A Princess Story No One Tells

A Princess Story No One Tells

"Princess?" the king whispered.


There once was a beautiful young princess with golden yellow hair like the sun. She had a shining smile that she loved flashing at everyone she met. However, her eyes are what held her truest beauty. Forever changing color, sometimes green as Everglades, sometimes blue as the ocean. She willed them to never turn brown though. Never brown.

This princess' eyes saw beauty in everything. In the green of nature, in the pouring rain, in the endless blue sky. Even in the whispering wind that blew on a dreary day. Although she usually saw the good in things, she also saw the bad. She knew what temptation looked like and how to avoid it. She was just starting to learn what true sorrow was, and was looking for a way out of it. The young princess saw nothing in brown eyes though. She pitied everyone who had brown eyes, like spoiling bananas, and thanked the heavens every day for the eyes she had been blessed with.

Although this princess was smart, she was also naive. At times she thought she had everything. Hundreds of gowns filled her closet, and jewels hanging from window panes and mirror corners; from everywhere. Servants catered to her every wish. However, there was one thing she knew she was missing and that was her father.

He had left the castle long ago, done with the pressures of being king. He had tried to keep the kingdom from spoiling, but in the end, he failed. No one knew where he had run off to, just that he had never returned. The princess began feeling quite mournful, but her shining smile never left her face as she attempted to follow in her missing father's footsteps of keeping the kingdom happy and bright, willing her people to resist the dark aura of grief the king unknowingly left behind. Still, she couldn't deny the urge to look out her window day after day, hoping her father would return.

* * *

Deep in the forest behind the castle, there was a rotten, moldy hut. The walls were covered in green moss that squished when you touched it. All the windows were cracked and the smell coming from inside was putrid.

Living here was an old man with a bald head and a scruffy beard. He sat in the shadows day after day, wasting away and miserable. He hated his life now and despised the sad lonely man he had become.

You see, this old man used to be a king. He was a great and noble king that many looked to in times of need. However, he had become tired of the duties and responsibilities required of his title. The king could not stand the noisy pressures of trying to keep his kingdom content and glistening. He decided to run to the forest where it was quiet and peaceful.

Quickly though, the stillness became mocking and he found himself so lonely that he was reduced to chatting with the mice. The king couldn't stand this stingy hut and longed for his bed and regal cloaks. But most of all he missed his princess. He missed the tangles that would gather in her hair after horseback riding and the smile that she would give after a joke was made.

Most of all he missed her eyes and the way they lit up when she was happy. Her eyes were so bright and full of life, always able to see the good in things. So different from his own plain, dark, brown eyes. Oh, how he missed her. But he couldn't go back. No, he wouldn't go back. The king was too full of pride.

* * *

One morning many years later while sitting under a drooping tree near his hut, the elderly king saw a young boy and a beautiful little girl that reminded him of his princess. His brown eyes grew even heavier with sadness as he watched the pair run around laughing. His wretched soul could handle no more and he stood with a start, running towards the castle.

As he was edging closer to the garden he saw a radiant young woman picking flowers. She had magnificent golden hair and a shining smile. He emerged from the forest, never taking his eyes off of her. When she saw him, the smile on her face disappeared and she dropped her flowers. Yet she did not run away.

As the old king approached the princess, he stared deep into her eyes. Sure enough, they were green as Everglades and blue as the ocean. However, it looked like the life had been drained out of them.

"Princess?" the king whispered.

The princess jumped into his arms with tears dripping from her eyes. They only broke the embrace to look at one another. The king noticed the life had come back into her eyes, making them bright again. And she saw the king's brown eyes twinkle like they never had before. The princess would never love the color of her father's eyes more, for at that moment she realized without the brown, she would never be able to truly appreciate the blue and green of her own eyes.

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The Coach That Killed My Passion

An open letter to the coach that made me hate a sport I once loved.

I fell in love with the game in second grade.

I lived for every practice and every game. I lived for the countless hours in the gym or my driveway perfecting every shot, every pass, and every move I could think of. Every night after dinner, I would go shoot and would not allow myself to go inside until I hit a hundred shots. I had a desire to play, to get better and to be the best basketball player I could possibly be.

