EXTRAORDINARY EXPERIENCES
Taking a cue from an age-old grade-school assignment
Security vs. privacy
By Michal McDowell, 17
Never in my life have I been so humiliated as I was on Aug. 10 at the London Gatwick Airport.
I had just finished summer classes in Cambridge and was headed back with my father to Dallas, where he lives. For most of the year, I live with my mother in Indianapolis. My parents have been divorced since I was 2, and I've been flying back and forth for 15 years.
On that awful day, airports shifted to high security procedures after an alleged terrorist plot was exposed to blow up as many as 10 passenger jets leaving Britain for the United States.
My father and I pushed through masses of people to get to the check-in kiosk. We were forced to check everything except our passports and wallets. I even had to check my purse and instead carry a plastic, see-through bag for my personal feminine items. This was the beginning of my humiliation.
After waiting for 45 minutes in the longest security line I'd ever experienced, my father and I put our plastic bags through the X-ray machine and stepped through the metal detectors. A tall, domineering woman impatiently ushered me to the side for a full-body patdown. I was uncomfortable, shocked and embarrassed as she searched me, especially when she lifted the underwires to check for "possible threats."
Humiliated and shocked, I cringed as strangers waiting in line watched the invasive process.
Later, after some duty-free shopping, we were subjected to another patdown at our gate. This full body check was not nearly as rude as the previous one, but nevertheless, I still felt distressed and manhandled.
Once settled at the gate, I tried to buy a drink from the pop machine, but it was taped and unplugged. I wondered why my father and I were allowed to buy and bring chocolates through the security gate -- but were prohibited from buying water.
We waited another two hours at the gate for our flight crew to arrive. After we boarded the plane, we waited at the takeoff landing for another five hours for permission to fly into the United States. When the pilot announced that we were taking off, the passengers erupted in applause. As soon as we were airborne, I was served my first meal of the day at about 5:30 p.m., nearly seven hours after our flight was scheduled to leave.
My dad and I discussed the ludicrous security measures. What if someone put a bomb in his or her underwear? Would we be forced to travel naked? How far would nations and airlines stretch to maintain a "secure" environment?
I love my country, and I believe that safety is a top priority. But I also love my civil rights and believe that no matter how many different items we prohibit on planes, we'll never establish total security.
Editor's note: Visit www.wfyi.org for podcasts of students reading their essays.
Learning a perfect angle {mosimage}
By Jake Thornburgh, 13
This summer, I learned how to ski faster than 20 mph and make a series of 100-degree angles within seconds as I swooped down 8,000-foot snowy slopes.
Obviously I was no where near Indianapolis’ flat terrain and 90-degree days. For two weeks in July, I was at a camp in Mount Hood, Ore. learning how to ski race.
Skiing has been a part of my life since I was a toddler. Every winter, our family skis in Michigan.
Now that I’m older, I figured I wanted to take skiing to the next level and learn to race. Ever since I started skiing, I have loved to go fast. I am not usually a daredevil, but skiing brings the adventurer out of me. Skiing is one of the rare sports were I truly feel alive.
As soon as I put on Giant Slalom (GS) skis, I could see that this sport was nothing like the downhill skiing I’d experienced. And I soon realized that ski racing was so much more than just speed. It is also about your form. I had to think about stance, angle, and using a lot of forward pressure.
Learning giant slalom was complicated. I fell a lot and it took me a long time to get used to it.
According to a website devoted to all aspects of skiing -- the ABC of Skiing – giant slalom is fast-paced and highly technical. Skiers have to get down the slope fast, turning quickly from side to side of flexible gates. You have to have a perfect angle or you fall. I finally got how to ski giant slalom when I figured out how to have a perfect angle, which took a lot of practice. I now have even more admiration for the Olympic skiers than I did before. The flaky snow combined with the rolling hills and mountains around me made the camp one of the greatest times of my life. I was never ready at the end of the day to quit. When all my friends had gone down the mountain, I was still up there getting that last run in. Eventually, the instructors had to force me to come in.I hope now that I can translate what I learned from camp and start racing. Indiana doesn’t have a lot of options for speed skiing, but I have found a few clubs I could join.
