Sweltering heat swarms my muscles as I catch the first spring whiff of fresh mown grass. Its mid-April on the AU track, timers are set, and I step up for my first middle school time trial. Infused with confidence, my feet anxiously dancing, I prepare to prove my mettle to the coach. “On your mark,” I bend my knees, “get set,” I lean forward, “go!” my adrenalin lifts me off my feet, carrying my through my first 200 meters. My immature mind focuses solely on winning, leaving me constantly aware of the current record holder looming behind me. My feet keep me ahead of my nemesis, but my mind starts to wander, fighting the monotony. The final 200 meters elapses – my last chance to prove I am the best on the team. Anxiety seeps in, my strides shorten, and my mind zones in. As I round the last 100 meters, the boys explode in anticipation of my defeat of the record holder. My confidence elevates, my strength increases, and I drive my knees proudly through the finish line. Uplifted by my victory over the top runner and pleased at gaining my coach’s attention, I recognize my raw talent. Speed, power, and confidence took precedence over mental stamina.
A year later, stair workouts brought on a new set of challenges. The rest of the team, in shape from winter track, threw me off balance. I tore myself apart with dissatisfaction, fearing my loss of the number one spot. My dad noticed my depression, concerned I would let myself fall apart, for he knew I had not lost my edge. “Athletes don’t loose talent, only their minds,” my dad repeated. But his mantra never sank in until the 800 meter time trail returned. As I step off the bus, sweltering heat swarms my muscles and last year’s race floods my memory. Confidence rebuilds, and I unconsciously absorb my father’s words. My muscles begin quivering as my teammates surround me, and I remind myself of last year’s easy defeat against my competitors. I lean forward, the stopwatch starts, and I fly through the first 200 meters, taking the lead. Recalling my coach’s advice, I lift my knees and lean into the turn. As I come out of the bend, I lengthen my stride through the straightaway. With one lap to go, I focus on this strategy until the last 100 meters approaches. Without the boys cheering me on, I remember my talent and muster all my strength to power through the finish line. This success, however, did not last the season. With every practice, with every race, my confidence and mental stamina declined. My winning record vanished, and I was left floundering for tactics.
My aptitude for running reappeared with high school cross-country. Only boys challenged my ability during pre-season practices. I was the first finisher on my team for the first three races, but two unfortunate races followed. During these two races, I allowed five of my teammates to pass me. Confused and unconfident, I collected advise from my dad, my coach, and my brothers, all of whom had experience beyond my years. I conformed to a final strategy, and joined my team for a two-mile time trial. Used to taking lane one, I fell back behind the runners assembled at the start, standing near Ellie, a top runner with three years experience. When the coach announces the start, nervousness creeps in, but I restrain my excitement and continue steadily alongside Ellie. We gradually pass teammates exhausted from an aggressive start. I allow gravity to pull me every downhill with long strides, and I drive my knees up each uphill with short steps. With the last half-mile, pain encroaches, my legs become lethargic, and my motivation of finishing evaporates. Permitting the throbbing to conquer me, I let Ellie inch ahead. Even though I have lost my pace keeper, I ensure a consistent pace. I fly down the pain-easing downhill, furious that I allowed Ellie to drift away. As the finish line comes into view, failure blazes through my endeavor. Wrestling with my mind’s disheartened dissatisfaction, I lean forward and press on towards my ambition.
Wednesday, November 30
Saturday, July 30
Run Don't Walk
I had to face the truth: I was no longer the anchor for the relay team. In my fingers, I held the roster, the roster that had her name as anchor, where my name should have been. I threw it across the room.
I hesitantly reached out to touch my favorite trophy in the center of my collection on the shelf behind my bed. My index finger brushed over my name, and then over first place. I smiled. Until I remembered that my medals ended after eighth grade. I had half an hour to reminisce before it was time to leave for the Draper Invitational.
Speed has always been my thing. I learned to run before I learned to walk. I was always the first to step up to the line whenever there was an opportunity to race. I have always loved the sensation of wind in my hair – but mostly, I loved to win. In the Lower School wrestling room, no first grader – boy or girl – could outrun me. Every Lower School field day, I always won the hurdle races for my team. At travel soccer try-outs, once again I had no competition. When the time came to choose sports after 6th grade, I knew I was going to be a runner.
Seventh-grade track was my time to shine. Every practice I gave it my all and just kept going, pushing through every pain. No one had my stamina. And at every school track meet, I stepped onto the track to win. And I did. I ran at least three events per meet, and placed first or second every time.