I had many coaches between church leagues, rec leagues, personal coaches, basketball camps, middle school, and high school. Most of the coaches I had the opportunity to play for had a passion for the game like I did. They inspired me to never stop working. They would tell me I had a natural ability. I took pride in knowing that I worked hard and I took pride in the compliments that I got from my coaches and other parents. I always looked forward to the drills and, believe it or not, I even looked forward to the running. These coaches had a desire to teach, and I had a desire to learn through every good and bad thing that happened during many seasons. Thank you to the coaches that coached and supported me through the years.

SEE ALSO: My Regrets From My Time As A College Softball Player

Along with the good coaches, are a few bad coaches. These are the coaches that focused on favorites instead of the good of the entire team. I had coaches that no matter how hard I worked, it would never be good enough for them. I had coaches that would take insults too far on the court and in the classroom.

I had coaches that killed my passion and love for the game of basketball.

When a passion dies, it is quite possibly the most heartbreaking thing ever. A desire you once had to play every second of the day is gone, it turns into dreading every practice and game. It turns into leaving every game with earphones in so other parents don't talk to you about it. It meant dreading school the next day due to everyone talking about the previous game. My passion was destroyed when a coach looked at me in the eyes and said, "You could go to any other school and start varsity, but you just can't play for me."

SEE ALSO: Should College Athletes Be Limited To One Sport?

Looking back now at the amount of tears shed after practices and games, I just want to say to this coach:

Making me feel bad about myself doesn't make me want to play and work hard for you, whether in the classroom or on the court. Telling me that, "Hard work always pays off," and not keeping that word doesn't make me want to work hard either. I spent every minute of the day focusing on making sure you didn't see the pain that I felt, and all of my energy was put towards that fake smile when I said I was OK with how you treated me. There are not words for the feeling I got when parents of teammates asked why I didn't play more or why I got pulled after one mistake, I simply didn't have an answer. The way you made me feel about myself and my ability to play ball made me hate myself, not only did you make me doubt my ability to play, but you also turned my teammates against me to where they didn't trust my abilities. I would not wish the pain you caused me on my greatest enemy. I pray that one day, eventually, when all of your players quit coming back that you realize that it isn't all about winning records. It's about the players.

You can have winning records without a good coach if you have a good team, but you won't have a team if you can't treat players with the respect they deserve.

SEE ALSO: To The Little Girl Picking Up A Basketball For The First Time

Cover Image Credit: Equality Charter School

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The Human Mind Is Etrxraoidrnay

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Can you read this article with perfect fluidity, or maybe not perfect, but with little to no trouble at all? Well, that's your uoncsncuios mind at work. A Cambridge study found that this is baecsue the brain does not read every letter individually but isntaed reads the word as a whole, and we are able to read the sentence whtiuot much trouble as long as the first and last letters are in the correct place.

This phenomenon has a more than a fttinig name in Typoglycemia, in which readers are able to decipher a text even with mssipeslilngs and misplaced ltteres.

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Though this does not wrok with just any jumbling of ltteres as tehre are smoe important key factors that enable readers to comprehend the txet.

The frist is making the passage predictable. Being albe to predict the nxet word based on cnoetxt of the sentence aids us in reading jmbueld up words because we have already seen tehm.

Sentence structure wrods such as "The" and "Be" need to be slleped correctly as these words play crucial rloes in maintaining the stenncee srtutucre which hpels the brain to make cocrret predictions of what wrods will cmoe next.

Jumbling up the wrod in a crteian way is aslo very ipomtanrt as you want try try to keep the sound srtutucre of the wrod intact which wlil enable you to pronounce the wrod in your haed or out loud mroe precisely. You can aslo ircnasee and drceasee the difficulty of certain wrods by ircnaseing the distance in wihch you switch the ltteres around from their original psioiotn.

As you have probably breezed through the mispellings throughout the article try this one as it is much harder than the rest. The answer is at the bottom


Tihs dseon't maen we can jsut mssipesll everything as it deos hvae an acefft on our radenig seepd tohguh as dmeotnsarted aovbe tehre is a crteian art to mssipeslilng things ceorrtcly.


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