Her little heart was pounding, racing as if it couldn’t beat any faster. Her knees were shaking and she was breathing heavily. She knew that what she had done was a bad thing. It was the first feeling of trouble she ever felt. As if things couldn’t get any worse, she had the urge to pee. These were her thoughts one day in second grade. She remembers it as it were yesterday, the classroom had one teacher with many children. The smell of Chinese cuisine was all that she could smell. It was Chinese New Year and they were having a party. The teacher asked for their presentations. This was the geography portion, and she hated geography. She didn’t know where china was. She didn’t want to know where china was. As she got up to the podium, my quivering self felt nauseous. She was never a good public speaker. She began her presentation on the note of useless stuttering. She should have just went and sat back down and saved me the embarrassment. However, she continued to stutter away. A couple giggles from the corner, she heard. Soon, the teacher asked what her project was on, and she couldn’t even reply to that. She then asked me her name, and she stuttered at her own name. That was the final crack, when the entire class burst out in laughter. She felt as if she had wanted to be thrown down a well, it was the lowest of lows. The teacher had told her to sit down, for she wasn’t prepared. Next up was a beautiful girl, who was loved by all. Her presentation made the other girl’s look extremely insignificant. As she spoke, the girl wished those words would have came out of her mouth. The eloquence in her speech made her want to cry. The worst part of the day came up next when she went back to the room. It was socializing time, and everyone co...
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...w what else to do, but decided to tell the Asian boy to hold the globe in this exact spot so she could go get some cardboard to trace a shape of china and cut it out. As she walked over to the supplies her heart continued to race as it was all day, but at it’s highest. She didn’t know what her plan was, but she realized she wasn’t holding the globe anymore, and the Asian boy didn’t know it was broken. Sadly enough, she went back to him, and told him to turn the globe, and it had popped right off. Much to his knowledge he thought he had broken it, and she felt terrible. At first she felt a sigh of relief, but terrible. She was in second grade, and she let the boy believe that he had broken it. The teacher came by and saw the globe on the floor, and the boy admitting he had broken it. So this was the day she framed a poor little boy, and she feel guilty to this day.
Pashtana said she would rather die than not go to school and acted on her words. Her education is limited and she doesn’t have all the recourses to make school easier, yet she still loves and wants all the knowledge she can get. While I sit in my three story private school, a clean uniform free of holes or loose seams, my macbook air in my lap, the smell of cookies rising up from the cafeteria, wishing to be anywhere else but there. No one has beat me because I want to go to school, no one has forced me into a marriage, I’ve never put my life in jeopardy for the sake of education. Pashtana’s life and choices made me take a moment to stop and reflect on my own life and how fortunate I am to have what I have. We dread the thought of school because to us it is a chore, it’s a hassle, it’s something that messes with our sleep schedule, it is something that gets in the way of lounging around and binge watching Netflix. Pashtana doesn’t take her school and education for granted because she does not have the same liberties we do. While we enjoy driving into the city and shopping over the weekend, Pashtana unwillingly makes wedding arrangements with her cousin. While we complain about our mom nagging us to clean our room, Pashtana is getting beaten by her father because she wants to learn more about the world. While we have stocked fridges and pantries and
A small town girl from the age of seven watched miss America Pageant and she always wanted to be in it. She was very concerned on how she looked as if she wasn’t pretty enough. She practiced and practiced for the pageant so much. She wasn’t very rich she got her leg warmers from Kmart (Bosley, Cindy. How I Lost the Junior Miss Pageant. N.p.: n.p., 2008. Print.). The dress she wore was here old prom dress. She was very concerned about her mothers lonliness and she included that in her speech. She felt like she lost at birth, with wet shorts, too funky music, engagement ring on her seventeen year old finger and borrowed shoes. She knew she wasn’t going to win because she had so many flaws but everyone does and ahe was too concerned about
I related so much to her story that while i was reading i turned so red. The story about what happened to her is my life ever since i was in middle school. I always turned tomato red when i had to present or even read in front of my class. The way she typed everything in detail is what made me feel like i was in her position. Like i stated before it seemed that she sat there already knowing what she was going to write, but as i learned from the stories before it all went down with a “shitty first draft”. I would have to say that i completely loved this story it was a short well described paper. I stand up and applaud for this girl. Not only for writing such a good spot of time paper but for being brave and having to live through that through middle
