A Purpose

  When you are young and naive, you strongly believe that you are placed on this earth to do something miraculous. I convinced myself that I was going to be like Ann Hathaway in The Princess Diaries. I knew that one day I would discover I was a princess, soon to rule an entire country. If this did not pan out, then I figured I was like Harry Potter, a boy will unimaginable powers. This may seem unrealistic, however, the idea that I could be just like anyone else seemed so much harder to grasp.      Now that I am older, I understand that, no matter how many times I snap my fingers, I will not be able to turn an apple into a cupcake. Not everyone can be a princess, and unfortunately Hogwarts is pure fantasy. However, the idea that I am here to do something important still remains. I believe that everyone has a purpose in this life, from truck drivers to movie stars. A significant amount of our lives are spent trying to find this purpose. However, it is obnoxiously hard to find and easily forgotten in our daily lives.       As an eighteen year-old college student, I have been considering my purpose more than I ever have in the past. My conclusion: I have no idea. I do not k ow nearly enough about the world to make a final decision. On the other hand, I do believe I have the ability to change the world, one life at a time. I hope to one day be a doctor who works with Doctors Without Boarders. I have always known that I want to do mission work for the rest of my life, and I have a passion for science. I believe this is my purpose, however I am still young and naive. My mind could easily change tomorrow.

An Era of Social Media

        In the 21st century, the act of deleting ones Instagram account is a statement. There are many reasons why someone might disconnect. In high school, every once in awhile, someone would boldly delete their accounts and claim they are going to live drama-free. Ironically, deleting their accounts caused ripples of drama throughout the cafeteria hall and 4th period biology labs. Without fail, about a week later, they would have their accounts up and running once again. Personally, I could live without Instagram or other social media for that matter. However, when social media is used responsibly it can be a very good thing. Social media allows me to keep up with my friends and family. Since I just recently left for college and moved away from my friends and family, social media has been even more essential in my life. In the past 2 years, my dads side has filled up with 7 new babies for me to love and play with. We all have busy lives and I do not get a chance to see them very often, but Instagram photos and videos let me follow them through her first steps and all their there Halloween costumes. Some individuals, on the other hand, use social media to stalk ex-boyfriends, or shamefully compare themselves to Instagram-famous, airbrushed, photo-shopped, Barbie dolls.          Social media has changed our lives. Social media has created an era of socially awkward, well-informed, individuals. Our generation will be defined as the generation of Facebook, Instagram and Twitter. I could delete my accounts and officially sign off from the world. Although in doing so, I will be allowing my friendships with miles between to slowly fade away and become even more distant. I may even forget what my baby cousin looks like without weekly updates on Facebook. In conclusion, I could delete my account, but I do not want to.

Tastes-like Childhood

When I was younger, my immune-system was lacking and I wound up sick-in-bed for approximately 1 week out of every month. I had chronic strep throat that was finally fixed by a tonsillectomy when I was in 6th grade. I spent these miserable week-long spouts of illness nestled in my parent’s bedroom, with ginger-ale and the one food that did not make me nauseas: Broccoli Cheddar soup. Something about a warm, cheesy bowl of soup cured my misery until I reached the bottom of the bowl and the bliss only remained in memory. Till this day, when I see Broccoli Cheddar soup on a menu I struggle to avoid the temptation. After all, there is broccoli somewhere in between all the cheese and cream, so it is almost healthy.      Broccoli Cheddar soup is delicious, which most people will agree with. Aside from the wonderful flavor, Broccoli Cheddar soup channels nostalgia of childhood. Not that I miss the days spent in agony, trying too recall what it was like before you were sick and how you promise you will appreciate it more when you feel better, but the days where I was more school-sick than actually sick. The days when you woke up, faked an Oscar-winning, groggy voice and assured your parents that there is no way you an go to school because you may not live to see tomorrow. When in actuality you forgot to study for a test or you really just need to sleep-in on a cold, winter day with your cat cuddled up next to you. Broccoli Cheddar soup tastes like the sort of comfort only received by your mom when she suddenly turns into a nurse and treats you like an art project : breakable and precious, but most importantly, hers.

