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Experience of personal childhood
Experience of personal childhood
Childhood room essay
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My First Bedroom
All my life I had shared a bedroom with my siblings. First, I had to share a bedroom with my brother, because we lived in a two-bedroom apartment. A few years later my sister was born. By then, we have moved into a three-bedroom apartment, so my brother got his own room and I had to share with my little sister. Nine years later the last member of the family was born, another kid sister. Therefore, I ended up with two roommates. I wanted my own bedroom so bad that I was always complaining to my parents about how 15 years old girls should have their own bedroom. Finally, we all moved into a five-bedroom house, and I finally got my own room.
If I close my eyes, I can still remember every detail of my bedroom. My bedroom was in the shape of a perfect little square. The door was in the left side of the room facing the window. Looking in the bedroom from the door, I see my bed placed against the wall in the right side of the room, with my mirror drawer facing the bed, leaving the window in between them. My closet was behind the opened door, which was very small. I did not like having too many things in my room; it was later that I added a desk to hold my television and radio. I placed the desk against the wall in front of the bed. My mother used to put light colored curtains on the window because I loved the way the sun shined through them and it added more meaning into the room. The smell of Sunflowers perfume always takes me back to my first bedroom. I used to wear that perfume all the time because it blended right in with the settings of the room. Every morning I used to open the window and immediately smelled the pear tree blocked my window with its leaves. Felling the breeze of the tree through my window was very relaxing. I used to spend a long time sitting by the window looking down at the neighbor’s kids running around.
My mind started to wonder though each room of the house, the kitchen where mom used to spend every waking hour in. The music room where dad maintained the instrument so carefully like one day people would come and play them, but that day never came, the house was always painfully empty. The house never quite lived to be the house my parents wanted, dust bunnies always danced across the floor, shelves were always slightly crooked even when you fixed them. My parents were from high class families that always had some party to host. Their children were disappointments, for we
Some schools force students to participate in organized school sports. However, I believe that schools should not make this a requirement. Some students may have medical conditions, family situations that don't allow them to participate in organized school sports, or they simply may not have the time.
Many people believe that the money generated from the sports played by these kids should be given back to them as they are the ones drawing the fans to these events. However few realize how little schools actually gain money by participating in the National Colligate Athletics Association. A recent study conducted by USA today showed that there are only 40 schools that consistently turn profits from the sports that they host. (Whiteside, USAtoday.com) This means that out of approximately 200 schools who participate in division one sports, only 1/5 actually would have money available to give back to the student athletes. Furthermore, it would be unfair to provide the students who play the sports, the money that is generated from their events, rather then putting the money back into the schools. Although these students participate and spend much of their time playing, they are no more special then the average student who attends the school. Putting the money back into the school itself allows everyone a better education, rather then just a few students, some spending money.
In the poem “The Lady’s Dressing Room,” written by Jonathan Swift, one may say he portrays himself to be a chauvinist by ridiculing women and their cryptic habits. However, others may say he wants to help women from the ideals placed upon them by society and prove to be an early feminist. This poem written in the 18th century represented women to be fake and sleazy at first. Then during the 20th century, the feminist movement used it as an attack against women, depicting the poem’s meaning as not valuing their rights and freedoms. The truth far hidden from these points of views became uncovered recently. This essay will explain both sides of the views and using critical thinking will uncover the real message the author intended to portray.
To me, extracurricular activities are not just clubs that I participate in to make my college application look more “full” and “impressive.” I participate in them because I enjoy being a part of them. An extracurricular that I am very passionate about is band. While I have played the piano since I was five, I wanted to be a part of a group of people that share the same passion for music as I do. Band has two seasons, marching and concert season, and I am a section leader for both of them. During marching season I am in charge of teaching the freshmen how to march, teaching them how to play their instrument, and teaching them the basics of marching season and what to expect. I am present at all of the auditions, camps, and practices, and I help anyone that is in need of it. Since I am in percussion, we have auditions to see what instrument we will be on during marching season. I chose to stay on my instrument from last year to improve on my technique and playing, as well as to help the incoming freshmen that will be new to the instrument. Since I am the front ensemble (a part of the percussion section) section leader, I assigned the music, I moved all of the instruments outside (along with the help of fellow percussionists), and I lead practices for my section. During concert season, I pass out and collect music and choose an ensemble that the
Inside the nicely decorated room with taupe walls just the perfect hint of beige, lie colorful accessories with incredible stories waiting to be told. A spotless, uninteresting window hangs at the end of the room. Like a silent watchman observing all the mysterious characteristics of the area. The sheer white curtains cascade silently in the dim lethargic room. In the presence of this commotion, a sleepy, dormant, charming room sits waiting to be discovered. Just beyond the slightly pollen and dust laden screens, the sun struggles to peak around the edges of the darkness to cast a bright, enthusiastic beam of light into the world that lies beyond the spotless double panes of glass. Daylight casts a dazzling light on the various trees and flowers in the woods. The leaves of fall, showcasing colors of orange, red, and mustard radiate from the gold inviting sunshine on a cool fall day. A wonderful world comes to life outside the porthole. Colossal colors littered with, abundant number of birds preparing themselves for the long awaited venture south, and an old toad in search of the perfect log to fall asleep in for the winter.
