Black & Gold Issue 8(senior) vol 95 5 26 2016

The

Black Gold

&

2015 MIPA Spartan Award Winner

two inside

May 25, 2016

index

3-6, 8, 11-14, 18, 19 Submissions 7, 20, 21 Quotes 9, 10 Future Plans 15 Awards and Commendations 16, 17 Rendezvous 22 Prom 23, 24 Ads 25-27 Thanks

Staff

Photos: J. Conlon, A. Stiebel, O. Wilson

Graphics: Henry Lancashire

Editors-in-Chief

Feature Editor

Business Managers

Staff

Maddi Miller Julia Vannatter

Maddi Miller

Kirsten Berkey Hayley Scollard

News Editor

A&E Editor

Photo Editor

Kristin McLintock

Julia Vannatter

Aidan Stiebel

Sports Editor

Illustration Editor

Noah Aulicino

Henry Lancashire

Andrea Bavikatty Ben Brown Jackson Conlon Abbie Crick Abby Harnish Jack Myers Nicole Rogers Alex Stern Taylor Weckstein Baille Zipser

Opinion Editor Carly Hernden

Focus Page Editor Bethany Pataky

With the help of a blind man’s courage

“

People are art and when combined with their stories and the right colors and pictures, I feel I am doing their stories justice.

”

Each question asked elicited more questions.

He seemed to understand--as though he could see the world and all its struggles clear as the bright blue sky. Intuitively, he saw wrong and knew right. He saw everything, yet there he was, wending his way with his white cane, tap, tap, tapping his path. Nikolai Zekic, was one of my many inspirations.

My hands jittered uncontrollably as I sifted through all my unanswered questions, trying to keep my curiosity in check, but knowing it was also the fuel of his story. It was freshman year, my first newspaper assignment; I had to capture Nikolai. His story was compelling and people were depending on me. And there I was, groping to “see” a blind man’s world, struggling to make my words an instrument by which others saw Nikolai, understood his handicap.

Interviewing people like Nikolai showed me the power of journalism—the impact a single person’s story can have on another person, a school and a community.

I had yet to learn this. To my dismay, my next assignment was another personality profile on

the school janitor. Either I sucked and my editors wanted me to nail the profile, or I was good at it and they wanted more. I never did find out but the only reporting I did all freshman year was profiles. One person’s story at a time.

I was nervous about writing such in-depth stories requiring intensive interviewing; I had to ask really personal questions of a complete stranger. Turned out after a long day of scrubbing off walls, peeling gum, and fixing the boiler, Scott Markle is a closet artist who makes beautiful furniture and paints nature scenes; some of his art is museum quality.

I started to understand that everyone has a story, and many aren’t at all what one expects.

Why does a disabled girl run cross country?

Why did another student apprentice as a chef ?

What makes a history teacher train for the Ironman title? I found in all of these people passion, purpose and inspiration.

My cross country coach Lisa Taylor once said every person has a “ding.” There is a reason behind the culmination of our decisions, behaviors and perspectives. Everyone has something they’re up against in life. Some people wear their scars on the outside, but then there are those who have internal struggles just as real.

And that’s what journalism is to me, letting my curiosity steer a conversation that reveals a beautiful truth, a hardship challenged, or unfolds a deep, varied perspective of something others will never see, but can begin to grasp a kernel of understanding through my words.

People are art and when combined with their stories and the right colors and pictures, I feel I am doing their stories justice. I am showcasing the dings and diamonds of their lives. There is something so powerful about words—they paint a picture of someone’s life, reveal some sublime truth; their story must be shared.

Becoming Editor-in-Chief combined with years on staff of my school newspaper revealed a post collegiate dream. I intend to own my own communications and media business. I dream of creating a platform where stories are shared and showcased as the art they are.

Ironically, with the help of a blind man’s courage, I can see the way my company’s logo will sit proudly above the world map on the cover of my magazine. I can hear the voices of the people I want to interview. I can see the vistas of the places I have traveled to and the people whose stories I have shared with the world.

Invisibilty

They call Crohn’s Disease the invisible disease because no one can tell just by looking at a “chronie” that they have anything wrong with them.

Crohn’s Disease is different for everyone, but for me, it means that I have tons of ulcers spotting my colon, small intestine, and stomach.

Fatigue and endless trips to the bathroom accompany the pain that comes with Crohn’s. It is a huge burden, but it has opened my eyes. If I am dealing with this and no one can see, what are the people passing me in the hall at school going through? What do they have to deal with that no one passing by can tell?

As a society, we are moving away from being united. As classmates, we pass each other in the hallways, with headphones in, scrolling through some meaningless app on a phone. With less communication, comes less emotion, less contact, and less happiness. We become invisible to each other. Soon we will have no desire at all to wonder how someone is doing. We won’t ask about other’s lives. It simply will not be as important as being able to send the newest emoji. We are moving to an era that is less about community and more about being secluded.

We think that we have friends, because that’s what Facebook tells us.

We are not truly aware of each other. We post because we want likes.

We like other people’s things because we are scrolling past. Do we

“

If I am dealing with this and no one can see, what are the people passing me in the hall at school going through? What do they have to deal with that no one passing by can tell?

”

actually care about the things that are going on in our friends’ lives?

Definitely. Do we care a lot less than people did 30, 40 years ago? Definitely. Does this have to keep happening? Of course not.

We have a communication problem . I challenge each and everyone reading this to go out and make sure to notice people. Set your phone down and have real conversations.

Don’t just wonder, care about what happens to the people around you. Everyone matters.

So care.

What’s your plan for next year?

I have no idea. And that’s okay.

All I know is that when I think of my future I hear wind, caressing the pavement of my city. I will write symphonies to the pulse of engines and the slapping soles of worn shoes. My gardens will grow between the pavement in snaking canyons, or maybe just through cracks in the sidewalk.

When I think of my past, I think only of them. His contagious ambition and piercing blue eyes, her names that changed with the seasons. I remember them through the haze of smoke wafting from their burning bridges. I grew up with her Christians on Sunday, her Hindus on Monday. Gazing at the porcelain Buddha on our Bible, rounded belly sunk into tissue paper pages. I never have understood the difference between Allah and Shiva. I grew up with his contempt for God. He quipped a sarcastic “He hath forsaken us,” as fear dripped in soured streams from the corners of his mouth, poured like rivers into mine and instilled an acrid tang I still relate to words like “Savior”.

And next year, I know I’ll leave home and I’m not quite sure what that means.

Because home is where we studied her photo album, worn with wear. Where we basked in the warmth of her memories, soaking them into our pores, escaping into her cellophane summers. And home is where he keeps his shoebox of photographs.

The ones I never did see.

They drowned in the bottom of a sea of dust, suffocating under the weight of torrents of salty tears. Winds that howled tales of regret. He tells me that now, the oceans haunts his dreams.

I was born of paradox. Raised by crisp summer mornings and looming fog.

The daughter of soft smiles and carmel, whiskey dreams.

So you can understand why I don’t know what the years ahead hold. Why I have no idea where my city even is.

When I get on my knees to pray I don’t know if I send it to Krishna or Yahweh and rarely a word passes my lips when I do not wonder if I am fool for praying at all. I have pasted a wall of photographs in my room of dreams, of hopes, of plans and I am not in one of them. I am hurtling toward a future and a girl I don’t know.

But I know that eventually I’ll find her.

In her city, clutching a mug of black coffee and a worn notebook. I will find her and she will recognize me.

She will know the girl she was, the one who couldn’t seem to find her. She will know the girl who is more afraid then her black lacquered fingertips and Cheshire grin would suggest. The girl who wears pearls with combat boots to face battlefields of unreachable expectations and her own self-doubt.

The one who writes more truth than she speaks. The girl whose volume of ire is surpassed only by that of her awe. The girl who wants to fight injustice until her knuckles are raw and her knees are bloody and full of gravel. The girl who wants to travel to places where heat drips over cool mornings as slowly as honey off of spoons. Places where they laugh at her ignorance and she realizes, joyfully, how much she has to learn.

When I find Abbie Crick I hope that she knows to whom she prays, if she even prays at all. I hope that she has photographs of herself that she isn’t afraid to look at. When I find her, I will ask if she is still afraid, if she still sees the world as a battlefield or if the soldiers have headed home, if she has written all that she planned to, if she has scars on her knuckles and knees.

When I find Abbie, I’m sure she’ll be able to answer your question and will recount the plans she made and glorious moments when she didn’t have a plan at all. But for now, my plan for next year is to find her.

Golden Girls

What inspired you? It was late at night and I had spilled a bit of gold paint on my hand while making art. I thought it looked neat, so I decided to paint my entire body gold and take a variety of self portraits.

This was two separate photos originally and when I was editing them side by side, Ms. Sandy recommended I try combining the photos into one at the body. I first tried them with one facing towards the viewer and the other upside down, but it looked funny, so I flipped them sideways. It looks like I am a two-headed, gold, abnormal-looking creature.

What is your favorite part of this photo? The photograph almost looks symmetrical because if you look at it quickly, you may miss that on one side the eyes are open and the other they are not. I like how everything besides the background and my eyeballs are gold. I love the surreal photo. Many people thought I edited myself to appear gold, but it was all paint.

What emotion does this picture display? Neither of the faces show much emotion, but the contrast of the eyes open on one side and the eyes being closed on the other gives a sense of inner conflict.

Why do you enjoy taking photos? It is a creative outlet that is not too technically challenging for me. I enjoy capturing emotions and being amidst action-filled situations. I love being able to manipulate any or all aspects of a photo when I edit them in order to convey my creative message or improve the photo.

Starting on my new path This place is my tomb.

Four long years I’ve been here, Now I’m finally free.

Now I am finished, Ready to never return.

I only look forward.

Longing for some change.

So is that, that then?

Just done? With the whole world At our fingertips?

It’s strange, however.

I am not counting the days, Slipping by with ease–

Now, we have our chance.

A chance to feel like we guide Ourselves on this path

Does this mark an end, When so much more is left, on This path we travel?

No. This is the start.

We needed those four long years, For they make us, us.

These familiar Faces, tend to look stale now.

Big Brother(s)

Concentration: Minor Discomfort Medium: oil paint Art is something that I’ve always wanted to do. It’s what I’m going to college for next year. But before this year, I’d never really been able to pursue it. This concentration was my first real experience with painting, and the first time I was able to create a selfdirected body of work. Not only did it get me into art school (it made up most of my portfolio), it gave me an opportunity to spend a year working on something that I care about.

Having your own personal secret service sounds pretty presidential doesn’t it? Well not for me. People always tell you that mom’s find everything out. . If you believe this then you haven’t grown up with five older brothers. Growing up we had the classic little sister vs. older brother(s) relationship.

We absolutely despised each other with a little hint of love deep, deep, DEEP, down inside. The only contact we ever made was out nightly fights and let me tell you, they showed me no little sister mercy. Nothing was easy with them.

“

Those meatheads already knew everything about my date.

”

Summer going into 11th grade year I went on one of my first dates and the only person I was scared for was the boy.

I knew this wasn’t going to be easy considering they were all coincidentally home at the same time that night.

Right as I was giving the infamous “please don’t embarrass the hell out of me,” speech, he knocks on the door. I look over at my brothers and see the most evil smiles. I didn’t even finish saying hi before they wrangled him to a seated position and the inquisition began: “So, where are you planning on taking our sister?”

