He sits there, allowing the music to lull him into a state of dangerous non-caring. The music is good, but not important. The main thing is that it wraps up his mind, and stops it from wandering. Music always does that, helps him cope and take his mind away from all things bad. Some people say books work, others fall to drugs. Not him though. He puts in his earphones and escapes.
He lives a good life. No major problems. It’s been easy. But like everyone, there are things he would much rather forget. Unfortunately every time he puts it away in a nice little locked container in the back of his mind, someone takes a key and opens it up.
He flips open a textbook, and is once again reminded. Covering the inside cover lies a sprawling, unorganized reminder. The pencil marks are carefree and silly. He can hear it being read, and that hurts ever so slightly more. It doesn’t mean anything, and it wasn’t meant to. For some reason though, it does. It means a lot…to him.
He closes the book. With all the ideas once again fresh within his mind, he decides it is time to stop. He lays down, turns the lights off, and shuts his eyes. He will never quite understand.
My history teacher made a great analogy the other day.
“There are three types of swimmers. Great swimmers who love to swim in the deep end of the pool, great swimmers who choose not to swim in the deep end, and the type of swimmer who drowns.”
I like to think of myself as figuratively tall (not much goes over my head), and so I immediately understood his point.
“There are people in this class who continue to do great work, and I never have to worry about them. There are people who need a little bit of help here and there, and then there are the people who are drowning and who require constant attention from me.”
Uh oh. He looked at me as he said this. My teacher thought I was drowning. I have a 90 in his class, and he thinks I am drowning…? Admittedly, I hadn’t done any homework lately and I scored poorly on the last test.
He left it there. He said nothing about the swimmers until later classes.
He gave us a small assignment on the current relationship between the French and English within Canada. He said we should write a few sentences on the idea, while using strong facts.
“And Logan, perhaps you could write something intelligent. It might be refreshing.”
That’s when I had to conceal my laughter. My teacher thought either that I was dumb, or I put out no effort in his class. The latter being completely correct.
That night, I went home and wrote close to 1000 words on the topic. A complete persuasive essay on the relationship between the French and English. I researched, loaded it with facts and then polished it. It was great, and required a couple hours of solid work. I was working in a word document, and so I copied into the forum we were using.
I titled it…
Logan Breadner’s Somewhat Intelligent and Refreshing Response.
My poor teacher. He was impressed when he read it, and desperately tried to hide the humor he found in the situation. I took this chance to bring up his swimmer comparison. I told him I was not drowning. I was merely sitting on a noodle, with a nice fruity drink enjoying the sunlight.
Have you ever noticed that in the title slot for a post it says “Title (optional)”? What a beautiful idea. Why should I have to title something? Not everything in life can be titled. Thank you to whoever designed that.
I would love for there to be a Heaven. I want for there to be a God. It would be so much easier. It would ease so much, make every struggle seem worth it. It would replace my doubt in this world, and it would answer so many of my questions.
I don’t know if there is a God, despite what I keep being told. I consider myself Atheist, but I am only against forcing beliefs down others throats. I don’t at this exact time and place believe in creation, but I am not sure I believe in the Big Bang Theory.
I guess technically I am more agnostic than atheist, but I like the connotation that comes with being an atheist. Agnostic is too… “neutral” for me.
I often have arguments with my creationist friend. Luckily he is a cool guy, and we don’t often offend each other. I take the side of science, and he tries to give me facts that support creationism. These arguments are pointless (like every internet argument), but I enjoy them.
My main argument against Christianity and other beliefs, is that kids are taught these beliefs at an age where they are too young to make their own choices. They believe everything that their parents tell them. If a child is taught something since the day they are born, it is practically impossible for them to fight against it.
This ties into the Nature vs. Nurture debate. Are we completely our own people, with our own beliefs and ideas, or are we products of our parents and ideas presented to us an early age? I generally consider it to be a bit of both. The main point is that it is very tough for a toddler to formulate their own opinions of the world, especially while being force-fed a specific religion.
Just recently though, I realized something. It is not only religion being taught at such a young age. We are put into schools where they preach individuality. They tell us they are teaching us information so that we can be successful and live good lives. We are being taught how to formulate our our opinions. By doing this, is the current school system not forcing their beliefs down our throats?
I sit there in Geography where I get told the Earth is 4.5 billion years old. I look over at my friend who is a creationist, and I realize how hard it much be. He is getting forced to listen to a teacher tell him something that goes completely against his beliefs. A couple days later, he will have to answer a question with “The Earth is 4.5 billion years old.” He does not believe the Earth is 4.5 billion years old.
I have always believed in “Science”, but what is science? Science is our best and most educated guess as to how things work. We have researched and tested, and “science” is what appears to be correct until proven otherwise. Of course many different branches of science are based on things that do not contradict the Bible or any other belief. But evolution??
I have no problem with people who find God in their lives. Whether they hear His voice, or experience a miracle, I generally understand it. I also have a great respect for people who gets out of their religion, or change what they believe in. It shows they are open minded enough to change, and perhaps they didn’t truly believe what they were always told to believe.
