Creative Nonfiction
“My Greatest Achievement”
Connor McCormick, Grade 12
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When it comes to describing my greatest achievement, I kinda panic. What is my greatest achievement? Have I accomplished enough in my life to say that I have a greatest achievement? In my heart, I feel as if my greatest achievement would be overcoming my fear of becoming a firefighter. Firefighting has always been something I have seen as a part of my life. As far back as I can remember, I was at the firehouse, either with my uncles, cousins, friends, or dad’s friends just hanging out. Constantly smelling diesel exhaust and hearing faint radio traffic were normal things. All of these memories show that I grew up in a firefighter family. Everyone on my dad’s side has been a firefighter. That had a substantial amount of influence on me during my childhood years. Here today, at seventeen years old, I am trenching through class after class, listening to boring, but important, lectures on safety, and working my body each and every night to the brink of complete exhaustion. There is no better feeling than the exciting, shocking feeling of adrenaline when we are racing to a call in the back of the engine. This is my attempt to follow in my family's footsteps. Not only is this for me; it is for my dad. He passed away a few years back, and I want to make him proud. I sure do miss his firefighter stories, but it is time to make my own. My dad needs to see who his son is and what I will do to continue his legacy. I have some pretty big shoes to fill, yet they will be mine. Of course, I have accomplishments in my life other than this, but morally, this one means so much more. It means the world to me. You may look at this and think, “There has to be something greater than just becoming a firefighter.” You are right. The end goal of this achievement was never just becoming a firefighter. It was knowing my dad is sitting up in Heaven, smiling down on me, knowing that I made him proud.
“Memory Filled Dresser”
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Memories are something you can never forget about. Maybe most of your memories sprout from one specific item you may own. It may be a little bag that you took everywhere with you. However, mine was a dresser. It was about half my size, white, with a giant mirror on top. It had six drawers, three on each side and you could fit maybe two shoe boxes inside, but mine was filled with memories. When I was little, I owned lots of clothes; I still do. But these clothes I wore all the time. Every time they would pop back into my drawer, I would find an excuse to wear them. A lot of the clothes held what I would like to call core memories. Some of those memories I made when I went to dance every Thursday and Friday after school. Or when I went to school wearing the most ridiculous outfit, I’m still not sure how my grandmother let me walk out of the house. But I would never match my outfit. I could have been wearing bright neon green and pink pants with a brown and orange shirt on, and I would have thought I looked cute. I guess that’s why my grandmother started picking out my outfits for me. Another memory I remember is my first day of kindergarten. I remember the entire outfit I wore that day. I wore a black T-shirt, with red mesh sleeves, with big red lips in the center. I also wore black leggings with black glitter flats. It was a great first day. It was also the day I met my guy best friend (we’ll call him Corey) and my bestest friend (we’ll call her Sunny). Corey and I met on the bus and almost immediately clicked and became friends because we were equally crazy. Sunny and I also met on the bus but didn’t really talk until recess. Elementary school was probably the best years of my life. I met so many of my long-term friends, and it’s crazy to think that I will have known my best friends for almost nine years! Corey and I fell distant for a while but eventually got close again, and Sunny and I never fell apart, other than the couple fights we had, but the longest we went without talking to each other was maybe a week. Sometimes memories are forgotten, but the ones you never forget are the ones that mean the most to you. That’s why I have a dresser filled with memories.
“Nursing”
Shelby Hall, Grade 12
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As she lay in the hospital bed of the Intensive Care Unit of Children’s Hospital of Pittsburgh, screaming the words “Help me,” I knew at that moment that I needed to vow myself to nursing and help others just like her. This was my sister’s situation in 2017 when she was diagnosed with catatonia. At a young age, my sister was diagnosed with autism, which is related to this horrific incident we had to endure. Although I was ten years younger than she, growing up with her as a special needs human was very empowering. Watching over and helping her with her needs allowed me to realize I had acquired a passion for nursing.
The definition of nursing to most, is to provide care for the sick, but my outlook on nursing seems to be a different perspective than what others think it to be. Nursing to me is about supporting and educating. Not only is the patient’s health my main priority, but their education is just as important to me. Being able to educate a patient on what to do in the future or how to prevent a situation from occurring is a wonderful ability I will provide throughout my nursing career. Supporting the patient and their family is an important aspect of nursing too. Some patients might need someone to talk to or some families might need emotional support during a difficult hospital stay or visit. I focus highly on diversity. No matter how diverse a person is, I believe they should all receive the same care. I enjoy helping people, caring for them, and teaching them.
