Senior Reflection

This is an essay I just wrote for Mr. Whitehead. I thought it would interest y'all.

Dylan Hale
5/23/08
P.1

Senior Year Reflection
I am not over sixty-five years of age. I do not qualify for extremely reduced movie prices. I am not anyone’s authority but my own. I am not any of these things. But I am a senior. Senior. Just what does that mean? Way too much is what it means. It’s applying to colleges, making ridiculously hard choices, fighting tough battles, sweet benefits, and maybe even risking life. That’s what it was for me. I fought my way through this year and slept less and less as the year progressed. I figured I would sleep more because I’d have a free period. Alas, no. The assignment for this paper was to write first on this class, second on your entire year, and lastly if needed for space, your future plans. Well, for the sake of writing a compelling essay, I’m going to mix up the order a bit. I need to start with the beginning of the year.

It was boring… tiresome, even. The summer felt as if it had lasted a week. I was back at the lovely Brawley Union High School campus already. I was a little excited for work experience, though. I was going to work with the deputy district attorney’s office in the County Administration building. I soon found out that “working” with them meant sitting and watching arraignments with Judge Donnelly. I love Donnelly. He’s the one of the coolest judges on the bench in this county. But I couldn’t get over how he’d start every morning with addressing the criminals like so: “Good morning everyone. On behalf of the Brawley courts, I’d like to welcome you here today. When I call your name, please step forward and I will read what you have been charged with and give you your options…” blah blah blah, he’d go on for fifteen minutes about consulting with the Public Defender, a grotesque greasy man who never failed at being late. Needless to say, work experience was not about to rescue my year. It was all thanks to the clerk in that office who had just had a heart attack the week before school started and died. They had filing issues and staff problems and it was not the best environment. The rest of my classes were ho hum. Yes, including Economics. I’m sorry, but I didn’t expect for Econ to be so… what is the correct euphemism… not liking to my academic tastes. Sure I liked our stock market project, but the money I made was fake in the end. It wasn’t horrible until I found out I was going to get a ‘C’.

Well, life went on until one day, I crashed my car. You knew this was coming. How could I write an essay on my senior year without dragging in my Dippy Duck salvation? Yes, I crashed. I don’t remember the crash. I remember getting onto Austin Road, wearing my UCLA sweatshirt and new nice jeans from Buckle, a horribly overpriced store that I have no business in but my cousin Carson dragged me into. And the next thing I remember is being strapped down on a board, my head pounding, I think on the side of the road. I remember hearing “you’ve been in a car accident” and me saying, “I know”. But then I remember being at UCSD Medical Center in San Diego with an uncomfortable brace around my neck that was making me panic a bit. I remember telling the nurse I applied here when he told me where I was. Jim was his name. I remember that for some ridiculous reason. And then I tried to relax and was finally freed from the brace and was wheeled to a room with some guy from the army. By then it was Friday sometime, though I don’t remember when. Everything in my memory is blurred and dark. I woke up and ate my liquid food which tasted like nectar and ambrosia and began my recovery. Thank God I didn’t have a mirror in my room. I now know that I looked despicable. The next day I had tons of visitors who wore me out and then I went home Sunday. I can’t believe how quickly I was out of there. It took a few days for the morphine in my system to fade and there’s still a bump on my left wrist where my gynormous IV was put in.

All of this gets me to what I learned from this class. Lord knows it wasn’t the material. Econ I forgot about and Government has been one big recap. I missed one week of school. Just one week. I forced myself back for the start of the Mock Trial season. I couldn’t write at all. I was going to trials high on vicodin with my head leaking gooey fluid. And I was winning them, too. But I wasn’t writing in school. I hadn’t talked to any of my teachers because Miss Hardy had told my parents everything would be taken care of and she’d tell all of my teachers about my injuries, and also because it was obvious to me. But that was stupid of me. That is what I learned. I knew already not to trust my real counselor, but I learned from you, Mr. Whitehead that I should always check on my own to make sure something has been done. I’ll never forget my searing rage when I couldn’t turn in my missing assignments, trying hard not to break out into a screaming fit. I was livid. Of course I didn’t tell you how I felt and you probably didn’t know exactly how mad I was because I’m an actor and that’s what we people do. But now, thank you, thank you, thank you. I have a B in your class. I went from the lowest D I could have to a B because I had to challenge myself to get points. I’m beating my last semester grade. If it wasn’t for the accident, who knows what I would have ended up with. I would have completely gotten sick of your class. I would have continued blaming my test scores on your “insane” procedures. I was forced to take responsibility and stab my usual mid-year feeling of, “I cared too much before to give a darn now.” That’s been the story of my life up until I saw what I was capable of; because getting a B from where I was re-established my faith in myself.

Yeah, I’ve had a lot of accomplishments so far. I got into great schools, I chose UC Santa Barbara, I’ll be studying theater on the beach in three months. I’ve talked with Supreme Court Justices, I’ve shaken the Terminator’s hand, I’ve hugged stage stars, I’ve argued cases before Los Angeles Superior Court Judges, I’ve spoken at a Torrey Pines High School board meeting, I’ve sung, danced, acted my face off this year. But most importantly, I rediscovered myself. This is not standard high school BS. I may be poor, I may be black, I may be a woman and I may even be ugly. But I’s here. By God, I’s here. <-- That’s from The Color Purple, in case you didn’t know.


What'd ya think?

-Big D