Journalism

***These quotes are not exact, but they are basically what the man I spoke with said. I also didn't get his full name, and will abstain from posting his first name at all.***

When I decided that I wanted to be a journalist, I also had a second profession in the back of my mind, a back-up plan. I find myself frequently questioning Plan A, but when I think about Plan B, I fall in love with the idea of writing stories that could save the world all over again. Today, I was taught that journalism as a profession itself really needed it's own revolution.

I volunteer at least one day on most weekends through a local teen leadership/community service collaboration  Today, I was volunteering at the boathouse of a lake near my house. Within the first twenty minutes of my 5-hour shift, I got to talking to a fisherman in a US Marines T-shirt who was sitting near the dock. Our conversation began as me answering a few innocent questions to myself and my fellow volunteer's school and classes. I ended up casually mentioning that I aspired to be a journalist despite my strengths in math and science.

"Journalist?" He practically sputtered the word, as if it were a bitter taste in his mouth. "When I was in the service, we hated journalists."

"Why?" I guessed why, but I needed to be sure. I don't remember word for word what he said next because I obviously don't bring my nonexistent handy dandy tape recorder to the boathouse with me.

"They don't write the truth. They just write was sells. They're only interested in what puts them ahead in the business, not about talking about the actual news When something happens, they don't investigate details - they jump upon the conclusion favorable to sales."

"So, they lie?"

"No, they just don't tell the whole truth." This man was a US Marine and served in Grenada. What he pointed out to me was that journalists in war zones tended to write about what they wanted, and only covered parts of the story. He gave me the example of Jessica Lynch.

"The American media immediately hooked on this heart-wrenching story of a blonde-haired, blue-eyed 19 year old girl, who fired her weapon at her captors until she ran out of ammunition, then switched to hand-to-hand combat before being too injured to fight back. "That's not what happened. The media didn't even mention the other men and women with her, who did fight back. She didn't. She hid under the truck." I told him I'd not heard the story, but when I came home I did look it up.

The story of Jessica Lynch happened when I was 8 and 9 years old, before I was old enough to pay half a mind to the news. While my acquaintance got some of the details wrong, the important facts were correct and his point was taken. The Washington Post seemed to have fabricated the idea that Lynch fought hand to hand, that Lynch even fought back at all. "I did not shoot, not a round, nothing. I went down praying to my knees. And that's the last I remember." "That wasn't me. I'm not about to take credit for something I didn't do... I'm just a survivor."

At the time, I went ahead and took this former Marine's word for the story. In my head, I was thinking, that's one story, so what? Journalists make mistakes.Then, he made several more points.

"Say, there's a baby sitting on a land mine. Four or five American soldiers walk by, and the baby gets up. Boom. Kills the soldiers and the baby. [Both foreign and American] media will say, look, the troops killed this innocent baby. But no, it was the foreign insurgents. They planted the mine, they put the baby there."

"You know Grenada?"

"Hmm?"

"Grenade-a, Gre-nah-da, whatever."

"Oh, yeah."

"I served there. Before all our troops got there, the American media was already there. They knew we were coming. Before we got there, one of our pilots was executed, and Time Magazine published the pictures with his hands tied back and him shot... he was castrated and shot by Grenadians. How did the magazine get the photograph if they weren't with the enemy?"

"When I was there, sometimes, my weapon would be next to me, like here on the bench, and my ammunition would be over there where you are," he said, gesturing a distance of about 15 feet. "Troops in Iraq are having the same problem, because of politicians sticking their nose where they don't belong. We're supposed to be diplomatic. The diplomatic approach doesn't work. They'll be getting shot at, then when picking up their weapon, the shooting insurgent will pick up a kid and flip the US soldier a bird, knowing that the US soldier can't shoot without risking an innocent life."

I did some digging on the subject. While I couldn't find the photograph by Time, I did find the Operation that he probably was talking about. Operation Urgent Fury in 1983, the biggest US invasion since Vietnam. The only Marine Corps involved in the ground invasion task force was from here in North Carolina, fitting the man's age and location. I read up on it, but I couldn't fully understand the extent of the matter.

I did, however, find proof of what he said about "fighting a war without bullets." More than one source says that commanders ordered their forces not to load their weapons unless given the direction, and that they only gave that direction after the enemy insurgents opened fire. That's a political thing, not journalistic, but the sentiment is the same.

The American media does report suicide bombs and bombers with blame falling on the foreign forces, but I do also see that there's a blatant anti-troop agenda with a lot of news stories. Sometimes, I read of a situation, and scratch my head, thinking, how does that even work?

"What your name?"

"Chichi."

"What's your last name?"

"Zhu."

"Chichi Zhu. I'll be looking out for you in the news, on TV and such in the near future. In the next 15 years or so."

"Maybe, by then, journalism will be back to what it should be: truth." He nodded at me in response. Journalism's purpose is not to win Pulitzers. It's not a quest for notoriety, it's not a political tool. World news journalism, at it's finest, is informing the public where their brothers, sister, neighbors are doing, fighting some war across the seas. When I become real journalist, I'm going to do just that. Thank you for your service, Mr. Marine. I promise,  nothing but the truth.

Hair Woes

I am a typical American teenage girl (besides the fact that I’m Chinese, but that hardly matters). Teenage girls are guilty of four infatuations: clothes, boys, shoes, and hair. The amount at which I’m guilty of the first two will remain undisclosed, but next to music, gymnastics, and school, I spend the rest of my time thinking about shoes or hair. Okay, that’s a huge exaggeration. No one is that superficial. But I do plan about going on a tirade about hair. 

