First Place:

Dear Mr. Huxley,

I prefer to stay in the real world. In other words, I like the concrete, the tangible, the provable, the past. Brave New World definitelypushed me past my comfort zone. There, talking about somebody’s mother was more than “playing the dozens”; it was smut. You illustrated a people devoid of the sanctity of death. Promiscuity was okay because after all, “every one belongs to every one else.” At first glance, I did not think Brave New World related to me and my world, but I was wrong. Your book burrowed deep into me, and, consequently, took me on an emotional roller coaster. Yet, by reading Brave New World, I learned how to halt and direct my emotions instead of letting them steer me, and more importantly, gained hope for my future.

Despite the science fiction twists (which typically generate yawns, rolling eyes, and blank stares from me), Brave New World reflected my world with chilling clarity. By the first chapter I was perplexed, the second nervous, and the third horrified. You presented a world that rejected freedom for slavery to sensory passions. Of course, I realize soma and sex can be more appealing than intellect and self-control to many people, but I have always been confident that most of mankind would overcome these primitive shortcomings. But then I looked around me. Everyday I hear demands for the federal government to father people from the cradle to the grave. Stem cell research, abortion and sex-ed take center stage in the public debates. The nuclear family continues to dissolve into divorces, one parent households, teenage pregnancies, and homosexual couples. Your book showed me in haunting detail where those paths lead, and that horrified me.

Besides causing me to reevaluate my surroundings, you forced me to confront the source of depression and anxiety, two areas I struggle with, not as a serious affliction, but issues that prove inhibitive nonetheless. The entire book screamed warnings against pursuing Utopia, but you left me at a dead end. I could do nothing but conclude that once man fell into that spiral, there was no return. That scared me because I saw so many parallels between Brave New World and my 21st century surroundings. According to you, Mr. Huxley, the world is on the brink of a deadly precipice. I did not want to fall, and now I see that I don’t have to. Depression comes from being overwhelmed by a problem, real or imaginary. I’ve come to believe for every wrong choice there is a right one and for every wrong decision there is a way of escape.

Beyond depression lies hope, the fuel of mankind. The moment a person or collective group loses hope, life becomes meaningless. Yet, the entire human race will never be devoid of hope. Often this inherit principle is smothered and even stamped out in a majority of people, but hope never dies. Whether exhibited by underground movements, revolutions, or simply the commitment to survival, hope always prevails. Still, I momentarily forgot hope still existed after finishing Brave New World. The picture of Mr. Savage’s dangling feet shocked me. I could not understand why a sense of hopelessness flooded over me until later. You had systematically destroyed all possibility of redemption for your world. Only the Savage had dutifully resisted the temptations of his new home, holding firmly to truth. Yet, even he disappointed me with feet swinging north, north-east, east, south-east...

After being dragged out of my stupor, I remembered your book was only a warning, not reality. I began to look around me. Sure, certain groups reject independent thinking and respect of life. Some people want to break down moral guidelines. However, no matter how near freedom’s enemies seem, they will never succeed. Just when these villains are deceived into believing they’ve won, that tiny seed of hope will be awakened in peoples’ hearts. Those faithful few will share it with others, carefully nurturing that beloved truth, until it takes root, and blossoms into fruit. Later, I realized I had arrested depression.

Thanks for writing a book that inspired me to wrestle with ideas. You succeeded in arousing feelings of despair, but I refused to stay there. Ultimately, I was inspired to move past my feelings in a pursuit to restore my hope in a truth that usurped emotions — that mankind can be redeemed and rescued from ultimate depravity.

Sincerely,

Casey Lynette Morrow
Grade 12
Individual Entry
Mansfield

Second Place:

Dear Mitch Albom,

People always say, “Live life to the fullest. Live every day as if it is my last.” It’s one of those many statements I’ve filed away and categorized by order of importance. Tuesdays with Morrie made those statements real to me. I started thinking about the things I do everyday and how they affect other people and myself. Maybe more importantly the things I don’t do everyday. The things I don’t make time for, like stopping by just to talk to a good friend. Morrie made me laugh, cry, and, most of all, think about life and what it really means. Although I didn’t know him personally, I felt like I did after I set the book down with tears still shining in my eyes. People like Morrie aren’t just around every corner. They have to be found. If the only way I can find someone like Morrie is through this book, then I would say I have taken it for all its worth.