When I joined the fall eighth-grade cross-country team, my talent earned me a leadership position. I competed for a top place at every co-ed meet, beating almost all the boys. Girls weren’t even on my radar. At the end of the season, the high school cross-country coach asked me to represent GDS at the Maryland/DC State Championships. Eager to impress my future high school teammates, I accepted the challenge. The coach posted my times for the whole school, and I couldn’t walk down the hallway without a pat on the back. Eighth grade cross-country was effortless. I ran – I won. It never occurred to me that I wouldn’t be able to live up to my reputation as a track prodigy.
By the spring eighth-grade track season, I buckled under the weight of my reputation. I realized how much I had to lose. By the ninth grade track season, I’ve become an average runner –an anonymous member of the pack. No longer am I the special star athlete, that runner to watch. No longer can I effortlessly run with high school boys. No longer am I the anchor, the most prized position of the distance medley relay.
I suddenly realized that the trophy was in my hands. I was holding it so tightly that the edge had pierced a cut through my finger. Just like my finger, my confidence and times have been pierced by the nagging fear of losing, by the double-edged sword of success. I never thought that the very thing that made me most proud, confident, would also torment me the most.
Success – you’ve betrayed me!
I shook my head. Turning off my lights, I left my room filled with athletic accomplishments. I boarded the bus, quickly finding a window seat. I blocked out my successful teammates with my headphones, and they let me be because they figured that I was simply relaxing. Two hours later I was at the track with my team, surrounded by competition.
I wrestled with my emotions until the Draper Invitational was finally over. I knew what I had not done. With the display time, the last speck of hope – that tiny ounce of faith that kept me sane – finally evaporated, maybe forever. Shame boiled inside me, and the about-to-burst tears sent me darting off into the woods.
Could I act any more like a child?
I couldn’t even face my supportive teammates, let alone my relay team - the ones who’d just surpassed me. The leader who had once encouraged my frustrated teammates was now hiding in the woods. I crumpled to a heap in the dried sticks and leaves. I hurled rocks at the fence until there were none left. Then I started snapping twigs.
I don’t deserve this talent anymore if I don’t even know how to use it.
But I remembered my dad telling me that you don’t just lose talent.
Two meets ago, I’d started to run better. My times dropped back down significantly, and I saw a glimmer of hope. But after today, I was back to being an unexceptional runner – not even the best freshman. It felt as if G-d gave me a speck of hope and then took it all away.
Really? Am I turning to G-d now?
I recalled another track meet like this, like Draper Invitational. I had run away from my team after that disappointing race. I kept running down this hill that was so steep you couldn’t see where you were going until you got there. I couldn’t get over it. I couldn’t get past that steep part. I just kept trying and trying, running down this crazy hill in the mucky weather all alone. Yes it took guts, but I used to have that. That’s what I used to have, when I was a star athlete.
Do I face the fact I can no longer be a star, or convince myself that I’ve still got that talent somewhere?
I might be okay with it, if I knew that my talent had truly disappeared – at least I’d know. I might be okay with my race, with just fitting in, with not getting over the steep hill and not taking that risk, with not being some great athlete. I might be okay with it if I were any other person. But that’s not me - or at least who I used to be, and who I thought I still was.
I looked down at my healing index finger. A protective scab had formed. I needed to cover my battle wounds, and face either triumph or defeat.
I can’t let go of winning.
When my dad picked me up from the invitational, I told him I was upset with my race, but now I’d gotten past the disappointment, and that sometime, I’d break through. I turned the station to 99.5 and began singing along to the Black Eyed Peas. No one would know my pain, regret, disappointment, shame.
I need to figure this out on my own.
All I could think about was my race and that last lap and not giving that extra push and that full-on striking sprint no one else I’d ever known had. No one had that stamina that used to be mine.
Where is that special strength that was always me?
As the weeks passed after Draper, I found it increasingly difficult to run with the team. It was a Thursday evening practice when I finally escaped from my teammates and ran to the bike trail. Mile one was the longest. As I watched my legs lift up slowly, I checked my watch constantly. It was eight minutes before I finally looked up. Seeing that first mile marker, I felt a sense of accomplishment. My tempo increased to an uplifting beat, my back straightened, and my mouth twitched up. For the first time, I noticed the three boys ahead of me. My shoulders fell, and I surged forward.
Should I pass them?
Yes.