Mr. and Mrs.

    Gender roles in my family are not stereotypical. If anything, the roles are reversed. My mother is the patriarch, and we follow her lead for the most part. She makes the final decisions and sets the tone of our family unit. My dad is the more easy-going parent. I know if I want or need something, that he is the one I can persuade to do anything. He is never stern, controlling, or harsh. My parents both pay the bills and make financial decisions. My mom does most of the cleaning, but us kids help out a lot. My parents will work together on making the dinner, if my dad gets home from work on time, but for the most part my mom does work alone. My dad works at an office, while my mom works from home. Our big family is very democratic and our parents let us find our own paths. We have a modern family, consisting of four daughters and one older brother. My sisters and I are very independent. We are not reliant on the men in our lives and we are all occupationally driven. I believe that is from our hard-working mother, who juggles three jobs. My brother, Billy, who grew up amongst 5 females and my dad, is probably the most feminine of us all. He cooks dinner and cleans for his fiancé Jessica every single night. He has taken the lead in planning their wedding, and Jessica even calls him “Bridezilla.” After he proposed, he had already had the wedding invitations designed on the car ride home. Therefore, the gender roles in my family are not typical. If the television is not working, my dad calls me not the other way around. We work a little differently than most families, but we work well. I never feel pressured, only encouraged and my dad is my best friend, not just my leader.

The Most Wicked Time of the Year

    Halloween, the one time of the year that you can be anyone you want. A time where adults can relive their youth and children can drown in pantsuits and ties that fall to their toes. Halloween has always been my favorite holiday. Something about the fall air and the Hocus Pocus re-runs makes me feel overwhelming nostalgia. Halloween is not a holiday that asks anything of us. We are not forced to participate in secret Santa pools, run around a field searching for eggs, or piece together a half-hearted “this year I am thankful for. . . “ Halloween’s only request is to gorge yourself in chocolate covered-treats and have fun.      Therefore, I will be dressing up in an elaborate, home-made costume this year (as always). The weekend before Halloween, I have a date party, so that is wear my costume will be unveiled. I am dressing up, purely ironically and most definitely not out of idolization, as the infamous and late Hugh Hefner. My date, Cade, is wearing a ridiculous bunny onsie in honor of Hugh’s House Bunnies. My costume will be comprised of a black robe and completed with a captain’s cap.       In the past years, I have been anything from a banana to Tinkerbell. When I was younger, my mom would take me to Walmart and we would look at the limited selection of age-appropriate costumes and we would not leave the store until I found one. Every single year, until I was about 8, I was a princess. If you know me, you would not believe me. Aside from the fact that Sarah means princess, I am anything but a princess. Once I was old enough, my neighborhood best friends and I would plan out the weirdest costumes we could think of. We were bananas, presents, crayons, and basically any other peculiar items no normal children would ever think of. We were weird, but we loved it. Till this day, I take great pride in putting together obscure costume ideas.

Emoji Revolution

In the old ages, think early 2000’s, cell-phone users would spice up their text messages with simple smiley faces. This consisted of actually digitally manipulating the keyboard so a side-ways smiley face could express joy across the digital realm. Complicating text messages included swapping a colon for a semi-colon instantly going from a friendly smiley to a flirtatious emoticon. Over time, technology brought the world the “Emojis” we all know and love today.Texting was changed forever. Finally it was possible to have an entire conversation without using a single word.       The list of emoticon options is shockingly versatile. There are 20 different sushi-like emojis that are almost completely the same. I cannot tell you when I would ever require even one of these emoticons, but it is nice to know the option will always be there. While there is an on-going list of seemingly unnecessary emoticons, this special keyboard is in need of a religion-themed group of emojis. Considering religion is such a prevalent part of our society, you would think that Apple would have incorporated miniature Crucifixes and Bibles a few updates ago.     This religion-themed section would apply to all major religions. Amongst eucharists and priests, there would be menorahs and monks. This would be applicable to most individuals of the world, however this incorporation could lead to controversy. First of all, some people may believe digitizing religious symbols is inappropriate or disrespectful. Also, the inclusion of these religious emoticons would be overwhelming. It would be impossible, nay excessive, to incorporate all religions and therefore it would be unfair to the less popular religions.      Regardless of controversy or logistics, religion means so much to people around the world that it seems like it is a theme that Apple or Microsoft workers may have overlooked.  