“I saw that you play football.”

“What are your life goals and accomplishments?”

Those meatheads already knew everything about my date.

They didn’t even need to ask questions. I wasn’t surprised, though. With a track record of snooping through my phone, ipod, and laptop, they are ruthless.

I made sure to keep the date PG just incase they were on the lookout. And I spent the night looking over my shoulder.

A view from the sailplane over St. Moritz, Switzerland

A once in a lifetime experience usually only presents itself once.

Some people dream of flying, gliding effortlessly through the air, smooth and graceful. But what most people do not realize is that this is as far from the reality as could be. St. Moritz, Switzerland is a small resort town, which is often home to skiers, snowboarders, and thrill seekers alike in the winter.

However, in the summer it is a completely different scene. Mountain biking, shopping, fishing, and lounging are all common appearances. But there exists one, that although is seen almost daily, is often an overlooked and unknown hobby, this is the sailplane. When you look up in the sky and see these gliding through the air, they may

seem like a bird, calm, peaceful, serene. But when you are the one looking down, it is a different story altogether.

It is not that I have a fear of heights, nor am I claustrophobic. It is more rather, that you feel like one of those little marbles in a bingo tumbler. Every tiny gust of wind sends the plane buffeting this way in that. Since it is completely powerless, the plane must be light as a feather

We are all the same

Over the years, my views on the world and the beliefs that I have come to understand about other people and cultures have been greatly shaped by the fact that I, by age eighteen, had traveled to forty-seven countries on five continents. Most of these travels have been with my family and my parents have always made it a priority that these trips were based on education and cultural awareness.

I have visited hospitals in countries such as Cambodia, where I’ve seen kids missing limbs because they went out to play and stepped on a landmine. I have walked across the border from Botswana to Zimbabwe where menacing soldiers holding AK-47’s stared at me as if was a little white alien. I have visited monasteries in the hills of Bhutan where young monks my age mistook me for Justin Bieber and would sneak Ipads under their pillows. From orphanages to schools to houses of worship, I have been fortunate enough to have grown up being exposed to aspects of cultures much different than my own.

One great lesson I learned was when we were traveling through the country of Mozambique in Sub-Saharan Africa. My family and I were staying on an island in the Indian Ocean called Bazaruto Island.

As our dark green jeep winded its way among the scrub trees and sand dunes we arrived at a local school. The structure consisted of a concrete building with several openings, no doors or windows and a few old desks. Despite this, outside the kids were playing a rowdy game of soccer. My sister and I were accepted immediately and joined into their

to stay up in the air. Infact, they are so light that they can stay in the air for hours on end. The other side to the unpleasantness of these planes is that the view truly is not any better, than from what you get when you take a gondola ride up the mountainside. Dreaming of flying now? I thought not.

fun. I remember thinking this was the same thing I do with my friends at home, only these kids were much better. It made me realize that even though we spoke different languages, had different skin colors, and lived on different continents, we were all the same inside.

I believe that, across the world, we are all the same. It doesn’t matter the color of our skin, the god we worship, the food we eat, or the language we speak. We all love and want to be loved. We all get tired, hungry, and cold. We all just do the best we can every day to get by. The artificial borders that are put upon us by politics and geography just get in the way of us accepting each other simply as fellow human beings. If we could all just have the opportunity to spend time with people different from us, and accept our differences, maybe we could avoid the excessive hatred, division, and wars the pollute this earth.

Seniors of Traverse City Central “Entering high school, I didn’t know what to expect. I was a shy, little, chunky, overachieving boy who loved to play the saxophone and hockey. My only goals as a freshman were to work hard and keep a 4.0 -- be a perfect student. I never perceived myself as an actor or a singer or a tennis player; fortunately for me, I’m a very open-minded person, and as my high school career progressed, I took advantage of the new opportunities I was presented with. I joined the tennis team, joined the school musical, joined choir, joined NHS, and joined Model UN. With each new experience, my confidence grew, and I met a plethora of amazing people. After becoming such an active student throughout the school, I finally feel like a big dog on campus as a senior.” Nate Michno

“I definitely would have gone to more activities at school like dances, and be more involved with things like that. I mainly went to prom and homecoming. I probably would have gone to more of the little ones.

I’m probably going to miss the people. You see people a lot during the day and even though you’re not really close with them it’s just hard knowing that friends you just say “hi” to in the hallway are people you’re never going to see again.”

Taylor Bills

“The most memorable experience was probably going on the trip because it’s really fun to be in a completely different place with a big group of friends. We went to Playa Del Carmen, Mexico, for a week. There was almost twenty of us, I became closer with everyone in my grade and we just have a bond now. We definitely grew closer during that trip, it’s going to make me miss them more. My favorite day was when we rented a catamaran and we all went snorkeling and we did this weird homemade swing thing, kind of like a parasail but they launched you up and you were just up there swinging, that was really cool. I wish I was back there.” Angela Amalifitano “Things that will always be remembered are new experiences or hanging out with friends. Just learning new things is always good. This summer I went to Guatemala. It was totally different. I mean they’re speaking a different language different culture, everyone acts differently they’ll run up to you and hug you and kiss you, they’re so nice and kind and also kind of intimidating, you fly in and you start driving away from the airport and there’s just guys with machine guns everywhere. Just to keep everyone in line if there’s a problem. It was kind of scary, that’s more so in the big cities. There was goats on the bus, chickens everywhere. They get old school buses from America and they decorate them out like chicken buses. And you wanna have your bus the coolest so more people ride it.

I was on a mission trip, I was there for a week. I have experienced more culture and many types of different people and communicated in a different language. There was some hard parts but shout out to senora Lynch. Its not as hard as you think once you’re actually in the culture everyone around you is speaking spanish so it’s a little easier. Just being positive and being happy and just finding the good in every moment and just enjoying every aspect of life. I wasn’t as positive as I am now, so stay in school, find friends that make you laugh really hard, be nice to everyone and smile.”

Madison Vansipe

To receive the Gary Skipski meant a lot to me. It’s not about who had the best stats but it’s more about you as a person and what you have done. I think that was definitely my biggest accomplishment. Being a good person is a lot better than being a basketball player. I was okay with my injury because it really hit me that I am not really going to play professional basketball.

Adam Javed

“I’m going to miss band, especially because of the teacher, Mr. Hester. Band is a way to connect with people.

That’s how I got a lot of my friends in the first place. I’m going to CMU for music so this program really set my future. I feel like my leadership skills will help with my future in general. You need a leader in the workplace, in the classroom, and in the band. And because I do want to go in education I’ll need those leadership skills I gained from this program.”

Dawson Peek

Relativity

My eyes scanned the table methodically, left, right, left, right, searching to no avail.

And then I found it. My name, scrawled almost illegibly across a crumpled brown paper bag. It was the last day of Agree

Attack

Outpost Camp (a small community nestled in the Canadian wilderness with no electricity, no running water, no modern day distractions), and in these seemingly insignificant bags were my “warm and fuzzies.”

With trembling hands and a quivering heart, electric impulses coerced my digits to open the first note, only the tiniest wisp of paper. It was from the director, Jeff, a man with a deep, throaty laugh and an even deeper sense of compassion. The note said simply, “you’re a woman.” And all at once I understood.

Throughout the six weeks prior, sporting suspenders, crocs, and an infectious smile, Jeff sauntered around camp yelling out, “you’re a boy,” or “you’re a girl.” Yes Jeff, I would think, I do indeed have the anatomical structures of a female, and then would dismiss the comment as his usual shenanigans.

One particular evening, Jeff ’s booming voice rang throughout the camp in preparation for young visitors. When they arrived, the kids seemed so juvenile, we thought, so immature. They didn’t have the slightest hint at how our tight knit community functioned. To get away from the hectic immaturity, some of us found

reprieve on the floating raft. It was night, and as we lay under specks of ancient light and distant universes, the essence of our beings floated to our surface like algae rising to the top of the lake, only to become entangled, utterly intertwined.

Looking up at the stars I talked about space, relativity, and the string theory. To me, god is a vibrating string of energy spanning ten dimensions. Our conversation meandered lazily from topic to topic.

Feminism, climate change, political corruption—issues I’m passionate about. I explained why I vehemently fight poverty and attempt to tap into the potential of people restricted by the steel confines of desperation through my non-profit. We talked about big issues feeling oh so little under the vast night sky. But eventually we had to get up, and leave behind our secluded world of aspirations.

Two years later, I was back at Agree.

And yet again, younger kids came to visit.

But this time, they were the age I was that night on the dock. How could this be, they seemed so young? But I had to remember, everything’s relative.

However, one thing I know is absolute: over the course of those two years I grew, I evolved, and I matured (a lot).

I’m lying on my back with my ears plugged and my eyes closed, trying to fully relax. My eyelids involuntarily shut tighter as the needle releases into my skin--the twinge of pain a small price to pay for the medicine that keeps me alive. I count to ten, my nurse withdraws the pen from my thigh, and I sit up and thank her. My gratitude encompasses more than I can express with a simple “thank you,” but I know she understands.

I have Crohn’s Disease. In a nutshell, it means that my immune system treats a large part of my intestinal tract as a foreign body and attacks it, leading to inflammation, severe pain, and the inability to digest food. It started with a stomachache in the summer of 2014 that struck with increasing frequency until every time I ate even a few bites of food I was wracked with pain. By the time I started treatment in January of 2015, I had lost more than thirty pounds, twenty of which I really didn’t need to lose.

My treatment consists of injecting a medicine through a needle into either my stomach or my thighs. The way it works is I have to squeeze the thickest, fattest parts of myself, press the pen down upon them, and click the top to eject the needle, which punctures the skin and releases the medicine about an eighth of an inch below the surface. The pen must be held with perfect rigidity for roughly ten seconds and then pulled away.

At the first appointment after I was diagnosed, I had to do it myself four times. During the appointment after that, I had to do it twice, and every other week after that I had to do it only once. However, although the first four injections had been easy for me, as time wore on I started feeling more and more uncomfortable. I began to associate all the pain of my untreated months with the pain of the needle, letting my anxiety ferment in my mind until one day, after a series of progressively more difficult and stressful self-injection attempts, I had a panic attack. For two hours I sat in my bathroom, the pen poised

On hiking trips I became a leader rather than a passive participant. I navigated the confusing trails, explained the importance of “leaving no trace,” and took more in my pack so others could take less. Knowing I could not attack the huge issues we discussed that night on the raft, I worked to fix a problem I could solve while at Agree: helping a friend with major a self-confidence problem. She refused to swim for fear of being ostracized, and snuck away from dinners to vomit up the meals she had just consumed. She even contemplated slitting her wrists to finally end the ceaseless, all encompassing pressure to be “perfect.” Slowly, with the help of my campmates, we instilled in her a confidence she’d never before known.

One night, hand in hand, she agreed to skinny-dip with us to that infamous raft—an impossible feat only a few weeks prior.

Just this once I may be able to dismiss relativity; after two transformational years at Agree (and soon to be a third, this summer I’m going back as a staff member) I finally believe the statement, “you’re a woman.”

over my thigh, bruising myself with the effort to keep my flesh squeezed tightly like I was supposed to, unable to breathe, unable to think about anything except the God-awful pain and what a failure I was. I clicked the top with the feeling of pulling a trigger and immediately my arm jerked, breaking the seal between my leg and the pen and letting the very, very expensive medicine spray all over the floor. This brought me to hysterics-

“

I count to ten, my nurse withdraws the pen from my thigh, and I sit up and thank her.

