Assignment 4 dialoge

I am trying to determine which dialogue I should use for my Assignment 4 paper. Maybe you can help. I am going to write it about concussions and how they affected me and the current issues in sports about concussions. 

First idea:

I was flipping in the air just like every other day of my life, but this time I was at a meet so I had to do everything perfectly. I was warming up on the balance beam and doing just fine until I fell. I fell all the time, it was a normal thing in gymnastics, but this time was a little bit different. I got up and could not walk straight. My coach, Brian, was concerned. He sat me down and asked me all sorts of questions.

“What is your name?” he asked cautiously.

“Brian, I’m not retarded.” I replied full of attitude.

Then he instantly knew something was wrong. I have never disrespected him or gave him that much attitude in my life. From that point I do not remember much of that day. I was later diagnosed with a concussion.

Second idea:

Waiting in the doctor's office is one of the longest moments of your life, or so it seems to be, especially if your in pain. You just want to know what is wrong and why your feeling that way. I was in this position except I have had a nagging headache for a few weeks. Finally she comes in.

"So we have discovered based on your test that you have about 2% of short-term memory."

"So what does this mean? What can I do? Is this normal?"

I had so many thoughts going through my mind. Will I loose my memory from my childhood? Will I remember moments at this period of my life? I was throughly confused. I felt like no one has told me about what concussions are. Is the way I am feeling normal? No clue. No one really helped me figure out my thoughts or even confirmed my feelings frustrations, and pain.

Assignment 4 proposal

Concussion

I decided to write about concussions, because it is becoming a more common knowledge, but still not everyone knows or understands: what are they? Why do they cause so much damage? Do they really affect you that much? Why do they last so long? All these I think are questions that most people have. I have suffered through a two year lasting concussion and understand the frustrations of head aches, doctor visits, medication, school work, memory loss, ect. I have also have experience of having more than one concussion and what does that mean for the future? How long does this affect you? Also when going through the concussion or even watching from an outside perspective, you often wonder is this really happening or is it all made up? I think I would have benefitted more if someone would have talked with me and confirmed the feelings that I had. Concussions are so intricate and hard to explain and frustrating to someone that has never experienced. With having confirmation from someone that has gone through it already helps the concussed feel better and may help him or her recover faster.

I find this topic so interesting and I enjoy telling people about it. I think I can also easily find information about concussions now that more and more research is being does. Also having first hand experience I can easily support the claims from how I felt and further connect them with science. I think my audience might be to anyone that is going through a concussion currently and also family members or friends that do not understand fully what is going on and how might they help or have more grace towards the concussed. My idea about the dialog is possibly going to be when my coach asked me a bunch of questions that I ended up answering correctly, but have no recollection of it happening.

Fallacy

These are two examples that I made up:
Bandwagon appeals: “so many students at Penn State University are against the firing of Joe Paterno. You should, as well.” This would be a fallacy because it is assumes that the reader wants to be apart of the group “against firing Joe Paterno” and also give a false sensation that whatever the majority says, must be right. 


Faulty causality: “the students at Penn State University are acting more wild than ever, due to the leading icon of Joe Paterno.” This would be a fallacy, because there are more factors going into the behavior of the Penn State Students than just Joe Paterno. 


This is an example that I found:
Ad hominem: “That's a fine question for students. And perhaps an unfair one for athletes. But is it too much to ask to be even moderately civilized?” This is a fallacy against how students were acting and it doesn’t need to be in the article to present the argument of the Penn State scandals that happened the last few months. http://www.bloodyelbow.com/2011/12/7/2618810/rashad-evans-joke-about-the-penn-state-scandal-is-no-laughing-matter

The 3 year-old shoplifter

“Beep, beep, beep!” The alarm goes off in the store. I stopped sighed annoyingly and waited for the casher to come and check my bag to make sure I didn’t steel anything. Just as I thought it was nothing and the casher just told me that I could go. I went back to my car and buckled Brooke in her car seat and off we went again to yet another store. 

