Letiah
Fraser
First
Place Winner
John
Bowne High School
2000
Barnard College/CBS Essay Contest
From
Improvisation to Inspiration (And Back Again!)
We
never know how high we are
Till
we are called to rise;
And
then, if we are true to plan,
Our
statures touch the skies.
I
used to not like to talk—can you believe
that one? There I was, sitting at my aunt’s
kitchen table, but wishing I could go out
to Bronx Park and play with my five-year-old
friends while she created ways to get me
to speak. "I can’t do it! I can’t do
it!" But what I meant was that I just
didn’t like to talk and I didn’t want her
to force me.
"Do
you want this candy bar?" she tempted.
"Then, you have to do your homework,"
her voice purred. The candy bar sat there
doing its work, and I sounded out the vowels
and made them clear enough to earn my reward.
Aunt
Iona knew how to handle my problems, and
her own, too. When their baby was a toddler,
her first husband died. She started all
over again by returning to the college she
had given up for marriage, lived with her
mother and completed a degree in education.
Her specialization is in the education of
children with disabilities, and it was our
relationship that sparked her interest.
She saw that she had the ability and talent
to help me, and by analogy she was certain
she could work with others like me. I have
cerebral palsy.
Again,
I hated the therapy, but this time it was
physical. Aunt Iona reiterated, "No
pain, no gain," as she helped me reach
my legs to the sky, straighten knees that
resist straightening, do a split where bones
don’t want to split and even stand on cans,
in one of her favorite improvised exercises.
You know how a coach encourages his team
with, "Go! Go! Go!"; when her
therapeutic improvisations worked, Aunt
Iona looked like she had just won a million
dollars, while I asked, "What are you
so happy about?" Her patience, encouragement,
tenacity and improvisatory powers in language
and exercise spurred my daily progress.
It was those qualities of character that
made her a success as the director of her
day care center.
Aunt
Iona’s office is homey and welcoming. Each
student’s photo is displayed and the smell
of baking cookies sweetens the air. Aunt
Iona smiles out from behind her big, tinted
glasses and looks right at you, holding
eye contact and establishing the bond. Her
hands punctuate every idea, drawing children
closer. But this is no utopia because Aunt
Iona’s attachments to the children go deeper
than surface smiles: sometimes they get
sicker and sometimes they die, and she must
continue. In her unrelenting effort to make
their lives better she treats each one as
a special individual who, with help, can
achieve what able-bodied people do, or better.
She has rooted her motto in every child’s
mind: If you believe, you can achieve.
To my mind, her belief in potential connects
directly with Emily Dickinson’s lines, "We
never know how high we are/Till we are called
to rise."
What
takes me beyond respect to amazement is
how she deals with a child who knows he’s
going to die soon. She says, "Dying
is old news, we know we all will some day.
We shouldn’t think of life as how many more
days we have left. Instead think, I have
one more day to live, learn, enjoy and make
a difference in this world." Aunt Iona
knows how to ease beginnings, too. I love
the look I see on the children’s mother’s
faces when they listen, and at the end of
the school year they say things like, "I
never thought my child would learn to read,
write or talk. Now she won’t shut up! Thank
you, you’re such an inspiration."
That’s
funny—I mean ironic—because that’s what
she calls me, her inspiration.
Shelley
Diaz
Second
Place Winner
Townsend
Harris High School
2000
Barnard College/CBS Essay Contest
"It Doesn’t Matter If You Fall…"
Until
the age of five, Melanie walked on her toes.
She underwent an operation that loosened
the nerves in her legs, which helped her
in time walk normally with only a slight
limp. After years of physical therapy, braces
on her legs (which were the bane of her
existence), of being branded "Special
Ed," and watching while her sister
and friends played Freeze Tag with ease,
my twin sister has grown into a woman with
a will of iron.
Melanie
was born with minor cerebral palsy, a condition
that didn’t paralyze her completely, but
marked her "different" from everyone
else. The cruelty of children, when faced
by something they don’t understand, can
scar a person’s life forever. My sister
was pushed, ignored, and pitied throughout
her childhood, but she didn’t become bitter
and unloving because of it. On the contrary,
she has become stronger because of it, almost
impermeable. She has grown up faster than
most, having to try harder because of her
physical weakness at things like sports.
That’s why when she completed her two-mile
run her whole gym class cheered. That’s
why when she speaks, people listen.
What
do they hear? They hear the sweet voice
of a nightingale singing praises to the
God that created her. They hear the advice
of a concerned peer counselor. They hear
the resonance of a leader, speaking passionately
about the cruelties of society. A loud voice
cannot compete with a clear one.
Melanie
exemplifies the saying, "It doesn’t
matter if you fall, a long as you get up."
She has fallen many times, literally, but
she has always gotten up. If she does fall,
then beware to all who try to help her stand,
for she is not to be coddled. The sentiment
that Melanie detests the most is pity, because
it has been dished out to her like a tray
of hors d’oeuvres.
My
sister hasn’t won the Nobel Peace Prize
or starred, directed, and produced her own
movie. She still blushes when she sees her
crush, and thinks it’s the end of the world
if she fails her Math test, but she is
a woman. One who has fallen and has
had the strength to get up.
