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Personal narratives about self
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Sitting outside of the principal’s office, my stomach lurched and my palms felt sweaty. I wasn’t about to get in trouble; in fact, the situation was the exact opposite. I sat there waiting to report what had just happened in my history class.
90 minutes earlier, I arrived at class to discover we had a substitute teacher for the period. Admittedly, I felt a moment of relief at the thought of a less taxing lesson than usual. Some of my classmates thought the same thing, but chose to express it a little more vocally. Slamming his fist on the teacher’s desk, the substitute responded by screaming to be heard over the din of the class. Everyone quickly quieted down at the sudden outburst. The substitute then proceeded to have everyone copy notes
The sweat was dripping down my face as I pushed the weights off my chest. Everyone ran towards their bags after a student said there was a gun in school. Twitter was the first source that we checked just to make sure. Boom! The door slammed open as coach Ben yells “Hurry up and get out”. My heart started beating faster and faster. We didn’t know what was going on. As we were running to the gym everyone was panicking and pushing each other. I could feel the burn on my elbow but I didn’t know what it was. When we got to the gym my elbow was covered in blood. We were told to get down and stay quiet. Later on we were told a student brought a gun to school and was planning on committing suicide. That was one of many gun incidents at my high school.
Response: “If a student is disruptive and says the work is stupid, I mark anecdotal notes on the behavior and make sure the student an...
When I walked into the school, I was greeted by the receptionist who kindly showed me where to sign in and then directed me to the teacher I would be observing for the day. The staff was dressed very appropriate for the day and on Friday they were able to wear pink because it was October. Although I did not see much interaction with factuality with each other, I was able to witness when the teachers of a certain grade would come to pick up their students. I saw how the teachers interacted with Mrs. Lee and they were very respectful. The student’s behavior varied from class to class. Most of the classes were well behaved with only a few students causing disruption. Mrs. Lee had warned me that the kindergarten class is normally noisier than other classes, but to her surprise the students were very quiet and did their work independently with no interruptions. Mrs. Lee did a wonderful job at keeping the students disciplined within the classroom. She would give positive re-enforcement and correct students when they would do something incorrectly. She worked really well with the students and they students responded in a respectful manner to Mrs.
Throughout her entire time teaching, Jane Satrom has had two students tell her “F**k you!” to her face which might have caused other people to lose their temper. However, Mrs. Satrom attributes her large amount of self-control to waiting tables for 12 years where she learned to calm herself down. Thanks to this, she has never lost her temper with
This particular class period consisted of around 3 students, but one student was working particularly just by himself with his teachers aid. Even before it started Ms.Metcalf classroom energy felt a bit off, and come to find out that during lunch one of the students had been teasing the other student. The student that had also been causing trouble had out of nowhere stolen paper clips off of Ms.Metcalf. The other student was not able to stay on task, because he still felt upset from the incident that occurred during lunch. This soon became more of a discipline class rather than the student learning about math, and apparently the "bully" had created pointer with the paper clips that could have actually hurt someone. Soon after Ms. Metcalf had to call the assistant principles to step in to discipline the student, and lost a entire day of instructions due to one student misbehavior. After the misbehaving student had left she went over to the emotional distraught student and began discussing that he should never let people 's words if they weren 't nice and that entire lesson became a lesson on
I consider myself to be a hard worker when I study and work, who honestly loves school. My favorite classes of 8th grade are honors geometry AB, Investigation and Science & IED. I love these classes because when I solve problems experiment it feels like it's a big puzzle that is in need to be put together and I'm a person who likes to figure things out. I believe that my interactions in these classes are to be a cooperative learner and I participate in the class or group discussions. A description of myself when I work is that I am a very fast learner, so when it comes to doing independent project or tests, I finish very fast so I have a really large amount of time to check over and fix simple mistakes. Although, when I am working with my peer
I expected to receive a variety of reactions anywhere from hostility and uncomfortability to acceptance and respect. But I had predicted the major reaction would be discomfort. As previously stated the place where this took place was South Western High School during a school day. I observed the reactions of students as well as teachers as I walked through
However, there is only one downfall to this class. When presenting videos, as a class, we are to give written and verbal feedback to students. I feel that in some cases other classmates did not take feedback respectively. I feel like it was disrespectful. Despite my help, I felt like the classmate was trying to prove a point at the learner’s expense. I understand it is hard to take constructive criticism. However, we only learn from feedback. I felt like this behavior inhibited our classroom’s learning environment. Our professor, Many, did a great job trying to deflect the situation. Mandy tried to effectively defuse the situation when
Teachers not only must be wary of being inadvertently injured by enraged “students” fighting in the hallway or the cafeteria, a peer might even wind-up becoming a threat to one’s physical safety. I recall one particular eighth grade Washington trip. As usual, I was chaperoning one hundred twenty eighth graders on the Hammonton Middle School’s annual class DC trip. We had just arrived back at the Mt. Vernon Motel after visiting the Jefferson Memorial. The nine chaperones were fatigued, but the “students” were still rambunctious.
