Yo Soy
Free Expression – Chloe Fox
Nyla Moore
Soy estudiante dentro de la clase
Y alrededor del mundo
Siempre lista para aprender
Mi curiosidad llegan consistente, llegando
Como el choque de las olas de la Costa Chilena
Mi fondos distintos y misteriosos, como la Isla de Pascua
El sonido de las herramientas de la gente de la Isla de Pascua esculpiendo en la piedra mi dedicación
Yo tengo la ético laboral de todos las mujeres de mi familia
Yo tengo mucho orgullo en mi cultura
La mezcla de Gullah y la Ciudad reflejando mi diversidad
El terrano rico y variado entre Laguna Chaxa y el desierto de Atacama
La espíritu de mis antepasados camina a mi lado
Tengo fuerzas de un elefante ¡Gracias mis antepasados!.
Y la estabilidad de las montañas de los Andes
La comida de mi madre sabe al la profunda historia de mi familia
Soy cristiano y oír las oraciones de fe de mi madre
Soy la hija de mi madre y un ídolo de mi hermano menor
Soy joven y veo mi futuro con mucha optimista
Yo tengo mucha amor y respecto de mi familia grande,
Como las personas en Chile, compartiendo valores a pesar de tener el océano que nos separa
I am
I am a student in the classroom
And around the world
Always ready to learn
My curiosity arrives consistently, arriving
Like the crash of the waves of the Chilean coast
My distinct and mysterious background, like Easter Island
The sound of the tools of the people of Easter Island sculpting my dedication in the stone
I have the work ethic of all the women in my family.
I have a lot of pride in my culture
The mix of Gullah and the City reflecting my diversity
The rich and varied terrain between Laguna Chaxa and the Atacama Desert
The spirit of my ancestors walks by my side
I have the strength of an elephant. Thank you ancestors!
And the stability of the Andes mountains
My mother’s food tastes like the deep history of my family
I am a Christian and hear my mother’s prayers of faith
I am my mother’s daughter and an idol to my younger brother.
I am young and I see my future with great optimism.
I have a lot of love and respect for my big family,
like people in Chile, sharing values despite having the ocean that separates us
Colors of Life
Light as a Feather – Sierra Kish
Sierra Kish
Colors of Life
— Blue —
“Beep, Beep, Beep,” my alarm sounds, bright and early at 4:30 am. As I slip on my clothes for the day, I hear my mom yell from downstairs, “Liam, are you up?”. I am exhausted and dreading the mile walk this morning as part of my trek to school because I was up extra late carrying crates for Mom at the store. As I step outside, the icy breeze chills my bones through my thin hand-me-down blue jacket. This jacket barely does anything for me. Before my dad died, he told me he loved this jacket and said the blue color represented the freedom that we would one day have. He said we would be free from work and be able to do what we want. But that doesn’t matter now, because he is gone. As I walk, I try not to think about the aching soreness in my legs and arms. Instead, I focus on the walk, because I have to keep my pace if I want to catch the bus. Once I come to the bus station, I reach into my pocket only to realize that, once again, I don’t have a quarter. “Great,” I sigh. This would be the third week in a row I didn’t have any money to pay for the bus. My mom’s store had not been doing as well as she hoped, and we are currently low on cash. Luckily, the bus driver didn’t notice me slip in, he was too busy trying to direct someone. It seems like only seconds before I am walking down the stairs to the subway station. My mom lets me borrow her subway card in the morning to get to school, and she uses it later at night to run errands. Once I am on the subway, I try to doze off, but a baby is crying and the sound rings sharply in my ears. By the time the subway reaches my stop, I can barely keep my eyes open, but I am on a tight schedule and may even have to jog to reach Mr. Barlowe’s homeroom. He is a stickler for being on time, and I can’t afford another tardy.
As I go to put my backpack in my locker, I see Noah hanging out with his friends. If only I had a life like his. People don’t understand hunger until they skip four meals. People don’t know exhaustion until they’ve lifted 500 crates and gotten five hours of sleep. But most importantly, people don’t know loneliness until they’ve sat at lunch alone for three years. After that, school flies by pretty fast, and then I start my trek back home.
