Philanthropics

We live in a very polarized society and the people who don’t know that must be the ones so surrounded by money that they don’t know much else beyond. There is, however, something with the power to link the lower class with the upper class. It’s called opportunity.

I will admit that I am a pretty privileged American. I was fortunate enough to become part of a hard-working, knowledgeable, and loving family. Not only this, but I was blessed with a wide range of interests, partly due to my upbringing. Now a senior in high school, I must begin to plan out my life (much more daunting than it had seemed in the past). I’m lucky that college is an option; or am I?

Today, college is an area of doubt for many young people and their parents. For most, it costs so much and provides so little. Sometimes it provides nothing and takes all. That sounds like a rather backwards system to me. Perhaps that is a reason for my hesitation about entering an “institution of higher education”. Yet, I am acquainted with a number of individuals that have either of three, practically “sure thing” plans: coming from a privileged background, having connections, and being the absolute best.

Recently, I've made some connections with students studying at private high schools. When discussing our future plans (college, especially), they nonchalantly named off the schools they are focused on: Harvard, Dartmouth, Brown, Yale, Princeton, Duke, MIT, Columbia, Stanford, etc. I thought to myself, “That’s attainable for them; very much so. Those aren’t their dream schools. They are reality.” As we continued to talk about test scores and college preparation I realized something: private schools aren’t more expensive for no reason. Private schools offer everything that a public school offers, but at the highest level possible.

Private schools run off of money, and lots of it. They can afford the top educators in the world, the top coaches in the world, and the top opportunities. What I mean by that is private school is a master key for every door imaginable.

One of my friends entered private school based on outstanding academic achievement and another because of his extraordinary athletic performance. Both attend school on partial scholarships, but suddenly, they are in an environment where the future isn’t something to worry about. Clearly, they both deserved to get where they are, but I envy that they had that opportunity because there are millions of young people with the same aspirations and not nearly enough resources to fulfill them.

I don’t mean to make the assumption that Ivy League schools aren’t a possibility for a public school student, but here is the undeniable reality: If you’re aiming for Harvard, you’re much closer to getting there starting from a place listed in Forbes under “America's Best Prep Schools” than if you’re starting from your average public high school. There’s no disputing that.

Private schools need to be more reachable for more students. They need to be more accessible. However, the fuel for private schools is money. If we want to give more students the opportunity to experience the best that can be offered, then we need to have people willing to make the necessary sacrifices. For some, such sacrifices are investments in the future; in the new generation.

The Giving Pledge is a group of billionaires that make those type of sacrifices for the good society. Upon joining the club, they pledge at least half of their fortunes to go to charities either within their lifetime or in their will. It is this type of philanthropy that makes impossibilities possible.

Maybe, then, contributing to the education system would reap the most benefits. As we combat global issues like disease, climate change, and world hunger, we should raise our children to become not only educated individuals, but capable ones, given the tools to continue the legacies left by people like Bill and Melinda Gates. I propose the following: a collection of capital from philanthropists (and let’s especially consider elite economists) that is put towards two objectives: the creation of private elementary institutions that are tuition-free and the distribution of money to students that deserve the benefits that private schooling offers.

Societal changes begin with society. The “More the Merrier” theory can really advance the education system and overall economy of this nation. It can even extend beyond our nation’s classrooms and continue to fight against, and even extinguish, the worst of the world’s problems.

Starting at a young age, students should be encouraged to participate in scholarship programs for private schooling by thinking outside the box and discovering what it is they love to do most. We should make top notch facilities and programs available to the masses, especially those that are dedicated to changing the world in ways we never thought possible. We need to put our faith in the new generation, by giving them hope.

phil·an·throp·ics (n) the economics of philanthropy; the economic repercussions of contributing to society often as a result of donating large sums of money

Thank you for reading this article. I encourage you to take a look at the following webpages:

https://docs.google.com/presentation/d/1FjW0VUZkGxGitMmeFJP_6vvGMGfDHfGfq7Jkc9k4gqw/edit?pli=1#slide=id.g2ad341316_075

http://givingpledge.org/

Distancing

Your eyes are blue-gray. Your eyes are a sea that I constantly find myself drowning in; and at the same time, you are always there to rescue me, before I am engulfed by the waves of doubt that come with this storm called love. And the reason you are always capable of rescuing me is that there is no doubt here. The only doubt that grazes the surface of the water comes in with the winds. What we weather together is less of a storm and more of a steady rain with sporadic gusts. We need those gusts, as everyone does, to beat against our bodies and remind us that we're only human. Ironically, with you, I never feel so mortal, yet so immortal at the same time.

I worry. It's inevitable. But the distinction is that my worry doesn't blockade my love, nor yours. What does, however, impede the full extent of our love, is distance. That is not to say that I can't love you from thousands of miles away, if that were the case, but it yields the thought that maybe the distance can become a mindset, distancing you from me.

I Made a Cover

So, I decided to do a cover of the song "The Document Speaks For Itself" by A Day to Remember. For some, this band and type of music is a little too hardcore, but my version is a little down-played (hopefully in a good way). Please, check it out! Thank you! The Document Speaks For Itself (Acoustic Cover)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UHSny5qVn7k

Christmas Day

Hey, Everyone,
Well, Christmas is just starting to slip away. At least, it is where I am. But here's the thing, I've loved it so much this year. It's sad to see it go. Then I realize this: Christmas is a state of mind. It's a feeling. It's home. It's family. It's love. It's life. Since when does all that have to go away? The answer is never. So, I encourage you to make your New Year's resolution a mission to keep Christmas. Keep it old. Keep it new. Freeze it, heat it (even reheat it). Cherish it. Merry Christmas, everyone!
Love always,
Hannah

Something to Lighten Your Day

So, I, like most people, probably all people, have, on occasion, felt, well, shitty about myself. Excuse that language. Anyways, on one such occasion, I was pondering about my problems (really, they're other people's problems with me) and came across a handy dandy fella. He is known to Spotify as "The Sorry Apology Song Person". He is not on YouTube (unfortunately), but please, by all means, take five minutes out of your day (particularly if you're having conflicts with others) and do the following...

