I'm Shipping Up to Boston in Real Life by Kareem Hamada

I’m shipping up to Boston in real life! Shipping up to Boston is not only a song I listen to, it’s a tradition I look forward to. The song is my dad’s favorite and also mine. It all started after a drum recital where I had to play the drum part of the song. It was about Three years ago, I was eleven and I had been playing the drums for four years already. My drum teacher, at the Milton High School where I take my lessons, told me that my drum style fit that of the Dropkick Murphy’s and asked me if I had ever heard their song “ Shipping up to Boston”. I asked him to play it for me and he did so on his IPad. I loved it because the beat, the tempo and the speed fit my speed, tempo and beat in every song I play or like to play. The drum part of the song made my heart race and I asked him if I could play it for the recital and he smiled because he knew I would ask him that and of course he agreed that it was the right song for me. I was so nervous to play the song at first, it was very difficult to keep up with the rhythm of the drummer, but after intense practice l nailed it. I went to the recital with my mom, my dad and my grand mother. I was wearing a pair of jeans and a green t-shirt and I had my favorite drumsticks with me, they were black with red and orange flames painted on them, I call them my “lucky sticks”. On the recital program, John, my drum teacher, put my piece at number fourteen. Recitals usually start from easiest to hardest. I was the fourteenth performance out of eighteen. My family sat in the third row of the auditorium of the High School and it was starting to get pretty crowded. My mom, before I went to the first row to take my seat with the rest of the drummers told me “ Kareem, you know what you’re doing, I’ve heard you play this piece over and over ,you can play with the Dropkick Murphy’s even” I thought that was funny. My dad didn’t say anything he just squeezed my shoulder. I know what that means, my dad is always proud of what I do even when I don’t do it that well. I had butterflies in my stomach and my hands were a bit sweaty. I was nervous. When it was my turn to play, John announced my name and my song and people were clapping because they all loved the song, I could see my dad standing up and walking to the side aisle and pressing the record button on his I phone, recording me playing the song. I sat down and adjusted the drums and cymbals to my height and nodded to John. He started the music and …I nailed it. My drum teacher was very happy, he knew it was not an easy piece to learn. My mom and grandmother were clapping and my dad was still recording. He keeps replaying this song to everyone he sees and he calls shipping up to Boston “ our song” and ever since that day, we got hooked. Every fall, another tradition kicks in; it’s the season of the Celtics games. My day and four of his coworkers have shared season tickets so we get to go to quite a few games, maybe 6 or 7 games a season. On our way to the Celtics games, my dad and I blast the song on his car radio and we sing along without noticing what people seeing us from the outside might be thinking. In our Celtics Jerseys and caps, my dad and I dance, sing and drum in the car. I drum the beat of the song on the dashboard and my dad sings off tune of course. The car is roaring like a dinosaur. The car is all black from the inside with the blue neon lights from the radio and dashboard and the green of our Jerseys make us look like the Blue Man Group but in Green. People often smile at us and give us the thumbs up because they know we are rooting for the Celtics with a song that reminds them of the day when the Red Sox won the championship and “Shipping up to Boston” was the song that was played on the Duck boats during the Winners Parade in Boston. The song gave us great energy and enthusiasm and puts a person in a good mood. The song also puts us in a competitive mood very good for rooting for the Celtics. When I hear the song on my way to the game, I feel the Celtics will win and they usually do. When they win, the crowd of people with beer breath and popcorn covered shirts jump up and yell. I do too and usually I lose my voice the next day. When the Celtics lose, we just say that another time, another car ride and another chance will come accompanied by the Dropkick Murphy’s of course and “ Shipping up to Boston” along for the car ride.

