I remember it like it was yesterday! In my group chat, the only thing we could talk about was next Saturday. My friends and I chatted enthusiastically among ourselves! We couldn’t wait for the exciting evening ahead.  “What dress are you wearing?” “What color are your shoes?” “When are you getting your hair done?” “Are you bringing a date?” “What are we doing afterwards?”

Yes, I’m talking about homecoming! An experience that happens once a year where a multitude of students get dolled up for an evening of music, dancing, and fun. Homecoming itself can be a wonderful thing! Friendships strengthen, romances bloom, and I get a chance to boogie on the dance floor. But then there’s the dark side of homecoming. During this evening friendships begin to falter, relationships come to an abrupt stop, and a hell of a lot more. Even with these problems, our highschool (and many others across the nation) continues this tradition of homecoming. But all personal quelms aside on the individual students, today I want to focus on the event itself.

Throughout my high school career I’ve noticed a stark difference between our dances and those on tv. Yeah, there were lights and of course the dj and adult chaperones were present. But that one painstaking moment where the main characters (often times the jock and shy girl; yes this a cliche but don’t kill the messenger, blame hollywood) are announced by the principal to come on stage and are crowned king and queen! But this got me thinking… why doesn’t Shaker Heights High School have a homecoming king or queen?

This question lead me to do more research. When and where did the tradition of homecoming begin? What classifies as a homecoming dance? What traditions do we still have today? Well, usually taking place at the end of September or the beginning of October, homecoming is “an annual celebration for alumni at a high school, college, or university” (Merriam). The first homecoming took place in the fall of 1911 at the University of Missouri and spread throughout the country at the start of the century. Built around the central activity of a dance, banquet, parade, or sporting event, homecoming has stretched out to encompass a whole week! Today, the tradition continues as hundreds and even thousands of alumni come back to their alma maters and current students come together for exciting events.

The tradition of homecoming courts usually consist of a king and queen, princes and princesses, and sometimes even dukes and duchesses. The king and queen are elected by the student population by secret ballot, may be announced in school or at the dance, and then are crowned and or sashed. Seems innocent enough, right? It’s a chance for the student population to practice their right to vote as well as it gives Little Jimmy a healthy opportunity to campaign and possibly get a decent title. It’s that simple-

Oh contraire, my dear friends! It is never that easy! This tradition opens up a whole can of worms. Nowadays there are more openly non binary students, especially in our own community of Shaker Heights. This includes agender, bigender, trans, etc. I’ve taken it upon myself to reflect and challenge my own personal views on gender and the gender binary system we live in. Gender binary is the “system of viewing gender as consisting solely of two, opposite categories, termed “male and female”, in which no other possibilities for gender or anatomy are believed to exist. This system is oppressive to anyone who defies their sex assigned at birth, but particularly those who are gender-variant or do not fit neatly into one of the two standard categories” (transstudent). I know as a straight, cisgender woman, I have privileges and hold an array of benefits that I don’t continuously acknowledge. I also know now that having the traditional male “king” and female “queen” is only one example of how our cisgendered society oppresses young people who identify with the LGBTQ+ community.

This question of inclusivity is happening more and more. At Purdue University, two students were recently crowned “homecoming royalties” in which no one was named king or queen. At the West Lafayette, Ind., they had their first gender-neutral homecoming. But the conversation is happening at a highschool level as well. In late September, Evanston Township High School had two “Homecoming Royalty”, who can be any gender. Another example is Niles North High School that now has “Viking Royalty” instead of the standard king and queen. Similarly to Shaker, New Trier Township High School doesn’t select royalties or queen and king.  Yari Gallegos, a student on the Northwestern University homecoming committee says that, ‘“We are honoring our homecoming tradition while updating it to be more inclusive and representative of our diverse student body… These changes at universities across the country represent the growing diversity of their respective student bodies and the move towards creating more inclusive spaces.’” (chicagotribune). There are more and more high schools and colleges today that are getting rid of gender binary traditions and promoting equality.

There were many topics I didn’t cover in this article about homecoming. One example is how some believe the construct of homecoming royalties is just a popularity contest. Another would be the how this contest based on validation leads to the question of self worth and mental illness in teenagers. Don’t even get me started with the inappropriate twerking and alarming rate of underage drinking that occurs! But I’m still left with the question: why does the Shaker Heights High School not have homecoming queen and king? I’ve asked some staff members who have worked at the highschool since the early 2000’s and even they don’t know why! To be honest, I don’t really care if we have them or not, but my natural curiosity lead me to investigate the “why not?”. I believe half of the battle is putting your name on the ballot and the other half is getting enough votes. If a self identifying male wins prom queen, that’s because students chose them (and vice versa). Why do boys have to wear the crowns and the girls wear the tiaras? Why not just have a homecoming court with no titles of princess or prince? I’ve heard conflicting perspectives on the matter, but it seems to all boil down to personal morals. At the end of the day, I think we, as a community, need to take a good look in the mirror and ask ourselves: are we truly progressive? If not, how can we do better? If so, what more can we do?