This was one of those days that I would take little Brooke through many of stores and would tell her not to touch anything, but that only intrigued her even more, than if I wouldn’t of said anything. Later on I found four pairs of the same earrings in my purse, but could not figure out how they got there. I sat and pondered on this and came to a conclusion that Brooke put these earrings in my purse when I wasn’t looking. I asked her if she had recognized these earrings and she said, “Yeah mommy I thought they would look pretty on you.” I sighed and chuckled, because they were pierced earrings, I couldn’t wear them. I didn’t have my ears pierced, and didn’t want holes in my ears either. But it was very cute that she thought of me like that. 

The only thing is I did not know how I would give them back. I mean what do I say, “Sorry, but my daughter put these earrings in my purse and I didn’t know.” I mean that’s really not believable.  The man would probably think that I am crazy.  So I just decided just to keep them. Later on in the year the store went out of business.  I feel awful, but there is nothing I can do about it now.  How could my little precious princess be a shoplifter at the age of three? Oh my goodness, I have so much to teach her.

Growing up

“Duck!” that was my littlest first word as she pointed to a little blow up duck that quacked when you squeezed it.  She turned with such delight on her face; it was almost like she knew that she said it right.  That’s all she said for about the next three hours. 

            Soon, it began to be mom, dad, Blake, Brad, grandma, and many more words. Those words started to be little phrases, then full out sentences. I was so happy she could talk.

            At the age of one she met her neighbor, but didn’t really start playing with her until the age of two. This was my little daughter’s best friend, Michelle. They lived next door, which made it very convenient for Michelle’s mother and me; we didn’t have to drive anywhere. They would play for hours and hours day after day. They surprisingly never got sick of seeing each other. It kept her very busy and occupied. I was happy she has a best friend, and thought that would only last for a couple of years or so, but I was wrong about that.  It became very normal to say Brooke and Michelle together almost as one name. 

            Then, came the dreaded day of preschool. I think it was harder for me than Brooke.  She already had a friend Michelle there and knew another girl named Hannah. I just had to keep telling myself that she was going to be fine, but it was hard to make myself believe that. I wanted her to stay home with me, but she had to go. 

Of course she had no problem going in there after she saw Michelle there. She made new friends very quickly. Brooke was very social and always wanted to meet new people. She knew almost every one in the class and would know something interesting about them. She had those social skills from her father.

Brooke and Michelle loved preschool and would talk about how much fun they had and what they learned every single day. I thought that friendship would end there, but it continued for many years.   

The Story Continues

We were stuck together in this cold, but somewhat happy room for another day. We were the only ones in the hospital when the ball dropped for the first time for my little Brooke. It was 1992. Then, as always, they had the tradition of the fire works in Disney and my little baby’s eyes were just so fascinated by them; it was like she had ping-pong balls for eyes. She just stared and stared so intensely that I don’t think that a fire would unglue her eyes from that television. They were bright colors of red, blue, green, and white.  Brooke loved those fireworks. 

            We soon went to bed and before we knew it, we were at home. Home was a lovely word when you have felt like you were sick from all the germs in that hospital. But Brooke didn’t seem to have a problem with the germs, and all she did was sleep. We actually gave Brooke the nickname of Sleeping Beauty because of that.  She was such and easy baby, unlike my other two children. 

My first child, Brad, was more of the conservative, gentle spirited kind of guy. My mother would baby-sit him so, like any ordinary grandparent, she didn’t like to do many active things. We also told him that chocolate was bad, so he would not eat chocolate until the age of about thirteen because he thought he didn’t like it. But the truth is that my husband and I told him that it was bad, so he just never ate it, until he realized that it was bad for your heath not bad in taste. Blake, on the other hand was the wild child of the family. When I would come home from work he would run to me and stand in front of me and scream so hard that I think the neighbors could hear him. I would quickly have to run to the refrigerator and get him a cold bottle of milk, and then he would stop. But it wasn’t over; he would stand there in the middle of the floor and chug the entire bottle. And when he was done he didn’t hand me the bottle like a good little boy, but he threw it over his shoulder and continued on playing with Brad. I knew Brooke wouldn’t be like that. She would be this nice sweet little baby. It seemed that every move I made she would study intensely. She understood words that people used. It was a fun experience to watch her grow.

