GoinG out with a BANG!

Octagon seniors say goodbye to newspaper staff and Country Day in their final articles

Don’t ask Mr. Cunningham what to draw. He’s a poetic man, so his suggestion will be something unwanted: a nauseous elderly man sitting on a giant ice cream cone, a broken egg revealing a rusty toilet, or maybe a cluster of hairy bananas giving birth.

These answers were helpful in their implicit messaging: “Why are you asking me? Just do something.” There’s always something to do, but do you want to do it? Maybe you don’t want to grab a human anatomy book and draw nude men bearing absurd musculature. Or you do have ideas, but you don’t feel comfortable drawing your fursona in front of your super cool and popular friend group. Maybe you don’t think

JACOB ChAnD

I’ve always been curious about who I would be if my parents hadn’t decided to enroll me at Country Day in first grade and what might have happened if I hadn’t stayed — would I be different?

The answer, as many would assume, is yes. Of course I’d be different, but would I be happier? Would I still have gotten into my dream college or met the friends I have today? Would I have made all the interpersonal connections with my teachers and developed a genuine interest in every subject I’ve tried thanks to them?

Looking back, I think the answer to some, if not all, of these questions is no. I’m truly glad I’ve attended Country Day these past 12 years.

In lower school, there is one teacher I’d like to mention who sparked my love and passion for writing. My third grade teacher, Darian Giusti, had us write book reports that she graded using a scale of one to five stars.

What I remember most, however, were her thoughtful comments regarding every word I wrote and how she repeatedly supported me in my creative endeavors. She would always say how she knew I was going to be a writer, and while I didn’t believe her at the time, I find myself thinking back to her words whenever I find myself thinking you’re good enough. Maybe it’s artist’s block. ountry Day smells like fresh redwood trees. Country Day sounds like my friends playing soccer at recess. Country Day tastes like the lunch my mom makes me. Country Day feels like a warm hug. Country Day looks like a hotel. Country Day is my school. up a new poem or story. I’ll be forever thankful for her and her kind words of encouragement and support.

As far as advice goes — honestly, if the problem is needing to create something, go ahead and trace a photo. It’s not original, but it might help your linework or anatomy.

I often struggle with artist’s block. So, I might pick a pose from Pinterest and an outfit from one of Mr. Cunningham’s magazines and run with it; it’s something. I’ll listen to music to prevent overthinking. I’ve learned that there’s not a solution to artist’s block, but there are options.

Maybe what turned me away from my teacher’s random prompts was that I already had an idea of what I wanted to do.

Don’t be confused; this slightly corrected poem isn’t a Frost or Dickinson but that of my younger self.

After 14 years, 504 weeks and a couple days short of the 2,520-day mark due to crippling senioritis, it’s hard to fathom that this will be the last thing I write attached to the Sacramento Country Day name.

It feels like just yesterday I was using the writing stone to correctly measure the space between my words in Ms. Kren’s first grade class. Fast forward a decade later, my Country Day portfolio is full of book reports, essays, speeches, journalism pieces, foreign language compositions, college admission papers and, of course, interpretive poems. You name it, I’ve written it.

In that sense, it’s been incredibly difficult on what to bring up for that last hoorah — so much so that in typical Jacob fashion, this article has been procrastinated past the deadline for days.

The majority of my development happened in middle school. Middle school was essentially three long years of drama, but in between the moments of teenage angst, I was able to find myself and began applying myself in school.

Once again, I would never have built up the grit and determination that propelled me through middle school and up into high school if it hadn’t been for Country Day teachers like my sixth grade math teacher, Edward Bolman.

To preface my statement, it should be known to all that I hated math when I first entered sixth grade. It was my weakest subject and I felt like no matter how hard I worked at it, I would never succeed. Then Bolman became my math teacher and things quickly changed. Ranging from taking tests in the dark and getting scared half to death when he jumped out at us to the zombie survival project, Bolman taught math in a way that was fun and engaging. I learned that I could do math and be good at it, and I’ll never forget it.

By the time I got to high school, I already had built up a solid base. Now all that was left was to transform my naive, overconfident self into the near-graduate I am today. I’m certain it was no

Did I just find the idea of pregnant ba nanas disturbing, or did I actually want to draw something figural?

Like other artists, I feel the pressure to create something elaborate and mean ingful whenever I’m trying to create a piece of art.

Occasionally, I question whether or not other people can derive pleasure from my art; it can be a challenge for me to feel proud and satisfied with my work.

Nevertheless, abandoning art has never crossed my mind. Drawing is essential to my life; I’m driven to create.

When I’m drawing, I’m making something, even if it’s not meaningful to me yet. Maybe it’s a step towards something else — something better.

However, the unfiltered nature of this assignment sits as a double-edged sword, giving me endless yet overwhelming freedom.

With this in mind, I took a stroll to where it all started, reminiscing along the rails of the Pre-K courtyard and throughout the various quads of the lower, middle and high schools.

And although change is inevitable, after years of not being in those parts of campus, it was mind-boggling how much development Country Day has put forth over 14 years.

From remodeled gyms, science centers and classrooms, it’s hard to deny that, like my poem-writing, we have grown for the better.

In that sense, this walk evoked memories of the stages of both my social and academic careers.

As a middle schooler, I stood as a STEM-driven student, full of social awkwardness and a nonexistent social life that was conveniently paired with a rolling backpack.

Coming out of high school, I stand as a humanities-based senior who dips toes into various extracurriculars and wears a double-strapped JanSport to learn and party with the friends I’ve easy task. When it came to high school, my anxiety seemed to have no end now that everything mattered for the sake of my college education. made on the way.

Because of this, what I remember most about high school and the teach ers in it is how much they care about their students. I can’t think of one teacher to single out; to write them all out would be quite a list.

Whether it be in the humanities or STEM, I can’t think of a single teacher who wouldn’t take time out of their busy day to listen to my concerns, help me with schoolwork or answer my seeming ly never-ending list of questions.

The reassurance that everything would be okay helped me get through a test, a difficult day or a presentation that had me completely stressed out. Without them, I doubt I would be as ac ademically successful as I am today.

I don’t regret my decision to stay at Country Day for my lower through high school education for a single moment. Maybe I would be different, but I don’t think I would be as happy or fulfilled as I am now. It was the teachers who made staying here worth it, and I would never have succeeded in the ways in which I have if it wasn’t for them. So, for all my teachers, I want to say, from the bot tom of my heart, thank you.

Undoubtedly, although that journey has been long, Country Day and the community around it has shaped me into the person I am today — ensuring I enter the next phase of my life as multifaceted as can be.

Whether that be sports, writing, science or just how to be an good person, Country Day has done its job better than I could have asked for.

For that, I would like to thank all the teachers, staff, my friends and family for guiding me through 14 years of unforgettable memories.

And on a final note, I leave you with this: Country Day smells like the plums in the seniors’ icebox. Country Day sounds like the bellowing roars of middle school and high school students alike, cheering away as the seniors announce their college decisions. Country Day tastes like the food from the bustling garden so graciously offered by the team of gardeners when they realize you don’t have a snack. Country Day looks like brilliant minds coming in all shapes and sizes to enact change. Country Day feels like no other place in the world. Country Day is my home.