Descriptive Essay: Lessons Learned

What is he touching me for? I hate it when people touch me to wake me up. Maybe I should keep my eyes closed & he’ll leave. “Abou, get up. You guys have to clean the room.” He wasn’t going to leave. I arose from my bed and greeted the broom with a tight grip around the neck and jerked it around all the way back to the room. When i arrived back at my room it had became a crime scene investigation. Searching every little quarter inch of the room for dust. “Abou, throw this away” Oh no. its starting, the constant back & forth from throwing everything away. And also the “Professional” cleaners want to move my bed so it covers the door. Now I’ll have to go the long way through the bathroom.

        I never understood why we didn’t either bring the trash can in the room, or just collected the trash until we were done. But oh well. This is probably why I don’t mind working out now because it was a constant stream of running back and forth through the bathroom to throw every little threat to the vacuum cleaner away. If we throw away everything instead of using the vacuum to suck it up then why do we have one. Because only the finest dirt makes it to our vacuum. “Abou, here.”. As it continues. My over-thinking of the situation is making things even more stressful. Then I glance up & see the painting. A hazy sun lightly glazed over the salty waters of a boating dock. Everyone is pulling there boat in. The most calm part of the day... the end.

It was a saturday night. I had plans for once. Not because I wasnt social but since I’ve been let down many of times so I’ve learned that my family isnt the richest. So after understanding this I’ve learned to only ask to go out every once in a while to insure that my dad had money to give me and he wouldn’t say “No Abou, your always going out.”. This time it was perfect. I knew my dad had money because he just got paid, and I had enough money to be ok on my own. I called my friend one more time to confirm. I got dressed in my brand new jeans and my favorite American Eagle v-neck. Only thing left to do was tell my parents.

I walked into their room to find that they were also getting dressed. “Uhh .. where are you guys going?” I asked.

“Oh we were going to a show, why? My dad answered.

“Well because I wanted to go-”

         “Sorry, you got to stay and watch your brother.” I didn’t even ask the question yet. I nodded and did a sharp turn and left out the door. When I got back to my room I had a blank look and observed the child that needed so much attention. He did nothing. I saw no reason to stay behind to monitor a 14 year old young teen. All he did was Play video games and get on the computer. Maybe he could’ve downloaded a bomb, or unlocked the special burn down your house cheat on the game. Really its probably just one of my parents’ schemes to cage my social life.

      



 My scenes describe various times that I was being taught values. In the first scene when I was woken up early to clean my room I was being taught multiple things. By waking me up early I was taught to not waste time and that when you finish tasks early you have the rest of the day to yourself. Traditionally, the early bird gets the worm. I might have misinterpreted  the point of cleaning a room that will never be clean. I always thought that there was no point in doing certain things if there will be no one to see it. Things like dressing your best and cleaning other things. I saw it as an indirect lesson. The point being that you don’t maintain yourself for other people, you keep things nice because you like it nice.

        My second scene describes a time that I was taught about different responsibilities. During the actual time period I felt that this was an unfair task being that I felt that my brother was old enough to watch himself. I now understand that it was teaching me to be responsible. I was entrusted to handle certain problems as such. My brother’s allergies get triggered, the electric went out, or if there was a fire I was responsible for getting my brother and myself out safely. The main idea in my scenes is that certain responsibilities as a young teen can further impact your life once you understand the values incorporated.

Descriptive: Perseverance, A Personal Goal, By Willie Willson

All of my life I have been a hard worker.  I have always striven to do the best that I can, in any situation.  This quality has made me try many new things that I never have before, and has also given me the ability to enter these new situations with confidence that I’m going to succeed in them. I have also been given a better idea of what I can do, as a person, and that when push comes to shove, I will put forth my best effort.
        This summer I did an online course of geometry.  I was away for most of the summer, so when the time came to finally start this course, I was substantially behind.  I began and worked slowly for a few weeks, so I wasn’t making any real progress.  Finally, the two week mark came for when we had to hand in this course, And I got a little wake up call.  While I was sitting, watching hulu and looking at facebook, I saw the little red mail sign light up.  It said that I was supposed to be done seventy five percent of the course, and I was barely done a quarter of it.  It was time to go to work.  In the next week I worked 9-10 hours a day, I would wake up early, struggle all day to complete the amount I had set for myself, and managed to finish before the deadline.  For those two weeks, all I did was play hockey, work, and sleep.
        This experience of having to truly work my tail off gave me an interesting insight into how I can really succeed when I put my mind too it.  It shows that even when against the odds, I can come back and finish what I started, and that when I’m finished, I like to be acknowledged for what I have done.
        Another time came when I had just finished my hockey season.  We were all gathered around the firehouse, gazing at it apprehensively.  We knew what lay inside it, many pointless awkward conversations with parents, along with food, and finally the award ceremony.
        As I walked up to the building, I saw a group of my friends playing outside.  I went over to join them, and the violence that ensued thereafter caused us all to leave with smiles on our faces.  At that point we went inside.  Inside the firehouse, all of the parents sat, probably talking about something boring, and there were also drinks.  I got a drink and went over to my buddy’s table.
        At this table there was me, my friend John who is six foot three, and my friend Liam, who is about four foot ten.  Liam has a mouth as quick and snappy as a crocodiles, so I knew we where in for a good laugh.  Together we looked up at the stage area and started to watch the awards being given.  All of the younger teams went up first, and as I stood there, watching, an immense sense of pride grew in me.  These young children where doing a fantastic thing for hockey, and themselves, just by playing.
        When these children where done, It was time for the big whole club wide award.  The award was given to one person who really held up the clubs core values, as well as led his team during the season.  As I was sitting there, paying close attention to what the person giving the award was saying, I realized that the compliments sounded familiar.  Liam was staring at me and after every compliment he would say, “That’s you.”  Finally the man said my name, and I’m sure my face would have looked priceless.
        When I was walking up to accept the award I got a feeling of gratitude.  All of my hard work was about to be officially recognized.  They handed me a plaque, and gave me a signed Chris Pronger jersey.
        This was one of the best moments of my life.  I had been working my hardest at every game and every practice and it finally paid off.  I felt like I was flying.  This shows that I truly do work my hardest, and that people recognize me for it.        

One of the things that I’m best at is doing something through tiredness. One time when I got home from hockey practice, with the familiar feeling of being tired to the bone, knowing that everything will soon become a challenge.  

I opened the door, fighting my primal instincts in order to keep my eyes open.  I stumble as I try to fit the cumbersome bag through the rather petite doorway.  Not for the first time, I throw my bag down, with full knowledge that I will have to move it later, as I all ways do when I get home from hockey.  My throat is dry, as dry as someones in the Sahara desert in a drought, in the summer, if they were excercising.  I try to coax the motor skills back into my limbs, but they simply refuse to return.  I realize that getting to the kitchen will be harder than I thought.

I slip through the doorway, and see my brother, Matthew, in his usual position.  He is lying on the couch, no doubt because he is “hurt”.  I know that I will have to relinquish my hold on the TV remote for yet another night.  My mind shifts back towards the need for water, and I continue my long trek towards the kitchen.

I encounter my first obstacle.  Blocking my path is an abomination of steel and wood, with some type of mesh supports.  It blocks my path, but I’m in a stubborn mood.  I squeeze in my stomach, and try to slip by this strange contraption.  My stomach compresses, and I’m able to slip by the side of the machine.  As soon as I am free of the deadly embrace of the wall and the contraption, I turn towards it and see the paddle sitting on it.  This does not strike me as odd, because the ping pong paddle is sitting on the table that it was named for.

I encounter the second obstacle, a gruesome man made structure used for eating which has been place precariously close the entrance to the door.  I don’t feel like having another encounter with the wall, so instead of sneaking by it, I decide to do the obviously smart thing.  I give myself some room, and try to make the jump onto the table.  My motor skills where still returning, so I slipped and barely recovered in time.  I stop inches from the wall, and look back at the dining room table in triumph.

I encounter the last obstacle, the strange box which is weaved out of some type of straw.  I push it out of the way, and my shirt gets caught.  It tears, but I am to tired to recognize it at the moment.  I walk over to the fridge and start to drink that clear sweet nectar to soothe my throat.

        As you can see, I’ll always try my best at something, even if it is slightly ridiculous.  But through this ridiculousness I feel great because I know that no one can say anything bad about me, and if they do, I can just say that I did my best.  You can also see how I can push myself.  After hockey practice I am all ways tired, and even small things become challenges.  Overcoming these challenges is part of what makes us all atheletes.
The best feeling ever is the feeling of accomplishment.  As I got that award, as I got water finally, as I finish that geometry course, all of these events involve accomplishment, and the feeling that I have pushed myself.  This feeling is what I strive for, and it is what I feel like is the greatest feeling in the world.  

Embarrassment: Best Friend or Worst Enemy?