Work Cited

Brooke, Eliza. “The History of Homecoming.” Broadly, VICE, 31 Aug. 2015, broadly.vice.com/en_us/article/59mmwa/the-history-of-homecoming.

“Homecoming.” Merriam-Webster, Merriam-Webster, www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/homecoming.

“LGBTQ Definitions.” Trans Student Educational Resources, www.transstudent.org/definitions/.

Lourgos, Angie Leventis. “Homecoming Goes Gender-Neutral: More Schools Ditching King, Queen Traditions.” Chicagotribune.com, 29 Sept. 2018

I am from bonfires

From vicks and mint tea

I am from late nights catching fireflies

I’m from hot sticky summers in Puerto Rico

From giant palm trees

And my private stash of star fruit

I am from warm white sand stuck between your toes

A collection of seashells

I am from the late comers and church-goers,

From don’t dilly dally and hold your horses

I’m from early Sunday mornings

Of multiple hail marys and our fathers

I am from Kimberly and Agustin’s branch.

Rice and beans and tostones

From a ghost who used to haunt my grandfather

I’m from midnight snacks of hot chocolate with my Abuela

I’m from family dinners every night

To the leg my brother broke on a dare

Down in the dark scary basement is a trunk

filled to the rim with photos,

Of people and places not to be forgotten

To remember years from now

I am from these memories,

Like the deepest roots in a tree,

They will always keep me standing strong.

The thought of going to a small college, in a small town, surrounded by cornfields makes me shudder. I am adamantly against colleges with an undergrad population less than the amount of students at the high school. My college shouldn’t be an island in a sea of corn and small towns.

My Dad always yells at me when I say this. He says that I’ll “rarely go off campus” but even if that’s true, I want the option of having a city close by if I ever choose to leave. I’m afraid I’ll feel isolated if I’m confined to a campus. I know that if I went to a small college they’d make sure they have some activities and host events on campus. But even then, I feel like I’d become antsy with the lack of connection with the outside world.

I work at a sleep-away camp that’s way out in the sticks. Our nights off consist of driving 40 minutes to the Walmart in Erie and stopping at Sheetz for some mac and cheese bites on the way back. Camp is my happy place but even there I notice myself getting antsy.  At camp, the remoteness is something I’m able to laugh about, but I’m not sure I want that same experience for college.

Despite my distaste for small, rural universities, I have fallen in love with Dickinson College. Dickinson is a liberal arts college located in Carlisle, Pennsylvania with an undergrad population of 2381. I am fully aware that I just discussed my extreme dislike for colleges in the middle of nowhere, but my love of Dickinson goes against all of that. But truth be told, I have no idea where I want to go to college. I thought the one thing I was sure about was the size and the location. Yet my love of Dickinson goes against my supposedly concrete opinions. The only thing I am 100% sure about: no cornfields.

I believe in the strength of a support system. I come from a wildly large family on my mother’s side, with nearly three hundred and fifty members in just my maternal grandfather’s family alone. In February of 2016, I lost my maternal grandfather to cancer. He had always been my rock, my cheerleader, and by far the most influential person in my life. My grandfather taught me how to take a step back, breathe, listen to myself, and respond to how I’m feeling. When he was diagnosed with cancer, my world felt as if it was crumbling before me. My family was told that his cancer was caught in its early stages and that they would set forth a plan of treatment to follow; he was told he had time. Unfortunately, the doctors were wrong and my grandfather’s cancer quickly began to spread to his brain within a month. After my grandfather lost his life three months later, my family had to figure out how to navigate life without him. He brought so much joy and hope into my life, and all of a sudden it was taken away from me. Despite all the pain and sorrow I felt, I was supported no matter what. I could always count on my family and friends as I went through this time of uncertainty and confusion. All of the unfamiliar emotions and feelings I experienced made it possible for me to learn to open myself up to my support system. Ever since my grandfather’s passing, I have been much more honest with not only myself but also with my inner circle. I have learned to let go of all anything that has built up inside of me and release the tension through spending time with my family and friends. I believe everyone on this earth needs a network of family and friends they can depend on, regardless of what they may be going through. In the end, everything that happens in your life should be put into perspective, but when you are in the moment, the only way to grow and develop is when you can lean on others. I think one of the most important things you can do for yourself is build relationships and bonds that will provide you with emotional connections and bring happiness into your own life for years to come. When one is in a time of need, every person should have the opportunity to seek out their loved ones and ask them for assistance.

