As she parted the bread slices, she’d realized Aunt Claire had smeared, instead of her usual Moutabel, some sort of strange brown paste between them. “It’s what normal American kids eat, Sairah,” Claire had claimed that morning, “It’s called ‘Peanut Butter’.” Suddenly, she heard a small “ahem” from behind her. As she turned around, she recognized who’d called for her attention. It was that guy from her math class that every girl seemed to ogle at. Was it Steven… or maybe Jason?
Finally, Miona shouted out, "I was not the one cheating". Since Miona started talking, the other two girls tried to convince the teacher that it was Miona that was cheating and they were trying to stop her. But Miona insist talking by telling the teacher about her up bringing and what her mom told her to do if it ever happened. One thing remained with the teacher. Miona was an A student and the other girls were not.
My mom wasn’t too happy about that, because she kept claiming that my name was “ee TZEL” not “It-Cell”. “That is not the name I gave you,” she would always reclaim, but she learned to accept it because she noticed it made me happy. “It-CELL” was my new name that I had from that point on and hasn’t changed since
The author argues that she was unfairly scolded because she was only telling her teacher how to pronounce her name. Her teacher warned her, “If you want to be American, speak American. If you don’t like it, go back to Mexico where you belong.” This short story provides an understanding of what Anzaldúa’s life was like. It demonstrates how even at a young age, she was continually pressured because of where comes
How can you really know somebody unless you take the time to see what they have done right and wrong? In the nonfiction by James McBride, The Color of Water, Ruth McBride was the perfect example of a mother who did everything she could though couldn't do it all correctly. On one side her good parenting came out. She convinced all her kids to go to school and showed them to stick up for what is right. Though she failed to have a true connection with her kids because she beat them and didn't tell them about herself.
So I’m terrified of needles, but they say that what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, and I am certainly banking on that to be true every time I go to the Blood Center to donate blood, which is about every two months. I don’t like it, but it’s just such a good thing to do. I used to give whenever they would come around in those buses, but I stopped doing that after my first visit to the Blood Center. I discovered that you get much more individual attention when you go to the Blood Center at about seven o’clock on a Thursday night.
She called me to her desk and asked me to spell “ball,” which I spelled with a “d.” She then called my mother and had me tested for dyslexia, which I have. Soon, I was put aside in my classes to get help by one of the resource teachers in my elementary school. I would manage to get all “B’s” every time I got a report card, but I was not learning. I realized that my school system was pushing me through school with accommodated test and other aids meant to “help” students with learning disabilities. Little did they know they were only lowering the bar for us, and I was not going to allow them to continue their practices on me.
Through his many visualizations, he has brought precise descriptive writing in his short story to allow us to analyze his thoughts in this little girl’s mind about her mother. The story is written to conceptualize the struggles of an illiterate mother and a “father who has been long gone” who helps her daughter to sign up for school. Jones’ word choice is considerate in that it is effective in showing the little girl’s thoughts. Through his word choice and diction that the mother cannot read or write, it conveys the message that the daughter is the first generation to go to school. This is proven because the mother could not even fill out the form to sign her daughter up for school.
So I worked harder to try to pass all my class and to improve my English skills. My family is first generation immigrant so they cannot speak any English as well, so they all depends on me to help them translate everything. This can be very annoy but I did help me improved my English skills very soon.I also has regrets on some achievement I could done in High school but I didn’t. If I learned more on the writing process, grammar and citation in High School I would not struggle in college. Because I’m an English Learner, the only English class I have studied with Native speaker is my senior year English class, and I found that in that class I learned the
“You on-fleek today girl..LOL!” Jabari insisted on speaking. “Be quiet class!” Ms. Cooper shouted as she regained control. She did not always understand their language or their latest jargon, yet both the teacher and her students considered themselves to