Create a Spotify account.

Search for The Sorry Apology Song Person.

Listen to any one of the songs on the album.

If you're so inclined, please listen to more than one.

Enjoy.

Sky Fall

Up ahead, I saw lights. And I knew. I knew, right then, in that very instant, that it was him. It was where he was.

            One warm, November night, I accompanied one of my closest friends on an excursion to the movies to see “Skyfall”, the action-packed continuation of James Bond’s escapades. After two large buckets of popcorn, handfuls of Hershey kisses, and frequent sips of soda, the movie finally came to a dramatic finish.

            My friend Sara’s mother picked us up at the entrance of the theatre. She lived nearby and I planned to stay there until my mother came to retrieve me, but once inside the car, the mother insisted on driving me home.

            We had only gone about 100 yards when my cell phone began to ring. It was my sister. I answered to hear her crying. When she spoke, I thought I heard her say, “I got into an accident.”

            “What? What happened? Are you okay? Where are you,” I asked her, worried and fearful.

            “No, Hannah. There’s been an accident. Jonathan Myers just got into a really bad car accident,” she told me, choking on every word as though it were swelling in her throat. I held my breath. I knew precisely what she was about to say and yet I still prayed, as many of us do. The moment lingered, and then dragged on and when I finally heard her words, they, themselves, prolonged like the echo of a blood-curdling scream.

            “He didn’t make it, Hannah.”

He… didn’t… make… it. He… did not… make… it. Jonathan… did… not… make… it.

I think I said something like, “What? No, this can’t be true. Are you sure? How do you know? No.”

Tears streamed from my eyes, inundating my world and clouding my vision and my thoughts. The moment was so surreal, so unreal, so unbelievable and absurd and preposterous and ridiculous and crazy and unimaginable and unintelligible.

At this point, Sara’s mother had pulled into the Chase parking lot. I hung up the phone. Sara asked me what was going on. Reluctantly, unwillingly, I told her. She made no indication of shock. In fact, she and her mother questioned the information, but I knew all the while that there was no possible way it could have been misconstrued. She was in denial.

Her mother asked me what I wanted to do. We continued on our way as I continued to sob. A couple of minutes seemed like hours and my tears stopped too quickly. My mom called and when I answered, I mentioned nothing of what had just happened. I told her nothing. I did my best to cover up my tears. I played into Sara and her mother’s strange way of dealing with something so obviously wrong and shocking. They ignored it and I followed their example. I let my mom know that I was on my home and hung up.

In a matter of seconds, I saw lights up ahead. Flashing lights. Blue. Red. White. And I knew. I knew, right then, in that very instant, that it was him. It was where he was. It was where he had been.

Let the sky fall.

Time Perception

 “Take them away. They shouldn't have to see me this way. Are they enjoying themselves?”

I'd always thought that my grandma would definitely be there at my high school graduation, college graduation, and even my wedding. She's someone who has just been there. In my eyes, she always would be.

About four weeks ago, my family and I visited her. She complained about awful pain in her back and strange spasms in her legs.

“I'm not doing that, Michael,” she insisted to my father. Her legs were definitely moving, but it was hard to tell if it was involuntary and we didn't want to offend her by denying her claims.

We stayed for a couple hours, trying to take her mind off the pain and get her to talk about her past. When she acknowledged her age, she shook her head, and, laughing in humored astonishment, said, “Things change.”

Two days later, Grandma was in the hospital. My aunt had brought her to a neurologist who admitted her. Nothing was certain as to what was the matter, but soon she was out of the hospital and in a rehabilitation center. We decided to go visit her there.

She was a different person. She was irritable, depressed, frustrated, and confused. At first, it was tolerable. We wheeled her to a brightly lit spot to talk. On other occasions when we had been there, the brightness was welcoming and cheerful, but this time it was white, sterile, and cold.

“Why did you come to see me?”

My parents looked at each other, exchanging their worry without words.

“Because we want to see you,” my mom explained.

“But why,” Grandma demanded loudly and coldly, attracting the attention of someone walking by. She kept her head down, barely lifting it to look us in the eyes.

My sister, who is five years older than me, had tears welling in her eyes. She knew five years more about Grandma than I did and it hurt to see her this way.

“Are you enjoying yourself,” she shouted to my sister, “Let's stop talking about this. Stop talking.”

But she kept rambling on, an endless string of hurtful and nonsensical remarks that I never would've imagined she'd say.

“Grandma, we just want to be with you because we love you,” I cried out, practically choking on tears that were forming. She didn't listen.

I wanted my grandma back. I wanted her to be okay. I didn't know if she would be. No one knew.

A week later, we returned. The doctors had discovered that her medication was changed and probably caused her disposition.

When we saw her, she smiled with delight, as usual, ecstatic that we had come to visit. She was still confused, but all was well.

I think it was that day when I realized that I couldn't take my grandma for granted anymore. My perception of time and how precious it really is changed.