Presentations

            Tonight during class everyone has to do a presentation on the topic that they chose for Project 3.  I’m doing mine on the Appalachia Service Project; it’s a mission trip that I go on every summer with my church.  We help rebuild and restore houses along the Appalachian Trail.  I don’t have my entire presentation thought out just yet.  I know that I want to share a video with them that my brother made for ASP a couple years ago. He made it for a contest, and I’m in the video (so look me up (; ).  I also have this idea of playing a situational game/ activity with them that I’ve played on ASP before. What it is is you’re given a family, complete with names and ages.  Your job is to put yourself in their shoes.  Beyond that, you’re given how much money you make in a year, what your jobs are, and what kind of house you live in.  From there you’re given different situations that are common to the people of Appalachia.  Some of these consist of family members getting Diabetes and not having enough money to pay for treatments, people having the black lung (which is common in the older folks because many of them used to work in the mines when they were younger), flooding and not having enough money to pay for the repairs, etc.  The activity is depressing, but it really puts you in their shoes and gives you a sense of what they have to deal with every day, and how they need our help.

            Those are just two ideas I’ve been throwing around.  I might present some statistics as well.  It isn’t necessary showing them pictures, because there will already be some footage of us doing work on the job site, along with some photos in the video.  I’m trying to keep the presentation light and fun.  I’ll show the video first (to help explain exactly what ASP is), do the situational activity, and then present the statistics last.  When I was first thinking about what I should do for the presentation, I was getting nervous.  I strongly dislike talking aloud in front of people, and I had no idea what I wanted to do.  The more I thought about it though, and wrote this to you all, the more relaxed I became.  Plus, I’m extremely passionate about the Appalachia Service Project.  As long as you’re passionate about something you’re presenting, it won’t be difficult to talk about.    

Creative Non-fiction Project 3

Below is an excerpt of the Creative non-fiction story I've been working on.  Enjoy (:

I woke up to the snoring of my friend Matt sleeping on the seat in front of me.  Adjusting myself from my cramped position on the seat in the van, I noticed that I was the only person awake besides the driver. 

“You okay up there, Brian?”  I yell up to the front seat.  He sends me a grunt and I lay back down, knowing that he probably wasn’t in the best mood.  It had been two hours and a group from my church and I were on our way to West Virginia.  What we would be doing there exactly was still unknown.  A month earlier we had received an email of what county we would be working in, what school we would be staying at, and what to bring.  There would be cold showers: a tarp and garden hose for us to use.  I knew it would be a good and interesting week… the showers would make sure of that.  Drifting back to sleep, I see all of the vans begin to turn into a gas station. 

“We’re at the gas station, Amanda!”  I nudge her awake knowing that she might have to go to the bathroom.  We park the vans and Amanda and I walk into the convenience store and look around, making sure there wasn’t anything we wanted to munch on on the ride to West Virginia.  As soon as we’re done looking through everything in the store, we return to the van and go back to sleep. 

Five hours later

We arrive to the center and are immediately greeted by the staff we would have for the week ahead.  As we begin unpacking our luggage, I notice the quotes lining the walls as we made our way to the rooms we would be sleeping in.  Boys and girls were not allowed to enter into eachother’s rooms, otherwise it would be called “purpling” (boys are blue, girls are red) 

Justice

Justice.

“The administering of a deserved punishment or conduct.” 

How can one word mean so much, yet so little? 

I began pondering the meaning of this word after I received an upset phone call from my mother today.  She was telling me of how my friend Ashley, who is 15 right now, has to have court extended yet again.  When Ashley was 14, she met this guy who was 26 and dated him.  Jimmy didn’t care that she was 14, and that it was wrong and continued on his merry little way and did things with her.  She was naïve and believed he was actually in love with her, because that’s what he said.  Obviously, without going into a ridiculously detailed synopsis, it’s obvious that Jimmy is guilty.  Yet why does the Justice system continue to prolong the trial?  At first, he was sticking with the statement that he truly believed he was not guilty and that he was in love with her.  Several months pass, he changes his mind and pleads guilty and admits to doing everything in detail that they did.  Now, after all of the evidence they have, plus the fact that he admitted to being guilty… the justice system would automatically declare him guilty and let the child move on with her life?  WRONG!  Not only did they not declare him guilty then and there, but they allowed him to change his mind once again and say he is innocent.  The fact that the defendant is protected over the victim, especially since it’s considered a statutory rape case is absolutely beyond belief to me.  So now Ashley, her entire family, and my family (we’re close) has to wait till at least January for the next hearing.

What bliss is.

Last night as I was trying to fall asleep, I saw a video on Facebook.  The video was called “Beagles See Sun and Grass for the First Time After a Life in a Laboratory”.  It was a heart wrenching video about how an organization rescued nine beagles from captivity.  Their voice boxes had been removed, they didn’t know how to walk, and didn’t understand the concept of using a food bowl.  The beagles were thirsting for attention and were constantly trying to cuddle with the people that rescued them.  I began tearing up, not realizing how, first of all, they used puppies in the laboratories and tested on them.  Second of all, I didn’t realize how cruel they were to them, as well.  I know it would get annoying hearing dogs constantly bark while I was trying to work, but they didn’t do anything wrong!  I’m an animal lover, but am not an activist.  I realize that to do research and better the world, they need specimens.  However,  to remove their voice boxes and not give them any attention once so ever, to me is punishable.  I truly believe that’s animal cruelty. 