          It all started when I was graduating from middle school. Everyone else was excited but I was nervous as hell. I am a very shy person and when walking into a room without knowing anybody is a hell zone for people with personalities like me. This is how I became a sophomore today here at SLA. As I come in through the door after walking home from school with a huge fever and sweat running down my face and my face is red as a tomato. I feel like there is a volcano exploding in my head.  As I run upstairs to go to sleep but I realized I left my phone downstairs. I was waiting for a call from SLA to see if I would get admitted or not and I waited everyday near my phone for two weeks. But I was really tired from the fever and it was spreading as quick as a wildfire and I decided just to leave it because I had lost all hope of getting that call or even getting in. As I awoke from my nap still lightheaded from the fever I felt I was walking on clouds as I walked downstairs to watch TV. I grab my cell phone to check if I had any text messages. I opened my phone and it said I had a missed call.

 All a sudden my heart was beating really fast and the room started spinning because I wondered was this was call I was waiting for. I called the number back and a lady answered the phone asking do I still want to come to SLA and I was in shock. I didn’t know what to say but then I snapped back to reality and I said yes. She told me to come in to take a placement test then hung up. I just stared at my phone confused wondering if I got in or not because she just told me to come in to take a test so I didn’t know if that was a definite yes or not.Then I finally grabbed my phone and ran upstairs with my heart beating so fast and called my counselor who was trying to help me get into SLA at that time. I waited for her to pick up. She picked up and I told her what happened she told me I got in and I was screaming and shouting and called everyone in my phonebook. I knew all that hard work has finally paid off as I ran upstairs I felt like Rocky running up those stairs to go on face book to announce I finally got in to SLA. After waiting for a couple of weeks because I know summer institute had started. I get out my dad car and I walked towards the door of SLA very slowly because I knew it was going to an awkward horrible day. I couldn’t find the door to the school because I only went there once and I was to scare to remember anything and I ran out of there as fast as I could. I walked in the door with the heaviest heart because I knew this was a hell zone for shy kids like me. 

I got handed a paper and was told to take a seat I turn around to see a sea of chairs and kids looking either angry or bored. I take a seat as quickly as I could. I was so bored. I had to wait there half an hour and a played with the piece of paper like I was given the best game in the world to play with. They told us to head up to the rooms we were assigned to. I walked up those stairs my feet felt like cinder blocks weighing a hundred pounds each because I knew something bad was going to happen. Then I realized I was I was lost because I didn’t know where the second floor was and I had to ask some random stranger looking at me like I was the dumbest person in the world because they pointed to the sign on the door the said the second floor. My face was red as a tomato as I ran down because I did not want to see the person face that helped me. I walked into the class and new faces stared at me with a “what are you doing here” expression. I took my seat as quickly as I could and I had never had been so embarrassed in my life. I sat there wondering if the day could get any worse. I sat there with all these unknown faces looking at me with a pissed off face. I felt so little compared to all these kids and I was little enough already. I can feel sweat building up in my body because I was so nervous. 

 The teacher had us all introduce ourselves and my voice was like a mouse barely squeaking because no one could hear me. My throat closes up when I get really nervous so there was no way I could talk any louder. We had to play games and I was ready to cry cause my shyness was overcoming me so much that I could barely move from my seat. I wonder how everyone faces looked so calm. I played the game but I tried to not volunteer as much as possible. But the teacher kept picking on me. I was so close to throwing my shoe at him because he can obviously see that I was shy. But when we had to go on our expedition it was really fun because I met some new potential friends. We went to Logan Square and it was really hot that day so the water was cooling us down but all of us had no idea to do. We just walked around the fountain what felt like hundreds to times.  Then it was all pretty much boring after that. But towards the end of that day I broke out my shy shell and made really good friends till this day. I found out a lot about myself a lot that day and knew I could make friends easily if I just was myself. Though my day was a ton of embarrassing moments there were still a handful of good moments to. Even though I hate being embarrassed in the end it always take me to good places and learn new lessons. 

The word “embarrassing” is what I can honestly say is the most used and known word in my life. Embarrassing things happen a lot to me and I can’t help it when a situation gets too much for me and then I can’t stand the fact anymore. And sometimes I get put into situations that I can’t handle and when things get really bad it becomes a hell zone for shy and easily embarrassed people like me. Some people can handle embarrassment easily and shake it off like it never happened. For other people that moment keeps replaying over and over again in their head and it never stops and they will never forget it and they fear that people will never forget and look at them differently.  Embarrassment can be your best friend and worst enemy. From my own experience it is my worst enemy but also my best friend cause always in the end they bring me to good places.

Embarrassment: Best Friend or Worst Enemy?

              It all started when I was graduating from middle school. Everyone else was excited but I was nervous as hell. I am a very shy person and when walking into a room without knowing anybody is a hell zone for people with personalities like me. This is how I became a student today here at SLA. As I come in through the door after walking home from school with a huge fever. Sweat is running down my face. I feel like there is a volcano exploding in my head.  As I run upstairs to go to sleep. I realized I left my phone downstairs. I was waiting for a call from SLA to see if I would get admitted or not and I waited everyday near my phone for two weeks. But I was really tired from the fever. It was spreading as quick as a wildfire. I just decided just to leave it because I had lost all hope of getting that call or even getting in. I woke up from my nap still lightheaded from the fever. I felt I was walking on clouds as I walked downstairs to watch TV. I grab my cell phone to check if I had any text messages. I opened my phone and it said I had a missed call. All a sudden my heart was beating really fast and the room started spinning. I wondered was this was call I was waiting for. I called the number back and a lady answered the phone asking do I still want to come to SLA. I was in shock. I didn’t know what to say but then I snapped back to reality. I said yes. She told me to come in to take a placement test then hung up. I just stared at my phone confused. I wondered if I got in or not because she just told me to come in to take a test so I didn’t know if that was a definite yes or not. Then I finally grabbed my phone and ran upstairs with my heart beating so fast. I called my counselor who was trying to help me get into SLA at that time. I waited for her to pick up. She picked up and I told her what happened. She told me I got in. I started screaming and shouting and called everyone in my phonebook. I knew all that hard work has finally paid off as I ran upstairs. I felt like Rocky running up those stairs to go on face book to announce I finally got in to SLA.

 

After waiting for a couple of weeks because I knew summer institute had started. I got out my dad car and I walked towards the door of SLA. I walked very slowly because I knew it was going to an awkward horrible day. I couldn’t find the door to the school. I only went there once. I was to scare to remember anything. I ran out of there as fast as I could. I walked in the door with the heaviest heart because I knew this was a hell zone for shy kids like me. I got handed a paper and was told to take a seat I turn around to see a sea of chairs and kids looking either angry or bored. I take a seat as quickly as I could. I had to wait there half an hour and a played with the piece of paper like I was given the best game in the world to play with. They told us to head up to the rooms we were assigned to. I walked up those stairs my feet felt like cinder blocks weighing a hundred pounds each. I knew something bad was going to happen. Then I realized I was I was lost. I didn’t know where the second floor was. I had to ask some random stranger looking at me like I was the dumbest person in the world because they pointed to the sign on the door the said the second floor.I ran down because I did not want to see the person face that helped me. I walked into the class and new faces stared at me with a “what are you doing here” expression. I took my seat as quickly as I could and I had never had been so embarrassed in my life. I sat there wondering if the day could get any worse. I sat there with all these unknown faces looking at me with a pissed off face.

I felt so little compared to all these kids and I was little enough already. I can feel sweat building up in my body because I was so nervous. The teacher had us all introduce ourselves and my voice was like a mouse barely squeaking because no one could hear me. My throat closes up when I get really nervous so there was no way I could talk any louder. We had to play games. I was ready to cry cause my shyness was overcoming me so much that I could barely move from my seat. I wonder how everyone faces looked so calm. I played the game but I tried to not volunteer as much as possible. But the teacher kept picking on me. I was so close to throwing my shoe at him because he can obviously see that I was shy. But when we had to go on our expedition it was really fun because I met some new potential friends. We went to Logan Square. It was really hot that day so the water was cooling us down but all of us had no idea to do. We just walked around the fountain what felt like hundreds to times.  Then it was all pretty much boring after that. But towards the end of that day I broke out my shy shell and made really good friends till this day. I found out a lot about myself a lot that day. I knew I could make friends easily if I just was myself. Though my day was a ton of embarrassing moments there were still a handful of good moments to. Even though I hate being embarrassed in the end it always take me to good places and learn new lessons.

 

The word “embarrassing” is what I can honestly say is the most used and known word in my life. Embarrassing things happen a lot to me. I can’t help it when a situation gets too much for me and then I can’t stand the fact anymore. Sometimes I get put into situations that I can’t handle. When things get really bad it becomes a hell zone for shy and easily embarrassed people like me. Some people can handle embarrassment easily and shake it off like it never happened. For other people that moment keeps replaying over and over again in their head. It never stops and they will never forget it. They fear that people will never forget and look at them differently.  Embarrassment can be your best friend and worst enemy. From my own experience it is my worst enemy but also my best friend cause always in the end they bring me to good places.














