In the first week of school Mrs. Miller assigned everyone in the class a math partner, someone who we would spend the semester working on in-class assignments. When I found out that I would be working with Robert all semester I did not know what to think. I was not particularly skilled in algebra, and I assumed that Robert would not be smart either. This was the first thing way that Robert proved me wrong. I think that Robert knew that I was scared of him.
Over the years I’ve learned to be proud of myself when it comes to math because it is a hard subject and a B is still excellent. That hasn’t always been the case though. I remember staying after classes in Elementary school to get help from a teacher because I couldn’t get the material. I remember the countless days in my teacher’s classroom going over math trying to wrap my head around something others perceived to be so simple yet so complex in my mind. At a young age, my mindset was “I hate math and math hates me so why do I even try”.
Imagine. Just imagine. A chunk of homework from today stacked up on your desk. A two-foot pile of paper gone to waste, only to “reteach” what you have learned today in school, which is already seven hours of hard learning, working, and participating. Tired and desperate for just a second to get some fresh air, you glance at your watch.
I guess you could say no one in my family is really outstanding academically. Being bad at reading and writing, (but mostly reading) made me think that I was never going to be successful in my future life. Five years later flew by; in the 7th grade I got taken out of my English class everyday because of my IEP, and my helper teacher helped me with whatever I needed. She read and explaine... ... middle of paper ... ...to him one on one and all he had to say to me was good things. He said, “Evie, you have made a huge progress this year.
My teacher that year was known as one of the “hardest” math teachers on campus. Just the mention of his name scared some students. A large chunk of homework was given everyday which took approximately three hours and on top of that, handouts and worksheets were also given for extra practice. The course wasn’t challenging but it was my attitude that lead me downhill. Having him as my teacher, I began to lose self-confidence and worried about not passing the rigorous class.
I never once thought he would ever lay a hand on me like that, I was completely wrong. I could tell he regretted it instantly, and he tried to talk to me about it, but all I could manage to say was “You hit me Nick.” Anyways, I ended it when we got back, and he was doing everything he could to get back together with me. He literally even chased me to school to get me back. It was like he was scared to be alone, or single. Later that day he waited for me at my house, and he truly apologized, he even gave me an expensive ring.
In Elementary School when I was learning how to read and write I experience what felt like the worst days of my childhood. I will never forget those days because I felt worthless and didn’t believe that I would make it through school. My first grade teacher at Fultondale Elementary School started noticing that it was difficult for me to read and write, so she pulled me aside from all the other students to see what I was doing wrong. As this continued I felt more and more like an outcast to my classmates. I remember the teacher calling my parents one day to set up a conference about what strategies they could use at school and home to help me grasp the contents of both reading and writing.
No Child Behind Act: The history and continued debate of its effectiveness As I filled in scantron form with my number two pencil, I remembered that writing my name was just as important as entering my school code. Thinking back to elementary school I can remember the week long exams. The week in which I longed to be sick just so I wouldn’t have to be spilt from my class and spaced out to test rigorously on my comprehension of various subjects. This describes my first encounter with the ineffectiveness of standardized testing. Teachers were extremely stressed during this period as well but at the time I didn’t understand why.
After she had been pushed into her homeroom, number 117, she had two minutes to wait for class to start and sat uncomfortably at her seat, rummaging through her purse, for a lack of something better to do. After class started, Mr. Griffin walked in, immaculate, and on time as usual, and asked for the homework. Most students had passed theirs in, but Mr. Griffin persisted in bothering those w...