”

-sobbing and shaking, the only thought in my mind was that I was a permanently broken person. Damaged goods. Of course, I also recognized the bitter irony of the situation; I was both incapable of being healthy and incapable of doing the one thing that would keep me healthy.

Now I see a nurse every other week who injects my medicine for me. I close my eyes and plug my ears to block out the now-faint panic that stirs when I lay down on the table. It’s over almost before I feel the pain now, and the whole appointment takes less than ten minutes.

It’s a routine that works well for me, but one that I will have to change when I go to college in the fall. I sometimes worry that the old fear will rear up and attack me again, but then I think that after everything I’ve gone through, I’ll be able to fight back.

Academy of Art, San Francisco Brayden James

Albion College Kellie Brown Haven Hill Meredith Nelson

Baker College

Victoria Isac-Huggins Lee McArthur Katlin McKerchie Kristyn Moore Emir Rahman Jack Seymour

Lawrence Technological University

George Washington University

Kara Hansen

Jing Kai Ye

Jeddikia Kenney Caitlin Phillips

Grand Rapids Community College

Ball State

Grand Valley State University

Brayden Gates

Butler University Madyson Basch Ethan Mason

California Polytechnic State University Julianna Chang

California State University East Bay Qiaozian Lei

Calvin College Madison Drew Jennifer Rose

Central Michigan University

Emily Peck

Joshua Armour Angela Amalfitano Katelyn Belcher Mitchell Buchan Savanah Champion Kearsten Frusti Ashley Grice Melissa Lance Kaylee Mullens Jordan Pellerito Taylor Pellerito Elliot Stratton Nathaniel Tripp Kenneth Zak

Harvard College Lars Hornburg

High Point University William Brown III

Hope College

Matthew Baker David Klug

Marquette University Wisconsin Miami University of Ohio Isabel Lutz Reid Nelson

Michigan Career and Technical Institute Angel Gutierrez

Michigan State University Taylor Bills Joseph Bourdages Leigha Brown Austin Burt Madison Campbell Allison Costello Abigail Crick Emily Decker Nicholas Friedli Megan Gildersleeve Emily Jenkins Haley Klein Maddi Miller Kelley Olson Bethany Pataky Garret Porter Fletcher Reyher Emily Ross Emma Simon Yipeng Wei Alexander Windholz Kaiqi Zhang

Alex Everts Shannon Fiegel Kevin Goodwin Katie Hunt Caleb Muszynski Dawson Peek Kendall Rodriguez Megan Yagle Catherine Young

Noelle Gortsema Cassidy Merten Kelly Peregrine

Ryan Anderson

Isaac Bigcraft Bryan Leahy

Cornerstone University

Kalamazoo College

Middle Tennessee State University

Kenna Chilcott

Denison University Tuuli Qin-Terrill

Douglas J Aveda Institute Kayla Ledford

Illinois Institute of Technology Jackson Conlon Aiden Stiebel

Indiana Wesleyan University Sierra Frasier Aiden Voss Amanda Gardner

Andrea Longton

Middlebury College

Kellogg College

Abigail Green Johanna Hagerty

Lake Superior State University

Mott College

Logan Briggs

Eastern Michigan University Madeline Ross

Michael Gray Jackson Schrameyer Courtney Stewart

Ferris State University

Lansing Community College

Maya Ayala Parker Berden Corey Henton

Michigan Technological University

Cam Fewless

Dawson Rabb

Neumont

Joshua Payne

North Central College Tieler Pearson

Northern Michigan University Michael Meindertsma Cole Szunko

Northwestern Michigan College Jacob Aeschliman Lindsey Allen Jaylyn Aylsworth Elizabeth Barnum Zane Becker Delaney Beers Brady Biswanger Jordan Birdsey Mckenzie Bluemel Payton Bramer Bailey Brovont Sara Borysiak Blake Cannon Ce’Erica Chriss Zacharee Cline Vanessa Cubillos Amber Cooley Nathan Coyne Noah Degen Ashley Dittrich Bain Donegan Chelsea Edge Luke Fagerstrom Cynthia Gidley Jacob Goodwin Ben Grams Logan Hayden Carly Hernden Tianna Holt Nicholas Hulett Mason Houston Maya James Aubrey Kemp Selena Korzek Emily Long Alexander Lopez Mark Machin Michala Macek Austin McClary Autumn McCuien Kacie McGilivary Travis McCombs Ruth Mudgett Luke McManus Cheyenne Mongar Victoria Munson Hannah Nordeen Jessica Olson Nathan Olson Michael Robens Nathaniel Stubbs

Timothy Thomas Isabel Tomei Madison VanSipe Trevor Wheeler Crysta Wierman Myranda Wilhite Nichole Wilson

Kimberly Snodgrass Christopher Wilson

University of North Carolina Chapel Hill Taylor Weckstein

Northwood University

Virginia Commonwealth University

Purdue University

Wayne State University

John Kushner

Noah Aulicino

Saginaw Valley State University San Yun Chan Meghan Lewis

Southeast Missouri State University Kendra Benak

Spring Arbor University Madison Waldie

The Oberlin Conservatory of Music Greta Groothuis

Traverse City Beauty College Akasia Griffis

Trine University Griffin Cencer

United States Merchant Marine Academy Michael Fink

United States Naval Academy Niki Roxbury

University of Detroit Mercy Kami Chung

University of Michigan Gabriella Ammond Brendan Baker Carissa Bartkowiak Anthony Berry Jordan Bultsma Lisa Brown Cara Ferguson Emily Huhman Maria Luciani David Meyer Megan Puckett

Henry Lancashire

Kristina Curtiss Nathan Jeschke Greyson LaLonde Alessandra McPherson Lilah Singer

Western Michigan University Jolie Roth

Work

Jacob Bailey Anna Bjoraker Megan Emerick Hope Eshleman Chloe Freundl Logan Griswold Calli Helferich Kayla Johns Lynnea Kratky Sierra Lardie Veronica Ledezma Chris Mcmahan Jacob Nagy Matthew Niemi Emily Ortiz Evan Scheiern Cecilia Sharland Joel Six Cora Smith Jacob Smith-Davis Jacob Thomas James Westenbarger Collin Reece

Xavier University Ethan Schuh

Other

Margo Hoagg ZhenHao Huang Emily Long Noppasorn Nuntikulvanich Jordan Query Jonathan Russell Cora Smith Nicolas Lautner Rachel Barger Jordan Brooks Autumn Burnam Joyce Chupp Jacob Nagy Sierra Lardie

Finding your niche

We spend life following the “norm.” When we become old enough, we go to school. When we come of age, we get a job and start bringing home a paycheck. Once we finish primary school, we go to college. Then buy a house, pay bills, retire, and finally, we reach the end of our days. That’s okay, but it’s boring.

There’s no excitement in doing everything everyone else does.

In order to make this life ours, we find something or someone that brings us immense joy.

Something that we are willing to invest all of our time and energy into. For me, for the high school

chapter of my life, that something was cheerleading.

From the outside, this sport comes across as peppy, maybe even a little entitled. But from the inside, cheerleading is mindblowing. The amount of sweat, tears, bruises, and injuries put into pulling off the things we do was overwhelming in the beginning. There was conditioning, strength training, memorization drills, and cardio punishments for missing a practice and for forgetting equipment like proper cheer shoes, poms, ponytail holder, etc. We trained hard for months and when competition came around, we trained even harder. Months of late nights, bruises and injury for two minutes and 30 seconds of judges.

Competitions were exhilarating: the crowd cheer us on, other cheer teams cheer us on. Hitting every stunt, motion, and cheer was incredible. And taking home first place was extraordinary, as firsts always are. But this sport is so much more than rankings and bright lights and a blue mat.

Cheerleading is about taking big risks and long chances. Challenge out on the edge takes you places you never thought you could go. So we have to trust each other—your team literally has your back, your shoulder, your heart. When you are vaulted into the air, you have to trust the arms that will catch you when gravity wins.

Trusting my team with my

life was the best thing I’ve ever done. It created bonds stronger than life itself. Those bonds we built became more than friendships. They became family.

A family that was not born by blood, but forged in years of hard work, injury tears, winning and losing. In losing it was strongest. You, my cheer team, became my family away from home.

You made my school career, easier, yet more interesting and more challenging. In middle school, I joined the all-star young champions cheer team and was part of that for two seasons (one full year). Money was tight, so I took the next year off. The following year I had tryouts for high school cheer. I made varsity and on my fourth year, I became captain. The honor of my captaincy was a gift that will always stay with me.

There is something profound about being selected to lead; it is an indescribable confidence bestowed.

Four years ago you were strangers. I never have imagined we would bond as the team we became. You helped shape me into someone I am proud of. If it hadn’t been for our team… our “family,” my life would have been so different, my high school experience would have been shallow.

Thank you for the gift of your trust.

We’re CHS.

A polite young man

There was a young man.

Eighteen years of age, no more, no less. Okay maybe a bit more. There was a young man. Eighteen years, 15 weeks, and 6 days old. He was a polite young man. He enjoyed tying his shoelaces, peoplewatching, and eating mac & cheese. He was a good man.

Always followed the rules.

He smiled at senior citizens, opened doors for strangers, and gave his waiters sizable tips. He was careful not to talk too loud, for he was worried he’d seem intimidating. He felt bad for passerbys on the street who walked a bit slow, and for kids who seemed just not quite right. He felt for all people, and all things living or not. When he was seven, he had a pair of socks. He loved those socks.

They were warm, gray, and fit his foot perfectly. One day, he was packing up his things to leave his grandparent’s home.

It was his favorite place, and he adored his grandparents. He had to pack quick, so he stuffed his backpack, tied his shoelaces, and folded his favorite pair of-- oh wait. He couldn’t find one of his socks. “How could I lose one of the greatest things I have ever owned?” he thought.

He frantically searched the house. Each bedroom, book-

shelf, and bathtub, stumbling every other step because the foot with which he still had a sock for was slippery on the hardwood floors. He layed down beside the bed, peering into the darkness. There was no sock there. It was nowhere to be found. “Where could he be? I hope he’s safe. I hope he’s warm. I bet he misses his brother: Right sock.” Thought the young man, at this point was still a young boy. His foot was cold. His mother was calling for him to get in the car, but he was paralyzed. He had had never felt such deep distress for an inanimate object. “What have I done? I’ve betrayed my son. I will find you one day. I promise.” He promised. But he never found his missing sock.

Ba ba black sheep, have you any time to learn about our Lord, Jesus Christ?

Appearance is everything. I know new age society tells us that what’s inside is what matters, but humans are judgemental on a biological level. Pretty people get the front row, ugly people get shoved to the back.

People that dress outside societal “norms” are emotionally bludgeoned, then blamed for bleeding all over the new shag carpet. We are all hypocrites, with an inherent bias towards different.

My mother’s family hasn’t left Acme since the Stone Age. Relatively closedminded Catholics don’t like leaving the nest.

Different equals scary and bad. I’m the first person in my family to change my physical appearance, so now I am scary and bad. My

hair is white, I have the dreaded gauges, and I love getting tattoos. I catch hell for it.

