Completely Conservative

This was a paper i did in highschool about why i am a conservative republican!

Approximately three years ago, my father turned on Talk Radio (95.7 FM) in the car and instead of rolling my eyes or inserting my head phones, I actually paid full attention. Ever since then, I have grown more and more conservative (or in my mind- wise) with my political views. But I realize that to have a balanced view point, I must research both sides of every issue before I base my opinions. My research shows that I see eye to eye with the views of the conservative political party and disagree heavily with the liberal and democratic parties. Three particular subjects that confirm my conservative side are the issues of gun control,  illegal immigration, and taxes.

            Guns have been a part of our American culture from the very origins of our country. The first gun control laws can be found as far back as the early Colonial period which came less than a year after the ratification of the second Amendment in the Bill of Rights.  This made guns a controversial issue for the first time and thus began the fight for gun freedom.  Liberal and democratic anti-firearm groups argue that by denying citizens the right to all types of assault weapons, the country will have less violence. In my opinion, this is their way of controlling the American people. Gun control laws will not stop criminals from acquiring guns by any means; it will obliterate the independence and self reliance of everyday American citizens until people feel that they can do nothing without government approval- not even protect their families from harm. Conservatives can prove with many examples that gun control laws neither prevent nor reduce crime, but actually increase it. For example, in 1976, Washington D.C. enacted a ban on guns. By 1991, less than twenty years later, D.C.’s homicide rates had tripled. When people feel that their safety is being threatened, they become more willing to take matters into their own hands, and ignore the government laws. Today, 49% of households possess a gun. This statistic merely shows the percentage of households that already own a gun; there are more out there who may not have anything against owning a gun, but have not done so themselves. A few years ago, my family was awaken in the middle of the night by a SWAT team that informed us that one of our neighbors was having a domestic dispute and the husband had a gun so we needed to hide in the basement. I feared for my life that night. I was more afraid that only the husband had a gun. Because only he had a gun, he controlled the entire situation until the SWAT team came to disarm him. Therefore, I believe that those who want a gun for purposes other than protection or recreation will attain a gun without approval from the government. Those of us who follow the law will be the ones punished by gun control laws, and this is one reason I am conservative.

            America is known as “the melting pot” for our variety of cultures and races all creating a wonderfully diverse country. However, when people come into our country illegally, and take advantage of our freedoms and benefits, I cannot be supportive. Today there are an estimated five to six million undocumented Mexicans in the American workforce. These jobs are now unavailable to the hard working American families who pay taxes. If it is a crime to break into someone’s home, or steal someone’s personal identity, then why do illegal immigrants escape punishment from sneaking into our country and stealing the right to be identified as legal American citizens? So it is very upsetting to me that only about 34% of Americans think illegal immigrants are taking jobs away from our legal citizens. This statistic shows that people are not being informed on how much illegal immigration is hurting our economy. When Obama ran for president, he appealed to the democrats and leftists by promising comprehensive immigration reform. He did not want to rid America of our illegal immigrants; he just wanted to legalize them so that they would not have to leave. Many people supported his views on this issue. I do not respect a president willing to reward people for breaking into our country. This is another reason why I am a conservative party member; conservatives believe that illegal immigrants should be banished from our country. Jobs are hard to come by these days. I was recently hired at Subway, but it took over a year of waiting. I can now slightly relate to the fear of not having a job because of this, and I do not want to see American families struggling with job loss when there are illegal immigrants stealing our jobs. This is another reason I am a conservative.

            Lastly, my views on taxes help identify me as a conservative. In general, 60% of Americans believe that income taxes they themselves pay are fair. However, we need to think about what about the other 40%, such as the top 1% wealthy people who must pay 37% of America’s taxes think. They do not find it fair that their prosperity causes them to pay more taxes for the country. When taxes are cut, everyone is better off. More people invest in the stock market, buy more, and hire more employees for business. If both the wealthy, middle and lower class benefit from tax cuts, why does the wealthy class benefit the least? This is a question that a lot of democrats ignore. I believe that the people making the most money and who provide jobs for America should be rewarded the same tax cuts as the poor. High taxes take away the initiative for Americans to work to their best abilities. Conservatives believe in the least amount of government involvement as possible. We do not want to control every aspect of life because we believe in freedom and free market. The democrats and liberals more often than not have the completely opposite views. They want to tax the rich in order to help the poor. In the long run however, they are killing the competitive spirit of America. I want to be successful in my future, but I do not want to pay an arm and a leg in taxes. I want to see the government being fair with taxes. This is why I side with the conservative party.

            I do not believe in a black and white America. There are always certain issues that are based on circumstances and other factors. But when it comes to standing up for what I believe is right, there is no backing down. I am proud to say that I am a complete conservative, and these three issues of gun control, illegal immigration, and taxes helps determine my ideology.

