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On August 7, 2017, I completed my first day at McEachern High School. That day was my first day as a senior and I was 17 years-old. I was a nervous wreck, and on top of that I felt like everyone was staring at me. Honestly, that day was completely terrifying for me. I did not know where to go or who to ask. When I came to McEachern I felt different and unwanted. That morning at the bus stop, I saw a boy walking towards my direction. “Is this the bus stop?” I asked. He simply replied with a shrug of his shoulders. Five minutes later I find out that I was on the wrong side of the street, because the bus pulled up on the other side. When I got on the bus, there were no seats, so I had to share with someone. As I was sitting there, I felt like
It was a warm morning, Leah was getting ready to see her new high school with her mom. She looked through the window and saw a young boy around her age wearing a red cap, cutting off weed and fixing up a place across from where she lives. The guy knew she was looking at him from across the window, so he looked up and gave a smile at her. Leah moved away from the window and got embarrassed. She then took another peek and saw that the guy left with his bicycle, she was wondering who he was. A few minutes later, Leah’s mother took her to the high school she will be attending to, she saw the high school and it was much different where she attended to in New York, it was like a type long house with only 3 big room, they only had 1st year, 2nd year, and 3rd year of high school. They put her 1st year of high school which is like freshman year again. Leah will be starting high school within 2 weeks. She was kind of excited but yet nervous about how people will act with her since she can’t speak much Spanish. The next day she saw the guy she looked at through the window again cleaning up the property from across her house, he saw her looking at him again and he waved hi to her, Leah hid quickly and turned red, she told herself “ he probably thinks I’m a weirdo or he probably thinks I’m stalking him”. She then wanted to say hi back
The other night I had a dream. I dreamed of a boy whom I had known a long time ago, but since then he had disappeared completely from my life. In my dream, I saw him sitting beside my bed and talking to me. He told me about the trip that he had taken with his parents, his two older brothers, and his sister when he was seven years old. He told me how his parents had been victimized by a man who knew about his parents’ desperate attempt to flee from Vietnam, so he took advantage of them.
On the bus ride home, I noticed that my sister wasn’t there which then triggered sceneries of what could've happened to her, all with unpleasant endings. On the bus, I saw my brother and felt relief that it wasn't him. My sister was still nowhere to be found so I asked him if he knew where she was but he also didn't know.
In his article “What High School Is” Theodore R. Sizer describes the day of a student, Mark and how his average high school day plays out. Sizer feels that this accurately describes how most high schoolers spend their days. He states that “the basic organizing strictures in schools are familiar.” He describes Mark's school day and what classes he attends in which order. Sizer tells us what activities take place between students during class and during class transitions, and the activities being school and non-school related. The reader learns about what challenges Mark has to face during his high school days and what he thinks during his day.
8th grade, 8th grade from the opening day to the signing of the yearbooks. This is the year of memories, goodbyes, and regrets. 8th grade and I’m still realizing that there are people in the world that would die to go to a school like this. A school where every body knows everyone’s name, respects everyone, and where violence and fighting are about as common as the Yankees missing the playoffs. When I’m done with my homework and go to bed, as the days of 8th grade wind down, summer will come and go, and I will find myself in one of those giant, scary places called high school.
It was a typical day at Strion Middle School, and Felipe Jones was getting pushed around as usual.
As discussed in class, discourse is our communication. Furthermore, author James Paul Gee of “What is Literacy” defines discourse as an “identity kit” (Gee, “What is Literacy?”). Gee includes discourse as a combination of one’s thinking, acting, and language that is associated to a group of others. There are different kinds of discourses; two discourses that will be discussed in this paper are primary and secondary. Primary discourse is the “oral mode developed in the primary process of enculturation” (Gee, “What is Literacy?”). The primary discourse in this paper is the first-person experience I had in high school. Secondary discourse is “developed in association with and by having access to and practice with these secondary institutions” (Gee, “What is Literacy?”). School, work, and church are examples of secondary institutions. The secondary discourse in the paper is attending the University of Arkansas and writing this paper. According to Gee, “secondary discourse can serve as a meta-discourse to critique the primary discourse…” (“What is Literacy?”). Throughout this process I wanted to know if high school is destined. Was my high school experience awful or is there a sociological reasoning behind the events? With that, I have researched the social construct and applied it to my previous experiences enabling me to truly discover if high school is destined.
It began in the County Mall food court. Resting at one of the tables after my lunch, I casually glanced around the place. The food court wasn't crowded, and consequently I had no trouble spotting him: a tall, dark, gray-haired man. He caught my gaze, and started walking towards me. As I took in his gaunt frame, his tattered red t-shirt, and the holes in his great sweats, it dawned on me that before me stood a homeless man. Reaching my table, he asked if he could sit down with me but I declined. I wasn't in the mood to talk to him, and so mumbling a poor excuse and an apology that was probably a few octaves below any decipherable level, and not particularly caring whether the man heard me or not, I got up and walked away. The man called out after me, assuring me that he didn't want money, but rather only someone to talk to. I was rattled by his persistence, and pretending I didn't hear him I quickly walked away, my heart pounding in my chest.
