I Remember... First Kiss for ENG 1010

I was always an affectionate child and I’d like to think that my family was equally affectionate toward me.  I would imagine that I was kissed and hugged on a regular basis.

It wasn’t until I was nearly six years old that affection outside of my family even crossed my mind.  I lived in Sacramento with my family on a small cul-de-sac named Sinbad Court.  The cul-de-sac provided a safe environment and close, neighborly relationships.  The family directly across the cul-de-sac consisted of a mother, father, son and daughter.  The daughter was two years older than me, had brown hair, dark eyebrows, brown eyes and a nearly perfectly round face.  At six years old, I found myself with butterflies in my stomach whenever she was within eyesight.

One day, my sister and I were playing with Brandy (my earliest crush) and her brother Robert.  We were inside their house as the day was unbearably hot outside.  Robert and Brandy shared a room which was painted a dark blue and consisted of a bunk bed, two dressers and a closet that was filled with clothes.  

We decided to play hide-n-go seek and it was my turn to be “it”.  I stood in the hallway and counted to a pre-determined number, yelled “Ready or not, here I come!” and proceeded to hunt my friends.  The first place I looked was in Robert and Brandy’s closet which is where I found Brandy hiding.  In our rules of “hide-n-go seek”, the person who is “it” must find and then tag the person he/she found.  Instead of tagging Brandy, I decided to kiss her.  This unconventional “tagging” must have surprised her and I think it shocked me as well because neither of us moved for a long time.  The butterflies in my stomach fluttered with an increased anxiety and we both just stood there looking at each other awkwardly until Robert interrupted and demanded an explanation for why he hadn’t yet been found.

Outside of my family, that was my first kiss.

I Remember... First Fight for ENG 1010

Growing up with two sibling sisters on either side of me was anything but peaceful.  I’m not saying that I wasn’t the cause conflicts, because I probably was most of the time.  I knew how to push my sister’s buttons and they knew how to push mine.  There were several, countless squabbles, arguments and physical fights throughout my childhood.

I can’t say I remember my first fight, mostly because there were so many.  There was, however, one fight that stood above the rest.

It was a warm spring day in Greybull, Wyoming.  My mother regularly gave piano lessons to students after school and my siblings and I were required to stay in the basement and keep the noise to a minimum.  My mother usually prepared an afternoon snack for us to enjoy while we waited for her to finish her piano lessons.

The snack this day was saltine crackers, peanut butter and some milk.  My mother placed my older sister, Rachel, in charge of the snacks.  In what still proves to be a troublesome disposition, my nature led me to question and test my sister’s authority and competency as “snack administrator”.

Rachel was insistent on even disbursement of the saltine crackers.  I thought I deserved more than was rationed to me.  As I took control of the box of crackers, my sister seized my hand and warned me to put the saltines down.  I foolishly ignored the command and proceeded to remove the crackers from the box.  The next thing I knew, my jaw was rapidly making contact with Rachel’s knee.  It was almost slow motion as I watched a chunk of my tooth fly out of my mouth, bounce off my sister’s shirt and land on the floor.

My mother’s piano lessons were definitely interrupted after that.  I never again cared to question my sister’s authority and I also permanently lost my appetite for saltine crackers.

I Remember... Most Interesting Dream

I think most dreams are interesting.  It’s difficult for me to say that any one dream is more interesting than another.  However, I do find it unusually interesting when dreams are recurring.

When I was younger, probably eight or nine, I had a dream that someone broke into my house while I was sleeping.  The intruder proceeded to slaughter my family in my house.  The slaughtering was anything but quiet and woke me (in my dream).  In a panic and flushed with fear, I ran out of my house and hid under our car parked in the cul-de-sac where we lived.  I crouched under the car with a pool of viscous oil soaking my pajamas, the brisk air cooling my fevered terror, and the foggy night air confining the yellow glow of the street lights.  I stayed under the car until all the screams stopped and then I waited longer, never daring to move a muscle.  After what seemed an eternity, the intruder walked out the front door and looked around as if he knew something had escaped; I knew he was looking for me.  He slowly walked toward the car, cautiously surveying the cul-de-sac for movement.  He walked right up to the car and stopped, bent over, saw me and gave me an evil grin.  And that’s when I woke up.