Mr. Clutch by Timothy Keohane

“Lets go Pa!” my little cousin yells from the back of the 12-person bike we rented. We were spending the night at the boardwalk in Disney World. The plan was and what the Disney employees told us was to go to the end of the boardwalk and turn around and come back. My 7 other cousins ranging from 8-15 in age were sitting in the back. The oldest ones Patrick, Hannah, myself, Declan and my crazy Uncle Don all had pedals at our feet and controlled the speed of the bike. My grandfather who was 67 at the time was in the drivers seat and our fate was determined by his driving skills. From experience there have been some close calls while driving with my grandfather. For example, the time that we went swerving in and out of the parked cars at the Quirk Ford driving dealership. The last words we heard from our screaming mothers and the overprotective Disney employees was “Be Safe!” and we were off. We start pedaling immediately as fast as would could. After at least 5 minutes of us cruising down the boardwalk on a flat surface going the same direction my grandfather decides that we would take a little detour. My little brother Matty at the age of 6 asks not very politely, "Pa, what are you doing!" This does not surprise his son-in-law or any of his grandchildren. With our luck it just so happened that there was wedding in full swing going on down at the bottom of the hill. The strobe lights of the Disc-Jockey and the large white cake sitting just behind the see through tent really gave off the wedding vibe. As we start ripping up mounds of dirt trying to brake with our legs by reversing the way we were pedaling. It wasn’t enough so we decided to use our voices, which the Keohane family is very good at doing. We all were screaming, "watch out, lookout" occasionally a few words came out that I had no idea of what they meant at the time. This technique failed us due to the very loud music coming from beneath the large white tent. It was up to Pa our grandfather who for that night we called Mr. Clutch because his driving skills paid off right when we needed them too. At this point we are flying down this hill and nothing is working to stop us and we can barely make out Pa screaming, “Hold on kids!” Uncle Don reaches back and pushed us back into our seats to keep us safe. My oldest cousin was screaming like a new born as most if us start panicking. We do a complete fishtail and in the matter of seconds we are fully stopped and facing upward looking up at the hill that almost killed us. Nobody said a word for a few seconds then Pa turns slowly to face all of his grandchildren and says with a smile on his face “Anybody want to go round 2?” We all looked at him like he was an alien from a different planet and had to heads. We then got out and pushed the bike up to the top of the hill and popped it back on the trail like nothing happened. We arrived at the rental shop 30 minutes late with shock in our eyes and were fined a small fee. My grandfather gladly handed the lady extra money and told her again with an even bigger smile on her face “It is well worth it, thank you!”

Who am I? by Michael Silva

Who am I? I am Michael Silva. I have a God given gift of athletic ability. I am known around my community, my school, and partially across the country. In the past year my friend and teammate Blake Gallagher and I have become Massachusetts phenomenons. We have risen to the challenge of increasing division 1 scholarships given out in Massachusetts. We competed in an all American game in Texas, and that started a whole new exciting world that I wasn’t ready for. He’s ranked number 9, and I’m ranked number 6 in the country for eighth grade. And we’re from Massachusetts. Have you caught my point here? Researches have shown that 5% of all high school football players in New England get offered D1 scholarships. That’s roughly about 100-150 scholarships. When you look at the pipeline states, like Florida for example, there are over 45% of high school football players that get offered D1 scholarships. Pipeline states are the states that get the highest percentage of high school recruits in the country. We’re trying to increase the number of recruits up here in New England. I know that I’m on the verge of being something special. I also know that it can all come crashing down in the snap of my fingers. When I was a 1 year old little baby, and even before that, my brother Marquisse was what I am today. He had all the talent in the world. He attended a Penn State football camp when Joe Paterno was in his prime, and I sat on his lap! Marquisse accepted a full scholarship a bit closer to home up in Maine at the University of Maine. Then it happened. It was one thing after another till he eventually flunked out of school in his senior year. The main reason, drugs and partying. He got away from his books and it screwed him over. The grand finale happened two years ago. He was arrested and sentenced to 8 months in jail for drug possession. I don’t know how and why, but he is still my role model after all the years. I don’t know what my future holds. I set my standards high, and live up to the high expectations. Nobody can create my future but me. The only other person that could be able to do that other than my brother would be my father. He has been there every step of the way in my life. He is helping me through the recruiting process, and without him I would be a complete nobody. He put a football in my hands when I was born, and from that point on, he has lead me down the right path. As I get older, he continues to teach me how to be a man of character. Although we might fight a lot, I love him to death and can’t imagine life without him. One memory I have of both my father and brother being in my life is at my Super Bowl for my 8th grade football team. I remember the score at half being 8-8. My dad is my head coach and he's furious. We had expected to come into the game and have an easy win, but they had a game plan that slowed our high-powered offense down. While we were gathering as a team to talk about the second half game plan, Marquisse pulled me over. He looked around, then looked at me and said "You're not running how you should be! You need to just run with power like you usually do" These words all made it come together. I came out in the second half and went back to my regular ways of running where I would hit whatever got in my way. I could see my dad on the sideline smiling after the first play of the second half because he knew that I was back to my regular self. I attempted to stand up, and got pushed down from the dirty players on the other team. I felt the cold hard dirt in my face. It didn't bother me though, I just looked at him and said "you're gunna wish you didn't do that," and ran back to the huddle. I could smell the sweat of my teammates around me as they were patting me on the back saying good job. Then, my dad called me over to give me the play. I jogged over, and he gladly said " Finally, you're back to yourself! Let's go into wildcat and just run people over" "Okay, I can do that. We gotta get outside, they're just blitzing inside." "Ok then go right 59 Lexus on the line" I ran back to the field telling everybody to look at their wristbands as I yelled "Right 59 Lexus" I could her the crowd getting fired up, but more importantly I could hear my brother in the background yelling "lets go Mike!" I can still hear him now, telling me to keep going and keep pushing. He had his chance and made his mistakes, but he and my dad want me to become the man they have always envisioned in themselves.