I love this sensation of wind in my hair – but mostly, I love to win.
One day I will again.
I hesitantly reached out to touch my favorite trophy in the center of my collection on the shelf behind my bed. My index finger brushed over my name, and then over first place. I smiled. Until I remembered that my medals ended after eighth grade. I had half an hour to reminisce before it was time to leave for the Draper Invitational.
Speed has always been my thing. I learned to run before I learned to walk. I was always the first to step up to the line whenever there was an opportunity to race. I have always loved the sensation of wind in my hair – but mostly, I loved to win. In the Lower School wrestling room, no first grader – boy or girl – could outrun me. Every Lower School field day, I always won the hurdle races for my team. At travel soccer try-outs, once again I had no competition. When the time came to choose sports after 6th grade, I knew I was going to be a runner.
Seventh-grade track was my time to shine. Every practice I gave it my all and just kept going, pushing through every pain. No one had my stamina. And at every school track meet, I stepped onto the track to win. And I did. I ran at least three events per meet, and placed first or second every time.
When I joined the fall eighth-grade cross-country team, my talent earned me a leadership position. I competed for a top place at every co-ed meet, beating almost all the boys. Girls weren’t even on my radar. At the end of the season, the high school cross-country coach asked me to represent GDS at the Maryland/DC State Championships. Eager to impress my future high school teammates, I accepted the challenge. The coach posted my times for the whole school, and I couldn’t walk down the hallway without a pat on the back. Eighth grade cross-country was effortless. I ran – I won. It never occurred to me that I wouldn’t be able to live up to my reputation as a track prodigy.
By the spring eighth-grade track season, I buckled under the weight of my reputation. I realized how much I had to lose. By the ninth grade track season, I’ve become an average runner –an anonymous member of the pack. No longer am I the special star athlete, that runner to watch. No longer can I effortlessly run with high school boys. No longer am I the anchor, the most prized position of the distance medley relay.
I suddenly realized that the trophy was in my hands. I was holding it so tightly that the edge had pierced a cut through my finger. Just like my finger, my confidence and times have been pierced by the nagging fear of losing, by the double-edged sword of success. I never thought that the very thing that made me most proud, confident, would also torment me the most.
Success – you’ve betrayed me!
I shook my head. Turning off my lights, I left my room filled with athletic accomplishments. I boarded the bus, quickly finding a window seat. I blocked out my successful teammates with my headphones, and they let me be because they figured that I was simply relaxing. Two hours later I was at the track with my team, surrounded by competition.
I wrestled with my emotions until the Draper Invitational was finally over. I knew what I had not done. With the display time, the last speck of hope – that tiny ounce of faith that kept me sane – finally evaporated, maybe forever. Shame boiled inside me, and the about-to-burst tears sent me darting off into the woods.
Could I act any more like a child?
I couldn’t even face my supportive teammates, let alone my relay team - the ones who’d just surpassed me. The leader who had once encouraged my frustrated teammates was now hiding in the woods. I crumpled to a heap in the dried sticks and leaves. I hurled rocks at the fence until there were none left. Then I started snapping twigs.
I don’t deserve this talent anymore if I don’t even know how to use it.
But I remembered my dad telling me that you don’t just lose talent.
Two meets ago, I’d started to run better. My times dropped back down significantly, and I saw a glimmer of hope. But after today, I was back to being an unexceptional runner – not even the best freshman. It felt as if G-d gave me a speck of hope and then took it all away.
Really? Am I turning to G-d now?
I recalled another track meet like this, like Draper Invitational. I had run away from my team after that disappointing race. I kept running down this hill that was so steep you couldn’t see where you were going until you got there. I couldn’t get over it. I couldn’t get past that steep part. I just kept trying and trying, running down this crazy hill in the mucky weather all alone. Yes it took guts, but I used to have that. That’s what I used to have, when I was a star athlete.
Do I face the fact I can no longer be a star, or convince myself that I’ve still got that talent somewhere?
I might be okay with it, if I knew that my talent had truly disappeared – at least I’d know. I might be okay with my race, with just fitting in, with not getting over the steep hill and not taking that risk, with not being some great athlete. I might be okay with it if I were any other person. But that’s not me - or at least who I used to be, and who I thought I still was.
I looked down at my healing index finger. A protective scab had formed. I needed to cover my battle wounds, and face either triumph or defeat.
I can’t let go of winning.
