What is he touching me for? I hate it when people touch me to wake me up. Maybe I should keep my eyes closed & he’ll leave. “Abou, get up. You guys have to clean the room.” He wasn’t going to leave. I arose from my bed and greeted the broom with a tight grip around the neck and jerked it around all the way back to the room. When i arrived back at my room it had became a crime scene investigation. Searching every little quarter inch of the room for dust. “Abou, throw this away” Oh no. its starting, the constant back & forth from throwing everything away. And also the “Professional” cleaners want to move my bed so it covers the door. Now I’ll have to go the long way through the bathroom.

        I never understood why we didn’t either bring the trash can in the room, or just collected the trash until we were done. But oh well. This is probably why I don’t mind working out now because it was a constant stream of running back and forth through the bathroom to throw every little threat to the vacuum cleaner away. If we throw away everything instead of using the vacuum to suck it up then why do we have one. Because only the finest dirt makes it to our vacuum. “Abou, here.”. As it continues. My over-thinking of the situation is making things even more stressful. Then I glance up & see the painting. A hazy sun lightly glazed over the salty waters of a boating dock. Everyone is pulling there boat in. The most calm part of the day... the end.

It was a saturday night. I had plans for once. Not because I wasnt social but since I’ve been let down many of times so I’ve learned that my family isnt the richest. So after understanding this I’ve learned to only ask to go out every once in a while to insure that my dad had money to give me and he wouldn’t say “No Abou, your always going out.”. This time it was perfect. I knew my dad had money because he just got paid, and I had enough money to be ok on my own. I called my friend one more time to confirm. I got dressed in my brand new jeans and my favorite American Eagle v-neck. Only thing left to do was tell my parents.

I walked into their room to find that they were also getting dressed. “Uhh .. where are you guys going?” I asked.

“Oh we were going to a show, why? My dad answered.

“Well because I wanted to go-”

         “Sorry, you got to stay and watch your brother.” I didn’t even ask the question yet. I nodded and did a sharp turn and left out the door. When I got back to my room I had a blank look and observed the child that needed so much attention. He did nothing. I saw no reason to stay behind to monitor a 14 year old young teen. All he did was Play video games and get on the computer. Maybe he could’ve downloaded a bomb, or unlocked the special burn down your house cheat on the game. Really its probably just one of my parents’ schemes to cage my social life.

 My scenes describe various times that I was being taught values. In the first scene when I was woken up early to clean my room I was being taught multiple things. By waking me up early I was taught to not waste time and that when you finish tasks early you have the rest of the day to yourself. Traditionally, the early bird gets the worm. I might have misinterpreted  the point of cleaning a room that will never be clean. I always thought that there was no point in doing certain things if there will be no one to see it. Things like dressing your best and cleaning other things. I saw it as an indirect lesson. The point being that you don’t maintain yourself for other people, you keep things nice because you like it nice.

        My second scene describes a time that I was taught about different responsibilities. During the actual time period I felt that this was an unfair task being that I felt that my brother was old enough to watch himself. I now understand that it was teaching me to be responsible. I was entrusted to handle certain problems as such. My brother’s allergies get triggered, the electric went out, or if there was a fire I was responsible for getting my brother and myself out safely. The main idea in my scenes is that certain responsibilities as a young teen can further impact your life once you understand the values incorporated.

One of the things that I’m best at is doing something through tiredness. One time when I got home from hockey practice, with the familiar feeling of being tired to the bone, knowing that everything will soon become a challenge.  

I opened the door, fighting my primal instincts in order to keep my eyes open.  I stumble as I try to fit the cumbersome bag through the rather petite doorway.  Not for the first time, I throw my bag down, with full knowledge that I will have to move it later, as I all ways do when I get home from hockey.  My throat is dry, as dry as someones in the Sahara desert in a drought, in the summer, if they were excercising.  I try to coax the motor skills back into my limbs, but they simply refuse to return.  I realize that getting to the kitchen will be harder than I thought.

I slip through the doorway, and see my brother, Matthew, in his usual position.  He is lying on the couch, no doubt because he is “hurt”.  I know that I will have to relinquish my hold on the TV remote for yet another night.  My mind shifts back towards the need for water, and I continue my long trek towards the kitchen.

