Imagine being so embarrassed that you feel like you’re going to cry. That was how I felt at my Select Band performance at the end of sixth grade.

I was going to Tawasentha Park for my Select Band performance that I’d been practicing for. For all of sixth grade, I played my flute virtually for Select Band because of the deadly Coronavirus. So, even though I had my music for practice for my weekly virtual Select Band, I didn’t understand the music as much as the in-school students did. I also didn’t even know that they had Google meets at first, so I just practiced the songs that were posted on the Google Classroom. But I never actually played the songs with the in-school students at first. My Select Band teacher had meetings, and she would rehearse with the other in-school students on the meets, and I would play along with them on mute. And I wasn’t aware of the meetings. On top of that, I am very forgetful, so when I found out that they did have meets, I ended up missing lots of my rehearsals because of my absent-mindedness.

I was going through the soft grass with my mom, dad, and sister, walking to where the concert would take place. My mom and dad were carrying chairs to sit on from the car because it was an outdoor performance and there were no seats. My sister, Corinne, also came to watch my performance. I saw the stage that the performers (mostly those who were not virtual) were on; there were about 40 of them. I saw the audience as well; there were around at least 50 or 60 people watching. I got to the stage and walked up the stairs. I could tell I was a little late since everyone was getting ready to play with their instruments in hand. So my Select Band teacher quickly gave me a flute mask and a bell cover (which I had never in my entire life used before since I was always virtual.) I told my Select Band teacher about that, so she asked the person next to me to help me with it. I was able to put the bell cover on, but I didn’t understand how to put my flute mask on. I could barely even keep it on my face, and I was so worried that I just played my first song without my flute mask.

          The first song was called Aztec Fire, which is an intense song that I would soon play for Select Band in seventh grade as well. I was pretty good with this song, but people were staring at me with blank faces, and all the while, playing their woodwind instruments at the same time. I knew why, of course,  because I didn’t have my flute mask on. But then something worse happened. My music fell off my stand, floating off to the stage floor, while I watched it fall, in what seemed like slow-motion, with a bothered and worried face. My body jerked in angriness, and I hoped no one would notice, but what seemed like almost everyone jerked their heads towards me. My whole body froze. I hadn’t done anything wrong! So I blamed it on the wind, and I didn’t pick the music up. I tried to play by memory. The first song out of three finally finished.

I quickly picked my music up, put it away in my folder, and got my next song. My Select Band teacher helped me put my flute mask on, and I put my flute in its horizontal position and played. This next song was a tranquil song, and it helped me relax a little bit. Nobody glanced at me at all since there was nothing else to glance about. So I felt good with that song, and I wasn’t embarrassed anymore.

                                                 

                                              * * *

 

Then came the last song. It was the hardest one, but I was optimistic and confident. After this, I could walk off stage, never to worry about any embarrassments again. Phew! I started playing, and my music wasn’t falling off my stand anymore. But then, about halfway into the song, at the hardest part, my music fell. Again. That was no coincidence. I was so frustrated at that point, especially since I hadn’t memorized the song. So I quickly picked the music up and then kept playing. But I saw so many heads shifting towards me at that moment.  I looked to my left, at the grassy floor that surrounded the stage. I thought about walking off the stage. But I couldn’t do that. That would be giving up. I would be more embarrassed for giving up than I would from staying on stage. After all, it was the last song. So, after what felt like eternity, the song diminished, and the watchful audience clapped for me and the performers.

Then, my Select Band teacher made a speech. And after that, another person, a man, started making a speech that I didn’t really hear too much of. My music fell again while he was mid-sentence, but at least I wasn’t playing my instrument, and my thoughts drowned my head, causing me to stop focusing on his speech. But what I did hear was something like, “I hope you all will enjoy the performance!” Will? Thoughts raced through my head, clouding my consciousness. So the performance wasn’t over yet? And then I realized, what we did so far was just a warm-up.  

 

                                                * * *

I was worried about my music falling again, but luckily, my select band teacher gave me paper clips so that it would stay on the stand. I don’t have to worry about my music falling again, I thought, and the real performance commenced.   BOOM! All the performers along with me all played in unison, at once. It felt better than before. I was doing well, and I just had a few people staring at me, probably because of the distractions that I had previously induced onto them. But I kept playing, and the first song in the true performance ended. My fingers relaxed as I put my flute down for the time that I had until the next song. The second song was the one that I had mastered, and I didn’t have any trouble with that one. I felt like the real reason that no one was staring at me anymore was because my music wasn’t falling off my stand anymore. I did well on the second song as well, and I felt like I didn’t have to put in too much effort in order to play it. But then came the third song. It would be hard, but I had to keep playing, because it was the last song, and there was no way that I would give up. I reluctantly picked up my flute, knowing that the next song would be tricky.