           

           

undercover!!!

Undercover

            I took out my red crayon and scribbled a dashed line from the sanctuary to the women’s bathroom; from there I carefully made a zig-zagging line down the main hallway and then finally, pressing my red crayon forcefully on the wrinkly paper, planted a giant X on the kitchen (aka destination). “Alright you think you can handle this?” I questioned my sidekick who was also my childhood best friend. Chelsea nodded seriously. We knew this procedure well from many attempts and previously failed missions. We could smell victory in the air. It was very close. Why was this so important? Because communion only comes around at the Stillwater SDA church every six months, and time was in short supply. After the service was over on these special days, there would always be a supply of grape juice and the most delicious communion bread you can imagine brought to the kitchen. According to our church’s beliefs, any blessed communion bread left uneaten should be immediately burned. Now of course, being only eight years of age, Chelsea and I could not grasp the idea that stealing the left-over blessed bread would be disrespectful. We just rationalized that if the starving children in Africa our mothers always told us about were not being benefited by destroying this food, than it was even more of a disgrace to allow this food to be wasted. So Chelsea and I were determined more than ever to taste those delicious squares of holy goodness as soon as possible. Chelsea looked at the map I had drawn up for our mission and I could tell she felt confidence in my plans. “All we have to do,” I explained, “is to avoid the pastor, our parents, and worst of all, The Kid Police.” The very idea of this made us shudder. The Kid Police was an obnoxious group of hand selected snitches (oh, excuse me) I mean kids, whose sole purpose at church evolved into telling their parents and teachers which kids were misbehaving. They would proudly wear their bright fire-truck red plastic badges on their chests and patrol the hallways like they were getting paid. Want to know the best part? Chelsea and I were both members of The Kid Police.  It’s true—we were corrupt. As long as we wore our badges, we were positive that we would be able to successfully maneuver through the hallways undetected and capture our prize! We started on our journey. We left the main sanctuary and easily made it to the bathroom. Check that off the map. The next part was the tricky part. There was a long hallway from the bathroom to the kitchen lined with coat racks, drinking fountains, pamphlet holders, and various other attractions. People streamed through the hallway like shoppers on Black Friday. Chelsea and I zig-zagged through the hallway as best we could. I finally made it to the kitchen door. I turned around to share this moment of victory with my friend, but Chelsea was stuck behind a family taking a group picture. “Ughhh…” I groaned. I knew at any moment, the women in the kitchen would be starting the ovens. Chelsea finally got past the family road block and met up with me. We smiled mischievously to each other and pushed open the kitchen door. The smell of burning bread filled the air. We slumped our heads and started to turn around. “Girls, don’t leave! I made some extra bread for you before the service! Don’t worry, it hasn’t been blessed” came from the voice of the pastor’s wife. “Wow!” we both brought our hands to our faces. “Yes,” she continued, bringing over a full bag of communion bread, “I just wanted to reward you girls for your good work.” Chelsea and I exchanged looks of confusion, but she then explained, “You girls are the most responsible Kid Police members. I just wanted to reward you both.” Suddenly the two of us weren’t hungry anymore.

Pain is beauty

Most women know as a shopper’s rule, but hate to admit, that whatever piece of clothing you pick out at a department store, you will like it the most in that store. There is something about the way the store smells, the department lights making everything look new and shiny and that “high” of holding an article of clothing that is marked down 50% with an additional 25% from that, and that coupon you cut out of the saver’s section in the newspaper. Basically, if you don’t love it in the store, you will never wear it. Well I would like to contribute a similar rule to the Savvy Shopper’s list of Do’s and Don’ts. Here it is: whatever you want to buy, no matter what, will feel the most comfortable in the environment of dressing rooms and price tags. That itchy wool sweater, yea it might be bearable now, but as soon as you get home you will realize it has given you a rash the size of Texas on your neck. Or those new white dress pants; you won’t be able to hold in that quivering belly any easier in front of the mirror in your own bed room. I am convinced of this rule because of a pair of devilish-looking black high-heeled boots.

