ESOL 3 Classes Visit the HWC

On Tuesday and Thursday of this week, students from Mr. Hutton's and Mrs. Polcha's ESOL 3 classes partnered up with the HWC to work on their Global Awareness and Technology Projects. We really enjoyed working with both classes!

"17" by Bartholomew Stewart

Seventeen. It’s an awfully weird number to write about, but here I am writing about it anyways. Seventeen. Numbers have different meanings in different walks of life. In chemistry, it represents the atomic number for chlorine. On the football team, that’s Jack’s number. Speaking for myself, numbers are interesting; even though some might say, “So what, I’ve been able to count since Kindergarten?” Numbers are so interesting because they represent so many diverse things. Mathematically, numbers can represent vast and enormous unknown quantities. Conversely, they could represent quantities so minute that they bring into question whether or not they are even significant at all. Decimals, fractions, rational numbers, irrational numbers. Whole numbers, natural numbers, integers. The list goes on and on.

Not only do numbers represent an infinite number of quantities, but there also an infinite number of classifications for each set of numbers. All numbers are significant, no matter the magnitude. The zeroes and ones which make up binary code are the foundation of all computers, and are especially significant, because without those numbers, there would be no computers, DVD players, Netflix, and the Herndon Robotics Team definitely wouldn’t be able to create a fully functional 120-lbs robot. Numbers can be built upon, in order to understand highly advanced principles.

Numbers just go on and on and on. They define the world around us. Numbers are infinite in two ways: There is an infinite quantity of numbers, and there is an infinite quantity of numbers between each of those numbers. For example, there are an infinite number of values between one and two. Numbers define us, and everything around us. So, the next time you find yourself, or someone you know cursing numbers, or their math class, just think: “What would I do without them?”

"Similarity or Difference?" by Leo

You know, I look around my environment and what is it that I see? I see the many different humans that are alive. I see all the different interactions between people. Everything I see is different. Is that necessarily a good thing? Doesn’t all this difference in society create chaos and confusion between each other? Does this not create racism and harbored hatred between each other?

What if we lived in a world where we were all the same? What if there were no differences? Would this not create equality between all? There would be no hatred or racism. There couldn’t be, because to hate someone would be to hate yourself because everyone would be the same. Though this may seem like a peaceful thing, there would still be negative effects of this. Yes, there would be equality, but then there would be no difference.

Difference is a good thing. Difference fuels our creativity and curiosity in the world. How can we be creative when everything is the same? How can we be creative when everything can no longer be creative? Difference also fuels our curiosity, and curiosity is a good thing. Curiosity is a very powerful thing. Most of our lives have been shaped and or changed because of our curiosity of the world. Without creativity we are not human. Without curiosity we are not us.

In the end, which is better? A peaceful equal society or a creative curious society where everyone is different? Which is more ideal? Which matter more to us? Which most shapes us?

"Sand" by Silver

A life full of sand

As the baby is born

A grain drops

with the first laugh

The mother holds her child

Grains slipping carelessly

There are millions left

Millions of moments

to be lived

The child blows out two candles

on her second year

Slipping sand

The first time she falls off her bike

Her first day of school

Time spent with the family

Moments pass

Sand slips

Her first kiss

Her first heartbreak

Her first party

Sand has covered the bottom

She applies to college

Graduates

and moves away

Slipping steadily

Her mother’s sand runs out

and in her devastation

she loses sand

She finds new love

and gets married

and has a baby boy

with a life full of sand

She wishes that there

could be a stopper

on her sand

She wants to freeze time

and live forever in the moment

of happiness with her son

But sand falls

Slowly she ages

as she watches her son grow up

Her sand is almost out

It seems to slip more quickly now

Now that she wants it the most

Her first grandchild is born

She and her husband retire

Sand slips

Holding hands

Sand slips

Watching the ocean outside

Sand drains

Five grains of sand left

Fall to the bottom

Four left

Three left

She says goodbye

Two left

She closes her eyes

One left

Her last breath

Her hourglass of life

is flipped

and she is reborn

With a life full of sand

Ahead of her.

