Abbie Jane Harper Memorial Scholarship
for a Graduating Senior of Maryville High School, Maryville, TN
Abbie's Writings
South Africa Skydiving
By: Abbie Harper
Skydiving was undoubtedly the highlight of my trip. The freefall only lasted two minutes, but it was the biggest adrenaline rush of my life. After climbing into the tiny little plane, wrapping my legs around some stranger and having another stranger wrap his legs around me, Blake (to whom I was attached) leaned forward and slid down the flimsy plastic "door," if you can even call it that, and the plane started moving. We embarked on the 30-minute ride (that's how long it took this plane to get to an altitude of two miles), and at first, I was totally fine. Nice, pleasant ride, beautiful surroundings - I'm happy. But the plane kept getting higher, and pretty soon I couldn't make out anything on the ground. I'd have a flash of "What the hell am I doing?" but then I'd remind myself - "This is a business. These guys do this twenty times a day. If bad things happened, the business wouldn't be in business anymore." As we got higher, my calming thoughts became less rational. "I'm attached to this dude. If I die, so does he." Thinking about it now, I have no idea why that would make me feel better, but for some reason, at the time, it worked wonders for my confidence.
It didn't help that our leaders had these stock phrases they spouted off in response to any question Caroline or I asked. They were clearly trying to be funny, to ease the tension or fear most amateur skydivers felt before jumping, but I just wanted my questions answered. Like when I asked Blake how long he'd been doing this, and he said, "Today's my first day." Then he looked at me with an anticipatory smile, as if I would start freaking out/cracking up at any second. Instead I felt like telling him that I didn’t know what kind of clientele he normally catered to, but I am not an idiot. I would then force an obligatory chuckle and ask my question again. But most of the time, I never got an answer. This didn't make me scared; it just made me annoyed.
In the plane, it was Caroline and her skydiver, Blake and me, and two other guys who were experienced divers that were jumping on their own. When we got to the right altitude, one of the solo divers slid open the plastic door and put two hands on the outside edge of the plane. As he was doing this, the second solo diver who I still had my legs wrapped around started re-tying my Sperries making them almost unbearably tight. He turned around and smiled at me. “You’ll thank me later.” Just then, the first solo diver jumped out. No warning, no saying anything, no preparation. He just jumped.
With him went my stomach. Though the rational side of my brain had a few worries on the ride up, the emotional side of my brain didn’t really engage until I saw that guy jump. Five seconds later, out went the second solo diver. Blake and I were next. I was attached to his front, and he instructed me to start scooting forward. I complied. We were now at the edge of the plane, and my feet were hanging out. “You might have to push me,” I yelled at Blake. “Not a problem,” he yelled back. The feeling at that moment was pure adrenaline-induced excitement. Blake told me to look to my left, lean my head back against him and smile at the camera he was holding in his left hand. I did, and just then, he pushed us out. I screamed like a little girl, but smiled the whole time. It was insanely awesome. Quite possibly the best minute and a half of my life. Every logical thought, every other concern in my mind got left on the plane. Nothing could touch me. I alternated between laughing, screaming, and shouting obscenities, but all were meant to express pure and unadulterated joy. I don't think I’ve smiled that big since I was a little girl.
That utopian minute and a half, however, was followed by an unexpected rush of pain when Blake released the parachute – who knew a piece of cloth could create so much resistance? As we floated downward, the views were incredible. I saw Robben Island, Table Mountain, beach and sand dunes. The beauty of the surrounding landscape didn’t totally block out the pain in my legs, but it did distract me from it. As we got closer to the sandpit that we were going to land in, Blake told me to lift my legs and put them straight out in front of me, which I did, and we floated peacefully into a seated position on the sand. “You should play the lottery today,” Blake said as I was walking away. Another stock phrase I was sure he threw at every customer he had. Pretend to be surprised to have survived, pretend it was luck. It was one more recited line he uttered 20 times a day. But now I had endorphins from the jump rushing through my veins and was simply too elated to care. I chuckled and futilely attempted to tame the embarrassingly huge smile on my face. “Yeah!” I yelled. “I’ll have to stop and buy a ticket on my way home!”
