cruelly to them, they began to act cruelly to each other. All four girls lost a great amount of respect for themselves after Hanah started to act this way.

Her whole life, Hanah Martin wanted so desperately to be popular, look beautiful and feel good about herself. But, during this book, when her wishes were fulfilled and her prayers were answered, her change wound up leaving her with an empty feeling inside. And it kept one question constantly weighing on her mind: Was all of this really worth it?

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.