My feet are sore from rushed reps, and the sun is beating down on my back as I spin the routine for “America the Beautiful” for the umpteenth time. Mr. Rice had no sympathy despite this being the last day of band camp. The longer that I spent marching circles around the school, the more nervous I was about running out of time. It wasn't necessarily anybody's fault that the clock was ticking down, and that I was afraid of losing everything. The metronome beat endlessly, speeding up as if it wanted rest as much as we did. There is only a few hours remaining of this seemingly endless week. We had already knocked out seven of the thirteen hours of practice today, and it was bittersweet to think about how near the end was. As we got back around to the practice field, the sun had begun to set, casting its symphony of colors across the sky. I was so caught up in the moment that I had missed the dismissal for dinner. I caught Aniya first, doing my best to jog up to her with my flag poles in hand. She gave me a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. …show more content…
During the last two weeks we had spent together, I had begun to view her as a role model. I had never met someone so passionate about their craft; her dedication fueled the entire guard to work their hardest. I could tell that this was a hard time for her, whether she continued color guard into college or not. It would be hard for me to watch her go and not be able to do anything about
As I began to walk to the stage to receive my certificate for making the AB honor roll, my knees begin to wobble. I tone out the cheers and the voice of my mom yelling my name. I wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans as I came closer to stairs. Each step I took, I continue to ask myself why, today of all days, I forget to bring my jacket.
IN the early morning light, robert chippendale, English teacher for more than 20 years at Tower High, punches in at 7:04. he will never touch the card again. he is unaware that before this day is over, Tower will be rocked by murder, spotlighted by the ten o'clock news and denounced by the general public. Dressed in a blue jogging suit, he carries over his shoulder his sports jacket and newer slacks- his school clothes- in a garment bag, which he hangs in the teacher's locker room. Lightly jogging down the stairs to the back dorr, he pushes it open to cross the short path to the running track. He lets his mind wander. Is it too late to change his life? Season spent running in circles, starting and stopping at the same point on the track, a metaphor, he thinks, for his teaching career, now rutted like the track itself,in the soft years of familiarity. he bends down to retie his laces and notices that the air is surprisingly
When I was younger I would constantly pester my mom about what her life was like in Mexico. From what her life was like to what animals they had on the farm; I was always curious. As I grew older I asked questions less and less, thinking I would never get a chance to see the place my mom had once called home. Neither of us ever thought she’d return after coming to America in hopes of better opportunities nearly two decades ago. Despite how I felt at the time, I am glad to have had the chance to visit Mexico.
“It must be peace without victory”, that is what I heard President Woodrow Wilson say on the radio this morning. It’s 1918, the war has ended, and so much has already change, even here in my little town in Louisiana. I am happy so many things are changing. It means when I grow up, I can vote and work. Women’s rights, Prohibition, and the economy boom is really changing America.
From a very young age I knew that I was going to move out of my hometown Guadalajara, Jalisco for the rest of my life, after all, my parents had given me a very unique opportunity, a U.S. nationality. My goal was to finish high school in the U.S. and one day enroll in an American college, however, my parents were not willing to let a 17 year old girl move thousand of miles away on her own, with only the support of her older sister, that lived in Washington State. My mother was the one in opposition to this idea the most, every time I mentioned even the smallest comment about me moving away, she would instantly change topics, turn the volume up, or just say she didn’t want to talk about it, I would always insist, until she was willing to hear
Yet, Ms. Smith was an exceptional person beyond the gym and locker room. She volunteered for Canine Companions, raising over
Hunching a shoulder against the stiff wind, I took a deep breath of thin mountain air and looked out over the spectacular vista of craggy peaks and brilliant sky, feeling more than a little sorry for myself. Behind me lay five steep miles and hours of hiking that had started in the predawn blackness; my legs were numb and my hands tinged icy blue, but somehow there were still two cruel miles between me and the rugged summit of Mount Yale. I was toying with the idea of sitting down for a long rest when the clouds cleared and I caught a glimpse of my goal through the mist. That did it, I thought, and forced myself to pick up the pace. Step by step, I ground upwards, doggedly ignoring the increasingly desperate pleas of my legs and lungs. “Almost there - almost there - almost there,” I repeated to myself like a mantra, and after a million forevers I was there.
It was a July morning when I woke up to the sound of my alarm. The light rain hit my bedroom window as I prepared to run to Coach’s cabin. This was a tradition of our cross country team to run to his cabin. It was going to be a cool, wet run. I grabbed a granola bar, hopped into my car, and drove to the high school. As we pooled into cars, I jumped into Kaylen’s and her motivating music immediately rejuvenated my spirit and energized my soul. She is the party animal of our team and the spirit to our runs. The teammates in her car included Cheyanne, Rachel, Kaylen, and me. We enjoyed her music and the beautiful morning drive up the mountain. The rain gradually increased and the hope of a dry run diminished.
