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To grow as an individual I had to watch my mother cry in front of my eyes. Since middle school, I was always causing trouble, bringing bad grades, and disrespecting the teachers. My horrible behavior at school confused everyone around me. Now that I look back at my past, I realize that instead of trying to be “cool” and “popular”, I should have only worried about myself and my education since it is my future and not anyone else's. Parent-teacher conferences had always been the worst thing about school because it was the chance my teachers got to explain to my mother I was a trouble maker. My mom had always told me to be an excellent student and make her proud, however, it had not changed my horrible behavior in school. Throughout my middle school years my behavior was as poorly as ever which came with low grades. It was my freshmen year on Thursday afternoon, my mother and I went to school for parent teacher conferences. One by one the teacher briefly explained my obscene behavior towards them, and my deplorable grades. I quickly looked away to avoid my mother’s rage, but instead my mother had tears coming down her face. This felt like a bullet penetrating my chest because of the amount of guilt I had was very enormous and painful. My mother eventually had enough of hearing …show more content…
During second semester of my freshmen year, I had a whole new attitude towards my teacher and my work in school. The amount of joy I had when I had recieved my first report card was enormous. I was so excited to show my mother my improvement in school. Once I showed my mother my report card, the shock in her face was overwhelmed with happiness as her smile grew as did mine. This was one of the best moments of my
These words banged into my head so hard and I realized I was wrong. I apologized, decided to do my best and work harder in school and tests. I thought my parents were awesome; they could have yelled me, instead encouraging
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
My mother is someone I think of as a victim because the beginning of school year; my assistant principal, Mrs. Rungee, informed my parents and me to fill out my financial aid. The finan...
It was the tremendous amounts of arguments amongst my parents over our tight financial debt, which taught me how to manage, respect, and organize money responsibly during my junior year. It was the numerous divorce arguments I heard from my bedroom walls, which taught me that love is not only demonstrated through words, but through our actions. It was the death of my favorite cousin, my best friend, Suleiman, which caused me, to be thankful and joyous for every day I have on this Earth.
My father had fallen ill and was in the hospital for 2 weeks. Coming from a Latino family, I knew it was serious. Men don't go to the doctor unless they really feel like they're on their death bed. And this was my father's turn. But, he is not to blame for my failures because every night that he would call me, his first two questions were always "How was your day?" followed by "Did you do all your homework mija?" As always I told him yes when I really hadn't even opened my backpack. 2.32. The number that signified my first real academic failure. I blamed everyone and anything except for the real culprit. Finally, I realized that this was true all my own fault. If my father had died, I would've had to see him on his death bed knowing I got a 2.32. Yes, I know a 2.32 isn't failing, but the look of disappointment I got from him shattered my world. He told me I shouldn't let things get in my way, school is all I have going for me in my life. He was right. Although he still struggled with his health, I made it my #1 goal to never fall below a 3.0 GPA. I realize that my life doesn't revolve around a number, but it pained me to disappoint my
As we arrived, my stomach started to turn inside out, and I wasn’t sure why, but I knew when that happens I turn into a nervous wreck. They sat me in the hallway as they chattered about me I was assuming. On our bumpy car ride home, my parents stopped through an ice cream shop, knowing that’s a way to cheer their little boy. They sat me down and told me about how the teacher is concerned with my low-level reading and writing skills. It bothered me very much, that the teacher had never said anything to me one on one. My parents told me that I might be held back, and to stay positive and don’t let this bring you down. This caused so much confusion and discouragement for a seven year old boy. I was still in discomfort after the day reading because of how the kids laughed when I read my
I was born in Montgomery, Alabama in 1935. I was just a day old when my mother and father dropped me off at grandma’s house and never came back. Grandma Rosa said that my father had gambling problems my mother was on and off drugs. Sometimes, grandma said that my mother asked her for money when she was running away from my father because he was abusive. But I wouldn’t know where I would be if my parents would have taken care of me. My parents did not name me so, my grandmother named me after her great grandmother Leslie. The only memory of my mother is her pocket watch that fell out of her purse that day. I’ve been living with my grandmother for ten years. I’m very sure my parents are not coming back. Everyday as soon as I wake up I use the pocket watch. Using it every time I always wonder what it would be like seeing my parent’s faces. My grandmother said to me that everything happens for a reason maybe my parents leaving was for me to live. At school when the kids get out of the schoolhouse they say “don’t step on a crack”. I believe in that ,but it does not apply to me. Just started fifth grade at Frederick Douglas Elementary School. It’s my first year at this school. I can say that it’s a step up from Harriet Tubman Elementary. All the kids in that 4th grade classroom threw crayons and
My parents applauded my academic success, but hardly knew the price I paid for it. I vividly remember one night when my mother couldn't fall asleep. She kept going to bed and getting up again. Every -, time I heard her get up, I'd turn off my light so she wouldn't catch me still awake. By 5 o'clock that morning, I was so sleepy that I didn't hear her footsteps as she shuffled down the hallway. When she saw the light under my door, she came in and demanded to know why I wasn't sleeping.
