During football season, "Banner Thursday" is a bear.
As an aspiring artist who also happens to be cheer captain, it's my job to rally the seventeen girls on my cheerleading squad, put them to work, and translate the illustrations in my mind to paper that stretches roughly thirty yards.
"Micaela!" I hear. "Now what do I do?"
It's draining, but fun. Because at the end of that four hours of chaos, questions and organization, we always manage to produce a beautiful banner that no other high school can match. Then comes Friday night, when we raise the banner to kick off the football game and welcome the Marist War Eagles onto the field in style. I always look at our banners with pride, right up to the moment that the players tromp through my masterpiece and leave forgotten artwork beneath their cleats.
The War Eagles lost this year in the playoffs in overtime. But producing that banner will remain my lasting impression as a senior cheerleader. It's four hours of work for a short-lived moment in the spotlight, but it's a moment I would never substitute.
Essay 2In fact, I save pictures of the banners, each conveying more memories than words could ever express.
No single song can fully embody every element of my complex personality. My IPod has 1072 tunes, each one a theme song that conveys a memory, a feeling, or a moment.
But as I read Essay D's requirements, one particular memory of music instantly flooded my thoughts and took me back in time.
I was standing eye level to the counter in my parent's bathroom, searching for trinkets to satisfy my short attention span. My father, a man who wears vintage suits and dances to funky beats, entered the bathroom with a Boombox belting "Pretty Young Thing," a classic Michael Jackson hit.
I was four years old and swept away by my dad's spontaneity and his array of goofy dance moves; I tried to imitate him, and he laughed and then we laughed.
I am currently listening to "Pretty Young Thing" and for four minutes and one second, the videotape in my mind replays and I relive that exact moment in the bathroom. By playing that song, I experience the past while living in the present.
My IPod serves as my diary of sounds, including the first moment when a daughter remembers her father saying, "I want to love you, (P.Y.T.), pretty young thing."Micaela L.