Thanks V

Her name was V and she was a bitch. I was a freshman and she was a junior. I was tall, lanky, awkward, and on the varsity basketball team. She was short, athletic, and the star of the varsity basketball team. In addition to basketball, she had another keen interest- making my life as miserable as possible.

I was the only freshman on the squad and there were two sophomores; the rest were juniors and seniors. The school included grades 6-12 with about 400 high school students, plus about eighty 8th graders who were also eligible to play on high school teams. Out of the approximately 280 girls in grades 8-12, I was apparently one of the top ten or twelve basketball players who bothered to put up with our jerk of a coach.

V led the others in tormenting me day in and day out. Varsity practice started about an hour after school ended, so we would hang around for awhile and then head to the locker room to change into our practice uniforms. I was using a brush to put my hair into a ponytail for practice one day and held the brush momentarily between my thighs while I used both of my hands to tie my hair. V announced it looked like male genitalia.

One day after practice, V decided to spray water from her water bottle at me. I threw water right back at her, probably a bit more than she had thrown at me. Then I ran. A normal upperclassman might have run after the freshman jokingly, but she was in no joking mood. She really wanted to hurt me. We ran down the hall and then back before ending up at the back doors. By the end of the ordeal, I was on the floor and she was not.

This was the beginning of the end. I stopped getting out of bed in the morning to go to school. Often I would arrive late or not at all. I had always been a great student, but now I had B's and C's.

In the spring, my parents sent in our registration cards for 10th and 7th grade. Not long after, mine was returned in the mail along with a letter. I was not being invited back for 10th grade. We appealed our case briefly. More trauma ensued. I was bullied online by a girl who had enjoyed doing things to me since as early as 4th grade. Our family decided I should print out the transcript and show it to the 9th/10th grade coordinator, the equivalent perhaps of an assistant principal. Maybe I should remove this girl from my contacts list, she suggested.

I went to public school the next year for one of the best school years of my life. On orientation day, I was one of the only students who was not a freshman. I found my friend J, a girl I went to elementary school with, who was volunteering for the day. I didn't see her for awhile after that day, though, and the first several weeks were hard because I didn't know many people. Then one day in history class I heard the name of a girl I went to elementary school with, B. Which one was she? I looked around and didn't recognize her. She must have remembered me too because not long after that, we reconnected. From then on, I had a friend group. We ate lunch together every day in the grass. J and B were there, as well as C from elementary school and two girls I had played soccer with in 4th grade, L and A. J, C, and L had also been in Girl Scouts with me. I met M and CT, too. After those first few lonely weeks, I never ate alone again that year.

I tried out for basketball and made the team. I had previously been on the varsity team for a low-ranking 3A school, but now I was on C-team for one of the best 5A programs in the state. We worked hard, won all of our games, and became a close-knit group. We spent 12 hours a week together on the court but also got together a few times throughout the season for pasta dinners before games.

During sophomore year, I had lunch every day with my friends. I spent four months playing basketball with a great group of girls and an awesome coach. I did well in school. So really V, you didn't win. I won. I can't imagine what my life would have been like if I had stayed at the private school. V, you tried to ruin me, but in the end it was because of you that I ended up in such a happy place. Thanks so much!

Letters to Me: 10 years old

Dear 10-year-old Sarah,

This is going to be a big year for you, Sarah. You're going to change schools, and it's going to be hard, but you can do it. You've struggled this past school year in 4th grade at the public elementary where you've gone to school since kindergarten. I know you don't like changes, especially ones as big as this, but keep in mind that your parents really are just trying to do what is best for you. Keeping a positive attitude during this transition will make a big difference.

At the Jewish day school where you will be in 5th grade, you'll continue to study the core subjects you learned at your old school, but you'll also get to study Hebrew and Jewish Studies during the school day. You don't know this yet as you haven't studied languages much so far, except perhaps weekly Spanish lessons with the neighborhood kids when you were in about 2nd grade, but you'll soon realize learning languages comes more naturally to you than the average person. Learn as much as you can because you are the perfect age to absorb it. Once you are a teenager and then adult, learning languages will become more challenging.

Spend lots of time with your dog Mali, because someday you'll wish you could hug her just one more time. Enjoy her sweet youthful years; she's still just two years old! She loves you so much, Sarah, and wants you to be gentle with with her even when you are angry or frustrated. She's a great listener, so take her in your room and tell her what is bothering you. Teach her to play fetch in the yard and take her for lots of walks in the neighborhood. You'll have a lot of fun and great memories that you will cherish in the years to come.