Adolescence is hard, especially when your mind is tuned into a different station. Other little girls like pink and sparkles. I liked reading about the Plague and walking in the woods. I’ve never been a religious person, but the question, “how are you going to get into Heaven listening to that devil music?” changed my outlook on things. My family will never accept the way I look or how I live my life. So I might as well shoot for hell.

I am not an evil person. Some people, especially some older people, associate alternative appearances with devil worship, (of course there are exceptions) and I try to

break that stereotype whenever it spits in my face.

Being harassed by little old ladies in ugly sweaters is a cake walk. You can’t blame people for being raised in a different era.

But I can get angry when I’m predestined by school officials and my peers to be a drop-out loser before they even speak to me.

I’m the one that’s supposed to be judgmental and mean, remember?

Have a little respect for the people around you; you don’t know who they are.

The four steps to 2016 My trip to the EU

The first step was something new, I was young.

Trying to impress, failing to rest.

The second step was an awaking, I was found.

No longer confused, And truly amused The third step was mess, I struggled.

Continually tested, But yet to be beat.

The Fourth step was a breeze, I am close No longer in the past, But yet in the future.

Just living in the current, Waiting for what life has to offer.

This poem explains my four years of high school and the emotions that I have during the course of my high school career. It sums up the journey of high school.

Fading Blue

If days were constant sunset Would I still love them as I do?

Or disenchantedly forget How I ache to see that first blush rush into blue?

That laundered purple haze Become just another misshapen splatter across the sky?

The fiery clouds romanticizing yet another hopeless lie?

Do I really love the sun’s daily death Or just its reminder of me and you— Yes there’s beauty in the moments We know we shall soon lose.

36 hours of travel and still no sleep. I can’t believe I’m actually here. The place where my ancestors came from, the place where democracy was created. Security is very tight which is good and bad. The fear of radical Islam is in the eyes of every person at the airport. Security is equipped with machine guns with armoured helicopters flying nearby symbolizing the EU’s war on terror. The U.S. embassy in every country I visited was heavily guarded and nothing to joke about. Even taking a picture of the building will cause guards to run up and force you to delete it.

People are paranoid, but this doesn’t stop them from continuing the life they have always

lived. Using public transportation, especially in Paris, is not as scary as I thought it would be.

People are friendly and moving through the steps of life. Citizens of the EU don’t want terrorists to ruin their way of life. I’ve met countess European students and they all gave me the same advice; travel whenever you get the chance. Life is too short to be afraid.

Traveling to Europe has opened my mind in ways which are hard to explain. I have gained a sense of humanity during my travels. Human emotions and expressions is something universal that everyone understands. Traveling to another continent turned me into a citizen of the world, not just the United States.

Living in the states, especially Traverse City, has kept me secluded from the rest of the world. This experience has changed my life in a good way.

American politics is something I often discussed with people in Europe. The European people are very educated on American politics because American politics influence the whole world. During my travels not one person I talked to supported Donald Trump. That doesn’t mean that no European does, but it gives me a sense that the European community wants someone else in the White House.

Someday I would like to live in Europe.

Lisbon, Portugal is the place I would like to be. The city sits on the Atlantic Coast with beautiful architect and amazing sea food. The Portuguese live a simpler life than American’s.

They take naps during the day, eat late dinners, drink late, and spend time with family. The way of living is also a lot simpler. The apartment I stayed in was small yet cozy. Enough to live in and enjoy life.

Fountain Flower

Thank you, America

A lot of you (most of you) think I’m crazy for what I’m about to do. You don’t know why I’m doing what I am, and most of you will never understand, which is okay too. So while all of my friends are having a carefree summer, swimming in lake Michigan, working a job and saving for college, I’ll be waking up at 0500 everyday, with people screaming in my face while I run in the grueling Annapolis heat, march in my stiff, white uniform, and constantly be demanded by my superiors for more. All while trapped on a compound for not only the summer but the next four years of my life, with no contact for 6 weeks, no personal possessions, and no, not even a phone. For most of you this sounds like a prison, like hell.

But surprisingly enough, I chose this for myself. In fact, I spent the past four years working to get into this place through my grades, sports, leadership activities, you name it. But now that I’m in, what I did to get here doesn’t matter, not my test scores, GPA, or any of my “accomplishments” in high school. Everyone who got into this place worked their asses off to get there just like I did.

Most of you wonder why the hell would anyone want to do this?

No, it’s not for the “free” college, because trust me, it’s not free. On Induction Day I give up my “freedom.” I am no longer a civilian, and I sign the next 9 years of my life away to the U.S. Navy. I no longer own myself, I belong to them. I’ll be following their rules, “chopping” down the P-ways because I’m not allowed to walk, using only the straight walkways outside and saying only “Sir, no excuse, sir” when I mess up.

Again, you still wonder why I’d want to do this, but I didn’t want the “normal college experience.” I want something that will challenge me, break me down into nothing, then build me up again. I’ll mature years in a matter of months, learning to be a member of a team fighting for a common cause.

I will become a part of something larger than myself, where from day one, no matter how small, I am making a difference. I don’t care that I’ll be giving up carefree summers, breaks, and all that comes along with regular college, because I’ll be going somewhere where I’ll earn more than just my Bachelor of Science. I’ll be learning leadership, how to give and receive an order, and how to work in a team, because in four short years I’ll be leading enlisted men and women in the fleet, a responsibility that is truly an honor.

I’m sure a lot of you still don’t understand, and probably won’t. But I know that going to the Naval Academy will be the most challenging, yet most rewarding thing in my life. It’ll give me opportunities open to nobody else; I’ll travel the world, live a life of adventure, and meet people living by the shared values of duty, honor, and country. I’ll be able to serve the country that has given me everything, and honor those who went before me and gave their lives to preserve our way of life, our values and freedom, which is something we cannot take advantage of.

So on June 30, 2016, I’ll be yet another in the long blue line. I’ll stand in Tecumseh Court and take my oath of office, where I will pledge my life to support and defend the Constitution of the United States. At the moment, it’ll just be words to me, but I’ll come to realize the magnitude and commitment of that vow over my four years in Annapolis. For many of you this would probably be a sentence to hell, and if you still don’t understand why I’m doing this, then think of your grandparents, great grandparents, the Greatest Generation who so selflessly volunteered to fight against the injustice and acts against humanity of their time. By no means am I likening myself to them, they are better than me in every way imaginable. But they are the inspiration behind my desire to serve, to attend USNA, to give up a “fun” college experience, and to dedicate my life to something much larger and more important, all while attempting to honor the legacy they, and all U.S. veterans have left behind.

So there you go, that’s why I’ve decided to go through “hell.”

Achieving... greatness?

One pain of finally finishing a grueling four years of high school is the adamant streams of questions about your future.

“What are you doing next year?”, “What are you studying?”, and “...where exactly is your college located?” are the stock questions that every person feels the need to ask a graduating senior. While the pressure of answering these questions in an impressive manner is quite taxing (along with not letting people know that you honestly have no idea what you’re doing with your life (that should be okay because I’m only eighteen, right?)). The true frustration comes at the awkward end to your small talk: “You’re going to do great things, regardless of what you decide to do,” each person remarks as they end the conversation and move on to other things.

There’s a pressure society creates to achieve the greatest things and to change the world. While that’s a pressure everyone has endured as they grow older and find purpose in their situations, the pressure seems heightened in a world of technology where doing great things potentially seems like it could be as easy as creating a facebook page to create awareness about an issue, or accessing a database to do some educate yourself on a certain cause. Honestly, who wouldn’t want to change the world and make a great change during their lifetime?

The problem, however, is that creating a “great thing” is so much harder than it seems—great movements and causes take years to culminate and gain attention, only to struggle for years afterwards to make any form of political or social change. The civil rights movement and abolishment took years many years to gain traction, and many years later to have an actual political effect. “Great things” often only address approximate causes to issues and leave behind tensions that still exist—while abolition ended slavery, it still allowed for racism to carry on with voting right infringements and excessive jailing of black communities. “Great things” also taking many tries to create a successful product—drafting of bills like the Civil Rights Act and the 13th amendment took multiple drafts and lots of whipping of votes to create a political change. That’s the nature of the world--it’s hard to alter, and often people are too resistant to change to allow any alterations have a real world impact.

However, don’t take these challenges as a reason to forgo making an impact.

It’s important to realize that the failures are only temporary setbacks, as well as really incredible learning experiences. Striving to achieve greatness may be one of the hardest things one does in their lifetime, it will also become the most rewarding. Be willing to set goals and be ambitious, but also remember that it’s important to connect the gap between dreams and reality—be willing to work hard and continue to work hard, because the change you wish to create takes effort and time, and requires a dream be put into action.

To the trailblazers -- be willing to work hard because there are so many things that are worth achieving, worth fixing, and worth making better. To those who’re still trying to figure out what they want to do—that’s okay. Sometimes the most important things a person can do is on a small scale. Together, our generation can create a lot of opportunities to make the world a better place, but it’s going to take a lot of hard work and ambition but don’t let that deter you from achieving greatness.

To all of you—remember that we are the individuals who shape the world. Use high school as a starting point for greatness, and with everything you do work hard in an attempt to make the world a better place.

Saying goodbye to Grandma

A young woman sits on a rickety chair in her Detroit suburb home with a Marlboro hanging out her mouth, occasionally tapping it on a black plastic ashtray. Her kids run around with giggles bouncing off each wall. A smile creeps onto the woman’s face as she crushes the cigarette.

A middle aged woman sits on a blue staircase in her Kingsley farmhouse with a Carlton pressed between her index and middle finger, thumb tapping the end, contemplating whether or not to give it life. Her husband is helping her oldest son tape his hockey stick in the wooden kitchen. The woman smiles at her family and slides the cigarette into her pocket. Her husband fills a glass with ice and pours himself another drink. Her smile fades as she walks down the stairs to grab the little black plastic ashtray. She slips the cigarette back out of her pocket and she scuffles to the porch.

A tired woman dozes in and out of sleep on a bench perched in the corner of a hospital room, two of her children, now adults, sit beside her.

The room lacks color and emotion, except for her husband’s random spurt of happiness while laying on his deathbed. Her husband laughs and holds everyone’s hand, thanking

them for they have done and apologizing for his acquired bad habits.

Everyone nods, refusing emotion to set in. That is one thing her family does best, hide the pain, and God forbid anyone discusses their feelings.

She puts on a happy face to relax her husband, but deep down she’s itching for a cigarette which she purposely left at home.

A woman stands in front of a wall lined with various cigarettes and lottery tickets behind a cash register.

She eyes her Marlboro pack when a customer comes in to pay for their gas, he grabs a bag of peanut M&M’s before he approaches the woman.

She gives his change and he walks out, she follows with her pack and black plastic ashtray. Once outside, she notices her daughter-in-law’s car pull into the lot. She quickly shoves the pack into her sweater’s pocket and sets the ashtray on the brick ledge.

A little girl runs out of the car to hug the older woman. Smiles stretch across all their faces while the daunting thought of that cigarette in her pocket haunts the older woman.

An older woman with short grey hair sneaks to the side of her small faded yellow house and lights a Carlton while keeping an eye on her granddaughter across the driveway.

The little girl throws a bright orange plastic ball into the air and runs to catch it, giggling the whole way. The older woman cracks a smile as she takes one final drag before crushing her cigarette into the chipping black plastic ashtray.