A scream echoed through the empty hallways of County High School as we heard the news. How did that happen to me?" I thought to myself. This had to have been planned out previously by someone. This event was the Student Government elections held last year, my sophomore year.
Try to imagine this scene, ladies and gentlemen (pause for effect). You are in your favourite class. This is the class you have been looking forward to all day. Your teacher is illuminating a really fascinating theory and you have just begun to grasp its meaning. You are engaged and believe it or not, actually learning! Then suddenly the calming tones of the ‘Fat Frog’ theme tune invade the classroom. All hell breaks loose. Teenagers erupt in peels of laughter. The teacher stiffens, reddens and screeches “Who owns that phone?” The next ten minutes of the class are taken up with denials and recriminations. When peace finally descends the bell goes and the class is over.
Summer vacation, and school ends for about three months, and then you have as much fun as you can, then back to school… right? Well I had to go to summer school, but it wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be. Everything was going fine, I had a job after summer school, and that was going fine as well. They say that summer is supposed to be fun and exciting, and it usually is for me and my family. However in July my father started coughing up blood. My father usually doesn’t make it his top priority to go to the doctors, so he waited about four weeks until he really didn’t feel good.
There are certain moments in my writing process, even more than twenty years later, that I can still imagine hearing that sharply critical voice striking a deep and lasting blow as the journalism assignment replete with bloody red ink landed on my desk. “This is all wrong,” were the words my high school journalism teacher stabbed me with as she passed down the aisle pausing only long enough for me to catch a whiff of her nicotine breath. At the very same moment my stomach muscle knotted, my face burned as if with fever, and those four words echoed out of control over and over again in my ears. Notoriously late for class due to her love of smoking cigarettes in the teacher’s lounge (in those days smoking was allowed in school buildings), Ms. B’s entrance into the class on this particular day was no exception. With a flurry of authority, arrogance, and impatience, she appeared before me-the subservient and humble student. Her disdain for my writing was obvious in her written comments on the returned assignment. But it was the spoken word about my writing that intimidated and humiliated me, even to this very day when I allow myself to think back on the incident.
When I first got to the classroom the students were doing a listening exercise and had to answer same question the teacher wrote on the board. At a certain time they all were allowed to go to the bathroom. Each student was given a responsibility in the classroom.
Looking at his ridiculous, surprised face, I grew even angrier. Ironically, to defend a teacher who didn't hit students, I resorted to violence to deal with Chang-Min. Suddenly, I kicked him in the stomach, and we started fighting. Phil-bong, the vice-principal, caught us and brought us to the student life center for punishment. Phil-bong didn't even ask us why we fought; he simply asked who hit first. Admitting that I did, Phil-bong proceeded to beat my hands until they were swollen and reddish. Watching me getting hit by Phil-bong angered Mr. Zang, and afterwards he asked me why I hit Chang-Min. Mr. Zang convinced Phil-bong to forgive me, and I started to blame my classmate for my sore hands, and I asked Mr.