“The Last Swing”

Kate John, 12th

There it was—the swing set; to me, it held a world of laughter, unforgettable fun, and the heaviest silence of grief. Could such a wholesome memory carry this weight? I was six years old, on my backyard swings with my sister and best friend. In front of us stood my Uncle Matt, energetic, vibrant, source of fun. He seemed nothing but happy, though I now realize he was hiding pain. “Higherrrrrrr,” I screamed, smiling wide. Matt grinned, freezing me mid-air in his strong arms. We called it “Frozen.” After a few seconds, he’d let go, sending us soaring, that feeling that made us laugh uncontrollably. It’s my last happy memory with him. I still hear our laughter, see his grin, and feel the joy from the swing set. This memory, I’ll never forget.

 

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“Perfection"

Adrianna Walker, 12th

“Sorry, my bad,” I say after I miss my shot, and the ball soars above the crossbar. I turn around to get back out of the box; just as I spin around, I am met with perfection. She's sitting there with a grin on her face, ready to greet me. “Wow, what a shot, you can't even shoot the ball on frame," she says. I try to ignore this. “Next pass, next ball, next play,” I repeat to myself, but she speaks again: “Your defense wouldn't have to work as hard if the shot would have gone in.” 

 

I get the ball again and pass it to the girl just right of me; she has a bad touch and the defender takes it off of us. I  run back to defend, but there was perfection again, “If the ball was to her right foot, you would still have possession. You should be able to play the ball to the correct foot. You have been playing for how many years now? Get it together this is embarrassing.”

 

My eyes start to get watery, and as I blink a tear strolls down my face. “Have the courage to be imperfect, you will not learn anything by being perfect,” I remind her. 

 

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“Perfection’s Shadow”

Perfection is the shadow that always follows me. She lurks behind my shoulder and breathes down my neck. “Not good enough,” she says while hovering. She never lets me forget any mistake I make no matter if it's out on the soccer field, in school, or in life. “What kind of pass was that?” she badgers in my ear while I am running down the soccer field. “How do you not know the answer to that question?” She hovers over my shoulder whenever I am taking a test. Her presence torments me wherever I am. 

Perfection is like the annoying older sister I never had. Excellent hair, flawless skin, impeccable grades, and superathlete. She’s everything that I strive to be. Her voice lingers in the back of my mind saying, “Everyone would be so disappointed in you.” I can’t escape her. Perfection stands in the corner of my room and stares at me. Her stare drives me insane. “Hey, here are all the things you screwed up today!” she says naggingly. 

I am done trying to be perfect. “The only person that was perfect was Jesus. Being perfect is an impossible standard to set for myself. I’m just going to be the best I can be, not perfect,” I tell perfection. “Well good luck with that,” she scoffs. “Making mistakes is a part of being human. How you reflect and learn from your mistakes is what matters,” I say to that know-it-all. Her response is, “Ugh whatever. I’m out of here.” Good riddance to her.

 

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“Admire”

When you first meet JJ (my brother), you would think of him as this nice, quiet, young adult. But beneath that personality is a side that no one really knows but me. JJ grew up playing basketball with me. He was always older than me but continued to allow me to play with him and his friends. During our middle school years and early high school years, our relationship was unexplainable. We would argue and fight everyday. We were never on good terms and always had something mean to say about each other. It wasn’t until the start of my junior year that we became best friends. That was mostly due to him leaving for college for a year and us understanding that we missed each other. We would call every night just to check up on each other. It felt like we were two different people. The one thing I’ve never truly understood is how he acts towards me when it comes to basketball. He knows my true potential. He knows I’m usually the best player on the court at all times. He knows how good I should be. When we play one on one, I always beat him. So you would think he would say I am better than him. No. He has never said those words to my face. He doesn’t tell me anything I do. He explains the things I need to work on or fix. I could have the best basketball game of my life, but he would have something negative to say about it. The weird thing is that he is totally different when I am not around. He will say I’m better than him. He will tell people that I had a good game. He will explain to people how good I actually am. He shows tough love to my face but always supports me. He is always at my games and always supporting. He screams for me constantly. He has been at every game this year. It doesn’t matter how far it is. On my senior night, he was the only one who cried and really showed how much he loves me. His tough love for me really represents our relationship. That is why I admire my older brother, JJ. 