Goals are setting points that lead you in the right direction. I believe that goals are needed in order for success to be established. When thinking about my goals, my most important one would be to advance my career and attempt to make an impact in the world. I want to pursue my RN, but if career advancement comes into my life path, I would want to pursue that too. In the end, I want to look back on my life and know I made an impact somehow, in some way. My short-term goal would be to focus on my career and attempt to get the highest grades I can throughout nursing school. I want to provide excellent care during clinicals and throughout my whole career too.
Nursing has so many rewarding aspects to it. With my sister being in and out of hospitals and doctors’ offices, I acquired a passion for nursing. I want to help others. I don’t feel pressured to go into this profession, but rather excited and willing to do what it takes to get my RN degree and become the best nurse possible.
“Worried”
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No matter where I am, worry stares me straight in the eyes, never breaking eye contact. He wears black jeans and a baggy, way too big, black sweater that looks like he stole it out of the dumpster. The clothes have stains, lint, and pet hair all over them. His monstrous, immense murkiness stands right in front of me, never letting me see around. No matter how hard I try to navigate around his dark aura, he still stands over me, making me feel as tiny as a mouse.
In a silent classroom, he stares down at me, hovering his terrible, huge, cold ambiance over my entire desk while I'm trying to focus. I just want to scream, “I am going to do good, I am going to get a hundred percent!”
“You aren't going to do well on this test,” he says to me. His voice is louder in my mind and makes all my confidence disappear. “You didn’t study enough, and you just aren't as smart as all the other kids in the room, they are going to pass, but you won't.”
I feel my face get red-hot with annoyance and anger. I think to myself, “Why won't you just go away?” I want to get a 100% on this test just so I can slap him in the face; then, maybe for once, I will feel bigger than he. I want that confidence back that he stole so long ago. Though, once again, he psyched me out, and I let him get the best of me. I might have still gotten a 90% on the test, but if worry didn't make me second guess myself and change two of my answers, I would have gotten the 100% that I wanted so badly.
On a random Sunday in October, I stand in front of my mirror doing my makeup for the day. I can see his darkness begin to crowd the entire room. Worry stares at me, “Your sister is going to die,” he says snarkily.
“What, no she isn’t, get away from me,” I want to yell back.
“Yes, she is,” he says.
“Please just stop,” I say as my eyes flood with tears.
He smiles at me and says, “She doesn’t think you love her either.”
I begin to sob as I collapse on my floor. I'm so angry at myself for letting worry take another good day from me. All I want is to one day be strong enough to finally ignore him and let calmness, worry's biggest enemy, into my life.
Pain is that annoying aunt that you can’t stand. Always nagging at you. Always there bothering you. I try my best to get away from her, but she always finds a way to bother and frustrate me, no matter where I go. There are times when she is quiet but not many. I can always hear her quiet whisper though. Even the slightest sound is difficult to tune out. I have tried giving her extra attention hoping to calm her down, but she is always waiting, watching for the slightest misstep. Her mood swings make her hard to manage. Some days it only takes the smallest thing to set her raging, searing and hot. Other times I feel ignored. This weird relationship we have makes me wonder and question when she doesn’t show up. I always know she will. Pain, she always manages to get under my skin, attacking when I’m most vulnerable. She shows off her strength and power when I am in need of quiet and calm. The soccer field is where she shows off the most. I can feel her shriek with each strike I take. The worst is when she convinces others to add to my punishment. She sees the crushing tackles, and I can hear her cackles. What pain doesn’t know is I’m learning to take her power.
One day I will be the powerful one. I will never have to hear her annoying cackles anymore. Pain won’t be able to stop me ever again.
Faith is like my cheerful little sister; she wears an all-white outfit with her hair in high pigtails. She looks so innocent. It seems as though she always wants the best for me, always looking up to me, admiring every move I make. From the outside, our relationship looks perfect. Why should I be complaining? I have a mini-me who is always right there at my feet. Always right there at my feet. “What are you doing?” she questions. Following up, she asks, “Why are you doing that?” Question after question, leading me to second-guess my every move. Leading me into doubt, fear, and constant worry.
When questioning myself, I ask, “How can I honor Faith?” or “Why am I not honoring Faith? What is holding me back?” Although Faith is supposed to make me feel better about myself and my relationships, she sends me into a spiral, thinking about all the things I should be doing, but I’m not. As I look into the mirror, I see Faith. I see what I am expected to be doing. I see the type of person I am supposed to be, a leader and someone to set an example. While staring at the reflection, I realize it is not me; it is Faith. I take a deep breath. Faith has trust in me, she is loyal to me- so why am I not loyal to her? Why am I not doing everything in my power to honor her? It seems as though I am always letting my Faith down. Faith is my biggest supporter, always there for me. Why does it seem like I look at her in a bad light? I wish I could see myself the way that Faith sees me.
