theoriginproject

HERITAGE

“Every people has to have its own stories . . . If we don’t have our own stories then we don’t have our own soul: we don’t have our own deepest possession, which is ourselves and our own unfolding . . . Unless we cherish and savour our own [stories], then we’re not going to know who we are and . . . we’ll become strangers to ourselves . . . We’ve got to hold up a mirror to ourselves and create our own stories.”

-Late poet and songwriter Leonard N Cohen

Birthplace of Country Music Exhibit Reflection

As my students typed poems, collected their thoughts and tried putting into words the images of race relations with which they had been exposed, I, too, became reflective.  My hope for them, as they come face to face with the bitter truths of our society’s past, is a better future.  I imagine a future whose fruit is one of love rather than hate and one of unification rather than division.  Yet, when I see their similar faces and acknowledge our area’s lack of racial diversity, I can’t help but wonder what truths they’ve been able to glean on their own, what relationships with peers of other cultures they’ve been able to form.  And I remember the enormity of my role as a teacher.  I remember that I am responsible for introducing them to various cultures through the beautiful means of literature.  Through speeches of Martin Luther King, Jr. and poetry of Gwendolyn Brooks, through autobiographies of Maya Angelou and essays from Frederick Douglass, my students can learn of African-American culture– of struggles for freedom and equality.  They can develop empathy with others and a general sense of the collective nature of human beings.  They can learn, as did Scout Finch, that “[y]ou never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view … until you climb in his skin and walk around in it.” And until diversity comes to southwest Virginia, I will, instead, take my students to diversity through the written word.

Sindy Fields, Teacher, Lee High School

Eastside Reflections

It matters to me because these stories that spill from page after page will live forever but the storyteller will not. As I sat down to begin what I thought was an ordinary assignment, just merely “busy work,” I was completely blindsided by the weight of the words that I begin to write. Stories of hard times and good times. Sweet words only to be heard in the mountains of Southwest Virginia. Recollections of days gone by. Thoughts on the simpler times and the longing to be back there. Memories of loved ones who have passed and the thoughts of recipes that once filled our stomachs, and more importantly, our hearts.

What I thought had little to no significance turned out to be the most humbling and inspiring thing I have ever done. And what I didn’t know beforehand was that where I am from, both physical location and the loved ones that have gotten me to the place I am today, matter so much more than I ever dreamed. One day when my kids ask me to tell them a story, I will proudly tell them one that sprang from the Appalachian Mountains straight from the mouths of the branches of our beautiful family tree that they never got the chance to meet.

The words filling these pages matter because it doesn’t matter where I go in life, I know I will have the comfort of home typed in black ink. And maybe to you the words I write won’t mean a thing, but I think that’s the point of it all.  I write not from my mind, but rather my heart and that is why it matters. Because stories live forever; people do not.

Katelynn Elliott, Grade 12

In doing this, I discovered that roots aren’t where you or your family are from. It’s the force that holds a family together. The stories told by the parents and grandparents to the new generation.

The new growths in the family tree need the old roots to keep it grounded. Searching through each generation of my family I found new things about myself and those I love. I found that I take after my great-grandfather in my height and the fact that at random times I’ll whistle while I do certain things. On my dad’s side I found that I have the same temper and looks as them.

I learned that my interests usually will match to another family member or that some birthdays are shared through all generations. I take a lot from my uncles too; from my mom’s brother, a love of aquariums and fish, and from my dad’s, with a more laid back attitude compared to the regular Fields family temper of “leave in the next five seconds or you will be hurt.”

This is not just an English assignment; it’s a door.

A door in to the past – into the best times of my family. It brought up fond memories of people long gone. It helped me get closer to my family. It always seems like these things will just be a cut and dry, copy and paste assignment no one’s really being any different. However, no one has the same family even if they look like they would. We all have these key differences that define us as who we are, and this project has shown me who I am and who my family is. It’s important to learn about the past and just to sit and connect with my elders and finally learn how to make my grandmother’s calzone bread.

Ethan A. Fields, Grade 12

This is our heritage. This is where we came from and how we grew up. We say buggy instead of cart, y’all instead of you all, lighten’ bugs instead of fireflies, and fixin’ to instead of getting ready to. Others may (and do) look down upon us, but we can’t let that hold us back from living our truth. We are often called stupid, dumb, and ignorant, but we’re quite the opposite – it’s all about perspective. There are ignorant people all across the country, so why are we singled out? When interviewing my great-aunt, she said, “I’m proud of my heritage. It was a good time when I was growing up.” I completely agree with her – I had an amazing childhood because of the family that raised me and the friends I met along the way. I feel so blessed to have grown up here. Southwestern Virginia has shown me things I couldn’t dream of seeing anywhere else. People always talk about how they want to leave because they have nothing here. That’s not true – they have everything here, whether they like it or not. I am moving away to college soon, and although I am excited to start the next chapter of my life, I am sad to move away from my life here. I owe everything to Southwestern Virginia, because it molded me into who I am today, and it will always have a special place in my heart. We are a part of a special and important piece of history. We are the people who are responsible for keeping these memories – our memories – alive for our future generations.

