The MVC Literary Journal

The warder looked over a silent yard,

With still bodies beneath ground cold and hard,

Moonlight cascaded and fell into pools,

This night was to be the bane of all fools.

Slowly at first, but with ever increasing speed

Comes scratching surely unnerving to most,

The warder realized his doom was decreed,

As assembled there a great fallen host.

The warder squeezed his crucifix and prayed to the Lord,

As he sprinted down the stairs.

He had but a single dark message to send

If only to prevent a truly dark end

The thought of which would raise many hairs,

He hoped only that the sea of the dead he could ford.

He quickly slammed open the door

And to his legs he gave every ounce of his strength.

He hoped he would be called for no more

As he sprinted the yard’s incredible length.

As he ran through the yard, his vision was clear

And he saw a spectacle horrific and queer.

The dead stood in formation and file, bodies dirt-encrusted

Many bore ancient weapons, both broken and rusted.

Behind their foul lines stood a single grim figure,

And through the morte, he moved with great vigor.

It raised its hand and the first rank sought to end

The wretched warder himself could not defend.

He desperately searched and groped blindly around

For a weapon of most any kind.

Such was his luck, that no such tool was found.

Closer came the dead, with a horrid noise, as bone against bone did grind.

He felt warmth on his chest, and what should he find

But his crucifix burning in the light of the moon.

He held it high, which the dead thought appalling,

And quick as thought, back they were falling.

He thanked the Lord he would be leaving soon,

And at ease would be his now trouble mind.

The warder crossed the last few paces, and quickly closed the gate.

He breathed, and before turning, loosed a grateful sigh.

Rank upon rank of vile dead stared at him with hunger and hate;

The grim figure slowly raised its arms, and loosed a guttural cry.

Foot before rotting foot, the dead moved into position;

The warder remembered the message he had to deliver and began to run.

A single gate of rusted iron couldn’t hold the fallen;

Their march would be unimpeded, like the eternal sun.

An hour or a lifetime, the warder could not tell;

He had to deliver his message, the one dark and fell.

The guards led him through halls mostly gilded;

Till he stood before the men who fate now wielded.

The first was a regal figure in a darkened shroud;

A golden crown was on his head and a staff of ebony he wielded.

The second was of great stature, and looked strong and proud;

A gleaming sword was on his side and his body from foes was shielded.

The men listened as the warder gave to them his piece—

The shrouded spoke first: “Clearly a tale of a fool.”

The armored spoke next: “How can you say such a thing

If that is what you think you deserve not that ring;

Send out your troops or you are unfit to rule.”

The shrouded responded, “We need to hold council; leave us in peace!”

The warder heeded and left the room unattended,

And pressed his ear to the door.

“This cannot be allowed or your kingdom will be ended!”

Then came a slam and the warder could hear no more.

Out stormed the angry and muttering knight,

“How could he not comprehend this horrific plight?”

The warder looked hopefully up to the great man,

“Can something be done? Do you have a shrewd plan?”

“Aye,” said the knight, “But it stands on dark reality

For it would require I break my vow of fealty.”

The warder nodded and the knight proceeded,

“I shall marshal the men myself; the count is conceited.”

A silver bell sounded in the silvery night;

Paladin, sergeant and peasant soon came.

All of them ignorant of the kingdom’s plight

The warder and captain knew, and others would be the same.

Warrior after warrior, through the gate passed;

All of them under the great night’s sky.

Rank after rank of iron clad fighter

Passed under the gate, wondering if their foe was mightier.

Then arose in the distance many a cry;

The captain cried, “On lads, move with haste

To the homes of your neighbors and friends!

Fail now and all effort thus far will have been a waste!”