The unpolished floors and graffitied lockers with pictures of the Beatles glued to them indicated to me that no summer cleaning had been done at school, for what seemed like several years. As I walked, a neatly folded piece of paper, which I placed in my pocket earlier this morning, grazed my outer thigh was not letting me forget its purpose. My palms were sweaty and all I could think of was that on the first day of school, I had decided to tell my crush that I liked her. What a stupid decision. I decided to wash my hands and then put my plan into action. My walk across the hallway continued till I reached the guy’s bathrooms. Just as I was about to push the door, it opened and out ran a blonde and petite girl. My crush. Her face was surprised and her hazel eyes were
The sun is making its way up the horizon, but has not yet filled the sky with its cheerful rays. We exit the bus and immediately turned into statues. We stood next the flag pole staring at the school entrance. “This is going to be okay. This is going to be okay” I mumbled to myself. I wanted to enter, nonetheless, gravity glued my feet down to the cold concrete ground. My hands started sweating through my thin-knitted pink sweater and tears were about to roll off my eyes. Shortly after, I saw a shadow of a tall woman approaching us from the school’s front door. My heart beats like a drum as she carefully making her way toward us like you would when you proceed a scared puppy. She stood about four feet away from us making sure she’s not invading our comfort zone. She knelt down and shows us her school staff ID card while holding her buzzing walkie talkie on the other hand. She then ask for our names and walked us one by one to our classrooms. I remember it was so early that I had to sit in front of my class waiting for my teacher to
The small legs that whisked back and forth in the open space of the vehicle were full of energy. The young girl spent the day with the two people she admired the most. A bigger version of herself sat in the passenger seat with her husband driving next to her. They laughed over conversation. Every so often, the girl would stick thin fingers against her mother’s shoulder to receive her attention. She would say something trivial and obvious, but her mother would still entertain her. She absorbed every phrase her daughter said as if each filled her with a tremendous joy and was the greatest thing ever spoken. Her mother had selected a black dress for her today with a large white ribbon tied around her midsection. Her hair had been combed back in two braids so that the tips were touching her shoulder blades. They were coming home late from a Christmas party at church.
As we arrived, my stomach started to turn inside out, and I wasn’t sure why, but I knew when that happens I turn into a nervous wreck. They sat me in the hallway as they chattered about me I was assuming. On our bumpy car ride home, my parents stopped through an ice cream shop, knowing that’s a way to cheer their little boy. They sat me down and told me about how the teacher is concerned with my low-level reading and writing skills. It bothered me very much, that the teacher had never said anything to me one on one. My parents told me that I might be held back, and to stay positive and don’t let this bring you down. This caused so much confusion and discouragement for a seven year old boy. I was still in discomfort after the day reading because of how the kids laughed when I read my
In Maxine Hong Kingston’s autobiographical piece “Silence”, she describes her inability to speak English when she was in grade school. Kindergarten was the birthplace of her silence because she was a Chinese girl attending an American school. She was very embarrassed of her inability, and when moments came up where she had to speak, “self-disgust” filled her day because of that squeaky voice she possessed (422). Kingston notes that she never talked to anyone at school for her first year of silence, except for one or two other Chinese kids in her class. Maxine’s sister, who was even worse than she was, stayed almost completely silent for three years. Both went to the same school and were in the same second grade class because Maxine had flunked kindergarten.
I walked in and my stomach made a flip-flop like riding “The Scream” at Six Flags. Everyone was staring at me! With their curios eyes and anxious to know who I was. I froze like ice and felt the heat rise through my face. My parents talked to my teacher, Ms.Piansky. Then my mom whispered “It’s ti...
A little girl goes to school for the first time wearing a blue striped t-shirt, blue jean shorts, and a brand new pair of sneakers. She wakes up early, fearful, excited, but mostly giddy. For such a little girl, she is exceptionally intelligent. She is ready to learn and has been asking her Mommy when this day would come for what has felt like a life time in kid years. Her mother did her hair in pigtails for the occasion, her outfit was laid out a week ahead, and her backpack had been packed for weeks. Her first day would have been amazing. Her new teacher asked each student what they wanted to be when they grew up. The girl said, “I want to be a soldier.” She was proud of the soldiers, her Grandpa was a soldier. But something happened, the teacher said, “You can’t do that, pick something else. You’re just a girl.”
