Are People Good at Heart?

So today I was cleaning out a bunch of my old school stuff and came across some old papers I wrote. This one discusses whether people are inherently good or evil. I wrote this on May 27th, 2003. I was eleven years old. I'm copying this verbatim, so please don't judge me on my horrible spelling and appalling misuse of "weather." I was only eleven!

Good at Heart

I think that it depends weather people are good at heart or not. I believe that most people are, but a rare few truley do not have any goodness in them whatsoever. All bullies or mean cranky people have at least a little goodness in them. Weather the goodness someone has is a softness for something like animals or small children or a heart full of pure kindness doesn't matter as long as they have some goodness in them. The rare few that have no kindness are speacial. Speacial in a bad way, though it is not all their fault. Everybody in their lives has added a small bit of evil. For example the little old lady at the supermarket may make them angry which builds on their anger and meaness. We can not help but to feel sorry for them because no one is born bad. The worst person on Earth has the tinyest good inside. That makes us feel better but thinking about it the nicest person on Earth has the tinyest bit of evil. Nobody is pure and good but some are close to it. What is inside of your heart is affected by everyone you meet which is something you really can not help.

Also, here's a doodle I drew on the assignment:

So I wasn't the best writer eight years ago. I wasn't the best artist either, but that one's a bit trickier. If Picasso drew that same platypus-thing it would be worth millions. But I'm no Picasso. Anyways, what do you think? Little me, if you can look past the grammatical war-zone, made some good points. I know what I think about this topic now, but I want to hear from you. Are people good at heart? I'd love to hear your opinions!

One Gloomy Day

It was gloomy outside. The kind of gloomy that makes you want to sleep all day in order to avoid the gloom. Miserable. It was also Christmas Day. Something about that fact combined with the gloom just seems so ironically perfect in retrospect. But maybe that’s just me.

Christmas is something I’m contractually and morally obligated to slice right down the middle. Mother on one side, Father on the other. I’ve never been too particularly fond of this arrangement but we all have to take our lumps.

Anyways, I was bundled up, bearing horribly wrapped, half-assed gifts (which wasn’t really my fault. Dads are impossible to buy for) and stuffed into a way-too-small and way-too-hot car on the way to Christmas: Part 2, Father Edition. And then it happened.

Well, it didn’t really happen just like that. Slightly more process was involved. Really, the whole thing seemed to stretch out several minutes when, realistically, it probably took a whole three seconds to hit that car. We had a green invitation ahead and failed to notice the idiot who was in the process of flagrantly disregarding traditional traffic rules. I say we like I had a part in smashing into that car too. But really, I wasn’t driving. The most I could do was sit there. Helpless. And watch.

I knew that we were going to crash. I knew it before anyone even noticed the other car running the red light. I knew it before I looked up from my book. Before I felt the brakes grind against the ground.

People say that right before a crash, your life flashes before your eyes.

Mine didn’t.

Here’s what did go through my mind:

Something’s wrong. Various distances and speeds considered, we will crash. We’re going to crash. He’s not swerving. Doesn’t he see what’s happening? The brakes aren’t working. We will hit that car. We will hit that car fast. Straight and fast. I might die. This isn’t happening. Was that a gun? What happened to my ears? I can’t feel my face. I’m bleeding…

I never panicked. I didn’t freak out, scream, cry, pray or cuss. I just watched. I didn’t think about who I would miss or who would miss me if I died. I didn’t spit out some splendid, well-crafted words of wisdom to be remembered by. I didn’t do anything. My life didn’t flash before my eyes.

But what if it had? Would it even have been worth watching?

I hope that it would have been. That whatever happens in my life, whatever I do, I hope it’s meaningful enough to remember before I die. But I’ll never know. I don't remember a whole lot of the immediate aftermath of the accident but I’ll never forget not knowing.

People say that right before a crash, your life flashes before your eyes.

They were wrong.