pocket change

       Walking down the street on Bardstown Road, a hipster’s fantasy strip, it is nearly impossible to avoid interactions with some interesting individuals. Unfortunately, Bardstown Road not only attracts caffeine-crazed, antique-loving, teenagers, but also homeless individuals desperate for pocket change. Most people have no problem keeping their head strait-forward and avoiding eye-contact with the lowly man that approaches them simply asking for bus fair, however I am not as strong. There is a place in my heart for the homeless. I am aware that many of them are scheming for alcohol money, or putting on a show to make some extra cash. In my opinion anyone that is desperate enough to put themselves out there and beg for help, deserves the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps it is my experience with working in soup kitchens on Christmas Eve, or my mission trip to Africa, but it burns my soul not to give out a helping hand once in awhile.        During Christmas when I was about 11, there was a homeless man who would set up shop on the corner right off our exit to go home. I saw this man every day for about a week, stand, shivering in the winter breeze. It broke my heart, so I decided to do something about it. I went home one night, and dug through my overflowing closet. I came across a nice backpack that I surely did not need, and then went hunting through out winter coat closet. I found a jacket that had not been worn in a couple years, a scarf and gloves. I stuffed them into the backpack, and headed for the kitchen. While I was searching through the canned goods, my parents asked me what I was doing. I explained my plan, and quickly they got on board. We filled the backpack with utensils, un-perishables, a water bottle, a toothbrush, soap, and in the little pocket we placed a note along with some cash. We put the backpack in the trunk, and the next day after school my sister hoped out of the car at the red light and gave the backpack to the man. I was too nervous to do it myself, but I watched from the backseat window. I will never forget the smile on his face showing his overwhelming gratitude.      Street-beggers, the homeless, the displaced, the unwelcome, the exiled, the down-and-out, our whatever else the better-off have labeled them, are still people. They have or had families, and like everyone of us they are just trying to get by. Instead of playing the victim that cannot be bothered on their pleasant day shopping, perhaps we could all be a little more giving and pass along the change at the bottom of our designer handbags.

What’s in a name?

      While a first name may come from a loved one, a loved television show, or even a loved food; a last name comes from your ancestry. My surname, Sprigg, comes with a stereotype. Once someone realizes I am the “baby Sprigg” they may never look at me the same. Because I share the same name as my my 4 siblings, 2 parents, 2 grandparents, my uncle, 3 aunts, and cousins; I am automatically grouped along with them. This of course can be a good thing, or a not so good thing. Luckily, I love being the daughter of the loud, loving father and husband of 5. It is almost impossible to meet someone from Louisville that does not know Chip Sprigg. My dad is known for his positive attitude, his child-like demeanor, honest business, and for almost never wearing shoes when he plays golf. I am glad to have the “fun” mom who let my friends and I stay up a little too late watching movies and baking cookies. Every teacher I have ever had has known the Sprigg’s that came before me. My siblings were less studious than me and never followed the rules, but somehow always charmed adults. Therefore, I went into class surprising my teachers with my good grades and automatically adored because of my “sweet” siblings. Being a Sprigg can be exhausting, but it suits me. My last name has treated me well these past 18 years. It has given me hugs from random adults that assure me they knew me when I was a baby; a home in Louisville, San Diego, Orange County, Aspen, New York City, Naples, Las Vegas, and Chicago; more than a few headache-inducing fights; and a large, loud, loving family. However, one day I will get married (I guess), and I will have to lose the “Sprigg” and adopt a new stereotype. Regardless of my last name, I will always be a Sprigg.

