The moments that stay with us are often peculiar
They are difficult to explain
It may be the first time we talk to a friend
Or the last
As I have grown older memories have grown fuzzier
while others keep their clarity
What decides the memory hierarchy?
Are these the moments that define us?
When we are at our greatest
or worst.
We struggle to find meaning in the moments we remember
And even if we find what we are looking for, why ruin the simplicity of the memory.
We’re silly fools
with our petty fights
We have petty dreams
and sleepless nights
We lie awake
and think up things
New lives and loves
of queens and kings
We dream and wish
of things above
And get lost in
what never was
The years, they pass
the time grows thin
Our lives have flown
and we don’t know when
We spent true time
thinking up a throne:
That our own has fallen?
how we should have known
So I was thinking again yesterday, occasionally it can be dangerous when I do that, but it wasn’t, it rather was quite productive.
I went home and turned on the TV and was looking for some sport to watch being as the NHL is STILL locked out… cough* cough* Bettman (still waiting).
Any who, I saw something called “A Football Life” and turned it on.
It is a series who follows a different player every week, but it shows their life through the season.
Yesterday’s episode was featuring Ray Lewis, “the Ravens 16 year defensive soul,” as the show called him.
He is actually someone I can admire and look up to.
It was just a regular sunday night until it wasn’t.
I was sitting at home with a friend enjoying some pizza after playing Madden 13 when all of a sudden my sister bursts in the door yelling.
I was sitting at the table and she rushed in telling me that there is a huge fire right behind a property that we rent out.
She said that she drove by and called 9-1-1 and told them that there was a very large fire and told them the location.
After finishing dinner my Dad and I decided we should probably make sure our property was not on fire and that our storage was ok.
After we had determined our stuff was in no imminent danger and had a talk with our renters we wanted to check it out.
We walked down a long stretch of driveway to see a house engulfed in flames, making loud popping noises like something was exploding, and a firetruck parked right in the middle of two trees.
This is a pretty emotional blog for me to write being as I’m unsure on my future. This weekend may or may not be the last football game of my career. It’s been an amazing road since I first strapped on the pads. Before I get too sentimental, I would like to point out that there is still a strong chance that I will be eligible to play next year for OVS.
I have been thinking to myself a lot lately about what obstacles and challenges I was forced to face to get where I am today. I wasn’t always a great player. In fact, in my early days, I was down right AWFUL!
I remember my first year of competitive football. We only had one game that season and everyone got a chance to play. It wasn’t really competitive, but it was organized. That season was supposed to introduce the youth of Summit, New Jersey.
That’s exactly what it did. The Summit Hilltoppers had a long tradition of competing for championships annually. My second year of football was a reflection of that tradition. However, none of our success had anything to do with me. Enter Jamie White.
Jamie was a friend of mine. He was a monster of an athlete and he still is to this day. One particular play comes to mind about my youth football days with Jamie White. We were pinned down on our own 5 yard line. We needed 10 yards for the first down but we needed to get away from our end zone. Most teams wouldn’t call a halfback draw right up the middle. That play is usually a short yardage play.
Not for Jamie.
Hello journalists!
Let me start off by reminding you of how lucky you are. You are in one of, if not the best, journalism classes in the country. And that is a lot more important than being in the best chemistry class or the best pre-calc class.
And here is why: journalism is much more than a class.
Now you are probably saying, “Evan, didn’t you learn not to use clichés in high school?”
Yes critical reader, I did. But I have evidence for that claim, lots of it.
Let us first start with what skills are required for journalism. A good journalist needs critical thinking skills, people to people skills and the ability to write well and concisely.
Translate that to the real world and you already have some of the most important skills available. You can solve problems, converse with people and then summarize with writing; pretty much the core skills for the work place.
Now let me tell you, Mr. Alvarez teaches this as well as anyone, actually a lot better. I will admit, I am biased. Mr. Alvarez (though he likes to keep this a secret) has very similar views on the world as I do, so of course I was drawn in. He also is funny, and so gosh darn handsome.
But his greatest attribute (and no, it’s not the flat top) is getting you to think. What is the key to this story? What people do I need to talk to? What really should go in the nut graf?
Listen, I have spent my first three weeks of college working my ass off for the paper here. You think Mr. Alvarez asks a lot? You are about as wrong as Mitt Romney. Just one story for the Panther takes hours to get sources for, research, interview, write, edit, edit, edit, and edit.
You can’t just go talk to Mrs. Colborn then swing into Coop’s office for a chat about the subject. You can’t interview your friends, your significant other or your cat. You have to stick your neck out there and talk to strangers. Not just talk to them, harass them for information.
