Seventeen years plus twelve days ago, a child was born.
Not just any child. One with a round head and a small nose. The first sound she made was silence, the first action she took was blinking.
Little did she know the world she had just entered, little did she know the havoc she would wreak on it. A split open eyebrow, many cuts and bruises, and a couple sliced open knees later, she is still kicking, alive and healthy.
Oh mass media, how we love thee. Why is it that we love to indulge ourselves in watching and reading about other’s wrongdoings? Is it the shock factor that reels us in? Possibly. The recent vicious attacks made by New Mexico soccer player, Elizabeth Lambert, against players on BYU’s women’s soccer team received national news coverage and the videos on YouTube had over six million hits. I personally watched it at least three or four times, each time in awe of not only Lambert, but how she only got away with one yellow card the whole game! Ridiculous.
Lambert finally gave an apology, two weeks later, claiming it was all just a misunderstanding. Mmhmm.
"I look at it and I'm like, 'That is not me,'. I have so much regret. I can't believe I did that. I think the way the video came out, it did make me look like a monster. That's not the type of player I am. I'm not just out there trying to hurt players. That's taking away from the beauty of the game. And I would never want to do that."
Oh really Miss Lambert? Please, go on.
"I definitely feel because I am a female it did bring about a lot more attention than if a male were to do it. It's more expected for men to go out there and be rough. The female, we're still looked at as, Oh, we kick the ball around and score a goal. But it's not. We train very hard to reach the highest level we can get to. The physical aspect has maybe increased over the years. I'm not saying it's for the bad or it's been too overly aggressive. It's a game. Sports are physical."
Yes, blame the negative attention on being a girl. Nice failed attempt to explain/apologize.
If you haven’t seen the video yet, indulge and be shocked by some of the poorest sportsmanship you’ll ever see.
A discovery that I’ve made since coming to college has been that, in general, boys tend to be more stress-free than girls when it comes to school work. It has been a mystery to me for a while now. We have the same assignments and tests, but somehow boys just do them and it’s not that big of a deal. So I decided it’s because boys just don’t let themselves get stressed like us silly girls. We worry, and complain, and worry, and stress out way too much. We just need to take on a more boy-like attitude about this whole school thing. Just do it, get it done, and don’t worry about it anymore. So this has been the approach I’ve taken this semester and the difference between this semester and last is vast. I’m not at the library everyday, I still get my homework done, and the majority of the time I’m fairly stress-free. Really, this carefree mindset is simply wonderful. BUT, (and there is a but) there is also a difference in my grades and performance in school which we won't discuss any further. So the mystery remains. I figure it’s not female nature to be that way. We’re naturally stressed out, worried, and anxious and if I want to do well, I guess that’s how it has to be… next semester.
Hi, my name's Holly. I'm one of the contributors to this blog who never contributes.
Except for that one time.
Long story short, I'll be writing about something cool enough to put on here soon. Maybe. Hopefully. If I'm not too busy down here in Provo-land where exciting things are happening pretty much all the time.
When his mother died, Karl didn't cry. The wells of moisture behind his eyes had been dry for years. Ever since...well, no. He wouldn't think about that now.
People watched him at the funeral. Their quiet mutterings were not lost on him and he saw in their eyes disdain, disgust and disregard. Their feelings were unfounded, he thought. He had never done anything to justify a complaint.
In the last months of his mother's life, he had driven to her home every day, cooking her meals, giving her medicine and making her comfortable. But the neighbors were uneasy. Born in a time of muted warfare when one person suspected the other, when your neighbor could be a communist, or when you could lose everything just by being accused, the neighbors had never lost that sense of suspicion. It was ingrained in them.
Karl understood. His mother had been the same way. But it didn't stop him from hating the way they looked at him.
His grief at his mother's death was trumped by an overwhelming vision of freedom and he didn't feel guilty for it. It was his turn now. His turn to live his life the way he'd always wanted without answering to anybody because he had no family left. No ties. No bonds.
Maybe that's what the neighbors saw in him, that restlessness hidden underneath his carefully crafted demeanor of apathy. They had lived long enough to see through the insincere smiles and concern of younger generations to the genuine desires of the heart.
And we couldn't be more thrilled. Seriously.
