Spirit of Time

I wonder how many people watch international news, see the events going on in other parts of the world, sigh, express how horrible it is, and then turn the channel without a second thought. I know so many people like that. Or people who, in a rant about America giving away all of our money, say “it’s just none of our damn business what goes on in Africa.” I like to think that in, at the very least, my educated life, that I was not have either of these reactions I just expressed. I have been fascinated with the hardships and suffering in other countries, but I never knew what to do about it. Sure, you could “adopt” a child in a third world country who will receive your check once a month, or not receive it, you never really know.

My senior year I was prepared for a good debate season. I had gained a lot of new knowledge by going to state last year, and being a senior and captain gave me an even bigger advantage to having a really successful season. Our topic for the year stated: Resolved that the United States Federal Government should increase it’s public health assistance to Sub Saharan Africa. This was, as said before, something I was fascinated with. I dove into research for my case, and was amazed, appalled, and disgusted by what I found. I found that little girls don’t get to go to school because they walk five miles both ways to fetch disease infested water in a probably stagnant pool home to thousands of malaria carrying mosquitoes. I found that 2.4 million children die every year from diarrhea, something we would not think twice about. Many of the people are enslaved, terrified for their lives, and witness that life is way too short. I found that our funding is allotted to the “prevention” of diseases that are also present in the Western World (HIV), not necessarily those who need the most attention, or are easily prevented and cured. Our legislators pay little to no attention to the culture that we are pouring money into, and instead waste a ridiculous amount of money teaching abstinence and single partner importance to a society who’s system of beliefs and culture allows multiple partners. We create utter dependence on Western Intervention, instead of helping the countries that make up the Sub Saharan African region thriving and self dependent.

I looked away from my research for a while. Under my fingertips were the keys to my brand new laptop. To my right, my three hundred dollar cell phone, and in my ears, music was playing quietly from my then top of the line video iPod. Granted, I had worked for most of these things, but I had the opportunity to, when many, like these people in Sub Saharan Africa did not. I felt disgusted with myself, wondering why I was complaining about my car yesterday
It’s hard to explain exactly how I felt at this point in my year. Even though I was not into designer clothes and shoes like a lot of the girls in my school, I was none the less infatuated with money. I wanted to get into a good school so I could get into a great law school, get a great job, and make amazing money. It was all means to a selfish end.
The things I learned in debate made me feel like I needed to do something to contribute to the current state of the world, like it was not okay to only worry bout yourself. When we had the opportunity to hear a speaker from Sudan, I without question skipped my most difficult class to sit it. The speaker was a woman from the Dinka tribe. She had faced persecution for her race and had to fake a Muslim religion her entire life. Members of her family were killed fighting for freedom in Sub Saharan Africa, Sudan to be specific, and she had narrowly escaped. She was able to make her way to America, where she feels blessed every day by the freedom she receives here. But this is only where her story begins, and because this is not where it ends that she affected me so much.
The speaker was the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. There was something so different about her, and her beauty was far superior to our models in our magazine. I suppose in Sudan she would be an average woman, but the tone of her skin, her long elegant arms, and curvy but lean body was exotically beautiful to me. Most of all I was drawn by her spirit. The way she spoke of her homeland, even in it’s current state of turmoil, was as if she worshiped the land she used to know. The purpose of her speech was strictly informal. Our coach had just asked her to speak about her life. I asked her what her in life was now that she was in America. Her answer shocked me. After all the trouble she went through to escape the condition of her life, she wanted to go back. She wanted to go to refugee camps to teach young girls English, and more importantly, she added, how important it was to be your own woman. She wanted to teach these girls of freedom.

I knew this is how I could help. I could help her fulfill her dream and in turn help other girls. We would help her go home. The look on her face when we told her was one that I will never forget: that of pure thanks. We held a public debate over the topic. We were able to inform our public about the tribulations that they might have previously turned the channel on. In turn, we were able to raise half of the money needed for (NAME) to return to Sudan.
I spent the remainder of y year diving deeper into this subject of my study. I did my senior research paper on our current government’s aid to Sub Saharan Africa. Through this year I learned not only about Africa but also about myself. I realized that the most important thing in life was not to be financially successful, but instead to be proud of what you do. I have never been more proud of myself than when I was able to help someone else fulfill her dream. Through this year I learned that I want to teach people about other cultures, other lives, and other problems that are not quite as selfish as the ones we think we face daily.

