The click of my heels echoed upon the worn, tiled floor of the unfamiliar high school. The lone sound made the dim, empty hallway feel even more dreary. Here I was—sister of a renowned debater—after the loss of another debate round. I was nowhere closer to qualifying for TFA (Texas Forensic Association) state than I was the week before. I was dejected and jaded. Every debate round had started to blend together lately. “There’s always next week,” my debate coach, Beard, told me with a disappointed pat on the back. I walked past him and avoided his gaze as tears began to well in my eyes. I looked down at decrepit floor as I plodded away from him. I was never good enough. I wasn’t even sure if I liked debate anymore. So why was I still doing it? I shook the thought away. I couldn't let my coach and my brother down. I would qualify for state, but still I would never be an elite in debate like my brother. I would never be him, even though we had been compared to each other since I first learned to talk. …show more content…
I thought about that inquiry as the week wore on. Eventually, the next debate tournament rolled and I qualified for TFA state. After my qualifying round, I practically skipped to my coach in joy and told him the news. I had actually done something successful in debate! But, it still didn’t feel right to me. At that moment all I could think about was how much I loathed debate; it was stressful and had made my cry on numerous occasions. I was only joyous because I made my coach, not myself, proud. I didn’t love debate; I loved the
“Always remember that you are absolutely unique. Just like everyone else.” This mantra from Margaret Mead is a somewhat humorous yet slightly satirical spin on how people tend to think of themselves as one-of-a-kind, irreplaceable human specimens. However, one English teacher from Wellesley High School takes this critique one step further with his polemic presentation at the school commencement. David McCullough, a Massachusetts English teacher, gave a seemingly somber sendoff to his graduates in 2012, with a speech that contained some unapologetically harsh sentiments. However, by looking past the outwardly dismal surface of the speech, the students can infer a more optimistic message. By incorporating devices of asyndeton, paradox, antimetabole, and anadiplosis, McCullough conveys to each student that even though none of them is unique, their commonality is not a fault they all have merit and should strive to view the world through a more selfless lens.
In John Hubner’s 2005 book, Last Chance in Texas, readers are given insight into the fundamental curriculum that is embedded at Giddings State School. The book is divided into two parts, it begins by giving the point of view of the boy’s at Giddings and then shifts to the girl’s perspective. A significant chapter in the girl’s portion is chapter twelve, in which Hubner centers on Candace, a subject of the book. Readers learn her life and crime story and are able to understand the effects Giddings has had on her life and also how she, herself, affected the campus life. Chapter twelve not only further develops Candace as an individual, but also introduces more depth into the Special Services Committee.
As I walk to the front of the classroom, time seems to slow to a crawl. I take a glance at a sea of blank faces staring back at me. You would have thought I would be use to this sensation by now. I know what to expect and have been through these motions a hundred times, but as I walk up to the stage, determined not to cower in defeat, the notecards I grasp firmly in defiance quiver slightly exposing my sense of dread. So while I often triumph over this battle, I now stood atop that classroom stage preparing to recite the merits of James Madison that I had poured myself over the past few weeks. I had the lingering thought that throughout the sea of faces there were those who were paying less attention to what I was saying and more attention to how I was saying it.
“Stop spacing out, Mr. Anderson,” Mrs. Sorun said, who had thrown a paper wad at my head. “Part of your grade is listening to what your peers have to say and right now you’re failing.”
We were going to win the game. That was the end of it. I knew it. We were the winners of that game. I stood up and yelled in a voice that even frightened me. I didn’t scream about moving our feet, or calling the ball, I screamed about how big of winners we were. I was done with moping. For seven minutes of my life, I had forgotten that I could do anything I set my mind to, and I had given up. The worst seven minutes of my volleyball career were those seven minutes in the third game of the final match at Brighton Volleyball Tournament. I had put my determination down to wallow in my disappointment. Disappointment needs to build determination. I had decided a long time ago that there were certain things in life that I could do better than other people. Those were my gifts. I use my gifts to my full potential.
First and most importantly Mike Rose writes the book in the first person. This provides an invaluable view to the actual thoughts and perceptions of a student who considered himself to be underprepared. Mike Rose begins his accounts in grammar school when he felt lost in the material. The teacher did not hold his attention and therefore he began to “daydream to avoid inadequacy” (Rose 19).