As she grew older, she began to start to talk and walk and look more and more like her dad and me.  She had blond hair, little wrists, long fingers, and the little mouth like me. She also had the beautiful nose, long legs, and the appetite from her father. It was almost like she was the perfect mix between the both of us. My first son, Brad, was more like my husband, and Blake was more like me, but Brooke was just a median. When she was with me she, would get “Oh, my goodness you look exactly like your mother”.  But when she was with her father she would get “Wow, you look just like your dad”.

The Beginning of my life through the eyes of my Mother

There, a perfect little child just born into this sinful, unforgiving, dark world.  But at that moment it didn’t seem that way, it almost seemed like it was the first snowflake of the winter coming from the sky down to the cold ground.  Her perfect little eyes not seeing clearly yet, but everything that she can see seemed, so real, so true, so loving.  Her arms and legs seemed almost like glass, fragile.  Her body was warm to the touch, but it was cold everywhere else.

                        The nurse looked at me with a smile and said, “It’s a girl.”

They then rolled us to the recovery room where all the new babies and their new mothers were.  The room was large room divided equally by curtains. The room was just big enough for my husband, me, and my newest member of the family.  It was so quiet except for the newly lively parents and the first baby’s cry of the new world.  Including my new daughter.  She kept crying and crying until I let my husband hold his new daughter and he said, “I’ll give yeah my credit card if yeah stop crying.”  Of course like any girl would, she stopped.

Then the nurse came and said, “And the name is?”

Oh, goodness the name I forgot all about the name. Okay, there was Bethlehem, Candy, Blane, or Brooke.  I looked over at my husband.  He gave me that look like “go ahead, name her. She’s a girl”.  He knew very well that I wanted to name her, because he got to name my other two son’s Bradley Michael who is nine and named after my father, Michael Volitich.  Blake Charles, who was six, was named after my husband’s father George Charles Schmitt.  So I went on thinking.  And before anyone else could breath again I said, “Brooke Noel Schmitt.”

            While in the recovery room my sister Judy peeked in and saw the little pink hat on her head and screamed out, “It’s a girl!” 

Almost immediately after she said that my two sons’, Brad and Blake, who were waiting outside the room started to cry.  They wanted a baby brother so much.  They wanted him to play baseball, basketball, and hockey, but now things were different they had to treat her with care and kindness.  So they went ahead and bought her Michael Jorden socks for her tiny little feet.  They still thought that they would teach her everything there is to know about any sport that Brad and Blake were interested in.

I was so relieved; I always wanted a little girl with blond hair and loved to shop.  And that is what I got.

The Sawmill

“Let’s go!” as my friend Zak said when talking about going to visit an old, run down, haunted sawmill that was located in his neighborhood. My friends and I agreed with him and decided to go.  On the way he told us the story that he heard about this house, and everyone kind of didn’t really listen to him, and though that he was just making it up. 

As we were walking I actually started to believe him. All of a sudden it hit me, I saw the house, and it was creepy as he said it was. He sure wasn’t lying. We slowly crept towards the house and there were vacant old cars sitting outside the house. We then went inside as a group of seven of us. The house’s wooden floors creaked every time you took a step. The air was musty and old, but the smell was very distinct, old saw dust. We then went on trying to figure out if the story that Zak told us was true. 

Then while walking out of the house everyone was ragging on Zak for the story and how ghosts lived there. We didn’t see anything that made Zak’s story true, except for the house and the vacant cars.  Then, Brian, the main person that was making fun of Zak, turns and screams, “Run!” All of us sprinted faster than we all could ever imagine, we didn’t even know why we were even running. While dodging branches, thorns, and logs, everyone’s mind was racing with thoughts. What did he see?  What happened? Is it chasing us? Was there really something there or is he playing a joke on us?  We then finally came to a familiar road, after what seemed like hours were only a few minuets. We all stopped.  While panting like dogs we asked Brian, “What happened?” As he explained in short phrases, still being out of breath and scared Brian said that he saw a that one of the cars was steamed up, so he looked harder and saw girl in the window, and it wasn’t a girl that he has ever seen before.

Gymnastics and a little bit about me

            “Physical exercises designed to develop and display strength, balance, and agility, especially those performed on or with specialized apparatus”, is the definition of gymnastics according to dictionary.com.  Women’s gymnastics has four events: vault, bars, beam, and floor. Each of these events is very unique and different from each other, but it is more then that; it is all about the determination.