 

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“Feeling the Wind”

I remember my hands trembling on the handlebars, the sun in my eyes, and Dad’s voice behind me saying, “You got it, buddy!” The bike wobbled, my shoelace slapped the tire, and I thought for sure I was going down. Then I realized his hand wasn’t on the seat anymore. He was a few steps back, grinning. I was doing it. The wind hit my face, and I yelled without meaning to, half scared, half excited. When I looked back, he was clapping. That was the first time I felt what growing up really feels like--scary, but kind of amazing.

 

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“Final Quarter”

Jacob Johnson, 12th

I used to think football was just a game. But somewhere between early morning lifts, Friday night lights, and helping freshmen learn the playbook, it became something else entirely.

My love for the game started early. I remember being a little kid in a Ben Roethlisberger jersey, acting out his plays in my living room. “Big Ben” was the reason I started playing peewee at the earliest age possible. Back then, I loved practice, but I lived for game day. While Peewee was fun, middle school was when things got serious. I understood the game better, the movements felt more natural, and we seemed to win almost every time we stepped on the field.

Then came high school—and honestly, I was scared. Everyone was bigger, the pace was faster, and the intensity was unlike anything I’d ever felt. As a freshman, I saw the varsity field only in flashes, but I watched us battle into the second round of the playoffs. By my sophomore year, I earned my first varsity start and saw more playing time, though we struggled through a 2-8 finish. My junior year, I stepped into a more defined role, starting on defense and rotating in on offense to help us reach a 4-5 record.

This year, as a senior and team captain, I’ve started both ways. It’s been a challenging season under a brand-new coaching staff. With a young roster and a major transition, our 2-8 finish was expected, but it was still a year of immense growth—for the coaches, for the team, and for me.

Despite the record, I’ve loved every minute. Football has taught me how to push myself through exhaustion, how to lead by example, and how to work hard regardless of the scoreboard. It has forged a love for the game that is stronger than ever. While I hope to play at the college level, I know it’s not guaranteed. Anything is possible, but I’m coming to terms with the fact that this chapter might be closing.

Accepting the end is hard, but the lessons won’t leave me. Football taught me how to lead when things aren't easy, how to show up when you're losing, and how to stay disciplined when you're frustrated. I hope I’ve left something behind for the younger guys, just as Big Ben once did for me. If I’ve helped even one teammate believe in himself or fall in love with the game, then I’ve done my job as a captain.

 

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“Tiny Terrors”

Ava Setren, 12th

ZZZZZZ! I leap out of the car window, screaming, “Help! AHHHHHHH!” I am sure this thing will kill me… Chasing me, endless, tiny legs approaching closer. “Oh no… It’s catching up!” I cry out, fully out of breath. Desperate to survive the abomination, swatting left and right, “Where is it!?” I squeal. 

The buzzing grows louder, mind downright empty, until I finally catapult it off of me. “Finally, Peace and quiet! ” I exclaim. Silence, completely fulfilling my encompassing area. At a total loss of words…breathless, quivering, sobbing. I finally spiral around…completely petrified; Only to find out, It was a stinkbug…      

What is it about a moment of pure panic that makes your mind turn a tiny, harmless bug into a terrifying, horrendous monster?

 

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Sevrin Vecchiolla, 12th

I teed up my ball with the driver in hand ready to unleash all of my power. I picked out my line, took a deep breath, and took the club back… Klink!  It soured down the middle of the fairway. There was only 190 yards to the pin. Gripping my seven iron, I took a deep breath, and I hit it as flush as possible. The ball was going right at the flag. Tink! It hit the flag and landed right next to the hole. I anxiously ran up to the hole to tap it in for my first ever eagle.

 

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“Independently”

Abby Moore, 12th

The shoes on my feet, precautionarily tight, seemingly tied together.

