memories – The Oracle

Does extensive phone photography hinder appreciation for crucial moments, impede personal connections?

Michelle Koo and Gwendolyn Domine — Wed, 17 Apr 2024 06:30:58 +0000

Leaving teachers share memories, advice for students: Cristina Florea

Liza Kolbasov, Editor-in-Chief — Fri, 17 May 2019 17:50:38 +0000

After 13 years as a math teacher and business, entrepreneurship and math (BEAM) program coordinator, Cristina Florea will be leaving Gunn for St. Francis, where she will be in charge of organizing their new business program and design thinking curriculum.

At St. Francis, Florea is excited to have the chance to shape the school’s new business program through an administrative role. “[I look forward to] being allowed to use my imagination and create what I think education should be like,” she said.

However, Florea will miss Gunn, where she’s worked for 13 years. “I love the students and the parents and how supportive they’ve been of what I do with both math and BEAM,” she said. “And then I am forever grateful to the math department at Gunn, because they’ve helped me grow as a teacher and have been really amazing role models forwhat a teacher should be like.”

Despite the fact that Florea will be leaving the math department, Gunn will continue to partner with the BEAM non-profit and teach the BEAM curriculum to students. “I just won’t be physically at Gunn doing BEAM,” Florea said. “But in addition to my role over at St. Francis, I will still be on the board and be one of the leaders in the BEAM program nonprofit.”

As she moves on to new adventures, Florea hopes that students will continue to advocate for changes they wish to see. “I think [students] just need to believe in themselves a little bit more, and not be afraid to speak up—not be afraid to advocate for themselves and really show the school and the community the amazing things they are capable of doing,” she said.

Leaving teachers share memories, advice for students: Bill Dunbar

Nikki Suzani, Managing Editor — Fri, 17 May 2019 17:45:57 +0000

After 23 years of working at Gunn, AP Physics C teacher Bill Dunbar is looking for a change in both the school and subject he’s teaching. For the 2019-20 school year, Dunbar will be teaching math at Mountain View High School.

Dunbar is excited for the change in scenery, and for the opportunity to work with a new curriculum and staff. “It’s always good to make a change and try new things, so I feel like it’s a little scary to go to a different job, but I feel like I need that,” he said. “I feel like every teacher has a different personality, and so I just have to see how my personality fits in. I can’t wait to do creative things with math classes at Mountain View High School.”

During his time at Gunn, Dunbar has had many good experiences and memories that he can look back on. “I have had so many good times at Gunn High School,” he said. “I think my favorite thing here at Gunn for me was starting the Gunn Robotics Team. 20 years ago, I started off with a small group of students who just wanted to work on projects, and together we figured out how to build robots, which was a really fun experience for me and the students.”

For students that he’s leaving behind, Dunbar wants to remind them of his favorite phrases while teaching, and advice for them to hold even when he is gone. “I always tell my students to always, once in a while, lift their heads up and see the big picture of where we’ve been and where we are going so that our life doesn’t pass us by like a warm summer’s day,” he said. “I tell my students to attack their problems like a brave hero, and if they do those things, then they’ll be in good shape.”

As for his own legacy, Dunbar hopes he’ll be remembered for the strides he has taken in improving the physics curriculum. “I think that one of the biggest things I’ve done here at Gunn is building up the AP Physics C course,” he said. “When I started working here it was one all-male class, and now it’s five classes and the male-female ratio is really pretty good and the class is open to a wide variety of students. I’m proud of that, and I feel like the physics program at Gunn High School is really strong right now. The students next year, I don’t think they’re going to miss me at all, and I think they’ll have a great teacher and it’s going to be a great course.”

Seasonal mishaps make for emotional memories

stephybjackson — Fri, 08 Dec 2017 18:10:27 +0000

Written by: Stephy Jackson

A few years ago, one of my mom’s friends asked my family to take care of their dog, a little pug named Philip, during winter break while they were traveling. Philip was cute because he had big rolls of fat all the way up to his face, and his tongue would always be flopping to the side of his mouth. His face always had this slightly dumb expression and looked as if it had been squished at. Despite being adorable on the outside, he was the spawn of the devil on the inside; he would bite and scratch everything he could and in the house. Couches, pillows, chair legs, you name it, Philip tried to destroy it. Philip also had a nasty habit of peeing whenever he was mad, hungry or just felt like annoying us. But for some reason—I’ll never know why— my entire family adored him.

Then, come Christmas morning, Philip showed his true colors and turned our lovely Christmas into a messy disaster. All my siblings and I, along with our parents, made our way to the Christmas tree and started to admire all the wonderful gifts that we could not wait to open. Suddenly my mom said, “Does anyone else smell something weird?” We all stopped for a second and sniffed the air, slowly being encompassed by a putrid smell that filled the room. I noticed that this stench was coming from under the tree. I got down to check out what could be causing the smell, and just as I moved one of the presents out of the way, there was Philip, who had given our family his own gift —he had pooped all over the presents and the bottom side of our Christmas tree. We all stepped back and screamed as my parents ran to grab some towels to clean up the mess.

My parents spent the morning trying to clean up the mess and my siblings and I just sat on the couch and complained. We were able to save some of the presents, but some of the others were sadly lost in the battle. Let’s just say Philip didn’t have such a hot rep after that day.

Seasonal mishaps make for emotional memories: Misspelling spoils Santa Claus myth

meganli74 — Fri, 08 Dec 2017 18:09:50 +0000

Written by Megan Li

Growing up, Santa Claus wasn’t ever a huge part of my family’s Christmas. We never left milk and cookies out or sent letters stuffed with mile-long wishlists every holiday season, but I still never once doubted his existence. In my young mind, it was absolutely incomprehensible to even suggest that the holly, jolly old man wasn’t real—after all, not only did I receive that pack of Mr. Sketch markers I had oh-so-badly wanted, but he also signed his name gracefully on every single present. With those solid pieces of evidence, who was I to question anything?

That all changed when I was rudely yanked out of my fresh-faced reverie on a fateful Christmas Day nearly ten years ago.

In the days leading up to Dec. 25, 2007, I had been in quite a few heated debates with my older brother over Santa’s existence; he had already been painfully disillusioned and was bent on ruining my childhood as well. But being the avid Kris Kringle fan that I was, I only crossed my arms, stamped my foot and dubbed him a sad non-believer.

Come Christmas morning, I flew out of my room in an excited frenzy to see what old St. Nick had placed under my tree over the night. While checking the tags for my name, I stumbled upon something terrible: “Santa” had been grotesquely misspelled as “Stana.” To any other child it wouldn’t have been a big deal—Santa can make mistakes too—but my confidence had been shaken by my brother’s impassioned arguments and it seemed highly unlikely that the mythological man would spell his simple, five-letter name incorrectly.

In an attempt to prove my doubts wrong, I scampered to my parents’ room and shook my mother awake. I demanded to know why Santa couldn’t even spell his own name. Was it because he was too busy handwriting every card and was so tired that he rearranged the letters? It wasn’t because he wasn’t real like my brother had been trying to convince me—right?

Understandably irritated with my hysterics at such an early hour, my parents decided that it was time for me to learn the harsh truth of the real world. To them, I was old enough that they could drop the whole “Santa’s real, don’t worry!” schtick. To me, it was like my world was crashing down around me, and I would be lying if I said no bitter tears were wept on that cold morning.

When school started again, I was sorely tempted to bring everybody down with me in a textbook example of the phrase “misery loves company.” I decided against it, though, and instead opted to sit in silence. Other kids would learn of the truth in the years to come, while I, in the meantime, learned to thank my parents every year instead of that fictitious, red-clad figure.