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It was back in Mrs. Dobbin’s class, a couple days after my birthday. That year for my birthday, I had gotten my ears pierced. It was a couple days after that in class and we were doing a project. The project had involved cutting paper and Mrs. Dobbins had just told us to throw the paper on the ground and we would pick it up at the end. Well before we cleaned it up we were going to take a bathroom break. As I was walking up to the line to go to the bathroom, I had slipped on some of the paper and fell. I had fallen just close enough to the desk that I slid my ear across the old rusty desk and ripped it open. I remember bursting out in tears. I had gotten up holding my right ear and went up to Mrs. Dobbins and showed her. She had sent me down
My first college English class was ENC 1101 at the State College of Florida. In this course, I learned a vast amount of information about writing, reading, and grammar. When I first walked into ENC 1101 in August, I expected the class to be like any other English class in High School; with rushed busy work and a lot of useless tests and quizzes. However, throughout each week of the semester, Professor Knutsen’s class made me beg to differ. This class was not like any other high school English class. In this class I actually learned important information and did not do work just to complete it. This class had a few assignments here and there, enough to maintain, in order to learn proper information. I learned a lot in this class because I was not rushed to
I am not born with a silver spoon on my mouth to host a feeding program nor offer scholarships to others. I am just a college student. However, KINDLE, one of Rotaract Club's program, made me realize that we do not need to be rich in order to be of service to others. We could always help, if we truly want to. Afterall, money is just one of the million ways to
I still remember my second grade classroom. Not perfectly, but just enough that I can tell you about it. There was something that happened that was horrible, but lucky we figured it out before the real thing hit. You're about to find out what happened.
We all have our opinions on how well we think we are at reading, I have my opinions and honestly, I think i’m pretty good at reading, but I have evidence and heres why.
My brother and I were at the Bronx Public Library with a few of my brother’s friends. The library was located right in the heart of the town, overlooking The Coachman’s Inn, which happened to be my mother’s workplace. The dirty, graffitied, cream bricks of the library gave off a sketchy vibe. The librarians were the meanest people you could meet. They were always yelling at us for making too much noise, even when we weren't making a sound. I was wearing my white polo shirt and my navy blue skirt; my brother wearing his light blue polo shirt and his creme khaki pants.
The big year, Senior year. This year has gone by super fast, almost to fast. The highlight of this year was taking 4 Ag classes. Brasser and Buttram have made my senior year. They have taught me more in one year than I have in 3. Brasser was in the service for a long time, so i'm telling us his stories were crazy. I learned how to use power tools and build a shed. Buttram convinced me to try FFA, I was open to try new things so I did it. It was my first year and I improve at every meet. We were a team of 4 and only 3 showed up so basically we can’t move on from districts because our scores wouldn’t be enough. I still had a great time and got a lot of experience to take with me. I wish I was in an Ag class freshman year. Basketball season wasn’t
It was the last Saturday in December of 1997. My brother, sister, and I were chasing after each other throughout the house. As we were running, our parents told us to come and sit down in the living room. They had to tell us something. So, we all went down stairs wondering what was going on. Once we all got down stairs, the three of us got onto the couch. Then, my mom said, “ Well…”
When the end of my 5th grade year had hit; A land mark of the most traumatizing event of my life was about to take place. My mom had left my father and took us along with her. Over the summer and a few addit...
On that fateful day in March, I was a couple months shy of my third birthday. My family and I lived in New Mexico at the time and were renting a house with an outdoor in-ground pool. The day was beautiful. I was outside with my oldest sister Rachel and my father. Rachel was diligently reading curled up on a bench that sat against the house, and my father was mowing the backyard. My mother and my other sister were in the house. Off to one side of the house there was a group of large bushes. I was playing over there with one of her large cooking pots, off in my own little world. At one point while amusing and en...
I remember spitting my gum out right before I walked into the humid classroom for seventh grade drama night. I tasted the residue of mint and the fresh blood from where I had just bit my cheek from nervousness. When the classroom was ready for the next group, we were called into the room to get in our opening spots for our skit. It was noisy, there were parents, siblings, grandparents, anyone and everyone I could think of seemed to be sitting there. Their voices quieted down when we took our places.
In Pre-K, I was getting seated onto the “big kid” slide, when an older kid, pushed me. I tumbled, and descended onto rocks. I had bit through the skin just under my lower lip, and punctured a hole. I was rushed to the ER, and my mother couldn’t dare to look at the horror. The horror of pain and fear crawling out of my face.
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.
Two days before my 4th birthday, my father loaded us up in the car and drove over the mountain to visit our mother. There were no cars in the driveway when we pulled up so dad went and knocked on the door to see if she was home. Tara and I sat in the front seat of the car and waited. All of a sudden a truck pulls into the driveway and
Just got off the phone with you a little while ago. I apologize for trying to talk to you when you didn't want to speak. I know that your very upset right now and you don't want to talk so I'm sending you this message instead. I am hesitant about sending you this letter as I don't know how you will take it. It seems like a good idea to let you know where I'm coming from. So I hope this is true. Sometimes I feel that writing how I feel is the best way to let you know what is going on in my head. Really not sure what the right thing to say is at this point. I'm frustrated that my actions have led to this. In my mind I believed that I was doing the right thing by coming home. I really hope that we can communicate in the future regardless of what
Waves I am a raging inferno of emotions. When I feel, I feel every single part of whatever it may be, even the ones they might think to be most insignificant. When I am cold, it feels as if hell has frozen over Earth. When I am sad, I do not find an ounce of happiness in the whole world.