Once I get home, I am ready to lay in bed and sleep for a hundred years, but I have to start my homework. About an hour later, I grab my backpack and start walking to the store. Luckily, the store is pretty close to home. When I get there, there is a stack of crates that seems to reach the moon. I can’t complain though, because I know that if I do, I will only make my mom feel bad. Instead, I just smile at my mom and get to work. Finally, after what seems like forever, it’s 10:30 pm and I get to go home. However, this walk always takes longer because I need to be careful. I don’t live in the nicest neighborhood, and there is a lot of crime, so I mostly take back roads to stay out of danger’s way. As I walk inside, I immediately start getting ready for bed. But most importantly, no matter how tired I am, I always go say goodnight to my sister. Everything I do is for her. I want to be able to give her the life I always wanted.
— Purple —
“I’m waking up, I’m waking up,” I say as I roll out of bed. It’s 6:31 am and my alarm has only been going off for a minute. Every day it’s something like, “Noah, do your homework! Noah, eat your dinner!” and today it was “Noah, wake up, you’re gonna be late!”. My parents are super strict about this kinda of stuff. In fact, they’re strict about everything. I know they just want what’s best for me, but whether they know what’s best for me is the real question. As I lace up my Jordans, the smell of French Toast wafts into my room. “Ugh,” I say. This would be the third time Margaret, our live-in housekeeper, would make French Toast. It’s always either a little burnt or undercooked. After I finish the mediocre breakfast, I hop in my EQS SUV Maybach Mercedes, my brand-new birthday gift that came wrapped in a purple bow. I learned in History class that purple represents power and wealth, both of which my family has. However, I see purple as fake, because it’s not a primary color, but instead a mutt of red and blue. Yes, it’s a nice car, but I miss having my parents drive me to school. Quoting my mom, “You can’t get anywhere if you don’t know how to drive.” So here I am, driving to school.
As I arrive at school, I am almost dog-piled on by my ‘friends.’ Well, yes, they’re my friends, but sometimes I wonder if I was poor if they would still be there for me. But that doesn’t matter, because I’m not poor. Have you ever had the feeling that regardless of how many people you are surrounded by, you are still alone? Whether it be friends or girlfriends. Currently, I am single, but I have dated many girls. I have dated everyone in the “popular” friend group except for Annalise, but I have no desire to date her. She is different from the rest of them. She’s not interested in me, and I’m not interested in her. I look down at my phone to see my schedule for the day. “Dang it” I mumble. I have all of my bad classes except for one. But that is the case almost every day because I am failing or nearly failing every class except History. That class I have an A+ in. I love History. But what cool kid likes History?
I barely make it through school and then it’s time to go back home for tutoring. I used to try my best during my tutoring sessions, but no matter how hard I worked, I wasn’t getting anywhere, so I stopped trying. My parents, however, don’t know this, and I don’t plan on them finding out. They are always pushing me to do my best, but I got pushed off the cliff about three years ago, in Freshman year. Finally, it’s time for bed. I know it’s kinda lame, but I always have my mom come say goodnight to me. If I had my dad come say goodnight, he would try to sneak in something that would only cause me to worry for the rest of the night about impressing him. Goodnight with my mom is like my one breather, my one pause in my world where I can break free from the chains of my parents’ pressure.
— Yellow —
5:30 am. That’s when my mental clock goes off. I don’t even need an alarm clock anymore. My body has been trained, because the faster I get out of the house, the better. If I hurry, I can usually be out before 6:00 am, when my parents wake up. It’s unbearable to listen to them fight only to pretend I don’t exist. I wish they were the kind of parents who cared and would yell up the stairs, “Annalise, come downstairs, I’ve made breakfast”. But that is never going to happen, so I eat the free breakfast offered at school. It may not be the coolest thing to do, but it’s better than eating at home.
