Sean Flynn Memorial Scholarship

When I was around the age of six, I was determined to improve my drawing skills. Not just any skill, but specifically the skill of drawing a star. Not the star with the lines crisscrossing in the middle, but a true free-handed star. All the cool kids knew how to draw a free-hand star, and I was in desperate need of something to boost my standing in my class hierarchy. I was an avid watcher of Disney Channel when I was younger, and I fully believed in the mantra that you can do anything you set your mind to. In this case, I had set my mind on staying relevant in the constantly changing elementary school culture. I got home from a tiring day of first grade and went straight to work. I didn’t even make a stop in the kitchen for an after school snack. I must have sat in my mom’s office (the appropriate place for such a serious occasion, obviously) for at least thirty minutes. Thirty minutes is a lot of time for a six-year-old. Half an hour felt like an eternity. I drew star after star until my hand cramped. Nevertheless, I just could not master it. I leaned my head back in frustration, and as I swung it forward I realized overshot. With all the passion of a tortured, six-year-old artist, my face slammed into the desk. While I was gearing up to cry I tasted something metallic in my mouth. I had knocked one of my front teeth completely loose. I stopped trying to draw a free-hand star after that day. At least I had gotten a visit from the tooth fairy out of it. After this failed endeavor, I was feeling pretty down. Sitting on my couch with an ice pack on my face was not how I wanted the day to end. I went to bed that night feeling pretty discouraged. As I was brainstorming new ideas, I realized something. I had now acquired an injury! Having an injury in first grade was as close to being a celebrity as one could get. I was on my way to conquering the world of elementary school. I would finally get to be the one who decided what we played at recess. Getting up the next day, I was feeling on top of the world. Well, not my mouth. My mouth felt pretty bad.

In third grade, I had a crush. As with most elementary school crushes, I liked him simply because he was a boy who didn’t think I had cooties. Until he moved schools in 6th grade, I had already planned our future together. My friends and I planned our wedding, designed the floor plan of our future mansion, and of course, gambled on how many babies the storks would deliver to us. Every day at recess, I would walk around with my chest puffed and shoulders back, surrounded by my posse of girls to prove my popularity. Occasionally, I would ditch my friends and talk to him alone. Luckily for me, I had a lot of experience playing backyard games with my stepdad, so I was able to keep up with all of the boys when we played kickball on the blacktop. Any doubt I had about him crushing back on me was eliminated when he would let me cut in front of him in the line to kick. On this particular day, we sat in our pre-assigned seats at lunch. On the table’s bench, it was me, my friend, Mary, and then Shawn, my crush, on the opposite end as me. This was a “pizza” day, so I packed my lunch. Shawn did too, something very out of character for him. When our table was called up to the lunch line, him and I remained seated. I prompted some small talk but it did not last long. Only a brief time later, he said, “listen to this.” He proceeded to let out the loudest, stinkiest, most forceful fart that I have ever experienced. It was so forceful that the bench shook under me, more than three feet away. I was shocked. And, frankly, sort of impressed. Despite being entirely grossed out, I giggled for what felt like forever. People started staring at us, wondering why we were struggling to breathe while writhing around. It was not pain that we were in, however, it was true giddiness. No humor is as pure as fart humor. Everyone farts and everyone laughs at farts. Babies laugh when raspberries are blown on their bellies, and old people laugh when they eventually lose control of their gas. Through my giggles, I told my friends what he had done just moments before, and they told theirs. Eventually, the whole table was losing their minds over the matter. Despite this occurring over a decade ago at this point, I still laugh at the thought of the bench rumbling beneath me. I wonder, too, if Shawn remembers this incident or if I am the only one keeping this memory alive.