This note is a bit unconventional, considering I can't give it to you in the traditional way. But considering the unwavering devotion you showed God all your life, I believe He will be happy to give you a window from Heaven and let you read this now.
Because you deserve to know just how much you meant to me while you were here. You deserve to know that it wasn't just the picking me up from school on a daily basis, having my favorite snack ready and waiting for me in your car. You deserve to know it wasn't just your catering to my creative side, teaching me it was okay to color outside the lines. You watched over me day after day, night after night, making sure that whatever need of mine that'd been left unmet by others was met the moment I walked through your door.
You supplied me with some of the greatest childhood memories that I have today – like picking flowers from your backyard and creating a mini-bouquet in an old pickle jar for my mom – teaching me that making others happy is the best way to make yourself happy and to give your life meaning. You pushed me in my academic pursuit, sitting by in oversight as I did my homework before being allowed to play outside, watch television, or get out the toy box stowed in your guest room. That push and your belief in me verged the path that has put me where I am today.
If I attempted to list all the little moments we had together that meant more to me than I ever took the time to tell you, I'd be here forever. Moments like the car rides where I'd belt out Toy Story songs as you smiled at my out-of-tune version of “You've Got a Friend in Me.” Moments like me asking you about your past, and you telling me about your childhood in New Jersey, how you wanted to marry Lester but you couldn't because his Italian Catholic parents wouldn't approve of you and your Protestant faith. Those rare moments where you revealed your vulnerability, where I learned that you weren't perfect and fearless like I'd always pictured you to be. Those moments where I learned you were human, just like me.
All these moments were not only irreplaceable in my life, they were the moments that made me who I am today. But despite all that, these things I've mentioned are not what I am most thankful to you for.
What I am most thankful to you for is what you never told me. I'm most thankful for the things I never knew about you until it was too late to talk to you about them.
As my family and I rummaged through your things after your unexpected death last month, we expected to find some secrets. Everyone has them, and when death comes unexpectedly, it's inevitable we'll leave some things behind we don't necessarily want other people discovering. Things that have the potential to taint the reputation we spent our lives building. But every secret we uncovered about you just made me love and respect you more.
Thank You, Aunt Dot
By: Abbie Harper
What I discovered about you did not taint your reputation; it enhanced it. What I learned is that every person in this world could learn something from you. Like your absolute and utter selflessness, for one. Living on the retirement money from a factory job at Bayer Aspirin, a very meager salary and even lesser retirement compensation, you managed to have no debt and to have savings “just in case” something happened to you that your medical insurance didn't cover. You didn't want to inconvenience anyone, even after you were gone. Not to mention the fact that you put away a few dollars every month in envelopes for each of your nieces, and by the time you were gone, those envelopes each had over $10,000 in them. Money that is going to remove a huge burden from multiple family members in paying for their children's college educations.
We found that you unquestioningly tithed ten percent of your retirement income, regardless of your circumstances or of other commitments that arose, once again attesting to your unshakable faith and selflessness. You bought cans of food every month to donate to the Food Pantry, making these donations regularly rather than just when you happened to be cleaning out your cabinets.
And Dot, I wish you would've told me you were dyslexic. Gram told me you were insecure about it, but if I'd known, I only would've respected you more. For you to struggle with that obstacle during an era when it wasn't even recognized as a diagnosable condition must have been beyond taxing. For me, it would have been insurmountable. But not for you. You read your Bible all the way through. You persevered and pushed yourself without the aid of modern medication. Not only that, you provided for yourself all your life, never asking for special treatment, never relying on anyone but yourself and your Creator.
So Dot, thank you for showing that with God, anything is possible. Thank you for showing me that you don't need a husband to have a deeply meaningful life. Thank you for showing me that despite any handicap you may have, you can overcome it and defeat it and not let it define you. Thank you for showing me that love makes life worth living, but that you don't need a spouse or your own biological children to love and be loved deeply.
Thank you for showing me that now matter how little or how much you have, giving back is non-optional. Thank you for showing me how to live, how to love, and how to thrive. You're my example and my inspiration, and you will forever be. My greatest desire in life is to love someone the way you loved me, to change a life, the way you changed mine. I love you, Dot, and I always will.