Unbeknownst to him, their plan had a hole, one none could mend

The peasants had died in the dark silence of night

The dead cried themselves, hoping to attack at a time right

A small force waited in the streets, but they were just bait

The true force on roofs, in window, and under homes did wait

The soldiers walked into the darkest part of the city

Not a word arose, neither obvious nor witty

The silence and darkness seemed to reign

Then the dead sprang their trap and many were slain

Pungent and rotting the evil dead came,

They piled out of building and clambered off of roofs.

No body has ever since witnessed dark sights the same,

Then off in the distance thundered the sound of many hoofs.

“The dead have cavalry of their own,” came a soldier’s cry,

“For the glory of the Kaiser!” shouted a voice behind the enemy herd.

The dead resisted as best they could,

But dozens were cut down just as the stood,

The captain saw in the distance a rampant lion standard,

The Kaiser’s own emblem waved in the unholy night’s sky.

A score of Reiksguard knights to the Captain rode,

Their presence almost surely boded them ill.

The Reiksguard’s lead pounded his fist to his chest as he slowed,

The captain saluted but didn’t question, which took all his will.

“Across the northern Reich,” began the warrior, “the dead have risen for war;

Our forces are stretched to the limits and can take no more.”

“The count resisted us,” the captain exclaimed. “We have no forces to give!”

The Warrior pondered these words then said, “I fear your count does not live.”

“How can you say such a thing?” the captain cried

The master of the Reiksguard thought and then sighed,

“The dead have likely taken the castle;

Consider yourself no longer the count’s vassal.”

The captain called for his men to retreat,

Though the dead were in worsening condition.

They looked no longer like men but mad lumps of meat,

The castle’s fallen master had had the gates barred,

But that mattered little as soon ladders were up.

The sounds of a battle raging came from inside;

The sounds of the living locked in battle with those who had died.

Then silence came and from the keep new dead erupted;

All fought bravely to retake the castle, but losses were high and victory hard.

The warriors pushed into the castle to make a horrific find:

More dead waited in the great hall; the dead outnumbered those alive!

An idea came to the master of the Reiksguard’s mind:

“I and the men will hold the hall until at the count’s chamber you arrive.”

The captain grudgingly accepted and took with him the warder;

They sprinted across the hall to the throne room’s border.

There the grim-shrouded count sat silently upon his throne

At his sides were two knights in armor of bone

The captain drew his sword and the warder drew a knife;

Both sought to end the dead count’s false life.

The grim figure on the throne raised a single hand and snapped;

The bone knights charged forward, as joints popped and cracked.

The captain roared loudly and charged the dead in turn;

The warder saw the shrouded one flee so he hurled his armament.

The blade caught the count, who fell onto a sconce and began to burn;

He howled loudly and tore off his billowing black sediment.

The man beneath may have been of great looks,

But that was clearly no longer the case.

His skin was pale, his eyes black, and a thin red line crossed his neck.

A crash came as the captain left the bone knights in ruin and wreck;

He looked mostly healthy save for a gash on his face;

His sword was shattered so he drew a new one from a wall mounted hook.

The duel that ensued was utterly epic

And would take many a volume to fill.

The captain was slain through a very foul trick

Just as he shattered the count’s head under heel.

The warder had watched, unable to aid;

A harsh tax on his sanity paid.

He retold his story in the years thus ahead, though many thought he did lie,

He spoke the truth, though such was unknown, as none lived to confirm or deny.

Labels: 2007: Belles Lettres

Christian Diapoulis and Stuart Rodriguez: Winners in the 2006 National Council of Teachers of English Achievement Awards in Writing.

