“Here we go,” the doctor smiles, putting you in my arms. “It’s a boy.”
I was so afraid to be a mother before I had you. I was scared about being a good mother, about getting the right car seat, the right formula--and the moment I feel your tiny body in my arms my fears only grow. You are so small, so delicate. Oh, but you are perfect, your blue eyes drifting around the big, bright, new world. The rhythmic beeping brings me out of my thoughts in small waves. I smile a little, looking down at your eyelids covering those sea blue eyes. My fingers tremble over your pale cheek. “Mom!” You scream in a voice that makes my mom stomach drop to my knees. I can hardly move, yet somehow I am running and scooping you into my arms. It’s the day you break your arm. I have never been more afraid. I drive you to the hospital so fast, I must be breaking the sound barrier. You are fine, of course, and soon your little fingers are making shadow puppets on the hospital wall. When you meet the doctor, your eyes widen like dinner plates. You think he is a superhero because he saved so many lives, and in a way he is. A doctor walks in, but I kept my eyes on your chest. The air moving in and out, slowly, steadily. I spread my hand over the hospital gown and felt the steady strong drumbeat of your heart hitting my finger tips. A fireman cop doctor astronaut. Oh, you give the neighbors a laugh that Halloween as you walk door to door holding your sister's hand, she in her more acceptable princess costume. You want to be everything when you grow up. When I ask you why, you say you want to save people, like the superheroes in your comic books. I love the way you draw yourself into the comics you make for your sister. Your father’s hand gently lifts up mine, pulling it away from your chest. I wanted to look at him, but I couldn’t take my eyes off of you. The clock is spinning like a loose wheel, yet eons pass between each blink. The day you sign up for your license you have just been accepted to that new summer program. Oh, your father and I are so proud. I hold you in my arms, even though you try to wriggle away. When you ask if you should check that little box, I hardly think about it--my mind still on your latest achievement--and I nod. You are off and away in that shiny blue car before I know it. Then one night, we receive that phone call… “It’s over,” The doctor says softly. “Time of death 8:52.” I turn away from you for the first time and bury my face into your father’s shoulder. My little superhero, my little fireman, cop, doctor, astronaut. You are gone. “Your son was an organ donor.” I hear the sheets of paper on a clipboard, and my heart swells. Your father responds because he knows I can’t. “He always wanted to save lives. We are so proud.” His words are short and choked, but he is right, and I nod against his sweater. * * * Has it been three years since you left? The old coffee shop is busier than I thought it would be. I try not to look up from my empty mug every time the bell jingles above the door. I am meeting a little boy. You saved his life. “Mrs. Webster?” My heart jumps when I look up. He reminds me of you. He’s only eight, his messy hair sticking up around his ears like yours used to when you refused to brush it. I have to bit my lip when I see the superhero costume he's wearing, all blue and red, edges frayed from overuse. Don’t worry, it can’t compete with that Halloween costume you wore so many years ago. We talk about you and your comic books and scholarships and track meets. We talk about the boy in front of me, who holds a little part of you inside like a living monument. He’s shy at first, drawing little monsters on his napkin with a wet straw. But when we talk about superheroes, he forgets the straw and his doodles start to fade. “Do you have a favorite superhero?” I ask softly, guessing the answer will be the same as the symbol sewn across his little chest. He looks to his mother and then back to me, his fingers tugging at his sleeves. “Mark Webster, because he’s real, not fake like the comics,” he says, then smiles up at his mother. She brings a shaking hand to her mouth and nods. “Your son..,” she breaks off, tears glistening in her eyes. One manages to sneak down her cheek. The boy leans against her arm.“Mom?” he asks uncertainly. “Mom, don’t cry.” But she only shakes her head as he crawls into her lap and wraps his arms around her neck. Then I’m crying too. You didn’t think twice about checking that box, did you? You saved his life, this little boy in his mother’s arms. And he isn’t the only one. You have always been my little superhero. Now, you are theirs too. * * * One donor can save up to eight lives, and as a tissue donor, you can save and heal up to 75 more people. Every day 22 people die waiting for a transplant, and the waiting list only grows each day. No one is too young to sign up to be an organ donor. As a teenager you have the power to save lives. While 95% of adults support organ donations, 52% have not signed up to be an organ donor. It is so easy to save a life--please don’t be a part of that 52%. Go to https://www.donatelife.net/register/ to save lives. Citations "Organ Donation Statistics." Organdonar.gov. HRSA, 31 Mar. 2015. Web. 31 Mar. 2017. <https://www.organdonor.gov/statistics-stories/statistics.html#glance>. "Organ, Eye, and Tissue Donation Statistics." Donate Life America. N.p., n.d. Web. 31 Mar. 2017. <https://www.donatelife.net/>.
