His Eyes

Frogs bruise easily due to

their soft personalities.

Rocks say, with desire,

the need to welcome them.

Clouds sharply cut my heart

revealing red mud hidden

beneath the surface.

Belief surprises wavering emotions.

The dog bites ferociously

at the pearl moon.

His blue eyes seem to

view something I do not.

Summary

English Composition II is the most difficult college class I have ever taken.  I have definitely written more in this class than in any other in my whole educational career.  The assignments are challenging and sharpen my language skills in a different way on each.

The research paper process went too quickly and had too many components, in my opinion.  The Notes and Quotes assignment seemed a little excessive because we listed the sources in the Works Cited, so I did not see the point of going through each individual book and website to dig for the information we paraphrased or quoted.

However, the revisions on each component of the research paper helped ease the stress that always comes along with writing.  Having peers and my professor review my work to tell me the exact problems present, was, by far, the most beneficial requirement during the entire process.  The feedback took the guessing out of the situation and provided me with the means to make my paper better.

Being a joint-enrollment student, I feel like some of the deadlines were too close together and some of the extra credit opportunities did not allow room for a high school student to participate because of the unusual, inflexible schedule I am held to, compared to a college student.  Juggling all of the classes from two different schools is difficult and assignments given out in a back-to-back manner makes the balancing act all the more troublesome.  I am not complaining about doing the work necessary for class, I am only saying that it should be tailored to fit all of the many types of students taking this course, not just the “general” college student.

Overall, the experience has been rewarding.  I am glad that I took English Composition II while still in high school to prepare me for other classes that I will take in college.  Writing is a skill present in most any class; therefore, now that I have participated in this course, I should be more ready to handle what other professors might request of me.

The Corridor

I met you in the corridor.

Passing without spoken word.

Averting eyes to avoid war.

Your steps those of a bird.

Smile to brace.

Pain twinges in my heart.

Where is my place?

From you I feel so far.

Could things return the same?

Could we restart again?

I still have that picture frame.

I still hold you within.

Please come back to me.

Why and what are you rushing for?

Need us fixed to be.

I met you in the corridor.

Women's Rights

The speeches orated by the women reminded me to not take privileges like the right to vote for granted, as I so often do.  Females before me had to fight for the equality that I have never had to work for.  If no one stood up to the male-dominated society of yesteryear, I might still be uneducated and traded like property for marriage to some man by my parents.  Everyone, regardless of gender, should recognize how far women have come and respect the effort it took to make society see females as more than second-class citizens.  We are all equal, no matter what.

Dreams

“Today’s children are tomorrow’s future,” is a common saying that is usually plastered throughout walls of elementary schools everywhere.  It is a positive statement that sums up the collective generalization that most people want to romanticize the goals of the upcoming youth.  When reality hits, however, the sting can be lasting.  “You can be anything you want to be,” is a phrase that once filled my mind with dreamlike splendor of what could happen in my life.  When one really contemplates these words, the lie is so blatant and crushing to the spirit.  This ambitious statement represents my first confrontation with hypocrisy.

One human being cannot do everything.  Different people experience contrasting talents.  Therefore, one cannot be anything they want to be.  A colorfully gifted population is what society needs to function.  If each one of us had the same abilities, then the world would not be able to operate at its fullest capacity.  Variety is simply a fact of life and should be accepted early on to avoid emotional scarring and ridiculous expectations. 

Should society not pressure the next generation?  Talking down to children and destroying their dreams is unethical, but should the world be painted in such a generous light that is so clearly unrealistic?  Do not be mistaken, a child can have dreams.  If they are relevant to a child’s interests and skills then they are wonderful because they give them drive to accomplish goals and achieve what might seem highly impossible from their standing.  If people lacked dreams, not a soul would be able to get out of the bed in the morning.  They serve a purpose to entice us to keep going in life and see what the next page and, in turn, what the next chapter of our lives holds.  One can be anything they have the knowledge, skill, and talent for.      

