Although Thanksgiving was a while back, it is still the season of thanks; the Holidays. Now, no matter what your religion, sexual orientation, height, weight, and geographic location happen to be, everybody that breathes has at least one thing to be thankful for, some sliver of gratitude buried within their chests.

This year, I began to ponder the most simple things that I have to be thankful for, although I would merely consider them necessities. For example, I hold much gratitude to be breathing, and more so thankful that the breath being inhaled is pure, Colorado air.

Even more so, I am thankful for my friends and family for their support, mentoring, and most importantly, friendship. 

I am glad for a soft bed, a warm house, and a refrigerator bowing with food. 

I am (at times begrudgingly) grateful for the ability to attain a quality education.

And most importantly, I am thankful that I am lucky enough to exist in a conscious body. Of all the ants, trees, leaves, and animals that exist, I am grateful that I was spawned into the most superior race of animals; the Homo-Sapien.

As a dedicated member of Skyview Academy for the past two, I've come to understand the attitude and tone of the environment. With increased standards and decreased freedom, Skyview is just the place for the academically gifted and splendid, who have a secondary desire to experience a family environment, familiar to that of homeschooling.

Despite the grievances that induce the sporadic growth of anger-babies inside my gut, the school does have one thing down; compassion. The teachers care very much for each other, and their pupils. Many teachers and coaches at Skyyview posses an aura of kinsman-ship, rather than the dominant acrimoniousness that typically surrounds a high school teacher. I do believe that we "thank, encourage, and inspire" each other.

At a community standpoint, there is always a need for a catalyst; one who perpetuates action, instead of idly gazing. In any community service standpoint, a leader who compliments, encourages, and most importantly, thanks a co-worker becomes the most essential ingredient in a successful project.

"Connor? Connor? Hello?" The words echo in the back of my mind, but don't quite penetrate deeply enough to sever my attention from the melodramatic status updates of my "friends" on Facebook. As my generation has slowly developed from naive children to naive children with bigger bodies and cars, a common theme has been the intrusion of the cellphone into constant, everyday life.

\On the train, in the bus, waiting in line, eating lunch, at every red-light, everyone is glued to their cellphones, appearing to be as crucial to survival as oxygen. Even in seemingly social interactions, like bowling or mini-put-put, everyone is checking their statuses, or taking an infamous 'selfie.'

Ironically, as we have become more connected to electronics, we've become more disconnected to each other. Face to face communication has been antiquated; if you wish to speak to someone you fancy, kid's first choice is to look them up on Facebook and start a cyber-conversation. In this way, they don't have to expose themselves and feel vulnerability; they can simply chat up a new friend without the fear of face-to-face rejection. Instead of calling up an old friend, send a two letter text message of greeting, hoping to spur an uninteresting and drab cyber-conversation.

The common courtesies of shaking a hand and simple eye-contact are simply unheard of from this generation of young-adults. We've been so thoroughly indoctrinated by electronics since we were young that it has become no longer a simply luxury, but a critical necessity.

Directly behind my computer's screen stands the sole red wall in my room. Though the wall stands stolid and silent, as any inanimate object ought to, it speaks. It brings warm, intense feelings upon my chest, inside my diaphragm, down to my toes. Silent, yes, but the thoughts and feelings it triggers mean far more then the spectrum of light my eyes perceive from it.

On the other three walls, a cool, calm blue with silver tones bring my mind to ease. For as long as I remember, blue has been my happy color, my favorite color. When I began to think about it, the reasons clicked.
Being a hot-headed person, blue has always centered me. It's the tone contrary to my personality; calming, seemingly melodic. It brings balance; it's the left to my right, hot to my cold, yin to my yang.

Studies have shown a direct and common correlation between color and blood-pressure. For example, when a test subject was shown the color blue, after relaxing for ten minutes, there was a measurable decrease to the subject's blood-pressure. Inversely, when a subject under identical circumstances was shown the color red in place of blue, there was a measurable increase in the subject's blood pressure. The color red both boosts blood-pressure and heart rate in parallel. Red is also commonly linked with feelings of sexual desire or interest, as our minds connect red with flattery, like the blush that emerges on our cheeks.

Colors are an intricate part of our lives. Subconsciously, our minds are perceiving and computing messages, feelings, emotions, and even moods. Although many don't take the slightest conscious notice, colors speak to us constantly.

Looking into this man's eyes, what do you see? A Russian general with stolid countenance, and deleterious intentions? Perhaps a cruel dictator, who displays as much emotion sipping a cuppa tea as ordering extermination? Or how about the savior, the last salvation, holding civilization above decimation? If you determined the latter, than the Cuban Missile Crisis is truly your ken.

This man is Vasili Arkhipov, and on October 27, 1962, he saved the world.