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Animal Poem
Acknowledge the beauty The glowing, the best You cannot ignore the enormous legend And glee that comes with the beautiful bees No longer ignorant, no screams of fear Except those who know the glamorous lives we take We could never lead a life without them No more harmless scrapes on our knees, or shouts of glee Eeyore stays negative And the leopard can no longer glide through the grass We were nothing before bees took the lead -Mary Gorham Poetry is a window into someone's thoughts and feelings:
Untitled by Brianna Heath My Silky, Soft, Sweaters. These Seasonal Garments, Make goosebumps grin then graciously greet fall, meandering famed feelings of familiarity Abundant colorfully crisp cores And Stocked stores Await impatient patrons. Amusive toddlers trot towards tables And beg for bags of bright burgundy beets and sometimes buttery bread Commonly called the pepper provider, He made the market meaningful. Carrying crates and initiating intellectual interactions Healthful foods fed fixings of fortunes and freed frantic farmers Middle Eastern sounds more soothing than Syrian The happy Hummus lady led with hello, not hi Mixing spices and sultry smells Truly, have a helping; her heritage has history Until the impending summer daze brings about another haze I’ll wait for these Silky, Soft, Sweaters My seasonal garments that make goosebumps grin And graciously great fall Sorrowfully sending my Silky, Soft, Sweaters away until another fall day The Race By Lizzie A. This fast paced Consumer based self centered race to find a place in this frantic chase its like were flying to outer space but all we get is a new parking space This struggle is so common place We compete for breathing space SAVE ME from this sick embrace I can not climb the infinite staircase to something time will only erase Where we are meant to displace outrace disgrace efface deface anyone one we must outplace We can not show an ounce of grace or we will be the ones displaced a charity case in a world that finds that a disgrace that can not look the homeless in the face take me out of this rat race I would leave but I am already encased In this fast paced Consumer based self centered race to find my place Although it's called the Writing Center, that's not all we do. All kinds of creativity are welcome here at the HWC! This was submitted by Lizzie Andres.
Being in the Writing Center isn't all work. We have plenty of time to work on lots of fun projects, too! Recently, we've been doing a bit of creative writing:
Disneyland On the crowded bridge we stand Listening to the tribal band Touristy tidbits for sale Looking like the poster in the mail Off to Disneyland - Jenny B. and Elie I do not Understand Why, but this Past is most Certainly Impossible to Forget Must never cease seeking an understanding Must never quit learning about the past Must never stop recognizing the capabilities of history to repeat itself Must never abandon holding those accountable Must never finish questioning the horrific, inexcusable genocide, that is so impossible to forget This is my history This is your history This is the history of the human race This is the history, impossible to forget Difficult to comprehend Challenging to recall Unbearable to see Inspiring to meet survivors Devastating to hear the stories Impossible to forget The world lost 6 million Jews The world lost 6 million unfulfilled lives The world lost 6 million innocent individuals The world lost 6 million brilliant minds The world lost 6 million pairs of eyes The world lost 6 million beautiful people to the unmerciful Hitler The world lost 6 million humans who are impossible to forget How large these numbers How cruel those Nazis How tragic the truth How difficult to grasp And how impossible to forget Must learn from our mistakes Must look to the future Must maintain faith in humanity Must teach our children that this history is, indeed, never to be forgotten For it is, impossible to forget -Carmen Honker For a lot of us, high school is coming to an end. We're leaving this building soon and moving on to a number of different things:
During my first two years of high school, school and grades were my last priorities -- I was much more concerned with my social status. I struggled in class, but my lack of focus never registered with me until I was diagnosed with ADHD during tenth grade. Up until then, I had thought that my inability to pay attention was just an extension of my social life. After I was diagnosed, however, I realized that it went much deeper. I saw myself as a completely different person. Since it was summer,, I didn’t put much thought into my situation for a couple months. As I walked into school for the first day, it dawned on me that I could be successful in school. I needed to work harder. I got organized and improved my time management skills, both of which enabled me to better focus in class. Even with all the changes I had made, it still didn't come naturally-- I had to force myself to get through class. I had to put in more effort at home in order to really absorb all the material I had taken in on a given day. My ADHD used to inhibit me. Now I see it as the reason for my success. Whether it’s school or athletics, my ADHD pushes me towards greater heights. -Alex DeSatnick While we're in high school, the future always seems just over the horizon, but considering that some of the tutors in the Hawk Writing Center are seniors, the future is must closer than it appears. This cements itself in the form of college essays:
It’s 4:00 a.m. and I am rudely awakened by my alarm. Usually, I try to pick an alarm that’s “happy” so that getting up before the birds won’t seem so bad, but over time, I begin to resent it. No matter the ringtone, I still struggle with feelings of disdain. Even though the only thing on my mind is turning off my phone or throwing it out the window, I finally put my feet on the floor and convince myself to get out of bed. It’s time for swim practice. Having been involved in swim for most of my life, I feel that being a swimmer is who I am. It began when I was five years old and joined our community pool’s swim team. My parents, always encouraging me, love to remind me that I was always the first kid to jump into the water. I took to swimming right away and quickly moved up the swim team ranks becoming a real competitor -- not necessarily because I was fast, but because I was one of the few who could make it across the pool! Eventually, my lack of speed became an issue, especially when I joined a relay team whose three other members depended on me. I didn’t want to hold back my team, so I worked even harder. That’s when it all clicked for me -- at eight years old -- that in order to do better, I had to dedicate myself even more. Eventually my hard work paid off, and I made it to All-Stars, an important Northern Virginia regional meet. What had begun as a few days of swim practice a week at the local pool had evolved into a couple hours of practice early every morning and regional competition meets year round. During the 2015 swim season, my ultimate goal was to qualify for a national meet in the spring. I missed my first opportunity to qualify at our mid-season championship meet, gaining time in every event. Following that disappointing performance, I had two months to prepare for the State Championship. So, I channeled that “never say no” eight-year old inside me and worked even harder. I rarely missed practice and improved my work ethic in and out of the pool. Once State Championships came around, I achieved more than I had hoped for by qualifying for the national meet in two events rather than one, breaking one conference and two school records, while representing my school in a way that I had always dreamed of as a kid. It turns out, those early mornings crawling out of my warm bed and jumping, feet first, into the pool helped mold me into a person with discipline, determination and an appreciation for a strong mind and body. Though you might also find me playing soccer, managing my school’s Writing Center, or emceeing school-wide pep rallies, in the end, you will always find me in the pool...at 4 a.m. -Alex DeSatnick There are numerous things that we don't or simply can't know in life, and I think that this entry captures it really well:
I.D.K. There is always going to be something you will not know about in life. Always. So I am sorry to the know-it-alls that believe that memorizing 70 digits of Pi means that they’ve unlocked every key of knowledge there is. No matter how old you are, you will always find something new to learn. There will always be something you won’t know. Like, I don’t know how long I can talk about not knowing stuff in this OP. I don’t know. That phrase seems to be a good escape word to questions from people if you don’t want to carry on a conversation. Not always because you aren’t aware of the answer, but because you know the conservation would go nowhere once you reply. Like, well- here. “What are those small pockets in the front of your jeans for?” I don’t know. “What happens if I try to eat the little silica packets that come in every package?” I don’t know. “How do you say supercalifragilisticexpialidocious backwards?” I don’t know. See? Easy. The conversation then has no opportunity to become awkward because it ended abruptly just like that. Awkward chit-chats and dry small-talk with people are the worst. Also, just imagine the person’s reaction if I had actually answered them and said, “They are actually for your watch. In the early 1800s, cowboys wore watches with chains on them, and to keep them