The English Project
Disclaimer: I'm working on it, but I don't own them yet… j/k. I never owned them, never will. Oh well… I don't own the song either. I guess this just isn't my day…
I got the idea for this from a project that some of my friends had to do for their freshman lit class last year. They were talking about their teacher the other day and remembering this particular project, so I thought that it might be an interesting approach to a fanfic.
WARNING: I would have used "sap" as the genre, but that wasn't an option. There, you have been warned… Moving on…
It was five o'clock, and Laura wanted to get home. It had been a long day of teaching, and an even longer afternoon of department meetings and grading papers and projects. She sighed. "Just one more project," she thought. She hated the end of the quarter, "and you just had to give them one last grade. This is your own fault." She put the cassette into the tape player and hit the 'play' button. "Stupid oral essay/ speech assignment. Why can't just one of these students write something creative or even a little different; they are supposed to be gifted students." She listened to the assignment, and she had her answer.
A few minutes later, the tape stopped playing, and she hit the 'rewind' button. She sat at her desk in amazement. She couldn't believe what she had just heard. This was definitely not like any of the other projects that she had received.
"Bye Laura." Her co-worker poked her head into the office.
"Christina! Wait! You have to listen to this."
"Another one of those speech projects that you gave your sophomore lit class?"
"Well, yes. But trust me, this is nothing like the other students who read the first speech that came up on their browser, the ones that don't come directly from the heart of the student. Those students just read words on a page that they found transcribed on the internet. This one is an essay that deals with issues that are obviously quite close to the student's heart."
"I'm assuming I have no other choice but to listen to this?"
"That would be the correct answer." Laura hit 'play' again, and Christina sat down on the sofa in Laura's office. The essay started:
I always knew that I was lucky. I have the most wonderful family that anyone could ask for, and I love them more than anything, which is unusual for someone my age to admit. But, if you put things into perspective, it isn't all that unusual for me.
You see, my mom had cancer, leukemia to be exact. It was because of this that she and my dad got together in the first place. My dad had always had this secret crush on her, for almost as long as he could remember, but he had always gotten too shy and so he never told her. As my uncle Joey tells it, he entered "the friend zone." But then, when mom came home from the doctor's office one day sobbing hysterically, he knew that he had to tell her. If he didn't, he would regret it for the rest of his life.
The evening before she was scheduled to enter the hospital, Mom's five best friends had dinner together. They all gave her encouraging gifts and flowers. Dad got her a bouquet of lilies because he knew that they were her favorite flower, and he got her something that he had been saving to give to her for her birthday. It was an antique that they had seen in a store when they were shopping together. Mom had told him how much it reminded her of one her grandmother used to have when she was a little girl. Dad tells me how he went back that night and bought it for her, the fact that it was ridiculously expensive didn't matter at all to him. Mom remembers how she cried when he gave it to her and how much easier it was getting ready to go in for chemo when she knew that she had five friends who cared so much for her.
When everyone had left and he knew that her roommate had gone to sleep, Dad came back to her apartment. He knew that there was no way that she would be sleeping; he also knew that she would most likely be pacing around her room, worrying about the little, inconsequential details of what was to come. Aunt Phoebe says that he always knew her that well. He had a key to Mom's apartment, so he let himself in and knocked on the door to her room, which must have been somewhat awkward for him as I have been told that they probably only knocked on each others' doors collectively no more than ten times.
When she opened the door, Dad took her in his arms and told her not to worry because she would get through this. Then he sang to her; he sang The Way You Look Tonight because he knew that it was her favorite song, the one that she wanted to dance to at her wedding. No one had ever sung to her before. My mom says that was how she new that what he felt for her was something that was really worth going for, and it was motivation for her to make sure that she beat her cancer. Aunt Phoebe once told me that my Dad was probably the only reason that she did beat her leukemia, although none of their friends knew that there was anything between Mom and Dad when she went into treatment.