For the first time in my life, I have found something that I love to do more than anything else.
Life in the fast lane {mosimage}
By Andy Goldblatt, 18
I got my first job last spring at Taco Bell. At first it was a great job: My manager liked me, so did all the other employees, and I was steadily working my way up the ranks of the fast-food food chain.That is, until this summer and my encounter with a general manager at a Taco Bell in Greenwood. Let’s just call her “Ethel.”
Now Ethel takes drive-thru times seriously. Here is a little known fact about Taco Bell: every store has a timer for its drive-thru, and the goal is to get the food out and have the customer drive away within 60 seconds.Ethel focused all of her energy on the times and efficiency of production. It got to the point the employees were not able to enjoy working, and my motto is: “Why work if you can’t have fun?”
And it wasn’t just the employees she harassed either. She would totally disregard her customer-service skills in order to make that 60-second deadline.If a driver would pause after receiving his order, and not immediately drive away, Ethel would start counting down the clock:
“57, 58, 59, 60, OH DARN! We missed that one guys, too bad!” She was so loud that some customers heard and were perturbed. On a few occasions, Ethel even stuck her head out the door admonishing a frazzled mom with preschoolers screaming in the back seat: “You know we are on a timer, so can you please move.”WHAT KIND OF A PERSON DOES THAT???
By mid-July, I was fed up with the whole drive-thru routine, and requested closing shifts -- 6 p.m. to 4 a.m. During this time there is not a lot of concern with drive-thru since only one or two people are making food. This was fun until they hired some trashy anti-Semite, who repeatedly made “cheap Jew” jokes until I informed him of my heritage and suggested settling the situation by any means necessary. I went back to days with the timer psycho, and hated almost every moment.
By the end of summer, I had had enough, so I put in my two-week notice at Taco Bell, which Ethel resented.
All of this work has made me realize something: I am not going to be a Taco lifer, I shouldn’t obsess over inane goals, I shouldn’t be stressed about a summer job. Sure the money was good, but I am 18 years old, I have so many years ahead to be disgruntled about my job, I should be enjoying life now. Next summer I know to take it easy, you can’t enjoy life when you’re a slave to the timer.Trained by father, teen conquers Mount Rainier {mosimage}
By Ben Dorson, 16
It all started 10 years ago. My dad set off to climb Mount Rainier, a 14,411-foot volcano an hour's drive from Seattle. He did not make it to the top.
My dad tried again in 1999, with the same result. He made his final try in 2006, this time with me, his 16-year-old son.
So here I was at 5 a.m., with five hours of climbing behind me. Having started our climb at midnight to avoid melting snow, I stood 11,000 feet in the air, at the top of Disappointment Cleaver, a gargantuan collection of rocks, ice and snow that physically separates two glaciers. The rocks jut from the side of Mount Rainer and nothing was below me but crevices that resembled the cracks in a broken window.
My dad, Roland Dorson, trained for months, but he is 51 years old, and the climb was simply too taxing. He left me in the hands of two other climbers, and fate, as I made my final ascent to the summit of Mount Rainier.
No moment so heart-wrenching and difficult had ever befallen me. Here I was, suspended above the Earth on a slanted hill of ice and snow. The cold soaked through my fleece, my legs ached, and my crampons dug deeper into the packed snow as I prepared to tackle a mountain without the person who had prepared me for this very day.
{mosimage} There was no waving goodbye or sentimental words. I looked at my father, and he looked at me, and I watched him disappear over the cliff into the rising sun.
And on I walked.