Emma Fleming, Grade 12

Before I started my assignments for the Origin Project I never really acknowledged how my family got to where it is. I have never really thought about where my family comes from and what my grandparents’ lives were like when they were my age. After asking questions and learning just how different times were back then, I realized that I had never been asking enough questions. Today, many people my age do not see the point in learning about the past. Many of them ask why does it even matter?

Why does it matter? Asking about the past and learning where the roots of our life were first planted is the most important thing we can do. The elders in our lives have stories to tell and we as the next generation have a responsibility to take their wisdom and turn it into lessons for the kids in our lives. Learning about our families and what makes us us is why asking questions matters. After I learned so much about my family I realized that I need to ask questions. If I ask questions, the stories that are my grandparents’ and great grandparents’ lives never die. We must truly understand where are roots were planted so that our trees of life can grow.

Kiarra Gibson, Grade 12

I have always been close to my grandparents on my mother’s side, but I didn’t know a lot about their childhood. I knew a few things like they grew up without a lot of money, but I never understood what it was actually like to grow up in the time period that they did. The sad thing is that it wasn’t that long ago and I have more now at 17 than they had when they were 20. Asking your family questions you aren’t really sure about it so important. In April of 2018, my granny on my father’s side passed away and I never really asked that many questions about her life or her childhood and as a result I know almost nothing about her. I don’t know her maiden name, where she went to school, what it was like growing up, or hardly any of her recipes besides what she had written down in cookbooks found after her passing. I don’t even know what year she was born in because she didn’t want us to know how old she was. She was so reserved and closed off and didn’t like to share stories about her childhood or past with us (my brother, sister, and me), so we just stopped asking.

After that, we made sure to start asking questions about our other grandparents. Since then I can tell you almost anything about them. I can tell you what house they grew up in, how many brothers and sisters they each have, what school they both attended, how much money they both had growing up, the story about their wedding day, plenty of recipes, how much my papa’s first car was and how he got it home, and the story about how my nana told her friend Evy the first day she ever saw him working in a store near her house that she called dibs on him because one day she was ”gonna marry him.” Asking questions matters because nothing is permanent, no one lives forever, and after someone is gone you’ll never get the answers to the questions you had. Time is precious and so are the stories they will share with you about their past. I’d give anything to be able to ask my granny one more question.

Amanda Greear, Grade 12

Years from now we aren’t going to remember those sleepovers where we played “truth or dare” and laughed until we cried
We won’t remember all the siblings gathered in the kitchen, making a mess while trying to help mom cook Thanksgiving dinner
We won’t remember family movie nights where we talk the whole time even though we swore we would pay attention this time
We won’t be able to recall the heart to heart talks we had late at night in Mimi’s living room because she gave the best advice
We won’t remember family picnics with the cousins you see twice a year
We won’t remember who ate ALL the cookies or which team won the annual family volleyball game
We won’t be able to recall those feelings as easily years from now
However, we can look through old photo albums while piled up on the couch
We can watch and rewatch the home videos we begged dad not to record at the time, but are now so glad he didn’t listen
We can belly laugh all night about embarrassing stories that only we remember when our now grown siblings come in to visit
These pictures and stories and videos…
These memories MATTER because they are able to bring back feeling we forgot we had and in doing so, they bring us close together.
Even those with the best memories out there are unable to feel the same way they did in the moment
But, bring back those who you shared the moments with and flip through the old pictures that were taken, printed, and developed right there with that old Polaroid that Papaw loved
Just talking to your siblings, friends, and parents that were there for it all can fill in the pieces that you had lost

Always look forward to the future, but sometimes, when things are tough, it is comforting to fall into the nostalgia of childhood memories and happier times.
It is so important not to forget the good days and memories you made together, because without all of those nights, even those you don’t remember…
Those memories are your childhood and without them you would be somebody completely different than who you see today.

Katelyn Hall, Grade 12

Growing up in Southwest Virginia, I hear many of my peers talking about how they can’t wait to leave this area because there is nothing to do and nothing to be proud of. In my opinion there is nothing wrong with wanting to go off and experience new things. However, I do think there is something wrong with not being proud of where one is from, especially in this area.