A fraile woman sits at her distressed wooden kitchen table smoking cigarette after cigarette while the St. Louis Police state that her youngest son had committed suicide.

Containing her emotion, she hung up and called her other son but her granddaughter answered. Frantically, she demands to speak to her father.

She hangs up the phone once the news is broken and rests her head in her hands. She lights a Marlboro, takes a long drag, and taps it against the black plastic ashtray as her son walks in, granddaughter trailing behind.

A withering old woman rests in a fake leather chair smoking a Carlton cigarette at her wooden kitchen table, portable oxygen tank tucked away

in her walker pouch by the staircase.

Her adult granddaughter sits at her left knitting another bushy scarf, a Comfort Keepers caregiver sits across the table trying to keep conversation going amongst the table.

The old woman’s daughter storms out of the bedroom with a disgusted look on her face. Everyone chose to ignore her the past couple of days because of her childish temper. Once the daughter left the room, the old woman notions for another cup of coffee, strictly half a cup because her tiny arms can only lift that. The granddaughter stops her knitting and fills her Flintstones coffee mug.

Her spine sticks out her pink bathrobe like a divot in a blanket as she hunches over to analyze her medication chart. Once she is finished with coffee, the granddaughter pours the remainder back into the pot, and the caregiver walks beside her and her walker to the bathroom.

An 18-year old girl sits at her grandmother’s wooden kitchen table knitting while holding back tears.

Her mother and father to her right, and a Comfort Keepers caregiver to her left. The consistent puff of the oxygen tank makes the silence comforting. Every half hour someone walks into the bedroom to check on the unconscious, tired woman.

Once the clock struck eight at night, the family decided to go back to their own home. The granddaughter walked into the bedroom with her parents and watched her mother and father kiss the old woman on the cheek and hold her hand. Once her parents had left, the granddaughter walked close to her grandmother and rubbed her thin bony arm. The grandmother lay unconscious in her bed, head propped up with multiple pillows, eyes closed shut, mouth wide open releasing the unexpected grunt at times. Her breathing was heavy and was obvious it took a lot of effort for the poor woman. The granddaughter teared up and kissed her grandmother on the forehead and rubbed her arm as she told her “it’s okay, we will all be okay. You can leave us whenever you want. We all love you so much.” And she walked away as the oxygen tank puffed her grandmother’s last breaths.

The granddaughter is me.

Hay in a haystack

Like most seniors, my sentence at Central was four years. I suffered through five AP exams, four Student Led Conferences, and months of cafeteria food.

I played over 20 orchestra concerts, completed 60 NHS hours, and had multiple all-nighters to finish

“

After June 5th, there are over 100 people I will never talk to again

”

homework. But with my successes I’ve also had my failures. I lost school elections, failed a road test, and fell down the stairs three times. Central beat me up.

But that’s the thing; I’m not alone. There are people who took more AP classes than me and earned better grades. I didn’t excel at a sport or become governor of student senate. I didn’t become a Beethoven or an opera singer. I was just there. After June 5th, there are over 100 people I will never talk to again. I won’t be remembered for any significant accomplishment, and I’m okay with that. I tried to have fun in school, and entertain my friends with sarcastic comments during class. I attended the dances and avoided the games.

I have memories I will never forget, and some that I want to forget. Obama was elected for his second term, Pope Francis began his papacy, three Hunger Games movies premiered, and the Donald announced his campaign. I kept friends, gained friends, and let some go. I didn’t learn how to do taxes, but thankfully learned SOHCAHTOA and Pythagorean theorem. I had a stereotypical high school career, and I wouldn’t change it for the world.

ART: Edward Jones Art Show: Kenna Chilcott - 1st Place Melissa Lance - 3rd place Regional Student Exhibition: Adam Javed Kenna Chilcott BAND: Music Boosters: Bethany Pataky Michael Robens Louis Armstrong Jazz Award: Michael Robens John Philip Sousa Band Award: Kristina Curtiss MSBOA Scholar Instrumentalist Award: Cara Ferguson Michael P. Dendrinos Memorial Scholarship: Dawson Peek CHOIR: Iron Man Award: Ellie McPherson Music Booster: Ellie McPherson Emily Jenkins Music Educator Award: Lisa Brown Michigan Verdi Opera Competition Solo Finalists: Greta Groothuis Michigan Youth Arts Festival Solo Finalists: Greta Groothuis MATHEMATICS: Michigan Mathematics Prize Competition: William Chown David Meyer NATIONAL MERIT: Finalists: William Chown Maria Luciani Commended Students: Emily Jenkins Anais Mohr Corporate Scholarship: Carissa Bartkowiak WRITING: National Writers Series Scholarships: Emily Ross Abbie Crick Anais Mohr TADL Friends of the Library Student Awards: Abbie Crick

TROJAN HALL OF FAME: Activities: Jessica Budz Athletics - Female: Nicole Roxbury Athletics - Male: Lars Hornburg Performing Arts: Cassidy Merten Government: Michael Meindertsma Instrumental Music Award for Band: Dawson Peek Instrumental Music Award for Orchestra: Abigail Green Journalism: Yearbook: Kendra Benak Newspaper: Madissen Miller Broadcasting: Alexander Pierce National Honor Society: Megan Puckett Abigail Crick Scholarship: David Meyer Vocal Music: Greta Groothuis BLACK & GOLD: Silver Award: Black & Gold Comic Strip: Henry Lancashire - 2nd Place Illustration: Henry Lancashire - 3rd Place FRONT & CENTRAL: Spartan Award: Front & Central Field Reporter: Alex Pierce - 3rd Place Sports Feature: Alex Pierce - 3rd Place PINES: Silver Award: Pines Academic Photo: Liz Wiitanen - 1st Place Academic Photo: Emma Simon - 2nd Place Academic Spread: Miki Macek - 1st Place Academic Spread: Katy Kotimko - 2nd Place Maggie Harnish - 2nd Place Kendra Benak - 2nd Place Feature Writing: Katy Kotimko - 3rd Place School Spirit Photo: Emma Simon -2nd Place

Sports Action Photo: Emma Simon - 1st Place Sports Feature Photo: Emma Simon -1st Place Sports Spread: Maggie Harnish - 3rd Place Kendra Benak - 3rd Place Jake Goodwin - 3rd Place CHEER: Captains: Sierra Lardie Calli Helferich DANCE: Captain: Gabriella Ammond Outstanding Senior: Gabriella Ammond GIRLS’ BASKETBALL: Captain Award: Sierra Fraser GIRLS’ CROSS COUNTRY: Inspiration: Madyson Basch Loyalty: Kelly Peregrine Legacy: Jessica Budz Senior Scholar Athlete Award: Kelly Peregrine Captain Awards: Madyson Basch Jessica Budz Maddisen Miller GIRLS’ GOLF: Captains: Abbie Crick Merdith Nelson Black & Gold Spirit Award: Maddie Waldie All Conference - 1st Team: Maddie Waldie 2nd in the Conference: Abbie Crick Meredith Nelson Maddie Waldie SWIMMING: Captains: Kami Chung Emily Huhman VOLLEYBALL: All Region: Haven Hill Carissa Bartkowiak Big North Conference 1st Team: Carissa Bartkowiak 2nd Team: Haven Hill

DOWNHILL SKIING: Tucker Byl Ski Memorial: Lars Hornburg All Conference: Lars Hornburg Patrick Galante All Regional Giant Slalom Team: Lars Hornburg Brendan Wells All Regional Slalom: Lars Hornburg Patrick Galante All State First Team: Lars Hornburg All State Second Team: Brendan Wells Patrick Galante Boys 8th Team Academic All State Scholar Athletes: Patrick Galante Lars Hornburg Brendan Wells BOYS’ BASKETBALL: Coach’s Award: Jackson Schrameyer Adam Javed Skipski Award: Adam Javed Outstanding Attitude: Adam Javed Free Throw Percent: Adam Javed BOYS’ CROSS COUNTRY: Captains: Anthony Berry Cole Szunko Will-to-win Athlete: Jack Cooney Bryan Leahy Caleb Muszynski “Spirit” Award: Cole Szunko Big North Conference: Anthony Berry All State: Anthony Berry BOYS’ SOCCER: Best Defensive Player: Ethan Mason Best Midfield Player: Grant Dulude Most Improved Player: Josh Armour “Dennis Brett” Award: Ethan Mason Trojan Shield Award: Lars Hornburg MHSSCA All District: Josh Armour Ethan Mason Elliot Stratton

BOYS’ TENNIS: Scholar Athlete Award: Parker Berden Nate Michno All State Award: Parker Berden Best Singles Winning Percent: Michael Meindertsma Best Doubles Winning Percent: Parker Berden Spirit Award: Jack Seymour Ballot Master Award: Micheal Meindertsma Early Bird Award: Parker Berden Determination Award: Ben Grams Balance Award: Nate Michno Teammate Award: Ben Brown Perseverance Award: Luke Fagerstrom BOWLING: High Average - Male: Keith Weber FOOTBALL: Mark Nowak/ Dan Olson Award: Reagan Cotton Courtney Tilley Award: Griffin Cencer Greg Meredith Award: Jacob Steelman HOCKEY: Captains: Andrew Froese Michael Fink Jack Stevenson Ron Opper Memorial Most Valuable Player: Parker Hebden MHSHCA Academic All State Individual: Michael Fink WRESTLING: Captains: Lee McArthur David Matteson James Westenbarger Ansorge Trojan Wrestling Scholarship: Jacob Steelman

Rendezvous 2016 SOLO SINGERS: Allison Costello - Fortunate Son Maddy Ross - Black Horse and a Cherry Tree Cassy Kellet - Dream a Little Dream of Me Alex Windholz - Bad Bad Leroy Brown Greta Groothuis - Everytime we say goodbye Jack Stevenson - Operator

Karlee Corwin Meredith Nelso Mae Smith - Sk Chloe Ammon Jenna Elsenhei Lars Hornburg Cassidy Merten Peggy Owens Thomas Pettin Taylor Pellerito

n - When We Were Young on - Gimme Some Lovin’ kinny Love nd - Mercy imer - If I Ain’t Got You g - Ain’t That a Kick in the Head n - Proud Mary - Eyes Wide Open nato - Jailhouse Rock o - I Know Where I’ve Been

Wiley Frasier - Man In The Mirror Michael Robens - Parker’s Mood Lisa Brown - Listen Emily Jenkins - Janis Joplin Medley Abe Stone - Goldfinger Claire Beutler - I’ll Be Waiting Ben Devries - Crazy Little Thing Called Love Robbie Shields - All In Love Is Fair Ellie McPherson - River Deep Mountain High Shannon Fiegel - Bottom of The River

All photos: A. Stiebel

Stationed

Sifted through the graveyard One beaten mechanical visage called it good and charming; holy union at first test drive.

A devoted sentry ensuring independence the cavalry taking me there pledged to scarlet blood of a young beating heart and bonfire oracle.

I learned to possess the self in a rogue desert kingdom as wild kid atop blue armored steed no longer bound to terrestrial judgments an understanding of body auto body out of body driving as one it was a cheap extension of my freedom.

Parked, camped, listened absorbed Mojave’s vibrant dusk

siphoned its colors fueled my watercolor poetry of racing wolves and sunsets inner strength and beauty, escape painted my ephemeral vessels one steel one skin with the relentless Milky Way sketched on open palms stationed beside Venus and Mars and we listen.