Inspi(red) Photoshoot

The center most part of something is not always found an equal distance from both sides. In this case it is found quite offset, marked by a foot long piece of white rubber. From the center, I am most at home. The rest of this land revolves around this area. It is the most important part. A chain linked fence surrounds my home, which has the shape of a triangle with one rounded side. All around my center point there is soft dusty dirt, and fifteen feet behind it, the dirt meets beautiful green grass in a lip. Four square, white bags set in the dirt in a diamond formation mark different distances throughout the field, and also represent safety. White chalk lines leave the pentagon shaped rubber at the beginning of the field, and travel two hundred feet to meet the bright yellow poles that mark fair territory. Above me, the blue open sky, around me, scattered at various designated places throughout my home, our home, are my best friends. In front of me are our family and fans, and behind me a few scattered trees and a busy highway. This is not the most fascinating landscape I’ve ever seen in my life. I would name many more before this. But I KNOW this land. I have spent time on the white safety bags. I know the angle that your body can slide into the dirt without getting cut. I have stretched and ran in the grass. I have hit balls to the chain linked fence, and prayed they were in the boundaries of the bright yellow polls. I have watched the feet of my teammates cross the pentagon plate, and I have watched the feet of my opponents cross the plate as well. I have stood outside the field and cheered my team on. Just as I have stood there and got on to them. Mostly, I have stood in my center point, the mound, and felt the pressure, control, power, and obligation that go along with the privilege of standing there. I gave the land my sweat, my blood, my tears, and my laughter. On that land I have had some of my best successes, worst failures, most exciting and most devastating times of my life. I learned how to be a leader, and how to be a teammate. I learned that hard work and sweat never hurt anybody. In fact, it does quite the opposite. I still remember the land, even though my time with it has ended. This year, somebody else will stand on the center point of my softball diamond and enjoy the connection that i have for the past four years.

Oh, Family

I come from a family of what I would consider nice, upstanding hard working Americans. My grandfather is sixty years old and refuses to quit working eleven hour shifts at the rail road, even though his health is far worse than acceptable. His younger brother (by ten years) works at Boeing building airplanes, and chases around his very energetic granddaughter, of which he has full custody, twenty four hours a day, seven days a week. Hardworking, upstanding, blue collar Americans. Now, they say that every family has it’s black sheep. We are no exception to that rule. Our black sheep is the middle child, a man who I call Uncle Roy.


Now Uncle Roy hasn’t exactly had it easy. Not one of my grandpa’s brothers has, but this man is without a doubt the laziest person I have ever met. I remember the day my great grandma, his mother, died. We were over at their house with the rest of the family. He was of course, upstairs in bed. His wife’s phone rang next to me. I was surprised that the call ID said “Roy.” She answers, not without an eye roll, and asks him what he wants. From next to her where I sat, I could hear his voice perfectly clear. He is fond of speaking loudly. “Donna! Get me a glass of water!” Why couldn’t he get his own water? He had worked twenty hours this week and he was tired.


I remember going to visit him once, for God only knows what reason, and having to plug my ears from the closed up car in the driveway because he was watching a war movie. My little brother was seriously frightened, and so were the neighbors. I think a few of the moms were rounding up their children and taking cover in the basement. As soon as we surpassed shell-shock we walk in to find dear Uncle Roy sprawled out on the couch, with his arm hanging over the edge. Down on the floor in front of the couch was a Fry Daddy, and Uncle Roy was frying taco shells four feet in front of the blaring big screen from the comforts of the couch.


Now, every man has his freedom to frying taco shells in the living room while laying down, and calling your wife three rooms down the hall of the same house because you’re thirsty. That’s your own business. But, where the line should be drawn is abuse of public services. Uncle Roy has a mentally and physically handicapped daughter. He does little of the caretaking himself. That does not stop him, however, from abusing his handicap sticker and parking very close to buildings even when Jamie is not with him. Uncle Roy, being the great actor he is, will then limp into the store. Now, you may be thinking that fake limping while grocery shopping is a trying and energy consuming task, so Uncle Roy is therefore not lazy. His act however, is only in the parking lot. Within the store, he uses his normal, uninjured walk.


Uncle Roy isn’t a bad guy, even though he is extremely lazy. He serves a purpose in our family though: He is great to make fun of, and is the butt of most of our jokes. When have my television or radio too loud my dad may peek in and say “Jeez Uncle Roy, that loud enough?” Or when the only parking spot available at Hy Vee is the “Mother to Be” spot, someone may jokingly suggest supporting their lower back with their hand and faking a pregnancy. However, we love the guy, despite the fact that last year, while at a family get together he told his daughter, “Hey! Call your brother and tell him I said Merry Christmas!”