When my dad picked me up from the invitational, I told him I was upset with my race, but now I’d gotten past the disappointment, and that sometime, I’d break through. I turned the station to 99.5 and began singing along to the Black Eyed Peas. No one would know my pain, regret, disappointment, shame.
I need to figure this out on my own.
All I could think about was my race and that last lap and not giving that extra push and that full-on striking sprint no one else I’d ever known had. No one had that stamina that used to be mine.
Where is that special strength that was always me?
As the weeks passed after Draper, I found it increasingly difficult to run with the team. It was a Thursday evening practice when I finally escaped from my teammates and ran to the bike trail. Mile one was the longest. As I watched my legs lift up slowly, I checked my watch constantly. It was eight minutes before I finally looked up. Seeing that first mile marker, I felt a sense of accomplishment. My tempo increased to an uplifting beat, my back straightened, and my mouth twitched up. For the first time, I noticed the three boys ahead of me. My shoulders fell, and I surged forward.
Should I pass them?
Yes.
I love this sensation of wind in my hair – but mostly, I love to win.
One day I will again.
Who I’ve Become - where’s the pride?
I hate myself.
I used to love myself.
I used to love everything about myself - the mistakes and all.
I used to always have something I loved about myself, even in the darkest moments.
But now,
I hate every cell that makes the new me.
I used to have pride in all of me - no one could stop me.
I used to be the best athlete I knew - and most certainly the fastest.
I used to be one of the smartest - and I knew science was my favorite.
I used to have morals - and keep them most of the time.
I used to love - love the world and everything in it.
I used to love me.
But now,
Who am I - and is there anything left to love?
I hate the way I can’t work hard.
I hate they way I can’t keep a relationship.
I squeamishly loath the feelings I have.
I hate myself.
I used to love myself.
I used to love everything about myself - the mistakes and all.
I used to always have something I loved about myself, even in the darkest moments.
But now,
I hate every cell that makes the new me.
I used to have pride in all of me - no one could stop me.
I used to be the best athlete I knew - and most certainly the fastest.
I used to be one of the smartest - and I knew science was my favorite.
I used to have morals - and keep them most of the time.
I used to love - love the world and everything in it.
I used to love me.
But now,
Who am I - and is there anything left to love?
I hate the way I can’t work hard.
I hate they way I can’t keep a relationship.
I squeamishly loath the feelings I have.
I hate myself.
When I look In the Mirror
When I look in the mirror, all I see are pretty eyes.
When I look in the mirror, all the rest is ugly.
I see everything I never wanted to be.
It started as a toddler,
with a white lie,
taking candy from the kitchen,
borrowing my brother’s book without permission…
and it grew in to the monster contaminating nearly every blood vessel.
I fear its reaching my toes, my finger tips.
When I look in the mirror,
I see a liar,
a stealer,
a cheat,
a fake.
Am I a brat too?
No, my mom is never right.
It grew into stealing money,
lying instinctively,
and sometimes
I fear I’ve hurt weak people too -
ones I’d always promised myself I’d stand up for.
But most of all,
the squeamish feeling
when I get too close to a girl
disgusted me both ways –
my own identity,
and the protector I’d always planned to be.
It all got so overwhelming all of a sudden.
I couldn’t keep it in.
I cried silent tears.
I wanted to call my brother,
but I couldn’t.
It hurts too much.
When I look in the mirror, all the rest is ugly.
I see everything I never wanted to be.
It started as a toddler,
with a white lie,
taking candy from the kitchen,
borrowing my brother’s book without permission…
and it grew in to the monster contaminating nearly every blood vessel.
I fear its reaching my toes, my finger tips.
When I look in the mirror,
I see a liar,
a stealer,
a cheat,
a fake.
Am I a brat too?
No, my mom is never right.
It grew into stealing money,
lying instinctively,
and sometimes
I fear I’ve hurt weak people too -
ones I’d always promised myself I’d stand up for.
But most of all,
the squeamish feeling
when I get too close to a girl
disgusted me both ways –
my own identity,
and the protector I’d always planned to be.
It all got so overwhelming all of a sudden.
I couldn’t keep it in.
I cried silent tears.
I wanted to call my brother,
but I couldn’t.
It hurts too much.
