The April 22 Round-up, Earth Day Edition
Patrick takes on names, cultures, and what it means to be an American, while our newest writer, Allie explores the invisibility of motherhood and the Kingdom of God. You know, breezy stuff.
Happy Earth Day, Everyone!
Why not mull over some beautiful and earthy poetry today?
As this weird school year starts winding down, teachers are starting to think about what the 2021-2022 school year will look like. Here are some ideas that would make Screwtape proud.
Also, the weather is warming up and that means it’s officially ice cream season (for some of us, ice cream season is all year long). The next time you head to McDonald’s for a McFlurry, keep this cool story (bro) in mind.
Though we try to keep these pages free of politics, we aren’t above engaging in a little wheelpolitik: read, subscribe, tell your friends.
Now for the shameless self-promotion:
Leave Me My Name
A Brief Memoir of What I Call Myself
By Patrick Junqian
Our high school’s virtuoso thespian cleared his throat. He crinkled his freckled face. Then he bellowed John Proctor’s desperate cry into the corners of the classroom.
“Because it is my name! Because I cannot have another in my life! Because I lie and sign myself to lies!”
Spellbound, our section of American Lit tensed in the delicate silence between lines.
“Because I am not worth the dust on the feet of them that hang! How may I live without my name? I have given you my soul; leave me my name!”
Since then, that climactic scene from The Crucible—Arthur Miller’s chef-d'oeuvre about the Salem Witch Trials in 1692 and 1693—has etched itself into my memory. Yet, what stood out to me wasn’t how much I enjoyed the play’s finale or my classmate’s immaculate performance.
What stood out to me then was that, while John Proctor fought so hopelessly to save his one name, I was already on my second.
A Veritable Kingdom, This Army of Mothers
By Allie Bullivant
I remember vividly the first time I took my five-week-old daughter for a walk to Battersea Park. Among her early milestones, this would be the most grand, the true triumph. Because a walk to Battersea suggested the return to normalcy that I craved.
A return to normalcy, as if such a leprechaun exists when you become a mother.
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