Descriptive Essay Average Joe

The Average Joe
Merrik Saunders

It was a long day at school and I was exhausted.  I  just went straight up to my room to lay down.  It was Friday finally. “Time to chill and do nothing,” I thought.  I decide to open my new game “Chrono Trigger” and try it out.  It was a good old fashioned action-sci-fi game that was about a group of people who time travel.  A poster of the game fell out.  I wondered why there was this weird looking walrus on the poster.  “No monster could be as sinister as a walrus ” I said to my self sarcastically.  Then I heard this weird noise off in the distance as if someone was struggling.  Then I heard it again.  I went to the top of the stairs to see what was happening.  There was someone trying to mess up the front of the house.  I called out to my mom and she came down with me.  I grabbed my staff and tried to chase the person away.  As soon as my Mom and I emerged from my front door the person started to run away.  I ran and jump off the top steps like a crazy mad man while screaming.  Waving the wooden staff, a face grinning on the top of it.  The panting mouth shows off the ivory teeth.  He starts to run faster as if I was a psycho killer.  My mom starts to laugh at me and we go back inside.  Luckily, I heard the person.  We called the cops and they said that they did get calls that someone was going around messing with people’s houses.  I am sure a lot of people have had their houses broken into or vandalized.  We were just lucky that we were home.

I just sat on the back steps idly trying to find something to do.  I stared blankly on the back porch.  The burgundy porch shined against the blaze of the hot sun.  The big tree in the yard only provided only so much shade from the suns intense rays.  I glance to my cousin hopelessly and asked him if he knew anything we could do.  He shook his head and continued to stare at the damp lonely ground.  I started to walk around trying to think of something.  “Come here, Steph” I said.  Some bamboo fell into our yard from the neighbors’ yard.  I started to look at it intently.  “This would be good to whack something with.” Steph said.  We both looked at each other.  We were at a standstill like like two warriors waiting for each other to make the first move.  Then like pure instinct I extended my arm out to block the high attack from my opponent.  I can feel the vibration travel down the bamboo as if I just hit a home run.  Now it’s my turn.  I backed up then swung from the left. To my surprise, my attack was dodged.  I darted behind the tree.  The two seconds of rest turn back into the battle.  The clacking could be herd a block a way.  You would think that we were real warriors.  Again and again we attack each other with great force.  We are both tired but we still go on.  I dive to doge an attack then quickly get back up to strike again.  Luckily my opponent stumbled and fell.  I charged towards him and strike down with all my might.  My opponents weapon broke and he was rendered helpless.  With a heavy breath and sweat on my face I stand over my opponent triumphantly.  I have emerged triumphant, I have won.  Then without warning we both start to laugh.  I extend my arm to greet his.  I help him back up.  We walk back inside.  It was a good match and I am the champion for now.  Man boys will sure be boys.  Just like any old kid.  As willed as ever.

Now that I think back on this it isn’t much that is unusual about this.  At first I couldn’t see it.  It was so hard to think of a way to tie all my story together.  No mater what it did not fit.  Any memory or any way I tried to put the pieces together.  It was like a jigsaw puzzle you couldn't figure out.  Just then in a split second I realized what the problem was.  I was talking with one of my friends and I was saying how life was boring for me.  Just the same old stuff happening every dull day.  I got the idea from that.  My life is just regular, an average Joe.  Plenty of people had some one mess with there house.  When I was young every one was running around causing chaos.  Most of the things that happen in my life just is not any different than anyone else.  I’m one of the few people that dosent have any extra in there life.  So the main point in all of this is that I am a regular guy, nothing more nothing less.

Home is Where My Heart is

I’ve always believed that home is important because home is where my heart is. Home is where my memories are. Every happy and sad thing that has happened to me is brought back to this place. I’ve lived here almost all of my life. If I ever moved away from this neighborhood and my memories, I would be a disaster. It’s where I can go, and I won’t be judged. I can go home from a rough day at school and be greeted by my family. While everything else in my world is spinning around, this is the one thing that never changes. It’s where I’m safe.

I can go back to when I first walked into my house when I was 5. I was down the basement and I couldn’t find my way upstairs. My dad was bringing things into the house since our basement door is next to the driveway. It’s easier then dragging things all the way to our front door, which is on the side of our house. When I saw him I ran over and said “Daddy! I can’t find the door! Help me!”  He laughed and then said, “Turn around.” As I turned around I saw the door to walk up into my living room. When I got upstairs there was almost a ton of change in random spots in the rooms. I was so excited, it felt like a treasure hunt, so I ran around the house collecting any change that I saw.

I love looking back on that memory and thinking about how easy things were. The biggest problem that I had was that I couldn’t find the door out of my basement. Now I have to worry about what people I trust, what my grades are like, not letting things get to me, among other things. Nevertheless, every rough time there is, a hundred great memories that come along.

One of my favorite memories in this house took place after a concert my friend and I went to, she came over my house to sleepover. We ended up staying up until 3:30 am, hanging out in my bedroom. Most people don’t like staying in my room for too long because everything in my room is pink, my bedding, lamp, desk, walls, rug, even my ceiling is pink. It is very bright, even sometimes I don’t like being up in my room for too long. There are also a lot of pictures and posters. It was one of the funniest nights I have had though.

  When we first got home from the concert, we just hung out and talked for a little.  As the night carried on we got extremely hyper, because we were both tired and we each had a can of Mountain Dew. About halfway though the night I brought in my little brother’s Yamaha keyboard. Neither of us know how to play keyboard so when we tried, it ended up sounding like nails on a chalkboard. I felt really happy because it was fun and neither of us try to act perfect. Later on, we decided to randomly call people and play the keyboard while on the phone. Every time we would dial a number and listen to the phone buzzing as we waited for them to answer, we would laugh hysterically, thinking about the reaction of the person we were calling. When someone would pick up, we would shout “Hello! Hi! Heeeeeeey!” in funny voices and then slam random buttons on the keyboard. People thought we were completely insane, asking “What is wrong with you s? Why are you calling me?” Every person that we called hung up on us within 5 minutes.

About an hour before we actually fell asleep, we turned on my old, bulky, silver television that my grandmother gave me. We started watching That 70’s Show, one of our favorite television shows. We were also quoting every line that a character would say and cracking up. After a while we got really tired so as we were still watching That 70’s Show, we both fell asleep.

That night was just fun and that’s the night that I realized why home is important to me. It is important to me because it’s a stable place in the world. Everything changes, but this place never does. I have grown up in this same house and my bedroom has grown along with me. From my princess room, to just all pink, to how it is now. Now it is exactly how I want it, it has pictures all over my walls; there is just enough space all of my belongings and me. It’s organized perfectly for me, not too neat but at the same time its not too messy, and I know where I want everything to go.

I remember when I got my room the way it is now. It was a Saturday, 2 years ago; the movers said they would at my house any time between 1-4 pm. It was 3:30pm and I have been staring out of my window for the past 2 hours, impatiently waiting for my new bedroom-set to be delivered. I had my room completely cleared out, except for my television. Other than there was just pink walls and ceiling, both windows with their curtains pulled up, and an open door. I was completely ready for my new bedroom, so over excited that I couldn’t even go 10 minutes without running towards my window to check if the movers have finally arrived. Every time I would hear a car rush by I would run outside and be greeted with disappointment.

At 3:45 I heard something, it was the pounding of large tires on a road. I looked out the window and screamed downstairs to my mom “THEY’RE HERE!” as I stormed down the flight of stairs that was separating me from her. I stared out of the window as the movers checked their paperwork to make sure it was the right house, slammed the trucks doors, and started walking up to my front steps. When they finally knocked on the door, it was like a symphony. “Hello, we have a bedroom set delivery for the Flite family.” They said when we opened the door.

When they were upstairs putting the furniture together, it felt like life times were going by. They left the house at 4:10 and when they left I raced up my steps into my room to see how it looked. I loved it. It looked so different then before, instead of a cleared out room of nothing, my room now had a queen sized bed, and a matching dresser, They were each a light washed wood color with 2 rows of silver wood panels at the top.

Home is my place. It’s where I am free and happy. My little brother was born three months premature and for about 6 months I had to live at my grandma’s house. It just didn’t feel the same. Her house is nice and it’s big, but it’s not my house. It has a different feel to it. Home gives me a feeling of safety and security. It’s the one thing that never changes, while people and life does. I love my house and I love the feelings that come from it.

Descriptive Essay: THE WAY I FALL

I think that the best way to define who you are is by how you fall. Not that way that you get up. There are so many sad things in this world that make you want to just `give up. Make you question what the point of life is. I know that for me the day I fell was when you grandmother died. The only thing that I got out of that was that I was human. The thoughts of that day hit me it is all happening right now.