From a young age, it was put into my head that preserving family history is something that must be done. When I interviewed my grandfather, Clinton Johnson, I asked why he decided to stay in this area instead of moving away. His only response was, “These are my roots.” To me, the way he responded said it all. Being proud and knowing where one comes from is important because it’s our roots. Our roots make us who we are. It determines the way we grow up, the activities we do, the food we eat, and the accents we speak. Preserving our family history matters because the ones who came before us deserve to be known. They deserve to have their stories of dedicated work and sacrifice told because without it, we could be completely different people.

All in all, heritage matters because the ones before us matter. Stories matter. Traditions matter. And most of all, family matters. Just because our little area on the map does not get noticed does not mean that there is not rich family history in our deep Appalachian mountains. Family members and people we all know want their stories to be told, all we have to do is dig deep and try to find it. After all, sometimes family is the only consistent thing in our lives and I believe that it is important to learn their stories and thank them for all the sacrifices they made for our family.

Eliza Johnson, Grade 12

The Origin Project has made me look back and think about my childhood. It has been a very thoughtful time as I look back and remember memories I made as a child. I look back and think about all the good times that I have made with my family, but also the sad stories that influence and have a major impact on my life. I felt as if I was reliving my childhood, which I would do anything to go back and relive. I had an amazing childhood and I am blessed with a great family.

I got closer with my Pappaw as I interviewed him and shared some special moments. I remembered all the great times I had with him growing up and that I continue to have as my life goes on. The stories that I listened to gave me a different perspective on life and I realized how blessed I truly am. I have a great family that I would not trade for the world. I shared many laughs with my parents as they argued how stories went while I asked them questions about their young relationship. They have strongly impacted my life and are the best parents a kid could ask for.

I was able to focus on myself in some of these poems by thinking what means the most to me and what impacted my life the most. I was also able to look through old pictures and remember all the good times that happened. I worked on rhyming in poems that helped my vocabulary and made the poems better by making it more fun to me. In the end, the Origin Project is a great idea. It matters to me because I looked back at all the great times in my young life and was able to see all the people that have impacted my life. It was amazing to go back and relive all the memories that I will forever cherish as I leave my young childhood life and go off to my college/adult life.

John Robert Kilgore, Grade 12

Reflection is a word commonly used when referring to a mirror or a glass surface. Standing in front of a mirror, we appreciate our own presence or pick apart our flaws, and sometimes both at the same time. We notice certain physical traits about ourselves that we believe define who we are. We are all guilty of describing ourselves as simply short or tall, skinny or fat, blonde hair or red hair. However, we are more than adjectives! The mirror cannot reflect the sound of one’s laugh or loyalty to a friend. We are our past, our future, and the journey to each.

It is crucial to look back at our past and ask questions to understand who we are today. Most questions cannot be answered by glancing in the mirror, but by daring to travel back to our childhood. Why did we sleep with that specific stuffed animal? Why did a certain room seem to have an atmosphere of sadness while another emitted joy? In order to move forward, we must first look back. Our past is a part of each of us, and impacts the way that we approach situations today. The mirror cannot reflect our past; for this is a different type of reflection that we each must practice: self reflection.

Through rediscovering my past and daring to open dusty photo books full of both joyful and tearful memories, I believe I now understand the purpose of The Origin Project. My origin is my nanny’s devotion to music, my sister’s playful smirk, and the two brick houses that have welcomed me at all times. My origin is my “Once upon a time…,” and after all, what is a story without a beginning?

Kailey Kyle, Grade 12

People often feel the need to chase down their heritage, to find out where they came from. It is as if there is a missing piece in ourselves if we don’t know where we came from. The Origin Project helps fulfill this need for all its authors and readers. Tales from Southwest Virginians bleed through the ink on the pages of The Origin Project journals. Each story, poem, narrative, song, and/or picture tells a specific story about the heritage of an individual in this area. This area connects us all, and it is highly possible that a native will find many similarities of their own lives with the text of The Origin Project. It is important to find this unity in any area, so that a group of similar-minded people can make decisions to form a better world for our posterity. Also, there is no better way to communicate impactfully on a large scale than literature. In completing this portfolio, I have revisited fond memories and examined the good and bad in my life. It has been an almost therapeutic process. I find that many others will experience this also in reading and writing entries of The Origin Project. The Origin Project is not just a book or a collection of lofty poetry. It is our Appalachian heritage. Our origin. The Origin Project matters for various reasons but I believe the most important ones are identity, unity, and therapy. We should be proud of our heritage, we come from a remarkable place.

