I'm a writer, so enjoy these past works of mine...
The
American Candle:
What
I Would Tell America’s Founding Fathers
(This essay took first place my 7th grade year)
(This essay took first place my 7th grade year)
During 1775 to 1783, a
harsh war was fought, from which The United States of America emerged. The new country was unlike any other at the
time, living by the virtue of freedom.
Who knew that the freedom which started in the United States of America
would end up being a light to others?
Freedom was demonstrated passionately back in the 1770’s and 1780’s, and
is also demonstrated passionately today. I would tell our Founding Fathers that the
freedom they created has burned as a strong and bright flame throughout the
history of America. I am sure that they would
be exuberant to hear this.
It is apparent that America has always been a bright candle because over the past 236 years, American citizens have continued to burn with the same passion for freedom that was alive in the 1700’s. I would be proud to tell our Founding Fathers that we have always tried to make our flame of freedom burn brighter. In the middle of the 19th century, slavery was abolished in the southern states, and all men were declared equal. In the early 20th century, women rallied in Washington D.C. for the freedom to vote. They were finally given this freedom in 1920, after convincing President Woodrow Wilson that it was their right. These events helped make the American candle’s flame burn brighter.
I
would also tell the Founding Fathers that America has continuously offered our eternal
light to other countries. Not long after
we established our freedom by signing the Declaration of Independence in 1776, other
countries began to establish new freedoms within their countries. During the Industrial Revolution when America
was only a distant dream for many foreign citizens, America’s population
increased because so many people wanted a better life and decided to come to
America. In addition to all of the
retrospective viewpoints of freedom, modern times also show how America offers
its candle. American troops have been
involved in Middle-eastern countries, such as Iran and Afghanistan, by
presenting them with aid, and helping to inspire citizens’ freedom. We have offered our bright candle to so many
countries over the many years. It is a
welcoming light to new citizens arriving in The United States of America. The Founding Fathers would and should be
proud that the candle they lit with freedom so many years ago is still burning
as strong as ever.
Falling Into
Embarrassment
By: Eric
Robinson
(7th Grade Narrative Essay)
It
all happened so fast. One minute I was just a happy-go-lucky eight year
old, and the next I was on the hard cedar wood.
There I lay like an injured deer, with thousands of eyes staring at me.
“What a mess,” one aunt whispered in
a disgusted voice.
As
I raised my head, I not only saw the damage from my mistake, but the smell of
lemonade was redolent, and my nostrils were filled with the sugary scent.
“Are you alright?” my mom asked as a
blush spread like a plague across my face.
It was just another visit to my
grandmas. When we arrived, I hopped
straight out of our cramped Jeep and skipped up to the grand cabin where my
cousins were sure to be waiting.
My small child-like hand reached for
the copper door knob. I gave it a
forceful turn, and the door flew open with a loud thump. Laughter, music, and the aroma of sweet
autumn pumpkin pervaded me with joy.
“Thank the Lord you guys are finally
here!” shouted my cousin Blake, even though we were an hour early.
I laughed, said my hellos to everyone, then
turned away from the conversing adults and headed down the dimly lit hallway
toward the ebony basement door. I flung
the door open and scrambled down the stairs, anxious to see the rest of my cousins.
I took a bounding leap when I was about five stairs from the bottom.
“Eric, you’re here!” yelled my
cousin Madison exuberantly with a face as red as fire.
I smiled in reply and decided to
join in on their game of tag. My brother
decided to play too.
“You’re it!” I screamed sonorously
when I tagged my brother, Logan. I
couldn’t help but giggle at how fuming he was.
His own little brother had tagged him.
We continued to laugh and enjoy each
other maybe a little bit too much. When
my grandma made the call to dinner through the basement screen door, a
delicious scent wafted through the basement door and taunted my mouth. A drip of drool fell lazily from my
mouth. I ran with hunger in my eyes toward
the door, but came short when my right foot made contact with my brother’s blue
Nike kicks. A gasp escaped my mouth and
I felt my body flail hopelessly against the scratchy screen-door, and down I
went like a buck that had just been shot.
There I lay, sprawled across the
ground like a dead deer. My whole family
was taciturn. I lifted my head to see the damage, and saw
that I had fallen straight through the screen-door. I cringed inside.
“What a mess,” one aunt whispered in
a disgusted voice as she saw the yellow lemonade stains now covering her speckled
blouse.
“Are you alright?” my mom asked by
my side in an I-am-always-here-for-you kind of motherly tone.
A rosy red blush spread across my
face like a wildfire, for there was food everywhere, and the glass pitcher of
lemonade lay shattered. An army of ants
was now marching toward the sugary lake.
“No,” I choked out as a teardrop
came to my eye.
“Sit down and I’ll get you a glass
of water,” urged my comforting mom, knowing an eight year would be quick to
forget.