My head is fogged with words and rain. Everything is blurry. The door is swaying or it that me? I land on my bed trying to think or maybe trying not to think of what happened less then an hour ago. My night brown eyes are hot and wet. I am feel the transparent tears welling up in my eyes as then others are running done to the pillow that my head is above. The pillow below me is socked with sadness and anger. The words keep replaying in my mind “Grandma Christen, she is...” She can’t really be gone. Passed away. Don’t act like not saying died makes it better. Everything still hurts.

Everything in the room is drowned out the purple paint on the walls is less bright. The pink, brown, and black pillowcase is fading as if the tears are making the colors run. It is raining and the window to my right is coved in a layer of its on tears. The rain that is hitting the window is getting louder as if it is trying to get me to look over. Tap, tap, tap. “WHAT!” WHAT!” I wanted to scream but yelling at something that was not really would be crazy. A sorrow driven craziness.  . A SARWO DRIVEN CRAZYNESS.I finally look over sick to my stomach to think what is over there that is mover important than the pain I am feeling.

 And there it is the fairy. The fairy that I had gotten in the Poconos when I was seven; It was so pretty in the store and I had to have it. Her eyes are brown like mine and they were just as sad. Glazed down looking away for the sun to focused on what is going on in her mind that the time. On her face here is a smile but its weak. The kind of smile you give when you have lost someone and you know they are not in pain but the feeling of closeness is gone and replaced with sadness. Her lips are like fire burning trying to hold everything back. It is as if she knows everything that I am feeling.

I suddenly don’t feel as alone. Everything has less pain than it just did. But the pain that is left in me wants to throw it on the brick red floor. Watch the one thing that helps get distorted like all the love that I had before that phone call. I don’t want to feel better I should be sad, shouldn’t I? I don’t know anymore I look a way for the statue. And back to the pillow. 

            That day was the worst day of my life. Even thought everything in me wanted to just curl up in a ball, I knew that that was not an option. I had made a promise that she would be at everyone of my graduations and if I lost that fire then there would only be one that she would have missed. This is what made me want to be a perfect student in school. I really didn’t care about what the teachers thought of me. It was all for her. I think back to my middle school graduation was a mixture of happiness and sadness. I just wanted to see her there. Even though it had been three years after she had passed I still wanted to see her.

            We all walked in at the same beat. That beat that you hear at everything it marks a turning point in your life. In my head it was take a year just to get to the stag. What was the point of all of this? I thought to my self as I watched my friend walk down to there seats. After shuffling my feet like a pinging down the side of the stage, we sat down.

I was sitting there looking over the sea of people. They all looked so happy. One mom even had a banner for her daughter. It wad nice to see that they wanted to make this day big for her. My eyes found where my family was sitting. I saw my mom struggling to keep a two-year-old Destiny under control, and watch me. Then, my aunt Pat, who was more dressed up then I was. She was wearing a dress that fit her perfectly. It was a drake color but it didn’t matter her smile made it look hot pink. My dad was there sitting look as if he didn’t know what was going on. But it was ok I just wanted to leave there to.

My name was called “Byshera Moore” and then I walked down to the podium. As I took the diploma I looked one more time over the sea of people. Nowhere. She wasn’t anywhere. I could almost feel ties in my easy but I pushed then back. I sat down then was given two more awards and then it was over. Like shouting start running accost the sky. That day was over. I the next thing that I remember is being in the car driving home. I hate cars. I always feel sick when I am in them. That was my only thought the whole ride. The thought of being sick reminds me of a day a week ago.

I sit that thinking way to I keep coming here with them. As I watch my little sister dance arrowed in the booth next to my mom. My mom looks tired here a black shirt and a part of pants and is trying to keep her quite. “Dest sit down.”  She is trying to keep her voice down but I can see for the way here mouth is starting to curl up she is getting mad. My dad sitting next to me is on his phone trying to look busy. But really is not doing mush. Even though he is holding the phone up I can still see it.

 I am sitting there where my black cami and a brown and gold army like vest. It is achy, but I don’t say anything.  The table’s wood finish was glossy and dark it was nice to see. The lamps were there and but really low. But they didn’t matter that hold place was light with lights form above. I didn’t get that point but ok. The headphones are loud to the point that I cannot here anything. Eminem comes though them like medicine healing me for my pain and anger. Then my stomach started growling it was all most as loud as that music.

Biscuits where left on the table. That only thing I can think of is my grandma. We all ways eat them together every time we come here. I could not help but to think of her. No I am eating them as fast as possible that sadness is not going away “Byshera slow down” says my mom. The warm buttery biscuits and Eminem music down her out. Until.

“Are you ok?” she asks.

The biscuits and water are all over me. The brown and tan mix that was on my shirt and that sent of sickness would say no. I move as fast as I can to the bathroom sadder than I was and now angrier because I just throw up on my self. Well, that is my story of sadness and loss. So what so you think of my fall?

Descriptive Essay: Quarter Pound Camera, please!

I got my first camera when I was seven years old on a cold wintery day. I was at my grandma’s house when my mom and dad called me to the sofa and they handed me a plastic box. At first, I thought it was a Hello Kitty key chain, but when I turned it over, it was a camera! It wasn’t a camera that came in a fancy glossy box like my cameras come in now but it was a simple five megapixel, battery operated, silver plastic camera from Kohl’s. I roughly cut it out of the plastic case, so I wouldn’t get cut by the thick plastic and pulled it out in slow motion. There it was, with this quarter pound camera, I could hold all of my memories here. I could pause time for half of a millisecond on a 2-inch screen and keep that forever.

All of my cousins ran up to see my camera and the first thing that they said was: “Why does it look and feel like a toy? Are you sure it’s real?” I didn’t care what they said but it was the best thing my mom ever got me because it started my love for photographing my family and my life. And with one press of the hand and a faint capture sound from the camera, my first picture instantly appeared on the two-inch screen. My first picture…an outlandish view of my monkey toes. With that camera, it started my collection of my wide array of cameras such as my silver Canon 8 mega pixel, then to my Canon 10.1 mega pixel, and now I currently use my asphalt black Canon Power Shot SD780 IS, 12.1 mega pixel camera.

All it takes is one little camera to start my hobby in taking pictures. I take pictures of everything and any one I know. All I want is to remember everything I do in my life. I constantly take pictures and every so often people get annoyed but I think of it as a: “Hey, I’m helping you with your memories too.” People don’t understand how powerful pictures can be.

Except my family, they cherish every moment together and we never let go of any “Kodak moment” opportunity. In every part of my family’s houses, aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents, there are framed and polished pictures on the wall, four by six pictures hanging off of the mirrors, taped on or stuck in a little corner, and frames scattered through out the house, on the mantles, tables, and some times even the floor. My mom always says: “Say gnaw day gal gaching gal sung seen” and roughly translating from Cantonese that would mean “Wash the pictures of your family only”, and translating from roughly to clean would be: “Print out pictures of only our family.” But I always sneak a few of my friends without her knowing it.

Weeks later, to my utter surprise, while cleaning out my hamster’s cage, my dad, in the blink of an eye, appeared at the back yard door and he told me: “TURN OFF THE WATER and come to the basement.” Being myself, I stubbornly asked what was wrong with cleaning my hamster’s odor-filled cage – which I hadn’t cleaned for two weeks, with a childish smirk. After that one question, he gave me the death stare and blatantly across his face read: anger, frustration, and impatience. This was the second time in fourteen years – This was the second time in my life of fourteen years.

The first time was a complete blur because I was six years old and wailing at the top of my lungs. I think I yelled at my mom and dad about how I was smarter than them and how I could do anything and everything I wanted because of my intelligence. My stubborn, spoiled intelligence. My dad did not stand for that so he picked me up and threw me out of the door – not literally, more so placed. Standing barefoot, on the “beat up” welcoming mat we had out side of the door, my three-year-old sister opened the door for me and she: “Say sorry to mommy and daddy. So they are not mad.”

I wasn’t going to go against that look again, so I shut off the water, leaving the cage out side and Alfred in his ball. Usually, when I go down the stairs I listen to my feet pit-pat but this time there was another sound. What was it? The dryer? No, it sounded watery and leaking. The washing machine? No, that sound isn’t the same. The water sounded free, flowing wherever it wanted too. I turned the corner and my feet got wet instantly, my mom was standing there confused and angry. We quickly evacuated all of our things out of that small room and I helped clean up the mess after putting away Alfred in his coconut-scented cage. After moving all of the beach toys to the other room, I found a pitch-black bag with the gray “EXPRESS” logo on it. In that bag, contained two of my mom’s twenty by thirty wedding pictures, framed up and now water damaged.