Elizabeth Mann, Grade 12

After graduating high school, some students are so excited to leave this area and go somewhere other than these mountains of Southwest Virginia. Our area is very misunderstood as a whole. Our beautiful mountains we call home are viewed as hillbilly towns, and outsiders see us as a group of people who are unsuccessful. That stereotype is very far away from the truth. Southwest Virginia is a culturally rich area with elders who can tell you anything you need to know about the past. We have coal miners who put their lives in danger to support their families. We have local businesses that survive every day with our support. Our area celebrates achievements far and wide. We celebrate sports, the musical arts, the dramatic arts, and many other forms of art. We have stars in basketball, drama, football, band, track, and about any other sport you can name.

We live in a small area where everybody knows everybody and when you meet an older person they ask who your parents and grandparents are. Having people like this around make life less like living around strangers. We should cherish the people. They are our roots. This area has grown significantly from when they were growing up here. We will continue to develop through the years, but we must talk with our ancestors and write things down so we will remember when they are gone.

My aunt told me one of her biggest regrets in life is not writing things down. She explained that people you meet have stories to tell and you can listen, but if you don’t write it down, these people will have no legacy to pass down for generations. When grandma starts talking about what it was like, don’t just listen. Record what she has to say because someday that will be the only thing you have left to hear her voice. Hearing the accents in our ancestors’ voices and how they say certain words displays their heritages. It is important to talk to your elders before they pass. If you don’t ask them about how different their lives were, your children and grandchildren may never get to remember what life was like when they were growing up.

Madilyn Powers, Grade 12

While doing this project I heard stories I have never heard before, learned about people I never got the chance to meet, and discovered a piece of my family’s history I would have never known if it was not for the Origin Project. I get so caught up in my day to day life I often do not think to stop and ask about my family’s past. Recently my family lost our great-grandma; she was 100. I never got the chance to sit down and ask her about her childhood, or hear the stories of my grandma when she was a child. Missing out on learning about my great-grandma’s life made me realize why it really matters. It is now too late to talk to my grandma, but I still have other living relatives. Knowing that people do not live forever, and that when they die their stories die with them makes you realize how important it is to know where your family came from, and to hear those stories because those stories make you who you are. Interviewing my grandparents and hearing about everything from their early life to how they met, having my mom, and then my mom having me really made me smile. Hearing those precious stories made me stop and think about how if I had never asked I would have never known any of those things.

Selena Michelle Powers, Grade 12

This project matters because it helps individuals find and learn about their heritage. During this project, it helps younger generations learn about what it was like when their family members were their age, how times have changed, and more about their relatives. To me, it matters because it helped me gain a new perspective on my mother’s childhood and my own as well. Everyone has a place they have grown up or call home, which is why it is important to know about the background or history of their hometown. I think that everyone should know where their family may come from and their origin. For many young adults, they are getting ready to move away to college and start a big journey of their life. Whether that be medical school or becoming an electrician, everyone must remember their roots. It is important to me to remember where I have grown up and the people that have made an impact on my life. A place is just a place to one, whereas to another, a place could mean where their heart is. To me, my heart is not in one place, but in multiple; from the smiles that my mother gives every evening after school or where I lost my best friend, but a big piece of my heart will always remain in a small town – home.

Natalie Rhodes, Grade 12

Show me
Show me where you’re from.
You say it is not much, yet you think the world of it.
You say it’s a broken town, yet you always go back.
You want it to grow and develop.
There is nowhere for it to grow to though.
You want to show the world where you came from.
This little town of Coeburn.
You live right in the middle.
You hear the football games from your porch,
the live music downtown as well as the special preaching.
You say you can’t sleep without the blast of the train,
The rattle of the tracks.
The zinging, zinging, zinging as the packs of ATV riders zoom for the mountain,
You being one of them.
This place you talk about, Frosty Bossie.
You say it has lights like no other.
You hear the fluorescent tubes buzz as you walk towards it,
Asking for your favorite milkshake, Twix.
Only asking for it a few times a year.
Your favorite memory is walking through the bridges,
Looking for the trees glowing with Christmas lights.
You say that they do not stay on all year except when someone messes up.
You beg to drive through town to look and see what has changed.
You are never disappointed by the changes.
The rocker and
The love sign that your mother designed.
You say you go and sit in the rocker just for fun,
So you can listen to the fountain.
The water splash all around.
You say you cannot get too close unless you want to be wet.
Beautifully frozen in the winter it sits there.
You say you miss school,
Everything about it.
You said you were a teacher’s kid,
Which doesn’t sound good.
You say you spent your days running the halls.
The middle and high school you say were your domain.
You said you never wanted to leave,
Yet you did.
You always return to this little town.
Let me show you where I am from.