My red Honda is always the first in the school parking lot, excluding the teachers. I walk in and sure enough, I am the first student to arrive. The school doesn’t technically start serving breakfast until 6:20 am, but I am always early and the lunch ladies don’t make me sit in the car and wait. After breakfast, I head into the hallway and am greeted by my usual fan club, today complimenting me on my yellow scrunchie. When I think of yellow, I think of happiness and sunshine, which is what everyone sees in me. That’s what I want them to see. All that seems to matter at this school is how cool and popular you are, and if you are good at sports. I happen to be pretty athletic and good at basketball so I guess that makes me popular. But I have found friends, real friends, that don’t seem to care about that too much. My first class is Physics. Even though my friends are loyal, they all are always alternating being my lab partners because they want to sit next to Noah. I just don’t get the hype. He seems nice, but he is not smart by any means, and he rotates through girls faster than he can do math (which isn’t saying much). I have no desire to date him or be his lab partner.
After school is over, I head over to basketball practice. Our school team is not very good, but I enjoy it, even more than that I enjoy being out of my house. Since it is not Monday, Tuesday, or Thursday, I don’t have club practice. Instead, I stay after school to practice and shoot hoops until the janitors make me leave. Usually, they let me stay until they have to lock up, but the school hired a new janitor and he forces me to leave earlier, by 9:00 pm. So, recently I have been going to the park downtown and practicing until I can barely keep my eyes open. I guess basketball is like an outlet for me, where I can clear my head and leave my problems behind me. Once I get home, I finish my homework as quickly as possible before going to bed. My parents may not care that I exist, but I do, and I can fall asleep happily knowing that I will always have my friends and basketball.
— Teal —
The alarm sounds, loud, and everyone rushes into the gym. As students from all four grades file into the gym, they are told this is a tornado drill. Since the gym is in the basement, it is the safest place to go. As we all file in, we are randomly being shoved into spots, and it is complete chaos. No one knows where to go or what to do, and eventually, Principal Pikins just yells for everyone to sit and quiet down. Then, teachers went around forming groups based on where we were standing so they could count us up. This is not the most effective way to do things, but if it means that we don’t have to go back to class, they can take as long as they want. No one ends up in groups with people they knew, but they figured that if they were stuck here, they might as well start a conversation. In one of the groups, Noah starts talking and says, “Hey, aren’t you guys Liam and Annalise?”. “Yeah,” I reply. The group starts talking, and before we know it, the alarm sounds again and we have to return to class. As we’re standing up, Liam says,“We should hang out more often. How about lunch?” Everyone else agrees and parts their separate ways.
They all come from different worlds: rich, ordinary, poor; smart, average, dumb; blue, purple, and yellow. However, there is one thing they have in common, they aren’t where they want to be in life. Alone, blue, purple, and yellow are ordinary, but combined they make teal. This new color represents renovation and how these three can assist each other to make their lives what they’ve always wanted them to be. These “colors of life” can help paint the picture of their futures.
Storm
Blue Steel – Chloe Fox
Maddy Artinger
10. (Storm) Sometimes you can see the storm coming, other times you can’t. Sometimes it’s a surprise after you were told it would be a sunny day, and then suddenly there is thunder and lightning. The horizon flushes blue and gray as you see the clouds roll in and an overwhelming noise is heard up above as you twist and turn at the little bright flashes in your peripheral. A few times you can avoid the storm, either you run away and hide or you go around it, or it stops and takes a turn away from you. Other times, it hits you straight on. As you’re standing there, soaking wet, as lightning makes its appearance behind you and as you flinch at the loud booming of the thunder, you think to yourself, wasn’t it just sunny two minutes ago? Where did all this downpour come from? You take a second and look around the streets. You look to your right, and see one guy is just walking in the rain, upset, but not doing anything to stop from being poured on. Perhaps this has happened one too many times and he’s used to it. You turn and look to your left as you see a woman laughing and playing in the rain water with no raincoat, thoroughly enjoying the rain splashing around her. Then you look right in front of you and there it is. The person you aspire to be. As they stand there talking to their friends, you take in the articles they are wearing. A bright, yellow raincoat over their shoulders, and they are holding an umbrella to block the rain. Not letting some silly little problem impede on what the days plan to be. Be that person right there. If you have plans and one little problem comes up, don’t run away and hide; get that coat and umbrella and face it. It might not be easy, but it’s braver than running away or hiding from what’s attacking you.