This dream was so vivid and frightening that I suspect it influenced other dreams of the same nature.  I never had the exact same dream, per-se, but I have had several dreams with the same scenes, characters, atmospheres, plots, and feelings.  Every time one of the aspects of this dream shows up in another dream, I am reminded of the originally dream which has stuck in my memory, vividly, since I was a child.

I’ve noticed a trend that the themes of this dream slowly occur less and less as I get older, but they still occasionally creep into my subconscious and remind me of one of the most horrific dreams of my childhood.

I Remember... My First Animal Experience for ENG 1010

While I can’t remember the first time I interacted with an animal, I can remember the first pet which was my idea.  My family had a cat named Cozy.  He was a long-haired tabby cat.  Cozy must have been unsatisfying for me because one day I woke up with the idea that I needed my own cat.  I begged and pleaded with my parents, my grandparents, my siblings, and just about anybody who would put up with me.  I made my grandmother take me to the pet store so I could peruse the available options.  I looked at cat magazines so I could pick the best match for me.  I did my cat homework, all the while, ignoring the cat we already had.

My obsession with getting a cat turned into a general obsession with cats.  I had posters on my walls of cats, both domestic and wild.  I would often pretend I was a cheetah and show anybody who was paying attention just how fast I was.  I regularly watched the cartoon Thundercats with awe and appreciation, all the while, ignoring the cat we already had.

Finally, my parents gave in to my incessant begging, pleading and whining.  We drove to the pet store and browsed the kittens.  I picked the one I wanted and the shop owner grabbed it, put it in a cardboard box, rang us up and sent us on our way.

When we got home, I unpackaged my new friend, a short-haired tabby cat whom I named Cookie.   Cookie was my newest best friend, and I’m sure he thought of me as annoying, needy and overly affectionate because I never let him out of my sight.  I was torturously enthralled with Cookie.  I would make crowns for “King Cookie”, chase him around the house, attempt to speak “cat” to him, among several other ridiculous activities.

Cozy hated Cookie.  As if to make me pay for what I’d done, Cozy became territorial and started spraying.   Then I started paying attention to him.

I Remember... Favorite Toy for ENG 1010

I had several toys when I was a child.  I had stuffed animals, art supplies, LEGOs, action figures, matchbox cars, games and more.   As if that wasn’t enough, I would also consistently “borrow” my sister’s toys, often without asking.

I had toys that I bought with my allowance; however, most of my toys were gifts.  Usually, my favorite toys were gifts.  Sentimental value had little to do with my liking or disliking a toy, it usually came down to the fact that the toys I received as gifts were usually bigger and more expensive than the toys I was able to buy for myself.

One year for my birthday, my grandmother arrived at my party with a large box.  For a child, neither quality nor quantity can inspire anxiety quite the same as size.  I spent the entire party thinking about what could be in that large box.  When it came time to open presents, the large box was my first choice for unwrapping.  I quickly tore through the bright wrapping paper, pulled the tape off the seams and was astounded to see a big aircraft carrier nearly half my height.

Along with the aircraft carrier, came die cast metal airplanes on a scale relative to the carrier.  The boat also floated, so it doubled as a bath toy.  Unfortunately, the weight of the die cast airplanes made balancing the boat in the tub a tedious effort.

I was enthralled with my new toy.   I would place the aircraft carrier on the carpet, arrange the planes in different configurations and then “borrow” my mother’s camera to take pictures of the configurations I’d made.

I played with that aircraft carrier until the day that I caused a breach in the hull while in the tub.  I sunk the aircraft carrier and the plastic was beyond repair.  I was devastated.

My devastation didn’t last long, however, and I quickly resumed “borrowing” my sister’s toys.

Argument Essay for ENG 1010

In the article “Teens Locked Up for Life without a Second Chance,” Stephanie Chen describes the predicament of Quantel Lotts, who at fourteen years old, was convicted of the first degree murder of his stepbrother.  On a broader spectrum, this article is about the increase of minors being tried and convicted as adults and the injustice of such sentences.

In the article, Chen refers to (unspecified) attorneys who argue that life in prison without parole is “cruel and unusual punishment” for minors.  That could be taken one step further to say, “Life without parole is cruel and unusual punishment for a person of any age, but even more so for minors.”