I encounter my first obstacle.  Blocking my path is an abomination of steel and wood, with some type of mesh supports.  It blocks my path, but I’m in a stubborn mood.  I squeeze in my stomach, and try to slip by this strange contraption.  My stomach compresses, and I’m able to slip by the side of the machine.  As soon as I am free of the deadly embrace of the wall and the contraption, I turn towards it and see the paddle sitting on it.  This does not strike me as odd, because the ping pong paddle is sitting on the table that it was named for.

I encounter the second obstacle, a gruesome man made structure used for eating which has been place precariously close the entrance to the door.  I don’t feel like having another encounter with the wall, so instead of sneaking by it, I decide to do the obviously smart thing.  I give myself some room, and try to make the jump onto the table.  My motor skills where still returning, so I slipped and barely recovered in time.  I stop inches from the wall, and look back at the dining room table in triumph.

I encounter the last obstacle, the strange box which is weaved out of some type of straw.  I push it out of the way, and my shirt gets caught.  It tears, but I am to tired to recognize it at the moment.  I walk over to the fridge and start to drink that clear sweet nectar to soothe my throat.

It was a long day at school and I was exhausted.  I  just went straight up to my room to lay down.  It was Friday finally. “Time to chill and do nothing,” I thought.  I decide to open my new game “Chrono Trigger” and try it out.  It was a good old fashioned action-sci-fi game that was about a group of people who time travel.  A poster of the game fell out.  I wondered why there was this weird looking walrus on the poster.  “No monster could be as sinister as a walrus ” I said to my self sarcastically.  Then I heard this weird noise off in the distance as if someone was struggling.  Then I heard it again.  I went to the top of the stairs to see what was happening.  There was someone trying to mess up the front of the house.  I called out to my mom and she came down with me.  I grabbed my staff and tried to chase the person away.  As soon as my Mom and I emerged from my front door the person started to run away.  I ran and jump off the top steps like a crazy mad man while screaming.  Waving the wooden staff, a face grinning on the top of it.  The panting mouth shows off the ivory teeth.  He starts to run faster as if I was a psycho killer.  My mom starts to laugh at me and we go back inside.  Luckily, I heard the person.  We called the cops and they said that they did get calls that someone was going around messing with people’s houses.  I am sure a lot of people have had their houses broken into or vandalized.  We were just lucky that we were home.

I just sat on the back steps idly trying to find something to do.  I stared blankly on the back porch.  The burgundy porch shined against the blaze of the hot sun.  The big tree in the yard only provided only so much shade from the suns intense rays.  I glance to my cousin hopelessly and asked him if he knew anything we could do.  He shook his head and continued to stare at the damp lonely ground.  I started to walk around trying to think of something.  “Come here, Steph” I said.  Some bamboo fell into our yard from the neighbors’ yard.  I started to look at it intently.  “This would be good to whack something with.” Steph said.  We both looked at each other.  We were at a standstill like like two warriors waiting for each other to make the first move.  Then like pure instinct I extended my arm out to block the high attack from my opponent.  I can feel the vibration travel down the bamboo as if I just hit a home run.  Now it’s my turn.  I backed up then swung from the left. To my surprise, my attack was dodged.  I darted behind the tree.  The two seconds of rest turn back into the battle.  The clacking could be herd a block a way.  You would think that we were real warriors.  Again and again we attack each other with great force.  We are both tired but we still go on.  I dive to doge an attack then quickly get back up to strike again.  Luckily my opponent stumbled and fell.  I charged towards him and strike down with all my might.  My opponents weapon broke and he was rendered helpless.  With a heavy breath and sweat on my face I stand over my opponent triumphantly.  I have emerged triumphant, I have won.  Then without warning we both start to laugh.  I extend my arm to greet his.  I help him back up.  We walk back inside.  It was a good match and I am the champion for now.  Man boys will sure be boys.  Just like any old kid.  As willed as ever.