The last song started with a BANG, and I was getting all of the notes correct. My fingers moved independently because they knew the song very well. And then came the hard part of the last song. I thought that I was doing the section of the song correctly, but halfway into the section, I realized that it said, “Piccolo only.” My eyes turned to stone. I had just found out that I wasn’t supposed to be playing that part, and only the piccolo-players were supposed to! I turned my head to the other performers that I saw were staring at me intensely. Although I knew that I wasn’t supposed to play that part, I already was playing it, so I just continued so that the audience wouldn’t think that I just stopped playing all of a sudden. I was trying my hardest, and all of my body seemed to be awake and alive. More people were staring at me, and the intensity was rising!

The song was nearing the end, and I was playing the part that I wasn’t supposed to be playing! The performers that were playing the song along with me, while staring at me, did not seem to make any mistakes at all. And there I was, on the verge of getting teary-eyed. My eyes were holding back my raging tears like a barrier, a weak barrier that was hoping for the song to end. But the song kept going, and I kept playing, as if my life depended on it; the powerful, striking song finally ended.

I felt so proud of myself for being brave and keeping my composure, and not giving up. Some of the teachers in the audience along with my parents came to me and complimented me as I walked off the stage. I knew that I made mistakes, but I tried my best. My Select Band teacher even congratulated me even though she probably noticed I made mistakes. I felt so much better after that performance because I never gave up. It was finally over, and I learned that, although quitting is easier than persevering, you will feel better about yourself if you persevere.

 

 

 

 

-Caleb P.

                                                          

 

Sometimes you're confronted with a choice that you know could either turn out really good or really bad. When it comes to sibling rivalry, the results of good or bad don’t matter much; what matters is not backing down. That’s where it all started.

“Do it… do it… do it!” That was my ten-year-old brother trying to dare me into doing something. Was it the right decision to do it? No, it wasn’t; so did I do it? Yes…. yes I did. I was six years old at the time and very competitive. My brother always thought he was better than me. So I thought if I did this then I would finally be better than him. You’re probably wondering what I’m talking about.

It was a scalding summer day; the pool was open. It was a great summer so far, until one day my brother dared me to go down my steep driveway in a wagon while he was pushing me with all of his strength. I was so scared. I was in the wagon, and my brother said to me, “What are you, a chicken?” I wasn’t a chicken. I could do this.

 I was zoning everything out around me, but I could hear a voice in the background saying, “3,2,1!” I was off. I couldn't accept that my eyes weren’t shut! Wheels wobbling like they were about to fall off, my heart was racing. I saw the sidewalk quickly approaching, and then I hit a bump. I went flying! The sprinklers were going, and I hit the sprinkler head with my side. Slicing and dicing, I went through the grass as I tumbled onto the road and felt immediate pain. It felt like sandpaper was rubbing against my side.

Once I was able to move again I gradually stood up, and I could feel water coming down from my eyes. Before my brother could see my face, I dashed to my parents in the backyard, sobbing in my mom's arms. I felt like a fish out of water. My mom picked me up and brought me inside so she could wash all the gravel out of my knee and side. After they bandaged me all up I went to my room and didn’t move for the rest of the day.

          I still have that scar on my side today. It should be a reminder for me to evaluate my choice and its outcome. Just because you get pressured to do something doesn’t mean you have to; think about what it could do to you first.

 

 

 

 

Brooke L.

 

 

Adrenaline rushes through me like driftwood being swept by a heavy current down a salty stream. Strapped in now, no going back. You only live once, I suppose.

“Atmosphere check?”

“All clear!”

“Blast off!”

          It's your typical summer day in Wildwood, New Jersey. It has been a long day of walking along the old rickety boardwalk. The warm sun has shifted away, and the moon comes out from hiding. The boardwalk is alive now; carnival music, lights, and fun are surrounding me. The dark night sky illuminates the colorful lights of the boardwalk. The ferris wheel can be seen from miles away. I'm here on summer vacation with my parents and my brother, Caiden. My cousin, Amari, and my aunt and uncle are on vacation here as well. We make our way to the other side of the boardwalk and stop for rides and snacks along the way. But this certain ride catches my attention, The Atmosphere.