A Masquerade of Shadows
Weltschmerz des Leviathan – Catie Chua
Benya Wilfret
In the shadowed vale where no light dares to tread,
Where the river whispers secrets of the dead,
Stood a manor, ancient, cloaked in dread,
Its stones soaked with tales left unsaid.
Its Lord, a figure shrouded in mystery,
Walked its halls, a ghost among history,
His heart a crypt, his eyes, a cemetery,
Of dreams once alive, now buried anery.
One night, under a moon blood-red,
A gathering of souls, to the manor led,
Each masked, each silent, a dance of the dead,
A masquerade where the living plead.
The lord watched from his throne, so cold,
As stories unfolded, secrets told,
Of love lost, of hearts sold,
Of the price of pride, bold.
A knock echoed, sudden, clear,
A figure at the door, the guests froze in fear,
For none was expected, yet here,
Stood Death, its message severe.
“I come for the one who hides from his sin,
Who buries his guilt, deep within,
Who wears a mask, to never begin,
To face the darkness, his twin.”
The lord stepped forward, his mask in hand,
Revealing a face, pale, bland,
“I am he, with death I stand,
Ready to follow your command.”
But Death shook its head, its voice a sigh,
“Not for you, the time to die,
But to see with open eye,
The truth you deny.”
With a sweep of its cloak, the scene changed,
The manor, the guests, all rearranged,
No longer masked, no longer estranged,
But faces of those he had pained.
The lord saw his life, in truth’s harsh light,
The pain he caused, the endless night,
He fell to his knees, gave up the fight,
And wept, for the first sight.
Death’s lesson was clear, its judgment just,
In life, in love, in trust,
We must face our sins, we must,
Before we return to dust.
The manor stands still, in the vale so deep,
Where secrets lie, where shadows creep,
But its lord walks free, no longer asleep,
Awake in life, his soul to keep.
This tale of darkness, of seeing anew,
Reminds us of the power, of truth’s due,
For only in facing the darkness, can we view,
The light that in each of us, ever grew.
Long Gone
Alley – Nick DeGiacinto
Dugan Stewart
long gone
gambling with god daily
hoping he might just bail me
i’ve had too many chances
and now the train’s derailing
portraying life in pictures
the time I almost missed her
looking too far back
like a useless bumper sticker
unescapable trouble
watching my life crumble
you know your luck’s run out
when the clouds start to rumble
rotten to the core
while the reigns of justice pour
the face of human disgrace
a naked eye can’t ignore
The Man
Bubbalicious – Chloe Fox
Maddy Artinger
The late of the night
The moon shining bright
The man standing there
The black cat that was just here
Found the cat
Too scared to act
Its head gone
It’s becoming dawn
Standing and running
Crying and turning
I try to find my home
But I can’t as I roam
The man is still there
Walking over here
The world is spinning
I turn and he’s grinning
Walking faster, he dashes
The world falls and he lashes
I move and see his face
Quite a disgrace
Wake up, and I see
The man coming back from his spree
Covered in it, I fear
I look as I shed a tear
He hears and turns
His stare burns
Closer he walks
I shut myself in a box
Scared, frozen in my head
Don’t know what he said
Closer now is he
How I wish to be free
I open my eyes to see
His eyes looking gently
Silence for now
What my mind does allow
Looking close I realize
How many lies
For he is not a talker
I thought I escaped my stalker.