Whitewater Rescue by Matthew Doyle

A few years ago my family took a trip to the White Mountains in New Hampshire when school got out for the summer. The cabin we rented was built on the slope of a mountain, alongside a river. During the summer the river current is usually pretty light, but because of all the snow that winter and a heavy rainstorm, the river was flowing really fast! Down the street from the cabin was our favorite swimming hole. We called it the swimming hole because it sits at the bottom of two waterfalls under a covered bridge. At the bottom of the waterfalls, the water formed a small round swimming area. The waterfalls were really flowing because of the heavy rains earlier in the week. My dad and I decide to look at the waterfall from under the bridge so we started to walk up the side of the river to the covered bridge. What started out as a fun adventure quickly took a turn for the worst. My Dad and I longed to see the top of the waterfall and all its beauty. The waterfalls were each about twenty feet in height and about ten feet wide. I said "hey dad, want to walk up to the top with me?""sure lets go and we can see what it looks like from the top.” We then started up the trail from where we were going along the riverbank upstream to the covered bridge. We walked to the top to see the river flowing under the bridge. I was looking at all the rocks in the water that glistened like stars and just thinking about how smooth they looked. I felt at peace walking up the river bank as though I was leaving society and all troubles behind. The air smelled clean and crisp away from the city. My dad was about 25 yards ahead of me when I took a wrong step onto a slippery moss covered rock next to the river. I lost my balance and tumbled into the rushing water. As I was carried down the river by an unstoppable force of flowing water I heard the roar of the falls as the drop was approaching. At that moment, my sense of peace and tranquility washed down the river and over the falls ahead of me and was replaced by fear. I knew the rocks at the bottom of both falls would severely hurt me so I tried to fight the current. My dad heard me scream, “help” and turned around. He ran and dove right into the river. Then he started to swim downstream to me with the current helping to give him speed. The drop was coming up and I had about 15 feet between me and the ledge. I started to try to touch the ground hoping that I could slow myself down. Even with all my efforts it was hopeless to slow down as the current got stronger and the water even deeper as I approached the falls. My dad caught up to me and grabbed me by my arm. The waterfall was only 5 feet away so he flung me over his shoulder and onto the sand bank. Then he was able to grab onto a large rock near the falls and pull himself onto it, then laid there on the sandy bank, just shocked! He then managed to make his way over to the bank from the rock and then trudged through the sand to me. When he came over to me, he laid next to me out of breath for a little while. Then he said "are you ok?" I responded “yes", but it was hard to tell because I was shaking. Lying there teeth chattering, just trying to comprehend what just happened. Some others came over to see if we were ok so I sat up and said to them, Yeah, I just fell in but my dad got me out before anything really bad could happen." I had some cuts and bruises from the rocks but I’d be ok by the end of the day. I looked back at the rushing water as it poured over the falls and realized just how lucky I was. I could have easily been badly hurt or worse! I realized how much I needed my dad to keep me safe. I guess that at that age, I may not have been the best judge of what is safe and what isn’t. It is a great feeling knowing my dad is watching out for me to keep me safe. This was an unplanned adventure that I will never forget and I will always be extra careful around rivers and waterfalls.