“Being a Twin”
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Since the day I was born, I have never been completely alone. My first best friend has been by my side since the moment I opened my eyes—my twin sister Ailey. Few people have the opportunity to experience such a close bond with another individual. When people find out that we are twins, the first question I get asked is, "What’s it like to be a twin?" or "Can you guys tell what each other is thinking?" It’s almost as if people think that we have superpowers, but we are used to getting these kinds of questions because we have our whole lives. Fraternal twins are not uncommon, but people still act shocked when we say we are twins. Throughout our first seventeen years together, we have spent almost every second of it by each other's sides.
When we were little, all we wanted to do was play with Barbies and Legos, and we even had matching outfits wherever we went. To this day, we are still alike. We share clothes and do the same hobbies, such as playing piano, soccer, and skiing. We have always been a duo. Everyone recognizes us as the "twins." Even at school or practice, I am still called "one of the twins" or by my last name. Some people like to play the guessing game when they try to figure our names out. My boss always says, "Addy, no, Ailey, no, you’re Addy." I always tell him that he has a fifty-fifty chance. Many people still get us confused, and I'm not sure why because we look nothing alike.
As a twin, there is always something to compare yourself to because there is always someone right with me like I said earlier. Whether it’s sports or academics, I always get asked, "Which one is better at soccer?" or "Which one is smarter?" These questions establish comparisons, and that is where competitiveness comes in. Ever since Ailey and I were little, we have always been competitive, whether it was who could run faster, who could hold their breath the longest, or who could draw better. Through all of these competitions, the bond Ailey and I share has only grown. Our competitions were pretty much equal because we had the same abilities. Now that we are older, we are still competitive, just not as much. The competitiveness made us individuals; we are good at different things now and have different interests.
It is hard to be independent as a twin. I used to be shy because Ailey and I would depend on each other to talk. But growing up dependent on each other has now made me more independent. It has taught me to stand out and to be my own person. I like to do my own hobbies. It has also taught me the importance of friendships. I do not grow sick of friends easily; after learning to grow with someone all of my life, I am more resilient around people. Being independent has taught me to set goals, try new things, and be a leader.
There are so many benefits to being a twin. Having someone who always understands you and has the most honest opinion about anything is the best! Sharing a connection and having a unique bond that many people do not get to experience is special. I have never had to worry about a playmate or a partner because I have always had Ailey. Enjoying adventures, journeys, and experiences together is so fun. Having someone who can challenge and motivate me to do my best has made me the person I am today.
“My Worst Quality”
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Indecisiveness visits me often. She appears in a long black dress; she leaves me speechless or second-guessing myself when a question has been posed to me. She makes the easiest questions so hard to answer. She keeps me company at my desk while I work on my homework; I begin to type, and she begins to declare her presence. She makes me feel as if I am unsure of what needs to be done or in what order to do it. She welcomes stress which never helps the situation. I feel confused or empty inside. I think back to other moments when she visited me. “It is all going to be okay,” I repeatedly tell myself. Her last friend she lets in is optimism, wearing a flowy white shirt as he walks through the room and comforts me. He lets me know that everything will be okay and that there is a positive outcome.
“My Favorite Place”
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My favorite place in the whole world is Fenwick Island, Delaware. My family and I used to visit this place every summer, along with my cousins. Some of my favorite childhood memories and favorite moments occurred here. Our first time visiting Fenwick Island, we rented a beautiful, ginormous condo. It was furnished very appealingly, with beachy decor and amusing little pirate decor as well. As a child, I can remember getting out of the car after the seven-hour drive and racing towards the condo, racing everyone for the best bedroom. I ended up running all the way upstairs, along with my cousin Keeleigh, to claim the bedroom on the top floor. As I opened the door, I could remember the room's cute decor and breathtaking view of the ocean. I knew it was going to be a memorable trip. My cousins, Keegan, Keeleigh, and McKenna, and my sister, Addyson, and I were all very energetic and wanted to explore the entire place. I remember walking outside and seeing the top of what looked like a pergola in the distance, being hidden behind the tree tops. We immediately investigated the structure, to find a path that would lead us to this beautiful bay. It was a hidden gem for sure. We went crabbing there for the next few nights, which to me was horrifying and enjoyable at the same time. I remember my mom buying us glowsticks; we wore those glow sticks and took funny pictures with them until it was past all of our bedtimes. I remember being outside in the parking lot of the condo and twirling sparklers since it was around the Fourth of July. My cousins and I would spell our names or start dancing with them until they burnt out, and then we would continue to run around until our parents made us come inside. Fenwick Island is also the place that made me fall in love with the beach. I loved playing in the sand and making sand castles, along with boogie boarding the slightly rough waves that would glide you right onto the shore. The ocean would sparkle so bright that you would need sunglasses to even look its way. I remember going to the boardwalk and competing with my dad to win games, even though he would let me win anyway. I still to this day think about the fun memories of family summer trips to Fenwick Island, and I hope to return there someday.