The average human is dead. Like, realllllly dead. Roughly 7.5 billion people are currently alive, whereas an estimated 108 billion have ever been born. Homo sapiens began walking this Earth about 50,000 years ago. Yet through the millennia, thousands of years passed with little technological advancement. A human born in 25,000 B.C. and a human born in 20,000 B.C. shared a very similar existence. Tribes roamed the continents as nomads, as agriculture had yet to be “invented.” The vast majority of these individuals did not expect their children’s lives to be any different from their own.

Frankly, there was no reason to.

In a single lifetime, virtually no advances in technology would occur. Constant movement was necessary to survive. As hunter-gatherers, communities moved with their food source, leaving nothing behind but animal carcasses and hastily-constructed shelters. This lack of stability is inherently damaging to technological progress. When one’s life is heavily concerned with chasing and killing animals, it becomes quite difficult to specialize or innovate.

In the so-called “Neolithic Revolution,” human tribes around the world transitioned to become predominantly agricultural societies. This event took place around 10,000 B.C. and is arguably the beginning of history. Settlements began appearing, and individuals started to develop the skills necessary to maintain a stationary living. Culture flourished, and basic forms of government emerged. This phenomenon laid the very foundations for our modern understanding of the world.

We’ve clearly progressed far beyond those days of early humanity. In the millennia since the Neolithic Revolution, however, humans have not developed linearly. More specifically, the last 250 years have been the most productive ever, and have consequently conditioned the Western mind to expect progress. We’ve all seen the late-19th century cartoons depicting floating cars and other yet-to-be created oddities. Franchises like Star Wars captivate audiences with their futuristic grandeur. We are uniquely attracted to the inventions of tomorrow.

We expect our children to experience their lives in a more fulfilling and meaningful manner than we experience ours. Altogether, this is not harmful. It is natural to wish to provide for your offspring, and we should take steps to ensure they inherit a safer world. We direct resources towards cancer research because we believe its benefit to future generations will be valuable. Again, this is not an inherently bad thing. Research and knowledge collectively bring the human species forwards.

However, we must be careful not to grow complacent in our optimism. New threats to our global system have arisen, and we must respond accordingly. Right-wing populism in on the rise around the world. Authoritarianism is tightening its grasp in Russia and China. Global warming is occurring, and an increasing number of individuals are refusing to acknowledge this truth.

Then again, we’ve made it this far. Why worry?

Because progress is not guaranteed. The adversities of the past threaten to return, and every new year brings a unique set of challenges. We have not failed yet, but that does not mean we are in the clear.

As summer comes to an end and as autumn begins, I have been reflecting upon the wonderful summer I had. The superficial word of “wonderful” is quite an understatement. There are simply not enough words to describe how miraculous this past summer was. During the spring of my sophomore year, I eagerly searched for a summer program at a university that would emerge me into the college lifestyle.  Following a tedious decision, I choose to attend Temple University’s Pre-College Summer Program. This program ran a total of four weeks on Temple’s main campus in the fifth largest city of the nation, Philadelphia.

Now I know what you’re thinking. This isn’t going to be some story about my time at Temple University. This is a story about fate. The fate of twelve young adults from across the country that entered into the freshmen dormitory, of Johnson and Hardwick, on that same briskly sunny day.

Over the course of the four week program, our rag-tag group, complied of upcoming juniors and seniors, took credit courses and explored the city of Philadelphia. Yet, this is only the surface of our experience and connection. As time progressed, our group formed an undeniably strong bond, that not only transcended into friendship but into family. Each and every one of us, brought different values, upbringings, and personalities to our little “Philly family”. In the bustling city life of Temple University’s campus in the heart of Philadelphia, each of us were able to find safety and security in one another. From “homework” sessions around the gossiping table to 3am bootleg movie night marathons – it is safe to say that the twelve of us spent all hours together. Eventually, the day of our departure arrived and the tears seemed to endlessly fall from each and every one of us as we all parted ways.

The connections I made this summer have had a ever-lasting impact on me. Months later, our little family still talks each and every night, despite not having the gossip table to sit around. Prior to my summer travels, I was nervous to go to Philadelphia and spend my summer away from all that I was comfortable with. This experience pushed me out of my comfortable zone and shaped me into the person I am now. If I leave you with any message, I wish to leave you with the following; never be afraid to test your limits and try new things. That may sound cheesy and cliche, but I urge you to try something new today or tell someone something you’ve never said. Live your life and meet people, never let life pass you by. There are too many amazing stories and people to experience. And finally, never underestimate the power of the people in your life.