Cheating: my biggest catastrophe yet
I cheated on a test. No - I cheated on two tests. French and science. Yes - the biggest mistake of my life. Yes - you’d have thought I’d learn from it the first time. After being caught the second time this friday, I came home early, locked my room, and have basically been here ever since. Actually, there’s no lock on my door, so the only way prevent my parents from entering was unplug the huge old computer and put it in front of my door, along with all my shoe boxes, ect... I just need privacy sometimes. Its now Saturday afternoon, I’ve skipped a cross-country meet and this morning’s State Championships. I’m confused and don’t know what to do - a normal teenage feeling, right? Except for the fact that I want to go to a boarding school and never want to go back to my school. I mean, I’m fine with doing the work from home, I just can’t see how to physically go back to school. My parents are trying to help me, but its hard for them to help me when I barely communicate to them. Well, here’s my way of communicating: in my head. Not a great way, is it? Anyway, this is a running lists of thoughts and problems I don’t know how to tackle...
I don’t feel very moral anymore. It feels like I’ve destroyed my reputation.
I don’t feel accepted anymore (at GDS).
I don’t know how to deal with one problem at a time… To be happy, I need to deal with social stuff first… To deal with social stuff I need to be somewhat ok in school/academics, which brings on a whole new set of problems
I don’t know how to get through an entire year. It’d be one thing if I could start back on day zero.
With everything else I have to deal with, how do I deal with talking to Kate and Tom the day I get back?
How do I take the science test?
What do I say to people?
I can’t just go to school and not be sociable.
I’d like to invite Jake, 2 new girls and I guess another guy over next week-end for a sleep over.
I don’t know if I can make the commitment to running anymore. It’s not fair to Anthony when I just can’t show up some days, or to the team that’s counting on me. I’ve been thinking about just going to the work-out room after school and going on the bike or elliptical and study (there’s a place where I could put a book and study while I exercise… I work better while moving… I’m a kinetic learner).
I’ve so ruined my relationship with my teachers. They can say they’re looking past it, but how can they ever forget this? How can they ever think of me the same way?
My dad says I’m just running from my problems. Am I?
All I know is... I’ve built my self a slippery slope and somehow I need to get myself out. And fast.
I don’t feel very moral anymore. It feels like I’ve destroyed my reputation.
I don’t feel accepted anymore (at GDS).
I don’t know how to deal with one problem at a time… To be happy, I need to deal with social stuff first… To deal with social stuff I need to be somewhat ok in school/academics, which brings on a whole new set of problems
I don’t know how to get through an entire year. It’d be one thing if I could start back on day zero.
With everything else I have to deal with, how do I deal with talking to Kate and Tom the day I get back?
How do I take the science test?
What do I say to people?
I can’t just go to school and not be sociable.
I’d like to invite Jake, 2 new girls and I guess another guy over next week-end for a sleep over.
I don’t know if I can make the commitment to running anymore. It’s not fair to Anthony when I just can’t show up some days, or to the team that’s counting on me. I’ve been thinking about just going to the work-out room after school and going on the bike or elliptical and study (there’s a place where I could put a book and study while I exercise… I work better while moving… I’m a kinetic learner).
I’ve so ruined my relationship with my teachers. They can say they’re looking past it, but how can they ever forget this? How can they ever think of me the same way?
My dad says I’m just running from my problems. Am I?
All I know is... I’ve built my self a slippery slope and somehow I need to get myself out. And fast.
Dear Mom
Dear Mom,
I want so bad that relationship
where we get out nails done together,
where we share everything.
I wanted so bad
to travel
And couldn’t stand the guilt
that you couldn’t go
because of me –
I so regret my actions,
for that may have been our last chance
to have a real family vacation
full of wonderful memories.
I know its my fault
that the family doesn’t get along
as well as it could
and hate myself
every time I hear you and Dad bicker.
I hate
when my brothers are affected by me
and when I see Dad’s disappointment.
Even worse,
though,
above all,
it kills me to see you suffer,
to see you’re remorse,
pain
and anger.
When you cry,
I hate myself
more than ever
and can’t forgive myself
for letting you suffer like that.
I’m sorry about the way I am.
Just listen to what I have to say,
but I know you have no reason to forgive me
and accept my apology or reasoning.
Sorry,
Your Daughter
I want so bad that relationship
where we get out nails done together,
where we share everything.
I wanted so bad
to travel
And couldn’t stand the guilt
that you couldn’t go
because of me –
I so regret my actions,
for that may have been our last chance
to have a real family vacation
full of wonderful memories.
I know its my fault
that the family doesn’t get along
as well as it could
and hate myself
every time I hear you and Dad bicker.
I hate
when my brothers are affected by me
and when I see Dad’s disappointment.