At 9:15 a.m. on July 23, after nine hours of climbing, I reached the summit of Mount Rainier. From 14,000 feet, the world seemed to be mine for the taking. The incredible vividness of the blue sky seemed to blend seamlessly with the greens and purples of the mountains below, creating a gently flowing ocean of color as far as I could see.
The proudest moment of my life came when I signed not only my name but my dad's name in the log book at the summit of Mount Rainier. Though he was not with me physically, my father's spirit never left me that day. I knew he deserved, as did I, to be standing on the top of the world.
I knew deep in my heart that a part of the mountain would always be in me, but now a piece of my dad and me would always be on the top of Mount Rainer as well.
Sore back takes up a swimmer's summer {mosimage}
By Stephen Miller, 17
As I lay in the water staring at the clear blue sky, wondering if my back spasms would ever stop, I finally decided to succumb to the inevitable. I admitted to myself that severe back pain at age 17 wasn't normal and would not go away unless I did something about it.
During my first visit to the specialist, I learned more about my lower back than I knew about the rest of my body combined. After a battery of X-rays, I was questioned extensively about my pain: What irritated my back? How often did it hurt?
But even after those dozens of questions and hours spent waiting and reading outdated magazines, the doctor wasn't sure what was wrong. The X-rays were inconclusive: I either had a spinal fracture or just a muscle problem.
As I mulled over my options, I became more and more somber. With a spinal fracture, I'd have to wear a back brace 24 hours a day for three months. I wouldn't be allowed to swim -- a depressing thought for a guy who is on the swim team.
With a muscular problem, I'd still have to wear a brace and have physical therapy, but I could take the brace off and swim. I prayed for bad muscles.
To find out truly what was wrong first required a bone scan -- and it was scheduled for late July. I was nervous but ready to accept whatever treatment would be needed. The problem was there already; I couldn't make it any better on my own.
Ultimately, the doctor decided I might as well get a CT scan, too -- just in case. I wigged out a little bit; I thought the doctor would only order a CT scan if he thought it was a spinal fracture.
Back at the doctor's office, waiting for results, I was nervous, but then quickly relieved. Nothing broken!
We found that my tailbone was just up too high. The result was a gap between it and the bone below it. This exposed cartilage had been irritated by all my swimming.
The doctor likened it to a bruise; bruises don't heal if you keep punching them.
I now wear a removable back brace and do physical therapy. I'm glad that I finally gave in and received medical help.
I found that knowledge isn't only power, it is comfort. My doctors' thorough and clear explanations kept me well-informed at every step of the way.
More of my summer days may have been spent in doctor's offices than at the lake, but I am well on my way to recovery -- thanks to competent doctors who kept me informed.
Intense dance camp clarifies career view {mosimage}
By Millie Cripe, 13
Onstage, the intense lights glared and the five seconds seemed like an eternity.
My body tingled. I was nervous and perspiring from the hot lights. Glancing to my left and right, I saw the girls I had practiced with for the past week.
I was anxious, and wondered, "Will I remember the dance?"
When I heard the first note of the song -- "Musicology," by Prince -- all my nervousness evaporated, and I plunged into the tap routine.
As soon as I finished, the applause told me that we had nailed it. I was overjoyed. All the hard work of the past week was worth it.
Who could have guessed that it had only been a week since I had put on my first pair of tap shoes?
While I had studied jazz and ballet for the past year, at this summer's weeklong intense camp, I danced all day and frequently into the night.
It was called the Dance for the Musical Theatre Stage Camp in Washington, D.C., and every day we had two hours each of ballet, tap and jazz classes with occasional performance rehearsals, modern dance clinics and lectures about careers in the performing arts.
It was intimidating to be around so many girls who had danced since preschool. But I had some great teachers. Every day my pirouettes became more precise, my leaps were more graceful, and my tap steps sounded clearer and sharper. My self-consciousness fell away. I began to adore tap; the looser style was a welcome change from the structure of ballet.
