NYLAH HARRIS
YEARS AS MENTEE: 2
GRADE: Junior
HIGH SCHOOL: Medgar Evers College Preparatory School
BORN: Queens, NY
LIVES: Brooklyn, NY
PUBLICATIONS AND RECOGNITIONS: Scholastic Art & Writing Award: Honorable Mention
MENTEE’S ANECDOTE: This year, Kathleen has been helping me with my personal essay for college. We’ve been doing Q&As to help me feel more confident and bold as I get ready to apply to college. The preparation bolsters my confidence to apply to any college of my choosing. I am taking control, which is never easy, especially with your voice and what you want to say, but with Kathleen, I’ve made it through.
KATHLEEN SCHEINER
YEARS AS MENTOR: 8
OCCUPATION: Editor and Proofreader
BORN: Biloxi, MS
LIVES: Brooklyn, NY
PUBLICATIONS AND RECOGNITIONS: A New York State of Fright: Horror Stories from the Empire State (Bram Stoker Award finalist), Cemetery Dance
MENTOR’S ANECDOTE: While sorting through all the writing Nylah has done in the last year, preparing her entries for the Scholastic Art & Writing Awards, she forgot the variety and risks she took with many of her pieces. With very little revision, Nylah’s choices ended up paying off, since she won recognition for one of her more daring works. It reminds me that I need to take a moment and look at all that I have done—and celebrate that.
I wanted to write a story about how sometimes boldness isn’t easy and needs to be learned—in ways we didn’t expect at first.
Daniel never liked his father. They had all of three significant conversations that he remembered in his sixteen years of life, and he couldn’t recall one word that was spoken in them. But standing there in the foyer of his house, his chest constricted with all the words he should’ve spoken. His mom excused herself to her room to grieve silently and alone, but Daniel felt as if the wind was knocked out of him. Too fast, too fast, too fast were the only words his mind could produce after his dad’s death. He couldn’t speak because what right did he have talking about the man he loved out of obligation. What words could he possibly say to his mom who always pleaded with him to make it work with his dad. To his mom who lost the love of her life for almost twenty years. What right did he have?
The hatred for himself came almost instantly after his mom picked him up from school that morning. He knew something was wrong because she never picked him up. There was no in-between. Her eyes were so dim. There were no emotions on her face and her voice sounded as if she had been screaming. Clothes disheveled and her hair a beautiful mess, she calmly said, “Your father’s been in an accident,” and walked away, as if knowing he would follow.
He trailed behind her, feeling his heartbeat was drowning his senses because he knew his dad had died. She didn’t say anything as they walked into the hospital room, every step heavier than the last, seeing him disconnected from the tubes and wires that failed to keep him breathing. The doctor just kept saying sorry to his mom who stayed silent and signed all the paperwork she had to. It wasn’t until they were driving home when she screamed out, her chest heaving and her tears getting heavier and heavier, and he knew this was real. When he knew he wasted time on hating a man who never did anything but love Daniel.
His father was a man obsessed with computers. He worked as a local maintenance man, but his specialty was computers. He took so many apart and put them back together again just so he could understand the inner workings. His motto was to always live life as if he was Ctrl + B.
As a child, Daniel grew jealous of the computers and secretly poured water in the circuit boards. He grew convinced his dad loved those machines more than him, so he resented computers. But as time went on, Daniel’s resentment was retargeted toward his dad. He knew it wasn’t fair, but he also thought that one day he would try with Dad as his dad always tried with him. Daniel’s dad knew he wasn’t into two-hour-long seminars about how to code a computer, but that never stopped him from asking his son every Saturday if he wanted to attend one with him. He still made a sandwich every day for his son to take with him for lunch with a little Post-it note that said, “Live Ctrl + B –Love Dad.” He knew the lunch would be left on the table, but that never stopped him.
Shaking his head to keep his mind from racing with the memories of his dad, Daniel walked into his dad’s office. It was a little messy and hard to find his way through, but he finally made his way to the stack of laptops kept in a surprisingly neat corner of the room. Makes sense he would keep this one part clean, he thought to himself. Picking the very first one on the top, Daniel opened it, hoping to find some kind of closure with his dad. After an hour of seeing nothing but gibberish that only his dad could explain, Daniel felt defeated. Why am I doing this again? he wondered to himself. About to close the laptop, Daniel noticed a tab open to Microsoft Word. Curious, he clicked on the tab to see the typed words “To My Son.”
His heart beating faster with anticipation, he scrolled further down to see it went for another thirty-three pages. What in the hell? What is this? he thought to himself. Deciding to scan the first page, Daniel read the opening lines: “To my son, a recounting of his life through a proud dad’s eyes. When I finally get the courage to give this to you, I hope you find it in your heart to give this a chance. I love you, and remember, even when your spirit is crushed and you feel down, never forget to live Ctrl + B.”
With his heart feeling heavy, Daniel walked into the kitchen to make the sandwich he never ate. Approaching the fridge, he saw one of the Post-it notes his dad left him and picked it up with a heaving sigh. Rubbing his aching chest, he took the Post-it note into his hand and into his heart.