Along with those classes, I have had many teachers help me find a newfound love and hate for the subject. Freshman year was my toughest, most unproductive, year by far. The teacher assigned papers that were pointless and she chose books that interest her. Much of the work she assigned was busy work, she did not care if we grew as writers or if we understood the concept behind the assignment. After a month, I was looking for a way out, I bit off more than I was able to chew.
When I write, I tend to go off topic and it throws my audience off. This all comes back to topic sentences and transitions. When writing a regular paper, I left my audience behind by not leading them in the direction I was headed with my paper. I jumped around instead of going in order of thesis statement. This is still a huge problem of mine, but I plan to work on it next semester.
I eventually found the notebook and threw it out because I did not like what I had written. I wanted to not remember the middle school me and forget about her and my mindset because life was troublesome for me at that time. Moving along to the end of senior year in high school and I decide to buy a new notebook. I was excited about it, writing in it, detailing my life. After the first two weeks, the thirteen year old me visited me and I lost all types of interest to write in my notebook.
I could feel myself starting to sweat because I knew the other kids were judging me. The other two boys that were in my group laughed and said “Do you even know how to read?” At that very instant I knew that I would never get better at reading and I was always going to be the odd one out at school. I was afraid of going back to school after what happened to me on the first week of this new school. Mrs. Hattershide (my teacher) said that I would have to be in another class to get extra help with reading and writing until I was told I didn’t need it anymore. This “extra class” was called an IEP, which means Individuated Education Program.
I would type up some sentences making sure they rhymed at the end. But when I finished typing, I would select all, and delete. The poem was not good enough for me; it didn’t seem like a winner. I went through this process for days, and days. One day I walked up to Mr. Reed’s desk and said, “ Mr. Reed I have no idea where to start can you help me with my poem please?” He replied, “Oh Sidney, the deadline for the poetry contest was a few days ago”.
While in class during an essay in high school, my head would start to hurt from the stress, I was always afraid I would write something that sounded like a 1st grader wrote it. I always thought to myself, the sooner this will be done the sooner I can relax. Finishing a 3-page essay in 20 minutes is almost unheard of, but not for me back then. I was a nervous wreck when it came to English just a few years ago. I had zero confidence.
I would start to feel anxious and nervous that I wouldn’t get into any college just because of how bad and ridiculous my essays were. After some time just sitting there and just rambling , I would finally have at least a page or page in a half to send off until I had my english teacher or mom look over it. I seemed to always get the same expression or chuckle from them. They would give me the look of “you’ve got to be kidding me.” It wasn’t like I did it on purpose, I had to constantly explain to them writing essays was not for me. The bad thing was this was how it always was for me when I wrote essays or paragraphs or even letters.
Kindergarten was the worst. I remember I had a teacher drag me out of class by my sweater to the Principles office because I wasn’t doing what was asked but I didn’t understand her instructions, plus on the way to the office I pushed her hand off my sweater which got me “Apple Room” for 2 days. I had a lot of trouble developing my English, my speaking and comprehension, as also my readings were decent, but I had a hard time developing my writing. I don't remember anything, about elementary school besides that situation I had with the teacher. All my middle school years I was in ESL classes, at the time, I didn't know what it meant and didn't care either as all my classmates were Hispanic and also my teachers knew how to speak Spanish.
As the day progressed, I became accustomed to these painfully boring activities which happened in every single class, and worst of all I still couldn’t remember anyone's name. Fortunately enough, before I would cracked after having to do name games the school day was over. I was over the top excited that the weekend had arrived, but then it hit me: If I don’t make an attempt to talk to people this day will repeat like a broken tape
It feels like we turn in a paper every time and we learn something new every time. It is really hard for me to stay focused that long and stay awake due to the fact Tuesdays are my busiest days. I guess it is my fault because I scheduled to have this class but, I thought I could handle it. It is also hard because if I am sick and miss class, I miss a lot of lecture. Then I have to play catch up.