And you think that Mr. Alvarez asks for a lot of long stories and grades them too critically? The bare minimum for this college newspaper is 500 published words each week, so at least one published story. You are missing a comma: there goes 10% of the story grade. You misspell a name (and they do check): zero points. You miss your deadline by a minute (I turned my story in yesterday with 16 seconds to spare): zero points.
I’m not trying to tell you that college writing is hard and you young whippersnappers have it so easy; I am telling you what you need to know.
So here it is: journalism is hard. I have wanted to throw my laptop into the wall after receiving edits (although in college you have other ways to relax yourself), I have wanted to pawn the story off on someone else, I have wanted to just give up.
But the reward of taking a class and writing for a school newspaper is you get insight on the world that no other class can teach you. You are in a job, you have responsibilities that cannot just be ignored. You learn lessons that can be applied everywhere. And best of all, you meet awesome, cool and groovy people like your journalism teacher (I hope you have been watching these videos, there will be a test).
Even though the late Mr. Walker will turn over in his grave because of this cliché; keep working, it pays off in the end.
P.S. The real key to success as a staff writer is to have the attitude of the honey badger.
You may see a few other posts from my fellow OVS bloggers regarding our impending graduation.
What a trip it has been. I have been at OVS for six years and they have been fantastic.
Like at any other school, we bitch and moan about the problems, and there have been many. But when I look at the growth I have experienced and seen within my friends I realize what I have been given.
Going to a private boarding school as a day student can be tricky, but I have learned to play the game.
I have dealt with having a relative has my headmaster as well as having family intertwined with the school history.
My first day, the headmaster told me “I failed with your father, I failed with my son and goddammit, I’m not going to fail with you.”
Although I loath to concede anything to him, I will admit he has not failed. He has given me “character”, although the integrity may still need some work.
I should have been kicked out many, many times. I have thought about leaving even more times.
But endings change the picture. They throw out the individual memories and give you and overall feeling. I can say that the feeling I have is a positive one.
Although I am ready to leave, I appreciate what I have been given and greatly value that gift.
Doubt thou the stars are fire,
Doubt that the sun doth move,
Doubt truth to be a liar,
But never doubt I love.
An excerpt from Hamlet by Shakespeare.
Currently, I am reading Hamlet in my AP English class. Now, Shakespeare hasn’t always been my strong suit. But sometimes, I find myself getting lost in his beautiful wording.
This quote says it all.
People will always question the heavens above them and the ground that they stand upon. Even more so, people will question the words of those they know, even those that they are very close to.
However, there are a few sure things in life. One of them is love.
Whether this love is directed towards family, a close friend, a girlfriend, a boyfriend, a pet, a picture, a passion, or a song, love is always there.
Sure, love can be a confusing thing at times. Especially for those near my age, when awkward teenage love is beginning to mature and we are just figuring out who we are and what we are capable of. But for the most part, people can clearly identify love.
This is a universal feeling. It’s something that Shakespeare knew clearly hundreds of years ago and it’s something that holds true today.
I say, trust in love. Trust in your mother and your father. Trust in your best friends and your enemies. Trust in your boyfriend or girlfriend or whoever your special person may be. Trust in that feeling. It is one of the few sure things that will persist throughout time.
Love is timeless.
Your Feet
“When I cannot look at your face
I look at your feet.Your feet of arched bone,
your hard little feet.…But I love your feet
only because they walked
upon the earth and upon
the wind and upon the waters,
until they found me.”
I love this poem because it can describe anybody that is special to you. Friend, family, boyfriend, or girlfriend.
My mother has always told me that your feet are the doorways to your well-being. If it is flu season, and your feet are bare, you are welcoming the sickness into your body.
I’ve always wondered why she said that. I mean, I could understand why she would advise me to take good care of my hands or perhaps my head, but my feet?
I figured that it was because we use them everyday to walk, to sprint, to skip, to tiptoe, to dance, to keep a rhythm. And since we use them so often, it is crucial that we take care of them.
But this poem took my perspective to another level. Your feet carries you from place to place.
It is not how often you use them or how you use them that make them so special but where they bring you and who you will meet.
That is why my mother stresses me to take care of my feet.
My feet have brought me so far these past 18 years. They brought me up and down mountains and through my life’s pinnacles and pitfalls.
It’s quite funny because my feet used to be my biggest source of self-consciousness. I hated them. I hated the way they looked. I especially hated that because of 4 years of soccer and track, I have two black toenails.
But now, I kind of admire them for where they have taken me. It is almost as if I have a strange respect for them.
Now, as I am going to college, it is time to let my feet take me wherever they choose to go. OH and the places I will see! The people I will meet!
Life is remarkable.
OVS Journalism Blog 
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