Now that I think back on this it isn’t much that is unusual about this.  At first I couldn’t see it.  It was so hard to think of a way to tie all my story together.  No mater what it did not fit.  Any memory or any way I tried to put the pieces together.  It was like a jigsaw puzzle you couldn't figure out.  Just then in a split second I realized what the problem was.  I was talking with one of my friends and I was saying how life was boring for me.  Just the same old stuff happening every dull day.  I got the idea from that.  My life is just regular, an average Joe.  Plenty of people had some one mess with there house.  When I was young every one was running around causing chaos.  Most of the things that happen in my life just is not any different than anyone else.  I’m one of the few people that dosent have any extra in there life.  So the main point in all of this is that I am a regular guy, nothing more nothing less.

I can go back to when I first walked into my house when I was 5. I was down the basement and I couldn’t find my way upstairs. My dad was bringing things into the house since our basement door is next to the driveway. It’s easier then dragging things all the way to our front door, which is on the side of our house. When I saw him I ran over and said “Daddy! I can’t find the door! Help me!”  He laughed and then said, “Turn around.” As I turned around I saw the door to walk up into my living room. When I got upstairs there was almost a ton of change in random spots in the rooms. I was so excited, it felt like a treasure hunt, so I ran around the house collecting any change that I saw.

I love looking back on that memory and thinking about how easy things were. The biggest problem that I had was that I couldn’t find the door out of my basement. Now I have to worry about what people I trust, what my grades are like, not letting things get to me, among other things. Nevertheless, every rough time there is, a hundred great memories that come along.

One of my favorite memories in this house took place after a concert my friend and I went to, she came over my house to sleepover. We ended up staying up until 3:30 am, hanging out in my bedroom. Most people don’t like staying in my room for too long because everything in my room is pink, my bedding, lamp, desk, walls, rug, even my ceiling is pink. It is very bright, even sometimes I don’t like being up in my room for too long. There are also a lot of pictures and posters. It was one of the funniest nights I have had though.

  When we first got home from the concert, we just hung out and talked for a little.  As the night carried on we got extremely hyper, because we were both tired and we each had a can of Mountain Dew. About halfway though the night I brought in my little brother’s Yamaha keyboard. Neither of us know how to play keyboard so when we tried, it ended up sounding like nails on a chalkboard. I felt really happy because it was fun and neither of us try to act perfect. Later on, we decided to randomly call people and play the keyboard while on the phone. Every time we would dial a number and listen to the phone buzzing as we waited for them to answer, we would laugh hysterically, thinking about the reaction of the person we were calling. When someone would pick up, we would shout “Hello! Hi! Heeeeeeey!” in funny voices and then slam random buttons on the keyboard. People thought we were completely insane, asking “What is wrong with you s? Why are you calling me?” Every person that we called hung up on us within 5 minutes.

About an hour before we actually fell asleep, we turned on my old, bulky, silver television that my grandmother gave me. We started watching That 70’s Show, one of our favorite television shows. We were also quoting every line that a character would say and cracking up. After a while we got really tired so as we were still watching That 70’s Show, we both fell asleep.

That night was just fun and that’s the night that I realized why home is important to me. It is important to me because it’s a stable place in the world. Everything changes, but this place never does. I have grown up in this same house and my bedroom has grown along with me. From my princess room, to just all pink, to how it is now. Now it is exactly how I want it, it has pictures all over my walls; there is just enough space all of my belongings and me. It’s organized perfectly for me, not too neat but at the same time its not too messy, and I know where I want everything to go.

I remember when I got my room the way it is now. It was a Saturday, 2 years ago; the movers said they would at my house any time between 1-4 pm. It was 3:30pm and I have been staring out of my window for the past 2 hours, impatiently waiting for my new bedroom-set to be delivered. I had my room completely cleared out, except for my television. Other than there was just pink walls and ceiling, both windows with their curtains pulled up, and an open door. I was completely ready for my new bedroom, so over excited that I couldn’t even go 10 minutes without running towards my window to check if the movers have finally arrived. Every time I would hear a car rush by I would run outside and be greeted with disappointment.