The world is full of liars, and yes, I am talking about all the adults in the room. Adults are the biggest liars, not just because a majority of them work in car dealerships and sell Bitcoin, but because they are the people with the knowledge that sets up our expectations. My uncle told me high school would be the best years of my life, and I believed him because he had attended 4 years of it, which is enough years to get a bachelor's in anything. I asked a couple more adults and they told me the same thing, so I had no reason to not look forward to it. The adults had gotten me to a point where I was like, “Oh puberty and changes? That sounds like a great time!” Unfortunately, my first day of high school was virtual because of Covid. I didn't know it then, but the world had worked in my favor. I had gotten to skip the year where you were the newbies everyone looked down on, the newbies who got lost on a daily basis, and the newbies who were intimidated by everyone and everything. Sophomore year rolled around and my parents decided to put me in Virtual School because COVID was still a concern, talk about dodging another bullet! But at this point, I wanted to go to a real school because the adults had made me anticipate the social aspect of high school, the sports that they were forever proud of, and the growth that they had experienced. Unfortunately, that would all come down to my first real day of high school, which would be my junior year. I'd been looking forward to this day for 3 years. All of that anticipation that these adults had helped me build came down to this very moment. So guess what great and astronomically out of this world's moment happened to me on my first day of real high school? Nothing! My first day of high school was okay and I was like, “ Oh, this isn’t bad.” But one month later, I could’ve sworn I was going to the circus. I woke up early every morning just to be punctual at the circus. Do you know how hypocritical that is? Nobody at the circus is punctual, not even the clowns. Another thing no one told me about is that a lot of people don't come to the circus to learn because they believe they are going to end up in the streets or end up working at McDonald's. What are you going to do with AP English at McDonalds? The funniest thing about my high school experience was that my high school was understaffed. If you don't know what that means it basically means that the teachers run the school. Because what are they going to do? Fire you for doing the bare minimum and having 30 students be teacherless. I think some of you may have already caught the joke. Because when I confronted my uncle he laughed, "We didn't lie to you. We just weren't talking about public school! " * I read this over with several teachers and my Principal to make sure it's not offensive to anyone. But they have all basically told me the same thing, the truth shouldn't be offensive and humor will always be subjective.

I like to think I’m quite the story teller, as life has handed me some epic tales so adventurous that I have no choice but to learn how to represent them correctly. This tale is one such epic, and it is centered around my best friend Gabe. Now, Gabe is by no means stupid. He has better grades then me and was raised in a household of intellectuals. That being said, when it comes to decision making he seems to be lacking. To phrase it best, he’s not dumb, he just acts dumb. This is one such example of him acting dumb. To set the scene, it was the summer of 2019, and we were both 15. We were at Boyscout summer camp, which was a week long trip we took with the Boyscout troop we were in together. At this camp, they had many events, but the one I will be focusing in a swim race. The camp had a lake and the race was over who could do two laps around the circumference of the lake. Now back to Gabe, he was a swimmer, and had been one for most of his life so naturally he decided he would participate in this race. Now anyone else would’ve approached the race normally and just tried there hardest, but Gabe wasn’t anyone else. Gabe was Gabe. Now before the race, Gabe had a merit badge at the arts and crafts lodge in the camp, and he had noticed that they seemingly had a surplus of Vaseline. At that moment the gears in his brain began to turn and grind. He knew that vaseline was slippery, and since that race was speed based, well I think you can see where this is going. Cut to the race and Gabe walked out of the bathroom clad in a Speedo, drenched from head to toe is the slimy substance known as Vaseline. He was literally dripping like he just climbed out of the womb. And so with a purposeful step and a goal in mind he approached the lake, shining like a star in the afternoon sunlight. And when the ref said go, he swam with all his might. And…his plan did not work. For alas, Gabe got second. I don’t know in what universe he thought covering himself in Vaseline would boost his naturally adept swimming abilities, but he was convinced it would do something, and it most certainly did not. Now you may think it couldn’t get better but alas my dear reader, it does. For not only did my best friend get second in a race after covering himself in Vaseline, but the person who beat him had the exact same name as me. Now since I have a decently uncommon name this made it even funnier and I can assure you to this day I have never let him forget the time he oiled himself up only to lose a race to me.