I was the saddest of all that my parents’ twenty by thirty wedding pictures were water damaged. My parents didn’t seem as sad as I. How could they not be as devastated as I was? Their wedding pictures were ruined. That special day led to my sister and I and where we were today. So many stories were past around each other about that picture and all it took was water to cringe up the paper. I wasn’t going to stand for this so I promised my self that my first paycheck would go to their pictures. And lo and behold, I got my first paycheck!

There were so many things to do, to buy, and to have! I cashed in my paycheck with my parents at TD Bank. In my mind, there were so many things I could do with fifteen crisp, clean twenty-dollar bills. I could spend it all on clothes; spend it on a long wanted bag, or just save it. I could use all of this money on myself. But I was reminded of the ruined wedding pictures when I went to put all of the clothes into the dryer, one night. I knew what I was going to get. It was a long lost goal, promised years before. And what perfect timing, my parent’s anniversary was coming up. Dinner and two perfect frames for the big one-six anniversary.

Secretly with just one hundred and forty-six dollars in my hands, I walked in to the picture-framing store on 21st and Chestnut. In and out of the store with a nice deal was what I was aiming for. While walking in the store, I realized that this store was really hot and the pictures in this store all had a different story of his family in it, whether it was written onto the frame or the picture itself. I found the owner of the store in the back just finishing up matting a picture of the sunset to the engraved golden frame. The owner was a big man with a graying mustache and goatee. I introduced myself and with an unsure voice, told him I didn’t know what I wanted yet, so Mr. Allan escorted me to the front of the store and pulled out at least forty hundred different frames, twenty hundred different types of matte paper, and a list of sizes. It was like a never ending maze of frames and then he finally asked me after seeing that little frustrated crease appear between my eye brows:

“What’s the occasion for the two pictures?” – He asked like he already knew the answer.

“My parent’s sixteenth anniversary gift.” – I smugly said with a smile.

With that answer, he automatically knew what was needed. After a lot of questioning between the canvas print and the framed matte print, I don’t know if he wanted me out of the store or just gave me a discount for knowing me for such a long time, but we concluded the price of one hundred and forty dollars. So, two pictures: framed, enlarged, and matted all by Friday. I chose Friday because Friday was their anniversary day, sixteen years together. Mr. Allan handed me the yellow receipt copy and everything was done. With a wave, good-bye and a polite “Thank you, see you Friday!” I spent the half of my paycheck on restoring my parents adored wedding memories.

On every vacation, heaps of pictures are taken and hordes of pictures are printed out. Who wouldn’t want an eight-gigabyte memory card filled with pictures? Nonetheless every year, once a year, my family goes on one big trip together to Virginia Beach for a couple days which means one big family on one glorious beach. And every year that we arrive home my mom chooses pictures to print out but there is this one picture that will always hang on my wall. It’s a unique picture in a unique pearl color fish scale imitation frame. She told me, "Although this picture is dull and has almost a color-less gray horizon, my family and I are livening our surrounding up with our bright and vibrant personalities, shirts, and shorts."

Taking pictures on vacation hold the experience you had and holds it until the end of time. It’s all the matter of memory versus experience. The photographers in my family all know that. We seize the moment to keep hold of the past on every vacation. Pictures are something that will help us remember what we did down the road of life.

Day-by-day, I take pictures of anything from over sized pigeons and people walking their hairless cats to my friends and family. I never let go of any moment. Pictures are what trigger the past and shoot the memory back into the present. They trigger the repressed memory in the back of our mind. Everything memorable moment should be kept, big or small. Even in every moment you’re with me, pictures will be taken. That’s how it is; I stop the present to look back at the past in the future. Taking pictures gives us another way with which to share our lives and our loves with the rest of the world. I will ceaselessly take pictures, holding every memory in a book, and looking back to see what a picture tells me. I will show the world my life.

Eight years of taking pictures on my own, learning it all, day-by-day and still learning. With the average photographer, getting the perfect light and knowing which background gets the best of each shot. If you hand me a camera, I can get a perfect shot in a heartbeat. Pictures can give anyone so much power. The power to hold your past in a convenient four by six or an enlarged sixteen by twenty, your most prized memories, no matter how small the memory they hold. Pictures are taken everywhere, at home, on vacations, and…well, everywhere. All moments in life are important, but not all are special.

Descriptive essay

Through the eyes of a woman
9-20-11
The painting of a strange man with beautiful eyes looked down at me in my living room, but the eyes on his face were not his own. He had the eyes of a woman with long thick eyelashes, and glittering shadows on his eyelids. These eyes were clearly not his own as they were too large for his face, and they looked like they had been cut out of a magazine and glued over his own eyes. The rest of the painting looked like any ordinary photo of a man. His lips were calmly shut and expressionless, he wore a suit and had slicked back hair, the only unusual thing about him were his beautiful eyes. This was the first time I had ever truly looked at this painting of the man with longing, feminine eyes that had been in my house for years. I now saw this painting through a new perspective, the man was trying to hide his feminine side. He like any other man, had emotions and another side to him that might be associated with women if he showed it. I was intrigued by this idea, and that’s what got me thinking.

When I was in eighth grade, I decided that I didn’t like when girls and boys were treated differently. I didn’t want to be considered more, or less than the boys in my grade. I wanted to do the things that are  “only” acceptable for boys to do, and I wanted to see boys doing the things that are “only” acceptable for girls to do. I believed strongly that people should be allowed to be themselves, whether or not they’re following what’s considered normal or acceptable. I decided that I wanted to be the one to change the possibilities different genders were offered, but I knew that I couldn’t just expect everyone to begin changing the way they did every day things so instead, I decided that I'd start with myself, and with sports. I didn’t want to be on the softball team, because I thought it was demeaning that sports had to be modified for girls. I wanted to be challenged just as much as any boy, because I wanted to prove that I too could play the tougher sport.

I explained this to my best friend, and she nodded sympathetically agreeing with me that it was unfair and saying that she too would love to do baseball. We decided to talk to one of the two principles at my school, Teacher Ed. Teacher Ed was a small, strict man and when I saw him scurry into my study hall room I decided to seize my opportunity.

“Teacher Ed, I was wondering if it was possible for Emmi and I to join the boys baseball team bec-” I didn’t even get to finish my sentence before he cut in and said “No” but that wasn’t going to stop me from trying. “I want to play on the boys team because there’s different rules, and the balls are smaller and harder, also overall I feel like I'd be more challenged” I said confidently, but this time he just laughed “No, just play softball” he said walking out of the room. I sat there frustrated, and disappointed as I watched him walk back to his office, but I was not about to give up.

The next day, I waited until school was over to go talk to my other principle, who was a woman. Tap-tap-tap! I knocked on her decorated office door. “Teacher Terry?” “Come in!” she said in a sing-song voice from inside so I pushed the door open and stepped into her office. I still thought I had a chance at being on the team, and I wasn’t about to let it pass by. Not to mention, Teacher Terry was quite the feminist herself. “I would like to know if Emmi and I could be on the boys baseball team” I tried slowly, eyeing her for any signs of an answer but she nodded so I kept going “I think we’d both be good, and I don’t want to do softball because I just don’t feel like it’s challenging enough for me. I want to be able to play the same version of sports that the guys get to play”. She nodded and looked up at the ceiling making a light humming noise “Okay” she said pursing her lips. “I think we might be able to make that work. The team needs more players anyways...I just have to run it by the sports coordinator. No promises though, it’s not every day that we have girls signing up for boys sports”. I smiled excitedly and thanked her. She nodded and shooed me out of her office with her hand.
The next day at school, I told Emmi the good news. She was as excited as I was, even though it wasn’t official yet. We talked about how awesome it was going to be to practice on the boys team every day, and to get to avoid all of the drama and attitude that tended to come with girls’ sports at my school. Sure enough at the end of the day, Teacher Terry told us she pulled some strings so that we could join the team, and that we should show up at practice the next day. I went home feeling proud of myself for getting us on the team, but I knew the hard part was going to be the actual practices and games with the boys’ team. I told my parents, and they seemed proud that I had taken an interest in something other than my social life. It was the beginning of a new me.
The following morning, I packed my bag with a pair of cleats, high socks, a baseball hat, and a water bottle. I was now prepared to face the challenge I had set up for myself. When it was finally time for practice, we got on the bus to the field, and introduced ourselves to the boys, who weren’t very happy to have girls on their team. They were territorial over their field, coaches, and traditions that we knew nothing about, but we were confident and no amount of pushing was going to break me. The practices were hard, and the boys were hard on us. However, after a lot of bad throws, a lot of frustration, and a bloody nose from getting hit in the face with a ball, I began improving. And when the season was almost over, the boys were giving me high fives, cheering for me, and I even won a game ball!
When the season ended, the rest of the team told me they were going to miss me, and they had really warmed up to having girls on their team, especially since I wasn’t bad anymore. Whenever someone said something to me about being weird for joining a boy’s sport, or for just joining in the midst of trying to get attention the guys on my team would stand up for me and defend my new found skills. My coach who went by “Wink”, gave me this whole speech about how he was so grateful to have a girl as dedicated as me on his team and that he was going to miss me. I remember him patting my head and saying “everyone has the potential to be good at what they love, silly old rules shouldn’t stop you from doing what you enjoy.” I gave him a hug, and was proud of myself for sticking up for what I wanted to do, and following through with it. I hoped that girls all over the world began sticking up for themselves and making opportunities to do the things they love, no matter the gender rule. Although it was a big goal, I was more confident that things would keep changing for the better. To this day, I’m still friends with every boy on that baseball team and they all have a different perspective on girls, and what they are capable of.  