At 3:45 I heard something, it was the pounding of large tires on a road. I looked out the window and screamed downstairs to my mom “THEY’RE HERE!” as I stormed down the flight of stairs that was separating me from her. I stared out of the window as the movers checked their paperwork to make sure it was the right house, slammed the trucks doors, and started walking up to my front steps. When they finally knocked on the door, it was like a symphony. “Hello, we have a bedroom set delivery for the Flite family.” They said when we opened the door.

When they were upstairs putting the furniture together, it felt like life times were going by. They left the house at 4:10 and when they left I raced up my steps into my room to see how it looked. I loved it. It looked so different then before, instead of a cleared out room of nothing, my room now had a queen sized bed, and a matching dresser, They were each a light washed wood color with 2 rows of silver wood panels at the top.

Home is my place. It’s where I am free and happy. My little brother was born three months premature and for about 6 months I had to live at my grandma’s house. It just didn’t feel the same. Her house is nice and it’s big, but it’s not my house. It has a different feel to it. Home gives me a feeling of safety and security. It’s the one thing that never changes, while people and life does. I love my house and I love the feelings that come from it.

All of my cousins ran up to see my camera and the first thing that they said was: “Why does it look and feel like a toy? Are you sure it’s real?” I didn’t care what they said but it was the best thing my mom ever got me because it started my love for photographing my family and my life. And with one press of the hand and a faint capture sound from the camera, my first picture instantly appeared on the two-inch screen. My first picture…an outlandish view of my monkey toes. With that camera, it started my collection of my wide array of cameras such as my silver Canon 8 mega pixel, then to my Canon 10.1 mega pixel, and now I currently use my asphalt black Canon Power Shot SD780 IS, 12.1 mega pixel camera.

All it takes is one little camera to start my hobby in taking pictures. I take pictures of everything and any one I know. All I want is to remember everything I do in my life. I constantly take pictures and every so often people get annoyed but I think of it as a: “Hey, I’m helping you with your memories too.” People don’t understand how powerful pictures can be.

Except my family, they cherish every moment together and we never let go of any “Kodak moment” opportunity. In every part of my family’s houses, aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents, there are framed and polished pictures on the wall, four by six pictures hanging off of the mirrors, taped on or stuck in a little corner, and frames scattered through out the house, on the mantles, tables, and some times even the floor. My mom always says: “Say gnaw day gal gaching gal sung seen” and roughly translating from Cantonese that would mean “Wash the pictures of your family only”, and translating from roughly to clean would be: “Print out pictures of only our family.” But I always sneak a few of my friends without her knowing it.

Weeks later, to my utter surprise, while cleaning out my hamster’s cage, my dad, in the blink of an eye, appeared at the back yard door and he told me: “TURN OFF THE WATER and come to the basement.” Being myself, I stubbornly asked what was wrong with cleaning my hamster’s odor-filled cage – which I hadn’t cleaned for two weeks, with a childish smirk. After that one question, he gave me the death stare and blatantly across his face read: anger, frustration, and impatience. This was the second time in fourteen years – This was the second time in my life of fourteen years.

The first time was a complete blur because I was six years old and wailing at the top of my lungs. I think I yelled at my mom and dad about how I was smarter than them and how I could do anything and everything I wanted because of my intelligence. My stubborn, spoiled intelligence. My dad did not stand for that so he picked me up and threw me out of the door – not literally, more so placed. Standing barefoot, on the “beat up” welcoming mat we had out side of the door, my three-year-old sister opened the door for me and she: “Say sorry to mommy and daddy. So they are not mad.”

I wasn’t going to go against that look again, so I shut off the water, leaving the cage out side and Alfred in his ball. Usually, when I go down the stairs I listen to my feet pit-pat but this time there was another sound. What was it? The dryer? No, it sounded watery and leaking. The washing machine? No, that sound isn’t the same. The water sounded free, flowing wherever it wanted too. I turned the corner and my feet got wet instantly, my mom was standing there confused and angry. We quickly evacuated all of our things out of that small room and I helped clean up the mess after putting away Alfred in his coconut-scented cage. After moving all of the beach toys to the other room, I found a pitch-black bag with the gray “EXPRESS” logo on it. In that bag, contained two of my mom’s twenty by thirty wedding pictures, framed up and now water damaged.