Uncle Joey says that he is still surprised that the two of them made it two months without telling the other four about their relationship, especially Dad because, according to Uncle Joey, "He was so in love with her for eons before there even was a relationship, so it would have been more probable that he would have been screaming about their relationship from the roof of the apartment building than that he would keep it a secret." When Uncle Joey said this, Mom threw her hands up in the air and said "Honestly! Eons! Probable! You could buy him anything Chandler! Why word of the day toilet paper?!?!" You see, Uncle Joey is not one to make overly intelligent comments; he's usually the last of all of them to understand a joke. But everybody loves him anyway.
Mom and Dad won't tell me anything else that happened that night before Mom went to the hospital, but I'm actually glad that they've managed to keep some of their story to themselves. It's more romantic that way. Besides, I'm not sure I want to know all of the little details. Some things are better left unsaid.
Dad doesn't like to talk about the two months that Mom was in the hospital. He says that those two months were the two worst months he has ever lived through and more painful emotionally than any other time in his life except for one other, but I won't get into that now. Mom talks about being in the hospital and feeling miserable, but knowing that if she could beat the leukemia that she could go home and be with my dad. She says that not being able to see Dad on a regular basis was the most difficult part of her hospitalization. She spent three weeks in isolation, fighting off an infection, and during that time, she had no real contact with anyone from "the outside world" as she calls it. When Mom finally beat the infection and was allowed to return back to her regular room, there were 21 small teddy bears waiting for her, one for each day that she had been in isolation. All 21 bears now sit in a special display case on the wall of the playroom in our house; the case was a present from Dad to Mom on their wedding day.
After two months, the doctors told Mom that she was in remission and that she could return home as long as she rested and did not return to work for another month. When she got back to their apartment, there was a huge "Welcome Home" party for her. Dad had found her address book and invited all of her close friends and family members to wish her well. He remembers that it was the first time since she had gotten sick that she was truly smiling and that her smile and the sparkle that it brought to her eyes, in and of itself, made all of his efforts to put together the party completely worth it.
Mom's favorite story to tell, and she tells a lot of stories, is of her wedding. Besides the day when my brothers, sister, and I were born, she says that it was the best day of her life. Dad proposed to her exactly one year, to the day, of her initial diagnosis. In some people's minds, "hasty proposals" would only lead to divorce, but Mom and Dad proved them all wrong. They had known each other for years before they got together, and they knew that they wanted to spend the rest of their lives together. So, why wait?
They were married in May; Mom had always wanted a spring wedding. Mom wore the most beautiful dress that anyone had ever seen, everyone agreed on that. Mom saved her wedding dress and, one day, my sister and I hope to wear the same dress at our weddings. Dad made sure that everything was exactly the way that Mom wanted it. They even had a chocolate chip wedding cake because Mom liked chocolate cake better but would not hear of having a completely chocolate cake. Grandma Geller supposedly put up quite a fuss about this decision, arguing that it was completely untraditional, but to no avail. The wedding cake was chocolate chip and there would be no further discussion concerning it. And, of course, the very first song that my parents danced to as husband and wife was The Way You Look Tonight.
When my parents got married, they looked into adoption immediately. Mom had always dreamed of having children, and Dad wanted to be able to give her that. But, since Mom had leukemia, the doctors did not think that she would be able to conceive. Because of this, when my mom started having flu- like symptoms, everyone thought that her cancer had returned. As it turns out, I was the cause of those symptoms, which turned out to just be morning sickness. Through some luck of the draw, Mom had escaped the statistics that bind so many cancer patients.
My parents' friends tell me that they argued for quite a while before they finally picked out my name. They didn't want to know whether I was a boy or a girl, and ironically, they decided on a boy's name without shedding too much blood. Finally they decided that I would be named Claire Caroline. When I was three, my brothers were born. Alexander Michael and Christopher John are identical twins and hardly anybody can tell them apart. Sometimes even I get them confused. Mom and Dad thought that they were lucky enough just to have us, and they weren't expecting to be able to have any more children, so when she got pregnant again, it came as a complete surprise. My sister Theresa Ann, or Tessa as she is better known as, was born when I was eight. I don't remember there being much of an argument over names for my brothers or my sister, which I used to think was kind of weird. But when I got a little older, I figured that Mom and Dad probably did all of the arguing when I wasn't around.
