Hero Project Reflection

To answer the essential question, "how does a hero become a hero?" I believe that a hero becomes a hero by changing someones life in a positive way. For me, Davey has changed my life in so many ways. He spent time with me, always made sure I was fine and happy, listened to me when I wanted to talk, formed a good relationship with me, was honest, taught me about life and people, got me into punk, gave me reasoning for every action, etc. For those reasons and many others, Davey is my hero.

The 'hero in my eyes' project was a way to get thinking about who your heroes are, why they're your heroes, how they changed you, and write about it. At least for me that's what it did. We had to ask questions, write based on experience, tell a bit about that experience or the story, depending on what you chose to do.

For the process, I met the first couple of deadlines but I didn't meet the first deadlines for the actual paper itself: the first or second rough draft. That effected what improvements I could make and opinions, how I could improve, lowering my grade and ultimately got me behind. I was absent several days, also leaving me confused about assignments and how to do them, leaving me further behind. For the final product, I somehow managed to catch up and meet the deadline. Yet, my paper got lost in the pile and I had to re-do it.

I have learned that I MUST keep up with my work, turning my projects on that meet the deadline and do the work, if not, my grade goes down and makes it harder for me to catch up. I found it hard to sneak in Davey's answers into the paper at first, then I got the hang of it and found it to be rather easy. Asking Davey questions was rather hard itself considering he was always at work then left town to go to The Fest 8. In between times that I rarely saw him, I'd ask him small questions, making him unaware of the fact I was going to use them for my paper. I would definitely meet up with deadlines next time, sit down and ask more questions, and make it less "last minute." I think it'll help me later because now i really have more appreciation for people and will wonder about why I like/dislike/love them.

Wonder was definitely the first one I did. I had to ask myself before I even began, "Why is he my hero? What all has he done for me?" and write a list of the reasons why I look up to him then wonder what I was going to do about the paper and how I was going to map it out or even what exactly it was about and where/when it took place using details and to the point where people would understand instead of telling a boring story.

http://leftovergenevieve.blogspot.com/2009/11/spilling-beans.html

Spilling The Beans

Tears streamed down from Davey, my step-father's now glazed, baby blue eyes hinted with splashes of green and outlined with red. His mouth quivered and body shook as he wrapped his thick arms around me, weeping. "I love you more than anything else, kid," his voice cracked, going in and out of different pitches like a teenage boy going through puberty. "You're the only reason I'm even still in this house, or even alive, really." Before I knew it, streams of salty, bitter water streamed down from the corners and bottom of my eyes and down my cheeks, rapidly falling and splattering onto the surface below from my chin.

My parents had been miserable together for three, horrid years before officially deciding to split up for good. While my mother went in and out of jobs, Davey had been holding onto the same job for over a year and a half, working everyday from the time he got up, to the mid night/morning, which usually totaled up to over 80 hours a week. Once coming home, he'd usually hide upstairs for up to an hour, check up on me, go to band practice or a show and try to get which ever extra work he could do to make ends meet or get that "beautiful " guitar or bass. I cherish those times were we sit in the living room, spinning records, singing and talking- just the two of us. Still, the word "stressful" was a bit more than an understatement, but he still seemed to give everything his all, despite his misery. Despite knowing all this, I still climbed up those steps leading into his room, fully aware I was about to stack up those piles of stress and worry he faces everyday.



Several chills crawled up my spine and under my flesh as I slowly spoke. As I confessed to things that no fourteen year old girl should do or even deal with, Davey sat there- listening. No interruptions, shocked faces, horrible reactions, just his full attention. Although I felt ashamed, rarely would and do I hide things from him, leaving in all the gory details that I cant imagine any father would want to hear or know about his child. He did not and still does not judge me, no matter how bad the actions. In-fact, Davey probably knows more about me than any other person I've ever known, even up to this date.

After sluggishly kissing Davey goodnight and leaving his room, a sense of relief and warmness filled me. As I glanced at the clock that then read 4:00 AM, a light smile stumbled onto my face as I drifted to sleep. No matter how bad things got, or how horrible I felt, Davey would always be there for me and we'd have each other. That bit of knowledge and teaspoon-- no-- lifetime of love put me to ease and I knew things would be okay.

The Origin of Zero

What really caught my attention/strikes me about the article was zero's history. I would have never really thought that zero was simply just a placeholder. Its crazy to think that zero wasn't even really acknowledged til much later. Its also hard for me to think of life and speech without "zero". Its also really rad to see how other people wrote/drew zero. To me it was always just that weird oval, but its super cool to see other peoples concepts of it! I've never really thought of zeros origin before, but now I'm beginning to wonder about the other numbers..

Angela

Catching the signal from one of her friends, Angela brushed her skirt, took a deep breath and walked towards where he was sitting. As her crisp golden eyes, splattered with blue sparkled like diamonds, she tucked a thin layer of aqua hair behind her right ear before she slowly began to speak. "H-hey! M-Mikey? Do you remember me..?" she stuttered, fidgeting with long, thin fingers. The boy looked up, his green eyes turned warm and a welcoming smile graced his soft skin as he jumped up, wrapping his arms around Angela. "ANGIE!" he cried out happily, nearly knocking both of them over. Angela's face went from a pale pink to beat red-- almost as if someone had dunked her head in a bucket of blood. A bitter-sweet smell of cigarettes and 'Old Spice' filled her as the sudden memory of the first time she'd seen him took over. The skies were different shades of gloomy gray, mixing with the clouds, water poured rapidly down from the air, bursts of air lifted Angela's faded green hair as she hugged herself walking down the empty sidewalks of Central Park, located in New York. After finding a small dry piece of pavement, she quickly rushed over, nearly throwing herself at it, in the processes, it seems she became blinded by this sudden rush and crashed smack into a boy. His eyes were soft and warm, consisting of green with hints of gray, tall and skinny with semi-short hair fell on his face. But, before she could even get a good look at him, everything went black. The next thing she remembered was lying on the dry spot, soaking wet and that boy-- Mikey, leaning over her and making sure she was fine. From then on, Angela knew she was in trouble. Coming back to reality, they unlinked their messy arms and got to eye level. Instead of beating around the bush, Mikey bombarded her with questions, Angela raced to find answers and catch up with an old friend-- the type you know you'll be in love with for the rest of your life, but could never admit it.