I found that I want to be like Morrie. I want to be so engaging that it’s ok that I talk with my mouth full. I want people to be able to hear the wisdom of my words, even though they may be splattered with half-chewed food at the end. He is so joyous about life that every moment is time for a connection with someone. Even in the book, Morrie grabbed me by the collar and dragged me right into the middle of life, and I found all the ways I hadn’t been doing my best to leave my impression on the world. I have started thinking about how I want to be remembered. I want to be remembered as a person who has a passion for life and more love for

I found that I want to be like Morrie. I want to be so engaging that it’s ok that I talk with my mouth full. I want people to be able to hear the wisdom of my words, even though they may be splattered with half-chewed food at the end. He is so joyous about life that every moment is time for a connection with someone. Even in the book, Morrie grabbed me by the collar and dragged me right into the middle of life, and I found all the ways I hadn’t been doing my best to leave my impression on the world. I have started thinking about how I want to be remembered. I want to be remembered as a person who has a passion for life and more love for people than ever thought possible.  I want to know that I have impacted people’s lives the way Morrie did.  Morrie had so many amazing lessons that have had an impact on me.

Morrie says to let emotion penetrate fully, and then leave it behind.  I sometimes stay wrapped tightly in an emotion for entirely too long.  That lesson might be one of the ones that stuck with me the most, just because I’d never thought about my emotions in that way before.  It certainly helps, especially with the tough emotions like fear and grief.  If I let fear penetrate fully and leave it behind, I can actually do many of the things I am most afraid to do.  I hate scary things, I really do.  I’ve started letting fear penetrate me and then I leave it behind.  Then, I can watch scary movies or go to haunted houses, some of the scariest things for me.  Now, that doesn’t stop me from screaming at abnormally loud decibels, but at least it gets me into the situations I fear.  But, stronger than fear is love.

It’s so hard sometimes to let love come in.  Letting it in makes me feel like I’ve become vulnerable.  I always feel like people will let me down if I put them in a position where they love me.  I don’t have a problem giving out love.  I have a lot to go around.  Sometimes, I just have a really hard time letting others love me.  If I let others love me, then I am puzzled by some of the hurtful things they do when they are supposed to be loving.  Morrie said that letting others love me is even more important than giving it out.  I never thought of it that way.  I always thought it only mattered that I gave out love.  I didn’t realize I was almost being inhibited by not letting very many others love me.

Tuesdays with Morrie is the best book I have ever read.  It not only taught me a lot about life, but I also felt every emotion possible while reading it.  I’m not exaggerating when I say it actually changed the way I live life and think about life.  Anytime I have trouble dealing with life’s curve balls, I pick up Tuesdays with Morrie and I give it another read.  It just gets me back on track inside myself and with the people in my life. People like Morrie are essential in this world. I am more than grateful that I have at least gotten to read about him, and somehow still be affected even after he’s gone.

Sincerely,

Rachel Duff
Grade 12
Smithville High School
Smithville

Honorable Mention:

Dear George Harrar,

I had obsessive-compulsive disorder. I guess it was always just there inside of me waiting to show its true colors and I never realized it until after reading your book Not as Crazy as I Seem. As a young child, I always did things out of the ordinary such as blinking my eyes exactly three times or glancing around the room three times before going to sleep at night. As I grew older, the “little” things increased. Not only was I doing things in threes, but I developed a phobia of germs and refused to eat lunch at school. I believed nearly everything at school was germ-infested and I continuously refreshed my hands in hand sanitizer. During Foods class, I declined any food I was offered wondering what they’ve been touching in the process of making that meal; itching private areas or wiping their running noses. Whenever I lay in bed, I had to be facing towards my window with my hands placed under my pillow and I could only turn to face towards the other wall after I closed my eyes for twenty-seven seconds; the product of three times three times three equaling double luck/protection. I never told anyone I did those repetitive actions. I didn’t realize I had OCD. Secretly, I thought I was completely crazy. I figured my life was heading towards a little padded room in the farthest corner of a mental institution. If not for reading this book, my sanity might’ve crumbled away gradually with each passing year.