Spring Semester, 2007

UCSC Library Essay Contest:

Gabrielle Gamez for “Mi Herencia”: 1^st Place

Tom Langland for “The Works of Stephen King”: 2^nd place

Erin Schulz for “To Dance and Be Free”: 3^rd place

Shelby Wilson for “The Little Known and Highly Uncharted World of Fictional Men”: 3^rd place

David Benninghoven for “The Draft Horse”: Honorable Mention

Emma Rotella for “Attention Deficit Disorder—A Life Changing Experience”: Honorable Mention

Sarah Eaton for “Autism and My Life”: Honorable Mention

Brooke Smith for “Wakeboarding”: Honorable Mention

Poetry Santa Cruz’s Annual Contest:

Theresa Koro for “What is Scarlet?”: Honorable Mention, published in anthology; also “Episodes”: published in anthology

Jina Park for “Snow Corns”: published in anthology

Julianne Soria for “Lolo & Bataan”: published in anthology

Labels: 2007: Belles Lettres

When I was six years old, I was diagnosed with Attention Deficit Disorder. I didn’t know much about the disorder and I was too young to understand. As I got older I started to realize that I was different from my classmates and I started to understand what Attention Deficit Disorder was. I had to learn to live in a world where people with Attention Deficit Disorder are misunderstood. I was viewed as a child who was stupid. I was called lazy and disrespectful by my teachers and my classmates, and I, started to believe them.

Attention Deficit Disorder, also known as ADD, affects 9 percent of the world population. ADD is a syndrome, usually characterized by a constant pattern of impulsiveness, short attention span, and often hyperactivity. It often interferes with academic, occupational, and social performance. There are many different cases of ADD and each have their own symptoms. Most people who have ADD don’t find out they have the disorder until they reach adulthood.

There are many different types and styles of ADD. People with Classic ADD are inattentive, distractible, disorganized, hyperactive, restless and impulsive. People who have Inattentive ADD are absent-minded and disorganized. If you have Over-focused ADD, you have trouble shifting attention, are frequently stuck in loops of negative thoughts, obsessive, excessively worry, inflexible, oppositional and argumentative. Another type of ADD is Temporal Lobe ADD; people with this type of ADD are inattentive, irritable, aggressive, and have dark thoughts. Their mood is unstable and they are impulsive. They may break rules, fight, and can be defiant and very disobedient. Two other types of ADD are Limbic System ADD and Ring of Fire ADD. People with Limbic System ADD are inattentive and have chronic low-grade depression. They are negative, have low energy and have feelings of hopelessness and worthlessness. Last but not least, those with Ring of Fire ADD are inattentive, extremely distractible, angry and irritable. They are overly sensitive to the environment, hyperverbal, extremely oppositional, and sometimes have cyclic moodiness.

There are a lot of myths going around about people with ADD. One myth that is very commonly told about children with ADD is that students with ADD can’t learn in a regular classroom. The fact is when teachers make appropriate adjustments, more than half the children with ADD do well in mainstream. Most of the others require some tutoring in a certain area that they struggle with. Active learning and activities that allow you to move around help the child with ADD to pay attention. For me the more organized and predictable the classroom was, the better I learned. I had a very hard time trying to mainstream but now it is getting easier because I have learned tactics, like how to organize my time and things, and communication with teachers so they are aware and able to help. Another common misconception is that all people with ADD have learning disabilities. The learning disabilities mainly affect the way the child process information. Even though 10 to 33 percent of children with ADD have learning disabilities, the disorder mostly affects the person’s behavior causing

inattentiveness and impulsivity, because the child with ADD doesn’t behave in the same way as other children, they are viewed as unmotivated and lazy.

My dad, who is 46 now, found out that he had ADD at age 43; when I was diagnosed with the disorder, he thought maybe he had it too. He got tested and

sure enough he had Attention Deficit Disorder. The thing that he struggled with the most was comprehension. For example, after reading half of a book he often had to start all over again because he didn’t understand what was going on. Even though he found it hard to concentrate he had the will power to finish things he started. When he was in school the teachers would tell his mom that he was a good kid and very smart but he has trouble listening. He as a lot of energy and he doesn’t know how to control it. He is fidgeting in class and can’t concentrate on his work. How he compensated was he tried to be funny in class, so the kids were laughing with him and not at him. He had lots of energy to do things he loved, like sports. He found that if he loved something, he excelled by becoming the very best at it. He was state champion in his weight class for wrestling in high school. When he found out that he had ADD he got on medicine right away. He tried different medicines and he found that Ritalin worked the best for him. He said “before he got his medicine he was in a cloud and it was very foggy. When he tried Ritalin, the cloud and the fog in him lifted, metaphorically.” He takes his medication everyday because he doesn’t want the fog to come back. He said if he had a choice to have ADD or not he would choose to have ADD because he has energy to do things he loves. He is very smart, and he can excel in anything he puts his mind to. When they find the right medication, people can have a great advantage and can figure things out that people without Attention Deficit Disorder can’t.