Amelia Wright, Grade 12

My Grandparents and Great-Grandparents

My grandfather, Jim Clark, grew up in Lee County, V.A., and owns a sawmill. We call him Pappy. He was on the Grand Ole Opry twice, and sings with the Good Shepherd Quartet. Every year he goes to Sunset Beach to king fish. 

One day, while we were at Sunset, my dad and I decided to go and fish with my Pappy at the pier. When we got in, we were greeted by my Pappy and he let us use a small pole. We spent an hour fishing, but we didn’t catch anything. I eventually got bored and just started looking around. And just then, something happened. Something triggered one of the main poles! Pappy ran over and grabbed it! It was a long and hard fight, and it took about 15 minutes. Once we had the fish and saw what we had hooked, we were shocked. We looked over the peer and on the line was a seven foot long, Scalloped Hammerhead Shark!!! We couldn’t bring it up on the pier for three reasons: 1. It would be WAY too heavy. 2. It would likely bite someone. 3. If it was a tagged shark, we would be arrested because bringing up tagged fish is illegal. 

We ended up cutting the line, and my dad and I went back to the beach house. Pappy came back and we got in the car and drove out to eat. Along the way, my Pappy told me something. He said, “Landon, there is a seven foot hammerhead out there with a sore mouth.” 

My Nana, Renia Clark, was born in North Carolina and she met Pappy when she moved to Virginia. She started as a teacher, then was a principal at an elementary school, then as a principal at Lee High School. She has a sewing room upstairs that she calls her “happy place.” One of my favorite memories with Nana is the time she came with us to Boston. That day, we were walking to Harvard University.  When we opened the doors, there were two fossils already on display! On one side there were the preserved remains of a Dire Wolf, and on the other side was the skeleton of a Saber Tooth Cat (Smilodon)! And no, it’s not a saber tooth tiger! As we looked around, I found something amazing. It was a nearly complete skeleton of a Utahraptor! Now, stories like this always have to have a grand finally, so let me tell you that we got to take a selfie with a fifty foot long Tylosaur skeleton!!! That day was one of the best times I’ve ever had.

My Great-Grandmother, Rheta Russell Humphrey, was born in Lee County in 1936. We call her Granny. Her dad was in the Navy during WWII and she ended up graduating high school. This is what school was like for my Granny. So, to start things off, the teachers were strict. VERY strict. If they caught you talking, even a whisper, the teacher would take you out into the hall and paddle you. You can imagine that the students were pretty scared of the teachers. Now, my Granny had some friends in school, and they played a game where one person would throw a ball and another person would run around and try and catch it without being tagged. Remember, this is when they only had one room schools, and there was no principal, so that’s why you got paddled. Life was a lot harder than it is today.
My Grandma Spain, Linda Septak Spain, was born in Kansas. Her grandparents immigrated to the U.S. from Italy. She once took a school trip to Italy and she studied in Paris for one summer. At my Grandma’s school, they had only three rooms, and only three classes. One of the teachers was the principal and his name was Mr. Writer. As with Granny’s school, the teachers were strict, and if you got in trouble, you went to see Mr. Writer and he yelled at you.

My Grandpa, Herb Spain, was born in North Carolina. At his school, they only had one room, but it was divided into sections. There were four grades, first through fourth. He said when they didn’t have any chewing gum, they would take hot tar and chew that, instead!
Even though my Grandma lived in the middle of tornado alley, her house was never hit by a tornado. My Grandpa Spain, on the other hand, was hit and it did lots of damage. My Grammy (my great-grandmother) was also hit, but she was so lucky. It destroyed all three houses beside hers but it died out once it got to hers. 

Grandma Spain also told me that my great-great grandmother went on strike when she worked in the textile factory. She hid her face from reporters so they couldn’t take her picture.

These were some stories of my grandparents and great-grandparents. I really enjoy learning about their lives. And I have learned so much about the “old days”.

Landon Spain, Grade 5, Union Middle School

My Mamaw’s and Papaw’s House

My favorite place to be is Mamaw’s and Papaw’s house.  I like helping my papaw feed all the animals in the barn down below his house. I like helping Mamaw cook and fold clothes. Sometimes we cook deer meat in a little silver pot on her stove. Mamaw has two clotheslines in her backyard and we hang the clothes up with clothespins. We wait until they dry, then we take them off the line and put them in a white basket. Then we take the clothes in and fold the clothes and place them on her brown couch. I like going to my mamaw’s and papaw’s house because I love them.  They make me happy.