And meditate to feel the resonation of the western grit in our systems want to embody the classic road trip my uncle owns a Chevy dealership American made, so am I a journey’s all about accelerating discovery visceral joys (flight is a natural response) I abstain from fighting and sometimes in the wild I respond after long listening with banshee shrieks to fellow mellow gods applauding from their cosmos you can see them better through the moonroof you can touch them in the flawed sand stained with synthetic oils and tire tracks as earthly as that sounds you can appease them with evidence of your accepted mortality: loving living, receiving nature their gift all those above want you to see beauty they want you to see you and see unity perfectly in all our perishable divinity sometimes it helps to sit in nature sometimes parking lots can be forests if trees die too than so can cars that doesn’t make me very different from

him without a name I haven’t quite determined that yet.

facing up, starry fractals upon black sky chalice of time which pours fills our mouths, engines, tanks we breathe through each other not robotic versus muscular both alive both impermanent I want to understand when the both of us will end.

Played like a god in an arid sandbox building a sandcastle of an idea, weak that mortals are in control we can stop time by peeking behind the indigo curtain of a cold night’s abyss us, a roving pantheon for two revealing liberty and companionship And an endless awareness for either self: the alive and less alive to some you, my companion with the metal lungs we, consumed religion and philosophy by charging like mad and observing the dust imagined burning shrubbery it is dry enough here.

This is where the ancient astronomers dwelled I learn best without my GPS systems automatic dial tones space is silent “Don’t use that tone with me” earth is loud so I pretend I’m somewhere higher Morning rose descent from dream

reverse to home all the world can be a house if you make it so just try it out packed my pennies for a meter which in fifty years may not exist to buy time for breakfast it costs extra to enjoy it.

I left footprints behind his eyes trekked a vast landscape behind panes of glass I guess it’s a man now a female valkyrie would be sweet too it could be both if time doesn’t exist neither does gender stationed between dimensions Aurora cradled us in her golden arms delivered a fleshy pink birth of sky beyond tangerine sand together awoke, embraced a slow morning with no worries but sand still in my hair and rust in his gears.

I wish this life did not depend so on small clocks, temporary so maybe I won’t be late to my own funeral but this adventure has now been recorded and so I measure the length of my life by the times I can document, to remember the spontaneous times the pioneering times perhaps I didn’t hear answers when I prayed to where we’re going But I found a Denny’s once we reached town, “he” and I. And that’s close enough to salvation as striving vagabonds can reach.

Time Travel

Courtesy So they say. Deep perhaps, but clear as air.

Silently sulking? Heck No!!! I just knew That all I was was a weight friends boar through Conversations. Don’t act so to be fair.

—If I am honest, there was also fear— Trepidation Undefined. SHUT UP! The emotion’s not from “don’t fret” Mock-Ups! Guess? Distinguishing myself from my peers?

Repeated suggestion finally risked.

Anxiety. Terror. Seated at last.

It’s Hectic, Horrid! No! That Fear Has Passed.

A lone perturbing thought: All the Years Missed.

Remember presumption is one of fear’s casts, Withholding from us joy amassed.

Everything is ephemeral and too shy to be grasped I think the words falling off your lips when we were small and sun bleached bathing in unblemished years just hit my ears.

The poem you wrote when you were seventeen about a morning that I’ve seen too (that you let me see) just felt my fingertips.

Everything Is buried deep.

Unearthed by unversed kids in the sand with shovels who don’t know what it means why it got there.

The image the picture book gave me is shattered now.

The grains subside through any crack they can find.

What does teen spirit smell like?

You wake up, birds chirping, sun shining, the taste of sleep resting soundly on the back of your tongue and clouding your eyes... But what do you smell? You can almost see the brownishgreen waves of acridity wafting from your body, and that’s the first thing you smell in the morning.

But not me. I can’t smell. With this comes patronizing inquiries that assume I am incapable of living in my own organs. Here’s what you shouldn’t ask an anosmic: “Is it just because you have a cold?” Do I look or sound sick to you? (Don’t answer that.)

“Have you always been that way?” What, cool?

Of course I have.

“You’re so lucky! There’s so many bad smells, at least you can still see!” ... Thanks.

“Then that means you can’t taste.” I don’t think you know what you’re talking about, friend.

“Have you ever smelled anything in your life?”

Well, one time, I knew my friend had a pizza in his car because the texture of the air was different. Did you ever notice that the air had a texture to it? You probably don’t even believe me, because you’ve always smelled those fun little air molecules, and never had to pay attention to texture. That’s okay, though.

Of all of the interesting things to happen to me (which have been omitted for your sake and mine), why did I choose my sense of smell? Well, Nosy Nelly, I have the most fun explaining it. Half of all people don’t believe me, but deaf people don’t have to prove that they’re deaf. But, when I say I can’t smell, I’m doing it for attention.

I mean, I’m writing an essay about myself, so I like a little bit of attention, but I’m actually filling buckets with my sweat as we speak. I can write impersonal works and share them, but if it’s about me… I can’t even order my own smoothie at Espresso Bay because I’m too afraid to ask what kind of berries are in the “mixed berry.” I have to be prepared for my own spontaneity and social anxiety.

But, back to my nose. . . It has a lot of freckles on it, and a small bump in the ridge.

Also blackheads. Before you start to freak out, freckles and blackheads do not deter-

mine your ability to smell. I don’t have a medical degree in Facial Blemish and Nose Science, but my dad broke his nose and had surgery on it about three times. They said one more break and it would collapse, but here he is, smelling just fine. He even has blackheads!

I’m not so lucky. I once walked down the stairs in my favourite pair of leggings, ready to go. They were dry, but they smelled like cat pee. We had just taken in a stray cat, and I thought that I’d be able to feel the texture of the scent. I had my nose buried in the

“

Half of all people don’t believe me, but deaf people don’t have to prove that they’re deaf

”

luscious black fabric, caressing each thread with my greasy blackhead nose. It was fine, but the moment I walked past my dad, he shot up and started sniffing like a dog with a new butt. When he came to me and sniffed my legs, he gagged like the drama queen that he is. My own father thought I was lying up to that point! He told me that “you can smell, it’s just not your best sense” until I skipped down those stairs with cat pee as an accessory. Apparently, feline urine is quite pungent. Who knew? (Hint: Not me.)

The terror doesn’t end there. I can’t taste sweet things like you can. I have poured 8 different kinds of sugar packets into my coffee, five containers of creamer, and some strange sugary coffee syrup into my French Vanilla cup, and it was still bitter. I had friends taste it, and every one of them complained about how sweet it was. Sweet.

What?!

I’ve slowly come to realize that not being anosmic has a lot of dangers, but I also take pride in the fact that I can’t smell the boys football team after a close game when I cheer, and that I can’t smell my own farts. That’s the best part. It’s like a lethal weapon with no repercussions. Sure, I’d love to wake up and smell the roses, or understand what “Smells Like Teen Spirit,” but I wouldn’t know what they were if my nose worked anyway.

A Simple Expression

“Be the change you wish to see in the world.” These words, spoken

by Mahatma Gandhi, are words by which to live. Every last one of us has the power to change world.

Global change is actually, in a way, a lot like calculus. Each person individually pushes the value of society as a whole up or down by such small amounts that his or her life’s work could be described, in the grand scheme of things, as infinitesimal; however, when millions and billions of these minuscule changes are summed, noticeable movement occurs. Take any movement in history ‒ no law, no court verdict, no change ever happens as the result of a single person, even as powerful as a president. History is the integration of the change by the masses which takes us from prehistoric times to modern ones.

While each of us can only make a virtually meaningless change in the world, it is still essential that we utilize ourselves to our greatest potential.

To take this calculus metaphor a step further, the total infinitesimal change one has on the world, can it in itself also be expressed

as another derivative integration using the first fundamental theorem of calculus. In a lifetime one single decision we make can rarely alone change our life’s meaning as a whole. I suppose it makes sense that one’s life’s work takes place over the course his or her entire lifetime rather than in a single moment. Still, however, it is imperative that we not undervalue the infinitesimal. While one or two negative “dy’s” can not have an actual impact on the value of one’s lifetime if these changes are made a habit huge sways in the one’s meaning of life will result.

This means that perhaps Horace’s phrase “Carpe diem,” i.e. seize the day, should be clarified to mean “capere quisque diem,” meaning seize each day.

This mathematical sort of life outlook is a very odd way to view the world. While such a function does indicate that in the grand scheme of the all of mankind what we currently do has a fractally infinitesimal impact on the world as a whole, we cannot, however, disregard this effect as meaningless because after accounting for a lifetime of someone’s actions, then summing this value with the lifetime of actions of all individuals over all of time these fractally infinitesimal moments add up and are infact the sole force that has propelled humanity from the apelike beasts that we used to be to the high-tech interconnected species that we are now. I now leave you with one last idea first voiced by Margaret Mead. She said “Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful committed citizens can change the world; indeed it’s the only thing that ever has.” As I look at the people in the room before me I see thoughtful committed committed citizens just raring to change the world as they see fit, so let’s go do it.

Humanity today=the first humanall people birthend of timeone’s actions dt dp +apelike society

Class of 2016, Where are we from? they were due.

We are from going to the beach during free hours And from late nights in CPL when you don’t know where else to go, We are from trying to eat food in the library— and almost always getting caught And many of us are from glossy eyes when we think of moving away from our friends, family, and teams.

But where we are from doesn’t matter, it’s where we are going that counts

“

And while that may be U of M, the Naval Academy, or Cal-Poly, Harvard, or Hope, We are going to places where we can make

We will always be Traverse City Central’s Class of 2016: For some, this is something to be proud of, for others it may be an embarrassment.

We are from being annoyed by Ludka’s booming lecture voice

We are from singing “Just a Friend” at football games (even though it’s not at all related to football) We are from making friends out of acquaintances And from breakfasts at The Omelet Shoppe before school, From being afraid of getting caught going off campus for lunch freshman and sophomore year.

We are from hating SLCs From musicals, track meets, and senate dodge ball tournaments From unanimously laughing at Kolody for sleeping with her pig.

We are from too much Bardon’s and never enough Pae’s combos.

We are from being overly frustrated at Chem labs And from finishing our reductions after the day

”

amends for our mistakes and be the person we want to be.

We will always be Traverse City Central’s Class of 2016 For some, this is something to be proud of, for others it may be an embarrassment, But regardless of your feelings towards the Class of 2016, you are a part of it.

As you look around the room, you will realize that you are not close with that many of your peers, and you may not relate with them after graduation.

Yet I hope that you hope each other the best, as we all embark on different journeys.

We are all from different places, and we are all going different places, But I would just like to say that wherever you are going is a place where you can make it what you want it to be.

So be who you want to be, love who you want to love, smile often, fear little, and don’t forget that wherever you are going, you are always adding to the list of where you are from.

What is your advice to the under classmen at Central?

“Get as involved as you can,” Savanah Champion said. “You think you have all the time in the world, but your four years in high

school will go by crazy fast. Get involved with sports. If you are interested in something, just go do it. Test the waters. DIVE

INTO Central and take advantage of all the opportunities you have here.”

“Enjoy HIGH

SCHOOL,” Kenna Chilcott said. “Don’t take anything for granted. I’m glad I’m done, but I wish I would have gone to more football games AND basketball games.”

