By: Kate Dilworth ’25

*Background information: After reading Alice Walker’s short story, The Flowers, students in Ms. Waterman’s AP Language & Composition class were assigned to write about a memorable moment when they realized that their childhood was over. This is Kate Dilworth’s “And The Summer Was Over” essay entitled, Ballet-Slipper Pink.

-Photo credit: Kate Dilworth ’25

My grandparents had three sons, my father being the oldest. My father was thirty-one when he met my mother who was twenty-six at the time; Nine years later they got married and had me. When I was five I couldn’t wait to turn seven, at seven I couldn’t wait to turn ten. I couldn’t wait to grow up. At five I couldn’t understand the concept of death. I knew my parents would never leave me, and I would always go to sleep in my ballet-slipper pink room, with my parents asleep just on the other side of the wall. My parents would never leave me, they would always be just beyond the pink. 

As my wish came true and I turned fifteen, I realized that not only had I grown up but so did my parents. Over the ten years of my wish for maturity, my parents’ skin wrinkled, and their jet-black hair became sprinkled with salt. One day my mother would have me sit down next to her on the guest bed of my grandparents’ house two days after Christmas. Then she would ever so calmly tell me my father had prostate cancer. But it was so small I shouldn’t have to worry. He would stay on top of it.

I had been to countless funerals. Death was simply something that happened. I would put on a nice dress, ride in a silent car with my parents, and sit in a still church. The priest would say a few words, and the family would read their tear-stained speeches about their husband, brother, or son. Yet I had never been to the funeral of someone I truly knew, I couldn’t mourn the hole in my heart if it was never there to begin with. 

At sixteen I am sitting on the couch two weeks before the start of junior year. My father sits next to me. When I look at his face, I notice something. I have his eyes, his nose, the same straight black hair. I spent my entire life viewing him as immortal, the never-ending fire in his brain would never burn out. It’s what made him my father. Yet, he has to have surgery, they have to remove the prostate before the cancer spreads further. I remember the moment, I remember hearing only pure silence, I remember the feeling of my mother watching and listening from the kitchen island, my father’s face, his eyes, my eyes, our eyes looking at me, waiting for a reaction. I saw my parents as regular men and women, and I,  the perfect mix of both.

I went to bed that night in my room, the one next to my parents, but my ballet-slipper pink walls were painted white.

By: Tessa Sweeney ’25

*Background information: After reading Alice Walker’s short story, The Flowers, students in Ms. Waterman’s AP Language & Composition class were assigned to write about a memorable moment when they realized that their childhood was over. This is Tessa Sweeney’s “And The Summer Was Over” essay entitled, Double Digits.

-Photo credit: The New York Times

I was nine years old, two months short of turning ten, waiting for my mother to finish up s’mores in the backyard of our refurbished 1990s home when the sirens started blaring. The fire was beginning to make me sweat. The sticky June weather along with the warmth from the fire made me queasy. The police cars’ sirens rang through my ears as one after the other passed my house. The fence was too high for me to see over, but just as I was scooting a rock from the garden over, my father ordered me to go inside. 

My family rushed inside, fumbling for the remote to the TV. I sat down on our brown corduroy couch, s’more in hand. The marshmallow dripped down the side of my hand as I brought my mouth up to clean up the mess. I looked around at the artwork on the walls, bright abstract faces with white frames. There were old family photos from when I was a baby. A picture of me playing with an old, passed-down baby doll with its blonde hair in two pigtails, tied with a pink ribbon. My hair, not much darker than hers, was pulled back similarly. 

I had come home from a playdate at a friend’s house about an hour earlier. Reminiscing now, I realize just how surreal this experience would have been for a young girl with a distorted sense of reality. We played horses that afternoon, Grace and I. We were the stablehands and her plastic toy horses galloped across the green carpet. All we cared about was if one of the horses was talented enough to win the race to the living room downstairs, not when or if our parents were going to pick us up.

The TV flickered on and my father quickly turned the channel to the news. My whole family sat eagerly as the news anchor pointed out the sweltering weather that was going to burden us for the rest of the week. It took half an hour for the news station to even report what was happening, that’s how close it must’ve been to our home. We were witnessing it in real time. 

I recall getting up from the couch to throw away the paper towel that I had held my s’more with when suddenly the flashing lights from earlier appeared behind the news anchor on the TV.

Seven dead, many wounded.

I had never heard of Columbine High School or Sandy Hook until that night. It wasn’t as if my parents tried to hide these things from me, rather they just never came up in conversation. The death toll kept rising throughout the night. My siblings had gone to bed, but my body never left that couch. It wasn’t until the number hit double digits that my heart began to beat like a drum inside my chest. That night I went to bed thinking of the people who would never hug their mom again. I went to bed thinking of the people who would never see the sunrise; whose fingers would never be sticky with s’more once more. 

I woke up in pain for those lives that were lost that night. June is supposed to be a celebration of summer and individuality. That June was a fever dream, the haziness of the fog in my brain cleared. I barely played with plastic horses anymore. I began to wonder why the world is so cruel to the innocent. I still find myself looking at pictures of those we lost years ago. 

I was a kid drowning in a sea of grief for people I had never even met.

By: Evan Miller ’25

*Background information: After reading Alice Walker’s short story, The Flowers, students in Ms. Waterman’s AP Language & Composition class were assigned to write about a memorable moment when they realized that their childhood was over. This is Evan Miller’s “And The Summer Was Over” essay entitled, The Next Chapter of My Life.

-Photo credit: Blake Tripp ’24

Since I was little, I had always dreamed of going to a prep school to play hockey in turn helping me get one step closer to my dream. One of my teammate’s parents had talked to my parents about a showcase called the Pre-Prep Showcase. It was a hockey showcase where some of the most talented kids in the world came to get scouted by schools. It was August of 2019, my family and I hit the road for a trip to Boston. The trip was as boring as watching paint dry. When we finally got to Boston, the whole trip changed. 

 The practice was first thing in the morning. I stepped on the ice and skated around for a bit then, I got in the net, and BANG! The first shot hits me right dead center in the mask. I could smell the rubber from the puck as if someone had lit it on fire right under my nose. After we finished practice, the team headed back to the hotel. We had a team dinner and then we were right back at it on the ice for our first game. We played well and ended up winning.

The next day we had two more games, which we also won. After our final game, we went to a gathering where we met with all the coaches from different schools. Over the next school year, I looked into the different prep schools in New England. Everything was going well until March of 2020. And then Covid happened.

 Covid had shut everything down and I was stuck at home. This might have been the best possible thing for me. Since I was bored at home all day, I started working out regularly and got into better shape.  With this new free time, I started reaching out to coaches from different prep schools. One of the coaches who responded was Coach O’Brien. We had an interview and the coach was looking forward to meeting me in person. 

Eventually, COVID had slowed down a bit and My parents and I decided to muster the courage to go on the seven-hour drive to Maine. It was even worse than the ride to Boston. Once we got there we explored the campus with the coach seeing all the different buildings. I was nervous but excited at the same time. After the tour, I knew this was where I wanted to be during the next chapter of my life. Going off on my own at fifteen was a huge decision though. My parents both excited and scared, knew that this would be what was best for me. Over that summer,  my mom and I started packing up all my stuff.  It was the end of summer 2021 when we took the first drive that would start the rest of my life. We finally got to campus and got the car unpacked, my room was ready and so was I. So I said my goodbyes and settled in my new room. The first few days passed before the first day of school. We went on a bunch of trips including mini golf and a hike. When the first day finally arrived I got ready, and walked out of my dorm.

“And the summer was over”.