Presley Hammonds, Grade 4

Making Gingerbread Cookies

My mimi, Shelia D. Mann was born in 1965 in Pennington Gap, Virginia.  She can remember making memories with her family by making gingerbread cookies.  Her favorite memory is helping mix batter and cutting them out. After the cookies baked her family would decorate them.  I hope someday I can make memories of making gingerbread cookies.

Collyn Chasteen, Grade 2

Identity vs. Disability

The way I figure it, everyone has something that makes them unique in their own way. Some of us have passions that have been passed down to us by family members from generation to generation. Of course, my passions happen to be art and music. As a result of being adopted almost 8 ½ years ago, I’ve learned that I still share some passions with my adoptive family. I’ve recently come to learn that my mother played piano in high-school, with my great-great-grandmother teaching her. My maternal grandmother also happened to have a taste for art. Kudos to my family for helping me find my way in my love of my passions! I like how I share these traits with my family, even though actually, I also have setbacks in my passions. My setbacks are that I’m partially deaf, as well as my fear of feeling different because I’m not like everyone else. It’s just frustrating for me at times. But my passions make me who I am, even with a disability.

Despite my setbacks, all I want is to prove myself worthy of being like a “regular” person. But I can’t. Why not? I can’t always live in fear of always feeling different just because of a ridiculous thing like a disability. It’s like Superman with his Kryptonite weakness. Even though he has a weakness, he still does great things.

I just want to remember the things I love most: art and music. You may also be wondering, “What about acting? Don’t you love acting?” Well, of course I do! But when I said art and music are my passions, acting is too. But I don’t call it “acting” or “performing,” I call it art. Why? You use your imagination in both of them. Music is a little like that as well. My reason for this is because music is a way of showing your feelings and imagination with sound (even though it’s hard for me), just like when you’re expressing your feelings on a sketch pad or even painting.

Like my art inspiration, Frida Kahlo, stated once, “I don’t paint dreams or nightmares. I paint my own reality.” So, what I’m saying is that you can’t have fear just because you have a disability. Just embrace it, catch your fall, and use your parachute to see how far you can actually go in your goals. Whether you’re on a mountain-peak, in a classroom, or even on The Great Wall of China, you can accomplish anything . . . even with a disability.

Alexis Bramlette, Grade 8

Violence

I see violence throughout the city.  People are getting hurt while they are hanging out in the streets and walking in their neighborhoods.  Gunshot sounds make me so scared. I scream, run and hide under my living room table to stay protected.

Watching the news at night makes me very sad.  I hear about people dying, getting hurt and fighting for their lives.  One day, I heard that a young boy got hurt and it make me really sad. Later, the young boy died, and I cried.  I prayed for him and his family.

Something needs to be done about so much violence.  Laws need to change, and people do, too. 

T’Mora Hickman, Grade 4

My Beautiful Afghanistan

I am sitting at the summit of the Hindu Khush mountain 
Holding a glass of green Ahmad chai eating shirpara.
I am listening to my grandpa reading love poems from Hafez
And I am moving my body to the old Persian music. 
 
Let me fly over my beautiful Afghanistan 
And look at the crystal clear water of Ghargha lake. 
Let me look at green eyes and badami chashman of my Afghans 
And draw their eyes for the world instead of brown and black. 
 
Let me swim in Band-e-Amir  
And eat the sweet Kandahri pomegranate in color of blood. 
Let me talk in sweet Herati accent 
And wear the colorful handmade badakhshi dress. 
 
Let me go to the kite tournaments
And run after every flying kite. 
Let me hug my grandma again 
And sit on the rooftop with her talking about our childhood. 
 
Let me hear my national anthem again 
And scream at the top of my lungs in the Baba mountain, 
“We do not want to fly like migrant birds again! 
Free my nation! Free my beautiful Afghanistan!” 
 
Notes:
Shirpara is a sweet herati candy we eat with tea. 
Hafez is a famous Persian poet. 
Badami Chaman means eyes in almond shape. Usually the Hazara ethnicity have them.
Kandahri comes from Kandahar which is a province in Afghanistan.
Herati is also comes from Herat which is a province in Afghanistan.
Badakhshi comes from Badakhshan which is also a province in Afghanistan.

Zahra Wakilzada, Grade 12

Just Black

The day after Christmas, I sat down in front of my family’s desktop and opened up Sallie Mae’s scholarship search engine. I had decided to dedicate the last few days of my winter break searching for ways to fund my secondary education. With hopes of pursuing a career in mathematics, I figured there would be plenty of money available for someone such as myself heading into a field where both of my minorities are underrepresented. The process of building my profile began as effortless and comfortable; I am a: high school senior, Resident of: Virginia, Gender: Female, Age: 18, Citizenship: U.S Citizen, Ethnicity: Black — except, ‘Black’ was not an option.