I was the saddest of all that my parents’ twenty by thirty wedding pictures were water damaged. My parents didn’t seem as sad as I. How could they not be as devastated as I was? Their wedding pictures were ruined. That special day led to my sister and I and where we were today. So many stories were past around each other about that picture and all it took was water to cringe up the paper. I wasn’t going to stand for this so I promised my self that my first paycheck would go to their pictures. And lo and behold, I got my first paycheck!

There were so many things to do, to buy, and to have! I cashed in my paycheck with my parents at TD Bank. In my mind, there were so many things I could do with fifteen crisp, clean twenty-dollar bills. I could spend it all on clothes; spend it on a long wanted bag, or just save it. I could use all of this money on myself. But I was reminded of the ruined wedding pictures when I went to put all of the clothes into the dryer, one night. I knew what I was going to get. It was a long lost goal, promised years before. And what perfect timing, my parent’s anniversary was coming up. Dinner and two perfect frames for the big one-six anniversary.

Secretly with just one hundred and forty-six dollars in my hands, I walked in to the picture-framing store on 21st and Chestnut. In and out of the store with a nice deal was what I was aiming for. While walking in the store, I realized that this store was really hot and the pictures in this store all had a different story of his family in it, whether it was written onto the frame or the picture itself. I found the owner of the store in the back just finishing up matting a picture of the sunset to the engraved golden frame. The owner was a big man with a graying mustache and goatee. I introduced myself and with an unsure voice, told him I didn’t know what I wanted yet, so Mr. Allan escorted me to the front of the store and pulled out at least forty hundred different frames, twenty hundred different types of matte paper, and a list of sizes. It was like a never ending maze of frames and then he finally asked me after seeing that little frustrated crease appear between my eye brows:

“What’s the occasion for the two pictures?” – He asked like he already knew the answer.

“My parent’s sixteenth anniversary gift.” – I smugly said with a smile.

With that answer, he automatically knew what was needed. After a lot of questioning between the canvas print and the framed matte print, I don’t know if he wanted me out of the store or just gave me a discount for knowing me for such a long time, but we concluded the price of one hundred and forty dollars. So, two pictures: framed, enlarged, and matted all by Friday. I chose Friday because Friday was their anniversary day, sixteen years together. Mr. Allan handed me the yellow receipt copy and everything was done. With a wave, good-bye and a polite “Thank you, see you Friday!” I spent the half of my paycheck on restoring my parents adored wedding memories.

On every vacation, heaps of pictures are taken and hordes of pictures are printed out. Who wouldn’t want an eight-gigabyte memory card filled with pictures? Nonetheless every year, once a year, my family goes on one big trip together to Virginia Beach for a couple days which means one big family on one glorious beach. And every year that we arrive home my mom chooses pictures to print out but there is this one picture that will always hang on my wall. It’s a unique picture in a unique pearl color fish scale imitation frame. She told me, "Although this picture is dull and has almost a color-less gray horizon, my family and I are livening our surrounding up with our bright and vibrant personalities, shirts, and shorts."

Taking pictures on vacation hold the experience you had and holds it until the end of time. It’s all the matter of memory versus experience. The photographers in my family all know that. We seize the moment to keep hold of the past on every vacation. Pictures are something that will help us remember what we did down the road of life.

Day-by-day, I take pictures of anything from over sized pigeons and people walking their hairless cats to my friends and family. I never let go of any moment. Pictures are what trigger the past and shoot the memory back into the present. They trigger the repressed memory in the back of our mind. Everything memorable moment should be kept, big or small. Even in every moment you’re with me, pictures will be taken. That’s how it is; I stop the present to look back at the past in the future. Taking pictures gives us another way with which to share our lives and our loves with the rest of the world. I will ceaselessly take pictures, holding every memory in a book, and looking back to see what a picture tells me. I will show the world my life.

