Jessie Bernard, 17
The longer you look at something, the uglier it will get. This is just human nature. We’re accustomed to notice the deterioration of beauty. Cracks in the sidewalk and dilapidated fences are the perfect background for your senior pictures, but if the tables were turned and you were the one who was old and broken and falling apart, you would not be so beautiful.
I bet you thought you were beautiful, too. On some level, maybe physical or figuratively. You probably are, but all the things you love about yourself quickly turn to dust the minute you think of yourself as insignificant.
You see, the only beautiful thing about you that won’t change in twenty years is your mind and your ability to think for yourself. Looks will only get you so far in life, but you’ll be significant if you put your mind to good use.
By Rudolph Robertson, 18
A month into my senior year I was already being inundated with forms and information about graduation. I was still adjusting to being a senior. I was hardly prepared to order a cap and gown, and scarf, and sweatshirt, and mug, and photos, and 800 announcements, and blankets, bags, earbuds, envelope seals, tankards, tiaras and a $500 class ring. I just wanted to order my cap and gown as cheaply as possible and forget it until May (they still email me pretty much biweekly to buy their crap but that’s never gonna happen). But I tried to keep it as simple as possible and dutifully attended the presentation by the company from which we were to buy these items. The rep for this company was a perky, attractive lady of about 38 years old. The delightful slideshow of ... amazing things that we should buy... culminated in a picture of her at her own graduation. Now this wouldn't have been an issue had she not clearly made fun of the other girl in the picture.
By Simon Cann
“Shit,” as I sit back and stare frustratingly towards my third attempt of an “adroitly” crafted drawing. Though it is supposed to look like an enticing meal of assorted cheeses and prosciutto with melon, I find my artful hands have sculpted a picture of a dinner table adorned with rocks and a herd of small, slightly frightening and disfigured animals. Now, as creative a subject as mutant rodents and chunks of earth may sound, I cannot attribute my work to my artistic skill. This work is the product, in fact, of my notable lack thereof.