United States Navy Destroyers had been dropping depth charges off the coast of Cuba, attempting to surface Arkhipov's and his crew's nuclear submarine despite their location in international waters. Communication with Mother Russia had been severed for days, and their instructions were to launch the warheads if the crew came to unanimous agreement.

As their vessel dived deeper to avoid American detection, they lost all radio signals, even from U.S civilian stations. Their increasing depth paralleled the increasing tension between the two nuclear superpowers, America and Russia. For days, the crew had not the slightest notion if war had broken out or not.

 Valentin Grigorievitch Savitsky, the captain of the sub, explained in a tirade that he firmly believed war had broken out, and that the warheads should be launched as instructed. The two other officers aboard concurred, and Arkhipov remained the only Russian recalcitrant of triggering the beginning of the end. 

Incredibly, Arkhipov convinced the captain and other members to surface the sub and await orders from Moscow, essentially averting nuclear warfare.

The point to capitalized upon is this: the true heroes too often remain unspoken of. This man arguably saved the world from obliteration, and have you so much as heard his name mentioned in a history class? Nay. Instead, as Americans, we place value in which celebrity is most "beautiful," in which Kardashian popped out yet another fatherless child.

 So much emphasis is placed on bleached teeth and rippled abs, that true heroes, saviors, explorers, thinkers, revolutionaries, remain in the back of a history book, quietly tucked under the newest copy of People magazine. 

Some of my earliest memories involve plopping down on a hard-wood chair around a circular table, and speaking of the trivial matters of kindergarten. Nearly everyday of our family's existence, we've held family dinners not as a passive every-once-in-a-while deal, but as a crucial, daily ritual. Despite hectic lives, it allows a time to genuinely discuss issues, curiosities, and successes of the daily routine.

Various studies have shown the value of family dinners: increased academic achievement, increase in the ability to process feelings and thoughts. Too often are children left to process intricacies and curiosities of life alone, without the guidance of a thoughtful and wise parent. I can't imagine how lost I would be mentally had my parents hastily prepared a TV dinner, and then ran to the offices to finish documents or relatively meaningless reports. Much of my childhood would've passed in a disorienting blur had my parents not talked with me over a hot plate of linguine pasta.

To this day, my family consolidates around a now rectangular table, over delicious food, to release anxiety and relate each other's days. I simply cannot emphasize enough the value of these meals, the value of the sharing, teasing, laughing, and occasionally even crying. Family dinner is the glue which bonds my parents and my siblings, which keeps up united and strong against daunting school days or unmanageable stress.

The Compelling Words of Mr. King

“…freedom is never voluntarily given by the oppressor; it must be demanded by the oppressed.”

    All throughout history, a prevalent theme is that of oppression, and in extension, slavery. All peoples have, at some point in their existence, experienced the degrading blows of arrogant oppressors, insistent that another race is below them due to superficial appearances.  Once a people is conquered, they will undoubtedly stay that way unless they summon resistance. Why would the oppressors free the oppressed if they simply bow their heads in suboordinance? King argues this idea that the rights "must be demanded by the oppressed." I challenge you to think of a single people that were once oppressed, and than, of the free will of the oppressor, are freed. Odds are there are no examples to be summoned, as why would the oppressors free those that are thoroughly subordinate? When Moses merely asked for his people to be set free, he encountered no results. He instead had to do powerfully demand that his people be set free, and free they became. Simply put, there can be no result without an implication of effort.

    The last bell of the day rattled, and the apathetic teenagers shuffled out of Mr Wong's World Literature class. However, one remained; Raul Fernandez, a lanky and tentative freshman, placed his copy of Of Mice and Men on Mr Wong's maple desk, turned on his heel, and began to head for the door. He deeply hoped that he could exit the room without confrontation. Despite his internal pleas, Mr Wong's eyes, previously examining a less than acceptable vocabulary test, quickly shot up. He sternly uttered "Wait, Raul." 

Raul, rolling his eyes and clenching his jaw, slowly turned around and met eyes with the five-foot six professor, who peered back through thick, wide glasses. Raul felt one of Mr Wong's infamous tongue lashings coming on. 

"Why are you returning this book to me so soon?" he questioned suspiciously. "I only gave you the book two days ago. I understand that you have a infinitesimal social life, but good gravy, Raul!" quipped Mr Wong, eyebrows raised dubiously in curiosity of Raul's response. "My parents won't allow me to read this book, Mr Wong." said Raul, the corners of his lips trembling with a combination of anxiety and fear. "Why not? This book is a work of art!" cried Mr Wong. Raul sensed anger boiling in Mr Wong's chest. "Because..." Raul's voice trailed off. He swiveled his head 180 degrees, lowered his lips to Mr Wong's right ear, and whispered "Because John Steinbeck uses the..." again, Raul paused, took a deep breath, and muttered "the N word."

Raul's spine straightened, and he shut his eyes in anticipation of being slapped for using such "filthy and vile" language, as his parents exclaimed earlier.