Eight years of taking pictures on my own, learning it all, day-by-day and still learning. With the average photographer, getting the perfect light and knowing which background gets the best of each shot. If you hand me a camera, I can get a perfect shot in a heartbeat. Pictures can give anyone so much power. The power to hold your past in a convenient four by six or an enlarged sixteen by twenty, your most prized memories, no matter how small the memory they hold. Pictures are taken everywhere, at home, on vacations, and…well, everywhere. All moments in life are important, but not all are special.

When I was in eighth grade, I decided that I didn’t like when girls and boys were treated differently. I didn’t want to be considered more, or less than the boys in my grade. I wanted to do the things that are  “only” acceptable for boys to do, and I wanted to see boys doing the things that are “only” acceptable for girls to do. I believed strongly that people should be allowed to be themselves, whether or not they’re following what’s considered normal or acceptable. I decided that I wanted to be the one to change the possibilities different genders were offered, but I knew that I couldn’t just expect everyone to begin changing the way they did every day things so instead, I decided that I'd start with myself, and with sports. I didn’t want to be on the softball team, because I thought it was demeaning that sports had to be modified for girls. I wanted to be challenged just as much as any boy, because I wanted to prove that I too could play the tougher sport.

“Teacher Ed, I was wondering if it was possible for Emmi and I to join the boys baseball team bec-” I didn’t even get to finish my sentence before he cut in and said “No” but that wasn’t going to stop me from trying. “I want to play on the boys team because there’s different rules, and the balls are smaller and harder, also overall I feel like I'd be more challenged” I said confidently, but this time he just laughed “No, just play softball” he said walking out of the room. I sat there frustrated, and disappointed as I watched him walk back to his office, but I was not about to give up.

Education begins at a younger age than you might think, and it doesn’t always come from school. My dad would throw me baseballs to hit with a little plastic bat when I was just a few years old. Around the time when I was starting kindergarten, he took me to a small soccer event for toddlers organized by Fairmount soccer. I had seemed to enjoy the sport of soccer, so my dad put me on a team with Fairmount soccer. This is where I learned how to play soccer for the first time. My first practice I walked onto the field in my brand new cleats and shin guards, and terrified about playing on a team for the first time. With the entire team standing around in a huddle, my coach asked me, “What position do you like to play?” I wasn’t really sure what he meant, so I just stood there nervously for a few seconds he asked “Do you like offense? Defense? Goalie?” Still not entirely sure I just responded with “Goalie?” So he put me at goalie in a small game. Because it was my first time playing and I had no idea what I was supposed to be doing, the other players just kicked the ball into the goal while I just watched it confused. The coach realized I had never played before, so he put me at defense because it was the easiest position to learn. He gave me a quick explanation of what to do and or the rest of the practice I had fun stopping the offense and kicking the ball back up to the field. Going to games and practices quickly became things I looked forward to during the day.

Fairmount soccer specialized in teaching soccer to little kids who were just playing soccer or a sport for the first time, and it was the place where I learned not only how to play soccer but about supporting and encouraging other people. This is something that I have found is incredibly important in life, and it’s also something that you need to learn from experience. Nobody ever told me to encourage my teammates, but I started because my coach would congratulate me when I stopped the other team from scoring, or took the ball from someone. After a while of this, I started doing the same thing for my other teammates. The other thing I learned at Fairmount soccer was sportsmanship. I lost games, and I won games. When I won games, I didn’t make fun of the other team, because I knew what it was like to lose. This has ultimately made me a much more respectful and empathetic person, which I feel are important qualities in a person. I think that losing games is overall more important than winning games. Sure, winning games gives you a good sense of self achievement, and I higher standing in the league, but that’s it. Losing games is a learning experience. Whenever you lose a game, or mess up anything in general, you think about what went wrong to make that happen, and that always makes you think about what you specifically went wrong, which is the most important part of getting better at something; learning from your mistakes. That logic has since carried over to academics; such as thinking about why I got a low grade on a project, and what can I do to get a better grade on similar projects or tests.