"The Race of a Lifetime" by Parker

Bang!    The gun goes off, shoulders go up, elbows go out. Like cheetahs fighting over their prey, 10 lanky girls rush to the inner lanes of the track. Lap 1. The determined faces, the adrenaline flashing. I’m in fourth, but I’m comfortable. Follow their feet Parker, follow their feet. As we come around the second curve, I lock my eyes on the feet of the brunette in front of me. I put my feet in sync with hers and take a deep breath. We cross the starting line. Lap 2. One quarter of the way there. You can do this. Pain is mental. The millions of eyes in the stands look down at me, following me as I make my way down the back stretch. I step in to the second lane, kicking my feet up faster and faster. Moving in front of third place, I feel a spike scratch my calf. But I’m not letting that stop me. I focus. Lap 3. Time to make my move. I creep up behind second and first as everyone slows down on the most difficult section of the race, but this is my strength. I hear my coach scream, “NOW!” somewhere in the distance and I know it’s time. So I go. Lap 4. I take off like a bullet, leaving the other two girls behind me in the dust. It’s now or never. I kick like I never thought possible and I slowly stretch the gap between me and the pack even farther. Coming around the last curve, I see the clock. Last one, fast one. With everything I have left, I sprint to the finish. My body goes numb – there’s nothing stopping me now. I lean over the line and crash to the ground. There’s nothing left in me. I’m too weak to stand up, let alone walk. I see my coach jumping up and down. As he runs over to me, I see him mouth “5:29” and I relax. You finally made it.

"Insecurities" by L

We all have insecurities

whether they be the size of your thighs or the color of your eyes,

your face, or how you feel so out of place.

We all need to learn to accept our flaws,

to realize that people don’t stare at your “unruly” hair,

and they don’t care if your complexion is fair.

We are all beautiful in our own way,

those who love us will make our opinions sway

so that one day we will say we are beautiful,

that we are useful and forever youthful.

We will love ourselves, and teach others to accept themselves

and maybe one day, we will all learn to love ourselves.

Though we all may bawl and long to fit in,

we all have insecurities.

"Bluebells and Tulips" by J-Story

Springtime.  The time of renewal and freshness. The buds of the annual flowers are in bloom. Beautiful white doves and Goldfinches take flight above the colorful gardens of the world and many of us sit back to take in the fresh air. The sky is a gorgeous light blue with white, puffy clouds lazily drifting along with the breeze.

Church bells ring, and frighten the delicate birds from their places among the green leaves and rich gardens. Their flights remind us of the new world that has begun this year. It is time for the world to heal and forget. Time for us to enjoy the fruits of wonder and success rather than drown ourselves in a bleak world of black. Now, renewed in strength and happiness, is our time. May the children of the world rejoice in the fresh new world and celebrate it’s rebirth! We shall forever hold those of past in hearts and minds but let us remember that we still live to love and live. Look towards the future this new world holds in store for us.

Peace and harmony reign among the lusty gardens that dot the landscape. May man find tranquility in knowing this. Let them conform to a mindset of peace but let them sculpt their futures and the future of the earth from beauty to magnificence. Let us praise what we are given and remind ourselves that what we are given no matter how small, can become something fantastic and awe inspiring. 

Even the simplest creatures can comprehend the magnitude that a new change gives to a creature. They, the creatures of this planet, take advantage. New fawns and chicks spread out among the green forests and lush gardens. Their children give us a reminder that life goes on. Why is it that we forget that all of us deserve a chance at self renewal, especially given that  we live longer lives. Yet to us we take that for granted and we move too fast. Give yourself a chance to walk through the spring gardens life provides for us, breathe the air of renewal and live again.

Try new things, make friends, remind yourself that you have a new chance. Old problems have melted with the winter snow, the memories of old blew away with the winds of fall. Find and experience love. Never allow yourself to be lonely when life is so ‘short’. Perhaps, maybe even one day, you will find yourself once again out among the tulips and bluebells of spring. And remember that vow you made to yourself ages ago: to change like the seasons. And now among the bluebells and tulips, you are no longer alone, but instead accompanied by the friends you have made, and the love you have discovered. As the doves and finches fly away, to the ringing of church bells.