Esther
Negron
Third
Place Winner
Harry
Van Arsdale High School
2000
Barnard College/CBS Essay Contest
Woman
Rising: Maya Angelou
As
I sat in a shabby, chipped, wooden auditorium
seat, I looked up from the initials carved
long ago, to see a young lady take the stage,
in front of hundreds of mouths and vicious
teeth, ready to eat her alive. The auditorium,
muggy and full of loud, irritated voices,
was beginning to annoy me. The center of
attention was one of my peers, her eyes
wide open, hands shaking, face covered with
sweat, butterflies filling her stomach and
the growing twitches of hesitance becoming
visible. She began to speak:
You
may write me down in history
With
your bitter, twisted lies.
You
may trod me in the very dirt
But
still, like dust I rise.
As
the words poured from her mouth, her state
changed, her voice became brave and proud
and her body shivered speaking the words
of Maya Angelou. The rustling, loud, immature
audience suddenly became silent. The young
girl sent emotions down my spine, the words
giving me goose bumps, and images of a woman
rising became implanted in my mind. I could
feel Angelou’s soul hover over me with the
passion of each word that the girl spoke,
and each word touched me deeply. The synchronized
poetic thoughts of Maya Angelou made me
yearn to know her story, and to tell my
own.
She
stunned me, this writer who stole the attention
of every 13 year-old in the auditorium that
day. So many faces with MTV closed minds
became open to every image that hung in
the form of words, in their minds. Looking
around, I witnessed every person with pride
in their eyes and veneration in their young
faces. She did it; she captured the admiration
of 500 people with the shortest attention
spans. These same people who could barely
finish watching a movie without using the
remote repeatedly. Maya Angelou had teenagers
with the thickest slang language giving
her "props" and saluting her "the
bomb". They did not realize the voice
of the poem was from a woman outside their
reluctantly accepting generation.
I
love writing and I knew from the moment
I heard this first poem from Maya Angelou,
that I wanted to become a talented writer
who consumes every mental barrier. I wanted
to become what Maya Angelou was, a talented,
fully accomplished female writer. She made
me thirst for her powerful and motivational
words. I read all her poems, all her stories
and anything that would help me to learn
more about her. In doing this, the theme
that runs through her writing and her life—"Life
is what you make of it"—became my creed.
This aspiration became so strong for me
that it transcends life-altering experiences,
because it is up to me whether or not to
allow the experience to affect me. Like
dust, with Maya Angelou, I rise. Write me
down in history.
Novelette
Forte
Fourth
Place Winner
Erasmus
Hall Campus: School of Humanities
2000
Barnard College/CBS Essay Contest
My
mother gave birth to me when she was seventeen.
Horrified and humiliated, her mother threw
her out of the house, leaving her on her
own. For this reason, she moved in with
my father’s family, who made her feel unwelcome.
Finally, she made the decision that hurt
me the most. She left me in the care of
my father and grandmother. Shortly afterwards,
although my mother did not know it, my father
moved to a different parish, leaving me
behind.
I
was left alone with my grandmother. Mama,
as I called her, had already raised her
own eleven children, and felt as if her
childcare days were over. Mama took physical
care of me as well as she could. She gave
me shelter, and always made sure that I
was neat when I headed off to school. But
there was never love and warmth. Because
she cared for me, she thought I deserved
her love, but she never loved me the way
she loved her other grandchildren. To her
I was the grandchild whose parents had run
off. While growing up with Mama, I felt
like an outcast. "I don’t belong here
and this is not my family," I would
say to myself.
I
became a child who knew that she was never
wanted. In school I didn’t associate myself
with many people. I pretended that no one
existed, and that I was taking on the world
all alone. Everything I did was directed
toward proving to my grandmother that I
was worthy of her warmth. But it didn’t
matter. Nothing changed the way Mama treated
me. During the childhood years I lived with
her, I varied from being an honor student
to someone with poor grades. I grew more
and more depressed, and had no confidence
in myself.
At
the age of eleven, my aunt, my father’s
sister, took custody of me and I emigrated
to live with her in Brooklyn, New York.
After just a few weeks living with my aunt,
I realized that she was a person that I
could admire. She opened her life to me.
She took me from a world where my feelings
were only pain and heartache, to a place
where I was loved.
She
had one child and she never treated me differently
from him. The same rules applied to both
of us. She enrolled me in school and my
aunt told us both that before we could watch
TV we were expected to do our homework and
study. Unfortunately, I was still the angry
child Mama and my parents had created. Unaccustomed
to being loved, I tested my aunt. I never
listened to her advice, or did any work
in school. I was lazy, and pretended to
be sick. I practiced this life style and
it became me. My aunt saw that I was acting
irresponsibly but, to my surprise, she did
not give up on me. She told me that right
now I was starting to decide my future,
and that in 15 years the people I was blaming
today would not matter. The only thing that
would matter would be how I overcame my
obstacles and succeeded. That would tell
me what path I was on. I did not listen
to her words of wisdom at first, but eventually
I realized that she truly cared. I saw that
I was letting down the one person who gave
me something to smile about. Suddenly, I
recognized that my aunt made me happy.
Aunt
Novy taught me that love comes from within,
and that to live my life with hatred would
be a waste. She told me to forgive my mother
because I had only one and that no one could
ever take her place. Aunt Novy told me to
look at my situation from my mother’s perspective.
She made me understand that my mother did
not leave me because she did not want me,
but because she was just a frightened child
herself.
My
aunt is the most caring, considerate, and
loving woman that I know. She gave me the
strength to build my confidence. She took
me from one path to lead me to another,
more productive one. This new path is challenging
and exciting. I now have a future, thanks
to my aunt.
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