After a few more years with Fairmount, it had come to the time when they no longer had teams for my age group, and I joined Palumbo soccer. Fairmount had taught me the basics of the game of the game of soccer, and about sportsmanship. Palumbo soccer taught me the other part of soccer; the mental game of soccer. Not about how to pass, dribble or shoot, but when to pass, dribble, or shoot and why. I learned all about positioning and various other strategic maneuvers, and games became less about which team had the best players that could dribble the ball around the defence and score, and more about which team was the best at playing with each other. Playing with this team I acquired more of a team mentality. Through playing as a team, I got much better at working as part of a group, a skill that has been immensely helpful in my life, and will doubtlessly be helpful for the rest of my life.

    While playing soccer with Fairmount, my dad also put me into a baseball league. Baseball was the sport I had originally played with my dad when I was a kid. It was really fun for me, I could walk to the practices and games, and I played with all the other kids in my neighborhood. For the first few weeks of one season, I remember having a lot of trouble hitting the ball. I was always striking out during games, even though during practices I would be getting extra help from the coaches on my swing. The 5th game of that season, I went up to bat in a really close game. There were two outs and the bases were loaded when I went up to bat, and I was worried I would strike out again and miss the opportunity to score a run. When the pitch came I swung as hard as I could, and the ball hit the very top of the fence. I ran around the bases and I got a double, driving in two runs.

After that I stopped striking out and I started hitting again, and even got to bat first in a few games. This game was one of the key events in my life that taught me never to give up, and about the importance of perseverance. If everyone just gave up after messing up once, the world would be set back hundreds, if not thousands of years. For example, Thomas Edison had over 1000 failed designs for the light bulb, but through perseverance and hard work, he finally succeeded.

Eventually I moved up to a higher league in the 21st ward, which was fun, but it was never as fun as the first few years in my neighborhood league. I never fully understood why I liked my neighborhood league more. Maybe it was because it wasn’t as serious as the 21st ward, which was where I first started seriously playing baseball. It also may have been because I was as good as the kids in my neighborhood, and in the 21st ward kids had been brought up playing only baseball, and were at a much higher skill level than me. At first, there were some things I was good at. I was one of the faster kids on my team and could steal bases. I could draw a lot of walks, and I could also occasionally bunt for a hit because of my speed. But as I got older, and the other kids started being able to throw faster, I couldn’t do these things as often, and I had a year where I only got 3 hits, and the rest of my times on base were from walks or errors. As seasons went on, the skill difference between me and the other players increased and increased until I eventually quit.

Quitting baseball was a very difficult choice for me, because on one hand, baseball was the sport I grew up with, and many of my fondest memories were of my dad and I playing baseball together when I was little. Baseball was and still is huge in my dad’s life. He has had a passion for the game since he was a kid. He collected baseball cards, and he now has almost 30 seasons of complete sets of baseball cards. He would travel to Montreal to see his favorite team, the Expos play, and he has hundreds of scorecards filled out of games he’s been to, some from the late 1980’s. I was worried my dad would be sad if I quit baseball, because it meant so much to him. On the other hand I wasn’t enjoying playing. Quitting baseball almost felt like I was giving up a part of myself, but I’m happy did because there’s no reason to play a sport if you don’t enjoy it anymore. This logic is some of the same things adults have said to kids over and over again about getting jobs. “Get a job doing something you like, because overall you’ll be more happy enjoying your job, than getting paid more and not enjoying your job.” I feel like this means more to me than many others, because I can relate to that. The best reason to continue or stop doing something is whether or not you enjoy it.

For a long time, sports have been an important part of my life. Sports have taught me lessons that I don’t know where else I could have learned them. It helps to learn life lessons at a young age like I did, because when you are you younger these things have a much more profound effect on you, because you’re developing more rapidly. I think that it’s incredibly important to put young children in these types of environments, because the purpose of parenting isn’t to make your children happy, but to prepare them for the rest of their lives. I feel much more prepared for when I leave my parents and when I go to college because of what I’ve done with sports in my life. Learning these immensely important life lessons through sports isn’t the only useful thing I’ve gotten out of sports, but it’s given me an outlet. If I’m feeling stressed out, or frustrated, or generally sad, I can just kick around a soccer ball and I feel myself forgetting about my troubles. Many people don’t have something like that, and they just hold their emotions inside of them, which can only end poorly. Overall, playing sports hasn’t just been something fun that I enjoy doing, but it’s prepared me for the rest of my life.