The place where I feel the most comfortable, and show my personality, is my bedroom. This is the place where I can really be myself and do what I want; it’s the place I come home to, and wake up every day. My room makes me feel comfortable because it is my own space. My house is always crazy, with my dog barking, and my siblings running around making noise, my room is the only place in the house where I can come and relax without caring about everything else, the only place that I can go to clear my mind.
The fleeting changes that often accompany seasonal transition are especially exasperated in a child’s mind, most notably when the cool crisp winds of fall signal the summer’s end approaching. The lazy routine I had adopted over several months spent frolicking in the cool blue chlorine soaked waters of my family’s bungalow colony pool gave way to changes far beyond the weather and textbooks. As the surrounding foliage changed in anticipation of colder months, so did my family. My mother’s stomach grew larger as she approached the final days of her pregnancy and in the closing hours of my eight’ summer my mother gently awoke me from the uncomfortable sleep of a long car ride to inform of a wonderful surprise. No longer would we be returning to the four-story walk up I inhabited for the majority of my young life. Instead of the pavement surrounding my former building, the final turn of our seemingly endless journey revealed the sprawling grass expanse of a baseball field directly across from an unfamiliar driveway sloping in front of the red brick walls that eventually came to be know as home.
It was my dream to always own my own home. My wife and I set out to purchase a house on our own. In our process of trying to be first-time homeowners, we looked at so many houses until we were about ready to say maybe now is not the time. One day we were out driving not really looking and stumbled upon a house which we thought would be our home. We got the information we needed and made the call to see the house. The house was a newly built house with all the amenities my wife wanted. Not knowing the ends and the outs of purchasing a house, we thought that it could not be that hard. We went all in for this house, our house. The builder/realtor was not willing to negotiate the asking price of the house. We were even expected to pay closing cost. The contract included a lot of costs which we also found out were non-negotiable. Had we been represented by a agent, things may have gone a little differently. We were then told that there was another contract on the house and it would be taken. We lost the house we considered or thought would be our home.
Everyone has their own, personal place to have alone time and clear their heads. For me, that place is my bedroom in my apartment. My room is the one place where I feel most nostalgic and comfortable; its’ a comfort that can’t be replaced. My bedroom is my favorite room in my apartment because I always have my privacy there, and I feel like it shows my personal style, which I love.
place I would have to go to before and after school. I have always loved my
A red brick house on top of a small hill is where my memories reside. A slightly curved gravel road led to the front of the house. Eight or nine rose brown apple trees randomly covered the plush green lawn. Down the small hill, muddy brown water trickled down a ditch with cattails surrounding it. One enormous willow tree sat in the background, to the right of the house, to complete the picture. It almost seemed like a picture from a postcard. But when you're a kid none of this really matters. All that really matters to you is to have as much fun as possible. My memories don't come just from this beautiful picture but from the little things making it.
Each year millions of dollars are spent on therapy because people want to re-live their childhood. These people discover late in life that childhood was the time period where the most meaningful parts of life were. Things from our past don't just fade away, they are part of us, and most people greatly miss them weather they know it or not. My most meaningful place is my parents' house because it is a symbol of reliving my childhood, indulging in good times, and just plain feeling at home.
Do you ever wonder why certain places mean so much to certain people? When I think of my bedroom, I realize why some people are touchy about who goes in their room or who has been touching things in their home, it is because those things are important to them and may have some meaning. Places like my bedroom are places where we can relax and be comfortable and I think that is why it is important to people, because we can be ourselves and feel comfortable, we can also just sit down and rest our bones and relax. Another important reason is we can go there when we want privacy, we can just shut our door, maybe even lock it, and tell everyone in our household not to bother us. Also our rooms hold most of our personal belongings and those things are important to us and we do not want anyone else to touch them or in some cases go near them.
My school does not have an agreed-upon approach to classroom management or discipline program to be upheld throughout the school. The principal and I are new this year. He has a philosophy of not micromanaging individual classroom rules or grading practices. The only request he has is to have clear and concise classroom rules and individually hold students accountable for those rules. They need to be clearly posted and discussed at the beginning of the semester, so there is no further discussion or questioning of classroom procedure. When a teacher is clear and consistent, students get into the routine. I personally really enjoy being able to manage my individual classroom as I see fit.