Descriptive Essay: You don't learn everything in school

Education begins at a younger age than you might think, and it doesn’t always come from school. My dad would throw me baseballs to hit with a little plastic bat when I was just a few years old. Around the time when I was starting kindergarten, he took me to a small soccer event for toddlers organized by Fairmount soccer. I had seemed to enjoy the sport of soccer, so my dad put me on a team with Fairmount soccer. This is where I learned how to play soccer for the first time. My first practice I walked onto the field in my brand new cleats and shin guards, and terrified about playing on a team for the first time. With the entire team standing around in a huddle, my coach asked me, “What position do you like to play?” I wasn’t really sure what he meant, so I just stood there nervously for a few seconds he asked “Do you like offense? Defense? Goalie?” Still not entirely sure I just responded with “Goalie?” So he put me at goalie in a small game. Because it was my first time playing and I had no idea what I was supposed to be doing, the other players just kicked the ball into the goal while I just watched it confused. The coach realized I had never played before, so he put me at defense because it was the easiest position to learn. He gave me a quick explanation of what to do and or the rest of the practice I had fun stopping the offense and kicking the ball back up to the field. Going to games and practices quickly became things I looked forward to during the day.

Fairmount soccer specialized in teaching soccer to little kids who were just playing soccer or a sport for the first time, and it was the place where I learned not only how to play soccer but about supporting and encouraging other people. This is something that I have found is incredibly important in life, and it’s also something that you need to learn from experience. Nobody ever told me to encourage my teammates, but I started because my coach would congratulate me when I stopped the other team from scoring, or took the ball from someone. After a while of this, I started doing the same thing for my other teammates. The other thing I learned at Fairmount soccer was sportsmanship. I lost games, and I won games. When I won games, I didn’t make fun of the other team, because I knew what it was like to lose. This has ultimately made me a much more respectful and empathetic person, which I feel are important qualities in a person. I think that losing games is overall more important than winning games. Sure, winning games gives you a good sense of self achievement, and I higher standing in the league, but that’s it. Losing games is a learning experience. Whenever you lose a game, or mess up anything in general, you think about what went wrong to make that happen, and that always makes you think about what you specifically went wrong, which is the most important part of getting better at something; learning from your mistakes. That logic has since carried over to academics; such as thinking about why I got a low grade on a project, and what can I do to get a better grade on similar projects or tests.

After a few more years with Fairmount, it had come to the time when they no longer had teams for my age group, and I joined Palumbo soccer. Fairmount had taught me the basics of the game of the game of soccer, and about sportsmanship. Palumbo soccer taught me the other part of soccer; the mental game of soccer. Not about how to pass, dribble or shoot, but when to pass, dribble, or shoot and why. I learned all about positioning and various other strategic maneuvers, and games became less about which team had the best players that could dribble the ball around the defence and score, and more about which team was the best at playing with each other. Playing with this team I acquired more of a team mentality. Through playing as a team, I got much better at working as part of a group, a skill that has been immensely helpful in my life, and will doubtlessly be helpful for the rest of my life.

    While playing soccer with Fairmount, my dad also put me into a baseball league. Baseball was the sport I had originally played with my dad when I was a kid. It was really fun for me, I could walk to the practices and games, and I played with all the other kids in my neighborhood. For the first few weeks of one season, I remember having a lot of trouble hitting the ball. I was always striking out during games, even though during practices I would be getting extra help from the coaches on my swing. The 5th game of that season, I went up to bat in a really close game. There were two outs and the bases were loaded when I went up to bat, and I was worried I would strike out again and miss the opportunity to score a run. When the pitch came I swung as hard as I could, and the ball hit the very top of the fence. I ran around the bases and I got a double, driving in two runs.

After that I stopped striking out and I started hitting again, and even got to bat first in a few games. This game was one of the key events in my life that taught me never to give up, and about the importance of perseverance. If everyone just gave up after messing up once, the world would be set back hundreds, if not thousands of years. For example, Thomas Edison had over 1000 failed designs for the light bulb, but through perseverance and hard work, he finally succeeded.

Eventually I moved up to a higher league in the 21st ward, which was fun, but it was never as fun as the first few years in my neighborhood league. I never fully understood why I liked my neighborhood league more. Maybe it was because it wasn’t as serious as the 21st ward, which was where I first started seriously playing baseball. It also may have been because I was as good as the kids in my neighborhood, and in the 21st ward kids had been brought up playing only baseball, and were at a much higher skill level than me. At first, there were some things I was good at. I was one of the faster kids on my team and could steal bases. I could draw a lot of walks, and I could also occasionally bunt for a hit because of my speed. But as I got older, and the other kids started being able to throw faster, I couldn’t do these things as often, and I had a year where I only got 3 hits, and the rest of my times on base were from walks or errors. As seasons went on, the skill difference between me and the other players increased and increased until I eventually quit.

Quitting baseball was a very difficult choice for me, because on one hand, baseball was the sport I grew up with, and many of my fondest memories were of my dad and I playing baseball together when I was little. Baseball was and still is huge in my dad’s life. He has had a passion for the game since he was a kid. He collected baseball cards, and he now has almost 30 seasons of complete sets of baseball cards. He would travel to Montreal to see his favorite team, the Expos play, and he has hundreds of scorecards filled out of games he’s been to, some from the late 1980’s. I was worried my dad would be sad if I quit baseball, because it meant so much to him. On the other hand I wasn’t enjoying playing. Quitting baseball almost felt like I was giving up a part of myself, but I’m happy did because there’s no reason to play a sport if you don’t enjoy it anymore. This logic is some of the same things adults have said to kids over and over again about getting jobs. “Get a job doing something you like, because overall you’ll be more happy enjoying your job, than getting paid more and not enjoying your job.” I feel like this means more to me than many others, because I can relate to that. The best reason to continue or stop doing something is whether or not you enjoy it.

For a long time, sports have been an important part of my life. Sports have taught me lessons that I don’t know where else I could have learned them. It helps to learn life lessons at a young age like I did, because when you are you younger these things have a much more profound effect on you, because you’re developing more rapidly. I think that it’s incredibly important to put young children in these types of environments, because the purpose of parenting isn’t to make your children happy, but to prepare them for the rest of their lives. I feel much more prepared for when I leave my parents and when I go to college because of what I’ve done with sports in my life. Learning these immensely important life lessons through sports isn’t the only useful thing I’ve gotten out of sports, but it’s given me an outlet. If I’m feeling stressed out, or frustrated, or generally sad, I can just kick around a soccer ball and I feel myself forgetting about my troubles. Many people don’t have something like that, and they just hold their emotions inside of them, which can only end poorly. Overall, playing sports hasn’t just been something fun that I enjoy doing, but it’s prepared me for the rest of my life.

Descriptive Essay: Who I want to be or... should be!

“HEY GUYS WAIT FOR ME!” All my life I have had one problem that I never thought I had. Some people might say I am a “want to be” or a “follower”. I might say that I agree with those accusations. It seems I have had the same problem, even before I went to middle school. Isn’t that shocking!

I was running around the shed at my after school playing tag with my friends. My favorite teacher Ms. Desi decides to capture the moment with her huge, extremely expensive and professional camera. I really didn’t like how I looked in the picture because I was wearing hand-me-down clothes from an older friend and I stood out. I then ran around the fairly small shed, and bump into Aminada, meanest girl at the after school. I accidentally knock her over. After she got up she pushed me on the ground with all of her might. I got a cut on my elbow from the push and I saw red liquid oozing from the cut. I then realized it was blood and immediately started crying. Ms. Desi said she was in big trouble and had to go see the director of the after school program (my mom). After Aminada got back from the office she stomped towards me and said “I hate you and your family so much. Your mom got me in trouble at home, now I don’t have t.v. for a week! I am going to get your mom fired!” I replied with something I later regreted saying “You can’t get her fired she is going to quit and got to a better job!” At first I laughed in her face, but then I realized I was not supposed to say anything about my mom switching jobs. Her boss didn’t know about it yet. The Aminada went and told a teacher, who then told my mom’s boss.