The Frog Pond Massacre by Joe Dargon

Christmas Eve; a time of excitement and our fun-filled annual trip to The Frog Pond. It is a pond in Boston during the summer, but it freezes and makes a perfect skating area. I am so excited while we walk through the park. Jack is also excited but he was at that age when you hate your younger siblings; your first year as a teen, 13 that is. It was a chilly night, my lips clang together like a nutcracker. My blood rushes throughout my 9 year old body as we draw closer; hoping I don't embarrass myself as I skate. Jack says,"Hey, I bet ya I'm not gonna fall today." "Fine 10 bucks then." Another dumb bet by me. Jack is a cheetah on ice, but has the balance of a gymnast on the beam. As we walk through the park, the white snow plummets off the trees and lands on the ground. I get skittish as we wait in line. I examine the frozen pond and the young couples; the boy always seems annoyed when the girl looks like a cat in the water. That's not a good sight. When it is our turn to pay, as usual says I am younger than 6 to save some hard earned green paper. We run to a wooden bench, they're so old you can see pieces of the wood sticking out, pointy as knives. I tie my skates so tight that I can see the tongues flap over the strings. My brother and I have our own skates since we played hockey, but my dad gets 3 girls' skates from a run down shack where they are sold for my sisters. Jack and I have always been very close to each other. As in every older brother, younger brother relationship though, the younger one gets beat up, and forced to do things they don't want; of course that kid is me. We don't get into many fights though, but he still pounces on me and I attempt to fight back. Jack has short hair, gets curly when it grows. He isn't too tall, but he is very tough and stronger than he looks. Jack is sensitive, so like every immature kid, I talk bad to him and it never pays off. I do this because I and many other 9 year old boys have no common sense and don't know when we have gone too far and do too much. Jack and I race onto the ice and fly past the young couples struggling as usual. I only hear kids screeching as they hit the ice, skates slamming against the ice, and the annoying Christmas carols in the park. The fresh aroma of sweet Italian food runs through my nose. My brother spots this guy; dancing like a ballerina on ice; he was totally embarrassing himself. He was pretty tall, lanky, and extra tight skinny jeans a furry, white jacket. He wears these small headphones, playing classical figure skating music. My brother told me to start following him, so we did. My brother forces me to to copy the man; I cant say no because I was afraid of him like all little brothers. He just told me to do it and since I don't want to get beat up, I do it. We copy all of his spins and other moves while we are right behind him; he doesn't even notice. He does a jumping spin; my brother does the same thing, and he stops short. Crash! My brother hits the manMy brother's face is priceless. His eyes are closed and he covers his face as he tumbles to the ice. Jack yells, "Oh crab apples! Joe, help me up! Lets get out of here!" We skate our hearts out, my heart is pounding so fast I can't breathe. We skate through the crowd; avoiding the fellow skaters as they look at us in complete terror. We race off the ice and run towards my dad and mom; who wait on the bench for a short break; it was a war zone out there. We elude behind them; making sure the man won't see us as he looks around for us. My dad looks suspicious; looking around for the  victim of our accidents. My dad says, "Jack, what is going on?" Of course he says,"I don't know what your talking about." The cold air has reached inside me and ripped out my lungs; I can't catch my breathe as I try to talk to my dad. I never fell that day, and of course Jack toppled on that man; I never got my 10 dollars.