I’m glad I saw the video, it enlightened me and showed me how poorly some animals are treated behind the public’s back.  This is wrong, if they’re going to do research on animals, they shouldn’t hide their methods.  Maybe that would make it harder for the scientists to continue treating the animals as they are.  I think that the phrase that fits this situation best right now is “ignorance is bliss.”  In all reality, it truly is.  No matter how mad about this I get, it will not change a thing.  Beagles (and animals) will still be treated this way, because unfortunately there will always be people that are heartless, or just don’t care how they treat others.  As wrong as that is, it’s true.  I wish it weren’t, but I’m only one person.  I will, however, adopt one of the dogs that they rescued from the laboratories and give it a home.  At least then I’ll help one of them, right?  

Special Education

Creative Nonfiction Exercise:  Tell a story about an event that taught a life lesson or revealed a personality to you. 

When I first started going to college at Kutztown University, I initially entered as a Special Education major.  For much of my life my family and I lived three houses down from a family that had twins; one of them with autism.  I baby sat once a week for them, and found that I was truly interested in working with autistic children.  Not only did I continue to babysit Cole and Logan, but I began to volunteer at a day care that had some mentally challenged children as well.  The first semester of Special Education was great.  I loved my classes, met some really cool people, and for the most part had great Professors.  Life wasn’t spectacular, but I loved what I was learning about. 

            My Introduction to Special Education class taught me a lot.  It was interesting to me because I had a chance to learn about all the different kinds of mental retardation, and other diseases as well.  One day for a presentation, one of my classmates brought in her 16 year old autistic brother.  She showed us how every night before he goes to bed he still lines his bedroom wall with stuffed animals and continues to do other things that he has his whole life.  For some reason the entire time I went to school for Special Education, it never hit me that Logan will be like this his whole life.  It doesn’t matter how much I work with him.  He might improve, but he will always have autism.  I began to realize after the presentation that I would most likely not be happy in the field of Special Education over an extended amount of time.  It might be interesting to learn about autism and other mental handicaps, but to work in the field for the rest of my life would eventually become exhausting.  Convinced I did not want to turn something I enjoyed into a chore, I changed my major.

What Writing Means to Me

The other day in my Advanced Composition class we discussed a story from the Creative Non-fiction book we have.  Almost all of the people in class agreed that it was hard to read, follow, and just an overall bad story.  So how could it possibly have been published if the majority of a group couldn’t stand it?  We then discussed the topic further, and my Professor told us that some of the best and most classic authors and writers have been denied.  They just never gave up and kept on trying.  This, in a way, is comforting to me.  If a writer that has the most scattered story and style of writing I’ve ever read can get published, then I sure can, right?  Still, though… I was getting extremely irritated when we were talking about the story in class.  It took me three hours to get through that sucker!  We discussed in class how all it takes is for one person to like what you wrote.  This, again, is comforting.  However, I don’t want just one person to like it.  If the majority of the public is going to read what I wrote and hate it, then what is the point in having it be published?  Writing isn’t about the money to me (well, it better not be considering that’s not a field to go into if you’re looking for the big bucks) at all, it’s about changing someone’s life or having an effect on someone.  Maybe making them think twice about a decision they’ve recently made.  I want to change someone’s life with my words.  I’m not saying I have abundant amounts of wisdom.  I’m only 22, how could I possibly?  But what I do know is that I’m an extremely happy person that smiles and laughs a lot.  So I must be doing something right.  If one day I write something, it gets published, and someone comes up to me and says I helped them through something, then that’s when I will feel as if I’m doing my job.  

My Morning Rant

This morning was quite possibly the most miserable morning I’ve had in a long time.  Why, you ask?  It just was.  I woke up somewhat late for my morning class.  Knowing this, I had to rush to shower and get ready (which I never enjoy doing).  Not realizing for some reason that it was raining outside, I walked out without an umbrella.  Fabulous.  It was too late to head back upstairs, grab my umbrella and leave… so I just kept trudging through the rain with no hood, and no way to protect myself from the rain.  Normally, I keep my ID on a keychain with my keys.  As I continued to walk to class, however, I realized that my ID was missing.  I began to shuffle through my backpack, pockets, and small purse.  It was nowhere to be seen.  Knowing that I could not walk across campus without my ID because then I wouldn’t even be able to get back into my apartment later on.  Rather than making my entire day miserable, I suffered through the morning and began to backtrack.  It wasn’t on the sidewalk that I was just walking on, not in the grass, or on the sidewalk going perpendicular to the other one.  Finally I found in the cross walk in the middle of the street.  What I didn’t see was the car passing me, and splashing the dirty, black, grimy, rain water from the street all over me.  In my boots, and saturating my shirt, jeans, and socks.  At this point I was trying not to swear or curse that car out.  So what did I do?  I started walking to my class again, while talking to myself.  I was fully aware that there were people giving me odd looks because I was being odd.  I did not care.  I was now ten minutes late to class, and was going to show up looking like a dirty, wet, smelly mop.  What was the point in even rushing in the morning to shower?  If I had known what would happen, I would not have.