Growing up, good grades were praised in our household but my parents nor my older siblings ever took extra steps in ensuring that I did well in school. It wasn’t that they didn’t want to or didn’t know how to, but instead they didn’t think I needed any extra assistance. Since I was so developed as a student, they sat back and watched; as long as assignments were being completed and I was doing well in school, they didn’t put in any extra effort in assisting or motivating me. But, like any other student, motivation from family was always desired. Sherman Alexie lacked supported from his entire community and was expected to fail, but instead of giving in to his pre-written destiny, he took matters into his own hands and broke the chain of illiteracy and failure.
It seemed like a normal day when I entered Mrs. A’s AP Language and Composition class, but little did I know that she was going to assign a very important project that was going to take forever. I took my seat and wrote down what was on the board. Then I sat patiently and waited for Mrs. A to come explain what we were doing today. When the tardy bell rang, Mrs. A glided into the room and gave us all a stack of papers. She then proceeded to discuss our upcoming assignment, a memoir. As she explained the very important assignment, I wondered whom I would write about. No one really came to mind to write about and I thought for sure I would never be able to get this thing done on time. I finally decided that I would write in on my mother, Kari Jenson. I knew I would probably put the project off until the very end and do it the weekend before even though it would get on my mom’s nerves. Putting work off was just how I did everything, it worked for me. When I arrived home from school that day, I told mom about the project. I told her I would most likely write it about her and she was overjoyed.
My parents sensed my troubles and we moved. Adjusting to a new high school took time. It was not easy making new friends and I continued to be lost. These incidents weighed heavily on my mind. My anguished heart refused to see beyond my own woes. A recent disturbing incident changed my purview of life.
My life got stressful on first day of second grade. I remember getting off the bus, eager to tell my parents all about what it felt like to be in second grade. As I walked in the door, I could feel that something was wrong. It was something in the air, a depressing mood. Instead of being greeted by a house of warm response, it was silent. I shouted for my parents and searched around, finally finding them in their bedroom.
At this time in the school year, I was in a tough predicament. I had been in the middle of a very immense problem with my father. It had been over a year ago since the life changing situation, and I was still struggling for recovery. I had not reached any sort of acceptance as to why such things happen, and to me of all people. Not only was I emotionally damaged, but my school work was too, suffering.
It was in the beginning of 2010. I graduated to tenth grade, the senior year of the school. My emotions were driven by both anxiety and exultation. Since the final score in the tenth grade was a yardstick of our knowledge-gained and hard-work done throughout our schooling, all of us were concerned. However, the feeling of freedom after the tenth grade kept us elated. Those memories are quite vivid in my memory.
In 7th grade I had to get up in front of my class to get, and present a commercial. I was so scared at first because I am a very shy person. It is not easy for me to speak in front a lot of people. As I waited for my turn I felt like I was going to cry. It felt like my stomach was in my throat. In the end I was scared for nothing because when I went up and did really good. The teacher complimented me on my work. After that day I was so proud of myself for conquering my fear. In 8th grade I finally got on the honor roll, again. I was so happy to be on the honor roll, because I hadn’t been on the honor roll in a really long time. seeing all those A’s made me so happy. I felt the same excitement as I felt in kindergarten when I first gotten on the honor