I have this super thick, just barely curly enough to no longer be wavy, completely unmanageable hair. So far, my solution has been to tie it up into a ponytail or bun.  No amount of mousse can keep my hair from frizzing up the moment it dries. Gel looks weird, and is a pain to get out. Hairspray? No thanks. That’s purely for gymnastics competitions only. 

I recently switched from Head and Shoulders for Normal to Dry Hair to Garnier Fructis Sleek and Shine shampoo and conditioner, hoping that it was designed enough for frizzy hair that it could be of some help to my mane-related issues. All it did was make me smell like apricots. 

Speaking of smelling like apricots, having thick hair has its advantages. My hair holds scent extremely well. So even when my shampoo is basically scentless, my hair still smells good. I personally enjoy smelling like apricots…

Back to its unmanageability: school starts on Monday the 27^th. I got a haircut earlier today, and the cutter guy used those weird scissors to thin it as well. We (my mom and I) hoped it would make my hair somewhat tamer, or more tamable, but guess what? It poofed right back up!

“Get a straight perm. It’s the only way to control this,” suggested the hairdresser in Chinese. 

“Aren’t those damaging to hair?” asked my mom.

“I’ve never heard of that,” remarked the assistant who was working on my mom’s hair.

Yeah, and that’s a load of BS. Chemical and heat relaxants (straight perms) break bonds that make hair curly, weakening it and thinning it. Both of those, I wouldn’t mind, but my hair grows unbelievably fast. So while it should last from 6 to 12 months, mine might last 3 or 4 before the newly grown natural hairs start peeping out from under, on top of, and all over the straightened hair.

My hair woes still remain unresolved. I’ll keep experimenting with milder, mostly natural products and hairstyles until something works, I suppose.

The Rise to the Peak: Part 1

See part 2 here!

Two months ago, in June of this summer, a complicated, melodramatic, coaching controversy arose at local Apex Gymnastics. One thing led to another, and the girl’s head coach, former elite gymnast Brittany Morgan, was fired. Suddenly, the Apex girls team was left sans their head coach. The other coaches stepped up and kept the girls motivated, but they weren’t Ms. Brittany. 

To gymnasts, the summertime is crucial in preparation for the competition season to come. The beginning is arguably the most important of all. It’s when the hardest new skills are introduced and drilled for the first time. But for one tear-filled week no short of gossip and blame, the girls were lost. Without Ms. Brittany, they asked themselves, what were we supposed to do?

One by one, all of the older optional level girls temporarily quit gymnastics. None knew how long it’d be before they could tumble on a balance beam again. No longer welcome in their home gym, they were prepared for the worst. Running, jump-roping, team workouts at the local YMCA, these were all part of their worst-case scenario. To do it all in the intense heat would be absolutely grueling. They were absolutely dreading the next step.

In their eyes, what happened next was nothing short of a miracle. The owner of Kenney’s Gymnastics, to whom everyone refers casually to as Mike, agreed to Ms. Brittany’s request to use his facility. Because of the Kenney’s Gym’s generosity, the girls were back in action faster than they’d ever imagined.

One of the reasons the team was so comfortable in following their coach was that there was a plan. Brittany and her close friend, undisputed Team Mom Angie Meshaw, had been planning on opening a gym of their own for a long time. Peak Gymnastics Academy, they’d call it. Like Apex, but not. Now shut out of Apex, what was once a dream really needed to be a reality. And because they couldn’t stay at Kenney’s forever, it needed to happen fast.

After working through their two-week notice back at Apex, the two other coaches, Robert Johnson and Judy Jackson, came to join their team. What began as just the five oldest girls plus Angie Meshaw’s younger daughter soon extended additional advanced girls, multiple rising prep op girls, and most of the littlest pre-team princesses from Apex. The rest of the old teams dissipated into the labyrinth of triangle area gyms. 

“Come on Liann, 110%. Just go for it!” cheers gymnast and pre-team coach Lily, of Apex. Here’s the catch: there’s no Apex girl named Liann. Liann is the only level 7 gymnast on the Kenney’s team, and here, she is learning a front walkover on the beam. The staff and team at Kenney’s welcomed their guests with open arms. The home team even invited the visitors to come along on their annual trip to Wet’n’Wild. In a sport as tough as gymnastics, even in the lower levels camaraderie is needed to mentally survive. 

While there is strong contrast between the coaching styles of the two teams, ideas were shared and techniques passed along. Apex learned leg conditioning while getting prepared for an event was no fun. Kenney’s learned warming up and working out with ankle weights was no fun. Apex learned how to use the most interesting vault training contraption. Kenney’s learned the technique of “T-hands” on the balance beam. Apex’s Mr. Robert is an excellent spotter and helps out recreational classes with too many kids and too few coaches when he has a spare moment. On the days Mr. Robert doesn’t work, the Apex girls ask Dre or Mike or another of the Kenney’s coaches to help out. 

Over the few months at Kenney’s the girls progressed like they would have back at “home.” But as August arrived and September lurks just around the corner, the buzz is increasing about the new gym. If asked, any of the girls would respond along the lines of, “I’m so excited!” and “I just can’t wait.” 

“What colors are our [leotards] going to be?” repeatedly asks team member Caitlin.

“Can we have a trench bar?” pesters Danielle.

“Wouldn’t this be good as our demo leo?” “Are we getting t-shirts? And tank tops too?” “Are you making our team headbands yet?” And the questions just keep pouring out.

Angie Meshaw and Brittany Morgan are much of the way into the process of the “adult, official business.” So patience, girls. The time will come.