So an ordinary visit to grandma’s
house isn’t quite as dandy as some may say. Crashing falls, broken pitchers,
and frustrated aunts make up the bulk of the visit. This mistake not only taught me never to
trust my brother, but also to be more aware of my surroundings. It taught me to keep my eyes wide open, and
that one wrong step can literally make you fall!
An Ode to Peanut Butter
By: Eric Robinson
(7th Grade Poem)
(7th Grade Poem)
Peanut Butter makes the
world go ‘round.
If given the chance, I
could eat a whole pound!
The texture just right, the
taste even better,
So good I considered
writing Peter Pan a letter.
It completely changes the
way you feel.
Breakfast, Lunch, or even
dinner,
Not eating it would make
you a sinner.
Peanut Butter really
lightens the mood.
I’ve tried the stuff on
every food!
Waffles, bagels, or even
some fruit,
If you want to try some
just give me a hoot!
Peanut Butter is a man’s
best friend.
Peanuts and Butter, a
delicious blend!
All of the cool kids buy it
at lunch,
I’m sure the cafeteria is
racking in a bunch.
Peanut Butter, Peanut
Butter, who knows what I’d do?
If it suddenly disappeared,
I need thousands of tissues!
It’s a unique concoction,
made by the best.
Peanut Butter is better
than all of the rest!
Stained Glass
Windows-8th Grade Poem
By: Eric Robinson
The ten o’clock
train whistles loudly by the town,
The clicking of the wheels as they go round and round.
Sunday morning peddler’s walk idly down the street,
Seeking some money to buy their spouse’s a treat.
Church bells ring offering a solicit invitation,
To the broken and lost in need of salvation.
People have time and could easily attend,
But their spirits tell them they wouldn't fit in.
Although only few walk through the broad steeple doors,
The pastor stands proud for the sake of the Lord.
The pews are empty and the crowd is small,
But the stained glass windows seem to light up the walls.
Pink, yellow, a rich ruby red,
Seem to melt away some of the sorrow and dread.
The countless faces all tell different stories,
And each one makes you treasure your small list of glories.
As the sun gets higher and midday arrives,
The colors seem to keep their spirits alive.
The pastor preaches. Forgiveness is found.
The storm waters recede, and no one has drowned.
The clicking of the wheels as they go round and round.
Sunday morning peddler’s walk idly down the street,
Seeking some money to buy their spouse’s a treat.
Church bells ring offering a solicit invitation,
To the broken and lost in need of salvation.
People have time and could easily attend,
But their spirits tell them they wouldn't fit in.
Although only few walk through the broad steeple doors,
The pastor stands proud for the sake of the Lord.
The pews are empty and the crowd is small,
But the stained glass windows seem to light up the walls.
Pink, yellow, a rich ruby red,
Seem to melt away some of the sorrow and dread.
The countless faces all tell different stories,
And each one makes you treasure your small list of glories.
As the sun gets higher and midday arrives,
The colors seem to keep their spirits alive.
The pastor preaches. Forgiveness is found.
The storm waters recede, and no one has drowned.
One in every two men will be
diagnosed with cancer at some point in their life. Let that sink in for a moment. Cancer is expected to be the number one cause
of death in coming years, surpassing heart disease. However, according to a collection of professional
biomedical researchers, there is a way to provide hope for cancer patients
through animal research. Past animal usage in biomedical research is the reason
for today’s longer life span, efficient diagnoses, and unfailing drugs. Continuing this trend could hold unimaginable
cures. My fellow opponents, moderator,
and classmates, if we can eat animals that have been slaughtered, wear clothing
made from animals, and shoot and trap animals for sport, why can’t we use
animals for life-saving research? Behind
me today is a minimal list of the medical breakthroughs we have made over the
decades through animal research. As you
listen to the extraordinary facts I will soon present to you, I encourage you
to look at the chart. Also, the posters
to my right, courtesy of the PSBR, show that animals are cared for, and do
save lives.
Humans have experienced amazing medical
advancements as a result of animal research.
St. Jude Children’s Hospital only had a 4% child survival rate for
cancer when it opened in 1962. Today, 80%
of children are living and beating out cancer, as a result of animal research. Through animal research, treatments,
vaccines, and even some cures have been created for polio, hepatitis, diabetes,
and some cancers, among many more. Think
of how many lives these treatments have saved.
Half a million diabetics in the UK alone depend on insulin. Smallpox, a disease that has ravaged our
world for centuries, was finally eradicated with the help of animal research.
We also can’t forget that animals
have experienced benefits of their own as a result of biomedical animal
research. According to the Pennsylvania
Society for Biomedical Research, 90% of all medicines that are used on animals
in veterinary offices are also used on people, and were developed through
animal research. Also, treatments that
fight common parasites in dogs and cats, such as Heartworm and Hookworm, were
developed through animal research. Practicing
animal research is the reason your companion at home is still breathing. Another benefit to animals is the fact that
better reproductive techniques as a result of animal research has led to the
preservation of endangered species – such as the California condor. Lastly, animals have experienced a major
increase in longevity.