The Tragic Battle of Pinwheel
Ahead – Carys Thomas
Sasha Olander
“Sasha! Sasha, listen,” I heard through the thick fog in my head. “Is she always this disrespectful?” I listened as my camp counselor accused me of being an impolite and belligerent kid. I continued walking. I wasn’t aware that I had been walking. I didn’t even know where I walked. I tried responding but no one knew. My words didn’t come out of my mouth. What? I said in my mind. What? I continued repeating in my mind hoping that my counselor eventually heard my response. WHAT??? I finally shouted 45 seconds later in irritation after what seemed like a full year. I looked over as my brother, my camp counselor, and my fellow campers stared at me with confusion and irritation. The counselor reprimanded me while I simultaneously attempted to recover after the daze I went off into. I tried focusing on the words of my counselor but I continued wondering what had happened.
It took months before figuring out what had happened that day. No one thought twice after the camp incident because everyone assumed that I ignored my counselor out of disrespect. However, at the ripe age of five years old I lacked the eloquence required for describing what I felt in my brain, like static on a TV screen. It felt as if all of my senses blended together, and I had no control over my body or my voice. I didn’t know if I heard or saw or even moved. It felt like an angry ant had taken over my brain, and I struggled while I attempted fighting the ant back. The ant sought out my brain like a zombie. Unfortunately, the ant would the battle for a solid minute before I took back control. After this “daze” happened several more times on family vacations in Europe, my parents realized that I hadn’t been disrespectful; my brain stopped properly functioning in relation to my body. Once I returned from Europe, my parents scheduled an appointment at a specialized doctor’s office that I constantly butchered the pronunciation of: a neurologist.
When I arrived at the doctor, they asked me all sorts of questions about when we noticed my seizures first starting and how many times it had happened since. After the questions, the doctor had me do an intriguing test. At first, I thought I may really enjoy the test because it consisted of a rainbow pinwheel which thrilled me, as a scared five year old. However, when the doctor spun the pinwheel and made me watch it, I realized that I hated that test more than anything. The rapid spinning of the pinwheel and its colors sparked a seizure in the doctor’s office. The doctor told me that he purposely induced a seizure from the pinwheel, but I had trouble wrapping my head around why he wanted me drifting away and entering the loneliest, scariest place in my mind. The pinwheel continued haunting me for years. I dreaded taking the pinwheel test because every time- I had a seizure, and I hated the lack of control that I had over my own brain. The doctor shortly after asked me if I had any head injuries recently. My mom proceeded with telling him how I slipped in my backyard after swimming lessons one day and got diagnosed with a severe concussion.
At the end of the dreadful appointment, the doctor diagnosed me with petit mal seizures. He told me that this type of seizure is most common in children and while many children outgrow them, many develop other types of seizures in the process. The doctor quickly placed me on a medication that I believed scared the seizures away . The liquid medicine seemed like the most putrid, vile substance I had ever tasted – like dried blood mixed with molasses. When I tried it for the first time, I almost projectile vomited at the taste of moldy grapes combined with sweaty socks. I gagged at the thought of taking it twice a day, every day of my life. I had two options. I either continued having seizures, or I took medication. My parents made that decision, so I started on my medication shortly after.
I believed that the medicine cured me. Once I started the medication, I thought of being a normal kid doing normal kid things. However, activities and foods were restricted from me as my seizures continued occurring even after the medicine. The seizures continued taking away things that I enjoyed. I couldn’t swim, or play a sport, or drink my favorite drink ever: sweet tea, and most importantly, the doctor prohibited CHOCOLATE. The thought of not indulging in my favorite sweet treat mortified me. I hated my brain and I hated my mind. Why did I have stupid seizures? It felt so unfair.
My parents tried their best with giving me the most normal childhood despite my adversity. I continued doing my gymnastics lessons and later in the year, I joined the cheer team at my gymnastics gym, but I still had limitations, specifically revolving around swimming. When my seizures had started, I hadn’t finished my swimming lessons, so I didn’t necessarily swim properly. Going underwater imposed a serious risk that I avoided because having a seizure underwater risked my life. I didn’t tell anyone about my seizures because I didn’t want people viewing me differently. I struggled with not telling anyone because when it rarely occurred that I had a seizure in public, no one knew what happened therefore, no one had a way of helping. Fortunately, at this point I finally swallowed pills and I stopped using the liquid medicine. My dosage also increased as my seizures persisted through the medication.
