The day I lost my class spelling bee in seventh grade was the day my life changed in ways I never thought would happen. Fourth grade up until that time, I had made it to the Regional Spelling Bee at UMES every year in March where if I won, then I would venture to Washington D.C. to compete in the Scripps National Spelling Bee in May. Studying with my mom had become a paramount part of my life while preparing, and all I had experienced was success until that day.
It was sometime in mid-January 2016, and I had just arrived back home from the Philippines. I believed I was ready, but of course I still felt nervous, so when my English teacher, Mrs. Phillips, announced we were having our class spelling bee, I started shaking. We all stood up, and as rounds went by, I looked around and saw many of my
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We drove to her office because that was where I had my weekly coaching with my amazing spelling bee mentor, Mrs. Willett. Finally, we arrived, and when my mom came to greet us, she also sensed something was wrong. Building up all the courage I could, I explained to her what happened with my voice cracking while I held back tears. She said nothing, but I could tell she was furious, and after a few minutes, she started to yell, telling me I should have been more serious, I should have worked harder, how did I get that word wrong. By then I was in a full out breakdown; being already distraught from, I could not handle her anger. After he finished, my mom told us to go home, and she walked out, but before we left ourselves, I FaceTimed my coach, told her the events of the day, and had a very emotional conversation. At the end, she said that we would take it easy for now, but start to work very hard for Nationals. Then we said our
Sitting in my third grade classroom we chattered anxiously, waiting for the spelling quizzes to be passed back. My teacher placed them all facing down on our desks, a rather pointless effort when she was already aware that at any moment the room would burst into havoc with yells of "what did you get?", shouting numbers back and forth, and of course superior comments from the students proud of their marks. I quickly flipped mine over and grinned at the 8/10 scrawled in red marker near the top of the page.
It’s very surprising to be honest. If I rewind my life to the very beginning of junior year, I would have never suspected that I would encounter multiple hardships one after another, each excessively worse than the last. Yes, junior year was extremely tough domestically and socially but little did I know that my horrid problems at home would affect me academically. Undeniably it was my will power and my strong belief in never giving up which steered my grades and my life to the straight path and made me realize that mistakes happen in life for a reason, they happen so we can learn from them, so we can share our story with others and help them avoid the hardships we encountered. When I reminisce at my junior year, I don’t extract sadness or failure, I see the rejuvenation and the revival of a talented individual who encountered a slight obstacle on the road of life.
She knew that I was disappointed that I didn’t make varsity. She was just trying to motivate me, but at the time it seemed like she didn’t want me to enjoy my spring break.
From my experiences in Duel Enrollment English, I’ve learned quite a lot about writing papers. I
I woke up Tuesday morning excited for the day I was going to spend with my mom. I was sitting at the kitchen table drinking fresh coffee listening to my mom and aunt tease and joke around about how paranoid my mom was about doing well in her classes, my aunt was telling her that maybe now that I was there, she would relax a little bit and have some fun. Our plan was to go to one of mom's classes with her, and then on a tour of UNC and then we were going to go to dinner and a movie.
In 2009 Chimamanda Adichie gave a TED talk about the ‘danger of a single story’. A single story meaning, one thought or one example of a person becoming what we think about all people that fit that description, a stereotype if you will. In today’s America, I believe that we have all felt the wave of stereotypical views at some point or another. Adichie gives many relatable examples throughout her life of how she has been affected by the single story. Her story brings about an issue that all humans, from every inch of the earth, have come to understand on some level. A young child reading only foreign books, a domestic helper that she only perceived as poor. Her college roommates single story about Africans and her own formation of a single
...e the money to pay for my lesson and attire, so they pulled me out of the activity. I was angry at her for that and assumed she didn’t understand how it felt to have something that you love be taken away from you, when in fact she knew all to well. I found out so much about my mother and came to accept that even though she did not do all the right things with raising me, or the things I thought she should have done she did her best and I grew up to be a very respectful, intelligent young lady.
The sound of my alarm buzzed while I struggled to get out of bed. I wiped my eyes and got out of bed. My mind was packed with thoughts and emotions. That day was a very special day for me. I had prepared for that day for months if not years. Just thinking about it, made me nervous. It was tryout day for the high school golf team. Even though I was on varsity since freshman year, I was still nervous because there was always the possibility that you can get booted if your performance is sub-par. After staring at the wall for a solid minute, I shook myself out of the trance I was in and continued with my routine. Minutes passed, and I was ready to go to school. I loaded my car up with my clubs and started for school. I had a hard time keeping
That week of torture really put a toll on me. I did not want to embarrass myself on the field. “Why did I run for Homecoming Queen if my senior class barely likes me?” was the question in my head. As I walked on the field with my mother holding my arm, I felt like a loser already. When my principle said “2014 Homecoming Queen is,” I heard a Bing in my ears and my eyes went blank. I heard my own thoughts from my mind, “You lost, you lost.” When I came back to reality all I saw my best friend in the footballs stands with tears in her eyes. “2014 Homecoming Queen is Tiana Oakman-Tucker’. I was aghast, tears rolled down my face.
At the end of every school year, I looked forward to our annual Award 's Day Program. It was the best day ever. Moms and Dads took off work to come watch their kids get rewarded. My mom made Awards Day an even bigger deal; she bought balloons, gifts and pretty much the entire family with her. She was proud, and she had every right to be. I was a great student until I reached high school, and then something happened---Composition 1. My first day walking into Composition 1, I noticed a curly head person who wore a colorful bowtie. He looked funny to me, nerdy almost. He had a full coffee station
isn't to write a paper that will get a good grade. Now, my goal is to
As a young girl, I was always one of the final contenders in the spelling bees, timed tests, and even
The whole day had been a nightmare. I failed 3 quizzes, had to wake up super early to pick up some girl and take her to school, and I forgot to pack a lunch. After school, I told myself that the rest of the day would be great and I just needed to calm down and breathe. As much as I tried to calm myself down, I just could stop worrying. Today at my dance studio we were having cuts for our competition dance, one that I wasn't particularly good at anyway so I would have been nervous no matter the events of the day. Since Graystone lets out early, I had about 3 hours to kill before heading to my dance school. My mom and I decided that we would eat at a new Italian restaurant in Albermarle. I was already skeptical about his because some Italian
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.
The last few weeks of every year we had to take the greatly feared “TAKS” test. I was extremely nervous about the writing portion of the test. So the night before I went to bed at eight o’ clock sharp and woke up early and ate a good balanced breakfast, ready to dominate this test! Waiting for the test to be handed out I had butterflies in my stomach, my palms were sweating and I looked like my dog had just died. Basically the perfect description of someone who is not ready for a test. After slaying through hours of questions and writing, I was finally finished. Around two weeks later the results had arrived. Mrs. Valentine called each of us to her desk to privately inform us of our score. Finally it was my turn to figure out what I had made, with a deep gulp I asked her what it was and she proudly said with joy that I had been commended! I shouted “REALLY” and she nodded eagerly. I was so relieved; a big weight had been lifted of my shoulders that day, and raised my hopes for writing in the future. All because Mrs. Valentine actually cared to help me, and to that I thanked her for all her help. English become somewhat of a second nature to me all throughout grade school. Everything was going great until high school came along. It seemed as everything had to do with literacy, not just English, but also math, history, science and even