Basically I was told that because I was different than the rest, I deserved what I was getting. Imagine that. Too weird for the teachers to care about... Hm. I don't credit those teachers or students for the change that happened in me or how rapidly it happened. When even your supposed "mentors" and teachers can only offer hope to you if you were to become a sheep. Enroll in sports? How the hell do you run a ball in while wearing tripp pants and a fucking trench coat? I suppose I could have found another outlet. Whatever But it really fucked with me. They way I felt at that time in my life is a despair and a profoundly deep sadness. Depression and lack of self worth drove me to the edge. Of a razor blade... But that is a different story. . . For another time. I hold on to the way I was treated for being myself to this day. I don't trust anyone, rarely do I even trust my own decisions. I make acquaintances, but rarely do I make friends, I don't like to be in groups of people larger than 5 including myself. I don't tell people much about me. Rather I give them some psycho babble bulls...
We were not allowed to discuss lessons, and on math assignments, if we did the problem in a way that was different from the way we were taught, it was automatically marked wrong. We were taught in a similar fashion, frequently being told to shut up or whatever we had to say wasn 't important if the teacher didn 't want us talking. One shining example of the lack of respect our staff had for the students was an assembly that occurred in fourth grade. A student would not stop talking and the principal yelled at him to be quiet. The student stood up and threw a temper tantrum. The principal then grabbed him, put him in a headlock, and said, "Son, I swear to God, if you make my back go out, I 'll make you regret it!" These experiences lead me to believe teachers saw us as little more than an obstacle - something they had to overcome each day - instead of what we really were: young children, whose minds they needed to protect and mold into the future of this
In this first unit of The First Days of School, Harry Wong presents three characteristics of an effective teacher. The three characteristics are: has good classroom management skills, teaches for mastery, and has positive expectations for student success.
By the second grade I was very resentful of the extra help I was reviving. To me this meant being separated and I felt different. Sometimes I would not want to go to school and if I went I would dread each moment. As each day went by I would do the same thing every day I would be removed from class and have to read a different passage to a teacher and then take a short story home to read to my mom or dad. To me the fact that I had to do this almost every day was making me so angry it reflected in my actions. But by the end of that year I made a promise one that I intended to fulfill by the time I left Ayer Elementary
When I was 5 years old I was an adventurous, outgoing little girl. Somehow this all changed when I reached my sixth year of age. It was as if my personality drifted far away from me, across the oceans, to somewhere I didn’t know. It all started on the first day of 1st grade. My teachers were not the type of people that I was used to having in my life. It was like a huge barrier had been put between the world I knew, and the world I was thrust into. As for my teachers, they shut me out. They put a huge clear wall between myself and them, and I ran smack into it, not knowing what was coming my way. As the years went by, the wall began to crumble. Slowly crumble, as if it would never fall. The unexpected came out of nothing, but let me tell you,
It was the fourth year of my school carrier. In other words, the year of truth if I would make the cut to the higher education track. I was nervous because I knew that I would be capable of going this route, but I the feeling of concern was stronger because I haven’t had performed very well in my fourth year so far. At the end of the school year, I received the shocking news that I didn’t make the cut to go to the school which would have had allowed me to go to University later on in my life. I was sad, disappoint in myself, and lost self-esteem in my educational abilities. At this time, I was more embarrassed then able to realize the real benefit of a system which early on tracks children’s
It was the beginning of freshman year. I didn’t know what to do or how to react to the people and classes in high school. I was so nervous and shaken about what was to come this upcoming year. My fears of getting lost in the hallways, being late for class, or not being in a class with someone I knew were looming over me. I was in some advanced classes that my other friends were not in. I was scared about what people would think so I felt the need to change who I was.
In first grade, our school’s first real academic year, I began to stand out against the other students because my comprehension of the subjects was more advanced than everyone else’s. I had an advantage over the other students, I was-and still am-able to teach myself whatever I wanted to learn. By second grade, I was taking classes with the advanced third grade students. Not only was I taking classes with the third grade students, I was doing as good as the best students in the class. Towards the end of the first semester of second grade, the school decided that it would be better for me to skip a grade.