 My walking comes to a sudden stop. I watch the anxious riders get strapped into their seats. They gradually get lifted 140 feet in the air. The carriage holding the seats up has a sudden drop. That's when something inside of me says, you're doing that.

“So, who's going on with me?”

 The only thing I get are blank stares. Then finally someone talks.

          “She's only joking, is she kidding?”

Now more of my family decides to chime in.

“You're really going to go on that?”

No, maybe I shouldn't. No, I can't do it. No, no, no, I can do it, and I will do it.

“For a matter of fact, I am going on it. Who's coming with me?”

Here we go with the blank stares again. Nobody is up for The Atmosphere, but you know what? I'll do it on my own.

The line is not too long. I inch gradually closer to the ride. My turn has come. I can barely get on. I'm a little bit too short; it's alright, I manage. Strapped in now, no going back. You only live once, I suppose.

          “Atmosphere check?”

“All clear!”

“Blast off!”

The first thing I realize is there's a cover over top of each and every seat. I can't see when I'm getting to the top! Who was going to tell me that?! Nobody told me that?! My journey to the top begins. Come on, I must be close to the top now, right? Nope, still going up. Not to mention during all of this madness there is a very helpful speaker located directly behind my head making comments like, “Mission control lost, Alert! Get off the shuttle. Evacuate! You are not alright.”  Note that this is all a part of the ride, but still! “Mission control, come in mission control!”

I drop. Wind attacks my face as if a leaf blower is pointed directly at me. I plummet down with great speed, and in two seconds, it's over. Hey, that wasn't so bad! I exit the ride and go to where my family stands, surprised.

Courage. Courage is the word I use to describe this experience. I needed a lot of courage in order to get on that ride, and I almost walked away. Instead I was able to find the courage to get on it and ended up having a blast. So if you ever need a little bit of courage, I suggest that you think hard and believe in yourself and don't just give up on something that could be great. Have some courage.

 

 

 

 

Braelyn C.

 

Kindness is a daily act, but we don’t remember every time someone was kind to us or even when we were kind to someone else.  Some memories are just always impossible to forget.

On a fierce, boiling day after a tedious day of school work and repetitive classes, the classrooms were always filled with the surprisingly pleasant smell of old books and cheap furniture. My grandfather picked me up from school in his light gray car that was almost purple. My legs almost instantly got glued on the sticky, black, worn car seat through my thick jeans.

My nose was filled with the horrendous and ghastly stench of gasoline and the enclosing noise of honking cars in every direction. It made me dizzy from the discomfort. The raging sunlight from the transparent window made my eyes squint, blinded from the sudden burst of light. The car was filled with the unusual stink of store receipts, wood chips, and sawdust.

My grandfather was cruising on the road like this is what he’d been doing ever since birth. The silence was suffocating. The radio was broken and the air conditioner was desperately trying to continue to make the car ride bearable, but it seemed to be failing horribly. I felt an abrupt stop. My body launched forward, landing perfectly in my original location after the stop.

My expectations were setting in, preparing for the thought that he had more work, like collecting rent from tenants nearby, or sinks that needed to be fixed. My thoughts were not answered when I saw a soda shop and a pastry shop through the car window. My grandfather made a decision, declaring,“ I think you need a treat,” pulling in to buy me a pastry with a crispy outer shell and chocolate cream in the center with a fresh cherry. It smelled like heaven, away from the discomfort of gasoline and honking cars. It was like I had my own tranquil, peaceful bubble.

That day made me realize the most memorable moments are the daily moments of kindness that are occasionally remembered but change a day or even a mindset.

 

 

 

 

-Anagha V. 

 

 

 

Long car rides with your family can go two directions. If you have never been on a long car ride with your family you should know sometimes they can go well and you can have a fun time. Other times they can turn into a disastrous manner. This is about one of those disastrous times.