Finally, the bell rang and a sea of hungry students rushed to the cafeteria. The thing I had dreaded all my life had finally become a sick reality. I was alone. I roamed the cafeteria looking for a seat. A few snobby girls stopped talking as I walked by. Geez. I though.. I tried to lighten my mood. It didn’t work. I snagged a seat by some girls I recognized from my History class. The first girl has dark brown hair and a look of disgust as I sat down. The second girl seemed kinder but not by much. I ate my lunch in blistering silence. I felt hot tears sting my eyes. Do not cry. Do not give them any weakness. I urged myself. My pessimistic nature got the best of me. I hastily cleaned up my space and excused myself to the bathroom. I checked my reflection. Took about fifty deep breaths and drudged my pessimism with me. I pulled my wrinkled schedule from my pocket, “Algebra, great.” I whispered to
I remember the first time I walked into the classroom, it was unlike any classroom that used to know. Everything was unorganized, kids were out of their seats, silly posters and drawings cover most of the walls, and books, pencils, and markers were all over the place. The teacher didn’t seem to be bothered by all the ruckus happening in that room. She was a large woman who seem to be in her 40s with short white hair and unusually pale skin. She asked for my name, and so I introduced myself. Anything else that she said beyond that is but a blur to me. As she introduce me to the class, I couldn’t help but to look confused and stay silent. My eyes wander around the room and I watch as the others murmur and chatter among themselves. Immediately, I realize that I was out of place. Something about me was different from the others. It wasn’t because of the color of my skin, nor my ethical background; the class itself was very well diverse. It was something on a deeper level, a connection that they all but myself have in common. The ability to translate emotions into words that can be shared and to be understands by others. It was the language that they
It seemed like a normal day when I entered Mrs. A’s AP Language and Composition class, but little did I know that she was going to assign a very important project that was going to take forever. I took my seat and wrote down what was on the board. Then I sat patiently and waited for Mrs. A to come explain what we were doing today. When the tardy bell rang, Mrs. A glided into the room and gave us all a stack of papers. She then proceeded to discuss our upcoming assignment, a memoir. As she explained the very important assignment, I wondered whom I would write about. No one really came to mind to write about and I thought for sure I would never be able to get this thing done on time. I finally decided that I would write in on my mother, Kari Jenson. I knew I would probably put the project off until the very end and do it the weekend before even though it would get on my mom’s nerves. Putting work off was just how I did everything, it worked for me. When I arrived home from school that day, I told mom about the project. I told her I would most likely write it about her and she was overjoyed.
School had just started; it was the fall of my sophomore year. I was excited about having new teachers and being able to boss around those little freshmen since I had finally lost that ridiculous title of “freshy.” Although one class did turn all that excitement right into knots in my stomach, it was English 10. Ugh I hated English, partially because I could never remember all those rules of writing, which I had just thought of as “dumb.” I figured, “Why would I ever need to know all them? Computers will be able to fix all my mistakes for me!” As I would soon find out, boy was I ever wrong. Surprisingly, class was going good; our teacher Mr. Mieckowski seemed to be a little weird and quite boring at times but all in all not too bad I mean who isn’t boring occasionally? He had a shiny head with very little hair and never wore long sleeves to class. He was also quite tall and skinny, so everyone had his or her own conclusion about Mr. Mieckowski’s personal life. A lot of the time this ended up being the topic of conversation for his students, along with his hatred towards icicle lights, white reindeer, and especially technology; the thing I loved most.
The first day of school started and Kandy was in 10th grade. Her new clothes got her a lot of attention, everyone complimented her about how they loved what she was wearing. That was the only thing she was confident about, her clothes. She knew that her style was awesome. Her best friend, Ang, was in two of her classes. Kandy thought that this would be the best year of school because she never had any friends in any of her classes before. Turns out they both had the same lunch. They would talk up by the road, on the sidewalk, to Speedway everyday for lunch. For some reason people would always honk at them and one day a girl yelled out the window and called them sluts. Obviously because she was jealous. The first few days of school went by fast, then kept getting slower and slower.