One day, when I was a freshman in high school, I saw a kid from my class was walking home from school. His name was Kyle. It looked like he was carrying all of his books. I thought to myself, "Why would anyone bring home all his books on a Friday? He must really be a nerd." I had quite a weekend planned (parties and a football game with my friends tomorrow afternoon), so I shrugged my shoulders and went on. As I was walking, I saw a bunch of kids running toward him. They ran at him, knocking all his books out of his arms and tripping him so he landed in the dirt. His glasses went flying, and I saw them land in the grass about ten feet from him. He looked up and I saw this terrible sadness in his eyes. My heart went out to him. So, I jogged over to him and as he crawled around looking for his glasses, and I saw a tear in his eye. As I handed him his glasses, I said, "Those guys are jerks. They really should get a life." He looked at me and said, "Hey thanks!" There was a big smile on his face. It was one of those smiles that showed real gratitude. I helped him pick up his books, and asked him where he lived. As it turned out, he lived near me, so I asked him why I had never seen him before. He said he had gone to private school before now. I would have never hung out with a private school kid before. We talked all the way home, and I carried his books. He turned out to be a pretty cool kid. I asked him if he wanted to play football on Saturday with me and my friends. He said yes. We hung out all weekend and the more I got to know Kyle, the more I liked him. And my friends thought the same of him.
One of my friends called Kendrick fall off a clef and he was hanging on to a branch, with one hand and I was the only one who was able to help because, his mom and dad were still un-packing and he was playing with a ball that I gave to him in his birthday as a joke. At first, I thought he was just joking but, he stayed on for a long time and then I knew that it wasn't a joke so, I had to go to him and pick him up. I was scared to pick him up because, it was very risky for me and him because if I managed to fail to get him back to his feet, then he will fall, or if I did something wrong I would fall with him. Lucky his dad saw me trying to help him and he ran after me. Before, he got to me, I manage to get him to touch his stomach in the floor, he was also bigger and heavier than me so it was hard but his father held my back so than I pulled and I was scared if I would loss grip.... A few minutes I closed my eyes, my heart rushing, blood popping through my vines, I felt I was about to have a heart attack, pieces of me imaged I would lose a friend. When I opened my eyes, I saw him crying he lost the ball. I touched my eyes with my hands. I felt tears rushing though my cheeks and Kendrick's dad was glad that he was still
I remember my first day of high school like it was yesterday. A lot of my friends were...
...hing. I'm not going to say that what I learned is true or not. I am just expressing what I learned. I told you something. It was solely for you and you wasted no time telling everyone. This led me to the realization that I should just cut out the “middle man” because everyone will find out anyways. People can't turn around and tell everybody, because everybody already knows, I told them. Unfortunately this means that there isn't a place in my life for you or somebody like you. Is it sad? Of course. But this is a sadness that I chose. It’s easier to cope with loneliness than betrayal. Sometimes I truly wish that I could say that this was a story about how I got on the bus a boy and got off a man more masculine, hardened, and mature. But that's not the truth. The truth is that I got on that yellow four-wheeled machine a boy. And I never got off of it. I still haven't.
Then I got to the stairs. As I was walking down the steps I looked to my right. There was a statue of a beautiful woman, not the right statue. Finally, I looked to my left, and there it was. My heart skipped a beat. I could remember the very first time I saw that statue. It was a hot day in mid-July when Jordan and I first stumbled upon it. Last summer while I was living in the dorms, Jordan was my best friend; we spent every waking moment together. One day we decided to walk in the park, we got to the rose garden and were talking about the roses until we saw the little boy. We were both so amazed by the statue, yet we could not figure out why. Starting from that moment, we spent a great amount of time at the statue last summer. As I walked up to it, I could almost see Jordan standing next to the statue turning to say something about it to me that we had not noticed before, but that was last summer. Like I said, Jordan was a very close friend of mine, but when I moved back to Michigan last year, we grew apart. Standing by the statue I could remember sitting next to it for hours just talking, and looking at the statue with him.
I woke up this morning, got dressed, ate breakfast, and went out to my bus stop. Something was different about this morning; it was foggy, very foggy, which is weird for a spring day in Leola, Maine. It’s about 7:10 in the morning and my bus is starting to pull up. I look inside, I see a man driving. It’s not my bus driver, my bus driver is a girl. Something isn’t right. I don’t know who this man is. The door opens…
On the night before the first day of high school, I was the most nervous thirteen year old in