After years of having petit mal seizures, I realized accepting my difference seemed like my only option. I had no way of “curing” my seizures or fixing myself and becoming “normal” and not taking three different pills a day and skipping out on pool parties. I would either grow out of them or develop other types of seizures and even though it seemed unfortunate and unfair, I had accepted that. I began focusing on the positive blessings in my life instead of wallowing over a condition that I had no control over. At the age of five I quickly learned that every single individual person has something going on in their lives that affects them in the same way that my seizures affected me.
At age nine, I had another regular annual checkup with my neurologist. Little did I know that turned out as my last time in that pale yellow office with the horrible fluorescent lighting. He asked me the procedure questions before whipping out the object I hated the most: the pinwheel of hell. I watched in fear as he slowly brought the pinwheel by my eyes. I hadn’t had a seizure in months since my last doctor’s appointment when everyone thought I had outgrown my seizures until the pinwheel sent me into a trance. I knew deep down, that pinwheel seemed like one obstacle impossible to overcome. Until I beat the pinwheel, becoming a “normal kid” seemed impossible.
“Are you ready, Sasha?” I heard from my doctor as he stuck that obnoxious, colorful piece of trash directly in my face. I sighed, awaiting my horrible fate. By this point, I had been at enough doctor’s appointments where I already knew my fate. I had passed every other test and then I’d be so hopeful of finally quitting my medication and outgrowing my seizures. Then, I would enter a different state of mind as soon as the colors started spinning. I had no hope, and no faith. As soon as it started spinning I gave up completely and attempted getting the seizure over with. However, the wheel kept on spinning and spinning, and I remained responsive. Five seconds passed, ten seconds passed, thirty seconds passed, and he removed the pinwheel from my line of vision. “Congratulations Sasha! You have outgrown your seizures.” The doctor said as I stared in disbelief. Those seizures had been a part of me for so long. How did they randomly disappear on a Tuesday afternoon? I tuned out as my doctor conversed with my mom about the next steps and procedures. I heard him tell her to monitor me and keep a close eye on me. I saw her shed a happy tear as I continued sitting, looking unfazed. “Aren’t you happy Sasha? It’s all over.” I felt happy, didn’t I? Being happy didn’t feel like an option. For years I wanted the seizures gone, but at that moment it felt like one of my special yet unfortunate features got stripped from me. Seizures had been a part of me for almost half of my life and I quickly realized that not having them made me feel like one of my most interesting features no longer existed. Life without seizures and medication had been so foreign. I forced a smile as I gave my ecstatic mom a hug. Since the end of my seizures, I have had many more challenges and adversities. But if I can beat the pinwheel, I’m confident I can beat any other obstacle put in my path.
Grandma’s Pickleball: The “Old Person Sport”
Bond – Damien Luciano
Andy Vitello
Grandma’s Pickleball: The “Old Person Sport”
The fastest-growing sport in the United States isn’t hockey, baseball, or even football; it’s pickleball (“SFIA Topline Report”). I’ve played tennis since four years old, so naturally this ping-pong-tennis hybrid intrigued me. My friend and tennis teammate, Jackson Walser, competes in open-play pickleball with me at Method Park. We typically play around six o’clock on Friday evenings as an outlet after an exhausting week of school. Unsurprisingly, the courts are full of elderly people covered in knee braces, slowly inching towards the ball with an exaggerated grunt after hitting it two miles per hour. The retirement facility’s shuttle drops them off and picks them up after they… wait… that’s not true. Are there some old people on the courts? Of course. But the majority of players are over-caffeinated college students fiercely competing against each other. Jackson and I excitedly join them and play our hearts out for hours, losing track of time while drenched in sweat. It’s a social sport that brings the community together by promoting healthy competition. Why should that be limited to old people?