It was finally time to head to gym class in the afternoon where we were instructed to take part of a physical test. This test would determine how fit or unfit we are based on a system that was implemented by those with greater authority, on which concluded that it was on such a scale society should be based on. So it was that afternoon that I preformed the tasks that were instructed on to me and my peers. I was able to completed them to my utmost potential which can be consider to be something not so distinctive. It was on this day that I was mocked by one my peers of my lack of ability to preform the instructed physical tasks, that was a no brainer to such a fit individual like himself. It
I received a voice mail today from Sean McKnight stating he has a meeting setup with Ken Barber and some other individuals on the executive board of Illinois Joining Forces (IJF). I felt it was my duty to inform the group about some important facts that Mr. McKnight is very good at hiding. I met Mr. McKnight during my time at NIU. I just served my time as the NIU Veterans Club president and decided it was time to let someone else take the helm. Matthew Galloway the current Veterans Club president introduced the club to Sean McKnight at a veterans club meeting. Sean came in and presented himself as a seasoned veteran’s advocate who has many connections throughout the state of Illinois and Washington D.C. He promoted his organization that he was starting Warriors Guarding Warriors as a revolutionary concept that has not been thought of as for yet throughout the veteran community. Finally, he offered his services to any veterans having trouble with VA benefits or the medical process. At the time we did not know that he was not officially certified to help veterans, and nor did he actually know the proper process or paper work needed to help our fellow veterans. Sean offered to be the Veterans Clubs mentor. The club held a vote and
Although this drive to always be better has become an integral part of my character, through my high school career it was not, and I derived my drive to succeed from other’s disbelief. When my track coach told me I was too short to be a triple jumper, overcoming his doubt became the driving force in my life. I toiled endlessly in
A lady walks into the store huddled over, fidgeting with every move while looking over her shoulder as if someone is watching her. A juvey cop yells “ Ma’am” she freezes in her spot, looking for every possible way to escape. But she stays place and turns around with a smile “ Yes officer?”
Back at the Mustang’s training facility, Coach Eduardo walked towards Paul. “Paul, I need to have a word with you. Come to my office.” Paul tagged along behind Coach Eduardo. As they approached the office, Paul wondered what his coach would say, and feared that he would have to leave the team. They went inside the soundproof office with an entrance that barely allowed Eduardo in. Coach slammed the door and in a dimming tone he said, "Son, your skills have grown over the years.” Paul felt a small sense of relief, but became tense again when Eduardo said; “However, it’s not enough to keep you on this team, and you don't belong here. I want you to get out of here now!" Those were the last words that Paul heard from Coach Eduardo before leaving the Mustangs. Paul strode out of the Mustangs' baseball training facility i...
But then came the dreaded moment when I was suppose to speak. Like everyone else, our counselor was expecting me to explain what landed me with the rest of the lot. And I told myself to keep it together, to be matter of fact and, to above all, not
All my life ,I’ve always wanted to be someone in life who can actually make a difference to this world in a positive way. Ever since I was a little girl I pushed myself to always best I can be just . I lived in a town outside Los Angeles, California , it was called Van Nuys,California.The elementary school (Kittridge Elementary) I had went to was in a low income area, mainly spanish community had lived in the area I was living in at the time .I had a lot of friends (mainly mexicans) I focused a lot on being on time for school , staying on task in class, and finishing my homework. At such a young age I had felt such ambition and was doing very good for myself. At the age of 10 was when reality start to really hit me , even though I was very young I started to see things differently.
“Why don’t you use your locker? You’re going to have back problems before you even graduate”. These are words that are repeated to me daily, almost like clockwork. I carry my twenty-pound backpack, full of papers upon papers from my AP classes. The middle pouch of my backpack houses my book in which I get lost to distract me from my unrelenting stress. The top pouch holds several erasers, foreshadowing the mistakes I will make - and extra lead, to combat and mend these mistakes. Thick, wordy textbooks full of knowledge that has yet to become engraved in my brain, dig the straps of my backpack into my shoulders. This feeling, ironically enough, gives me relief - my potential and future success reside in my folders and on the pages of my notebooks.
The echoing didgeridoo invaded the awkward silence, and the chairs scraped the wooden floors, marking the conclusion of the period. I attempted to bolt through the large crowd, squeezing through the narrow doorway of the class. I was shoved into a row of desks, “Step back loser or I will get Bulan to give you another reminder.” I waited, head down, looking at my hideous pale legs, wishing they were dark. When the laughter was fading down the hall, I ...