As I was growing up, I always knew that cancer was one of the cruelest killers that there ever would be. It robs you of everything: your hair, your strength, your health, and even your life. And then, if it doesn't kill you, it takes away any of the dreams that you were able to hold on to. I know this first hand, not only from my mom's experience with it, but from my own as well.
Dad always joked that I was my mom's clone, and I am in many ways. I look just like her and I love many of the same things that she does, be it clothes or food or whatever else you could think of. Mom and I even love the same books, our favorite being To Kill A Mockingbird by Harper Lee (A/N: I just love that book). Dad had no idea when he would joke about us being exactly alike that he was being accurate down to our common hatred of needles and shots to leukemia.
I was diagnosed right after my 11th birthday. At the time in your life when you are supposed to be enjoying the remainder of your true childhood before you move into your teenage years, I was thrown into adulthood without a chance to glance behind me. When I finally went into remission and was allowed to go home, I was ecstatic. But when I got back into the mainstream, I found that it really wasn't all that I had hoped for. I felt as if the schedule of medicines that I was forced to follow was controlling my life. I was too weak to make it through my field hockey practices. Everyone at school treated me differently, like they thought that they would either catch cancer from me or that I was breakable somehow. The one exception to that was my cousin and my best friend, Aimee, who was as much a sister to me as my own sister. When some of my other friends got over the initial awkwardness, I couldn't relate to them anymore. I didn't understand what the big deal was about not getting invited to the school dance was or why it was so upsetting that Nathan had a girlfriend. I mean, we were only in the fifth grade; there was plenty of time for dating and parties. I was more worried about catching up on my schoolwork so that I could pass the fifth grade with everyone else.
But my mom taught me one of the most important lessons I have ever learned. She told me that I if I could beat leukemia that I could do anything, and if I wanted it enough, that I could eventually adjust and get back to leading a normal life. And she told me that it didn't matter to her or my dad what I looked like or what I did. She told me, "I don't care if you have hair or if you have a 'moonface' from the medicine or if you don't grow because of the chemo. Believe me, I've been there. But eventually, your hair will grow back, your 'moonface' will go away, and you'll have your growth spurt. What matters the most is that you always remember that we all love you because of who you are. You're my daughter, the one I always wanted but didn't think I could have, and that's pretty special."
No matter what happened to me from then on, I was able to take it in stride and get through it because I knew that the people who really mattered in my life were standing on the side cheering me on.
I turned sixteen and got my driver's license a little over a month ago. Just five years before this, I didn't know if I would make it to that far, and I don't think I've ever seen my dad any prouder than me than he was on that day. And two weeks ago, I went in for the blood tests, the ones that really matter. The tests that you dream about from the moment the doctors tell you that you're in remission. They were clean. I had reached the five year mark, and I was officially cured. There's no feeling that can describe what it feels like to know that you've defeated the devil in disguise.
I said that I always knew that I was lucky. But I didn't always know just how lucky I was. In fact, I still don't and I don't think that I ever will. I have my wonderful parents, Monica and Chandler, who love each other just as much as they love me, two brothers and a sister who I get along with remarkably well overall, aunts and uncles who love me like they do their own children, cousins who I have grown up with and love like my brothers and sister, and I have my life, which is a miracle in and of itself.
This is MY story. Claire Bing
This is dedicated to my friends Kasey and Caroline, who both had leukemia when they were younger. This is dedicated to Caroline's memory in particular, that she may never be forgotten.
Now that I've gotten all of that out of my system, not that you have any idea what I'm talking about by dedicating this to the people that I did, but Caroline was a very special person and Kasey is one of my best friends who was lucky enough to beat the odds, so I'm not completely off base about some of the cancer stuff that I was writing about…
Anyways, please review. But don't review just to tell me that this sucks and was really sappy because I warned you.