This immediately puzzled me. Affirmative Action, policies favoring groups known to have suffered from discrimination, has been in place since the 1960s, surely there are scholarships intended for Black people. I spent the next 10 minutes scrolling through the provided list of ethnicities and nationalities, tracing my finger meticulously down the monitor; 10 options for Asians, 23 options for Caucasians, 5 options for Indigenous populations and Islanders, 4 options for Hispanics and Latinos. My only option was ‘African-American’. Not even ‘African-American or Black’, just ‘African-American’.

I struggled to press down on my mouse. Am I African-American? I do not know where I am from. My parents do not have records of any semblance of a family tree. My grandparents certainly are not aware of their roots.What right do I have to identify with a continent whose only claim to me is my complexion? Am I not just Black? I decided to ignore the unsettling feeling in my stomach and select ‘African-American’ in favor of missing out on opportunities for college funding, but the experience left a sinking pit in my stomach that has resurfaced frequently since then.

Now that I am a legal adult and fill out my own paperwork, I stumble into this challenge often. Every formal documentation wants to know “which category best describes” my race. Though their inquiries are seemingly innocent, college applications, DMV registrations, and census surveys all induce a momentary internal crisis. If a person asked my race, I would simply respond ‘Black’– my mother is black, my father is black, therefore so am I. But on many official forms, my only option is to identify as African-American. On some gracious occasions, I am offered ‘Black/African-American’ (‘Black or African-American’ if I am lucky) with the two terms offered as one synonymous option, their cultural uniqueness dumped into a melting pot and fused into one nondescript category. I am rarely given the opportunity to appropriately represent myself. Sometimes this incites confusion, sometimes sadness, sometimes uneasiness, but most often irritation. It is utterly essential to correctly define a people whose history is centered around the loss of their identity.

I firmly believe that the categories Black and African-American are not interchangeable. An African-American is an individual with direct descendants from the continent of Africa. They may not have a purely African bloodline, but they know what customs to participate in, what traditions to carry on, what holidays to celebrate. To be Black is to have been disjointed from your ancestry for so long that your great-grandparents do not even know what nation they descended from. To be Black is to latch onto those around you and form your own values and habits with others who suffer from the same loss of identity. It is indeed its own culture, one forged out of shared experiences, shared physiques, and shared loneliness.

‘African-American’ is not the only nationality of its kind. Any time any immigrant is nationalized as a U.S Citizen, they earn the right to add ‘American’ to their previous identity (think of terms such as ‘Chinese-American’). The second half of this compound nationality is indicative of an individual who values their unique heritage but is proud to be a member of a new community. It is a symbol of achievement, signifying a person who has successfully made their way into a new society. Hundreds of thousands of immigrants from many nations choose to earn American citizenship, but those from any of the numerous countries in Africa have the exclusive obligation to identify as simply African-American. They do not have the option of distinction between the many ethnicities enclosed within the continent of Africa. A Nigerian who worked hard to earn the fare to the states and has recently earned their citizenship is African-American. So are third generation Cameroonians whose parents and children were all born, raised, and college educated in the United States. And yet, someone living in the projects with an unknown distant ancestor from Ghana and an unidentifiable number of other races mixed into their bloodline, resulting from generations of slave rape, must also be African-American. African immigrants must ignore their individuality and submit under one large umbrella. They do not have the option of paying homage to their heritage; they must simply be African-American.

Although the clumping of all Africans is an injustice in and of itself, it is an even larger disservice to equate African-Americans to Black people. My emphasis on the distinction between the two is not made in hopes of augmenting cultural barriers, nor is it a claim of superiority–neither one is lesser than the other–rather it is an acknowledgment of the fact that being African-American submits you to unique trials just as being Black has its own tribulations. Being Black requires that the color of your skin be the source of your identity. It means your heritage was stolen from you when your ancestors were kidnapped from their homes and sold into slavery. It means your great-great grandfather had his culture beaten out of his memory. It means your great grandmothers struggled to grasp for any sense of who they were, who they were supposed to be, and who they would become. It means that at some point in the long history of their lineage, their identity was brutally and unapologetically stomped into the dust of the very earth that they were forced to work on.

I am black. As obvious as it sounds, there have been many times in my life when I have felt like I had little to no right to even try to identify with black culture. I grew up in an upper middle class suburban neighborhood surrounded by people of other races, I didn’t feel like I could relate to other black children. Then again, it’s impossible to form any concrete assessments when you are constantly beleaguered by an arsenal of contradictions. How am I supposed to feel about myself in a country that can’t decide how it feels about me?  I can’t tell whether or not my life matters, whether my talents are appreciated or exploited, or whether my body is exotic or unshapely. This very struggle is the reason I can be so confident in my race now. I know I am black, not because of my elusive family tree or even because or my complexion, I know because I feel the full force of my displacement every day that I live in everything that I do. The beauty of my race stems from the acceptance of our disjunction. It lies in our resilience, our persistence, and our strength. We thrive, even when we aren’t wanted. 