Mr Wong's cheeks quickly transitioned from silky and freckled to bright, cherry red. At this point, the short, weathered professor shot out of his leather swivel chair far faster than anyone would think possible, and he lost all sense of equanimity. "It's an accurate representation of social convictions during the time period!" The seething, sweater vest toting professor sprayed saliva with each syllable. A few droplets landed on Raul's cheeks, but he didn't take notice due to the fetal position he found himself in, trying to rock himself to comfort. "What do you think he should've called blacks instead?" hollered Mr Wong, venom dripping from his coffee stained canines. "Colored friendly-friends?" His fury had reached its climax. The moment he finished pronouncing "friends", he grasped the arm rests of his Italian leather chair, spun a few rotations for momentum's (and drama's) sake, and hurled it through the glass classroom door with all the might that his adorable frame could attain. Glass shards flew into the hallway, sliding across the gray, square tiles. Students who were listening to another of Mr Wong's comical episode fled like birds. 

Mr Wong's eyes squeezed shut, and a few seconds later, he opened them. All fire had left his eyes, and his pale complexion slowly returned. He plodded around to the front of his desk where Raul sat; his collar damp from the bawling he'd been committing, and his trousers damp from, well, that's not important. Mr Wong pushed the broken glass next to Raul away with his size six boat shoes, and sat down beside him. "You see, Raul, we can't simply ban or modify any text; it's truly unconstitutional and downright wrong." 

Raul's eyelids, previously squeezed tighter than a brand new pickle jar, opened just a slit, followed by a terse nod of understanding. "I understand why some parents may not want their children to read certain materials. They believe that if a child reads a certain phrase or about a certain 'illicit' prospect, they may come to accept this material as repeatable, or socially sound. Or, perhaps, the parental units simply don't want their children exposed to material that challenge their believes, practices or morals." Mr Wong slung his arm around Raul's curled shoulder. "And that's okay! Entirely alright. However, just as one might not desire other's beliefs imposed upon them, the others don't wish to have beliefs thrust upon them either. Do you get what I'm saying, Raul?" Raul divulged a crooked smile and yet another terse nod, still unsure if Mr Wong's intentions were to adopt him as his son, or slide a shard of glass between his ribs. 

"Now I'm sure that school security is on its way, so I must be brief. It's vastly important to confront controversial or sensitive books. Exploring ideas that not everyone is comfortable with will help you develop as a person; this will either solidify your beliefs or shake your foundation. Seeing the world from perspectives that aren't mainstream or of your own is a solely beneficial endeavor. Understanding multiple perspectives is key in being a happy and successful person. Are you listening?"

 Mr Wong tightened his grip on Raul's shoulder, and Raul vigorously nodded his head, silently hoping that he wouldn't die with his trousers damp. "It would be humiliating." thought Raul. " Now, these books that contain stereotypes and bias don't hinder the positive evolution of judgement. A matter of fact, they do just the opposite, since these stereotypes and bias are typically attributed to ignorance. By shining light on these issues, it allows others to more completely understand them, therefore removing much ignorance, stereotype, and bias."

As soon as the eloquent Mr Wong finished, two broad shouldered police officers came stomping through the hallway, crushing the shards of glass with their shiny black shoes. One police officer sighed, and said "Again, Mr Wong? You understand that we're going to have to put you back into the Mental Institution for a long, long time." The officer pinched the bridge of his nose in a futile attempt to relieve the headache Mr Wong had summoned. "Ah, it was all worth it to prove a point." said Mr Wong, the corners of his lips curling into a devious, toothless grin. Mr Wong stood up and was promptly cuffed. As the officers led Mr Wong out of his soon to be old classroom, he uttered final words to Raul: "Promise me you'll  finish Of Mice and Men, okay? It's quite a good read." Mr Wong bobbed his head at Raul, smiled, and willingly strode out of the room, each officer holding on to each arm.

Why hello!

If you're reading this, odds are you are either a student, grudgingly forced to read this brain vomit, or you are the exquisite Mrs. Smith; Either way, welcome.

There is little to be in awe of concerning my life thus far. Primarily, I've spent my days with my nose in a book, hands in a crag, and mind in the air, floating capriciously.

Ever since  I was a young one, my mind couldn't quite seem to be tethered to my skull. So much so, that my fourth grade teacher insisted that I had A.D.D., despite prior testing condemning her obnoxious opinions.

As far as school, I thoroughly enjoy the arts of English, and the sciences, despite my current dissent towards them due to the massive amount of mathematics involved.

All in all, I can usually get along with others unless they're blatantly ignorant, or blatantly idiotic; I have trouble with idiots. Although I'm rather introverted, I enjoy people (in small doses).

Well, I hope that you find my pre-assigned topics which I'll write about remotely interesting.

-Connor