For me, I am still in the process of learning about who I am and how to use my ADD to achieve my goals. I am not sure what I would choose if I could go back to the beginning and decide to have ADD or not because I haven’t discovered how my ADD makes me unique. When I discover who I am and how my ADD make me unique I will ask myself, If you could go back to the beginning and choose to have ADD or not what would you choose? When that day comes, I hope that my answer will be that I would choose to have ADD because I would have found that it has given me something special to offer those whose lives I have been a part of. I hope that someone can learn from my experience, like I learned from my father‘s, that people with ADD are not bad people, but they simply learn and do things differently. I hope that people who struggle with Attention Deficit Disorder would answer the same way. I hope that they realize, as well others without the disorder, that ADD is not a bad thing, but a life changing experience.

Won Recognition in the UCSC Essay Contest

Labels: 2007: Belles Lettres

Scarlet is waking at 4 45 am to attempt to outrun the sunrise,

Returning out of breath and entirely accomplished, prepared to take on the day.

Scarlet Is passing an ex-lover on the street,

Making eye contact but not conversation,

Letting the silence do all the talking,

Taking the high road for once.

Scarlet is vibrato on a note above the staff,

The title of second soprano,

A private hallelujah at finally succeeding after so much

Hard work.

Scarlet is poetry at midnight,

A cigarette out an open window,

Collarbones and hipbones,

Mascara running at the words “we’re through.”

A torn skirt,

Coffee burning the tongue and lips of a girl much too young to be forming an

Addiction.

Scarlet is a masterpiece composed entirely by accident,

Shock at the realization that one condemned life could actually be

worth something

in another’s eyes.

Scarlet is glamour,

Idolizing someone who is far too unstable to become a god.

Scarlet is the act of trying

Keeping hopes from crashing even when

Every minute is being ruined

And giving up is terribly appealing.

Labels: 2007: Belles Lettres

In the land of the snow flowers

Where the dew drops off the sea,

The cliff hangs over the country side

That connects the field to the leaf.

Where the bird is found

Flying broadly over the sea,

The corn flowers, sweet silk will melt

Into the land, the sea.

Inexplicable, indescribable,

See the plate of lovely yellow?

Fall of the fallings, Spring of the singing

The broad shadow fell,

Directly,

into the sea.

Labels: 2007: Belles Lettres

soft curls brush against broken glass and sharpened tongues

there’s a rip in my hemline of rationale, but i

i refuse to acknowledge it.

chapped lips eraser marks frustration pooling in pores uncleansed

eighty eight minutes spent dissecting self-destruction

and all the ways a death can occur.

manic nights bleed crimson to panicked sunrises

seventy times seven ended years ago and it seems that

second chances are thoroughly exhausted.

what is life when a long day is greeted by a

dead body in the spare bedroom?

an endless mystery kept locked in shared genetics.

synonymous with vagabonds and inner city alleyways

a fire escape used as an exit from a depth so frenzied

, there is no explanation. nothing to

make sense of.

tantamount and paramount and utterly insecure

smudges of black frame a face that is entirely unsymmetrical

Labels: 2007: Belles Lettres

Martha Graham once stated, “In a dancer's body, we as audience must see ourselves, not the imitated behavior of everyday actions, not the phenomenon of nature, not exotic creatures from another planet, but something of the miracle that is a human being.” Dance is an art form that allows us to express ourselves through movement to a song, a beat, or more simply a feeling. It is the gateway through which our soul seeks liberation from the passion that burns inside, which would otherwise be confined by our tissues and insecurity. We move in response to our emotions, ranging from joy to despair, that we may dance and truly live. I love to dance, and my ability to do so has had a significant influence with respect to shaping my life and the person I have become.