Not having a choice but to spend your days with whatever kids happen to be in your class at school can be tough but as you get into middle school and especially high school and beyond, you will have more choice about who you spend your time with. You'll have more freedom to spend time with people you like and to avoid people who are unkind. Try to keep that in mind when you feel trapped spending your time with the same small group of kids day in and day out.

Your parents have told you never to hit at school, but if someone physically harasses you, you have my permission to respond physically back. The response should be proportionate to the attack and should not injure the provoker, but when done right, the person should not continue to bother you. With verbal teasing, don't be too good to call them a name back. You better not start the name calling but you absolutely may respond to it.

Hang in there, Sarah. Being ten is going to be tough sometimes but it's also going to be a lot of fun. Enjoy hanging from the monkey bars, swinging on the swings, and eating huge amounts of junk food without getting sick.

All the best,
22-year-old Sarah

Frozen Yogurt, Memories, and Change

I'm visiting home for a little while and wanted to meet up with a friend. She suggested a frozen yogurt place near our high school. I hadn't heard of it but agreed to meet her there.

We graduated from high school in 2010. Actually, my friend went to a different school for senior year but we both spent several years at our district high school. We went there from 2007-2010 and 2006-2009, respectively. Not all that long ago, right?

I used my phone before I left to see more specifically where the frozen yogurt shop was and as I drove into the shopping center, I spotted it right away.

"This used to be a TCBY, right?" I asked my friend when we were both in the shop.
"No" she reminded me, "it was a Baskin Robbins."
"Oh yeah, remember we used to come here for free scoop day after school?"
"Yeah" she responded and we both smiled.

I passed by one side of the high school on my drive over and immediately noticed that one of the parking lots was completely dirt. I mentioned it to my friend.

"I used to park there on Flex Days!" I exclaimed. I usually parked in that lot only once a week because, due to the different schedule, my first class of the day was on that end of the campus.

"Oh gosh, Flex Days!" said my friend. We recalled how easily we used to know the schedule each day, down to the exact minute each class was supposed to begin and end, and now it was so far from our minds.

"You know they're building a Walmart grocery store where the bookstore used to be?" my friend asked, referring to a space near where we were eating our frozen yogurt.

"Ya, I heard," I responded. I later realized that it has been probably about ten years since that space was a bookstore. It was most recently a Walgreens, until Walgreens moved to a new space just across the street, but she referred to it as where the bookstore used to be and I knew just what she was talking about.

A different friend told me earlier in the summer that she is working at a pet shop near my high school. I had a faint memory of that being there, but I mostly remember an Italian ice shop in the same row of shops. It moved to a new location while I was in high school.

As I drove home, I thought about all the changes that had happened in the area around my high school in just the past few years. In the shopping center where the Walmart is to be built, I noticed the smoothie shop where my friend used to work was no longer there. The school parking lot is being redone, the bookstore became a Walgreens which will soon be a Walmart, the Italian ice shop has long ago moved locations, and the Baskin Robbins went out of business and was replaced by a frozen yogurt shop where I had just spent the last hour and a half catching up with my friend.

Changes aren't just happening to the stores around my high school. In a few weeks I will be a college graduate and we just put down a deposit for a townhouse for me, my first time not living either at home or on campus. As the saying goes, the only constant in life is change, but I know that I have family and friends who will always stick around.

My "Conversion"

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I was born to a Jewish father and a non-Jewish mother, both of whom were committed to raising their children Jewish. Shortly after I was born, I had a naming ceremony officiated by the rabbi of the congregation of which my parents were members. We were active in the temple and celebrated Shabbat and other Jewish holidays. We went to the monthly family Shabbat service and dinner and my mom was an active volunteer. My brother and I attended religious school through tenth grade and celebrated Bar Mitzvah and Bat Mitzvah at 13. We went to a Jewish day school for four years and two years, respectively. We participated in youth group and went to Jewish summer camp. In summary, we were an involved Reform Jewish family.

When I was about four and my brother was about one, my mother converted to Judaism. Jewish conversions involve immersion in a special pool of water called a mikvah. My mother entered the water under the supervision of our Reform rabbi and, in the eyes of the Reform community of which we were a part, this was a valid conversion and my mother was now a Jew.

The strange part about the conversion was that my brother and I also entered the mikvah and were "converted". In the Orthodox movement, one is considered Jewish if he or she is born to a Jewish mother or if he is she converts under the guidance of an Orthodox rabbi. However, the Reform movement identifies people as Jewish if their mother or father (or both) is Jewish and they are raised as Jews, or if they convert to Judaism.