Even worse,
though,
above all,
it kills me to see you suffer,
to see you’re remorse,
pain
and anger.
When you cry,
I hate myself
more than ever
and can’t forgive myself
for letting you suffer like that.
I’m sorry about the way I am.
Just listen to what I have to say,
but I know you have no reason to forgive me
and accept my apology or reasoning.
Sorry,
Your Daughter
Da Vinci in Blue Jeans
Getting to the true nature of my brother’s personality is like discovering the sweet seeds scattered in a pomegranate. When my brother enters a room, one first notices his warm, infectious smile and enthralling green eyes. Engaging in conversation, one notices his unwavering eyes and considerate nods. His thoughtful responses indicate his intent listening and intellectual curiosity. As he gets a drink, you take in his lanky build. My brohter is five foot eight, 125 pounds, and has a slight arch in his back. Like his unflagging work ethic, not a strand of his thick, dark brown hair will budge in the strongest wind. The coarse, dark stubble of his beard contrasts against his pale skin. Finally you realize his unpretentious attire proves chic and stylish. Like his unassuming dress, my brother’s admirable persona requires a second look. Realizing My brother’s strength of character is like stumbling upon the last, sweet pomegranate seed. My brother’s qualities of diligence, humility and kindness are manifested by academic excellence, leadership positions, and a loving relationship with his sister.
My brother is a voracious fact finder, never missing an opportunity to learn. At the age of eight, my brother was captivated by a TV show of Shakespeare’s plays. While his peers forms of amusement were cartoons and sitcoms, my brother’s entertainment centered on learning the classics. In later years, he turned his interest to the history channel, engrossed by military tactics and warfare. Further exploration of the TV took my brohter to the travel channel where he yearned to visit the historic sites of Europe. When he was 10, after being regaled by stories of the Buckingham Palace and Stone Henge, our family crossed the pond. As we traveled the city, my brother served as our tour guide, pulling facts from his previous studies. He continued planning these exotic trips through high school, mapping out museums, sites and restaurants. His thirst for understanding the world has lead him to reading the canon, while his siblings listen to the latest music. When my brother does listen to music, he prefers to dissect the lyrics of “Bridge Over Troubled Water.” Not only is he intrigued by history and the arts, but delves into science and math as well. When Andy Lipps offered an optional math class on Saturday mornings, my brother jumped at the opportunity to investigate number theory. Being a Renaissance man, my brother experimented with science. Lynne Mecay-Atha’s 7th grade science class inspired my brother to read every food label and transform the family’s house into a health-food haven; he became a “healthaholic.” This led him to choose a two-week stint in college on an organic farm. By exploring new areas of interest, he is a huge database of information. My brother’s relentless missions to share his knowledge have made me well traveled, mathematically minded and health-conscious.
My brother's quiet but strong personality has earned him many leadership positions. In Dana’s 9th grade history class, fellow students noticed his organizational skills and command of material. Over time, students began to respect him and follow his example. When the class was divided into discussion groups, My brohter discretely conducted the conversation by asking questions, filling in forgotten information, and connecting ideas. At other times, the class was divided into debate teams. After showing his depth of the subject, he assumed the head position of his debate group in history class, lasting the next two years of high school. My brohter was so skilled that he often contributed to the opposing team’s argument so as to even the competition. After participating on the math team for three years, he became captain. My brother slowed the pace of practice sessions to strengthen the whole math team. While former captains were more concerned with winning, working with the quickest teammates, my brohter encouraged team involvement, boosting the skills of the slower students. My brother’s junior year ended with his election as president of his youth group, his temple youth group. His extensive involvement with the program convinced others that he would be a success. He was on the job before summer began, initiating recycling in his temple, the second largest reform temple in the United States. As president, he led monthly board meetings, where he distributed assignments, organized dinner, and handled administrative issues. My brother was actively involved with monthly “Night Outs.” He helped chairs select a popular, centrally located, and reasonably priced restaurant, encourage attendance, and confirm the reservation. Using his previous experience as chair of many annual events, he could offer current chairs advice and support. My brother had organized the Purim Carnival, a pre-school through high school event; Mitzvah Day, involving the entire congregation; and the Spring Kallah, a high school regional week-end retreat. My brother scheduled mixers, social action projects and meals for these occasions. As president, he was available for troubleshooting, frantically checking in with staff on the day of these events. Continuing his commitment to his youth group, my brother won an award for the Learning Day he initiated with Julian Resnick, a renowned rabbi from Israel. He received recognition for two years of advanced planning and consideration of the various interests and abilities of the audience. My brother’s love of learning emanates over his peers.