I had no idea that right after walking into Forever 21 at the Greene, cupid would strike me in the wallet as soon as I laid my eyes on those beauties. I was memorized by their death drop 4 inch heels, and the classy pointed toe. I imagined strutting my 6 foot 1’ self down the hallways at school. Best dressed for a day? That was fine with me. I picked up one of the boots, and held it in a stream of light like a scene from the Lion King. If these boots could talk, they said “try me on and then buy me…. and do it fast…..it will be the best decision of your life.” I didn’t think to disobey this order for a second. I slipped them on with ease and then stood up. My first thought was, “woaaaaa, you all look so tiny down there.” As I adjusted to my new level of elevation, I swayed a little. Was there seriously a breeze in the middle of the store? No, that was just my puny calf muscles saying they hated me. I took a step. Another step. After about ten steps I ended up only about a few feet away from my starting place. So I wasn’t making huge strides, but it’s not like I was going to run a marathon in them, I convinced myself. Kelli came around the corner holding a hideous pink zip-up jacket that looked like she stole it from The Fresh Prince of Bellaire. I was greeted with a look of disgust equal to my feelings about her jacket. “Hannah! You are going to kill yourself in those!” she squeaked as she ran over and held onto my arm. “Kelli, I know how to walk!” I retaliated. It would have been very convincing if I had said those words as I cat walked in a circle around her with my hands on my hips. But all I could manage to do was shakily take a step retreating from her and throw my hands up in the air striking a pose. I prayed for a distraction so that I could hug a very sturdy looking pillar nearby. “Well, I think you should practice wearing them around the store before you buy them” she said; I could tell she was not convinced by my pathetic little display. I spent the next five minutes following Kelli around the store smiling confidently while in her gaze, and grasping onto any available solid fixture when her back was turned. By the time we were ready to purchase our items, I was growing beautiful blisters on my feet and a back problem. But for some reason, I swallowed my good sense, I’m not proud to say, and forked over $30 of hard-earned money for these hardly desirable health problems. This is the true confession of an impulse shopper. I wish I could tell you that as soon as I got home, the shoes molded to my feet and evolved Dr.Scholls squishy inserts. But that would be a lie, and I don’t want to lie to you. I want to instead inform you that the belief women have adapted over the years, because of society’s sick expectations, that pain is beauty. Pain is not beauty. Pain is pain. Pain is also watching my pride shatter all over the Dayton Mall floors, or was that my body that shattered? Actually it was both. Don’t believe the lies… you will look more beautiful in those ugly worn out lawn-mower shoes than you will in a pair of dangerous heels any day. Those other shoes are just for looking at.

           

Scrunchies!

I found this short article that i wrote for a creative writing assignment in highschool! it brings back good memories!

Scrunchies

            I ripped open the box like a kid about to devour a bag of skittles. And like skittles, what was inside this box that I kept in safe keeping underneath my bed was very colorful and tempting. I looked down at my leotard and calculated about five different colors that could potentially match: blue, black, green, yellow, and silver. I dug into the box some more and finally withdrew the perfect hair scrunchie to match my leotard! I could see an almost glow of light haloing the scrunchie as I admired it. Then I suddenly heard a screeching voice in the background. The halo of light and that heavenly atmosphere was instantly flipped off as I turned around to see my best friend, Kelli Schwenkel, standing there with an absurd expression on her face. “What are you doing?” she griped at me. I felt like this was a dumb question so my mind wandered to more important matters…like which color hair scrunchie would match her leotard the best. “Ewwwwwww! What in the world are you doing Hannah!?” she said. Another dumb question. “Kelli, I’m just getting ready for gymnastics. What’s the deal?” I honestly had no idea what was going to come out of her mouth next, but then again, I never do. “Like oh my gosh Hannah, no one wears hair scrunchies anymore! This is the 21^st century and you are definitely not with the times.” This little jab instantly annoyed me. How dare she make fun of them!? I had proudly collected over thirty multi-colored, beautifully designed hair scrunchies throughout my gymnastics career and I wasn’t about to let a rookie tell me what to wear to practice. Kelli tormented me for the next fifteen minutes about how I was stuck in the 80’s (ummm…excuse me, I wasn’t even alive in the 80’s), and that I needed to invest in some “normal” hair ties. The following scene is not suitable for a general audience, but I will say that after a few insults and minutes of physical combat, I was able to keep my precious box without losing any scrunchies. “Hannah…” she finally said in a sweet voice as a last attempt at rationalizing with me, “name one other freshman in our entire school that wears them.” I pondered this challenge for a few minutes, praying to God that ten girls would instantly appear in my mind. But no, nothing came to me. After a few minutes of silence, Kelli smiled victoriously. “I’ll give you an example,” she said, “Mrs. Whitman is the only other last remaining scrunchie wearer!” Oh my heavens, she was completely right I realized. “That’s not true,” I said lying to her face. Kelli rolled her eyes, she could see straight through me. I stared back down at the box in my hands. It was time to let go of this generation gap. Now when I say let go, I do not mean give up. The scrunchie box still resides under my bed behind a stack of summer reading books and old blankets. I frequently visit this old box just for memory’s sake. I still mentally debate which one would best showcase my leotard for the day. I test them for elasticity and put them in the washing machine ever year so that I won’t feel like I’m neglecting them. Maybe someday scrunchies will come back in style. I am keeping my fingers crossed. And when that day comes I will laugh and proudly pull out that special box. I will especially love to see how Kelli will react when she sees that I never donated them to Goodwill like I said I did. But for now, she doesn’t need to find out.