            Gymnastics is nothing more then movements with gymnasts competing against each other trying to perform their skills to the best of their ability. A gymnast is constantly asked: how willing are you to do the impossible? Gymnasts have to be eager to try new things and constantly try to meet perfection.  Perfection is a hard goal to reach since its physically impossible, but they still try to prove that it is not.  Determination plays a huge role in striving for perfection, because without determination a gymnast will not succeed. The gymnast has to give up his or her time to train in the gym almost everyday to reach their goal.  Few people have this commitment and determination to perform, because more often than not before their senior year in high school they quit. This is due to the fear of gymnastics skills that are required and unwillingness to give up their time. 

            Fear also hinders their determination in gymnastics. When younger most people are fearless and willing to try new things. As they become older, they start to realize that they could hurt themselves. This also applies in gymnastics. Once, a gymnast reaches that age where they start to realize things are scary, they begin to develop fear. Fear is a huge thing to conquer, and with out determination, fear will conquer you.

            Overall gymnastics is a highly trained competitive sport, I have had first hand knowledge. It developed me into who I am today. It has been a long bumpy road, but I still perused and gave it everything I got. This sport taught me a lot and I would not have learned dedication and how to conquer fear without it. Gymnastics can’t last forever, unfortunately, but I have learned to love the sport for what it is. 

Perfect Storm

A beautiful Sunday, like most, was warm with joyous sunshine. However, as the day continued, the once lazy and hanging clouds became very transitory. Within hours, a storm left behind profound devastation from the imperious windstorm. The novel morning, with its calm beauty, was soon to be forgotten.

            The timorous storm continued to gather strength hour after hour. For a time, the tall tress stood stoic, however that was not to last long. It seemed without warning; the winds blew with gratuitous force and the trees bent to 90-degree angles, as if they were being pulled but young children from every direction. Leaves were pervasive, with sights set on every horizon. They blew about with no destination in hand. Even the birds were at the mercy of the wild wind. Some tried to fly against the strong force, others were left to tumble towards the ground. This strong wind was no match for anything in its way.

The aesthetic appearance of the sun set behind the trees was certainly not prosaic. The glowing red and orange sunset was spectacular beyond measure. While, at the opposite end of the spectrum, and the full moon was beyond beautiful, with its pure white elegant shine. This put a weary mood into effect.

After the storm struck, the debris was laying on the ground in every residents yard, and put three thousand houses in darkness.  Paramount in the thoughts of everyone in the county must surely have been safety. As it turned out, much damage was done, however, the situation could have been much worse. 

Ike, with all of his might and strength, certainly left a lasting impression on all those he met. He will implant memories that will never be forgotten. Speaking on behalf of everyone Ike met, “Goodbye and don’t come back!”

The Dark Night with Postmodernism or not?

The Dark Night exhibited postmodernism ideas in the film, but overall I do believe that the many prisoners on the boat proved postmodernism false. Postmodernism literature ideas were to seek and destroy rules and society values. They also believed in no rules, forms, or ethics, as the Joker tried to prove that everyone has inherent evil in them. Even in his last scene he tries to convince Batman himself that he is evil and ultimately tries to destroy him.

During the scene where the Joker attaches a bomb to two different boats and gives them each a button to press to blow the other boat up, or if they both don’t press the button the Joker will blow both of the boats up. On one boat there was a group of prisoners and the other boat was a group of normal, average, everyday people. Contrary to what one may think, the people society deemed “evil”, or the prisoners, were actually the group that decided to make the correct decision with passion and more quickly then the “good” people on the other boat. The prisoners decided that they were not going to press the button, because they believed that they deserved to die, since they were at fault for wrong doing. This showed that postmodernism ideas that the Joker tried to portray on the society was not true, due to the fact that the prisoners decided to take the sacrifice for the others. The other boat that was full of “normal”, or common citizens also chose not to push the button. Their reasoning was that the prisoners deserved a second chance and they were just humans too.

Overall, I feel that The Dark Night was supposed to show that postmodernism ideology seems like it exists in everyone, but in reality most people would choose the right thing to do.