“You just need to MAKE high school the best because you only live it once,” Jimmy Vanderbosch said. “Go to football games and be super loud in the student section.”

“My advice for other high school students is if you’re not flying around you’re lying around,” Lukas McManus said. “Chinese buffet keeps the doctors away. Paes

combo will make YOUR mom proud. Bro lot spots makes you look hot. This is a public service announcement brought to you by Flann ft. DJ Ox.”

“Go to all the games and soak up all of your senior MOMENTS,” Hannah Radosevich said. “Have fun, go as wild as you want, but not too WILD. Just wild enough to not get the cops called on you.”

“Take AP classes AND/or dual enroll,” Michael Gray said.

“You can save money by not paying for them.”

“Always drink your coffee before 8:30 a.m. and your day will be AMAZING,” Mady Basch said.

“Don’t take the easy way through school,” Caleb Muszynski said. “And prepare as much as you can for college.”

PLACE YOUR AD HERE

PLACE YOUR AD HERE

Christmas the way I always remember it It was dim. And warm. And dazzling.

And it smelled like parmesan cheese.

The room danced in golden rays, illuminated by the lights adorning the spruce.

That poor spruce too; piled high with memories bittersweet and chalky.

Shouldering the weight of grudges, promises, and all those days we couldn’t remember.

But maybe that was for the best.

Our years couldn’t keep up with passing time because somewhere between Once Upon a Time and Happily Ever After, days become shorter and nights become longer as we gaze so longingly and franticly at one thing we forget why we are.

Our funny little snow globe world was shaken up again, as new stories and old souls danced around; co-existing but never colliding.

Those nights were dip dyed midnight blue, back when the lines between ideas and ideals were smeared into one by children finger painting on the kitchen floor.

While vitamins are measured out in gummy delights, groundhogs rule time, and fairies sweep away dental bewilderment Santas sit still, receiving sticky kids and impossible dreams.

The back-and-forth battle of natural selection claims victims holding the short end of the stick.

The trick is, though, to never pick up the game in the first place.

Sitting in on the story about the worn table from 19-whatever, we silently vied for the coveted grade-A spot on the fridge at Grandmas, fighting a predetermined hierarchy running generations deep.

But we really couldn’t have known any better, because Five, Seven, and Eight are bigger than life and they don’t like to take ‘no’ for an answer.

It’s been ten years since then.

Parts of the puzzle fly in and out and there will always be the one who pockets the last piece for a rainy day.

The farther you look back the more blurred today becomes.

These faded, dogeared albums aren’t going anywhere, but we are and our stories will add to the pile.

One to four: my journey through CHS 1 She didn’t know what the electoral college was until her kind redhead friend showed she knew it by quietly raising an arm in class.

2 She cheated on a test in Honors Chem B and her conscience told her this would be the end.

4 Bernie in Presidential Race - she is pumped.

3 ACT 4 Ceramics: make a piece reflecting how you felt at an important moment in your life…. Now? May 25, 2016?… stability… trying to maintain the up-down-up-down pattern high school has been.

- steadiness in self without a packed schedule 1234? Poor kid who scratches the walls with “I hate this shit.” Poor kid who sinks their freshman finger into gum in lock button on bathroom door. Who gets locked in the first stall of F-building’s girls bathroom. Poor kid whose parents caught her sneaking into the house after being out with boyfriend all night. Two separate times. Sex. Black out. Family. Tears. Many tears. Patience.

The speed of service, the line is full of tickets. Ultra focus. A face not to be interrupted.

Stars bright as she goes out to get the mop on a Tuesday night. When mom picks her up she feels the energy of the girl entering the car. Full and flourishing. An energy that outweighs the heavy restaurant grease clinging to body.

2

Rugby feels good. Her body covered in bruised battle wounds.

Don’t feel sorry for that girl who sat alone in the stalls every lunch period. Who would wander the halls, enter her favorite bathroom checking once, three times if coast was clear. Don’t feel sorry for her as she rests her lunch on the toilet paper dispenser, backpack safe in locker. She readies herself, pushes the only functional lock button in the school and tucks her feet under her on the toilet seat. ten minutes. door opens. She sucks in and holds, slowly releasing from her nose and silently refilling with air. practicing breathing exercises… she was so good, even practicing her zen in the bathroom.

But the girls sometimes took forever. one would sit down and talk at the other who was busy applying loads thick makeup and smearing orange crap all over her face to conceal her real complexion. “Boyfriend boyfriend blah blah blah.” They took forever. She had to leave after they left. Often late to class from those extra three minutes for the clear to come. Nope, not out at Paes with the upperclassmen. Late for other reasons.

That was 1.

Now it is 4.

Hints of these times show through… even as she is with her friends at paes. Now she is moving on… and so are all of her peers. They sit on the tables and laugh during class go dance in the rain… year four.

As she walks around on these last few days of school… who does she pass as she goes? Are they wandering? What is happening in their lives? Hopefully not eating in that bathroom, but even so… they’ll move on… all times pass.

Up-down-up-down.

What smell best describes your senior year?

Seniors reflect on their last year, identifying an aroma that best capture their senior year experiences

“

“Senior year smells of a subway station since seniors know we’re almost done, but everyone else insists on waiting for the last second until we we can put on our breaks causing everything to reek of burning rubber.” -David Meyer

I would say the smell that describes my senior year would be the smell of Mary’s Kitchen Port because I made like a hundred Mary’s runs during my free hour.

-Megan Puckett

“I would describe the smell senior year as a flannel blanket that has been washed a lot over the years and has been used for all sorts of things because that’s how high school is. We are all just a flannel blanket.” -Isabel Lutz

The smell of cookies describes senior year since it has been really easy. This is because I only had five classes first semester and only three classes now due to work experience. -Selena Korvez

I would have to say senior year has a greasy smell because it has been a struggle making it through. It took a lot of teamwork and last minute attempts at finishing homework and making it through classes. -Nathan Tripp

If I could describe my senior year as a smell it would be body oder because I think only ten percent of our school’s population actually knows where the deodorant aisle in Walgreens is. -Jen Rose

“

“The smell of senior year would be popcorn because with all the late homework nights, I ended up having a lot of it. It helped me with my college chapter reading. It made it more interesting, like a movie.” -Kendra Benak

“

One smell to sum up my senior year would be coffee because I have pretty much been living off of coffee for the past year. I wouldn’t have made it without a glass of coffee. -Megan Yagle

“

“One smell would be Domino’s pizza.

It was Selena Korvek’s and my go-to meal, it got us through our senior year.

Our typical order is pineapple on half, bacon on other half, extra cheese, and always a thin crust.” -Victoria Green

Where do seniors see themselves in the next ten years?

“

In ten years from now, I will be working in undercover narcotics and I will have become a youth pastor.

Oh and I want to win the lotto. -Alex DeVol “I see myself eating mint chocolate chip ice cream and petting my Great Dane on my llama farm in Costa Rica.”

-Sierra Frasier

“

“In ten years, I’ll probably be a college drop-out because I can’t handle stress, and so I will be unable to support myself. So as a college dropout, I will probably take up a job at a Burger King.” -Lee McArthur

In ten years from now, Kendra Benak will be living in my guest house. We will live in Florida and her house will be on the opposite side of the pool.

-Cynthia Gidley

I see myself living in a trailer park in Vegas until I lose it due to a gambling addiction or hopefully on the beach in Cabo. -Jackson Schrameyer

“In ten years I will be a first year resident at a nice hospital, and I will be the next season one Cristina Yang from Grey’s Anatomy. I really admire her confidence and drive for execellence.” -Cara Ferguson

“

Blind me home

Blind Me Home When I have the body of a man, my tongue is a pen.

When my tongue is a pen, thoughts bleed over my teeth.

When thoughts bleed over my teeth, I swallow half the night.

When I swallow half the night, I lose my favorite constellations.

When I lose my favorite constellations, streetlights blind me home.

When streetlights blind me home, gaps in traffic close.

When gaps in traffic close, horns lay waste to peace.

When horns lay waste to peace, I lose my train of thought.

When I lose my train of thought...

I lose my train of thought.

How to deal with passion

Second Grade Don’t tell them. They don’t like it when you tell them when they’re next to you during circleup.

Especially if you hardly know them. If you’ve never talked to them or played with them.

Quit being distracted. Focus on your work.

Fourth Grade Don’t be so angry at him. He’ll think you’re stupid.

Maybe you are just stupid. You never had a chance anyway.

Learn to let go.

Fifth Grade Don’t chase them around the playground.

I can’t believe I have to tell you that. Idiot.

Senior

Seventh Grade Don’t tell anyone.

Don’t. Tell. Anyone.

Eighth Grade Sometimes there will be people that are simply better than you.

And there’s nothing you can do about it.

There’s never anything you can do about it, so what’s the point of trying?

Learn to let go again.

Tenth Grade What have I gotten myself into?

Why the hell do I care so much?

It’s overwhelming, infuriating, exhausting, consuming, but I have a chance.

No I don’t.

It can happen.

No it can’t.

It has to happen. It has to happen.

No. It has to happen.

It can’t.

Please, it has to happen.

It’s not going to happen! Never! Why don’t you understand that?

Just calm down and try to let go again.

Again...

Twelfth Grade It doesn’t matter anymore. It’s not important.

They’re all stupid anyway. They don’t last.

But a part of me doesn’t care.

It’s all really confusing, but that’s exactly what passion does.

Confuses, illuminates, and attacks. As varied and moody as the people it affects.

Standing here with a reality I am unable to grasp The end of high school has arrived But this is no ordinary end It is the beginning of something greater Our wild spirits harvest creativity We are free to roam as we embark on our future The comfort of our familiarity is no longer a reality Faces we see daily will linger as shadows with memories still intact Harbor the small moments in the nests our hearts Encourage each other to embrace the new ones When we feel small remember all we have to offer While these last four years have become a part of who we are We must leave it all behind to become who we desire to be

I have come to understand that life will not always give us what we want Life finds a way to give us what we need If one day I find myself in the company of you again I hope to be able to say how happy we are Thank you for the unforgettable experiences Cheerful memories Remarkable friendships I’ll have to admit it to you It’s been a pleasure

Jim Filkins

Filkins, weary as we came into the year we honestly leave with nothing but thanks. It took us all a while to “put away the voodoo doll” and understand where each other were coming from; understanding that we really all have the same goal. Now that the year is over, 8 issues and countless “battles” later we step back realizing that every time you questioned us had validity, forcing us to reflect on our goals and where we wanted to take this paper. You made us see the impacts our paper had on the school and larger Grand Traverse community and help us to understand the impacts we want our paper to make and how we want it to be perceived, keeping our end goals in check. I think we have made a lot of really positive changes to the paper this year as hard as it was to let many things go - the leek, our view, “stringing quotes together and calling it a story,” we feel proud of what we have accomplished, regardless of what MIPA has to say about it (still bitter about that one). So here is where we say thank you for taking on this class and for helping us step back and pause for a minute. Here is where we say thank you for dealing with us when we jumped from “giddy to razor-blade sharp” with no forewarning, thank you for ignoring our laugh attacks and letting us deal with our stress, for talking us through our life “struggles,” for putting Noah & Co and all the rest of us back in line when needed and for putting in so much of your own time and thought for the future of this paper.

You rock, now let’s all just take a class field trip to Kauai!! Hello Roosters, sunsets and red dirt, goodbye deadlines and snow in May.