Candace Todd, Grade 12

Go Ahead

After Maya Angelou
Go ahead and poke fun at me
Sneer at my pudgy lips
Laugh at my broad nose
Revolt at my miry skin
But at least let me sing
Go ahead and pet me like an animal
Poke my stiff, upright bush
Yank my rebounding coils
Stroke my exotic fur
But at least let me sing
Go ahead and brainwash my sisters
Bleach their flesh off
Burn their hair up
Relax their brains out
Go on and condemn my children
Rob them of opportunity
Taunt them with prospect
Feed them their niche
Go and kill my brothers
Beat my cousins down in the alleys
Throw my uncles in crowded cells
Refuse my father his duty of provider
But at least let me sing 
Go ahead and tell me what I know
Call me who I truly I am
Enlighten me on all that I can amount to
Cripple me into believing you
But At least let me sing.
Take that rusted blade from my throat
I am well aware of my displacement
Let me feign ignorance of my circumstance
Let me close my eyes and sing.

Candace Todd, Grade 12

Why it Matters

People often feel the need to chase down their heritage, to find out where they came from. It is as if there is a missing piece in ourselves if we don’t know where we came from. The Origin Project helps fulfill this need for all its authors and readers. Tales from Southwest Virginians bleed through the ink on the pages of The Origin Project journals. Each story, poem, narrative, song, and/or picture tells a specific story about the heritage of an individual in this area. This area connects us all, and it is highly possible that a native will find many similarities of their own lives with the text of The Origin Project. It is important to find this unity in any area, so that a group of similar-minded people can make decisions to form a better world for our posterity. Also, there is no better way to communicate impactfully on a large scale than literature. In completing this portfolio, I have revisited fond memories and examined the good and bad in my life. It has been an almost therapeutic process. I find that many others will experience this also in reading and writing entries of The Origin Project. The Origin Project is not just a book or a collection of lofty poetry. It is our Appalachian heritage. Our origin. The Origin Project matters for various reasons but I believe the most important ones are identity, unity, and therapy. We should be proud of our heritage, we come from a remarkable place.

Elizabeth Mann, Grade 12

Why it Matters

Reflection is a word commonly used when referring to a mirror or a glass surface. Standing in front of a mirror, we appreciate our own presence or pick apart our flaws, and sometimes both at the same time. We notice certain physical traits about ourselves that we believe define who we are. We are all guilty of describing ourselves as simply short or tall, skinny or fat, blonde hair or red hair. However, we are more than adjectives! The mirror cannot reflect the sound of one’s laugh or loyalty to a friend. We are our past, our future, and the journey to each.

It is crucial to look back at our past and ask questions to understand who we are today. Most questions cannot be answered by glancing in the mirror, but by daring to travel back to our childhood. Why did we sleep with that specific stuffed animal? Why did a certain room seem to have an atmosphere of sadness while another emitted joy? In order to move forward, we must first look back. Our past is a part of each of us, and impacts the way that we approach situations today. The mirror cannot reflect our past; for this is a different type of reflection that we each must practice: self reflection.

Through rediscovering my past and daring to open dusty photo books full of both joyful and tearful memories, I believe I now understand the purpose of The Origin Project. My origin is my nanny’s devotion to music, my sister’s playful smirk, and the two brick houses that have welcomed me at all times. My origin is my “Once upon a time…,” and after all, what is a story without a beginning?

Kailey Kyle, Grade 12

Why it Matters

When I first came into The Origin Project class, I was worried I was not going to be able to share my story in the certain way I wanted to, but it happened to be an amazing journey where I was able to share my story in a way that suited who I am. This class was a combination of people who originated from different parts of the world ranging from El Salvador, the Ivory Coast, Afghanistan, and many more countries around the globe that made this class feel that much more special. The Origin Project has allowed me to become more creative and imaginative in my writing than I ever thought I could, and I now enjoy writing little entries in my Origin Project journal about my day or how I am feeling. We had written many different types of writings, such as writing a transcript for an interview, a college essay, the Stonewall Tale Poem, and many more that were all very fun to write. Over the course of The Origin Project experience, I found my story to share among others. It was a wonderful experience. Without this class, I would never have been able to express myself like I did without the guidance of my teacher and the icons of The Origin Project. 

Joseph Annibell, Grade 12