My Window to the World

I do not have weekly press conferences and I have never experienced paparazzi. I do not have my own column in a national newspaper and I do not have a forty minute segment on the news. But, I have a window. It is not much, but it is my window.

I remember the first time I wrote on it. It was just a simple, “Hi Dad!” but every time he came home, he saw the message and smiled. One day, a woman stopped me while I was outside and asked me if I had written that; I said yes, and she smiled. She told me that it made her happy when children loved their parents the way I love my Dad. That’s when it dawned on me: the things I wrote on my window were seen by everyone who went by, and my words made a difference. Even if it was just a smile on a stranger’s face, my words had created that smile.

About a month later my neighbor, Tony, was deployed to Iraq. It was strange for me to have someone so close to home leave for the war. I remember wishing there was something I could do to at least let him know he was in our thoughts and prayers. So that is just what I did, I erased the greeting for my Father, and replaced it with a large yellow ribbon. I knew it was not much, but it made me feel better. Even if just one person drove by my house and said a little prayer for the troops, it made a difference.

My window has evolved into my message board for the world. Some days it is just the simple word, “believe,” others it is an awareness ribbon, and still others it is a quote I find intriguing. There is something incredible about knowing that someone is reading my words everyday, and even if they just glance, even if they do not think twice about them--my ideas are out there. It does not matter if storms come and beat on the outside of the window, my words are protected. It does not matter if people disagree with what I have written and roll their eyes, my words are my words, and that is that.

My window has shaped my life, just by simply holding my words with pride. On bad days, I come home and throw my belongings on my floor, but just before I start to feel ungrateful, I see the pink ribbon drawn on my window. Just like that, I am reminded that somebody out there has bigger issues than my own, somebody out there is in the fourth month of their last six, somebody is struggling, and yet, here I am--feeling angry because a boy had ignored me. The window is not only a message board from me to the world, but it is a message board from the world to me. Everyday it reminds me of the events I feel most strongly about. It is a daily reminder of who I am, and what I believe in. I am only seventeen, and I know that I have a lot more learning to do, but I also know that I can make a difference.

I want to be a constitutional attorney so that my voice will continue to be heard. I want to touch peoples’ lives and have my words continue to make a difference. I think my little window on Zinfandel Avenue was a good start, but I have no intentions of letting that be the last the world ever hears from me.





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