It was a dark, hazy night, and my mom and dad were at the vet with our dog. When they returned they didn’t have her, and she had passed away. It felt so weird having the first death of a pet. It felt as if I was impaled with a sharp object, but with no pain, just the shock.  Of course, since she passed away my mom started looking for a new dog the next couple of days. After days of searching she finally found one. She was a chocolate lab, and she was very small and cute. But of course my brother had a problem with it because we have basically only had labs. That is where the first argument started. My brother whined about having to get a lab, but I didn’t mind because it was cute, and there wasn’t really any other choice.  Although my younger brother was annoyed, he still was happy and grateful we were getting a new puppy.

When I got there we all got in the car and started our three hour drive. Only about five minutes passed before something else started. My brother had asked my mom what we might name the new puppy. My mom said Charlotte, but we would call her Charlie. The only person who wanted to name her that was my mom. I didn’t really like it much either, but I didn’t complain. I couldn’t be complaining about it because we were getting a dog. And I know if I had said something I might get in trouble or start something I didn’t want to start. My sister was probably the most annoyed because she wanted to name her Princess or Chocolate (she was only three). And my brother just said that was a bad name. After my sister bickered like a dog yapping at its owner, we ended up keeping my mom's choice and moved on. 

It was calm like the breeze in an autumn morning for about an hour until another tragedy had struck the car. We had stopped at a place for food because we were all hungry since we had been in the car for two hours. We all had asked for something, and my dad had gone in to get the stuff. When he returned he did not have one of my sister's things. He offered to go back in for it, but she had already started whining about it. She dramatically started babbling about her stuff, so my dad just went in and got it for her. Well my dad went back, and my mom asked her why she was so upset about it, and my sister couldn’t even answer because she was doing it for no reason. When my dad came back she was finally calm and we could go back and start driving again.

          I started to think it was going to be an acceptably good car ride because the two fights that had happened were not very drastic. They seemed worse at the moment, but I started to think they were not a big deal; I think they slowly built up to the biggest argument.

We were almost to our destination before it had happened. My mom checked her wallet, and we had completely forgotten to get the money for the dog. I didn’t know how to react. We had been in an aggravated car for three hours just to find out we forgot to withdraw money from the bank. My baby sister had started to cry, and my dad was obviously very angry; he was a teapot squealing with steam gushing out of it. My sister was crying and acted as if she was a sad thundercloud floating sorrowfully through the sky, and my brother just sounded very annoyed. My dad was yelling at everyone, and everyone was just fighting with each other now. It was a disaster. My mom gave everyone hope as she found an atm and went in to try to get the money. But the hope she had given quickly turned to despair as she came out without anything and said it wouldn’t let her take anything out.

          We rapidly started going around this random town and its atms. After going to a bunch of atms, arguing the whole time, we finally stopped, and my mom called her bank. After what seemed like years of being on hold, someone finally spoke. They told us there was nothing they could do. My mom told the person the situation we were in, and then they put us on hold for what seemed like years. After another long time of waiting and everyone being in a bad mood, they finally came back and said to wait a little and we could use it. Everyone was elated. We got the money and went and got the dog. No one fought on the way back, and everyone seemed happy and content. 

Long car rides with your family can be a great experience or a bad experience. The car could feel like you're in an erupting volcano when arguing with your family, but they could also feel very good. When they go bad it’s not the end of the world. They can always get better, so if you're ever having a bad car ride with your family or really anything like this situation, you should know that it will get better; don’t give up or be upset. Things like this happen, and you can grow and learn from good and bad experiences.

 

 

 

 

-Aiden G.

 

Have you ever been careless about something? Lots of people have a personality where they don’t have a care in the world. I envy people with that personality because they live their life freely, but that’s not me. However, in this particular situation, I didn’t care either. But was it the right time not to?

It was a warm, humid August day, the summer of fifth grade. The long wispy grass was covered in dew droplets. The color of the fresh green grass gleamed in the radiant glistening sun, reflecting like a mirror. My whole family was outside, intelligently taking advantage of the warm day. My mom was gardening; alongside her was my sister, and my dad was mowing the lawn. I turned around to see my brother. He surprisingly ran up to jump on me,which he intended to be a hug but turned out to be him tackling me.

He eagerly asked me to play with him in the backyard. I said sure with a sigh, as if I had been playing with him for thousands of hours. Feet trudging, legs moving, my brother dragged my arm to the playground. Moving and rushing, he started to climb the playground. Then as I was sitting on the swing I heard footsteps behind and redirected my eyes behind me, and there was nothing there, so I went back to sitting; he jumped on my back. He told me to run. I sprinted around the house like a cheetah. I saw my mom. She widened her eyes at me and said “be careful” in an apprehensive way. I rolled my eyes at her with aggression and continued to run.