Delinquent Brother by Eric Dang

It was the night after another great day at Las Vegas, and I was at the pool in the back of the hotel with my brother. I didn't know how to swim yet, as i was only eight at the time, so I wading around in shallow waters. My unwanted and slightly hefty brother, Dennis was also in the near freezing water under a waterfall; he was staring at the immense diving board looming over the water. He was put into a trance as he sat staring at the boards metal frame, and after what had seemed like ages his chubby head turned and he said,"I bet you can't jump off that thing!" From hearing those words I cringed in fear, fear of both the death drop and the world of humiliation I would be in if I didn't jump. I scaled each choice I could make and finally decided I would try my luck with the board. I slowly walked towards the steep metal stand, dragging my feet trying to make the short trip to the ladder as long as possible. I finally reached the rungs of the ladder and took a deep breath; I built up what little courage I could possibly muster and grabbed hold of the first rung. I took notice of how cold the rung was, it felt like ice in my miniature hand, but I had to ignore it and began to climb. Bit by bit the noodles, rafts, and beach balls below me became smaller and smaller until finally I was at the top and the objects looked like the size of playing cards. I looked down from the high ledge and immediately my body froze, I felt the hairs on my neck heighten like the quills on a porcupine and I looked away. After the first look I knew I wasn't going to jump. I stood up and said,"I can't do this.", but I hadn't noticed my brother climbing up behind me, so when I turned around he sprang forward like a fox pouncing on a mouse and kicked me square in the gut; I flew back as the wind was knocked right out of me and my small body descended. I felt the time slow as I fell like a baby bird falling out of its nest, but I couldn't move my body. My brother became smaller and smaller as I was pushed down by gravity until... Splash! My back crashed into the cold surface of the water and it felt like I had hit a metal slab. I began to drown and inhale chlorinated water as I flailed fearing for my life. "Help!" I screamed as I began to lose consciousness from the lack of oxygen and began fade away, but then I heard another splash. A larger figure grabbed me and began pushing me towards the surface and shallow end; it was my dad he had heard my cry for help, ran out, saw my brother commit the crime, and dashed to my rescue. For the next few weeks my brother would be in his room doing nothing because of his "immature and foolish attempt to kill his brother."

The Day I Realized We Aren't the Only Smart Ones by Gaetano Ragusa

The Day I Realized we aren't the only Smart Ones One frigid, April morning, I awoke to the sound of my mother and father talking quietly. I'm not a very deep sleeper. As I stared out of our 3rd floor hotel window at the parking lot full of different makes of cars, we prepared to go to the Smithsonian National Zoo. As one of our final days in D.C, we saved the best activities for last. The reason we were in Washington D.C was because my mother was there for a math teacher's convention. The year is 2009, and I was in the Fourth Grade. It was one of those days where it started out warm and sunny and turned cold and cloudy. I was wearing shorts and a t-shirt, and so was my father. My sister was wearing jeans. While my mother attended her convention, we set out for the Zoo. The size of the Zoo amazed me. It was at least twice the size of the one here in Boston, and had twice the number of animals too. The animals there fascinated me to such a great extent that I forgot I was cold. The huge, rust-colored elephants and the majestic, amber colored lion were just the beginning. I remember that I was trying to get a picture of the lion while it was roaring, and it took me almost ten minutes to get the perfect shot. Then there was the dwarfish baby gorilla with its mother covering its ears, trying to keep out the ruckus of the room. The noise in the room was as loud as a jet whizzing down a runway, gaining speed for takeoff. The students in that room were the loudest in the world. They were running around, jumping on each other, and complaining to their teachers. There were at least five school groups, with every single kid yelling at the top of their lungs. Some of the screams I could make out were "It's so cute!" And "Mommy, can I get one?". The only quiet people in the room were the three of us. "Can you pick me up so I can see?", I asked my father. As my father picked me up to see over the crowd, I saw the baby gorilla and felt bad for it and its mother. They needed to stand up to all of this noise EVERY DAY. I was there five minutes and I was sick of the noise after the first two. It also showed me just how smart these animals were. The mother knew what to do and sacrificed its own hearing for its baby's. This amazed me. I knew that gorillas and chimpanzees were smart, but I didn't know they knew about sacrifice and were this caring. This memory sticks in my mind because it shows that some animals are just as smart as humans. Nothing else I saw that day compared to the gorillas. These memories of exotic, intelligent, and magnificent animals linger in my mind as fresh as they were the day they happened, even though they happened almost four years ago.