After truth came out I realized what I did was wrong and it made me really nervous about the outcome. I should have been nervous. In my mind I thought, why would someone retaliate to such a stupid comment. As if Aminada could really get my mom fired for telling her parents she did something she wasn’t supposed to. I could have put my mom’s job in jeopardy. I always told myself “I did it in the heat of the moment.” However I knew that wasn’t true. I did it because I wanted to prove to that girl that I was bigger and better than her. But now that I think about it, I just gave her what she wanted... a chance to get me in really big trouble. Worst of all I stooped down to her lower level. I  was being just as mean as she was to me, and every one else there.



Quiet time, the time before our parents come and pick the kids up. I could feel in my gut that my moms boss had talked to her already. I was laying down, thinking about what severe punishment that I was going to receive when I got home. My hands sweaty and my stomach queasy I decided to tell my mom the truth when I saw her. I thought that maybe if I told her the truth my punishment wouldn’t be so harsh. But when I told my mom I heard the answer that screeched in my ears like nails down a black board. “I know all about what you did and I am going to let your father decide what your punishment will be.” these are the words that I didn’t want to hear. We got home and I saw my dad sitting on the couch watching football. I then walk over to him and stand next to him until he gives me my punishment. I stand there frozen with fear  unable to move a muscle. Then he speaks, “You know you were not supposed to say anything about your mother’s new job, so you have to stand in that corner for an hour and think about why you are in trouble. After that hour is done I want you to go up stairs, do your homework and go to bed.” By the time he was finished I was already crying, streams of tears coming down my face like the Nile river. I went and assume my position in the corner, did my homework and went to bed without dinner. I didn’t stop crying the entire night because I knew what I did was wrong.



When I look back on it, I realize I shouldn't retaliate to what people say if they don’t really matter. All my life I have cared what people think about me, what they say to me, or about me. Now that I realize this I thought my life would be a little more relaxing and smooth. If I don’t worry about gossip, bullies, or saying something I shouldn’t then I will be able to reach my full potential. Throughout my life I have noticed, I always get in trouble for something I shouldn’t, due to a bully.



One day when I was on my way home from the bus stop with my sister and “friends”.  We were all having a good time, making fun of all he teachers we despised. All of a sudden out of nowhere my “friends” started making fun of my sister. “ Kaia you have a is a$$ head.” one friend said “Yea you are sooo ugly.” another commented “You look like one of those troll dolls with he crazy hair.” I joined in, I only did I  because I wanted to be in the in crowd, a part of “the cool people”. When my sister and I  finally got home I noticed she started to break down into tears. “ Morgan I am your sister, why would treat someone you love like that. I am your little sister. Its not like you were just standing there, you I then realized how much I hurt her and decided something needed to change.



All my life I have always wanted to be in the “in crowd”. When I finally saw that what I was doing was hurting the people I love I realized that being cool isn’t all its cracked up to be. those people were not really my friends and never will be. Maybe I should just try to be myself and not try to be someone I am not. that choice is always better.

Descriptive Essay: A Becoming Poet

Deshawn Mcleod

English

I started poetry club in the beginning of my freshman year. First meeting, first day, so many new people. I had never thought about writing poetry. I never believed I had the skill to. My typical image of a poet was a African talking about the struggles of it’s continent. Maybe a regular person with a lot of life experiences. To my surprise, I wasn’t the only freshman in that room. I sat down on the far left side of the room near the windows. I could still feel the sting on my butt from my friends hand, so I sat with a wince. Thankfully no one saw. My advisor, Mr. Kay, introduced me to the room. I was kind of shy, so if my skin was a tad bit lighter, there may have been a hint of a blush. I was with people I didn’t know. Then we went around the room and said our names. Frdea… De… Imani… Taylor… Jameka… Marchella… They all seemed to be pleased with everyone there. Mr. Kay went on about his long journeys with the seniors in the room. It was interesting to see him enthusiasm about such a topic.  My first task that Tuesday evening in room 309 was to write about myself. That was the worst thing I could’ve been told, but I ended up doing it. It started out like this:

“Highschool.

The summer before I was an anxious little 8th grader that knew nothing.

Thoughts going through my mind

Like

Am I going to be cool enough?

Am I going to fit in?

I think of my anxiety of that first year.”

With my first stanza, I felt like a spark had jolted inside me. Words continued to flow…

“That year adults have legit conversations with me

That year my individually blossomed

That year when I asked myself

Who are you?

 

I came to a new school to start fresh.

I came because I wanted something different.

I came to finally be accepted.”

 

Second… Then third… Came right out of me. I didn’t think about it much. As I continued to write, I didn’t realize the key things I had actually observed, but never thought about.

“Accepted that I am weird.

Accepted that I have a different way of seeing the world.

Accepted that I love to have fun.”

Then the last and final stanza came of my first poem, written in room 309…

“I look at myself now.

I look at what I made of myself through these years.

I look at the fact that

I am no more an anxious freshman.

I am no more that person that thought she wasn’t worth much

I am no more that girl that questioned herself about being ‘cool’

I am a confident girl.

I am that girl that you see walking the streets with priority

I am that girl you see walking into a room knowing I have the respect of everyone.

I am that girl that thinks something of herself”

That was it. I was finished. With my fresh, new, raw, poem, I wanted to say it out loud. I was the first to share. “Highschool…..” I didn’t get much of a reaction from the room. To them, it was just another poem read by a freshman. But Kay lightened my mood, by commenting on my strong voice. But that was it. Others said their poems and it was time to go.

Later that month I had acquired a few skills about writing. I had some free time and I sat in a dimly lit living room. The couch to the right, the foyer to left. The piano in front of me. Over head of it was painting.The background has a jazz theme. On the right side, black, fading into a deep red, to a bright red blood color. The left has deep violet turning into rich light purple. Down at the bottom of the picture of piano keys. The keys come out in a fine curved way. Black sharp keys and the regular white keys. But since it’s a jazz theme to it, the ends of the keys are a chalky brown. Over the keys is a fine colored black man. His body is positioned so his ear is close to the keys he feels over with his large hands. Eyes closed, he looks as if he’s engrossed into the sounds coming from his big instrument. One hand at the end of the piano with the other accompanying it not too far away. This man has large lips, with a large nose. But his facial attributes are all proportional. His close cut beard matches his hair which is buzz cut. Eyes slightly strained with tense eye brows, he seems to be concentrating of the sounds coming with, what it looks like, his precious noise making object. His right hands glides over keys, with big knuckles and great embedded nails. With great hands, they have a angular look to them. Not rounded like normal fingers. This painting has many basic shapes to it. Angular knuckles with angular tips. But his thumb has a curve to it as it’s bent. His pinky stands out feels a key on it’s own. His shadow slightly covers the keys. Mainly his face’s shadow slightly over edge of the keys. The front part of this man’s shirt is yellow faded into a light green. The back is a violet color. The collar is split, so, half is purple and half is yellow and green. His sleeve is rolled up on the right side of the painted. On the arm with the hand at the edge of the piano. Other than that artwork, there were detailed Chinese vases. They had scenes of their culture  on each side. Then the coffee table with parallel to the piano on a tan rug. I sat in the office chair. Pondering… The beginning of this self motivated poem started out like this:

“Darkness.

Darkness.

Darkness.

Dark is black.

Dark is cold.

Dark is dark.

Dark is heartless, emotionless, endless…..”

I stopped. This start wasn’t myself. I wasn’t a dark person. I began to think of colors. Then this is what flowed through my finger tips:

“Can you tell me?

Tell me why the sky is blue.

Tell me why fire is red.

Tell me why the birds sing those unknown songs that wake me in the morning.

Tell me why….”

I halted. There needed to be some order in this poem. The colors needed to be in their natural pattern. I thought about each color. Red… Orange… Yellow… Green… Blue…. Violet… White… Black… Then this came from my mind:

“Can you tell me why?

Can you tell me why roses are red?

Can you tell me why fire is orange?

Can you tell me why the sun is yellow?

Can you tell me why the grass is green?

Can you tell me why the sky is blue?

Can you tell me why lilies are purple?

Can you tell me why the clouds are white?

Can you tell me why darkness is black?

Can you tell me why?”

I wanted to tie in all the colors together. To show a certain relationship they had with each other.

“I can tell you red roses burn in orange fire.

Each peddle falling

Falling

Falling to the ground withering from the hot serpent that has taken away it’s red beauty.

I can tell you the yellow sun beats down on the green grass leaving it dry and brittle, taking away it source of life. Water.

I can tell you the clear, blue sky protects the purple, velvet lilies in the streams they wade in.

I can tell you, you can’t see the white, fluffy clouds in the pure darkness that is black.

That’s what I can tell you.

Now, can you tell me why?”

I felt so proud of my final product. I was so eager, I needed to read it to someone. My mom was the only one in the house at the time and she sat down to hear my poem.

“Can you tell me why?.....” I said the poem with a pure confidence. My mom enjoyed it, so that was a definite “GO” to read it in poetry club that next Tuesday.            

