This year, students responded to the prompt below. Some wrote an as-told-to account in the voice of the person they interviewed. Others wrote it from their own perspective.
"Choose someone you love, respect, or are just interested in learning more about, and ask him or her to tell you a story. Specifically, your question for them is this: Tell me about a moment when a place made a big impression on you, when it did something to shape the person you are today."
By Samira Jackson
“Jail.” That was the answer my mother gave me when I asked her, “Has there ever been a place that made a strong impression on you or has shaped who you are today?” On October 13, 1998, when my mother was 33 years old, she was arrested for distribution of drugs. During this time, my mother had just moved to Harford County and was unfamiliar with her surroundings, which became a problem because she was unable to find a job and couldn’t buy food for her children. With the increase in stress and decrease in finances, my mother started to sell drugs to provide for my four older siblings. The day my mother was arrested, she was going to commit suicide, because she was addicted to drugs and could not stop no matter how hard she tried. Just before she was about to jump in front of an “18 wheeler”, an officer stopped her and asked “What’s wrong, Miss? Please tell me what’s wrong?” She begged and pleaded for help and in the process admitted to selling drugs. The officer decided to help my mother by listening to her and having her arrested. Before he arrested her, he destroyed all the drugs she had on her and spoke to a judge to help her get a reduced sentence.
While in jail, my mother fell deeper into her faith and prayed to Allah for help and forgiveness. After learning about recovery programs, she constantly went to NA (Narcotics Anonymous) meetings and learned different methods that would help her stay clean. In July of 1999, my mother was released from prison and sent to a recovery house to further and strengthen her recovery. The next question I asked her was, “How did jail affect your parenting skills?” Her response to me was, “I was able to be fully conscious while raising my children, which allowed me to make the best decisions for you all.” During the birth of her sixth child (me), she was sober and clean the entire pregnancy, unlike with my other siblings. I am the first child she has raised from birth and up, drug-free. During my childhood, even with the stress of raising five children, she never wanted to use again and surrounded herself with sponsors and sponsees. While listening to her story, I could hear the despair in her voice, and I understood the loneliness and helplessness she felt. Her story reminded me of a time when I felt just as alone as she did and could relate.
During my freshman year of high school (2015), I was learning to adjust to new shifts in my life, including school. My father had been arrested, my brother had left for college, I was getting low grades, and I was unsure of who I was as a person. I had been experiencing depression for the first time, and I didn’t know how to handle it or who to talk to about it, which led to a lot of poor choices. After noticing my behavior, my mother decided to get me a therapist for the fourth time. In September of that year, I began cutting myself on the wrist, but I switched to my thigh in order to hide it better. I would lay in bed almost every night and cry myself to sleep, or I would ball up during my showers and just cry for hours. Eventually, thoughts of suicide began to arise and I became afraid of myself. On November 18, 2015, I expressed my fears with my then therapist, Ms. Glover, and under the belief that I was a danger to myself, that night she had me admitted to the Child and Adolescent Psychiatric Inpatient Unit at Johns Hopkins Hospital.
When I first got there, I remember feeling embarrassed and afraid of judgement, so I was slightly isolated. After the second day, I began to loosen up and participate more in the recovery groups. While being there I learned of multiple ways to help me cope with the harsh realities of life, and I learned how to be myself again. On November 26, 2015, Thanksgiving morning, I was released into the care of my mom, and I spent the next two nights with my family and friends.
The real test came when I had to go back to school and get back into the daily routine of City. It was challenging to get back into the groove of things, and I never fully caught on until my junior year. But I did develop and mature as a person. As I reinserted myself back into my friend groups, I noticed that the main girls I hung out with were immature and toxic, which led to me distancing myself. Life had gotten better, and I was finally able to think clearly for once. Being in the hospital allowed me to see what went wrong and how to fix it. It also helped me evaluate who I was as a person and what type of person I wanted to be. While being in the hospital did not cure my depression, it was the stepping stone I needed to further evolve into the person I am now. If I hadn't gone into that hospital, I believe I would have transferred from City or killed myself.
While conducting this interview and reflecting on my own past experiences, I realized that my mand I have more in common than I thought. Even though our stories are not 100 percent alike, we both faced barriers that forced us to hit rock bottom. But with help from others, we were able to persevere and grow. If that officer had not helped my mom get clean, she might not have been here to help me through my dark times and might not have even created me. We often look at each other as if we could never walk a mile in each other’s shoes. But in all actuality we have already done it.