From the first time I walked onto the dance floor in my shiny new tap shoes, I have always loved to dance. Throughout the years, my maturity has allowed me to appreciate various movements and styles. But my favorite dance form by far, since I first expressed my desire to “dance with noisy feet” at the age of three, is tap. It is a fascinating series of rhythms and syncopations that result from slapping the floor with a special shoe. By performing basic steps in various patterns at changing tempos, tap dancers can perform incredible feats. Despite the challenges it imposes, and the corresponding frustrations it sometimes elicits, I love being able to throw on my tap shoes and create something unique and captivating to express myself. I have been inspired by truly great tap dancers, from the classic style of Fred Astaire to the contemporary beat of Savion Glover. Watching these performers glide across the stage and learning more about their humble origins has increased my fascination and love for tap dancing.

Fred Astaire was born on May 10, 1899 in Omaha, Nebraska. His career on stage lasted seventy-six years, in which he became a legend in American film as a dancer, choreographer, singer, and actor, producing over thirty musical films. It all started during his adolescence when he performed with his sister on Broadway as part of a vaudeville act. He met George Gershwin in 1916, and later he signed on with MGM, which expanded his field to include motion pictures. He has entertained audiences on the screen in numerous films such as Easter Parade, the Band Wagon, Top Hat, and Holiday Inn. Astaire was not only a great dancer because of his ability to move, though he was valued for his astonishing technical control and strong sense of rhythm, but more importantly for his talent to convey a variety of emotions from blithe playfulness to vivid intensity. He was also admired for his courtesy toward his associates and fellow artists. His graceful style was influenced by classical dance, tap and other African-American rhythms, and the style of Vernon and Irene Castle. His work generated the popular American smooth style of ballroom dance, which is returning to the popular forefront in the dance world today. Astaire received many honors for his achievements, including the Golden Globe Cecil B. DeMille Award for “Lifetime Achievement in Motion Pictures” in 1960, and an induction into the Ballroom Dancer’s Hall of Fame. His success in the dance business and his ability to express himself has inspired me tremendously.

Savion Glover is a Tony Award winning entertainer and one of the hottest hoofers around today. He was born in Newark, New Jersey, on November 19, 1973. His Broadway debut was in The Tap Dance Kid when he was merely ten years of age. He trained in Manhattan at Broadway Dance Center under the direction of choreographer Henry LeTang. He went on to work with Sammy Davis, Jr., and Gregory Hines in his film debut, Tap, during the late 1980s. Glover’s big break came in 1996 when he starred in Bring in ‘da Noise/Bring in ‘da Funk. He is currently involved in a production called “Classical Savion,” in which he taps with the accompaniment of a chamber string group. This talented performer is inspiring to me because of his amazing knack for improvisation, a tactic in which the dancer does not have prepared choreography, but rather makes it up on the spot. In an interview on the Today Show in New York, Glover discussed “Improvography,” one of his Broadway productions in which the performers improvised all of their steps on the stage without specific preparation. Watching his feet work into the floor to produce intricate sequences is an amazing sight to behold. His talent inspires me to pursue tap dancing that I may find my own style with continued practice.