911

      It was just before sunset on one our last summer nights together. Every summer, my friends and I compile an elaborate Summer Bucket list. We try our hardest to mark off as many things as we can, however this past summer we were less diligent. There were two weeks of summer left and we had completed maybe a handful of things we had sworn we would do just a few months prior. Therefore, my friends and I decided that we would take full advantage of the beautiful night and pile into Sophie’s red minivan. We drove 40 minutes from Prospect to Bullet County. Buried deep in their beautiful park, past Turkey trail, there is an old silo. Every night a few adventurous people will climb up the ladder, reaching to the top of the silo, for a perfect view of the sunset.      We had almost made it, with just 5 minutes left on the road, and 15 minutes till the sun set. All of a sudden, we hit a dead end. Construction had blocked off the road with a sign saying “Construction 2 miles ahead.” We had hardly 2 miles left on our journey, 15 minutes till sunset, just a short 2 weeks left of summer, and we had driven 40 minutes out of the way. Therefore, we decided to ignore the sign. We figured, the sign blocked off the start of a neighborhood and therefore cars had driven past it to get home. We planned on taking the road as far as we could to see how close we could get, and then walk the rest of the way. The road did not take us very far, until we ran into yet another construction sign, restricting a more daunting path. We chickened out and decided to look for an alternative route. We drove down a driveway to turn around, when an unhappy couple came out to give us a piece of their mind. A redneck with improper grammar skills screamed at us to get off of his property. Startled, we apologized and said we would be on our way. This was not justice enough for the man, leading him to hop in his truck accompanied by his foul mouth and road rage.       In a panic, Sloane screamed “step on it” causing a nervous Sophie to speed down a curvy, two-lane road. When we almost went flying off the road, I forced Sophie to slow down, but the man in the truck was catching up to us at record speed. I started dialing 911, when he almost ran into the back of our car. Sophie, unsure of what to do, turned into a random driveway and drove down toward he back of the house. I explained to the police what was happening, but by then the man had gotten tired of waiting, or perhaps realized yelling at a bunch of 18 year olds was beneath him, and he drove off. I then assured the police that we were fine, and we got back on the road, headed for home.

Sacrifice

      Anyone who has siblings, undoubtably, knows sacrifice. As the youngest of 5, I know true sacrifice. While there are endless benefits to having a large family and I would be hopeless without my siblings, we have all had to give up a little of ourselves to get by. There are the every day sacrifices that seem trivial, and they are, but they can be infuriating. Because I am the youngest, I was forced to sit in the back seat of the car until I was 15. Every single day for 15 years I was subject to car sickness and cramped up legs. I also spent most afternoons sitting alone in after school care waiting for my mom because there was traffic in my sisters carpool line. I basically survived by hand-me-downs that never quite fit right. Till this day sharing food makes me nervous because one plate of nachos to 5 hungry individuals means war.     My parents did kindergarten to senior year of High School with 5 children. Once they got to me, PTA meetings seemed less inviting and chaperoning the trip to DC became underwhelming. Because 3 of my siblings were avid swimmers up until high school, my parents hardly let me go near a swimming pool. They insisted swim team was not a necessity because driving to swim meets at the crack of dawn haunts them till this day. While my brother, the oldest sibling, has overflowing photo albums I have one that was only halfway filled out.       I think my parents forgot a few childhood milestones while they were raising me. I had to teach myself how to ride a bike. After hearing big talk from my 2nd grade friends during lunch, I realized training wheels were no longer socially acceptable. I went home after school and skipped my friends birthday party to finally learn how to ride a bicycle the right way. My sister helped me take the training wheels off my bike, but insisted that she was much too busy to teach me how to actually ride the bike. After a few attempts and near death experiences, I finally knew how to ride a bike on my own. My best friend taught me how to swim when I was about 5 years old. She could not believe I was still wearing floaties, so she made me swim across the deep end with only one floatie on. Then one floatie turned to none and I was doggie paddling like a professional. While I was never a girl scout, brownie, or daisy, I did not really need to be. I have had to sacrifice a few things due to my family, but I am more independent because of it.