I strolled towards the double glass doors, deliberately kicking at a large, spiky, chestnut pod as I went. It skidded across the concrete and sent three more spike-balls rolling before toppling over the edge of the ramp. Gazing upward through the branches, which were camouflaged by green and brown splotched clumps of large, tear-drop shaped leaves, I could see bits of crisp, blue, autumn sky. I repositioned the strap of my viola case on my shoulder. It's too bad I can't stay out here to enjoy the weather. At that thought, I slowed my walk. Why am I nervous? I'm more prepared for my lesson this week than I have been in a long time. The set of doors now loomed ahead of me, and I tugged one of them open, making my way up to the second floor of the building. I knew there was no reason for me to be nervous, but the butterflies flitting around in my stomach didn't seem to care.
This was a very interesting and informative article. The growing number of immigrants highlights the importance of a course like this. I appreciate this article as it shined light on many of the struggles ELL deal with daily. It takes time, patience, support, and courage to learn another language. For me, reading this article reminded me of my journey to America and the struggles I dealt with as a student. My parents did not speak English and living in community as a minority had its pros and cons. I learned the language faster, however, I was stigmatized for the way I spoke and learned by certain students and teachers. Many teachers did not know how to deal with a student like me which hurt my progress. For example, a teacher told me I should know the meaning of a word when I asked for its meaning on a
She was an exceptional leader the entirety of camp. She displayed great leadership as she was the most experienced counselor at camp. She trained the new and inexperienced counselors on common tasks that are done at camp each year. She always had a smile on her face even when walking a mile to the pool in 110-degree heat and humidity. She knew that if she kept things upbeat and exciting that it would take the heat off of everyone’s minds. She is a well-rounded, intelligent, independent leader molded through years of
The United States is home to the most diverse population in the world. We are “The melting pot.” Citizens are able to do as they please, no matter their beliefs, color, gender, height, hair color, eye color, or anything else. That’s the American dream, right? People are free to be who they want to be. That’s why those pilgrims came to the undiscovered piece of land in the first place. They were sick and tired of not being able to believe or practice what they wanted. That’s the beauty of America, it’s full of different cultures in every state, and all we have to do is look around. All we have to do is take that next step out of our comfort zone.
I caught myself staring at the glistening constellations of sweat droplets on the foreheads of students exhausted after the considerable amount of excruciating workout. The sun was approaching the peak of its everlasting crescent among the sky; its light ruthlessly beats down on you like it wanted your money. The striking assaults of its rays encouraged the inevitable arrival of sunburns. Most people would use this opportunity to embrace and bathe in the glorious resplendence of the sunlight; not me. I didn’t expect my first high school experience to resemble a military camp, although I anticipated the encounter of several hardships and difficulties. The track and field arena looked even more intimidating with students dispersed throughout the place. What do you get when you gather hundreds of aggressive students and deposit them in an inferno-like field ridden by flesh-feasting mosquitoes? My summer school experience in a nutshell. The track and field place, the source of my suffering and mortification, had created long-lasting memories that cause me to tremble and cringe whenever I am reminded of this experience. It was July; the temperatures soared. I could practically see the waves of heat rising from the sizzling pavement as I became aware of the thick, prickly grass tickling my ankles. The weather this month consisted of an alternating pattern between evenings of heavy rainfalls, which created moist, humid air that was perfect for drawing in large populations of bugs, and days of scorching drought. The lively gossip lingering in the air like smoke infiltrating a casino was reduced to discrete murmured whispers when the teachers called everyone to line up in alphabetical order. I was neither physically nor mentally prepa...
The bell had rung announcing the end of the day in a high pitched shrill. Children were released from the school building. I was one that was forced to wait to walk home, but now it was my turn to stampede out the door. My grandparents lived a little over a block from the school, and since my dad worked up in Mason, and couldn’t come and pick me up from school, I walked. Some days, though, I raced things. Today was one of those days.
There we all stand waiting in expectation and just being. My thoughts are changing from one moment to the next. We may be standing in the classroom concentrating on the camera, but so much more is going on inside our heads. I know that we are all wondering exactly what the weather will be like outside. The stupid weather is like a child and can’t make up its mind to be good or bad. Secretly we all pray for the best and anticipating what the shouts from our section of the bleachers will sound like. Amber knows who’s going to be sitting in her section. The smart girl, Ann, thinks her family will be there and is excited to...