Many individuals associate pickleball as an “old person sport” due to its popularity among retirement communities. When I tell people that I play pickleball, their response is usually along the lines of, “Oh, pickleball? I think my 90-year-old grandma plays that.” There’s no doubt it’s a popular sport among retirees, but that doesn’t make it exclusively for them. In reality, 18- to 34-year-olds make up the majority of pickleball players in the United States (Mackie). This is mainly due to the rise of the sport in colleges; Major League Pickleball (MLP) and Dynamic Universal Pickleball Ranking (DUPR) recently launched collegiate pickleball divisions across the nation (Kuhn). For example, the University of Florida created a club pickleball team in 2022 with 200 members, and in March of 2023, over 400 players were a part of it. In Florida alone, the University of Tampa, Florida State University, the University of Central Florida, and the University of Miami also created club pickleball teams (Palus). The sport is easy to learn and play because of its small court size and slow-moving ball — no wonder it’s popular! Many people predict pickleball will become a part of the NCAA due to its staggering growth and marketability. However, tennis players aren’t very accepting of this new sport. The previous animosity between skiers and snowboarders is identical to the friction between tennis players and pickleballers; skiers didn’t want snowboarders occupying their slopes, and tennis players don’t want pickleballers invading their courts. Eventually, the skiing community accepted snowboarders, resulting in snowboarding’s rapid popularity; consequently, snowboarding achieved NCAA status. I predict the same thing will happen with pickleball; once the dominating tennis community accepts it, the NCAA will be more apt to add the sport.
Pickleball isn’t exclusively on the rise at colleges — it’s also becoming more popular in high schools across the nation. Take Ravenscroft, for example; we have a racquet sports club that frequently sets up pickleball courts in the gymnasium. Participants range from freshmen to seniors, some with years of pickleball experience, and others who’ve never held a paddle before. Jackson and I regularly compete in this club, and we frequently see students happily burn off their energy, laughing with friends while swinging their orange plastic paddles around like maniacs. Kids who have never talked with each other before compete, and in some cases, become friends — it’s crazy seeing the power of this sport with such a bizarre name. Before playing pickleball, many students believed the sport involved no athleticism, “proving” why it’s for old people. However, pickleball can be played in many different ways — it’s an adaptable lifetime sport. A 14-year-old high school freshman will not play pickleball the same way as an 80-year-old; the freshman will sprint down pickleballs while the elder cannot physically do that. This is no different than the professional senior golf tour, where the tees are placed closer to the hole — it’s an adaptable lifetime sport. A growing number of high school physical education curricula (including Ravenscroft’s) emphasize the importance of lifetime sports; this means the popularity of pickleball in high schools will only grow, further proving the point that pickleball isn’t only for older individuals.
Pickleball has two professional leagues: the Professional Pickleball Association (PPA) and Major League Pickleball (MLP). Both of these leagues primarily consist of professionals in the millennial generation (and some Gen-Zers). The top women’s player in the PPA Tour is 16-year-old Anna-Leigh Waters. That’s not a typo — she’s 16. The top men’s player, Ben Johns, is only 24 years old. The point? Professional pickleball players, who act as role models, are extremely young. These young professionals, like Waters and Johns, empower teenagers to play pickleball, citing its benefits for physical and mental health. If the sport is for the elderly, then why are the pros not old? As I stated previously, pickleball is an adaptive sport. Younger people dominate because of their heightened athletic ability. I’m not arguing that older individuals can’t play pickleball; I frequently see college kids compete with the elders. Pickleball is for everyone versus everyone, without regard for age.
The fastest-growing sport in America is for all; it’s not exclusively reserved for older individuals. Although the sport gained popularity throughout retirement communities in recent years, pickleball’s rapid growth in colleges and high schools, combined with the presence of young professionals, clearly proves it transcends age boundaries. The beauty of pickleball is its adaptability, as it accommodates players of all skill levels and ages. As the sport continues to gain popularity and attract young athletes, it’s only a matter of time before pickleball becomes more widely accepted (especially by tennis players), potentially achieving NCAA status and becoming an Olympic sport. So, the next time someone sarcastically tells you that pickleball is an “old person sport,” remind them of the diverse community that’s debunking this stereotype. Invite them to visit the courts; they’ll be shocked to see a cluster of college students having a blast.
