What I Carry

In my life, like many others, I carry the weight of my actions. This could be as little as picking up a piece of trash, to as big as deciding where I want to go to college. The realization of what I can do to my own life lives with me through each breath I take. I understand that what I do has consequences, good or bad. 

When I was younger, I relied on my mother for absolutely everything. Food, water, shelter, you name it. Once I entered middle school, I began to think for myself and have ideas not influenced by her. It was around this time that I recognized that I needed to think about what I said and did because my parents wouldn’t always be there to clean up my messes. If I wanted to succeed in the process of fully maturing, it was vital that I comprehend how to make my own decisions and, if needed, clean up the corresponding mess. My brothers, though, still need some help.
My two younger brothers, Zander and Will, are both immature. I have noticed them saying things about race, religion, and sexuality that lead to negative consequences. Every time, without fail, they have had our parents clean up their messes. Because of this, they have not learned anything, and continue to do the immoral things they do. In my case, I was taught how to solve problems, or just apologize, so that I could do the same in the future. 

More than once, I have gotten in trouble. For my adolescent years, my mom helped clean up my mess, but by the time I was about thirteen, my actions began to catch up with me, and there was nothing my parents could do about that. Although a tough time in my life, I am glad that I went through it. I learned to say sorry, and mean it, I learned to listen, and most importantly, I learned to take responsibility and try to help. Because I was taught how to be a better person, I became a better person. Of course, nobody is perfect though. Learning this was grueling.

In sixth grade, I was introduced to a boy named Trey. I noticed many traits in him that I had previously seen in myself, but more importantly, traits that I saw in my brothers. Above all, he was very racist, homophobic, and also super anti-semetic. Seeing this, I realized how truly important my previous experiences were. If not for them, I could have turned out similar to Trey, and, yes, everyone has their own journey, but he made mine a lot harder. 

From the get-go, Trey started to make fun of me. My height, my nose, my voice, and many other things that he knew I was very self conscious about at the time were his main points. Lots of times it could be that I was Jewish, or sometimes it would just be nothing. Throughout my middle school career, I was berated and beaten by Trey and his friends. The cuts and bruises though didn’t leave as much as an impact on me, the psychological damage did. By the time tenth grade came around Trey and his buddies had moved their focus to other kids, and I had become more “popular.” Trey once came up to me and tried to say sorry, probably because by then I had gained more friends than him, but it didn’t feel good. It felt like trying to put a bandaid on a bullethole. 

Because of that, I learned the impact that I can have on people. I understood the importance of the golden rule, and no matter how cliché, how true it can ring. Because of all my experiences, I now understand the things I carry and what they truly mean.