Disclaimer: I'm working on it, but I don't own them yet… j/k. I never owned them, never will. Oh well… I don't own the song either. I guess this just isn't my day…
I got the idea for this from a project that some of my friends had to do for their freshman lit class last year. They were talking about their teacher the other day and remembering this particular project, so I thought that it might be an interesting approach to a fanfic.
WARNING: I would have used "sap" as the genre, but that wasn't an option. There, you have been warned… Moving on…
It was five o'clock, and Laura wanted to get home. It had been a long day of teaching, and an even longer afternoon of department meetings and grading papers and projects. She sighed. "Just one more project," she thought. She hated the end of the quarter, "and you just had to give them one last grade. This is your own fault." She put the cassette into the tape player and hit the 'play' button. "Stupid oral essay/ speech assignment. Why can't just one of these students write something creative or even a little different; they are supposed to be gifted students." She listened to the assignment, and she had her answer.
A few minutes later, the tape stopped playing, and she hit the 'rewind' button. She sat at her desk in amazement. She couldn't believe what she had just heard. This was definitely not like any of the other projects that she had received.
"Bye Laura." Her co-worker poked her head into the office.
"Christina! Wait! You have to listen to this."
"Another one of those speech projects that you gave your sophomore lit class?"
"Well, yes. But trust me, this is nothing like the other students who read the first speech that came up on their browser, the ones that don't come directly from the heart of the student. Those students just read words on a page that they found transcribed on the internet. This one is an essay that deals with issues that are obviously quite close to the student's heart."
"I'm assuming I have no other choice but to listen to this?"
"That would be the correct answer." Laura hit 'play' again, and Christina sat down on the sofa in Laura's office. The essay started:
I always knew that I was lucky. I have the most wonderful family that anyone could ask for, and I love them more than anything, which is unusual for someone my age to admit. But, if you put things into perspective, it isn't all that unusual for me.
You see, my mom had cancer, leukemia to be exact. It was because of this that she and my dad got together in the first place. My dad had always had this secret crush on her, for almost as long as he could remember, but he had always gotten too shy and so he never told her. As my uncle Joey tells it, he entered "the friend zone." But then, when mom came home from the doctor's office one day sobbing hysterically, he knew that he had to tell her. If he didn't, he would regret it for the rest of his life.
The evening before she was scheduled to enter the hospital, Mom's five best friends had dinner together. They all gave her encouraging gifts and flowers. Dad got her a bouquet of lilies because he knew that they were her favorite flower, and he got her something that he had been saving to give to her for her birthday. It was an antique that they had seen in a store when they were shopping together. Mom had told him how much it reminded her of one her grandmother used to have when she was a little girl. Dad tells me how he went back that night and bought it for her, the fact that it was ridiculously expensive didn't matter at all to him. Mom remembers how she cried when he gave it to her and how much easier it was getting ready to go in for chemo when she knew that she had five friends who cared so much for her.
When everyone had left and he knew that her roommate had gone to sleep, Dad came back to her apartment. He knew that there was no way that she would be sleeping; he also knew that she would most likely be pacing around her room, worrying about the little, inconsequential details of what was to come. Aunt Phoebe says that he always knew her that well. He had a key to Mom's apartment, so he let himself in and knocked on the door to her room, which must have been somewhat awkward for him as I have been told that they probably only knocked on each others' doors collectively no more than ten times.
When she opened the door, Dad took her in his arms and told her not to worry because she would get through this. Then he sang to her; he sang The Way You Look Tonight because he knew that it was her favorite song, the one that she wanted to dance to at her wedding. No one had ever sung to her before. My mom says that was how she new that what he felt for her was something that was really worth going for, and it was motivation for her to make sure that she beat her cancer. Aunt Phoebe once told me that my Dad was probably the only reason that she did beat her leukemia, although none of their friends knew that there was anything between Mom and Dad when she went into treatment.