Dance has always been and will continue to be an important part of my life. It is the means by which I can leave my world behind me, if only for a short while, in order to do something that makes me happy. Through dance I am able to alleviate stress and frustration and also truly express myself. I cannot fathom a better way to accomplish the latter. Poetry and prose cannot allow true self-expression, for words are limited and defined. Song permits your emotions to shine through, but it essentially lacks motion itself. Thus dance is the best form of self-expression because there are no boundaries to what you can create and no limits to prevent you from depicting the passions that are pent up inside. “There is a vitality, a life-force, an energy, a quickening that is translated through you into action and because there is only one of you in all of time, this expression is unique. And if you block it, it will never exist through any other medium and be lost.” When I dance I can find myself and let my soul pour out through my movements, that I may share with my audience the trials and triumphs of my life.

Labels: 2007: Belles Lettres

It all happened in the Philippines

Back in the nineteen-forties.

There were many scenes.

My lolo falling in love with my lola begins the story.

They met each other when he got hurt

And was taken to the infirmary

Right next to a battle’s skirt.

They fixed his injured knees,

But then he had to go to Bataan.

They didn’t know if they’d see each other again

And he wasn’t going to be the only man.

A group soon left with many men.

It was a three-month battle.

He was taken prisoner and taken to Mariveles.

The idea of being with my lola gave him mettle.

These were times of great distress.

Soon he had to go to Cabanatan by foot.

The deadly march was ninety miles.

Injured, dying, or covered by soot,

Many had already died in the trial.

He saw many killed trying to drink from the streams.

Many collapsed and died on the road

And many men died—screaming.

But the march still flowed.

He couldn’t take it anymore and fell

As a result of fainting.

He felt as if he were in a spell—

Those roads were tainted.

He woke up in the dark of night

And crawled to a pond of water,

Then tried to get to the nearest town in sight.

He had escaped the slaughter.

He found a town and stayed for six weeks.

And left and thanked the people

When he recovered from fatigue.

With help, he was taken to Manila.

Riding a carriage,

He went to my lola’s house in a villa,

Hid with her,

And in nineteen-forty six—

Had that marriage.

Labels: 2007: Belles Lettres

The wind blows slow to flow

The sun blinds rays to shine

I see love two hands make a dove

I see lust same hands are unjust

The heat burns unwilling a turn

The water vaporizes two in one harmonize

I see lust no more a must

I see love my dear I love

Labels: 2007: Belles Lettres

Write about Fra Angelico's Annunciation?

It is too marvelous

I listen but can't

Too many long halls

Too few benches

A whole museum is certainly hell

A wretched place of good material

Good exaggerated evil by proportion

Hundreds of goblins

lurch from walls

Babble breaks over my tired mind

Sweep by

spend seconds on work intended

for meaning for meditation

in exact places now lost

impelled by the voiceless carnival librarian, guards, people, and no benches no water saying Move on

Returning

Listen longer to less

Labels: 2007: Belles Lettres

The draft horse is a very versatile animal and capable of doing many tasks. The draft has interested me because of the gentleness, size, power, and the surprised people when they see one for the first time. Most draft horses are around sixteen to eighteen hands tall, at the shoulder, and are around eighteen hundred to two thousand pounds. A draft that is in shape can pull one and a half times his weight.

I got interested in the drafts when I was six. My mom bought a Clydesdale, and now we have nine of them. I have used a draft for many different things; driving them, riding them. I have been driving for eight years, and enjoy it because people couldn’t believe that there is a little eight year old driving two eighteen hundred pound horses. Now I am driving a single horse, which is one horse alone, and a team, which is two horses next to each other pulling a wagon. The unicorn is a team with a single horse out in front, able to move where he wants; some people say the unicorn is the hardest hitch to drive. I like to drive the four-up, where there are two pairs, one in front of the other, and a four abreast where there is four horses all next to each other. I have driven six horses together, where we had four horses wide and two in front of them; the common six configuration you will see is three pairs in front of one another. Drafts are seen commonly in all the hitches, and with the increase of horses, it requires more skill from the driver. Another common hitch is eight up, where there are four pairs in front of each other. Many guys, including the one I learned mostly from, had hooked up many horses to pull something excessively heavy; he hooked up forty horses in the circus parade with Dick Sparrow.

