09.08.05
Journal 9 & 10 – The Oregon Trail
The water in the river was ice cold. I was immediately swept away in the current. Luckily I had the rope around me so my fellow trail members could pull me. Surely it wasn’t my fault my wagon got stuck in the river. Now I had nothing…
I had written yet another story for another scenario. This was sure to get me another five! What a way to make crossing a river exciting. I did happen to have a feeling that, in actuality, my “family” would not be so fortunate.
This class project was not so exciting. Our whole class was taking part in a charting game. We used trivia, writings, and other means to establish points for our wagon’s, which then affected how everything went.
As it turns out, I was unlucky. I got high marks, but the random aspect of things killed my possibility to succeed in this game. Pulling diseases out of a hat at random so they inflict your wagon hardly seems fair.
I actually found myself grateful for having my entire wagon die. The father on Mike’s wagon had diarrhea that never went away, which counted against his score each day. Then there was Andy who had exclaimed, “Why doesn’t my family get a disease? I want one too!” The ignorance of a fifth grader is astounding but fitting. He had no idea what a disease was.
“Wagon team one, you failed to cross the river. This time we’ll shoot baskets to see what happens. Nick, you go first,” my fifth teacher said.
“Alright…” I replied, taking my position marked by the tape on the floor closest to the wastebasket. Why did my fake wagon family’s fate rely on my ability to shoot a paper ball into the wastebasket?
She tossed me the ball, but stopped me before I could toss it. “Wait, you only have three family members?” she asked.
“Yes. The father and son died of disease yesterday, remember?”
“Well, you have to move back ten feet then, since your family is undermined.”
“Ok….”
I took a few steps back, now at the middle piece of tape. Any more and I’d be about half a classroom’s length away from this basket. I don’t think this is ten feet. I got ready to throw the paper ball just as she stopped me again.
“Wait, you only had one ox?” she asked, looking over her notes again.
“Yeah, my other three were stolen by thieves on Wednesday, remember?” I replied. I started moving back some more, heading towards the last piece of tape.
“Well, you, oh, yeah, last piece of tape. Alright, lets go!” she said looking up.
I took up my position. The basket sure was a small target now that I was a great many feet away. The rest of my classmates looked on, hoping I would make it. It was a team effort after all.
My “family” had already died twice before, as I seemed to by a magnet for thieves, disease, spoiling food, and other bad disasters. I swear the real people on the Oregon Trail did not have this many problems. I threw the ball and hit bounced off the rim off the basket. I missed.
“Ok, lets see….” my teacher muttered, consulting some form of chart, graph, or table. She continued, “Uh, Nick, the remaining two people in your family are swept down stream and are unable to be saved.”
I moved out of the way, unaffected by the answer. Not like this was new. However, it might be a new record, as my entire family had bit the dust twice in one week. Of course, so I won’t be left out, the wagon teams will find a lone wagon with my new family inside it tomorrow.
Sitting quietly at my desk, which was pushed to the side of the room to allow for kids to throw the ball, I watched the rest of my wagon team shoot, several missing. Some lost whole wagons; some members of their family, and some lost nothing.
I was the only one to flat out die… again. That makes three. How unlucky can one person be?