Latin Anyone?
As I stepped off the shiny new school bus, the sun struck me with great warmth, lighting me up as if I were the chosen one. Why was the place in front of me not illuminated this way? Did I make a mistake? Before me awaited the place where I would spend the next four years of my life. The sight in front of me was quite eccentric; an old brick building with no windows, styled from a prison builder, looking like it was about ready to fall down. In front of me was Minuteman High School, in Lexington, Massachusetts, the place where my literacy would change forever.
As I stepped through the doors of the building, I was terrified. My hands started to tremble erratically. A thick drop of sweat soared down my face, smacking the floor
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The last language I had taken was Spanish, in fifth grade. Entering high school, my Spanish was a little rough, having not taken the course in four long years. I wanted to try something different. The reason I picked Latin over other languages was for two reasons. One, the school didn’t offer Italian. Myself being Italian, I thought it would be a fun language to learn, unfortunately I was never gifted the opportunity. Two, I thought it sounded interesting, unlike anything I had ever done before. I also thought it would be easy, a breeze, knowing that we would not have to actually speak it. But boy was I wrong! Latin was the most difficult course I had ever endured and was definitely not for the faint of heart. Though it was intense, I stayed strong with it for two full years. Not having the curriculum to be taught to speak it, meant we had to learn other things, like the history of Rome, how to conjugate Latin verbs, and eventually how to translate written texts into English. Although Latin may be considered a dead language, it has formed a lot of what English is …show more content…
When we started to read, translate, and conjugate the Latin, the course became its hardest. I would have to look up every other word in the dictionary. Not only would I have to translate the words, but I would have to put them together to form proper sentences. It was like deciphering gibberish. Latin was a difficult language, so Mrs. Maynard told us that not understanding it was expected. As time went on, translating became a lot easier. It eventually got to the point that I could do it by myself. At this point, I feel I had truly reached my moment of literacy. Everything had become clear. Some people say “what doesn’t kill you, makes you stronger”, I had indeed
In a blink of an eye, one’s life can change forever. On September 4, 1957, it was Elizabeth Eckford’s first day at Central High school in Little Rock Arkansas. Elizabeth was among the nine black students who had been selected to enter Little Rock Central High School, an all white school. Approaching the high school, there were hundreds and hundreds of people yelling and chanting against her. Elizabeth was the only one out of the nine that came to school that day so she was known by everyone by her face and name. In fact, her face was on the cover of numerous news channels, newspapers, and magazines not only because of the integrating of the high school but because of how badly most of the townspeople and students reacted towards Elizabeth.
Identity is a group of characteristics, data or information that belongs exactly to one person or a group of people and that make it possible to establish differences between them. The consciousness that people have about themselves is part of their identity as well as what makes them unique. According to psychologists, identity is a consistent definition of one’s self as a unique individual, in terms of role, attitudes, beliefs and aspirations. Identity tries to define who people are, what they are, where they go or what they want to be or to do. Identity could depend on self-knowledge, self-esteem, or the ability of individuals to achieve their goals. Through self-analysis people can define who they are and who the people around them are. The most interesting point about identity is that some people know what they want and who they are, while it takes forever for others to figure out the factors mentioned before. Many of the individuals analyzed in this essay are confused about the different possible roles or positions they can adopt, and that’s exactly the reason they look for some professional help.
Bell hooks knows about the challenges of race and class, and why some people have a harder time than others in achieving the American Dream. It is normal to feel uncomfortable and awkward arriving at a new school for the first time, but this was something completely different. For bell hooks, walking through the halls with eyes staring at her as if she was an alien, she realized that schooling for her would never be the same. She describes her feelings of inequality a...
In the story “American History”, by Judith Ortiz Cofer, the setting takes place on a cold gray November day in Paterson, New Jersey as described by the narrator. The narrator is a 14 year old 9th grader named Elena who is Puerto Rican. Elena lives in a melting pot tenement called, “El Building”. Music is constantly playing in this building and joy is always trying to be spread. Elena goes to Public School 13 and she highly dislikes the environment in her school. On the day John F. Kennedy was shot, her city changed in an interesting way.
The exhaustion of the long commute to Monroe Elementary School everyday had upset me, the feeling of being powerless overcame my mentality. I constantly thought to myself about the all whites elementary school only seven blocks away, what made them so surprior? I, as a third grader, grew up to the discriminatory profiling. Of course it was nothing new, but I could not comprehend why. Recalling back to Monroe Elementary; the broken ceiling tiles, the wore down floors, and the cracked windows was not an ideal place for any education to take place. It had only proved to me that the segregation of white and black children made us African American students feel inferiority to the white American students.