from getting damaged, they placed them in their small pocket introduced by world renowned denim jean brand Levis. It’s called a watch pocket.” Or if I had gone, “Actually, nothing. Silica gel packets are actually non-toxic and harmless. It would be more of a choking hazard, if anything. Since silica is another natural form of silicon dioxide, it’s basically just sand, just not as granulated. However, it is indigestible so it would probably look the same coming in and coming out………….. But you know. Still don’t eat it.” See?I would just sound snarky. That’s why it is easier to keep the small talk… small. Responding with ‘I don’t know’ simplifies the conversation. I am a really bad public speaker, and I don’t like to talk to new people only because I’m scared about how my impression will affect them. The encounter will usually start off strong, but gradually declines as each word passes. I know that personally, I have missed out on so many opportunities because I always shut down and end everything before it can even start. But maybe that’s something I need to change. Maybe it will get better as I go along. Maybe I will learn something new. MAYBE if I had replied, “Docious-Ali-Expi-Istic-Fragile-Cali-Rupus” there would be something I DO know at least; I don’t know how to say that word correctly. -Trish Hoang The Writing Center endeavors to have its tutors engage in as many writing styles possible. This piece is by Kathryn Shepherd and there's more than a bit of sarcasm in this one:
Congrats, newly minted librarian! Now that you’ve been hired, your newly earned master's degree can be put to use as you begin your job as a professional “shh”-er. This will be a time of great self-reflection that will let your true colors shine through. Being strict and scary may be the stereotype, but why stray from the norm. This guide will bring you above and beyond the stereotype to your ultimate mortifying potential. With a bit of a stretch, this can apply to any job that requires working with people. You can be the worst version of yourself with my How to Be an Awful Librarian* DVD series. For those of you who prefer books, get over yourself. Ten essentials, just to help you along the way:
Now you can do your job and make sure no one ever wants to come to the library ever again! So order my How to be an Awful Librarian series now, and get a jar to hold your soul in 100% free because you won’t need that anymore. *Only $5 plus shipping and handling because, with your salary, that’s all you can afford. Collaboration: (n) the action of working with someone to produce or create something.
The Hawk Writing Center is based on the principle that peer-to-peer collaboration can produce fantastic results. Tutees collaborate with tutors on literary tasks that they bring in; tutors collaborate with other tutors on in-class writing assignments. Recently, tutors from the HWC had the chance to collaborate with tutors from other schools at the Capital Area Peer Tutoring Association (CAPTA)’s annual conference. Several tutors from the HWC had the honor to present projects at the conference, ranging from the best way to organize a tutoring center to appealing to AP students. They also had the opportunity to attend the presentations of other tutors; the collaboration of tutors from different schools was an exciting opportunity for all involved. Tutors brainstormed ideas for how to improve both the physical and intangible aspects of the writing center. One idea presented was the function of writing centers as a relaxing, stress-free area of the school that should not maintain a classroom environment. This particularly resonated with Hayfield tutors as the writing center should be an oasis in the desert of stress occupied by the rest of the school. Tutors discussed the possibility of painting walls, having a “courage wall”, and arranging the room’s furniture in order to make the writing center a welcoming and inviting place. Tutor relations was another topic widely discussed at CAPTA as bonds between tutors can help a writing center run more effectively. Ideas presented included the arrangement of tutor get-togethers outside of school hours, “holiday buddies” gift exchanges, occasional parties, and team-building games. Collaboration between tutors is an integral part of the writing center that can make or break a center. The HWC is eager to begin to implement new ideas and concepts that were brainstormed at CAPTA, including hosting “de-stress events” and possibly expanding the HWC’s hours to include SOAR time as well. All of the HWC tutors that attended the 2016 CAPTA conference were grateful for the experience and are very excited for next year! |
Who are we?
We are the tutors of the Hawk Writing Center! See more under the 'About' tab. Archives
May 2017
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