Anyway, I typically send them essay examples written by previous students. However, since this was the first year I've tried this assignment, I had to write an example myself. Here it is. :)
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this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart
i carry your heart with me (in my heart)
-e.e. cummings
Two
individuals may eventually have such similar desires and views, even
similar memories, that they seem completely unified across
astronomical distances. Though this e.e. cummings poem describes the
bond of romance, that bond can also spring up in fortunate families.
I have had such fortune. There are six of us children, raised by two
(remarkably forbearing) parents. Now our thoughts often diverge,
especially as most of us have launched into adulthood. Yet the views
we still share run deep, and our interlocking memories run deepest.
Funnily
enough, many of them come from the radio—the magical pipeline of
drama, music, and news still weaving itself through our everyday.
I
call it funny because the radio doesn't turn heads anymore.
It does not strike us as particularly significant, as we have grown
used to it in the background and the internet has superseded it in
many ways. Among the shiny furnishings of modern life, who would
choose the radio over laptops or phones? But consider the revolution
incited by radio waves. Suddenly we had orchestras and baseball games
in a box. People did not have to play the piano themselves in order
to hear Rachmaninov; they could enjoy all sorts of entertainment that
formerly required tickets and travel. They did not have to wait for
the next day's paper to hear about political goings-on; with
speech floating on air, they could immediately hear what was going on
at the other side of the country, even the world. Think of FDR's
“fireside chats” during World War II, how a worried wartime
nation valued that direct communication.
What
about today? What did the radio offer me and my siblings as children,
and why do I still love it? Back
in the nineties, the internet was nothing, and though we had
television, there was something special about the radio: the
imagination it demanded.
Like television, it provided an immediate connection to the world at
large, but it did not spoon-feed us the images. We had to think.
I remember hurriedly finishing our post-dinner chores so
that we could listen to Adventures in Odyssey, a
weeknight radio drama for children.
The memorable characters with their hilarious mistakes and
heartwarming apologies, not to mention their crazy voyages in the
science-fiction “Imagination Station,” made for endless
entertainment. Then on Saturday mornings we turned up the radio again
for Ranger Bill: forest
rangers facing off against everything from rattlesnakes to
radioactive deer. We
had fertile imaginations ourselves, and these long-running storylines
only stoked our creativity. Ours is the type of family that speaks in
references and quotations—unless you have shared our history you
probably won't understand half of our conversation—and oh, how
those tales stocked our supply.
Of
course we had music. This
was my mother's preferred background noise: not the admittedly silly
radio dramas, but music. (Her actual preferred background noise was
silence. Since her six hooligans mysteriously refused to comply,
quality music sufficed, even when it involved electric guitars.) This
too shaped us. Not only did we speak in story references, we also
started to sing constantly. I was never much for memorizing lyrics,
but my brothers were whizzes at it, and if I couldn't memorize I
could hum. We harmonized as we built Lego castles and mowed the lawn
and drove to church—when we are together, we still do.
The
music I want to hear over my own radio now that I am a mom is almost
100 percent classical, for a variety of reasons.
In the first place, I have one small child. After growing up with a
passel of siblings, something has
to fill the quiet. In the second place, well, I have one small child!
She can cause enough chaos on her own (even if she doesn't generate
much noise as she does it). The order and beauty of classical music
grounds me when I am contemplating a floor covered with baby toys. In
addition, as my baby grows up, I would like her to absorb that order
and beauty on a regular basis. So much creativity, such fascinating
history, awaits in the concertos and symphonies aired on the radio. I
want her mind to be wrapped in it too. So we tune in to Tchaikovsky
almost every day.
In the car I crank pop hits. Nothing like a little Top 40 to balance
the heavy-hitting orchestral suites.
NPR
is actually our usual fare on road, and often in the house too.
I grew up with NPR. I remember my dad listening to Car Talk as he did
projects around the house. He was listening to All Things Considered
when he picked me up from ballet class in the afternoon. On weekends
he did impressions of Garrison Keillor, the host of Prairie Home
Companion, or we danced along to Celtic music, or we scratched our
head over opera on weekend afternoons. When we heard programs
together, we had something to talk about; even if we disagreed with
what the program said it fueled thought and conversation.
So
this last bit, the news and talk radio, I listen to partially for
sentiment's sake. Apart from that, I listen because it exercises my
noggin. Those radio
personalities introduce me to new things every day. Though they deal
in facts, not the fiction of the dramas we soaked up years ago, facts
can inspire my imagination too. Especially since I cannot see
the people, places, or events under discussion, I have to employ my
brain to fill in the images. In that way I become a participant in
the program, which I prefer to sitting passively in front of a
television screen. As this noggin of mine is frequently occupied with
grocery lists and diapers, I relish the chance to expand its scope. I
have always believed in the importance of education. Politics,
history, philosophy—four years after graduating from college, the
radio lets me keep learning, even in the middle of everyday life.
In
fact, that's one of the best things about the radio: it happens “in
the middle” of things.
I can have music in the background without taking time to play it
myself. I can turn a dish-washing session into a history lecture with
the push of a button. Because these things happen so easily, not only
for me but for the other members of my family, we still have that
fuel for discussion when we see one another. Even when we live hours
apart, we can hear the same programs. The radio that drew us together
after dinner almost twenty years ago continues to foster our
connection.
What
a person hears certainly shapes what he thinks. It shapes what he
remembers, too. As that one person carries his memories and thoughts
forward, consider how he might also carry the memories and thoughts
of others, simply because they have heard the same things.
Surprisingly often, in our family we heard those “same things” on
the radio. Mundane as it is, I still see it as a bit of a
magic-worker, depositing the larger world in our kitchens and living
rooms and cars. Here's to listening.
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