"My Earliest Memory," by Victoria Lemmings

My earliest memory is of sitting on my father’s lap in the house I grew up in, just down the street from the house in which I live now. We were sitting in the front living room on our squishy turquoise couch. I used to love that couch just because of its color- no house I had ever been in had a couch as unique as mine. I used to sit on my dad’s lap in that front room and listen as he read me picture books and stories. The best time of day to do this was always in the morning because we had these thin, cream-colored curtains. As the sun would shine into the wide windows, the curtains would send yellowish beams of light all over the living room. I used to love bathing in that light because it was so warm and comfortable. Paired with the strong feel of my dad’s arm around me, it was bliss.

            I remember one time we were reading a book about a teacher. In the story, she read to her class and taught them arithmetic and history. Once, I asked by dad, “How did she become a teacher? Who decides she’s gonna be a teacher?” So young and so naïve, I didn’t understand how people found their job or decided their place in the world. I remember, clear as day, that my dad chuckled and told me, “She is the one who decides she’s going to be a teacher. Just like you will decide what you want to be one day. You can be anything in the world.”

            As a four year old (or however old I was at the time), this struck me as quite odd. I was too young to make the decision of what I wanted to eat for dinner, let alone what my job would be one day. I recall being a little bit confused, but I accepted it. As I grew up in that house, a lot of the memories I associate with my youth include being in that living room. But I don’t remember anything better than when my dad told me I could be anything I wanted when I grew up.

            Now, my seventeen year old self is receiving letters from colleges in the mail, visiting universities, and thinking about what majors I might go into. The whole process is quite stressful and extremely overwhelming. However, through it all, my dad still has the same wise words that he had when I was a little kid. He insists to me that I can do whatever I set my mind to. If I want to become a doctor, I am capable of that. If I want to become a world traveler, I am capable of that, too. He reassures me daily that I have all the opportunity in the world. Even though so much has changed, my dad’s wisdom hasn’t. Just like the teacher in my childhood story book, I know I am the driver of my own destiny, and I find that very comforting- almost as comforting as sitting on my dad’s lap in the living room just reading a book. 

"Somnambulist*" by Hiram McDaniels

Note: This poem is for a good friend who is struggling with depression. 
*somnambulist: sleepwalker

It has been months since I last saw you

though we spoke the other day.

Twenty minutes it took you

to reply, one word,

to ignore

the article I thought you’d love.

The one about taking dinosaurs from hollow places

and other earthen secrets.

Perhaps I am the one being haunted

by the ghost of you,

though you couldn't muster the energy

to rattle any chains

or change the water pressure

or throw books off the shelf

or get out of bed today

or pick up the phone and give me a call.

Often now I suspect

you have been replaced

by some paler version of yourself.

A facsimile, sweating color until you rattle

like dead leaves

a phantom, wearing your clothes

and sleepwalking your halls.

There a space heater rattles through frozen days.

Would you melt away into nothing

if the sunbeams met you again?

Or would you blossom,

spring in your step,

shedding winter’s chill like a childhood blanket?

You know I still have mine.

I left it there one summer past,

and the you-that-was mailed it back to me

folded and softer and smelling of detergent.

Maybe I could leave more

objects, like breadcrumbs,

to lead you back to me.

But maybe now

your hands would pass through them, intangible

and you would forget.

I wish you were a poltergeist,

because at least violent spirits

have color to spare.

I would take the broken glass,

the writing on walls,

cold spots and harassment.

Anything but the void of you,

a colder apparition

carved with hollow spaces I can’t fill.

"Once Upon a Time" by Ann Onimous

Once upon a time

A princess sat in a dungeon

Thrown in against her will

Trapped by a small lock on the door.

The lock was labeled “ugly”

And she’d attached it herself

After she saw herself

In the magicless mirror.

The princess walked about

Mentally locked in her prison

That she could not escape

For she did not have the key.

And when she went to school

Some of the other students

Couldn’t see her dungeon

And just made fun of her.

They did not realize

The new locks they were making

Labeled “stupid,” “crazy,”

“Weird,” “abnormal.”

She waited for her prince

To come and break the locks

To finally set her free

And lead her away from her cell.

While she sat waiting

She passed the time with a razor

To distract from the locks

Saying “I’ll stop when he comes.”

But he never did

So she never did

She cut herself deeper

And let herself out

The quicker way

And she never saw

The beautiful princess

That she was.