My opponent is going to boldly
claim that animal research is inaccurate, and has many alternatives, but she
hasn’t taken into account a very important point. Taking away animal research will leave
millions dead in the impending future. What my opponents are advocating is loss
of life. Drew Pardoll, a professor of oncology and cancer expert, predicted
that 80% of the medical discoveries we make in the next 25 years will trace
back to animal research. Even if my opponent can parade statistics past each of
you to prove accuracy is not 100%, the question remains. What is the alternative? Drew Pardoll also said, and I quote, “The
mouse is the perfect cancer model for
mammalian systems.” Mice share a startling 98% of their DNA with us.
MSU,
human cell tissue becomes easily contaminated, short-lived, difficult to
obtain, and is bound by the complexity of media. We need results NOW, not in a year. Computer models are another rumored
alternative, but they can’t show scientists things such as blindness and the
immune system in action. Dr. Sever, a
St. Francis Pathologist, said, and I quote, “Computer models aren’t yet good
enough to process the body’s overall complexity.” The living system is extremely complex. The nervous system, blood and brain
chemistry, and immunological responses can’t be mimicked through
technology. The harmony and co-existence
of each system is still above our heads today.
Drew Pardoll said that the pace
and breadth of medical research has improved and advanced times 100, just from the use of the mouse.
The more PETA and other groups
get federally involved with animal research, the less are our chances to save
lives, find life-changing cures, and unlock the secrets to unimaginable medical
mysteries that have been on the minds of scientists for generations. My fellow
opponents, moderator, and classmates, I once again pose you this question-if we
can eat animals that have been slaughtered, wear clothing made from animals,
and shoot or trap animals for sport, why can’t we do life-saving animal
research? My opponents are unknowingly advocating death. Half of the guys in this room, and one-third
of the girls will be diagnosed with some form of cancer at some point in their
life. Getting rid of the animals in
research is handing some of our classmate’s lives into the merciless hands of cancer.
Re-rooted
(Future Problem Solvers Essay that Placed 11th Internationally)
A prism of colors flood
into the neuro-display center and bright holographic lights set the entire dome
ablaze. The LED lights dim down to produce a sunset-like feel. Several
predictive analyzers and high-class homicide detectives fixate on the murder
scene unfolding, eyes moving robotically back and forth scanning for answers. I
am their witness. I am their proof. I am their Guinea Pig that collects their
data. Thousands of eyes reflect the figures within the holographic display
center as I sit idly in a cold metal chair that chills me to the bone.
A thick helmet balances
oddly on my head, and several multi-colored wires flow from the helmet to the
display center. Hundreds of eyes peer into
the holographic depths. Well, they're
not just looking; they can smell and hear the scene too. The Neurological
Surveillance Association of Chicago recently partnered with the Department of
Biometrics. Soon after this, the city people were corralled to NSAC
headquarters to be electronically scanned for personality flaws that could lead
to violence, theft, and crime- hence, the Judicial Order of Biometrics, 2057. I was one of the seven thousand or so who
tested clean, and was then chipped. My axons were re-rooted. Now there's some
three-sense recorder stored in the synapses and dendrites of my brain, and any
crime I encounter is neurologically recorded. The surgery process was complicated. It had been a twelve hour surgical process,
by which electronic waves entered and exited my brain, leaving me with
electronic neuro-signals that could, and still can pick up and store all of my
encounters. A tingling sense of déjà vu
unfolds as I am forced to watch the same scene I had witnessed yesterday at the
Teleport Station. The same smell of body odor and grease begins to pervade the
dome through air ducts that are connected to the display center.
The same two figures whose names have echoed
through my head all day now take shape in the display center-Joseph Border and
Marcus Jensen. Both men are dressed in
ragged clothes and stand impatiently in a line right outside the teleporter. Eyes of an animal sit back in their sunken
faces. The early morning fog gives them
a zombie-like look, like something from one of those ancient 20th century
horror films. The NSAC should really consider giving popcorn to all of the
people who spend their lives watching crime scenes, analyzing them and pulling
them apart bit by bit, motive by motive, and fault by fault. Three everyday citizens stand in front of the
two men. A tall, lengthy man with a red scarf strangling his neck like a snake
is gingerly sliding his ticket into the machine and stepping into the rusty teleporter.
A sharp "zing" echoes through the dome as the man with the red scarf
gets molecularly rearranged, thrown through time and space with his fate in the
hands of modern transportation. Marcus begins
to tap his foot fervently and seems to be thinking. He grunts loudly as if
remembering some inside joke. Then, rather suddenly, he inches forward until he
is at a lateral point with Joseph. A
lady dressed in a speckled dress hops into the teleporter. One last person stands between the teleporter
and the two men.
