When anyone who knows Roger Gaboury they can picture him almost immediately they see his long grey hair that reaches his shoulders and his sideburns to match that are nearly longer than his hair. However, whenever you have had a conversation with him, you see his wide, bold, piercing blue eyes that seem so clear but are so comforting. He always has on a vest...ALWAYS, usually under the vest is a long sleeve shirt of some sort whether is came from a cerebral palsy charity walk or a school pride shirt and always had on khakis, it was “the Gaboury look” some of his classes used to reference. Needless to say his look was very distinct to say the least. However, when someone mentions Gaboury to me I remember his unique thoughts and bright intelligence …show more content…
I could not do work or feel like I could even speak without an intense amount of effort that I did not have, it felt like my thoughts would not combine to make any actual words or anything come out on paper or speech. I started over a few weeks barely going to school, doing work, anything really. Gaboury would email me, call me, text me constantly to check on me but I never answered, I never knew what to say. One day though, about a month after Draven’s death I found myself in school and getting called into my guidance counselor 's office, when I went in my guidance counselor, social worker and gaboury sat in a row together and I sat across from them. Without anybody speak Gaboury looked at me and smiled a light goofy smile like he always had when I had come into his classroom in eleventh grade and sat at his …show more content…
It felt truthfully slightly better knowing that I was actually cared about. Most of my thoughts through that month had been so depressing and not very soulful. I truthfully thought for a while it could be the end of me and I knew that Gaboury knew what I was thinking all month long, I was a different person and he saw it. Every day for about a week I sat in the back corner of Gaboury’s class and tried to figure out what was wrong with me, why i physically could not do anything or even think clearly. After that week in every class Gaboury would get the class started and he would pull up a desk near me and sit with me, he would break down all of the work and even start slowly by asking me to just write my name on the paper and sometimes that was too much. I recall getting so stressed out and panicked when I had to do more and more and when I stressed he would simply say, “look at me,” I would do so, “Relax, I’m not going anywhere and we are going to do this together, your light is dim, not out, and we are going to brighten it. “ I would work with him during class, at lunch and after school daily on all of my school subjects slowly. I took 2 hours for us to get through a single math sheet Each and every day we worked harder and
But I did not know about the demons he was fighting within that is why it hurts because looking back he was screaming but no one came to rescue him. But he never told anyone he had depression not even his girlfriend, and I still do not get it. But I am still fully grasping and learning from it. The weekend before he committed suicide I was on a hike with him and some other friends and no one noticed. This is what hurts me the most because I could have done something but did not. The rest of the school week I was a mess. I attended school Thursday because I was still could not grasp it. His wake was scheduled for Friday and that was when I finally realized. I spent the majority of Thursday night crying and got little sleep and stayed home from school Friday. At hs wake, I could barely keep my composure and started to cry when I saw his casket and talked to his parents. It took me weeks to start acting myself again and by then I was behind on school work. My teachers were very accepting of my situation and gave me extra time so when I turned in all my late work I lost no credit but instead of feeling grateful I felt
In F. Scott Fitzgerald’s novel The Great Gatsby many characters are not as they seem. The one character that intrigues me the most is James Gatsby. In the story Gatsby is always thought of as rich, confident, and very popular. However, when I paint a picture of him in my mind I see someone very different. In fact, I see the opposite of what everyone portrays him to be. I see someone who has very little confidence and who tries to fit in the best he can. There are several scenes in which this observation is very obvious to me. It is clear that Gatsby is not the man that everyone claims he is.
Rudy Ruettiger, a student/athlete at the University of Notre Dame, who is portrayed as a monumental figure of courage over the years. Being carried by his teammates and throwing his hands in the air in the sense of pride, while his facial expression shows true happiness. Also, in the background stand the fans joining in celebration, wearing all different colors raising their own hands in support of the football game. While on the foreground stand the teammates carrying Rudy with their worn and stained blue jersey, smiling, but also with the look of fatigue on their faces. The general wear and tear of this football game doesn’t stop the cherished celebration of Rudy being held up by his teammates, while the fans join in with excitement.
The Great Gatsby: Lessons from Jay. In the novel The Great Gatsby, not many people really knew the man known as Jay Gatsby. When he was rich and powerful, he was the man you "want to know." But when he died, life went on without him. It seemed as if nobody cared that he was the man behind the parties and all the good times.
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
As The Great Gatsby progresses, the reader feels a range of emotions for each of the character, especially the narrator. The story of Jay Gatsby is told in the point of view of Nick Carraway, Gatsby’s only real friend and he is also a participant in the book. Although most of the main characters in the book are rich and come from “old money” Nick works hard to rent a house “at West Egg, the-well, the less fashionable of the two [Eggs]” (5). Even so, Nick says that his “ own house [is] an eyesore, but it [is] a small eyesore” (5). Nick does not exactly complain about his house as much as the reader would expect him to. Throughout the book, Gatsby has three different personas and he uses the other characters in the book to make his ultimate dream come true. Nick is not excluded and he is taken advantage of by Gatsby just like everyone else. Ultimately, Nick is
Gatsby is a local celebrity, and everyone that goes to his parties has a theory about how he's made it in the wealthy world. In reality, everyone seems to know his name and is endlessly interested in his life for unknown reasons. So in that way, he seems to be pretty great, he even wins back the girl of his dreams for a short period of time.