These horses have interested me because they are so big, yet gentile. The draft horse is hard to scare, even in a situation where a normal sized horse would be scared. The drafts can be hard to handle, but for the most part they respect the handler, as long as the handler respects the horse in return. After a while of being together, the horse and handler will learn to trust each other, and the horse will be more willing to do something asked of the person he trusts, than someone he does not know. The best way, in my opinion, to learn how to drive a draft horse is to read about them, learning some of the terminology and common tendencies and behavioral changes in the draft; when you feel comfortable with your book knowledge of them, find somebody that is willing to take you in and teach you how to drive, handle the horses, and how to buy a draft and get you moneys worth.

I have enjoyed being around the draft horses for a long time, and hope to enjoy them for many years to come. Getting into the draft horses is almost guaranteed fun, with the horses, and the other people that are draft owners. There are many shows around the United States, and Canada, that you could go to watch and find a ranch near where you live. Watching how people do things at the shows, harnessing, hooking, and driving is a good way to learn also; there are many ranches that would take somebody in to make sure that people don’t get hurt by not learned something, and getting hurt. In the long run, draft horses are fun to be around, and you can have a good time with the horses also.

Labels: 2007: Belles Lettres

Five teardrops huddled together Five teardrops watered
with joy;
Five eternal drops on my face and in his hand, Five
shared so long ago.
Tears fresh when love was new, When love blossomed.
Tears bright as our eyes for each other, Incapable of
dimming.
Five teardrops frozen forever Five teardrops crisp
with time;
Five eternal drops in my wrinkled hand, Five enduring
Life and Death.

Labels: 2007: Belles Lettres

Flames, fireworks, flavor, fevers

Love is lost in these

Despite cautions of believers

Enjoyment unveils idleness

Joy falls for happiness

Happiness failed in sparks

Complacency, then, sleep.

Soot, amid this dream sweeps

Deep slumber swipes hopes

And dreams, awakening the lovers,

Those who weep, those who fade

Emotions deepen where they lay

Another fire, forever swayed.

A forged flame, or forgotten face

Remember the faint, first embrace

Remember the regret,

But never forget.

Labels: 2007: Belles Lettres

What do they call it? This mindless belief

In the world that lies beyond the veil.

This talk provides no logical relief

For all the problems that blind faith entails.

How is it, that people like this, need such

Obvious strings? Just like marionettes—

Dance for the entertainment of your crutch!

The theology blinds, helps them forget

But what’s missing? Empirical reason—

Why am I required to put my faith,

Unlike the passing of the four seasons,

Into the lifeless, nonexistent face?

Forgive me if I choose not to follow;

Unlike you, friend, I am not so hollow.

Labels: 2007: Belles Lettres

Riding through the water, I pull back on the rope, leaning as far back as I can, watching the sun rise on the perfect glassy water as I am ready to ride and jump the wake. Wakeboarding is an awesome sport which I like very much. I go as much as possible in the summer; I started when I was eleven years old. Wakeboarding depends on the kind of board you have, the boat you ride behind, and the condition of the water you ride on. It is so fun to try new things, like a different way of cutting, or new tricks… even though most of the time you fall. Wakeboarding, no matter how good or bad you are, is a very fun sport to enjoy on warm summer days.

There is a huge variety of boats wakeboarders can choose. The bigger the wake, the better. The ultimate three best boats for wakeboarding are the Nautique, the Malibu, and the Mastercraft. There are also different models of those boats, for example, I have a Malibu Wakesetter VLX, which is a very good boat with a great wake. Sometimes, if people want an even bigger wake, they put a big sack like thing on the floor of their boat called a Fat Sak. Then, they fill the Fat Sack up with water and it can add up to 500 pounds of weight to your boat, which makes the wake that much bigger, better, and smoother. Also, most wakeboarding boats have three tanks called ballast tanks that will fill up automatically with the press of a button, which adds much more weight to your boat. Additionally, some boats even have something called a wedge attached to the back of the boat under the swim deck. With the wedge, you just pull out a couple pins and release it, causing it to go down and lock in place, making the boat drag more in the back, again, for a better wake. Clearly, the wake is one of the most important things when it comes to wakeboarding and different boats have different wakes.