The Mouse

Billows of steam dance off of the tops of warm oatmeal raisin cookies that recently arrived from their cocoon that guided them through the metamorphosis from the basic baking elements to the melody that a tall glass of milk harmonizes with.  The smell sweeps through the house delighting every nose in its path.  These cookies are not normal cookies by any means.  The mother of some very busy children put herself to work in the kitchen in order to craft her dessert to welcome them home from their journeys.  After she finishes with her labor of love, she realizes that there is no more milk, so she dashes from the house and off to the supermarket before the children come home to find their surprise.

In a small crevice of the kitchen wall behind the china cabinet, a small gray mouse stirs.  Enticed by the aroma, he pokes his head out of his home and around the corner of the woodwork of the cabinet to see the treasures perched on top of the White Mountain high above where he gazed.  He quietly considers the risks of going after his new desire.  Ultimately, the temptation overtakes his will and he starts forward toward his goal.

He saunters across the cold hardwood floor, unsure that he is completely alone.  He peers around each corner and holds his breath, breathing only when it is absolutely necessary.  After crossing the gleaming amber surface with exacted precision, the tiny mouse slowly raises his head to look at what is ahead.  Shiny knobs covering even more wood protrude from the side of the mountain he is going to have to inevitably climb.  Looking around for something to give himself a boost up to his endeavor, he finds that the trash can will be able to help with his predicament.  He takes a deep breath, runs, and leaps onto the pedal of the trash can which flings him up high enough to grab a nearby knob.  After letting out a particularly curt sigh, he starts swinging himself from knob to knob until he grasps the corner of the Kitchen Kilimanjaro.  The minuscule mouse struggles his way to a prostrate position and puffs out his chest triumphantly.  He performs his obligatory victory dance and feels quite proud of himself.  He struts over to the oatmeal raisin cookies that have been patiently waiting on him and proceeds to devour the most appetizing looking morsel of the bunch.

The experience is beautiful, just as he expected.  The raisins are plump and tender while the surrounding sea of crisp cookie offers a complimenting crunch.  Overwhelmed with joy, the little mouse lounges back in ecstasy.  The door slams, which causes the mouse’s eyes to pop open.  His crumbs drop.  His heart and stomach follow suit.  “How do I get down?” contemplates the mouse desperately.

  

Troy Maxson: Distrust Of The White Man

Life has never been easy for Troy Maxson.  His father and mother did not care for him and he grows up to act in the same manner towards his wife and children.  He believes that the white man is always breathing down his back, waiting for him to slip up.  His tough exterior turns family members away from him and causes his departure from the world to be exactly like his arrival, lacking love.

Troy is a sanitation worker and he is convinced that the white men get the easier job of driving garbage trucks instead of lifting waste because of their skin color.  He later gets a job as a driver, but still sticks to his theory of having to work twice as hard to get ahead in the world because he is African-American.

When Troy’s son begins to look at playing sports in college, he tries to shoot him down immediately.  Even though a lot of time has passed since he was an athlete, he is adamant that his son will inevitably face rejection like he did.  At this point, African-American players have become more prominent; still, he will not hear of anything that the college recruiter or his own son has to say about playing football, regardless of his drive or talent.

Troy feels a great amount of guilt about taking Gabriel’s money to help with finances, so he always bails him out of the trouble he gets in.  Gabriel’s war injury caused him to contract mental problems which sometimes get the police’s attention and they charge him with disturbing the peace.  Troy pays the fines because he knows that Gabriel does not mean any harm and he thinks it would be cruel to lock him up after he selflessly gave his sanity to help the country.  Once again, he believes that the justice system is out for his money because he is a black man.

Racial Paranoia follows Troy to the grave.  Despite the love and support of his wife, he feels as though he cannot trust anyone.  He strives to make everybody else miserable because he hates seeing others happy.  Troy does not trust the white man and he dies with the only person he does trust, himself.