Strathcona Tweedsmuir School - Paidia Yearbook (Okotoks, Alberta Canada)

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AN ooE .T0 BIQLOGY 1 O' ' 9 L, SC. . V' 6 ou H93 ' u 67 JG, box , . ' 5 3' 41,7 A , K? 7 15' Q 0 C' CD P ' A' 5, SQ 9 AN ESSAY ON ' TEENAG ERS T , g TEENAGERS - PEoPi.E? 'I-' ' The modern day teenager .. . criminally insane, socially maladjusted, psychologically disturbed, morally unbalanced yes, that's us. But we, the teenagers are used to this. Ever since the beginning of time there has always been a modern day teen- ager. The teenager was mentioned in the Bible way back with Adam and Eve. To the adult we are the problem generation. We are aggressive, dirty, sex perverts, and we corrupt younger people not yet classified as teenagers. Making out, drinking, toking up, and being generally rude and objectionable are all part of our image. Can we help it if we were born in the appropriate year to become eligible for adolescence ? We, the modern day teenagers certainly have not started the sexual revolution. After all, the famous orgies of the Roman era included anybody from twelve to seventy, if they lived that long. lf adults lanybody over nineteeni did not participate in sex we wouldn't be here today. A menace to society? Or is society a menace to us? We are labelled as psychological misfits be- cause our taste in music is slightly different from the grown-ups 5 outcasts because our clothes are not dainty and tailored. We are criminals because our hair is long and our beliefs are modern and new compared to the old fashioned ways of thinking. Criminals they call us! Jack the Ripper, the Boston Strangler and Adolf Hitler all had short hair! Teenagers dangerous? No, we teenagers have an identity of our own - just like you adults. You can't run away from us. No matter how hard you try, we'll always be here. So... Lock up your doors, Turn on the lights, Look out, because. . . A teenager is in sight. Alison Martin, Grade 10A Qt Qi X103 W hi S- QW QJ N G 3 BN A iv fi' me D- f0 Sxrb N' mio S C7 If YK . A 'Z I: -4 I5 e , if .1- 2 O P ci .5 ,9 Q 03,9 assi -LS OLD

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He makes fools We love someone, PROTEST I PROTEST he said and then sat and never did anything else for the rest of his fat, contented life. Nic Seaton, Grade 12 LIFE Someone dies. Someone cries, But life goes on. Sadness, joys, Newfound toys, Regardless, life goes on. We sing in tune, We sing too flat, She's too thin, Or he's too fat, Eternal, life goes on. We lose old friends, We gain some more, We fail a test, But we pass four, Life still goes on. Sometimes happy, Sometimes sad, ln comes a new moral, Out goes an old fad, Non-ending, life goes on. We hate another, Our mother's nuts But so's our brother, Descending, life goes on. lt's here, it's there, It's everywhere, A child, a bear, Mon pere, ma mere, Prevailing, life goes on. A neverending process, How? I do not know. To-day I see another born, And then another goes, Enduring, life goes on. Molly Lawson, Grade 11 FEAR? Fear is just another word For not knowing what to do. Harvey Locke, Grade 12 THEY Down, down, down, lgo then, in odd moments, up again, bobbing inthe clouds, like a kite in afair wind, smiling at the sun. Then, they take the wind away, unknowingly perhaps - but it's gone, like now, and my heart is shattered over and over as I relive the crash Kelly Kerr, Grade 12 TO HIM He's in every crowd, He degrades another, To make him feel big. Of those indifferent To his loud and brash ways It makes him feel big. He ridicules, the different, Those not fitting his idealsg It makes him feel big. Hne's the one that always stands out First to make the cutting comment This makes him feel big. But, we all know who he is, He's the small one, He never grew up, He never learned, That people have feelings. Kathie Paget, Grade 12 THE SILENT EXTERMINATOR He walked along, stealthily as a snake making no more noise than a glider. Then, downth 9 stairshe . jumped, Nimbly as a mountain lion, bursting through the Pumpkin pink polish On nails Carefully cultivated, door, Shattering life inside And cracking the still night air Like a thunderstorm. Colin Lamb, Grade 10 SIGNS Finely filed to the perfect shape To reveal a realistic reflection of her character. Janice Heard, Grade 12

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LOCKE CREATIVE WRITING CONTEST POETRY THE OLD LADY They say she is one hundred years old . Five feet tall, Bent over, Walks with a limp. The greasy grey hair sticks Out from under the little Black hat Like wire. The eyes are black And lifeless. The lips are dry And always have a half smile Upon them. All but one Of the front teeth Are missing. They play practical jokes On the old lady. But Not today. There is a Deadly Silence. . . They say she was one hundred years old . Doug Johnson, Grade 10 Winner, Poetry Section SHORT STORY FROG'S REVENGE Hidden in the corner of the field was the pond, a green stagnant hollow with thorn bushes on its banks. From time to time an old man moved carefully under the prickly branches. He whispered and whistled coaxingly, Come, come, come now, little dear. Here's a piece of meat for you. And he tossed the scrap into the pond. The old man sighed and shifted position. Then he froze. The green slime on the far side of the pond had parted and a large frog pulled itself from the water. Oh, little dear, breathed the old man so as not to let the frog hear. He then made a low grating sound in his throat. He saw the frog listening. The noise was somewhat like that on another frog. The old man repeated the noise. This time the frog answered and sprang into the pool sending the green slimy weeds slopping and swam hard. The frog crawled out a few feet away from the old man and looked up the bank as if eager to find the frog that it had heard. 1 Mrs. G.L. Locke lleftl chats with contest winners Kelly Kerr lcentrel and Doug Johnson lrightl following Presentation Assembly The old man waited patiently. The frog hopped twice up the bank. Then the old man's hand moved slowly toward the handle of a light net that was at his side. He seized the net and struck, capturing the frog. The frog leaped frantically but was unable to escape. Ah, big beauty! the man said. Pretty handsome fellow, you! He took a long needle from his pooked and killed the frog. Then he put the body in his pocket. It was the last frog in the pond. The old man went across the field to a road on the other side of which stood his cottage. The cottage was small and ugly and very old. Its windows gave little light. The old man lit a lamp, for the sun had set. He put the frog on a plate on the table and he sat down beside the lamp. He took a sharp knife from the drawer of the table and began to carefully skin the frog. When he was finished, he dropped the limp body into a pot of boiling water. Then he crossed the small room and came to a high table with a rather large box set upon it. There was a faint smell of decay.