Maddi Miller ‘16

Maddi, after spending three years with you in newspaper, countless deadlines, and working as co-EIC’s together this year, I haven’t came to one conclusion about your unavoidable laugh attacks, ability to come up with pristine designs out of nowhere, and your mysterious work ethic.

Although I have learned this: we’re completely opposite people. You’re a million times more creative with design than I am, and I’m more organized. I think that’s why we made this work (even though we had our doubts along the way). I don’t know what the pub is going to be like without you next year, but I do know it will feel odd. You’ll be at MSU rooming with Emma, taking your design and journalism skills to an unimaginable level, and I’m extremely happy for you. You come up with such unique designs and I know you’re going to blow your professors away with your talent.

Keep working hard--all of the late nights will be worth it. And after MSU when you transfer out to Colorado, you’re going to have the time of your life. It’s perfect out there for you-triathlon clubs, unlimited hiking, skiing, and awesome running trails. I will be sure to come visit you out there too (I’ve always wanted to go to Colorado). As I write this, it’s really hard to think of you being gone in terms of just newspaper. You’re one of my best friends; you won’t be in cross country next year, or track, or newspaper, or here to go to Crystal with me every weekend, or just hangout with me in general. I can’t wait to see what you accomplish in college and the rest of your life because your journalism skills are a true gift. Pal, I’m going to miss you a lot. Good luck. Don’t forget that the pub is just a few hours away (especially on deadline nights). Your designs and dedication to newspaper this year were greatly appreciated, I wouldn’t have been able to do it without you.

All Photos: courtesy of http://www.imdb.com/

Dr. Rick Vandermolen

The staff at the Black and Gold extend our wholehearted thanks to you. Every year that you have been here at Central, you have exceeded our expectations of a principal again and again. Your dedication to the journalism program is deeply appreciated by each and every one of us, and your interest in newspaper has allowed our publication to continue and flourish. Month after month, you also give us an hour of your time to be barraged with endless questions at our press conferences, answering our inquiries about everything from the the new lock system to the new “friendly dogs” here at Central. We are also incredibly grateful for the honest feedback that you would give us following the publication of each of our issues, which we would listen to and learn from, improving the quality of our paper. You have also reached out to each and every person on staff, and have never failed to let us know that you are interested in our personal opinions of the program. You have been amazingly kind to our program, and know that you will be missed by everyone on the staff of the Black and Gold. Thank you again for everything you have done for us.

Julia Vannatter ‘17

Jules, pal, I wouldn’t have wanted to do it with anyone else. Well, actually, I don’t think I could have pulled this off with anyone else. Aside from our first day of class two years back when our first day as editors turned into an obnoxious laugh attack, we’ve worked perfect together with your organization and my ahhh creativity?? Lol. Thank you for keeping me calm and for being so much more organized than I, oh and for always being there to fix my spacing.

You always stood behind me and supported me and I appreciate that so much. I’m so excited to see what you do with the paper next year because I know it is going to be quality. More than that though, I’m so excited to see where life takes you because you are so deserving, hard-working and talented and I absolutely know you are going to be so successful and happy.

I’m going to miss our never ending hours in the pub, switching advisors on a yearly basis, watching Grumpy Cat take naps in my front lawn, watching Emma take naps under every table and in every corner of the pub, our group message with Shiny which centered around me sending out late night “Shine HELP ME!!!” messages every deadline, all of our ‘fabulous’ ideas for the paper (glad we let go of the Tabloid idea), and my laugh attacks that were inevitable every time I got too stressed and more than often rubbed off on you. But pal, we made it, we did it and now... You get to do it all again next year!!!!! Hahaha but you’re going to be great next year, and remember I’m only a phone call away if you need someone to make you laugh when Filkins’ is just too serious. Love ya lots pal.

Carly Hernden ‘16 You honestly had some pretty big shoes to fill following our Grumpy cat’s departure, and I have to say, you did not let us down. Opinion had some of our most quality writing and reporting this year and I thank your editing and persistence for that. You wrote excellent Our View’s, and no matter the situation, you always seemed to have a solution. You kept your page and staffers organized and we will miss you more than you know.

Bethany Pataky ‘16 Beth, you are so devoted to this paper and it is so appreciated. Your designs grew so much throughout the course of the year and we were so impressed by some of the quality, original pages that you produced. You were always on-top of it and had solid ideas. Everyday you had the funniest comments about virtually any topic and we will not forget your sarcastic sass. Your eagerness and passion for everything you do will take you very far.

Taylor Weckstein ‘16 Tots! Despite some of your articles being misunderstood and ripped apart before they were published, we are really glad that you joined this year, and I hope you are too. Your kind-hearted and driven personality was a good additive to the class. You’re probably the best person I’ve ever met and we all strive to reach your levels of perfection.

Your work ethic and ability to succeed in almost any situation is going to take you great places.

Jackson Conlon ‘16 Your style is truly too cool for school, literally. We loved having you here (when you did decide to come to school). You and Aidan did awesome with HOTC and you inspired us to keep our designs as fresh as your style. Thank you for your willingness to become Photog. Editor with Adian as soon as Emma left, you two always pulled through with high-quality photos, and we really appreciate that.

You were a valuable member of “Noah & Co.”

Emma Simon ‘16 Emmmaaaa, hi lovely:) I mean, we’re still a bit sad you bailed on us half way through the year, but we still stole enough photos that it’s almost like you never left! Your photos brought a lot to this paper the past two years, and the number of MIPA awards you have won would be almost unbelievable if we didn’t know how special your photos were.

Keep lying under tables, drinking 10 cups of coffee a day and taking unique photos, you’re going to go far pal.

All Photos: courtesy of http://www.imdb.com/

Noah Aulicino ‘16

Noah, Noah, Noah what do we even say. Sports was always in shambles, but you still managed to make it every time. “Row, row, row your boat” was such an original headline; we love that Filkins’ most “disliked” page was the one that won a MIPA. Thanks for leading “Noah & Co.” and for improvising the boys cross country photo with one of a cake. We’re going to miss you a lot, we all love ya (probably even Beth).

Abbie Crick ‘16 From NHS President to writing IntroSpec with Taylor, you always seemed to be ahead of the game. Every issue we were so impressed with your ability to crank out a top-notch piece for the paper. We enjoyed your quiet, but fun presence this year. Your ability to take on any task regardless of the time crunch will be extremely helpful to you; good luck as you accomplish excellent things in your years to come.

Henry Lancashire ‘16 Honestly, I’m just glad I’m leaving the same year as you because I don’t know what’s going to happen without you next year. Your talent amazes me and I hope you continue to follow your passion with art because the work you produce has such a unique feel. Thanks for putting up with us and taking the blame for graphics not being done when we only asked you five minutes earlier.

You’re going to kill it at art school.

Ben Brown ‘16 Hey shorty, I’m so glad you joined and became the fourth edition to “Noah & Co.” Right off the bat when you joined second semester, you were on-top of your tasks and extremely willing to help out on virtually any page. You’re really driven, and that’s going to help you a lot later in life. We also enjoyed hearing about all the places you have been (we are so jealous). Your smile and fashion are on point, keep keeping it real.

Aidan Stiebel ‘16 We truly enjoy the photographs of you as a young child, your fro was unreal. We so appreciate how willing you were to take on every task we gave you this year, and there were many of them. You were always ready to help. We all thank you so much for high-quality photos and covering every event, even if it was last minute!

Kristin McKlintock ‘17 “Silence is not silent. Silence speaks. It speaks most eloquently. Silence is not still. Silence leads.

It leads most perfectly.” - Sri Chinmoy. You have been a silent leader since you joined this class, and your tranquil demeanor is much needed and highly valued. Your work is always done on time, no questions asked. Good luck senior year!

Andrea Bavikatty ‘18 You are nothing less than amazing. Your work is always quality and we have watched your design and editing skills grow leaps and bounds this year. We have high expectations for you next year, but we’re not worried at all, you are going to do great things with this paper (and your life). You’re so motivated, thank you for all of your hard work and time.

Kirsten Berkey ‘18 Oh Kirty, we adore you so much. You are such a goon and always keep things interesting and lighthearted, but at the same time are able to produce some of the most creative and quality work we have seen. Enjoy these next two years, they’re going to go by quick. Keep up your organization and solid work next year, don’t let senioritis get to you!

Alex Stern ‘18 Sports writing champ! Alex, thanks for all of your hard work on the paper this year, you had some big stories assigned to you and you did great with them all. Thanks for being so willing to jump around pages and try new kinds of writing, but especially thank you for loving to cover sports almost every issue.

Autumn Roberts ‘18 We’re so glad you decided to do newspaper this year. Working alonhside Abby and Andrea, you have done great work and took on a lot of interviews (which is awesome). You were willing to try all the different pages and we really appreciate it.

Thank you for all the hard work and willingness to start reporting right at the start of the school year.

Yearbook Hey sistas (and Chad, Ben, Alex and Ewan) thanks for sharing the sacred pub with us for yet another year. Thanks for letting us snag many of your extra photos in our moments of crisis and for sharing Emma for half the year. Your book is absolutely beautiful this year and we’re proud to be your sister publication! We see a Spartan in your future!

All Photos: courtesy of http://www.imdb.com/

Abby Harnish ‘18

You are such a sweetheart. Silently working alongside Andrea, your hard work and quality production has not gone unnoticed. You can work on whatever page we assign you, and that’s something to be proud of. Thank you for always meeting deadlines and for being so easy to work with. We appreciate your work a lot, keep it up!

Nicole Rogers ‘18 First, let us just say how much we adore your hair and bubbly personality. You are so sweet and are always willing to take on a new challenge (opinion page), and you pull through with quality work.

We’re so excited to see what the next two years bring for you in this class. Keep your spunk and sass alive.

Hayley Scollard ‘18 Hayls, you bring so much to this class. From your laugh attacks in the corner with Kirt, Nicole and Bails, to your stellar sports reporting, to your color-coded ads pages, you always make us smile.

You have such a fun, relaxed demeanor and we love your company in class. We’re excited to watch you grow in this class.

Baille Zipser ‘18 Hi grasshopper, there’s no way for us to explain how much we will miss you next year. I’ve loved having you as my minion in this class the past two years. You have so much talent and you can focus on one task until it’s done to the best of your ability. We can’t wait to watch how your design and reporting will grow over the next two years.

Jack Myers ‘19 Working as Beth’s personal sidekick this year, the two of you pulled off some pretty impressive pages. Your writing has impressed us with its caliber since day one and we see a lot of potential in you; you can conquer any task given to you.

We hope you stick with the class next year and continue doing great work with Focus!

Abigail Vannatter ‘19 You’re so good on opinion!!! Thank you for always completing your tasks on time. We really hope you keep with newspaper next year because we see so much potential in you. Your drafts are always quality work and we love how willing you are to make edits and take on the topics others shy away from.

Class of 2016

Class Flower Yellow Rose Class Motto

Class Colors Blue and White

Class Song “I will remember you”

by Sarah McLachlan

“What lies behind you and lies in front of you, pales in comparison to what lies inside of you.”

The

&

Black Gold

2015 MIPA Spartan Award Winner

Traverse City Central High School 1150 Milliken Drive, Traverse City, Michigan 49686

Senior Issue, Volume 95, May 25, 2016