Most children are in the midst of a self-imposed formation.  The majority of individuals spend their childhoods discovering who they are, how they fit in and where they fit into society.  By saying a person is an adult at eighteen, our society is also saying anyone under eighteen has not fully formed and is not ready to fully integrate, as an individual, into society.  At eighteen, an American individual is expected to be solely responsible for him/herself.  Children are assumed to be under the guidance of a legal guardian before they are eighteen.  This guardian is also to be held responsible for the child.

Prison is supposedly an institution of reform.  If we sentence anybody to life without parole, we as a society, are saying, “We are incapable or unwilling to help correct your behavior.”  In essence, we are giving up on this individual.  In some instances, there very well may be individuals who are beyond reform.  However, sending someone who is beyond reform to an institute for reform seems wasteful for the institution, the individual, those who believe the institution works, as well as for those funding the institution.

Change is something of which people of all ages are capable.  However, change is also directly connected to the willingness of the parties involved; the reformer and the reformee.  Of all people, children have proven to have the most potential for change.  Children up to the age of eighteen (and beyond) are in a transitive and constant flux of self-defining formation, hopefully under the watchful and corrective guidance of a guardian.  Sending an individual who has not fully “formed” to an institute of “re-form” seems hypocritical of our societal definitions of responsibility.

Every other child in America is the responsibility of their guardian.  How is it that we can make an exception for heinous crimes or any other case?  Why are the parents not being punished?  Why do the parents walk away without as much as a slapped wrist?  How is it that these sentenced minors are expected to shoulder the weight of their own responsibility when every other child can rely on their parents to shoulder it for them?

Of course, there are instances where the guardians cannot be held responsible, for instance, if they were the victims of their child’s heinous crime.  In these instances, there is still opportunity for the reformation of the minor.  To say any child is beyond reform without first trying is ignorant, weak, rash, unsupportive and defiant of the very idea of reform.

Life without parole is a costly and hypocritical sentence for everybody, let alone minors.  To what purpose do we “save” these people from death?  We have stripped them of their ability to re-integrate, to pay penance for their mistakes, to attempt correction, to be forgiven, to live, or to thrive.  Instead they will sit in a cell for the rest of their lives (which at fourteen is a long time) and rot.  Death, it seems, would be a more merciful sentence.  If these people’s lives are so worthless that we are giving up on them, why should we as tax payers, pay to keep these people alive?

When our justice system rules against the laws it is sworn to uphold, that system loses its integrity.  If we disregard the purpose of our prisons (reform) and we ignore who we say will be responsible for minors (guardians), we open the gates for a flood of “exceptions” and the integrity of our laws will dilute until they no longer serve a purpose.  There will always be another “exception” and we will continually refer to one exception in order to make another.

I Remember... First Vacation for ENG 1010

Irrational fears are difficult to explain, mostly because they’re not rational.  When I was a child, I was deathly afraid of witches.  I’m not sure where or when the seed was sown for this fear, but it matured into a full-fledged phobia.  I remember using the bathroom and opening the door before I flushed the toilet so I could more easily evade the witches escaping from the gurgling toilet.  With a little luck, my cat-like reflexes and a lot of running, I avoided the toilet witches every time.

During my struggle with this phobia, my family decided to go on vacation to visit my Grandparents in Southern California.  During this trip, my parents thought they would “treat” us kids with a trip to Disneyland.  I had never been to Disneyland before, but I knew what it was and my anxiety began growing.

By the time we reached the gates of Disneyland, I could barely contain my excitement and I’m sure my anxiety exhausted my parents before we’d finished walking the distance from the car to the gate.  We visited all the typical attractions, The Tiki Room, The Submarine Ride, Space Mountain, It’s a Small World, the Jungle Cruise and Pirates of the Caribbean.  We even met Donald Duck and saw Michael Jackson’s Captain Eo in 3-D. 

Then we visited the Snow White ride.  Snow White might seem like an innocent and romantic story, but the story also has a witch.  Riding in a small vessel, in a confined area, in the dark and having the thing you’re most afraid of jump out at you is a terrifying ordeal, even if you are sitting next to the comfort and protection of your father.  Somehow, I made it through the ride but not undamaged.

I was traumatized for the rest of the day.  Suddenly all of the rides lost their appeal.  Between this traumatic experience, my ever growing anxiety and the heat of the day, the Spinning Tea Cups was a bad choice for the next ride.  I threw up and hated Disneyland for a long time after.