It felt good just to relax in the tub after I just graduated from high school yesterday. Today after my bath I came out of my bedroom to see my mom and dad on my bed. That right there isn't a good sign. My dad told me that Katherine called and she was worried about me. Next thing I knew I was throwing up and telling my parents to leave. I loved Katherine so much and she loved me. It was yesterday evening when it all went down. Anyway my parents finally left my room when I decided just to lay on the floor. In all honesty I was depressed. Later that day my friend Hassan stopped by that evening to try to cheer me up. He listened to my problems and then told me to quit whining. Then he tells me that he has a solution. Him telling
Fitzgerald’s novel The Great Gatsby is one of the most carefully structured stories of all time. The narrator, Nick, is a very clever and well spoken storyteller. Nick confides with the reader in the first pages of the novel. He says that he needs to tell the story of a man called Gatsby. It is as if Nick has to overcome disappointment and frustration with a man who has left him with painful memories. Nick says that, even though Gatsby did alright in the end, “it was the foul dust that collected in his wake” that disgusts him now. Nick, thus, begins the novel with uncomfortable memories. Time is a meaningful concept in this story. It is evident that dreams and memories are central to the overall plot and meaning. Secondly, the American Dream is a “green light” of desire that Gatsby never stops yearning for and something he will not forget over time, even as he is dying. This is so, even though no one cares about Gatsby or his dreams after he died, except maybe Nick. Finally, the fact that Fitzgerald uses flashback; that Nick is telling us about a main character after he has already died and before the story begins, is ultimate proof. The Great Gatsby is structured by Nick’s memory. Fitzgerald’s clever use of flashback throughout and within the novel is the greatest evidence that he intended his novel to be centered on memory and going back in time, which will be sort of a focus as we go further into this essay.
It started when I was a little girl, I think I was about five years old. I grew up in a one parent household, with just my mom. I had three other siblings, two brothers and a sister. My mom was the sole provider of the family. Everything started getting hard for her as we grew. I got curious and asked my mom a question I never asked before. "Mom where is my dad and why isn 't he here to help you take care of us." " Mom said, he was killed when you were a baby." So I never spoke of it again until I had turned about fifteen years of age. I still was curious about what had happened to my father. I started having dreams of my father being around, a man whom i had never seen or meet before. He was just an illusion that I had made up inside my
I cried in my room for hours wishing my dad would not go, a whole month without him seemed like the end of the world. I would have no one to play hockey with, no one to tuck me in at night and no one to eat donuts with every Friday. My dad tried to console me but I was too angry to listen to him, I suddenly hated my grandpa for causing my dad to leave me alone. At the airport my dad gave me a long hug and told me to be brave since I was now “the man of the house,” (even though I am a girl), I had to take care of my mom. Promptly this made me suck in my tears and stop acting like a “loser.” It was hard repressing my feelings, seeing my dad leave made my eyes tear severely but I held them back, the man of the house does not cry. Time went by faster when I was at school, I had less time to miss my dad. About two weeks later, my mom got a call from India, my grandpa had died. My mom broke down crying, she slammed the phone across the room into the wall. I felt scared to appr...
I was very excited to make a new step in my life, college. I came with high hopes and aspirations. My hometown is not near Arizona, It is Lake Tahoe, Nevada, so going home for the weekend was simply out of the question. I had a great time for the first month, enjoying freedom. However, I was sitting in my room one night writing a paper with my roommate, and one of my friends from home called me. She said that one of our good friends from high school had just committed suicide earlier that day. I didn’t know how to react to this; I was scared, and confused. Why did he do it? Why didn’t anyone know that he was unhappy? Was he unhappy? I felt regret, thinking I should have been there for him. Once the crying commenced, my mother called me telling me that my last grandma had gone into the hospital. She had collapsed in her apartment and was rushed to the emergency center. I had no idea what to do. I felt like God was just condemning me and attacking me for some reason. I went into this deep depression and I didn’t want anyone to talk to me, if they did, I would simply start crying. I was alone, and no one knew who I was. I was too far away from home to go to my friend’s ceremony.
Two years and four months ago I died. A terrible condition struck me, and I was unable to do anything about it. In a matter of less than a year, it crushed down all of my hopes and dreams. This condition was the death of my mother. Even today, when I talk about it, I burst into tears because I feel as though it was yesterday. I desperately tried to forget, and that meant living in denial about what had happened. I never wanted to speak about it whenever anyone would ask me how I felt. To lose my Mom meant losing my life. I felt I died with her. Many times I wished I had given up, but I knew it would break the promise we made years before she passed away. Therefore, I came back from the dead determined and more spirited than before.
February twenty-third 2010 was just a regular ordinary day. I was on my way to class on this cold February afternoon, when my phone rung. It was my cousin on the other end telling me to call my mom. I could not figure out what was wrong, so I quickly said okay and I hung up and called my mom. When my mom answered the phone I told her the message but I said I do not know what is wrong. My mom was at work and could not call right away, so I took the effort to call my cousin back to see what was going on. She told me that our uncle was in the hospital and that it did not look good. Starting to tear up I pull over in a fast food restaurant parking lot to listen to more to what my cousin had to say. She then tells me to tell my mom to get to the hospital as quickly as possible as if it may be the last time to see her older brother. My mom finally calls me back and when I tell her the news, she quickly leaves work. That after-noon I lost my Uncle.
It was Friday night, I took a shower, and one of my aunts came into the bathroom and told me that my dad was sick but he was going to be ok. She told me that so I did not worry. I finished taking a bath, and I immediately went to my daddy’s house to see what was going on. My dad was throwing-up blood, and he could not breath very well. One of my aunts cried and prayed at the same time. I felt worried because she only does that when something bad is going to happen. More people were trying to help my dad until the doctor came. Everybody cried, and I was confused because I thought it was just a stomachache. I asked one of my older brothers if my dad was going to be ok, but he did not answer my question and push me away. My body shock to see him dying, and I took his hand and told him not to give up. The only thing that I heard from him was, “Daughters go to auntie...