Other than boats or wakes, the actual wakeboard has an impact on how you ride. There are many different kinds of wakeboards, as shown on the Hyperlite Wake MFG website, as well as different brands and companies that manufacture them. I have a Hyperlite Byerly which has carved out edges and is helpful for cutting and lighter for jumping. Hyperlite is the best and most popular brand and they make the best, most quality wakeboards in the industry. There are so many diverse wakeboards and styles you can buy to fit the way you like to ride best. Some boards are totally smooth and have a round-ish shape, yet others have more of an edge, like mine. A good wakeboard is crucial for good riding.

There are many different lakes, deltas, and even rivers around the world that are good for wakeboarding on. Many of the lakes or deltas my friends ride on are either too small, have debris in the water, or are freezing! You always have to choose the best place that you enjoy being around and riding on. Wakeboarding much the more fun if you like your environment! The two best lakes I have ridden on so far are Lake Don Pedro in the Sierra Nevada foothills, east of Modesto, and Lake McClure which is about twenty minutes east of Lake Don Pedro. Those lakes are great because they are big enough that they aren’t directional, they are very clean, and they usually have great water at least twice a day, and are very warm in the summer. Where you wakeboard is another factor of how good you ride, so you should always keep that in mind.

Altogether, wakeboarding is a combination of all-around fun. Depending on many different things, you can ride, or learn to ride, great. You should always be aware of where you’re riding, the board you have, and the boat that you ride behind to affect your wakeboarding. Changing one of those things can either improve the way you ride, or change your riding for the worse… basically, it can help or hurt your riding style. Wakeboarding may seem difficult, but once you get it down it’s so fun, you never want to stop. I love it, it’s awesome!

Labels: 2007: Belles Lettres

Every year there are more children being diagnosed with Autism. According to www.medcinenet.com: “Autism is a developmental disorder that is characterized by impaired development in communication, social interaction, and behavior.” Autism is also known as Pervasive Developmental Disorder. One in every 160 children are born with some form of Autism. Although there are many forms of Autism, one of the more common forms is called Aspergers syndrome. Aspergers normally takes the form of a regular child, but has a more intellectual capability then other children. Along with the intellect, the child may suffer from lack of social skills and would not understand why. My younger brother, Sam, was diagnosed with Aspergers when he was around ten, which is the average age for them to be diagnosed.

When Sam was diagnosed he showed all the typical symptoms of Aspergers. Since Sam does not pick up on the daily routine, he has to be taught everything that a normal person gets by watching others. He is hyper sensitive and lives in his own world inside of our world. He has very little motor skills and he also cannot get some body language. Sam suffers from severe anxiety and depression.

I was five when Sam was born, and it completely changed my life. As he and I grew up, I was a very slow learner, and he was like a sponge and remembered everything he read. Whenever we played games; if he would lose, he exploded into a temper tantrum. I would always try to get my way, just as a normal child at that time would, but when my parents told me to back off, and I had to learn a very hard life lesson at around age nine. I soon turned into a protective older sister who only wanted him to succeed, but when I pushed him too far, I knew there was something wrong. A few years later we learned he had a form of Autism. I was scared for him as well as for my family and myself.

Sam and I have gone from a hatred and abusive relationship to a loveable and open one. If I ever have a question, I can always count on Sam to answer it for me. I know that I don’t have a normal brother, but I do not care because in my eyes he’s perfect. This is just the beginning of his life and I hope I can always be by his side to catch him if he falls. He’s always been there for me and comforted me. Sam is my hero, and even though he is my younger brother, he will always be number one to me.

Labels: 2007: Belles Lettres