"Choose someone you love, respect, or are just interested in learning more about, and ask him or her to tell you a story. Specifically, your question for them is this: Tell me about a moment when a place made a big impression on you, when it did something to shape the person you are today."
By Samira Jackson
“Jail.” That was the answer my mother gave me when I asked her, “Has there ever been a place that made a strong impression on you or has shaped who you are today?” On October 13, 1998, when my mother was 33 years old, she was arrested for distribution of drugs. During this time, my mother had just moved to Harford County and was unfamiliar with her surroundings, which became a problem because she was unable to find a job and couldn’t buy food for her children. With the increase in stress and decrease in finances, my mother started to sell drugs to provide for my four older siblings. The day my mother was arrested, she was going to commit suicide, because she was addicted to drugs and could not stop no matter how hard she tried. Just before she was about to jump in front of an “18 wheeler”, an officer stopped her and asked “What’s wrong, Miss? Please tell me what’s wrong?” She begged and pleaded for help and in the process admitted to selling drugs. The officer decided to help my mother by listening to her and having her arrested. Before he arrested her, he destroyed all the drugs she had on her and spoke to a judge to help her get a reduced sentence.
While in jail, my mother fell deeper into her faith and prayed to Allah for help and forgiveness. After learning about recovery programs, she constantly went to NA (Narcotics Anonymous) meetings and learned different methods that would help her stay clean. In July of 1999, my mother was released from prison and sent to a recovery house to further and strengthen her recovery. The next question I asked her was, “How did jail affect your parenting skills?” Her response to me was, “I was able to be fully conscious while raising my children, which allowed me to make the best decisions for you all.” During the birth of her sixth child (me), she was sober and clean the entire pregnancy, unlike with my other siblings. I am the first child she has raised from birth and up, drug-free. During my childhood, even with the stress of raising five children, she never wanted to use again and surrounded herself with sponsors and sponsees. While listening to her story, I could hear the despair in her voice, and I understood the loneliness and helplessness she felt. Her story reminded me of a time when I felt just as alone as she did and could relate.
During my freshman year of high school (2015), I was learning to adjust to new shifts in my life, including school. My father had been arrested, my brother had left for college, I was getting low grades, and I was unsure of who I was as a person. I had been experiencing depression for the first time, and I didn’t know how to handle it or who to talk to about it, which led to a lot of poor choices. After noticing my behavior, my mother decided to get me a therapist for the fourth time. In September of that year, I began cutting myself on the wrist, but I switched to my thigh in order to hide it better. I would lay in bed almost every night and cry myself to sleep, or I would ball up during my showers and just cry for hours. Eventually, thoughts of suicide began to arise and I became afraid of myself. On November 18, 2015, I expressed my fears with my then therapist, Ms. Glover, and under the belief that I was a danger to myself, that night she had me admitted to the Child and Adolescent Psychiatric Inpatient Unit at Johns Hopkins Hospital.
When I first got there, I remember feeling embarrassed and afraid of judgement, so I was slightly isolated. After the second day, I began to loosen up and participate more in the recovery groups. While being there I learned of multiple ways to help me cope with the harsh realities of life, and I learned how to be myself again. On November 26, 2015, Thanksgiving morning, I was released into the care of my mom, and I spent the next two nights with my family and friends.
The real test came when I had to go back to school and get back into the daily routine of City. It was challenging to get back into the groove of things, and I never fully caught on until my junior year. But I did develop and mature as a person. As I reinserted myself back into my friend groups, I noticed that the main girls I hung out with were immature and toxic, which led to me distancing myself. Life had gotten better, and I was finally able to think clearly for once. Being in the hospital allowed me to see what went wrong and how to fix it. It also helped me evaluate who I was as a person and what type of person I wanted to be. While being in the hospital did not cure my depression, it was the stepping stone I needed to further evolve into the person I am now. If I hadn't gone into that hospital, I believe I would have transferred from City or killed myself.
While conducting this interview and reflecting on my own past experiences, I realized that my mand I have more in common than I thought. Even though our stories are not 100 percent alike, we both faced barriers that forced us to hit rock bottom. But with help from others, we were able to persevere and grow. If that officer had not helped my mom get clean, she might not have been here to help me through my dark times and might not have even created me. We often look at each other as if we could never walk a mile in each other’s shoes. But in all actuality we have already done it.
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