Dim Undercurrents

Several years ago, I was introduced to the amazing artwork of the prominent painter Salvador Dali. I remember being struck by his fantastical paintings, my head tipping this way and that as I tried to derive meaning or emotion out of his surreal artwork. I grew to enjoy his work only in passing though, picking up art books as I browsed bookstores, and looking at his work every so often on the Internet. So when given an assignment by my debate coach to write about memories, my mind instantly flew to something Dali once said: “The difference between false memories and true ones is the same as for jewels:  it is always the false ones that look the most real, the most brilliant.” Of course, as much as I love this quote, it brought back some unpleasant memories, because although false memories are wonderful while you have them, they become a source of distress and longing when you discover how artificial they really are.

         Three years ago, I was someone else. As a freshman in High school, I was shy, socially awkward, introverted, and self-conscious. I was just a confused kid, and looking back I marvel at how much I have changed over the last few years. It was freshman year that I started dating a girl for the first time. Ever. Now I know this isn’t odd for a freshman in high school, I know half a dozen freshmen this year that have already had half a dozen girlfriends. In my case though, I kept dating this girl for years. At the time, it seemed like a good idea. When we started, we had a lot in common. Both of us were shy, we were good students; we did the same extra-curricular activities, and had enough in common to carry on a conversation. The relationship went on for some time. We convinced ourselves we loved each other, and for about a year, things were good. It should have surprised neither of us, however, when almost three years into the relationship, it ended.

In hindsight, things are clear, but a month or so into my senior year things became quite murky when she announced that she no longer loved me, and left. I was distraught, and over and over again, I remembered the good times that we had experienced together. I clambered through a muddy swamp of teenage angst for weeks, until a friend of mine sat me down and showed me exactly how stupid I was being. My perceptive friend showed me that we hadn't really had a phenomenal relationship since freshman year. We simply had different personalities, and had grown separate from each other without really noticing. We had been letting false memories replace and cover up the things that had grown between us. Those memories were good, and we managed to make them outshine everything else that was happening. That was the real problem though. It turns out life isn’t a Hollywood blockbuster, with a happy ending to every plot. Its more like a fable, or a pretty good Indie film, where maybe everything doesn’t turn out like you would expect, but the characters learn a lesson and move on to greener meadows. 

"Savage" Pride

To begin my newest (and essentially my first) foray into the blogosphere, I have decided to write about something that has been on my mind for the last few months. I am a high schooler, attending school in a small, midwestern town. The school I attend has a mascot that has caught quite a bit of negative attention in years past. Other schools in the area have complained about it, members of the community have spoken up, and a former superintendent even campaigned to do away with it. To this day however, the mascot of my school district remains unchanged.  The school district's mascot has been "The Savages" with a Native American's face as the emblem for decades.

The problem with the mascot should be quite obvious, but in recent years the opposition has dwindled. Few have taken up the banner of political correctness. This is not surprising, because I believe that many have simply come to accept our mascot for what it is. I myself am guilty of this oversight. I am coming to the end of my high school career, and up until now I barely gave the moniker of "Savages" a second thought. Now though, I realize just what the term "Savages" implies and I cannot help but be offended by when used to describe a Native American.

The mascot should be changed. There can be no doubt about that. It is blatantly offensive to an ethnic minority, which is something that ought not be tolerated. I recognize, however, that my small town has a long way to go. Many people love our mascot and rally quickly behind the mantra of "Savage Pride!" when its appropriateness is called into question. There's nothing wrong with taking pride in your school or in your community, but sometimes you have to give up what is popular, and simply do what is right for the sake of others, if not yourself. I hope that in time, my community will learn this and change its mascot to something less insulting towards Native Americans.