Works Cited
Kuhn, Steve. “MLP / DUPR Announce Official Launch of Collegiate and Junior Pickleball Verticals.” DUPR Blog, 3 May 2023, https://www.blog.mydupr.com/post/mlp-dupr-announce-official-launch-of-collegiate-and-junior-pickleball-verticals. Accessed 5 October 2023.
Mackie, Brandon. “Pickleball Statistics – The Numbers Behind America’s Fastest Growing Sport in 2023.” Pickleheads, 24 February 2023, https://www.pickleheads.com/blog/pickleball-statistics. Accessed 5 October 2023.
Palus, Joseph. “Pickleball is growing on Florida’s college campuses.” WUSF, 4 March 2023, https://www.wusf.org/sports/2023-03-04/pickleball-growing-florida-college-campuses. Accessed 5 October 2023.“SFIA Topline Report Tabs Pickleball as America’s Fastest-Growing Sport for Third Consecutive Year.” USA Pickleball, 22 February 2023, https://usapickleball.org/news/sfia-topline-report-tabs-pickleball-as-americas-fastest-growing-sport/. Accessed 5 October 2023.
The Beauty of the World
Moonrise on the Sea – Henry Zhang
Tessa Lee
The world can be cruel. that’s true. the world can be a dark and unforgiving place, where your every mistake can tear relationships apart and destroy the unstable foundation of your shallow existence. but the world can be beautiful. it’s hard to see at times, i admit, but there will always come a day when the beauty of the world reveals itself once more. it may take a week, or a month, or five years, but that day will come. and when it does, every moment of heartbreak and struggle, of pain and sacrifice, of nightmares and tears shed, it will all be worth it. it is worth it to see the way the sun shines through the leaves of the tree canopy overhead. it is worth it to see the bluebells sprout through the layer of dirt, covering every inch of the forest floor. it is worth it to see the deer turning their heads and galloping into the distance. the world can be so very beautiful, on the days when your mind clears and distances from all the pain and heartbreak from before, and is allowed to truly revel in nature, soaking in every good feeling that buds within you, warming you from the inside out. it’s worth going through all the bad days, just so you can arrive at that one good day, when everything feels okay. when your body feels like your own, when you no longer feel like an imposter treading in the footsteps of its former selves, when you feel the weight lifted off your chest, just for a moment, and you can finally breathe. take a deep breath. the air is clean now. the sun looks so beautiful when it shines through the trees. the flowers are so resilient, appearing year after year, despite the wind and rain and turmoil that may come during their short life, they will always come back. and it’s beautiful. the stillness that surrounds you as you hold your breath, watching the grace of the stag and the doe as they watch you in return, it’s beautiful. the way you smile at the sky, spinning to the music, it’s the first genuine smile in a long time. and it’s beautiful. that feeling inside you is beautiful, so very very beautiful. the ways the trees grow, twisting and turning but growing ever taller, so many years of life in such a sturdy little thing. it’s beautiful. and eventually the feeling will fade, but for now you’re content to just enjoy it while it lasts, laughing in the sunlight and the fields, enjoying your picnic and the adventure that comes as you lose your way in the woods. and week by week, month by month, year by year, that feeling will get more and more frequent. it may take time, but it will come. because the world is beautiful. and it won’t hide that beauty forever.
Its Name is the Future
Isolation – Henry Zhang
Madison Perry
Its Name is the Future
It’s something I think about
When lying in bed
I always feel it
Looming over my head
As much as I try to control it
It finds a way to tame me instead
There are two parts
Named Far and Near
The uncertainty it brings
Is what causes so much fear
Its face is undetermined
Just like the place
It will lead me to
Sometimes I start to wonder
What would happen if I knew?
What would happen if it let me see
The place that I will be
With it as my guide?
Would I laugh, would I cry?
Would I smile, or simply sigh?
Do I want to see its face
See its hands see its eyes
Do I really want to see what the rest of my life will be like?
Its name is the Future
Yes, that is so
And I don’t know where it will take me
Or where I want to go.