It was seven thirty in the morning and I was already on my way to class because I refused to be late on my first day. It was a particularly sunny day for it to be eight o’clock in the morning. I did not know how my first day of college would go ,but by the way my schedule was shown i might have an easy semester; especially since, my classes were for fifty minutes instead of a lengthy hour and thirty minutes, like how my classes were in High School. The teacher seemed more laid back than my high school teachers. My English professor, Professor Willis, was a man in his early forties, or his late thirties.
I expected a college level course to be more challenging and it definitely is. I never spent more than two hours writing papers before I entered college. I’ve learned that I like to write, and with just a little more patience and extra time I could have also excelled on my high school papers. Our first essay was a personal narrative. I chose to write about my grandfather, because he had just passed away two weeks ago when class began and writing about him really helped me.
Coming into English 102, I thought that it was going to be an easier course; I thought of it as another paper that I could work on here and there and then piece together closer to its due date. I’ve written many papers throughout high school and in English 101 and did well on them. Writing is one of my strengths in school, so I wasn’t concerned going into the class. However, only a week into the course I realized that this paper wasn’t like any other papers I have written before. I never had to spend an entire semester on a paper before, it was always only a few weeks.
I did not enjoy going over there to read, especially since it was summer, but I did get rewarded after finishing a book with a game of Guess Who? with my grandmother. Starting second grade, my cousin and I had the same teacher, Mrs. Hrenko. She assigned us text to read, so later that day I went to my cousin’s house to practice the reading. We were sitting in her room and the word island was in the text, and we kept pronouncing it as two separate words, is and land.
When I was in third grade, my teacher always required use to rent out a book every week. I never enjoyed reading because I always felt it was forced, so I would check out a book and never read it. Until one time my teacher asked why I haven 't been doing the A.R reading test and I told her I don 't enjoy reading. My teacher told me to take the whole week to find a book to read so I can take a test. Once I did that, my love for reading began and recently has been coming back after a lost of love for reading.
For two years I had to deal with that horror of fcat reading. My writing fcat I passed it right away but for reading I had to try multiple times, therefore, as you can imagine I failed the act my frist ime, it was unbeliable I wanted to getit over with but I had to repeat it one more time and I passed it. I think the major factor on my reading is the Spanish, my friends and I had the same problem but past it the second time. Other kind of a bad experience with highschool was math. Since I was little I have always struggle with math, and it’s actually weird because all my family has study math careers and they even have business but I was the only kid who wouldnt like to go to work at the family’s business.
The neighborhood did not seem to shock me because I went to Grover Cleveland high school, and I am quite familiar with the Grant Street and with the West side. After the tour, our supervisor introduced us to some kids, who came while we were on the tour, but unfortunately they did not need tutoring because they did not have any homework. They were there to use the computers. 09/21/09. The second week we were assigned to make flyers for the neighborhood center where we had to introduce the center and after school program.
If one were to look at my varied reading habits, they would be struck by the diversity and over all unusualness of my mind’s library. I hardly remember the plot of the first book I read, but it was called Lonesome Dove. It wasn’t the actual first book I read, but I don’t really count the McGregor Readers from kindergarten. I read it in first grade because of my Grandmother’s fascination in the T.V. mini-series that was playing during the time.
For the first time since middle school I got an A on a major paper for English. Even though I got an A I was still scared to write my senior paper. I kept telling myself just because you got lucky with one A doesn’t mean that you will get even more. I wrote and rewrote my senior paper at least four times until I finally was satisfied with the finished product. It took about two weeks for her to grade and I was truly scared during that whole time.
After a month, I was looking for a way out, I bit off more than I was able to chew. But in my case, it was too late. At that point I had been in the class too long to switch, so I had no choice but to stick it out. I felt like a prisoner; all of my potential and nothing to show for it. I needed an outlet from the pointless assignments which inevitably turned into me writing my own short stories and blogs.