I believe it wasn't until I was a teenager and found our conversion certificates that I realized my brother and I had also participated in the conversion. Apparently it was thought otherwise, but in reality the conversion of my brother and me did absolutely nothing to change our status as Jews. In the eyes of the Reform movement, we were born Jewish because of our Jewish father, and according to the Orthodox movement, we are still not Jewish because the conversion was done by a Reform rabbi. I continue to be baffled that I went through a conversion even though, according to the Reform movement in which we were primarily raised, my brother and I have been Jewish since birth.

The Plan

I was born into a plan.

When I was five, I started kindergarten. So did just about every five-year-old in America. It was part of the plan.

I continued to follow the plan as I grew older. When I was 11, I started middle school. At 13, I celebrated my Bat Mitzvah. This was all according to the plan.

Despite changing schools at grades five, seven, and ten, I was still on the plan. I graduated from high school when I was 18. This was a highlight of the plan.

While some plans stop after high school, the plan I was born into included college. This summer, I will finish my college degree.

The plan dictated my full-time job from age five through twenty-two: school. It's what was expected, and it's what I did. But, like the Mayan calendar, the plan will soon abruptly stop. Specific expectations end.

My family does not have a trade into which each child is expected to enter. There is not a city in which the majority of the family lives.

The plan ends here. While it's expected that I will make a living and support myself, there is not a specific plan like there was through age 22. From now on, it's uncharted territory.

Written by Little Me: "The Sick Eye"

In elementary school, we had an activity called Squiggle. The teacher would draw a simple shape in each child's notebook and then the child would turn it into a picture. Depending on the children's age and grade, a word, sentence, or whole story was written to go along with the picture.

This Squiggle and story are from May 12, 2000. I was in 2nd grade. I typed the story as it was written so you may notice some misspellings and punctuation omissions.

One day a little boy about one year old ate a big onion. Then his body didn't like it so his eyes poured tears. His mom came to him because she was at the table with the little boy along with the boy's dad. He came also. The mother and father took him to the doctor right then even though they hadn't finished their dinner. He wasn't there so the nurse helped them. There wasn't anyone else at the doctor's office so they went back into room seven and then the nurse asked the parents "What's wrong with your child?" "Well" said the mom "he ate an onion and started to have tears in his eyes. I guess he smelled it, mam." "Well, I guess you'll have to just let all the tears out of his eyes. If tears are still coming out tomorrow morning come back here. Doctor (my last name) will probably be here at about 7:30 or 8:00" said the nurse. The next day the boy's eyes were making tears still. So the parents had to take him to the doctor. Before they did the parents had to write what had happened to their son. At the top of the paper the mother wrote her son's name, Dilin Pickel. Then underneeth she wrote what happened. At the very bottom she sighned her name and Mr. Pickel sighned his. Then they went to Doctor (my last name)'s office. He looked at the paper. Then he gave Dilin a pill and right then the tears stopped! The End

Letters to Me: 15 Years Old

I read the book The Time Traveler's Wife in high school and loved it. The main character is a time traveler and sometimes gets to interact with a younger or older version of himself. What if I could talk to my past or future self? This is the first post in a new series tagged "letters to me".

Dear 15-year-old Sarah,

As you get ready to start your sophomore year at a new school, I want to give you some advice. This school year will start out harder than it will end, so don't get discouraged. You don't think you know many people, but you're wrong. Keep an eye out for your friends from elementary school, because they go to your high school! Get to know them again. They'll be among your best friends for the rest of high school and into your adult years.

Try out for basketball. I know last year was rough being the only freshman on varsity at your old school, but this year will be much better. You'll make new friends and have a great time. Everyone on your team will be a freshman or sophomore, so you'll actually be one of the older players. This won't matter, though, because your coach will be someone who really cares about you and your teammates and won't tolerate bullying or disrespectful behavior. Appreciate him and the other coaches. You'll get frustrated sometimes, but remember to be respectful.

Speaking of respectful, be kind to your teachers. I know it sometimes sucks to be at school all day and to have classes you are required to take, but you are so close to finished. Out of 13 years of required school, you're already done with ten! Enjoy the classes you like and carry a book in your backpack for classes that are boring. Don't be a smart ass to your teachers. Sit in your seat and either pay attention or read something interesting. You'll survive, I promise.

In these last three years, work hard at school. Doing mediocrely in high school will turn out fine in the long run, but if you can get excellent grades, you'll have more options when it's time to apply for college. You're smart and I know you're capable of doing very well, but it's going to require effort. Don't even bother trying to tell yourself you're stupid, because I know better.

Lastly, go to bed early. 7:30 is so early to be in school and I'm really impressed that you're able to make it day in and day out because in college an 8:55 class is considered early! Your life will be better if you get enough sleep. Turn off the computer and go to bed!

Best wishes for a wonderful sophomore year, Sarah! I know you are going to do great.