Waving and smiling, my dad drove by with his lawn mower. Then, despite what my mom said, I listened to my brother, and he suggested that I run down the hill. Giggling and laughing, he was filled with joy and excitement as I ran down the hill. His face made me so incredibly happy, so when he yelled into my ear “again” I couldn’t resist and had to do what he wished.

As my brother jumped up and clinged to my back I started to run. When I was running I kept going faster and faster as I progressed down the hill. I could feel the air smashing against my face. I saw the grass dancing in the wind. I also saw a small puddle of water ahead, but I kept running. I slipped! I toppled over face first and did a forward roll down the hill with my brother still on my back. We stopped rolling, and my brother was balling. He wasn’t hurt, but his nose was just as red as an apple. I got up, but I could barely walk because my knee hurt so much that I could hardly keep my balance.

Luckily, the results from falling down the hill were not severe. My brother and I were okay. After my mom finished gardening, she walked slowly to us to give us a grin and say, “That’s why I told you to be careful.” My knee hurt for several weeks and was black and blue with dirt encrusted into where I skinned it. My mom just kept saying, “ you’re fine” or “suck it up.” That was not an effective way to stop my knee from hurting. But it was also my fault for not being careful, and that isn’t an effective way to live your life.

That still doesn’t make up for me being careless. During this experience, I inherited the knowledge that if I was careful or cautious at all, then I wouldn’t risk hurting myself or my brother. Don’t go against what your mom says because later, she will definitely yell at you for it. Overall, don't risk it if it might get you or someone else harmed just because you think it’s fun.

 

 

 

 

-Abigail N.

 

 

Growing up is full of new experiences, good and bad. We go on living our lives, keeping calm and trusting ourselves all the time. I had to learn this in a real life situation after being at home for almost five months.

The second half of sixth grade was coming to an end, but for remote students we were able to get the chance to come to school to have a picnic. It had been beckoning me ever since I got permission to go. Seeing all my friends while playing various games after a period of meticulous solitude and screens was going to be amazing!

Promptly hopping out of the car, my little Harry Potter bag was bouncing on my back as I sped across the scorching, black pavement to the front of the school. Apprehensive, I walked over to one of the red benches and sat down, jumping immediately up as a searing pain shot through the back of my leg like getting stung by a bee, the Harry Potter bag getting flung around even more. Exasperated as the pain went away, I tenderly sat down, careful not to let my bare skin touch the scorching hot metal. I had no clue what would happen next.

As I pulled out my phone from my bag, looking at my notifications I saw that I had two random calls from the same number. I deleted the calls and number, following the same thorough procedure I taught myself. After shutting off my phone and putting it away, I started to talk with my friends. Three minutes later, I was called for by my teacher. Someone was asking to see me, although I didn't know who. I soon spotted a cop car but wasn't sure why it was there. My heart started pumping as I thought I was in trouble. I jogged over, asking what had happened.

"Did you call the police?" the female police questioned. After replying with a hesitant no, she went on to tell me they got a call, continuing by discussing that they traced it to my phone. I was in hysteria, holding back tears, thinking I was going to be in plenty of trouble. It took time to process what had happened due to the fact I had never done something like this before. I remembered watching this one random video, recalling what it said. I took a deep breath and asked, "Can I look at something real quick?" As she shook her head yes, I went into my bag to grab my phone, looking for some way for the police to be contacted.

That was when I realized that my phone was on, but I turned it off. I thought back to all the times that my phone could've been thrown around in my filled bag, turning it on. My heart rate started slowing down as I thought I had come to a reasonable conclusion. As I focused on trying to keep calm, I explained what I thought had happened: "my phone was in my bag along with other stuff; it could have set off the SOS dial." Nodding in agreement, the police went on to tell me that since there was a call it was necessary to see what happened and make sure everything was okay. After they said goodbye, I was able to have an amazing rest of the day.

There were a lot of emotions running through my head during those five minutes. Looking back at that moment, it was the first time that I really had to trust myself and keep calm in a really stressful situation where you didn't know what would happen. Stressful situations are a part of life, and being able to quickly take a step back and reset your mindspace makes all the difference.

 

 

 

 

-Abbylyn S.