1st Place, Feature Columnist
2021-22, Division 3, News Writing
By Julian M. Longlet
Focus
Midland HS
Fireman 897
I used to think that the question “Who is your hero?” was incredibly stupid. When we had icebreakers in class, people would say superstar athletes like LeBron James or Tom Brady, and I would too. I never really gave it much thought about who my hero really was but over the last four years it has become clear.
My realization started one day when my mom texted that she was going to pick me up from school but I insisted on staying on the bus because I was as in love with this girl as an 8th grader can be. The entire way home I kept thinking about how weird it was that my mom insisted on picking me up. Later on that night my parents called me and my brother to the living room to talk, which I assumed was about what we were going to eat for dinner. When I came down and saw my mom in tears, my heart sank.
My father was in the corner of our grey L-shaped couch with his elbow on his knee and his hand covering his mouth, his eyes wide open with his eyebrows raised; my mom sat next to my father, back straight with both of her hands locked together, her eyes red but she was wearing an unconvincing smile; my brother leaned against the entrance to the room, his arms crossed and his eyes wide open. I hurried my way into the room with my heart beating out of my chest, I sat down on an ottoman that had my late grandmother’s bear-shaped rug on it, I put my elbows on my knees and unintentionally mirrored my dad’s positioning. My mom glanced at my dad, gently put her hand on my dad’s leg and looked over to my brother and me. My mother then explained how my dad’s recent trips to the doctor have amounted to a discovery of a tumor in his throat.
How can my dad, the literal strongest person I know in my life have this scary-deadly disease? How can this happen to my family? These thoughts raced in my head immediately as I tried to sort out what my mother just told me. My brother however seemed to have processed it almost immediately, I saw how red he was, his eyes watering up, tears seeping out though I could tell he was trying to keep it in. I go deaf and as I look over to my dad, I notice he is still in the same position as when I came in the room, but now he has a blank expression on his face, not sad, not angry, just dull.
My dad was temperatury able to beat his cancer, through a long year of chemo and radiation while also continuing his service as a fireman. However, it was only two years of celebration and going back into our normal lives when my dad was having extreme back pain. On a routine monthly checkup after his chemo, my mom mentioned it to the doctors.
Doctors has discovered that his cancer had spread, having multiple tumors in his lungs, liver, and kidney. My family had two years, only two years.
My dad began new immunotherapy and chemo treatments, after a few months of doing said treatments, they began not to work.
His Tumors began to grow again and a new course of action was needed. He began his experimental treatment at the National Institute of Health in Washington D.C., but that failed as well.
The last four years worth of treatments have worn my dad out, with none of them working and no more options for others, my dad entered hospice in September. Nobody knows exactly how long my dad has left, but we know it is not as long as we would like. I keep uttering the same questions as I did 4 years ago- “How can this happen to my family?” but the reality is that life is unfair.
It is extremely sad to me that saying your dad or mom has become a cliche answer to who is your hero, because to lots of people, their parents are their heroes, I know mine is. Throughout my life my dad has taught me so many life lessons that did not click with me until recently. I see my dad making jokes with family, friends, and even the hospice workers and realise how strong he is. The way he is able to lift everyone around him up while being sick is so inspiring to me. The perseverance, his charisma, and his value of our family will leave a lasting impact on me. I don’t think I have ever told him this but my dad will always be my hero. I want to live my life the way he did, I want to impact people the way he has, and I want to be loved by my future kids the way I love him.
The Man in the Hole
A man is walking down the street when all the sudden he stumbles and falls into a deep hole. The man shouts for help. Eventually, a doctor walks by.
“Doctor! Doctor!” the man shouts. “I have fallen into this hole and I can’t get out. Please help me.”
The doctor writes out a prescription and tosses it into the hole and proceeds on his way down the street. The man in the hole can’t get out of the hole with the prescription. He starts to shout for help again when a priest walks by the hole.
“Father! Father!” the man shouts. “I have fallen into this hole and I can’t get out. Please help me.”
The Priest writes out a prayer and tosses it into the hole and proceeds on his way down the street. The man in the hole can’t get out of the hole with the prayer. He starts to give up when his friend sees him and jumps into the hole.
“What the hell are you doing?” The man asks. “Now we are both stuck down here.”
His friend replies, “No we aren’t, I have been down here before and I know the way out.”
I heard this story from the TV show The West Wing, and I realized that in a way, I am the man in the hole. But my hole that I am in is with the grief regarding my dad.
It has been four months since my dad passed away. I have good days, but some days I fall deep into the hole and can see no way out. It was really scary in the last few days where his lungs sounded like pop rocks and when he passed away in his La-Z-Boy chair. These sounds and images are encased in my mind, which makes even seeing pop rock or La-Z-Boy chairs push me into the hole.
I have been seeing a therapist since spring of 2021, with a higher frequency since my dad passed away. It was really difficult to begin to see her. Having to reimagine and talk about my dad’s cancer was not something I wanted to do, but it was necessary to begin and prepare myself for his passing. I was taught how to deal with my emotions and how to make it so they don’t overwhelm me. However it does not just magically work, I need to have the motivation to get myself out of the hole.
There are days where I have no motivation, where I just want to curl up and cry. My friends can tell when I am having these days, they notice the pain that I am dealing with and they try to help me.
Helping me by asking what’s wrong, helping me by saying that I can rely on them, helping me by simply just being there.
When my friends check in on me, they show that they care about me and want me to be better. They jump down into the hole with me, and even when I push them away unwillingly, they stay. Sometimes the way out of the hole is not the way that I fell in. Sometimes I need to dig a tunnel out. It can be tiring, and seem impossible. Sometimes when I am unable to see the light at the exit, my friends are able to. They will be my guide.
The more and more I dig myself out, the more I realize that it’s getting easier. Obviously some days are better than others, when I can really be in the moment, when it’s not all of
these thoughts about missing my dad, What I should/shouldn’t have done, how much it hurts, how I would do anything to have him back. Through all of my ups and downs, I know I am making progress, not only can I feel it, but I can see it, and others can see it too. I am getting brighter, I am holding my head up higher, and it keeps getting higher each time I dig myself out.
I am going through the hardest thing I have ever faced in my life, and I know I am nowhere near getting back to where I was. I will never be the same. I am always going to miss my dad, he is my dad after all. There is a huge hole in my heart, but it will regrow, this experience is gonna shape me into whoever I will become.
NW-09. Feature Columnist
Each entry must:
- have two (2) columns (feature or opinion) from different publication dates
- have both columns submitted together in the same entry form
- have the same standing head
- be authored by the same writer(s) (both columns in the entry should have the same byline)
- carry bylines or other writer identification to indicate the personal nature of the content
Judging Criteria
- Sharp attention-getting leads
- Expresses personal opinions; uses consistent style
- Reflects thought/research, freshness, individuality
- Effective use of facts/quotes or supporting material
- Informative, interesting, entertaining
- Upholds journalistic integrity
- Sentences, paragraphs of varied length; written clearly, concisely and vividly
- Proper diction/grammar