In addition to the dancing, I loved the new friendships; I met girls from 13 states and from Singapore, too. We lived in the Americans' dormitory, so we spent the nights hanging out between the rooms until curfew. We talked about our home lives, complained about the teachers, and worried about the upcoming performance. We also just laughed at the silly things girls who have danced all day say late at night.
It was an awesome experience, but it also made me realize that the sacrifice required to become a professional dancer is not for me. I don't want to spend my life dieting, or dancing 20-plus hours a week.
Dance will always be my love, but it won't be my life.
Seminary sojourn deepens her faith {mosimage}
By Cindy Mangan, 18
This summer I had several "first" experiences. I flew alone -- something I've never done before. I also stayed at a seminary where I spent time studying the Bible and contemplating my purpose in life.
Located in Pittsburgh, the Reformed Presbyterian Theological Seminary was my home for two weeks this summer. I lived, ate and studied at the seminary with 22 other high-schoolers who were selected to participate in the Theological Foundations for Youth summer program.
This program was created in 1998 through a Lilly Endowment grant to help churches and seminaries reach young people who hoped to be future pastors and church leaders. Like its name suggests its name suggests, TFY is about theology, the study of God. Every day I attended several lectures taught by seminary professors. I also attended group Bible studies, theology discussions, and spent some time alone, quietly reading the Bible, praying and mediating.
In the past, I thought that theology didn't have very much to do with me. At TFY, I changed my mind.
Every morning I sat in a corner of the second-floor library, surrounded by bookshelves, reading the Bible, praying and meditating. I encountered God when he spoke to me during one of these quiet times. I was pondering the question, "How do I discern my life's purpose?" The question had been raised during one of the lectures. My mind raced as I wondered and fretted over what kind of career I should choose, and where I should go to college.
Overwhelmed, I opened my Bible and began reading. I soon came across a verse in the book of Psalms that read, "The Lord will fulfill his purpose for me; your steadfast love, O Lord, endures forever. Do not forsake the work of your hands."
At that moment, I knew that God was speaking to me through the Bible. In the first part of the verse, he was telling me not to worry about the future because he has a plan for my life. In the latter part of the verse, he was assuring me of his love and faithfulness.
At TFY, I discovered how to really live my faith. I spent a week volunteering at a church in North Hills, Pa. During the week, I was a counselor at a Bible club for kids. As the week went by, my faith was tested.
Kelly, one of the girls in my counseling group, often distanced herself from the rest of the kids. She showed little enthusiasm for learning the lessons or participating in activities with the other kids. I began to doubt that I would really be able to make much of a difference in her life.
On Friday, the last day of club, Kelly handed me a note. She had written to thank me and to tell me that she had fun during the past week of club. Then, Kelly's mom told me that all week, Kelly had been telling her about how much fun she had at club and how great the counselors were. I was so happy I felt like crying! I finally understood that by simply trying to be the best counselor I could be, I had fulfilled my purpose!
So, in the end, the real "first" came when I learned that I don't need to answer all of the tough questions right now. I can fulfill God's purpose for me one step at a time through my daily actions, because faith isn't just about knowing, it's about doing.
Many miles of motoring drew his family closer {mosimage}
By Pratik Cherian, 15
One day this summer, my mom gathered my three siblings and me and gave us the amazing news: "This summer we're going to Orlando for vacation. While we're there, we're going to spend two days at Disney World!"
"All right!" we yelled.
I quickly became the skeptical one, "How are we going to get there?"
"We're driving!" she announced.
"How long a drive?" was my next question.
"About 18 hours," was my mom's response.
I felt like collapsing. How on earth was an active 15-year-old supposed to share 18 hours with his mom and dad, his 11-year-old brother, an 8-year-old sister, and a 2-year-old baby brother in a minivan?