I do not like it when people attribute every miracle to God. Perhaps God does answer prayers for people, but not always. I hear stories of people recovering from great sickness and it being called a miracle. “God did it”. The reason I don’t like this is because we are removing all credit from the doctors that did so much work, and the scientists that developed the drugs. It is important in my mind to make the distinction between a very talented doctor, and an act of God.
Hopefully I haven’t offended anyone (not that many people actually read this). I’ll finish by saying I control my own life, and I believe in MYSELF. I think you should too.
Every now and then, I like to ask my teachers, “When will I actually use this?”. They make very little effort to hide their distaste in this question, and no doubt think I’m a real smart-ass (which is not far off).
The thing I find funny, is when they actually try to tell me I will use it at some point. They try to find an obscure point in my life, where I will actually need to know what they are teaching me.
The other day in math class, I popped the question. My math teacher, who is quite unpredictable, did not disappoint. He responds with “Never! Never will you actually need to know the quadratic formula unless you plan on going into specialized job that revolves around advanced math, like engineering.”
I laughed. This was the answer that was never given, but always wanted.My laughter sparked another outburst from my teacher, and it was clear he was not done yet.
“You will never need this in the real world” he says. “But your parents want you to sit here and learn it anyway. It’s all about those doors. Your parents want you to keep all those goddamn doors open! Don’t close any of those doors!”
I laughed a little more. By now the whole class had looked up from their work, and seemed to find the conversation quite enjoyable. We have all heard about those “doors” from every adult in our lives. However our math teacher was the first one to outright tell us what we were learning was useless to over 80% of the class.
“Your parents want you to keep the doors open, and so whether or not you are going to need this information in your life, you are going to learn it now. Keep doing your homework kiddies.”
We all knew that was coming. It seems to be a reappearing theme. You won’t need this, but here, do it anyway.
So I guess I’ll just keep opening up doors, and struggling to keep them open, even if it requires late nights of studying factoring and the quadratic formula.
“A bad day fishing is better than a good day a work”
I would agree with that statement if I actually went to work. I think that a bad day fishing is better than a good day at school.
I like to head out onto the shallow, slow moving river by my house. I wade out up to my knees in the crystal clear water, and enjoy the sun that keeps my pasty back warm. I fish with lots of different equipment, but I like fly fishing best.
I tie on my own homemade fly, and cast it out by a log. A small fish takes it, and I set the hook. The small fish thinks it is fighting for its life, but I have no desire to keep it. I quickly bring it in, and hold it in my hand. The tiny little bait that I handcrafted sits just barely in its mouth, and comes out easily when I pull it. I then release the fish and it swims away happily.
For me, there is nothing greater than the catch and release of a fish. No matter the size, every time I see a fish swim away unharmed, I get a warm feeling.
Every now and then, I keep a fish to eat. I bring it in, maybe leave in on a line until I am done fishing, and then I kill it quickly. I clean it on my lawn, and then cook it for dinner. I have no problem when people keep the odd fish to eat. I really enjoy a fresh fish for dinner here and there, especially when I catch it myself.
However, I hate it when people keep too much fish and when they waste them. Some people keep every fish they catch, and then they complain when the fish aren’t biting…
I’m not asking you, the reader to understand. If you are not a fisherman, than everything I just talked about is meaningless. I expect that the non-fishermen have actually stopped reading by now.
For those of you who do fish, you know what I mean. The feeling of having fished all day with no luck, until one hit. The feeling when the fish takes your fly and runs with it. The struggle that both angler and fish experience as they fight against each other. The feeling of holding your trophy in your hands after a long nerve-wracking fight. And finally the feeling that comes with the fish swimming away to be caught some other day.
I’m a 15 year old male. I’m at the age where I try to cover up my childish personality and become a MAN (I always like to say “man” with emphasis).
I generally consider myself to be very MANly (you really have to grunt “man”), until I have to get out of bed at night and make the perilous journey to the bathroom. Although it is only a few steps from my bedside to the bathroom, the trip can be terrifying. I have to quietly crawl out of bed, tip-toe to me bedroom door and open it. I then sneak across the hall into the bathroom.
Once there, I frantically scramble to turn the lights on and find safety from whatever terror I feel the need to hide from. After I finish in the bathroom, I once again have to make the trek back to my bed. Unlike the original trip, this part is very hurried and my adrenaline is flowing like a ________ (insert cliche simile). I quickly turn the bathroom lights off as I open the door and I run into my room. I finish with a superman dive straight into my bed.
I should someday like to see myself perform this act of athleticism, as I often reach high speeds as I soar towards my bed. Just as the imaginary creature is almost upon me, I duck under the covers.
I am obviously safe under the covers. No monster with huge claws or teeth could ever get me when I’m under there. No man with an axe or knife could get me either. It’s a scientific fact that when a person hides under their covers, they are completely safe.
Perhaps it is the feelings of security that I associate with being in bed and under the covers that make me feel safe. I have spent a great deal of my life there, and I will continue to spend time there (especially as a teenager). Maybe I feel safe because when I am under the covers, I cannot see outside. If I can’t see you, you can’t see me… right?
My lack of understanding of this phenomenon does not affect the results . The big powerful MAN that I am is reduced to a small, cowering little child come night time, and the covers continue to offer me feelings of safety and security.