I was running around the shed at my after school playing tag with my friends. My favorite teacher Ms. Desi decides to capture the moment with her huge, extremely expensive and professional camera. I really didn’t like how I looked in the picture because I was wearing hand-me-down clothes from an older friend and I stood out. I then ran around the fairly small shed, and bump into Aminada, meanest girl at the after school. I accidentally knock her over. After she got up she pushed me on the ground with all of her might. I got a cut on my elbow from the push and I saw red liquid oozing from the cut. I then realized it was blood and immediately started crying. Ms. Desi said she was in big trouble and had to go see the director of the after school program (my mom). After Aminada got back from the office she stomped towards me and said “I hate you and your family so much. Your mom got me in trouble at home, now I don’t have t.v. for a week! I am going to get your mom fired!” I replied with something I later regreted saying “You can’t get her fired she is going to quit and got to a better job!” At first I laughed in her face, but then I realized I was not supposed to say anything about my mom switching jobs. Her boss didn’t know about it yet. The Aminada went and told a teacher, who then told my mom’s boss.

After truth came out I realized what I did was wrong and it made me really nervous about the outcome. I should have been nervous. In my mind I thought, why would someone retaliate to such a stupid comment. As if Aminada could really get my mom fired for telling her parents she did something she wasn’t supposed to. I could have put my mom’s job in jeopardy. I always told myself “I did it in the heat of the moment.” However I knew that wasn’t true. I did it because I wanted to prove to that girl that I was bigger and better than her. But now that I think about it, I just gave her what she wanted... a chance to get me in really big trouble. Worst of all I stooped down to her lower level. I  was being just as mean as she was to me, and every one else there.

Quiet time, the time before our parents come and pick the kids up. I could feel in my gut that my moms boss had talked to her already. I was laying down, thinking about what severe punishment that I was going to receive when I got home. My hands sweaty and my stomach queasy I decided to tell my mom the truth when I saw her. I thought that maybe if I told her the truth my punishment wouldn’t be so harsh. But when I told my mom I heard the answer that screeched in my ears like nails down a black board. “I know all about what you did and I am going to let your father decide what your punishment will be.” these are the words that I didn’t want to hear. We got home and I saw my dad sitting on the couch watching football. I then walk over to him and stand next to him until he gives me my punishment. I stand there frozen with fear  unable to move a muscle. Then he speaks, “You know you were not supposed to say anything about your mother’s new job, so you have to stand in that corner for an hour and think about why you are in trouble. After that hour is done I want you to go up stairs, do your homework and go to bed.” By the time he was finished I was already crying, streams of tears coming down my face like the Nile river. I went and assume my position in the corner, did my homework and went to bed without dinner. I didn’t stop crying the entire night because I knew what I did was wrong.

When I look back on it, I realize I shouldn't retaliate to what people say if they don’t really matter. All my life I have cared what people think about me, what they say to me, or about me. Now that I realize this I thought my life would be a little more relaxing and smooth. If I don’t worry about gossip, bullies, or saying something I shouldn’t then I will be able to reach my full potential. Throughout my life I have noticed, I always get in trouble for something I shouldn’t, due to a bully.

One day when I was on my way home from the bus stop with my sister and “friends”.  We were all having a good time, making fun of all he teachers we despised. All of a sudden out of nowhere my “friends” started making fun of my sister. “ Kaia you have a is a$$ head.” one friend said “Yea you are sooo ugly.” another commented “You look like one of those troll dolls with he crazy hair.” I joined in, I only did I  because I wanted to be in the in crowd, a part of “the cool people”. When my sister and I  finally got home I noticed she started to break down into tears. “ Morgan I am your sister, why would treat someone you love like that. I am your little sister. Its not like you were just standing there, you I then realized how much I hurt her and decided something needed to change.

All my life I have always wanted to be in the “in crowd”. When I finally saw that what I was doing was hurting the people I love I realized that being cool isn’t all its cracked up to be. those people were not really my friends and never will be. Maybe I should just try to be myself and not try to be someone I am not. that choice is always better.