A couple days later, I found out about even more family togetherness: We would also be making the 12-hour drive from Florida to my uncle's house in New Jersey, after the Disney trip. After that, we'd spend a lot of time in Columbus, Ohio, where my dad works. Because of all these trips, I would miss all kinds of summer fun: no tennis lessons, swimming lessons or just hanging out at home.
And now that the summer with the family is complete, people wonder what I liked best.
Space Mountain? No.
Watching movies on my uncle's big-screen TV? No.
Beautiful downtown Columbus? No.
Even though all these activities were fun, what I liked best about this summer was all the time spent talking to my family. Passing through Tennessee, we talked about the different trees, famous Tennesseans and what to do with all of that kudzu -- a speedy-growing vine that seemed to be covering every bit of green -- along the highway.
Passing through Atlanta, we talked about sports stadiums we'd seen. I learned that my dad had been to Atlanta many times and thought the traffic was crazier than New York City.
Passing through Florida, we talked about crocodiles, Steve Irwin and the Miami Heat.
It sounds like small talk, but this talk worked wonders on our trip.
Gone were the siblings annoying and fighting with each other. Harmony seemed to reign. It's amazing how a cramped road trip can literally bring a close family even closer together.
Trip to India posed faith challenge
By Chelsea Berryman, 17
I instantly became fascinated last spring as I listened to a fellow missionary discuss growing up in India. It made me want to go there, too -- even though I've loved getting to know the people and culture in the African country of Mozambique.
When Susan Weil mentioned that she and her husband were going to India in the summer, I jokingly said: "Sign me up!"
From that start, I was on my way to India for a month. It would be the first time I would be away from my parents and sister for an extended period, and I was nervous but excited to go and exert my independence.
My travels as a missionary in India would provide more opportunities for me to share Jesus Christ's message of salvation and show his love. It's a powerful thing to be a witness. A good thing about being young is that I can touch the hearts of fellow youth who wouldn't listen to a similar message from adults.
One such experience took place on a night-train trip from Delhi to Allahabad in the northern part of the country. I stayed up till 1 a.m. talking to three teenaged Indian girls about their beliefs. Their families are Muslim. They told me about Allah as their one and only God.
I told them that is similar to my God. They have read the Gospels and believe in all our prophets but denied Jesus as God. They see him just as another prophet like Abraham or Moses and don't believe he was crucified.
I was shocked and emphasized my belief in Jesus Christ and how he died for our sins to set humankind free. I asked them why they could see that truth. How could we all read the same Gospels and believe totally different things?
We sat on the bed in silence. The oldest girl finally spoke up and told me that I was very different from her friends and that she would think about what I told her that night.
As they headed off to bed, I just sat there, frustrated. I was blown away. I felt like the truth about Christianity was staring them in the face, yet they were blind to it and trapped in their own beliefs. I could only hope that I planted the right seed in them for someone else to reap.
This experience showed me that I need to be prepared for anything that someone throws at me. I need to be strong in my beliefs and battle things out and not give up. India was fascinating for so many reasons. I learned so much and was able to see one of the Seven Wonders of the World -- the Taj Mahal -- and put my faith into action by working many hours in a community library inventorying books in stifling heat.But the most important "wonder" of the trip was learning so much about myself. I now realize that we all need to be open to other cultures and be willing to listen to those in need, but I learned that I need to get out of my comfort bubble and speak up about Jesus' word, too. You never know when someone could come into your heart and change your world.
But the most important "wonder" of the trip was learning so much about myself. I now realize that we all need to be open to other cultures and be willing to listen to those in need, but I learned that I need to get out of my comfort bubble and speak up about Jesus' word, too. You never know when someone could come into your heart and change your world. Editor's note: Chelsea Berryman, 17, lives with her family in Mozambique, where her parents are missionaries for OMS International, a global ministry active in 46 countries. The mission of the organization is to launch and support Christ-centered churches The Berrymans have been there for a year and are setting up an English-language program in Maputo, the capital.
Originally published 9-24-06
Copyright 2006 Y-Press