The clothes I'm wearing, amber: darkened by profuse perspiration.

The watch I'm glaring, focused incessantly on the routine and audience before me, ticking.

The house I live in. I confided in its embrace to complete me. Instead, the stage’s lubricated floor left my bronze instrument crashing — discordantly.

But maybe I had to. The stage never intended harm, just exposed me raw, cracking not bones, just spirits and shells of the ivory marionette whose strings were too tight. She was humbled by the worst, best case scenario, for she rose free.

 

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“The Plane”

The plane was a small, light weight, shiny silver. I think the plane can represent the way my life feels at times. Sometimes I can feel small, unwanted, and alone. I can feel like nothing I do will ever amount to anything and will stay small and unfinished. Other times I feel a lightweight in my life. Maybe like the time my grandma's cancer shrunk and I felt that relief, or maybe when school is out, and I don't have to worry about hard, stressful life. Sometimes I even feel like that shiny silver. When I feel the most confident in myself, or when I feel like I'm on top of the world by an accomplishment. I really feel like I can be the plane sometimes. With all of those emotions, I'm still gliding through the air, no matter what; life keeps moving, no matter if I like it or not.  

 

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“Fulfillment of Life”

When I look back on my life in 30 years, being happy and fulfilling my full potential will make me successful. You don’t have to make the most money, have the nice clothes, nice jewelry, or nice cars to be successful. The definition of success means an accomplishment of an aim or purpose. That purpose switches from person to person. With me, there are a lot of things that would make me successful in 30 years. Continuing to chase my dream of playing basketball after high school will make me successful. Basketball means everything to me. It got me through my hard times and will continue to be my safe place. Playing for the next ten years of my life, that would make me consider myself being successful. Having a job I love to do would also make me successful. You need to love what you do, or you will have a terrible life. A wife and kids is an essential part of my future. I need that to be successful because there is no better feeling than to come home to your family. I want to take care of my parents. Taking care of them until they pass away is such an important part of my life. My parents do everything for me, and I need to return the favor. I’m not going to do it because I think I owe them. I’m going to do it because of my love for them. Getting closer to siblings is important for success as well. I am very close to my second oldest brother, JJ, but not my other siblings. I didn’t grow up with my oldest brother, and I haven't really talked to him a lot. I want to have that brotherly love with my brothers. Now with my sister, our relationship will be different. My brothers always crack jokes and make fun of each other. We are never serious at all. I want to improve my relationship with my sister. I need her to realize that I will always be there for her. I love my sister, and I will do anything for her. I want to graduate college. That is going to be one of the most important accomplishments I will achieve. I want to graduate at the top of my class as well. I have the ability to do it, and I will prove it to myself. Earning my first $100,000 will also be a big accomplishment for me. I want to keep earning money every year. Every few thousand dollars is an accomplishment for me. Having my first kid is another big accomplishment for me. I can't imagine that feeling when you hold your kid for the first time. I know I will start crying. No matter what you do in your life, make sure you love your life. Having goals for yourself. You can never live a happy life if you are always worried about what you don’t have. Don’t be sad for what you don’t have; be happy for what you have. Love yours. 

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“The Bucket”

Preston Hill, 11th

Imagine with me, for just a moment, that you have a bucket. It’s completely empty, sitting beneath a faucet of water. Your goal is simple: water will drip into the bucket slowly. Your goal is to remove the bucket when you are satisfied with the amount of water in your bucket.

 

Simple.

 

So you let the water drip. You do other things while it drips. You may practice a hobby, study for school, or train for a sport. You may even just watch the water drip for fun. You meet people, make friends- start holding them close in your heart. In your mind, you set the goal to retrieve the bucket when the water reaches halfway up it. It won’t take too long, but this allows you to do what you’d like in the meantime. It’s not too much water, but it’s enough to be complacent with.

 

Right?

