Ronan
Stone
Ms.
Asuncion
English
9 Honors, Block 1
12
October 2016
February 22, 2011
If you’d asked
nine-year-old me what he wanted to be when he grew up, he’d probably say
a-l-o-t, of stuff. First, he would probably say that he wanted to be Batman.
Later he’d probably change his mind, over and over and over. Then he’d wind
back up as Batman. Yes, I wanted to be Batman when I was nine. Who didn’t?
In 2007, my family
decided to leave the US and move to New Zealand. For those of you who don’t
know where that is for some reason, it’s about 100 miles south of that that
thinks-its-so-cool-but-it-ain’t-really continent known to some as Koala Land,
and to the rest as Australia.
If you ask my parents why
they decided to move to land-down-under-the-land-down-under, they would say
that it was to raise their children. The public schools in New Zealand perfect
if you have little kids.
When we moved, I was more
excited at that point than I had been in my entire life. It was a unique
experience. So, it’s no surprise that when I stepped off that plane at
Christchurch Airport, I was consumed by a true sense of adventure.
Over the next few months,
while my parents got all the important stuff in order, my two brothers and I
acclimatized to our new home. We were later enrolled in a Catholic Primary
School. For all y’all Yankees, primary school is elementary school. Then there
is intermediate school, which is the British Commonwealth equivalent to middle
school, and high school is high school.
Anyhow, this school were
enrolled in was called Christ the King. Some of my fondest memories are from my
time there. It was attached to a small Catholic church, run by two of the
kindest and best men I have ever known; Father John and Monsignor Bill.
Father John was a tall, nice man, who was
going a little bald at the crown. He taught our RE or Religious Education
classes sometime. He also was incredibly kind.
When we first came to his
parish, he went over to our house in Ilam, and gave us a New Zealand delicacy
called whitebait, which is a small, white fish that tastes amazing.
Monsignor Bill was a small elderly,
white-haired man with wire glasses. He had taken in an old grey cat, who we
called Smokey Joe. Smokey Joe would wander around the school grounds, causing
excited gasps from all the children.
Monsignor Bill would also
feed a troop of ducks which sometimes came near the school. It was just another
sign of his extraordinary kindness.
We spent roughly three years at Christ the
King. Those could, quite possibly have been the three best years of my life.
Then we had to relocate to the inner city, since my brother Duncan had
graduated from Christ the King, and was now attending high school down there.
We remained regular attendees of the church.
My new school was called
Elmwood. It was a fun place. It was more like an American school, in the sense
that it has not particular religion tied to it. However, I liked it almost as
much as I liked Christ the King. In addition, Elmwood’s uniform much nicer and
far more comfortable.
While at Elmwood I made to good friends.
One was named Hugh Charles, and the other James. I can’t remember James’ last
name, except that it started with a G and an H. You see, there was another kid
in my class who funnily enough was named James G. So we had to call James (my
friend) James GH.
Elmwood was a convenient
spot for me, as it was right next door to Heaton Intermediate, which my brother
Alaric attended. We’d walk home from school together.
It was at this time that we experienced
our first earthquake. It was in September 2010, when it happened, and
thankfully it happened at night. No one was hurt. For the next few months, we
experienced some aftershocks, but nothing serious.
In late January 2011, my
teacher, whom we all called by her first name, which was Caro, since Kiwis are,
as they say, super chill, announced that we would be visiting Rutherford’s Den,
a reconstruction of Ernest Rutherford’s lab. Since so many people were going,
our class would be the last to go. We’d arrive there at around 1:00 PM.
I wasn’t to terribly
thrilled, but hey, it was a field trip! It was set for February 22nd,
and life went on as normal, I even signed up for the soccer team. You see, at
that time I was a good defender/golly in soccer. Now I’m equivalent to a lame
duck.
Anyway, on Feb. 22, 2011,
we went out from our classroom and waited at the bus stop. We waited, and
waited, and would’ve waited some more if the bus hadn’t finally showed up; ten
minutes late, of course.
When we finally jumped on the bus and
drove. At around 12:40, it happened. We passing through a heavily potholed
area, and the earth started to shake. Just some potholes I thought. Well, I was
mistaken because seconds later I was sent hurling from my seat and into the
window. Wouldn’t you just know it, an earthquake not six months after the last
one.
And it was serious.
Honestly, I take it as a miracle that we actually got out of their alive. It
was like I’d been stuck in a massive clothes dryer on high speed. Then the
bricks started to fall on the bus.
Honestly, and I’m not ashamed to say, I
think I pretty much screamed my head off at that point. But we all reached
Elmwood safely; and I was taken home by my dad. Turns out, that was a huge
disaster. Over a hundred people died, and much of the inner city, where I
lived, was in ruins.
Luckily, for us, our
house was a relatively new building, ‘earthquake proof’. That earthquake
proofieness (?) didn’t stop about 90% of my family’s belongings ending up
strewn all over the place. But we were lucky. Most of the nice, brick houses on
our block were totaled. I saw people literally look in disbelief at the
wreckage of their home, which they had seen intact not six hours before.
We had no power, toilet
capacity, or really anything for almost a month. Some really gross things
happened over that period of time, and I’m only going to say that we had to buy
ALOT of garbage bags over that month.
It was at that time that
my mom and dad decided to leave New Zealand. It just wasn’t the same place
anymore. You see, after the earthquake in Christchurch, we realized what would
happen. The whole of New Zealand was just one big mess waiting to happen. My
adopted country was in the ring of fire, which means that there were seismic
faults everywhere. So, almost five years since we came, we left New Zealand for
America. I had to say goodbye to everyone I had known in the formative years of
my childhood.
The US is different from
New Zealand. The academics are more rigorous, and attitude is different. Not
that I don’t like it, it just is a little odd, or was at least for me upon my
return. There were these things called smarthphones, and tablets…
Anyway, when I look back on my short time
in New Zealand, I have to say that apart from its sudden end, I enjoyed those
years down there. I am almost fully in the American mindset now, five years
since my departure, but I have a confession to make. I still cheer for New
Zealand in the Olympics and every other international sporting completion. However,
my most heinous crime is that I firmly believe that American Football is almost
infantile in its roughness, when compared to some good, old fashioned, New
Zealand Rugby.
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