Uncle Joey says that he is still surprised that the two of them made it two months without telling the other four about their relationship, especially Dad because, according to Uncle Joey, "He was so in love with her for eons before there even was a relationship, so it would have been more probable that he would have been screaming about their relationship from the roof of the apartment building than that he would keep it a secret." When Uncle Joey said this, Mom threw her hands up in the air and said "Honestly! Eons! Probable! You could buy him anything Chandler! Why word of the day toilet paper?!?!" You see, Uncle Joey is not one to make overly intelligent comments; he's usually the last of all of them to understand a joke. But everybody loves him anyway.
Mom and Dad won't tell me anything else that happened that night before Mom went to the hospital, but I'm actually glad that they've managed to keep some of their story to themselves. It's more romantic that way. Besides, I'm not sure I want to know all of the little details. Some things are better left unsaid.
Dad doesn't like to talk about the two months that Mom was in the hospital. He says that those two months were the two worst months he has ever lived through and more painful emotionally than any other time in his life except for one other, but I won't get into that now. Mom talks about being in the hospital and feeling miserable, but knowing that if she could beat the leukemia that she could go home and be with my dad. She says that not being able to see Dad on a regular basis was the most difficult part of her hospitalization. She spent three weeks in isolation, fighting off an infection, and during that time, she had no real contact with anyone from "the outside world" as she calls it. When Mom finally beat the infection and was allowed to return back to her regular room, there were 21 small teddy bears waiting for her, one for each day that she had been in isolation. All 21 bears now sit in a special display case on the wall of the playroom in our house; the case was a present from Dad to Mom on their wedding day.
After two months, the doctors told Mom that she was in remission and that she could return home as long as she rested and did not return to work for another month. When she got back to their apartment, there was a huge "Welcome Home" party for her. Dad had found her address book and invited all of her close friends and family members to wish her well. He remembers that it was the first time since she had gotten sick that she was truly smiling and that her smile and the sparkle that it brought to her eyes, in and of itself, made all of his efforts to put together the party completely worth it.
Mom's favorite story to tell, and she tells a lot of stories, is of her wedding. Besides the day when my brothers, sister, and I were born, she says that it was the best day of her life. Dad proposed to her exactly one year, to the day, of her initial diagnosis. In some people's minds, "hasty proposals" would only lead to divorce, but Mom and Dad proved them all wrong. They had known each other for years before they got together, and they knew that they wanted to spend the rest of their lives together. So, why wait?
They were married in May; Mom had always wanted a spring wedding. Mom wore the most beautiful dress that anyone had ever seen, everyone agreed on that. Mom saved her wedding dress and, one day, my sister and I hope to wear the same dress at our weddings. Dad made sure that everything was exactly the way that Mom wanted it. They even had a chocolate chip wedding cake because Mom liked chocolate cake better but would not hear of having a completely chocolate cake. Grandma Geller supposedly put up quite a fuss about this decision, arguing that it was completely untraditional, but to no avail. The wedding cake was chocolate chip and there would be no further discussion concerning it. And, of course, the very first song that my parents danced to as husband and wife was The Way You Look Tonight.
When my parents got married, they looked into adoption immediately. Mom had always dreamed of having children, and Dad wanted to be able to give her that. But, since Mom had leukemia, the doctors did not think that she would be able to conceive. Because of this, when my mom started having flu- like symptoms, everyone thought that her cancer had returned. As it turns out, I was the cause of those symptoms, which turned out to just be morning sickness. Through some luck of the draw, Mom had escaped the statistics that bind so many cancer patients.
My parents' friends tell me that they argued for quite a while before they finally picked out my name. They didn't want to know whether I was a boy or a girl, and ironically, they decided on a boy's name without shedding too much blood. Finally they decided that I would be named Claire Caroline. When I was three, my brothers were born. Alexander Michael and Christopher John are identical twins and hardly anybody can tell them apart. Sometimes even I get them confused. Mom and Dad thought that they were lucky enough just to have us, and they weren't expecting to be able to have any more children, so when she got pregnant again, it came as a complete surprise. My sister Theresa Ann, or Tessa as she is better known as, was born when I was eight. I don't remember there being much of an argument over names for my brothers or my sister, which I used to think was kind of weird. But when I got a little older, I figured that Mom and Dad probably did all of the arguing when I wasn't around.
