Sophomore Exhibition 2016

When you were younger, did you have that one special memory that topped all the rest? A memory that taught you something about yourself at such a young age? I did. One of my favorite memories I’ve ever had taught me to never lose hope—and I was just eight years old.

When I was 8 years old, my life revolved round a few things: High School Musical, Bratz dolls, and most importantly, Hannah Montana. She was my idol, my inspiration, and she was everything I wanted to be. She was the face that covered my white walls, the voice in my head (because all I would sing was her songs), and the one person who I could never get enough of. For two years, I spent all my time collecting lunchboxes, CD’s, books, and every other piece of merchandise I could find. I would go to the grocery store on the weekends with 75 cents to buy the new Hannah Montana stickers they released. I used to dream of seeing her in concert, or even meeting her —it was one of my favorite things to think about. My vivid imagination would create the most electric scenarios; from the blurring sounds of her blasting tunes to the very moment she would sign her name on my shirt, it would be those vivid dreams that would soon come true. For months, my parents tried to get tickets to her first show in St. Louis. The tickets made record breaking sales—selling out in minutes, even seconds. There was no luck. The phenomenon of Hannah Montana was so unheard of that no one could comprehend what it was about her that make so many people, even me, latch on so tightly. No one had ever seen anything like it before. I didn’t necessarily show how upset I was—but I was definitely disappointed. I did everything right; I was a VIP member of her fan site “Miley World” (which ended up being the reason I got tickets), I had all the merchandise I could collect. No really, everything you can think of; her lunch box, backpack, magnets—you name it, I probably had it. And yet, the one thing that would top everything would be to see her…to experience what everyone had been talking about for the past year. I remember specifically sitting with my mom waiting at the phone. Her saying “Hannah Montana” over and over to the recorded ticket sales voice. But it would always be a busy line or a “Sorry, all sold out.”  My parents still couldn’t believe how big Hannah Montana was. And after all of this, we still couldn’t get tickets.

But On December 25, 2007, my world turned upside down. It was Christmas, and I spent the day with my parents at my second house. The quiet, homey feel of the living room still flashes through my brain now. The toffee brown carpet and the chocolate brown loveseat I would sit in for hours were just a few things I wouldn’t forget. I opened my presents and so did my parents, but it wasn’t until the very last gift that I felt your first real burst of adrenaline. My dad gave me my first and only Hannah Montana doll. She was instantly my favorite; her sequin blue tank top and tan riding boots are engrained in my mind. But that wasn’t even the exciting part. Before I opened the package, my dad suggested you turn the box around to read the description. I did as you were told, and to my surprise, there stood two pieces of paper that read:





TUE JANUARY 15, 2008 7:00PM

And in that very moment, everything stopped. My body was frozen yet heating by the millisecond. I instantly dropped the box on the couch and ran to my room. I cried hysterically for almost 10 minutes. I couldn’t believe it; all of my silly dreams and thoughts about the day that would make my life complete were all foreshadowing to this very moment. The tears wouldn’t stop, and my vocal cords strained with relief and joy. My hands shook with adrenaline, and it felt unreal. I calmed down after a little while, and returned to my parents’ laughter filling the room after my face was incredibly puffy. That is the first day I would never forget—but wait until I go to the concert.

            The day of the concert was truly unforgettable. I had planned to wear my long sleeve white bedazzled shirt with a teal Hannah Montana tee over it. I was ready. I waited for my dad to pick me up at my house, and together we rode on the Metro Link to the stadium. We got there fairly early because Dad is never late, but I could tell the anxiety of waiting for her to enter was what was driving everyone in the stadium. When I walked into the place where I’d soon experience everything I’d dreamed of, my heart stopped. The intensity of the energy in the room flowed through my veins. That place was filled with anticipation and pure excitement. I felt like I was a part of something so much more than just a group of people—and yet we were all one. Then, slowly, yet all at once, she appeared...and my dreams became a reality.

Going to my first concert taught me not only that parents do so much for their kids, but it also told me to never lose hope and if you really do work hard enough, you can get what you want in the end. For a split second, I thought I’d never get to see my idol. I didn’t necessarily show how upset I was, but nevertheless I was disappointed. Seeing those tickets, seeing the concert, seeing her, really was worth everything we all went through. I want to thank my parents for trying so hard to make my dreams come true, and teaching me a lesson indirectly. Their persistence to get those concert tickets was incredible. I can only imagine how insanely difficult they were to get. I didn’t realize it at the time, but I wouldn’t have gone anywhere without their hard work. So, again, hard work, dedication, and hope are three things that I hope to never lose. Today I try not to lose hope and stay focused on my school work—I had been struggling with my chemistry class all year, not earning the grades I wanted to.  Just recently, I’ve been getting A’s in that class. I’ve worked so hard to achieve a B, and I got an A instead. I can only hope to work harder and keep up everything I’ve been doing. But most importantly, I never want to lose hope in my next dream—whatever that may be.

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