Then it would come the time where I thought I was free again, and before I knew it, I was grounded again. Now, my mom, some of the boarders, day student friends, my college counselor, and myself agreed that some of the punishments I received were too much and out of line. But no matter how much my mom tried to make it better for me, nothing ever changed. So I just had to take it and watch the cycle repeat. It was a cycle of where I would begin to build trust that the dorm moms were here for my best interest and wanted to make things better and help me, but one definitely proved that was not the case. I admit, I am to blame for some cases but others unquestionably shouldn't have happened or gotten me into trouble. Even if I shouldn’t be getting in trouble, I did one way or another. It got to a point where I felt like I couldn't breathe without getting into trouble. I stopped thinking positively and was filled with negative thoughts. This year I have felt like one of the dorm mom’s target, and others have said it too. However, I had a breaking point. I simply couldn't take me getting in trouble or the punishments anymore because I felt like this entire year that's all that has ever happened to me. I started to have nervous breakdowns and couldn't get through a day without crying about my situation or talking to someone about it. I don't believe I was in depression, but I definitely felt depressed when I had to go back to the dorms. I dreaded it. In the Heart of Darkness, the narrator says, “The old doctor felt my pulse…and then with certain eagerness asked me whether I would let him measure my head” (Conrad 11). Here, the doctor is checking to see if the narrator is sane, and similarly, I felt like I need to be checked by a doctor. I believed I was losing my sanity and how I thought and
I’d like to say that I was completely strong and secure in who I was, but that would be a lie. I felt so alone, like I was some sort of black sheep. I was a 3rd class of human at my school. There were guys, girls, and then Brennen. I never fit in. There were so many questions constantly on my mind. The
That’s when the atmosphere in the room changed. I could hear my classmates whispering how it’s unfair that I have a dictionary, while they don’t and they started calling me a cheater. There was this one kid, who said the reason I got one was because I was Asian. After that day, it was terrifying walking into the classroom everyday, knowing I would be looked at in a different way. However, I knew I couldn’t let this go on forever, so I studied harder than before. I aced all my tests and completed my assignments with flying colors. Then one day, a teacher I have never seen before called me out of class to discuss something that seemed rather important. She told me I’ve been chosen out of a selective few to participate in the Gifted Program, a class that excels above Honor courses in middle school. In that moment, I didn’t care what others thought of me because I tried my best and that was enough. Now transitioning into high school, I took AP courses and currently an IB Diploma candidate. I gradually embraced my heritage and who I am, from becoming a member of my school’s Vietnamese Student Association to volunteering at the Wilston Vietnamese Senior Citizen Center, where I improve my language skills and expand my knowledge of my culture day by
During this time I realized that I was totally sealing myself off from the outside world, and as a result, my grades were much worse and I made no friends at my school. I felt I was in the end of the world, an
My eagerness to embrace life in high school squashed when I came face to face with extreme mean behavior at the hands of kids my own age. My grades started falling, from an honors student I had turned into someone who just hated school. From sulking, to rebelling to being remorseful, had become my permanent demeanor.
I lived with my Aunts during the week and my grandmother on the weekends. My grandmother lived in the inner city and my aunts wanted me to have a chance at a better education. So, they moved me to a new school district. It was a new environment, I was excited! New school, teachers, and friends. Opportunity was everywhere. The change was great, but it highlighted something I never noticed, I was different. My life was not like my friends, most were raised by parents, both or at least one. I on the other hand was the product of a village. That village is what gave me the strength to go into school each day, head high, eager to learn, and determined to
Life had become a deserted island, leaving me alone on the beach with no one to provide the answers for me. At least, that was how the next year went on. The counselors at the jr. high recommended I see their specialist, which, seeing as I had nothing else to go with, I conceded. She was a pleasant woman. She listened to me when I was upset, asked me questions I did not always have answers to, but for the most part, she was a constant figure telling me I was okay. I almost believed her. I still sometimes believe I was okay, that she was right, that nothing was wrong with me. She recommended I seek therapy over the summer, but my parents seemed to think I was fine. Until I was not fine. Freshman year was the worst year of my life. Even now, looking back at it, I still feel the dull aches from my younger self's
Growing up, I always felt out of place. When everyone else was running around in the hot, sun, thinking of nothing, but the logistics of the game they were playing. I would be sat on the curb, wondering what it was that made them so much different from me. To me, it was if they all knew something that I didn’t know, like they were all apart of some inside joke that I just didn’t get. I would sit, each day when my mind wasn’t being filled with the incessant chatter of my teachers mindlessly sharing what they were told to, in the hot, humid air of the late spring and wonder what I was doing wrong. See, my discontent