Emmi Dedola, Grade 9
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Music has been a big part of my life, and while it’s not my entire life or something I see myself going into for my career, I still couldn’t picture my life without music. Let me explain why.
Music has been around for a very, very long time. It has been through many changes, many genres. It has seen some of the greatest and most famous musicians but has also seen people fall from stardom, and suddenly they’re forgotten. There was a time when I wanted to be a singer, but I quickly discovered I didn’t have the voice nor stage presence required. It hurt a bit, but that’s when I turned my attention to the other side of music: instruments.
My mom enrolled me in piano lessons when I was in kindergarten, barely five years old. I took the piano up until almost the age of ten or eleven, and I’m not going to lie to you, I hated it. I didn’t want to spend time sitting behind a piano struggling to play difficult pieces and suffering through boring scales while trying to keep beat with the metronome that was supposed to help me keep in time. You can only imagine how happy I was when my mom finally let me leave piano lessons. The COVID-19 pandemic started shortly after I quit so I wouldn’t have had them much longer anyway.
In the end, I am grateful to my mom. Maybe piano actually did help me in the long run because it gave me an advantage when I started playing the violin since my teacher didn’t have to explain notes or time signatures to me and we could skip ahead. While I hated piano, I am glad I took it. That’s kind of the beauty of music. What so many people might hate, many more may love and even achieve fame from that particular thing. As diverse as music is, it’s still what ties so many people together.
“The Boulevard Montmartre on a Winter Morning” seems to be an interesting painting. The painting itself isn't just a simple oil canvas with people on it just walking by each other. It reminds me of deep, meaningful memories of when I went to New York. Even though the painting is not set in NYC, it reminds me of the people, and how everyone leads their own life and can simply not care for others. When I traveled there, I observed the people and how they were all different. It’s similar in the painting and how everyone is simply leading their own lives and how I and many others lead their own lives as well.
The painting brings me joy. It reminds me of small English towns in the 18th century or the small towns you put under your Christmas tree every year. When you put a light into the bottom, the entire, fragile building comes to life. My parents have had the same set for every Christmas season. There is a small coffee shop on one and a small toy shop on another. Somehow every year, it's my favorite part of decorating, and none of it changes. That's why the painting brings me joy, because of the simple childhood memories from the buildings.
The city in the painting brings back a fond memory of playing with dolls. I made up cities that looked just like that in the painting. My dolls were living in that city and I would be a coachman on a carriage and pick them up to take them to the royal ball. The people in the painting remind me of my dolls because of their pretty dresses and the gentlemen on their arms. They would all be dressed up to go and dance together, and in the painting, they are all walking to, what I guess, is a grand party. My childhood dolls would come home, at night, and then confess their love, like a cheesy rom-com movie. It reminds me of how I used to play with my dolls and create stories out of them, all from that simple artwork that brought back memories.
“On Good Friday in 1930, the BBC reported, 'There is no news.' Instead, they played piano music.”
Prepare for dramatics in this story, because I hated piano with every ounce of my being when I played it as a kid. I guess that’s a good place to start. My mom enrolled me in piano when I was the ripe young age of five. I had barely comprehended what a piano was and then suddenly I was being dragged off to an old lady’s house ten minutes away for weekly piano lessons. Now, I know this isn’t what you came here to read, but fear not. I will get to the main incident soon.
Now by the time this incident occurred, I’m going to guess I was roughly two to three years into my piano lessons. I was at my grandma’s house, and the front door we always go in was parallel to her garage, so you have to walk across to get to it. I would always do this any time we were going somewhere, so piano was no exception. I had no idea this would become my greatest enemy one day.
I remember this incident very clearly. This happened when the cicada storm happened; I want to say about seven years ago. They were literally everywhere, flying all the time every which way, basically every hour of the day, making that constant horrible high-pitched buzzing sound. And I remember it was during the summer, and I was about to leave for piano when suddenly I was faced with the most perilous task ever: making it to the garage without getting swarmed by those bugs. I could’ve won an award for how fast I darted to the garage. Some might call me The Flash. I successfully did what few could do at the ripe young age of seven.