Blodgett Girl Wins

Nicole Blodgett, the 16-year-old daughter of Craig Blodgett of Randolph, has written the first place essay in a Voice of Democracy scholarship comp-etition sponsored by the Veterans of Foreign Wars in Massachusetts.

Nicole, who lives in Dennisport, Mass., won in a division including Cape Cod and the islands. Her essay next will be judged against all Massachusetts division winners. She will be the district's representative at a state banquet and will be honored by the Cape Cod district in March. State winners are invited to Washington for a four-day visit.

Nicole's proud dad thought her essay was worth reprinting in the Herald, and we think so, too.—Ed.

By Nicole Blodgett

In the hour just before night, as the western sky sinks and lures the hushed blues of another suburban twilight across an empty horizon, the streetlight hum and snap their bulbs on, one by one, as the sun of another calendar day retires, putting its remaining time into the hands of the moon. In the hour where, on a quiet street, curtains are drawn, and the light from inside a kitchen illuminates the tiny face of a child at the window.

"Come sit, my dear," his mother says, taking his delicate hand in her own. "Eat, before it gets too cold." The child does as he is told, but looks up frequently, glancing at the empty place setting across the table, and then at his mother. When the boy finishes, he is quiet for just a moment, and his mother sits, waiting patiently for the nightly inquiry that follows each of their meals:

"When is daddy coming home?"

"Soon, my love, I hope," she says with a smile, and as she always replies, "daddy is keeping us safe."

* * *

The challenge of freedom seems to me a struggle that is, and has been since the dawning of the Liberty Bell, a thing capable of extending its hands and touching, in some way, each and every one of our lives. But with each passing day, and as somewhere beyond seas, a current state of war rages, we, as free citizens, have become aware that the price of such freedom can come at an extreme cost.

Thousands of men and women, hundreds of thousands, millions, in our country’s past, each have take on the care of the lives of every individual into their very hands, so that we, as an entire nation, may continue to live as we do. There is something, it seems, in the quality by which people offer completely, their own freedom, to all of those around them, so that we may be free to live lives that are liberated of exceptional worry, that cannot possibly be granted the praise and honor enough for which it deserves.

It’s the power of struggling to give so much so that others may take. It’s the dedication of the precious days and minutes, so longed to be spend by the sides of loved ones, that makes this quest for freedom so trying. However, in the end, I believe that the magnificent levels of courage and of passion portrayed by all hearts involved will not pass by unrewarded. I trust in the idea that even the smallest efforts will not g unnoticed. I have faith that the honor in working to fight, together, the challenge of freedom, will redeem itself.

Though the battle is uphill, let it be known that—whether behind the windows of a cozy colonial kitchen, or around the arcs of the might Atlantic— we stand together. And that, somewhere, in the hour just before night, as the western sky sinks and lures the hushed blues and of another desert twilight across an empty horizon, a father pulls a photo of a boy with a tiny face and fragile hands form his pocket and thinks, This is a challenge that is worth it."

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