Yours truly,
22-year-old Sarah

The Barefoot Lunatic

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I left my apartment the other night just before 8:00 pm wearing shorts, a t-shirt, my Five Fingers shoes, and a jacket. In my pockets I had my student ID and keys and I held my water bottle and the banana I was eating. I arrived at the gym after a few minutes of walking and began my workout.

Sweaty and tired, I picked up my belongings and headed home. I chose to carry my jacket instead of wear it because, while it was nearly freezing outside, I had just worked out and was plenty warm. I went into my apartment and immediately took off my shoes. Then I realized I was missing my student ID. I checked around my room but soon realized I must have dropped it on my walk home.

I walked out into the cold, barefoot and in the shorts and t-shirt I had just worn to work out. Retracing my steps toward the gym, I kept my gaze on the ground, looking for my card. I walked down the stairs. Nothing. I got to the sidewalk where cars were passing by. Still no card. I crossed the street and was more than halfway to the gym when I saw my card on the ground.

As I picked it up and trotted back to my apartment, freezing all the way, the thought crossed my mind of how weird I must look. It's not every day drivers and passerby get to see a barefoot college student appropriately dressed for a summer day walking along staring intently at the ground on a nearly freezing January evening!

Stabbed by the Thorn in a Pile of Roses

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At overnight camp when I was a kid and also as a staff member, we sometimes did an activity before bed called Roses and Thorns. Everyone gathered on the floor in their pajamas. We then went around the circle and each girl shared their "rose", a highlight of the day, and their "thorn", something that didn't go very well.

The other day was full of roses for me. I participated in an exciting intellectual conversation in my philosophy class and ran into someone I know who wished me a happy birthday and gave me a hug on my way out of the building. I bought a Subway sandwich for lunch and ate while chatting with a girl who is running a club I am joining.

In my last class of the day, astronomy, the professor was reviewing that an object has to be moving at about 17,000 miles per hour to go into orbit around the earth. He was going along the back rows calling on each person for a question.

"When was the last time you traveled at 17,000 miles per hour?" he asked his next victim. The girl smiled uncomfortably as the professor waited for an answer.

"I don't even know you that well and I know with absolute certainty the last time you traveled 17,000 miles per hour," added the professor. The girl still didn't have an answer. Everyone was waiting.

I looked back at her and our eyes met. "Never," I mouthed to her.

"Never?" she said, still unsure about the answer.

"Right!" The professor was satisfied with her answer and turned his back on us as he walked back up toward the chalkboard.

"Thank you," the girl mouthed to me. I smiled.

Later in the class, a guy asked if the maximum velocity of a rocket is proportionate to radius. The professor told him no, but he seemed confused. I mentioned that I thought he was confusing it with the orbital velocity formula, which does include radius. "Thanks!" he called over to me.

I left astronomy feeling pretty good. Two people had said thank you to me in class! When does that ever happen?

I realized in the middle of the day that I didn't have my water bottle but I knew I had it in philosophy class that morning, so I stopped by that building on my way home. A class was just starting in the classroom when I arrived. I stood in the doorway patiently as the professor talked, waiting for him to acknowledge me.

After a few moments, he looked at me. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but I was wondering if any of you found a green water bottle in here," I said to the class. Students looked around their desk but no one found it. I was about to go when the professor spoke to me. "You think it's worth interrupting my class for a water bottle?!" he sneered, shaking his head.

I was not expecting this. "I'm sorry; have a good afternoon," I said and walked out of the doorway, instantly feeling tears welling up.

I walked over to the dean's office down the hall and asked the secretary if there was a lost and found for the building. "It's usually me," she responded, but said she hadn't seen my water bottle. I absentmindedly peered over the top of her desk to see what was behind. "What, you don't believe me?"

As I walked home, I replayed the past ten minutes in my mind. Was I rude? Was the professor rude? Was the secretary rude? I was embarrassed and offended. And just like that, I let my rose-filled day be shattered by one little thorn.

The Sunday School Hunger Games

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I teach a religious school class of 8 kids in grades 2-4. This past week, I set up a game for them to review some of the Torah characters we have been learning about. I had them split in two teams; boys versus girls was the unanimous choice. Names of Torah characters (Isaac, Joseph, Dinah, Miriam, etc.) were folded up and placed in a little holder. When it was their team's turn, one student came up and picked a name. They then had one minute to use words and/or actions to get their team to guess the name.

During one round, the boy whose turn it was was struggling to describe the character whose name he had picked. All he knew was whether it was a boy or girl. Since his teammate was not doing well, another student on the boys' team yelled out, "Can I volunteer?!" I told him that he couldn't because it was the other student's turn, and we were rotating turns in order. His reply: "But this is the Hunger Games!!!"