Masterpieces

I believe that the definition of a masterpiece is dependent on the person that you ask. People have different perspectives of what essentially makes a piece of writing or even a piece of art, for that matter, great. I think we’d find most scholars to say that a masterpiece is timeless and written with elegance and fluidity. All of those things are ideal in a well written piece, but if nobody actually wants to read them, then why does it matter how well it is written? Take for example J.S. Mill’s On Liberty. I want to set my copy ON FIRE. I love reading, I really do, but it is something about this book that makes me angry. Yes, he has an extensive vocabulary. Yes, it is timeless; we can still implement his ideas today. But if you ask every freshman at Jewell if he enjoys reading On Liberty, I would be willing to bet all my material possessions that over ninety five percent of them laugh at you, or at least give you a firm “no.”
My idea of a masterpiece is a work that makes me want to continue reading it page after page. It is not a book that once I set down, I will never again pick up. Many books that I consider my favorites, masterpieces in my eyes, I have read again and again, and still find different things to enjoy about them.
So why then, are there so few masterpieces? Because those who get to decide what masterpieces are for the rest of us are too picky. They want perfection, when really no piece of writing is perfect. Let instead each person decide for themselves which books are timeless to them, what kind of style of writing they enjoy reading, and which books keep them coming back a second time, a third time, or more. If you were on my bookshelf looking for a masterpiece, it would be easy to spot. Look for the books whose pages are worn from reading, it’s there that you find a masterpiece.


My List of Masterpieces
· The Harry Potter Series: My poor copy of The Sorcerer’s Stone has seen much better days.
· The Giver
· The Twighlight Saga
· The Red Tent
· Stargirl

Authentic Thinking

Freire stated that “Education is the practice of freedom” (The Banking Concept of Education, Ways of Reading pg. 251) In order to experience that freedom, according to Freire, the most common sort of education, or banking education, must be abandoned. In what Freire calls banking education, information and ideas are simply deposited into the student’s mind. The problem with this method of teaching is that the students in no way discover the information on their own and are therefore “filed away through the lack of creativity, transformation, and knowledge in this (at best) misguided system” (244).

Authentic thinking is not having ideas imposed on you, or unquestioningly accepting every bit of information you are told. It is only in reality, applied in the real world, that such an idea can be authenticated, which is the basic idea of authentic thinking. Banking education stifles this type of thought, because the students are focused more on memorizing or storing the information and ideas that are fed to them by the teacher than they are actually criticizing and analyzing ideas. In addition, it is Freire’s belief that the banking education has the capability of diminishing the student’s creative power, which advantageous for their oppressors (pg 245).

The resolution to the problems caused by banking education is to instead embrace problem-posing education. This method of learning by curiosity, discovery, consciousness and questioning encourages authentic thinking by requiring the students and teacher to engage in dialogue, where both the students and the teachers will learn by authenticating each other’s ideas.
Freire believes problem-posing education to be a practice of freedom and humanization, if and when it overcomes banking education (249). It allows the teacher and the student to experience both classroom roles and are both allowed to participate in a growing and ever-changing world of knowledge and learning.

Getting Started on Blogger ::Letter of Introduction

My name is Jessica Pennington, and I lived and went to school in the small rural town of De Soto Kansas. Being from a small town, there wasn’t much to do unless you count hanging out at the local sonic. The lack of activity may have been a blessing, however, because it pushed me to get involved in school. During my High School career I was the volleyball captain, the debate captain, the vice president of Student Council, a member of the National Honor Society, and a state qualifying member of the Forensics team.

On a more personal level, I enjoy photography, autumn, reading, coffee, and spending my Sundays (and most other days) in sweat pants. I have been truly blessed in my life with wonderful people. Firstly, there is my mother, who I am lucky enough to have a meaningful friendship with, and who has proven to be a reliable source of support and positivity in my life. Secondly, there is my amazing boyfriend, who was very persistent with me for the past three years, forgiven me for my mistakes, and opened up a completely new world for me by teaching me how to love. I still find myself amazed what can happen when you open your heart to another human being.

Specifically relating to this course, I do really enjoy writing. Being the debate captain, I have written a little under one trillion persuasive and case-type papers in the last four years, and that is what I am most comfortable doing: research, form an opinion, write, persuade, rinse, and repeat. I think my strong point in writing is non-fiction. I am not a fan of story writing, fantasy, poetry or science fiction (even though I thoroughly enjoy reading all of the above) from an authors standpoint. In wiring, I like to voice my opinion and sometimes throw in a hint of sarcasm. Besides persuasive papers I also like writing about people and emotions, etc.
I have three main troubles with writing. Firstly, there is spelling. It is only appropriate that I take this time to thank Bill Gates and Microsoft for creating spell check. It has saved my life. Secondly, there is the area of poetry. I’m not sure what it is about poetry that scares me into tears. I think it’s because, to me at least, it is such a more personal form of writing, and where I don’t mind writing out my feelings, poetry is the most torturous form of writing to ever be invented. Lastly, there is the issue of word limits. It seems to me if a paper is supposed to be only one page long, I have enough to fill three pages and I am completely unable to cut anything out. Sometimes this issue works in reverse, and I can’t make the limit. Boundaries worry me.

Ideally in this class I would like to improve my writing in all areas, even those that I feel most confidently about, because one can always get better. I look forward to advancing my writing during this class, and feel doing just that will be very useful in many aspects of life.