My brother easily translates his leadership skills to his role as a big brother, but what I remember most is his companionship and love. Never was this more apparent than this past summer, when I was eagerly anticipating my first Cross Country race. Although my brother has never broken any world records in track, he offered his company. As the race neared, we strategized over his ultra-healthy smoothie. An hour later we had a plan for my start, my pace, and tackling the hills. As part of our training regimen, we packed turkey on whole-wheat sandwiches and carrots for our two-day trip to my grandmother’s. While we were visiting, my brother took me on a trial run where he taught me to use downhill slopes to my advantage. The next day we drove six hours back home, unpacked, and immediately turned around to drive to the race. My brother never complained that his vacation was not relaxing; on the contrary he was excited to watch me excel. First, we did a five-minute warm-up run and stretched. Next, we toured the racecourse, skipping the hills so as to conserve our energy. Like my father did before the six-hour car drive, my brother made me go to the bathroom before the race. After he signed me in, he ensured I only drank a few sips of water to avoid cramps. As we lined up at the start-line, I realized my brother was still by my side. At that point I knew he had decided to run the race with me, despite the fact he may not get up the next morning. Before I heard the gunshot, I remembered him telling me to begin faster than I thought was possible to avoid a slow start. His experience as a runner carried him ahead of me, but his advice stayed with me. I plotted along, anxious about other runners passing me. With a quarter mile left, I realized my absence of expected exhaustion and sprinted passed my opponents. My brother congratulated me with a cup of water and I told him I should have heeded his fast-start tip. He gave me a hug and laughed. We joined the picnic, and to his chagrin we wolfed down greasy burgers and Gatorade. To my surprise, my name was called for second place winner of my age group. My brother quickly pushed me forward to claim my prize and clapped with a wide smile. After the long, momentous day, he tucked me in and limped off to his room.
My brother is a multi-faceted person, much like Leonardo da Vinci. While da Vinci poured over books on plants and animals, my brother delved into books on organic food and farming. Leonardo filled 10,000 notebook pages with detailed drawings of his inventions; my brother’s computer files are filled with minute-by-minute timelines of his youth group events. My brother’s detailed plan for recycling is reminiscent of da Vinci’s intricate canal system. Da Vinci, seeing Michelangelo’s talent, developed his skills; my brother, realizing his fellow math student’s potential, coached them to greater speed and accuracy. My brother advised his father on European trips while da Vinci advised kings on city construction. Leonardo remained close to his biological mother even though his parents never married. Being 400 miles away from his sister does not keep my brother from calling her every night. Through da Vinci’s life, he was always searching for new areas to conquer, and it looks like my brother is on the same path. As da Vinci once said, “Learning never exhausts the mind.”
My brother is a voracious fact finder, never missing an opportunity to learn. At the age of eight, my brother was captivated by a TV show of Shakespeare’s plays. While his peers forms of amusement were cartoons and sitcoms, my brother’s entertainment centered on learning the classics. In later years, he turned his interest to the history channel, engrossed by military tactics and warfare. Further exploration of the TV took my brohter to the travel channel where he yearned to visit the historic sites of Europe. When he was 10, after being regaled by stories of the Buckingham Palace and Stone Henge, our family crossed the pond. As we traveled the city, my brother served as our tour guide, pulling facts from his previous studies. He continued planning these exotic trips through high school, mapping out museums, sites and restaurants. His thirst for understanding the world has lead him to reading the canon, while his siblings listen to the latest music. When my brother does listen to music, he prefers to dissect the lyrics of “Bridge Over Troubled Water.” Not only is he intrigued by history and the arts, but delves into science and math as well. When Andy Lipps offered an optional math class on Saturday mornings, my brother jumped at the opportunity to investigate number theory. Being a Renaissance man, my brother experimented with science. Lynne Mecay-Atha’s 7th grade science class inspired my brother to read every food label and transform the family’s house into a health-food haven; he became a “healthaholic.” This led him to choose a two-week stint in college on an organic farm. By exploring new areas of interest, he is a huge database of information. My brother’s relentless missions to share his knowledge have made me well traveled, mathematically minded and health-conscious.