“I was in front of you,”
Joseph, who hadn’t moved an inch, says roughly at the sight of Marcus.
“No, I bought the 9:00
am teleport ticket. I was in front of YOU,” Marcus says as Joseph begins
searchingly reaching down into his pocket. From my spot in line, he smells like
unwashed socks. One of the detectives in the dome makes gagging noises and
begins to cough hysterically. Joseph, who had been searching for some lost
pocket-treasure finds what he is looking for and seems to give a victorious
hoot. “Well so did I, see, the lettering
clearly reads 9:00 am.” By now, Joseph is preparing to insert his ticket into
the dull metallic entry device.
Marcus, furious that his
plan to get home early had failed is steaming-a volcano ready to blow. His bloodshot eyes glance down at his age-old
analog watch. Impatience, a trait found commonly in all proletariats, was
taking hold of Marcus. The man couldn't wait any longer. His stature begins to crumble in the display
case. He quickly pulls out a rusted
screwdriver and jabs Joseph in the leg. The scent of blood is overwhelming, and
the two men begin to wrestle. A headlock flies in from the right, then an
unexpected barrel role eclipses the fight and the men seem to be met with a
draw. Blood paints both of their faces
in a sharp, hateful red. The wrestling
continues until the Chicago police squad arrives to interrogate the two.
Suddenly, the display center goes blank, and the dome lights return to their
undimmed state. Behind me sits a blank,
tiled cube-the final vestige of the scene…until court.
After the sharp smell of
blood subsides, the head director of the NSAC groans as he bends down to flip
of the myriad of switches connected to the chair I’m sitting in. All around me,
detectives pack up, police agents begin psyching with other agents and a line
of people are leaving. They all have their case. As I slip out of the metal chair, I feel like
I’m getting off some loopy roller-coaster.
I feel the creases of my lips fold up as euphoria freely massages my
numb brain. The NSAC director shakes my
hand. I smile sarcastically as if the
whole procedure was an absolute delight. He asks for my e-card and pushes it up
against his-a virtual transaction.
“Thanks…uh, Walt,” he says
in his toothy lisp as he hands mine back.
My hand swoops down and snatches it like a hungry gull, and then I
stumble like a midnight drunkard for the door.
That night, images of
the scene that I had now seen twice make me sick to my stomach. Twelve oddly
angled cameras span the walls of my one-room apartment. They zoom in and out frequently.
*****
The following day in
court, I take my seat in the back row. I
feel like an outcast. Well-dressed men
sit in the front jury rows, and I sit guiltily in the back, knowing that what I
saw could determine the fate of two broken humans. I watch as the two men from the scene are led into the
large room like cattle. The one who was stabbed is gripping two oversized
crutches.
“This is case 5893-FEB, concerning Joseph Border. With the defendant,
deputy prosecutor, and probation officer present, I call this court session to
order.”
I
listen carefully as opening statements are assertively given in the large,
crowded courtroom. Butterflies take flight in my already sick stomach when I
hear the mention of my recording from an NSAC corporate chairman. Because my recording had been played, it was
saved externally.
“To
avoid a day-long session, the neuro-recording will be viewed now,” the judge
said without looking for consent. “The
name of the chipped recorder of the scene is unavailable, but his initials are
W.C,” A chill climbs up my spine and makes me tingle with anxiousness.
I watch as my recording is played in
the room’s much smaller scale display center. I look around me and notice that
all of the eyes are focused on the holographic scene. The jury observes it
intently and everyone is active on their Thinklets-a newly patented device that
transforms thoughts into textual content on a 9 by 9 inch screen.
By the
time the three-sense recording concludes, I begin to panic. Joseph seems
satisfied that my scene did him a decent amount of justice. After all, he wasn’t the original
provoker. Marcus, however, has the same
bloodshot eyes that are now searching the courtroom for a familiar face from
that day. He wants to find the last vestige of the scene-me. It doesn’t take me long to realize that if he recognizes me, I
will get called to the stands to testify, and become a human target for future
violence. So I do the only reasonable thing…I get up and leave, walking
straight out the door into the midday bustle.
My body is flooded with
guilt as I walk through the cold, snow-worn streets back to my apartment. I can’t
get myself to accept that cameras and recording devices had become a thing of
the past. Their databases could be hacked with the flick of a button. Justice now lied in the hands of the
re-rooted, the human “4-D” recorder. As
I unlock my apartment door, people from the street eye me suspiciously. I
quickly open the door and slam it shut like an angry child after a parental
lecture. I glance out my window, my short, weighty breaths fogging the window,
then run up to my bedroom where I fall into my bed and drift into a deep sleep.
Voices begin to echo through my head, beckoning me towards paranoia.
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