 

Your life is put into motion. Things become more frantic and chaotic- you become more busy and distracted. There’s that test in biology, and exam in math, and you can’t forget to practice that hobby you started. What was it again- drawing? Making music? Did you play basketball? Those friends are still there for you, though; they help, don’t they? They keep you from panicking. They help you with work. 

 

Shoot. The bucket.

 

You forgot to watch the bucket. It hadn’t really progressed while you were away, but it’s almost halfway full. With each drop, you can hear your heart beat. Bu-bump. Bu-bump. Bu-bu-bump. You’re scared. It’s all a lot. You think about yourself. Would anyone else really be satisfied with a bucket that’s half empty? Who would care? Maybe a bucket that is three quarters of the way full would be more impressive- something more worthy of being proud about. Other people like your friends and your parents would be impressed with three fourths full over half empty any day of the week.

 

Right?

 

But you can’t let the bucket out of your sight now, can you? No no no. You have to watch it thoroughly. The bucket cannot leave your sight because what if something bad happens to it? It could overrun with water or tip over- what if someone steals your bucket?! NO NO NO. You HAVE to watch it.  Just look over it until you’re happy.

 

Simple.

 

But now your other duties and responsibilities have all begun to crash and burn. You can’t remember what sport you played- but who cares? It wasn’t the world to you, anyways. Your hobby… well you aren’t getting better at it any time soon- not that you can remember what it was to begin with. But at least you have your friends.

 

Shoot. The bucket. 

 

It's one fourth empty. It’s not enough-  or maybe it is enough. Maybe it’s too much- no, it’s definitely not enough. Nobody is going to care if it’s still one fourth empty. Seven eighths. Seven eighths will be enough. It has to be enough. No more, no less. You wait and watch. You want to look away, but oops! Your heart will beat, your brain will think, fear, hate, resent- BUT YOU CAN’T MOVE. It’s too late to move now. Your hands will quiver and shake and seize, but you won’t move. It’s too late to move now.

 

Simple simple simple simple simple

 

Your life is in shambles, ain’t it? You forgot to do anything else- it’s too late to revive your interests anyways. Your friends… Well, they had lives, and they weren’t centered around waiting for your bucket to fill. They had skills, talents, hobbies- they still had lives. They had what you didn’t.

 

The bucket. Don’t forget the bucket.

 

…who cares? Seven eighths isn’t enough. It’ll never be enough- it’ll always be too much- maybe once long ago, it was enough. You can’t fix that, but maybe you can fix the ashes that you-

 

It’s overflowing.

 

You looked away for too long, and now it’s on its side. You waited so long, and now, it was all for nothing- now… you can’t remember why… 

 

Why did you want to fill the bucket again?

 

Why was it important?

 

Time.

 

In the start, you thought you had an eon before you. You could indulge in other hobbies and habits and such and not have to worry about the bucket’s capacity. You thought you had so much time.

You made friends, forged connections, and built something special with the people you met.

 

But then things changed, didn’t they?

 

You became stressed. Things came along and you were overwhelmed by their presence. Your life was too chaotic. You couldn’t adapt, so you had to cut things from your life to maintain your balance. You lost your sport, hobbies- you lost your friends.

 

Something replaced those empty spaces.

 

Envy for those who had that which you lost- jealousy for these people, turned creatures, who had the audacity to walk into and out of your life. You held wrath against them for your own sloth- for your lust in completing the task you were assigned. You were greedy in thinking you could push further and further in your gluttonous pursuit of more, and were too prideful to stop when it was far past too late.

 

It wasn’t just sin.

 

 It was fear.

 

Fear it was too late to change. 

 

Fear you couldn’t turn back, sacrificing more and more as you dived deeper and deeper into the hole you unknowingly dug yourself, only becoming conscious when you were too deep to get out. 

 

All else failed, and you were left a jack of all trades, master of absolute lethargy…

 

You.

 

Is your  bucket done yet? Can you take the bucket from the faucet and be content? The bucket doesn’t have to be your life. Your life doesn’t have to be about the bucket.

 

Your heart pounds with each drop.

 

Don’t let your bucket tip over.

 

Change.

 

Simple, right?