Diversity by Abbie Harper
When people think diversity, they often go straight to race. But as I'm sure you'll agree, one's background involves much more than skin color. Full disclosure, I'm a middle-class white female, and from looking at me, it's unlikely anyone would list “diverse” as one of my attributes. But also in the interest of full disclosure, you won't find another person who's experienced what I've experienced. You won't find anyone else with my mindset.
I grew up in a small conservative town in East Tennessee, but I didn't realize how conservative it actually was until I moved to Oxford, Ohio in 2008. Thrown into an environment where I was surrounded by wide-eyed, liberal idealists, I was forced to confront the foundations underlying my opinions and beliefs. My shaky political stance was probed, my morals were questioned, and even my faith was scrutinized.
My roots were undoubtedly planted in Southern culture, but I didn't truly begin to grow until I reached Miami – a campus overflowing with students and faculty from all over America, and many who'd grown up abroad. They had political ideologies spanning from extreme right to extreme left, religious beliefs ranging from devout Catholic to unshakable Atheist. My Southern homogeneous upbringing had given way to a growth nurtured by a wide variety of individuals with a wide variety of tenets, none of whom seemed at all hesitant to question mine.
I'd been challenged, and it was tough, but I didn't want to stop growing there. Two summers ago, I spent a month in Costa Rica with a group of Miami students in pursuit of knowledge pertaining to the country's multitude of tropical ecosystems. But what I came out with was a fresh perspective; I'd had an infinitesimal dose of third-world poverty, and I'd seen what so much of the world suffers with on a daily basis.
Southern roots, a northern stalk, and now, third world branches.
I've been extremely fortunate in my experiences, but the greatest one, without measure, was the summer I spent in Washington, D.C. I was introduced to all types of people, but the one thing I noticed about virtually every D.C. inhabitant I came into contact with was their unrelenting sense of purpose. They all seemed to have a specific goal in mind, and regardless of what the particular purpose was, each person seemed as if they would do whatever they had to in order to achieve it. As a side note, this D.C. environment is one of the greatest reasons I am so passionate about Georgetown.
From all of this, I hope you simply take that my skin color, gender, and parents' income do not at all represent the diversity I would bring to Georgetown. Those factors don't do justice to my life experiences, only a few of which I've brought to light here. I'm a Southern girl with a Southern Baptist faith and all the standards that go along with it, but I've branched out to take on new perspectives and new beliefs. Don't get me wrong, I will never abandon the “Yes ma'ams” and the “Yes sirs.” I will always wait until everyone has his food before I take my first bite and I will never put my elbows on the table. But I've seen so much that I couldn't have seen had I stayed in my little town of Maryville, or even in my home state of Tennessee. I now understand how to succeed in a diverse environment, and how to learn and grow from encountering perspectives that are completely different from my own. Further, I have complete conviction that my own unique creed will actually enhance the diverse environment at Georgetown.
I'm an open-minded, religious Southerner who is proud of where she came from but excited to expand her experiences. I will bring to Georgetown an understanding of the “conservative nuts” that are so often discredited and disgraced by the media and popular culture, and I will stand up for those conservatives so often depicted as ignorant and ill-informed. So many people today equate religion with naivety, but I defy that assumption, and I hope to put that defiance on display at Georgetown Law.
Excerpt from the novel Abbie was writing about her law experience at the University of Chicago:
At the end of all of it, you realize, maybe your professor wasn’t such a jerk. Maybe, just maybe, you were wrong, and the man’s life ambition wasn’t to shame and degrade his students. Don’t get me wrong, the sympathy and the mercy are definitely lacking. But you start to understand that there’s a reason for that. Through the ridicule, you learn to unabashedly defend whatever view you’re forced to adopt and to defend it vehemently; you learn to scrounge through the mess of facts and legal rules and find the ones that can make your case, and you do it under the scrutinizing eye of 100 of your future colleagues. And then, just when you think you’ve built up this unconquerable argument, you’re sent to the other side, and told to conquer it.
You learn to sort through the different ways the professor will be able to make your statement seem absurd; you take on his role in your mind, and your arguments get better, stronger, less vulnerable to attack. And then, one day, you find yourself closing the gaps and sealing the cracks before you even open your mouth.