My brother's quiet but strong personality has earned him many leadership positions. In Dana’s 9th grade history class, fellow students noticed his organizational skills and command of material. Over time, students began to respect him and follow his example. When the class was divided into discussion groups, My brohter discretely conducted the conversation by asking questions, filling in forgotten information, and connecting ideas. At other times, the class was divided into debate teams. After showing his depth of the subject, he assumed the head position of his debate group in history class, lasting the next two years of high school. My brohter was so skilled that he often contributed to the opposing team’s argument so as to even the competition. After participating on the math team for three years, he became captain. My brother slowed the pace of practice sessions to strengthen the whole math team. While former captains were more concerned with winning, working with the quickest teammates, my brohter encouraged team involvement, boosting the skills of the slower students. My brother’s junior year ended with his election as president of his youth group, his temple youth group. His extensive involvement with the program convinced others that he would be a success. He was on the job before summer began, initiating recycling in his temple, the second largest reform temple in the United States. As president, he led monthly board meetings, where he distributed assignments, organized dinner, and handled administrative issues. My brother was actively involved with monthly “Night Outs.” He helped chairs select a popular, centrally located, and reasonably priced restaurant, encourage attendance, and confirm the reservation. Using his previous experience as chair of many annual events, he could offer current chairs advice and support. My brother had organized the Purim Carnival, a pre-school through high school event; Mitzvah Day, involving the entire congregation; and the Spring Kallah, a high school regional week-end retreat. My brother scheduled mixers, social action projects and meals for these occasions. As president, he was available for troubleshooting, frantically checking in with staff on the day of these events. Continuing his commitment to his youth group, my brother won an award for the Learning Day he initiated with Julian Resnick, a renowned rabbi from Israel. He received recognition for two years of advanced planning and consideration of the various interests and abilities of the audience. My brother’s love of learning emanates over his peers.
My brother easily translates his leadership skills to his role as a big brother, but what I remember most is his companionship and love. Never was this more apparent than this past summer, when I was eagerly anticipating my first Cross Country race. Although my brother has never broken any world records in track, he offered his company. As the race neared, we strategized over his ultra-healthy smoothie. An hour later we had a plan for my start, my pace, and tackling the hills. As part of our training regimen, we packed turkey on whole-wheat sandwiches and carrots for our two-day trip to my grandmother’s. While we were visiting, my brother took me on a trial run where he taught me to use downhill slopes to my advantage. The next day we drove six hours back home, unpacked, and immediately turned around to drive to the race. My brother never complained that his vacation was not relaxing; on the contrary he was excited to watch me excel. First, we did a five-minute warm-up run and stretched. Next, we toured the racecourse, skipping the hills so as to conserve our energy. Like my father did before the six-hour car drive, my brother made me go to the bathroom before the race. After he signed me in, he ensured I only drank a few sips of water to avoid cramps. As we lined up at the start-line, I realized my brother was still by my side. At that point I knew he had decided to run the race with me, despite the fact he may not get up the next morning. Before I heard the gunshot, I remembered him telling me to begin faster than I thought was possible to avoid a slow start. His experience as a runner carried him ahead of me, but his advice stayed with me. I plotted along, anxious about other runners passing me. With a quarter mile left, I realized my absence of expected exhaustion and sprinted passed my opponents. My brother congratulated me with a cup of water and I told him I should have heeded his fast-start tip. He gave me a hug and laughed. We joined the picnic, and to his chagrin we wolfed down greasy burgers and Gatorade. To my surprise, my name was called for second place winner of my age group. My brother quickly pushed me forward to claim my prize and clapped with a wide smile. After the long, momentous day, he tucked me in and limped off to his room.
My brother is a multi-faceted person, much like Leonardo da Vinci. While da Vinci poured over books on plants and animals, my brother delved into books on organic food and farming. Leonardo filled 10,000 notebook pages with detailed drawings of his inventions; my brother’s computer files are filled with minute-by-minute timelines of his youth group events. My brother’s detailed plan for recycling is reminiscent of da Vinci’s intricate canal system. Da Vinci, seeing Michelangelo’s talent, developed his skills; my brother, realizing his fellow math student’s potential, coached them to greater speed and accuracy. My brother advised his father on European trips while da Vinci advised kings on city construction. Leonardo remained close to his biological mother even though his parents never married. Being 400 miles away from his sister does not keep my brother from calling her every night. Through da Vinci’s life, he was always searching for new areas to conquer, and it looks like my brother is on the same path. As da Vinci once said, “Learning never exhausts the mind.”
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