It was three years, two months, and nine days ago that I lost my best friend. He was the full package. He was an excellent listener, always noticing if I was feeling down and trying to cheer me up, and he was never even the slightest bit judgmental. I had been growing up with that cat for fifteen years. When you spend that much time with someone, you forget that there will eventually be a day where you’re not together. Even though we all understand that it is inevitable, death still takes us by surprise whenever we lose loved ones. However, how we choose to act on our emotions when we lose someone close to us determines how we remember them and which memories they leave us with.

For me, death has always left me feeling more confused than anything else. Rather than feeling any significant despair, I’ve simply evaluated how my life will be different without them in it. Maybe it’s painful at times, but they are memories you will inevitably face. Throughout the years, I’ve discovered that death doesn’t necessarily have to be an ending filled with remorse and regret. Rather, it can be a time you can spend reflecting on how someone impacted your life, and how you impacted theirs. And if you find that you were a positive influence on them, you can choose to spread that influence among your acquaintances, friends, and family.

I’m trying to finish my homework and go to bed, but my mind is racing.  I have two things I need to remember to bring tomorrow, a worksheet to finish 4th period, and a question to ask my teacher during class.  My brain can’t possibly hold it all, and I can’t relax for fear of forgetting everything. I pull out a piece of paper and write it down.

Getting a thought out of my head and onto paper relaxes me.  I take comfort in the fact that it’s there, but that I don’t have to worry about it right at the moment.  It stores my thoughts until exactly the right time, when I can do what I need to do and then throw the paper out.  I love the tangibility of paper, a simple tool that offers nothing but what you make of it.

In addition to writing reminders, I use paper more personally to keep a log of the things that I think about. When I wake up in the morning, I write down any dreams I remember.  This is a challenge, but is always interesting to read later.  Before I go to bed, I record three moments from the day that made me feel good.  These range from a nice thing that someone did for me, to the way a leaf looked as it fell from the tree outside my dining room.  I circle the best of the three moments, and at the end of the week I pick the best from those.  I find it fascinating that I can attempt to label just one moment from a whole week of moments as the absolute best, a herculean task by any other means.  Looking back through these, it’s easy to notice patterns. A lot of the nice moments I write down have to do with driving, listening to music, or being with others, and I’ve never found a nice moment doing homework or procrastinating.  In this way, I can see the things that make me the happiest.

I write things down in different ways, sometimes to rid a nagging thought from my mind, and sometimes to preserve it for posterity.  I love the permanent feeling of a thought on paper.  If I write to remind myself, this permanence assures me that it won’t be forgotten, that it will be there no matter where my mind goes.  If I write to record my feelings or thoughts, it’s nice to know that I’ll be able to look back on them later.  Thoughts on paper exist in the simplest way possible. They’re there, as much as anything can be. Just patterns of dried ink on a dead tree.

One of the best things about the International Baccalaureate program is, in my opinion, the Theory of Knowledge class.

TOK, a class in which we think about how we think about things, is basically one of the only reasons I can think of for why I decided to bind myself to the two-year journey that is the IB. While at an outrageous time(6:30 in the evening? Really?!), it is a welcome part of my Mondays.

My favorite part of TOK isn’t the stimulating conversation or the ever-optimistic teacher: it’s the cohort.

To the average person, it might not seem like I like any of my fellow IBers. I usually try to sit away from the small groups that form between friends and just about everybody in IB Year II can testify to the fact that I’ve spoken a maximum of three times since the year has started. It’s not because I dislike anyone, I just feel awkward when I talk. That doesn’t mean I’m not aware of what is going on. To the contrary, I pride myself on being observant. I notice inside jokes and strange anecdotes of my fellow students.

And that’s my favorite part of TOK: not the memes or the deep questions or the way everything is funnier when you’re sleep deprived.

It’s the people.

I love my IB cohort with all my heart. In each of us I see bright young individuals who are changing their school and by extension the world. We have politicians, environmental activists, artists, and visionaries! I see collaboration and understanding in a world that is becoming increasingly self-centered and cruel. We don’t just accept answers. We question, we provoke, we examine ourselves and our world. We tell jokes, we share memes, we cry together and we snack together. We make our way through this confusing world that we live in and we question all the while.

The age old question that I get from friends and family all the time is whether or not I would do the IB program again if given the chance. Honestly, I don’t really know. IB is a lot of work, both in and out of school. Luckily, after this grueling two-year journey, getting through college will be a breeze. The classwork prepares me to critically think in a world that values well rounded people over one-dimensional people and to be comfortable with being uncomfortable.

And, of course, if I had never gone through the IB program, I would never have my cohort.

Over the last year, I have grown so much. It’s been a long, hard journey for me: group discussions are a virtual trademark of IB and so many times TOK confuses me to the point where I zone out. But I’ve learned to stick my toes out there, test the waters, and eventually jump in. Without the support and encouragement of my cohort, I could have never grown or flourished in the IB program. I wouldn’t trade them for all the IB papers in the world!