I heard a blood-curdling scream and I jumped. I felt silent tears running down my heavily scarred face, but they weren’t out of sadness. Mostly. They were a mixture of pain and fear. I ran into the eerie, blood-splattered room and screamed as I felt cold fingers grab my neck.
Long, wide roads, small houses, steel fences, tall palm trees, a black Toyota parked at a yellow colored house, an abandon house, which looked like it was hunted, the front door was open and you can see from afar that inside there is nothing but darkness. The house was surrounded by trees and it was secluded from all the other houses around it. These were my view as I walked into an unfamiliar building called Thomas Jefferson Middle School. As I opened the blue wooden door and walked in the building, a tremendous chill came over me, which I have never felt before. The building was very cold; I started shivering as I was walking in. It was old and was not well cared for. The colors of the walls were faded and the elevators made the sound of
This story takes place in a New York City school in Manhattan, in the nineteen- sixties. The book covers the span of one school semester form September to February.
The Myth of the Latin Woman: I Just Met a Girl Named Maria, an essay written by Judith Ortiz Cofer, discusses the racial stereotypes Cofer struggles with as a Latin woman who travels across America. Throughout her life, Cofer discusses her interactions with people who falsely misjudge her as a Latin woman. Additionally, Cofer mentions other Hispanic women she has met in her life, who also suffer with racial assumptions. Although several people would disagree with Cofer and claim that she is taking racial remarks too seriously, racial stereotyping is a significant issue that should not be overlooked in our society. People should not base someone’s worth by their outward appearance or their ethnic background.
Few weeks after I got here in the United States of America, I finally started my life as an American student. My heart was beating so fast as if it was being played as drums heavily. I was panting quite ponderously, do not know what to expect. I closed my eyes as I carefully stepped outside my car, and then finally opened my eyes. It surprised me how enormous my new high school is. Not to mention, how inappropriate our school building seem to be. The architect of my new high school decided that it would be appropriate to create a phallic shaped school for high school students. Ironic, I thought. I disregarded the fact for a mere second, as I carefully entered my new school. Everything felt weird. People here were so different I thought. I felt as if I was in a box of crayon. Everyone’s color seems to vary from one another. It was such a diverse place. From blonde hair blue eyed people, to black hair slanted eye Asians, to big black afro haired, voluptuous lips Africans. “Interesting”, I whispered. I waltzed in towards my new classroom as I shyly entered...
When I was a child my dad, and my grandparents taught me how to speak Spanish before I could learn how to speak English. As I continued to learn more and more words, Spanish became my first language, I spoke it fluently, and English came second. When I was ready to start Pre-K, my dad taught me to write in English other than in Spanish. It was hard to learn how to write my letters without knowing them in English and only in Spanish. I would confuse my E’s
I felt the cold arctic blast of cold air conditioning hit my face like a concrete wall. I walked forcefully down the long well lit hallway. I walked past the state
Let’s go back to John Stuart Mills, he was a gifted individual, his father spent a lot of time educating him and teaching him Greek and Latin. By the age of 14 he mastered both Greek and Latin. In his tee...
... of going to Travis Early College High School is the fact that I have the honors of taking courses with our partner school, the San Antonio College. I am part of the first class to ever pass through Travis’s door, and I have already taken eight courses. When the time is right I absentmindedly transfer buses for the remainder of my hour long journey, one I will take every Monday through Thursday until July eighth. The tan doors of Travis are welcoming as I march off the bus, however I am to be going in the cool, intimidating doors of SAC today – to learn about Mass Communications. From that point on my day goes smoothly, I listen intently to my professor, actively taking notes and participating until dismissed. Then I take the bus home and prepare to start the cycle again the next day, and the next, until the scorching summer heat turns to a soft late summer breeze.
My hand shaking at every thought, a cold shiver ran down my spine as cold sweat trickled down the side of my forehead. I lifted my hand up and a strong smell hit my nose, it was the smell of blood. I lifted the object and shock hit me like lightening, fear displaced my sadness, sickness changed my bloodstream from blood to a thick liquid pus and vomit. I held the muscle with my right hand as my left hand was paralysed with shock. The adrenaline shot me forcing me to move but shock shattered me into thin slices that were impossible to put back again.