Beaver Diary

Student tales from Beaver Country Day.

In Dr. Fash's View Within class, students (in pairs or solo) write "Beaver Diary" entries, short scenes that express the heart and soul of Beaver and that are inspired by the "Metropolitan Diary" column in The New York Times. The activity allows students to employ the skills they've developed in writing creative nonfiction, including fashioning engrossing scenes (often with dialogue), using action to express character, and thinking about openings and endings. These are just a few examples of the many wonderful pieces from the winter term class. Happy reading!

The Great Cookie Mishap 

Dear Diary:

I knew today would be a good day when I walked into the cafeteria and saw a plate of warm chocolate chip cookies waiting at the back of the room. Nothing makes a morning better than a surprise dessert, especially one with just the right amount of gooeyness.

But as I reached for one, disaster struck. My backpack—overstuffed with what I swear were necessary school supplies—swung forward, knocking the entire plate onto the floor. A collective gasp rippled through the room. Time stood still. Once full of promise, the cookies now lay tragically scattered across the wooden floor.

“Man down,” someone whispered.

A teacher walked by, surveyed the scene, and said, “That’s rough.”

I nodded solemnly. It was rough. But at Beaver, you learn to adapt.

I grabbed an extra napkin, scooped up the fallen soldiers, and, with the dignity of someone who had just lost a great battle, carried them to the trash. Before I could wallow too much in my loss, a friend slid a fresh cookie in front of me. “For your sacrifice,” they said.

And just like that, the cookie saved my day.

The C Level Ramp

Dear Diary:

I’m coming back from lunch and heading to my history class. I walk down the long C-level ramp that connects the old building to the new one. I make my way toward the admissions office, trying to avoid eye contact with anyone through the glass doors, which always feels a bit daunting.

This time, the eye contact feels less threatening and more surprising. I see my family-friends in the admissions office silently mouthing “Hiiiiii” from behind the glass, accompanied by a wave.

The mom acknowledges me with a friendly wave through the glass. An admissions person notices me and appears to zone out, giving me a brief glance. With the same look, the dad sees me and directs a disapproving gaze my way.

But the kid looks happy, giving me a cheerful smile through the glass. To be there and see someone he knows.

I walk away, telling my friends who I just saw through the glass doors.

-Colin Meagher

A Strange Quiet 

Dear diary:

My friend and I walked down to the student lounge. The school always feels unsettlingly quiet after hours–I could hear the grave hums of the vending machine that illuminated the dimly lit room. My friend pressed the buttons on the machine, the sound of her apple pay ringing through my ears. She chose Vitamin Water–a Beaver staple. Another Beaver staple, though, is its noise. The school doesn’t feel quite right without it. Something that we take for granted during the day, something that even becomes annoying's absence is missed. The yells and stomps of the middle schoolers running to recess. The excited chatter of friends greeting each other every morning. The click-clacks against the yellow, wood floors from the teachers strutting down the hallways. 

“It’s so… quiet,” I said softly, feeling like if I spoke any louder the entire school could come crashing down. The sound of my voice echoed through the empty room. Something as quiet as a whisper seemed practically booming without any other voices to muffle it. 

“I know,” she said. “I like it.”

And so we sat. We sat in silence, a silence that one cannot normally find within the school's walls. It is the one thing that our school lacks, and one of the things that I love about it. The familiar-sometimes-headache-inducing-yet-comforting perfection that we just can’t seem to shake. It wouldn’t be Beaver without it.

-Emme Cohen

Room 120

Dear Diary, 

As I am sitting, trying to think about how Beaver Spirit can be condensed into 300 words, a voice calls out to me saying, 

“We’re in that room over there, come join us.”

 I’ve been at Beaver for over 5 years now, and I have never known that this room –of which I walk past everyday– has been here. I walk in the room and nothing is too out of the ordinary. A kid has basketball highlights on the screen, and others are working, focused on their final tweaks to their projects or essays. Orange chairs line the perimeter of the room, and bits and pieces of conversation with typing fly around in the air. 

 I guess this could be considered out of the ordinary for any other school. 

 At Beaver, this comfortability and independence to know yourself and the work environments you do well in, alongside the people around you who may not be afraid to show kindness and community, is the most normal thing you will find. 

Parking

Dear Diary, 

My GPS said I would arrive at Beaver at 7:55, which meant there would be few to no parking spaces left. Parking at Beaver became a game to me; it was always a gamble whether I would find a parking spot — If I didn’t, I would have to park on Woodland and walk the dreaded extra feet in the frigid cold. Not finding a spot would also mean I would be late. And it was a Thursday, which meant Mr. Robinson would be at the front, making people check-in (and unfortunately Mr. Robinson takes timeliness very seriously, so there’s no getting by him). 

I got to the parking lot, and luckily there were two open spots next to each other, so I pulled into one and turned off my car. I didn’t check my parking job, because I wanted to get to class on time, and a senior, wanting to park in the spot next to me, rolled down her window and said, “Can you adjust your parking because your car is over the line and I can’t fit.” I looked at my parking job, and it was the most humbling experience of my life — I had managed to park my car so it was sitting diagonally across both parking spaces (what was worse is I was going to leave it like that). 

I am a notoriously bad parker, but this was my worst. 

I got back in my car and tried, unsuccessfully, to back out and readjust my car to make it fit in my space. It was 7:59 at this point, and I had tried to adjust my car 6 different times, so the senior rolled down her window and talked me through how to back out straight and pull into my spot. I finally did it, and we both got out of our cars, and I thanked her for helping me. It was a mortifying experience, and I felt awful that I made us both late for class. 

On this day I learned 2 things: Leave earlier to guarantee a spot, and the Beaver community will always help you out.

-Willa Gaebler 

Just Practice

Dear diary:

Today felt like a big achievement. The SAT is known as the start of a student’s journey to college and beyond, and even though today I just took the practice test, I can see the road ahead. 

I arrived at school early after waking up from a long sleep and eating a filling breakfast. The Green Gym was incredibly busy yet quiet. The only sounds heard were nervous murmurs. I grabbed my log-in sheet and took a seat at my table. I set it up as I observed all the others had, my computer and calculator on the desk and everything else underneath. 

I took a deep breath and whispered to myself, “This is just practice, your best is good enough.” I had been making sure to plant this idea in my head over the past week. As I opened the testing screen I glanced at the clock and saw that 32 minutes went to 31:59. At that moment much of what I had went out the window. It was not quite a survival state but rather somewhat of an adrenaline rush. With each section I felt more at ease and by the time I answered the final question, I felt completely exhausted but even more so was I proud of myself.

-Alex Jacoby and Kyle Boudreau