The Renaissance

The Renaissance: I Miss Him Dearly by Kavon Morris ’23

By Kavon Morris ’23:

November 18, 2023 was a regular day – until I got home. 

The day started off fine. I went to school just like any other day. I still can remember the day vividly. I had chicken nuggets for lunch, and the track season had just started so I was excited to go to practice after school. Practice was regular; we had an easy workout with only six 150s. But things started to get a little weird after practice. 

My mom picked my friend Christian and I up from practice to take us to work at Boston Market for our shift from 5-9. My mom was in a rush, which was weird. 

I asked, “What’s wrong? Did something happen at work?”

She kept responding, “Nothing. Work was fine. I Just have to go do something, and I don’t want to be late”. 

She’s always doing things with co-workers or friends after work, so her saying she had somewhere to be wasn’t weird. 

But the worried look and frantic driving was what was off. She always yells at me when I drive badly so for her to do that was kind of surprising. 

Well, she dropped us off to work, and I started to forget about it. Since Thanksgiving was coming up, the Boston Market was really packed with a lot of customers so work was very busy. 

My friend Reihanna dropped me home that day. It was a good day for me. School was good, practice was fun, and work may have been hectic, but there could be worse days. 

I got home and said “goodnight” to my mom and started to go into my room. 

“Hold on, Kavon. Come here.”

So I go downstairs and I walk into my mom’s room. 

“Yeah ma?”

It wasn’t anything new for my mom to call me into her room. Usually she wants me to take the garbage out of her room for her or get her a cup of juice. 

But when she sat up in her bed, I could tell something was wrong because she began to cry. 

“I don’t really know how to tell you this, but your father is missing,” she said as she began to cry even more. 

I froze and it felt like she was trying to play some kind of joke. 

“Huh? What do you mean ‘missing’?” 

But it began to kind of set in. 

“We don’t know what happened, but your father was at work, and we think he fell off the boat because nobody on the job site could find him.”

It really started to kick in at this point because I started crying, and it felt like my legs went numb. I couldn’t stand anymore. She got up and gave me a hug. I was hysterical: it was really bad.  When she then filled me in, everything started to make sense: like why she was in such a rush earlier because she was going to meet my brother at his job site because my brother and my father worked together. 

They’re welders in the same union and on the same site. They worked on an oil dredge out East. The news hit me harder when I realized it was my brother that realized my father was missing. They were getting ready to get lunch, and my father was nowhere to be found. It turned out that my father was taking a rowboat to the oil dredge and unfortunately fell off and couldn’t make his way back to the shore. 

This day changed my life forever. I still can’t really believe that it’s almost been 4 months since my father passed. 

It still feels like he’s here sometimes, and I miss him dearly.

“No More Nightmares” by Morgan Grismer ’23

“No More Nightmares” by Morgan Grismer ’23

It’s dark outside and the house is finally free of the voices that filled the living room not too long ago. I move silently around cleaning up the toys and putting away the couch cushions that were used for the ultimate fort twenty minutes prior. Almost done, then I can lay down, I thought to myself. That was until my thoughts were quickly interrupted by a little girl in pink pajamas, who was surprisingly able to make her way down the stairs without me hearing.

“I cannot fall asleep,” she says in a quiet voice.

“Please Cate, I get it but just try. It is way past your bedtime,” I start to say with frustration as we seem to have this conversation every time I babysit.

“Can you please wait in my room until I fall asleep? I get nightmares. Please,” she pleads as any seven year old would do.
I try to hide the unconvinced look on my face as I cannot turn her request down, “Yeah, I can do that.”

I let her guide me up the stairs as we made our way to her bedroom. The same pink room I was in not that long ago when I put her to bed the first time. I sit down on the hardwood floor as she crawls back into bed. I begin to contemplate how I ended up here. I silently sat there feeling myself grow somewhat impatient. But it was not long until I realized how tremendously this already helped her. This small act, which I thought would be pointless, was something that made a big difference for her.

She yawns and I hear her voice come from under the blankets, “Thank you Ninja Morgan.” I cannot help but laugh as she uses the nickname she gave me when I first started watching her. She quietly adds, “No more nightmares.”

“No nightmares,” I say while I now watch her soundlessly fall asleep in front of me.

I sat in the dark room and wondered what it was about having me in there that made her feel safe from nightmares. That was until I realized I do the same thing as a seventeen year old, the only difference is it’s not about nightmares. When I feel unsafe, I look for someone in the crowd, someone that I know will make me feel safe with nothing but their presence. Sometimes that’s all someone needs. Even if it meant I had to take twenty minutes to sit on a hardwood floor, I was able to help her fall asleep.

Some tend to brush off kids when they complain about not falling asleep and just send them right back to bed. Which was exactly my first thought. But I needed to understand that just because I don’t find it hard to fall asleep does not mean the child in front of me doesn’t.

Everyone has their own struggles. It is the simple act of helping someone I care about, no matter what the age. At the beginning I thought it would be a waste of time, but seeing how my presence automatically gave her security, I realized there was no such thing.

We look for people in our life whom we feel safe around. There doesn’t have to be any talking or noise, just knowing that the person is with you is good enough. And for that night, I was her person.

“Plastic Grass” by Shea Flannelly ’26

“Plastic Grass” by Shea Flannelly ’26

My heart is filled with plastic grass
Not growing or getting longer
It sits and waits for something more
But has no need for water

Some say I’m easier to maintain
That I’m shiny, sharp, and new
But all I do is imitate
For I so ever long to be used