It’s Generational

             As a regular babysitter, I will be the first to say how children these days have changed for the worse. The children I babysit spend every waking hour either with their eyes glued to electronics, or screaming because the wifi connection is keeping them from another minute of watching John and Logan Paul’s rap battles on Youtube. I am already condemning IPad usage in my future household. My childhood was filled with tag, the occasional nintendo game, and building epic forts out of couch cushions; and this next generation is completely missing out. While I am certain these children will grow up without social skills or decent imaginations, the generation before me could say the same. I remember my older siblings counseling my parents on how 5th grade was way too soon for a phone because they had to wait until they were in High School.           It could be said that every generation assumes they are the best because, honestly, human beings are egotistical by nature. For example, parents typically believe their children are the most beautiful because they resemble themselves. People want to believe that the way they do things is better than the next guy. Therefore, it is easy to look at another generation and judge them. However, the world changes every day and who am I to look down upon children for utilizing the resources around them. I can almost promise you that, if I was in their shoes, I would be just as electronic-addicted as any one of the children I babysit. Just as I misunderstand the generation after me, the generation before me does the same.      The baby-boomers, or my parents, were born after the Great Depression. Their parents raised the baby-boomers to be smarter economically and more hard-working in general. My father lived in a world where he could have been drafted into the war at any moment. They lived in a different world, and they did everything in their power to give their posterity a better childhood than theirs. It has been said that aside from the socially liberal stereotype of millennials, they can also be lazy, ultra-organic, social media crazed, and even narcissistic. While baby-boomers grew up fighting for scarce jobs, eating TV-dinners, and confused about the internet, millennials were born into a highly functioning era where, aside from 9/11, a rise in disease, and the recession, life was easier in an everyday-sense.          Whether I am apart of the millennial generation or generation Z is up for debate. Regardless, I would not consider myself lazy, narcissistic, or addicted to social media. In this day and age it does not require hand-writing a letter to communicate, or searching a library to get information. While, my parents love lamenting about restarting their essay because type-writers did not come will spell-check, I cannot relate. However this does not make me lazy, instead it allows me to be more efficient. These generational stereotypes come from a lack of relatability.        In conclusion, it is obvious that each generation will be different because the world is constantly changing. It is challenging to understand the generations that come after or before because the people in them experienced a different economy, society, and environment. The baby-boomers needed to be hard-working to get through war and economic distress; the millennials strive for social justice, and a healthier lifestyle and environment, and the next generation may have the world at their fingertips for reasons unbeknown to us yet.

Up and Coming

    Toward the beginning of August; aisles fill with notebooks and binders, yellow buses pass you on the highway while they practice their routes, and the air fills with a strong and pleasant scent that can only be described by the smell of fall. Every year “back to school” has felt the same: a strangely exciting, yet tragic end to summer. High School meant a gruesome 8 to 3 day locked in a building, tied to a desk, in a uniform perfectly matching the girl’s sitting next to me. In other words, school meant a lose of freedom, until now. Therefore, I am most looking forward to the opportunity that lies within College.     In College, I can finally study what I am passionate about. I can rest easy in the fact that, yes, I have a grasp on what exactly occurred during WWII, but I will never have to sit through an hour and a half class about Stalin and his theories about totalitarianism again. I am eager to pursue my major in Psychology and test out the pre-medical track. However, if I decide tomorrow that I want to be an architect, engineer, or even a lawyer, I can. College is freedom.       I am also looking forward to the control I have over my social life. In High School, your friends might be the people that are on your volleyball team, or the people that happen to have biology during the same block as you. Before classes began this year, I joined a sorority. Therefore, instead of letting fate chose my friends for me, I was able to hand select them. 

         Also, I have the freedom to eat pancakes at CSF at midnight and not have to listen to my mother coach me on the affect it will have on my metabolism. I can stay out all night, and miss class if that is what I want. I also have the ability to get to class early, go to the gym, and spend hours in the library because it is what I want to do, and not because anyone is telling me I should. I have the freedom to make my own decisions and chose the life I want to live, which is precisely what I am looking forward to this school year.