Before reading this book, I was blind and clueless about my disorder. I spent every thy doing certain things three times or in a particular order; expecting beastly bad luck if I didn’t. I’d sit in class and itch to fix the crooked posters (as your character did in your book) and the necktie on my professor that was out of line. I was following a foggy path through life stressing over insignificant things and working hard to keep my good luck at a high. The glorious day I stopped by the library to pick up some books was a day that changed my life forever. I was just scrolling down the aisle of Juvenile-Fiction when I noticed the word “crazy” on the spine of a book. Any title including the word “crazy” had to be interesting at least 50% of the time, right? So I pulled it out and read the inside of the cover. Something about that summary gave me uncanny chills. As soon as I began reading the first page, I couldn’t stop. I was drawn into the obsessive world of Devon Brown, which vaguely outlined my life. Almost every neurotic thing he did, I could always somehow relate to doing it either once, twice, or all the time. I was blown away by the truth I had discovered about myself. So shortly after reading the book, I found help with a psychotherapist. I was, of course, diagnosed with OCD.

A year later, I was almost completely healed of my disorder. I had changed myself from obsessive-compulsive to being able to live my life with ease. I no longer have to blink my eyes before I sleep or constantly use the stinky hand sanitizer. I eat lunch during school without worrying about who spit in my taco salsa or flicked something in my salad. I’m the fun, outgoing person I always dreamt about becoming when I was held down by the chains of anxiety. If I would’ve never stopped by the library on that day and checked out your book, I might’ve become worse than I ever would’ve expected. Everybody has realizations in their life that catch their attention in unique ways and in my case; it was this book you wrote. Your book literally changed the way I live my life from day to day and it sits on the top shelf of my dresser as a constant reminder that I am somewhat sane in this irrational world.

Sincerely,

Kayla Herrera
Grade 10
Individual Entry
Lawson

Honorable Mention:

Dear Jerry Spinelli,

I don’t know how you do it, but you do it. You reach me when all else falls short. Even as I react over all your books a million gazillion times, it never fails. This is the case for Who Put That Hair in My Toothbrush?, a novel on my all-time favorites list (at the top, to be exact). It’s just one of those novels you can take anywhere with you to read, anytime-- like a companion. I’m proud of it, its cover creased and its corners folded over and soft through countless page turnings.

I love Who Put That Hair in My Toothbrush. I really do, I don’t fully understand why, though-- does that make sense? It wakes me up when J am sleeping through life, shakes me vigorously like the chocolate syrup that settles to the bottom of the bottle after a little while. But I can’t perceive it just thinking back on it; the reasons are buried deep down inside of me, under the wet seashelled sand you run into when digging a moat for your sandcastle. It’s just an array of beautiful thoughts sewn together with the thread of life you have in your writing. Just real. I never saw the real beauty of life until you described it. How did you know I would snort with laughter at a stupid word like “cootiemouth”? That a crushed egg could have me feeling like my world was ripped at the seams? Maybe the reason I love it so much is because the characters are so genuine that I can always relate to them. I don’t know if I am like any of the characters, exactly, but they speak to me in some way or another. Their lives aren’t fluffy and perfect and lacy around the edges-- they are full of friction and struggles and collisions and pain and laughter and smashed donuts, and hairy toothbrushes.  I can follow that perfectly, somehow. Who Put That Hair in My Toothbrush? is about the devotion siblings have for each other underneath all the hair-pulling and name-calling, am I right? Greg was terrified for Megin when nobody could find her, and likewise Megin came when Greg was drowning in the water. The “mongoose” and the “cobra” realized how important the other was to them. That is the difference between your book and every other TV sitcom I watch or chapter book I used to read. The others never included a revelation between the siblings at the end.  The older brother always pesters the younger sister, the younger sister pranks the older brother, the end. Ta-da! Is that the way it is supposed to be between siblings? I think not. And your book confirmed that thought. Your book was authentic; it showed the outcome of a troublesome relationship like that of the sitcom. Sure, it gets an audience-- doesn’t everybody love to see how one sibling is going to retaliate to a salt-in-the-rootbeer joke? Yes, we do. But it is destructive. And that’s all there is to it.

Who Put That Hair in My Toothbrush? makes me want to be myself. I want to be random and sincere and true to who I am, not stuff myself in the closet when the guests come. The struggle between Megin and Greg, and the discovery at the end, reminds me to do that. Why? I’m not quite sure. Maybe it’s because, like I said before, they aren’t fake and fluffy around the edges-- they are jagged and harsh. That’s what I want to be. I don’t want to show the world a perfect person; I want to show the me that I know myself as. And then I will know that everything I do is not pointless, something to sweep under the rug later. Thanks for waking me up.
Regards,
Victoria A. Even
Grade 9
Simonsen Ninth Grade Center