As I was growing up, I always knew that cancer was one of the cruelest killers that there ever would be. It robs you of everything: your hair, your strength, your health, and even your life. And then, if it doesn't kill you, it takes away any of the dreams that you were able to hold on to. I know this first hand, not only from my mom's experience with it, but from my own as well.
Dad always joked that I was my mom's clone, and I am in many ways. I look just like her and I love many of the same things that she does, be it clothes or food or whatever else you could think of. Mom and I even love the same books, our favorite being To Kill A Mockingbird by Harper Lee (A/N: I just love that book). Dad had no idea when he would joke about us being exactly alike that he was being accurate down to our common hatred of needles and shots to leukemia.
I was diagnosed right after my 11th birthday. At the time in your life when you are supposed to be enjoying the remainder of your true childhood before you move into your teenage years, I was thrown into adulthood without a chance to glance behind me. When I finally went into remission and was allowed to go home, I was ecstatic. But when I got back into the mainstream, I found that it really wasn't all that I had hoped for. I felt as if the schedule of medicines that I was forced to follow was controlling my life. I was too weak to make it through my field hockey practices. Everyone at school treated me differently, like they thought that they would either catch cancer from me or that I was breakable somehow. The one exception to that was my cousin and my best friend, Aimee, who was as much a sister to me as my own sister. When some of my other friends got over the initial awkwardness, I couldn't relate to them anymore. I didn't understand what the big deal was about not getting invited to the school dance was or why it was so upsetting that Nathan had a girlfriend. I mean, we were only in the fifth grade; there was plenty of time for dating and parties. I was more worried about catching up on my schoolwork so that I could pass the fifth grade with everyone else.
But my mom taught me one of the most important lessons I have ever learned. She told me that I if I could beat leukemia that I could do anything, and if I wanted it enough, that I could eventually adjust and get back to leading a normal life. And she told me that it didn't matter to her or my dad what I looked like or what I did. She told me, "I don't care if you have hair or if you have a 'moonface' from the medicine or if you don't grow because of the chemo. Believe me, I've been there. But eventually, your hair will grow back, your 'moonface' will go away, and you'll have your growth spurt. What matters the most is that you always remember that we all love you because of who you are. You're my daughter, the one I always wanted but didn't think I could have, and that's pretty special."
No matter what happened to me from then on, I was able to take it in stride and get through it because I knew that the people who really mattered in my life were standing on the side cheering me on.
I turned sixteen and got my driver's license a little over a month ago. Just five years before this, I didn't know if I would make it to that far, and I don't think I've ever seen my dad any prouder than me than he was on that day. And two weeks ago, I went in for the blood tests, the ones that really matter. The tests that you dream about from the moment the doctors tell you that you're in remission. They were clean. I had reached the five year mark, and I was officially cured. There's no feeling that can describe what it feels like to know that you've defeated the devil in disguise.
I said that I always knew that I was lucky. But I didn't always know just how lucky I was. In fact, I still don't and I don't think that I ever will. I have my wonderful parents, Monica and Chandler, who love each other just as much as they love me, two brothers and a sister who I get along with remarkably well overall, aunts and uncles who love me like they do their own children, cousins who I have grown up with and love like my brothers and sister, and I have my life, which is a miracle in and of itself.
This is MY story. Claire Bing
This is dedicated to my friends Kasey and Caroline, who both had leukemia when they were younger. This is dedicated to Caroline's memory in particular, that she may never be forgotten.
Now that I've gotten all of that out of my system, not that you have any idea what I'm talking about by dedicating this to the people that I did, but Caroline was a very special person and Kasey is one of my best friends who was lucky enough to beat the odds, so I'm not completely off base about some of the cancer stuff that I was writing about…
Anyways, please review. But don't review just to tell me that this sucks and was really sappy because I warned you.