Once basketball season started, the teacher supporting poetry club, the basketball coach, could come to the Tuesday get together. The students ran it. I kept saying to myself, “I’ll go next week,” I kept saying that in my mind until I didn’t care about it anymore. I didn’t even think about going. I’d always hear talk among the club goers about the poetry slams that happened on Saturdays and the about California trip to nationals. It made me feel guilty. So, I felt it’d be awkward if I stepped in room 309 to venture in my poetry writing.

            My sophomore year, I wanted to take up poetry again. Now, here’s my chance. 

Descriptive Essay: Jessica Maiorano

Jessica Maiorano
English

Don’t get me wrong; I want grow up and be successful but at the same time I wish I could be a little kid again, doing things for no reason, not having to worry about anything. The best times of our lives you can’t get back. I’m flipping through the colorful pages of my scrapbook. I see a page full of pictures of Bianca and I from a fun sleepover we had. Looking at the pictures made me just want to go back and take the pictures all over again. We looked so young. I can remember taking the pictures like it was yesterday.
One Friday morning I woke up to a day that I knew was going to be horrible. The rain and the cold didn’t make it any better but like every other day I was off to school. The day is going by and nothing good happened. But on that rainy Friday night my cousin Bianca and I we were bored little ten year olds that wanted to play dress up so I got all the clothes from her drawers and threw them on the bed. After two min we must have tried on at least 6 outfits! Dresses of every single color and design. The next thing we did was the makeup; sneaking into my aunt’s room, we took her makeup and put it everywhere on our faces, like a typical little kid. Clothes thrown in every direction and flashes going off that can blind you we had a blast. A different pose every picture the same thing all night. My whole mood was turned around I didn’t think my day could get better in the matter of two minutes.

I go show my mom this page but sadly it’s time for bed and I couldn’t tell her about it. The whole time all I can think of is all the good times I had. After having my eight hours of sleep I am waking up and going straight to my scrapbook to flip to the next page.

The next page of the scrapbook is purple back round with sequence and hearts and in the middle of all that is pictures from my fifth grade prom. My first year at my new school Meredith, we had a prom. Decorations, food, music and dancing the whole 9 yards. I wore a fancy black and sequins dress. Even though in fifth grade girls always thought boys had cooties we still had dates. There was the king and queen walk in the beginning, which was when we walk down to the second floor and then show everybody like our parents, other teachers and kids from different grades what we looked like then back up. For me that wasn’t a fun time because on our way down to the second floor I slipped and fell down the whole flight of stairs. I wasn’t making that ruin my day I got right back up, got some ice and then I went back in line to walk back up the stairs. As we walked in they gave us a little corsage and walked us to our desks, it was the cutest thing ever! Parents talking to each other while we danced with our friends. In between every song of course my mom would take a picture. I hated that she took so many pictures. Since we were having such a good time, my friends didn’t mind. We all wished it were our senior prom we felt so grown up.

The next page was pink about all the times I went to my pool. Orange was next of all my concerts I went to. Yellow was about when I got my dogs Snyder and coal that was the best day ever! Green and red follow along it just gets better and better ever page. It was like a rainbow you don’t see them or have times like this a lot but you will always remember it when it you do.

         Every kid wants to be grown up and every grown up wants to be a kid again and thinking back at all the memories. I thank my mom for taking those fifteen million pictures at my prom and if it wasn’t for that bored rainy night that I had with my cousin I wouldn’t be looking through this book remembering my childhood. I should live my life being happy and having fun not sitting around being bored because we only live once so we should make the best of it. I will make another scrapbook and another one after that because I always want to look at back and remember these moments like they were yesterday.

Descriptive essay Try Something New For Once..

Since I was young I never really liked trying anything new. I always thought that if I tried something new I wouldn’t like it. Whether it was trying a new food, going to a new place, or even meeting new people.  So what is it that made me go to Kirkwood Camp? I guess I have pretty persuasive friends. They had constantly been on my back and telling me how I should go to Camp Kirkwood with them. Well first let me tell you about Kirkwood. Well, at least this is how I viewed it before I actually got the courage to go. Kirkwood is a big camp out in the Poconos. Yeah I know what your thinking, the Poconos is pretty. Well this camp was located in the woods. When I think of the woods I cant help but think about bugs, trees, mud, spider webs and of course more bugs. Maybe even some type of animal. I had no intentions on going anywhere that I felt those things would be. Eventually I decided to just try something new, It had been a rainy day I couldn’t stop thinking about how much I wanted to turn around, get in the car and just go home. Overnight camp just wasn’t for me. I despised the thought of sleeping on cold barren ground, and what would I do with my hair. My mom said to me “Stop being such a prissy girly girl” And try something new for once. When the bus arrived every one threw their bags onto the back of the bus and rushed to find a seat. I straggled behind and turned to my mom she gave me a disappointed look so I smiled a fake type of smile and got onto the bus to sit next to my best friend. The bus pulled off The other campers sung songs and I sat their acting stubborn until I heard them start out one of my favorite group songs “Father Abraham” I joined along with them we all got so into the song disregarding the bus driver constantly telling us to sit down. I didn’t even notice the long ride and before I knew it we were pulling into the camp.  It didn’t look as bad as I thought. I had visioned a bunch of trees, no free space to play around, weird smells, and I didn’t think the type of people I usually hang with would be there. I stepped off the bus and I could feel the grass in between my toes. I could smell the fresh air. I never smelt air like this before I immediately began to get comfortable with the environment. The first thing we did was go to lunch I love food so I was happy to hear that. I walked into the crowded lunchroom and I saw so many kids of every race I love being in diverse environments. Before we ate we sung a prayer and ha cool hand motions to go along with the song. We all sat down together and began to sink our teeth into scrumptious sausage pizza. That’s when the weird thing happened I reached for the pitcher of juice and everyone stopped what they were doing and stared at me as if I was something they never seen before. I said What They told me that I couldn’t have juice yet and that I had to drink water first. Ok I thought waters not a problem. I poured my water and started to drink until I noticed the unusual egg smell. I jerked my head back looking at it saying, what is this? I held my nose and downed the drink so I wouldn’t have to think about it. After lunch we headed to our cabins. I have to admit they were really cool each cabin had 8 beds and all of my friends and I shared a cabin it was the best. After getting settled into our cabin we went into our first activity. The cool thing was that my first activity was archery. I had never done it before so I was very excited they handed me the bow and my mind went blank. I had no idea what I was doing and then one of the councelors helped me out. The bow was very tight and it took all my strength I strained as I pulled it back then I was ready to let go. I shot the perfect bow and I had never been so amazed like this ever before. Everyone else went then It was time for praise n worship This was when I started to like the camp even more we sung a bunch of songs to the to of our lungs until they began to hurt for so long. I didn’t even notice my feet swelling up form all the walking and standing up I had done that day. The day still wasen’t over we did so much stuff I can’t even remember. We played lots of games and not one person there acted like they didn’t want to participate everyone played together and had an awesome time. After dinner it was time to call it a night we all rushed to our cabins and took showers washing all of the fun from the day off. Ten O-clock had been our bedtime but we never feel asleep we played tag with our flash lights disregarding how many times our councilor said we had to go to sleep because we wake up early. The next morning we all woke with bags under our eyes. We shook them right off after breakfast when we got right back into all our activities. Only today was swim test day. The place we swam was a nasty looking greenish colored pond. When standing in it you could feel seaweed and baby tadpoles graze your skin and it sent chills down your back because of the slimy unpleasant feeling. Pond time happened to be very fun as well everyone in the camp got to hang together and do what ever we wanted to do. The juniors, Jr. High, And senior high groups all got along very well. Our options for pond time was to swim, play volleyball, play in the sand, go fishing, try out canoeing, do arts and crafts or just chill out. It didn’t take me long to realize how much fun I had been having and it was only the second day of camp. Just imagine how awesome the next five days would be. Our group leaders had so many things planned for us to do and not a moment while I was there had I been bored. It started to become one of the best experiences of my life. As the days went by I couldn’t help but wish that time would just stop I didn’t want to go home not one bit. On my last night there we hiked up to real high ground and decided to sleep there for the night it was cold and my lip quivered but sleeping under the stars was so beautiful. When I woke up to my surprise not one bug was near me not even one of those pesky mosquitoes. I guess that is because I showered myself in bug repellant. The hike down was very steep and I was almost sure that I would fall. When we got back to our cabins they said we should pack up before the big dance and talent show we had in store for us. So that’s what we did. Us girls had suitcases stuffed with clothes so closing them was a problem. We had to jump up and down on them and sit on them putting all of our weight onto it. After Breakfast the next day It was time to leave we waited on the camp porch for our buses to arrive. When I got on the bus and it began to pull away we passed a sign saying Goodbye thank you for coming to Kirkwood a tear slid down my warm cheek. Then I finished reading it and it said see you next summer and that little line made me smile inside. Kirkwood changed me that summer it became a part of me that I will never forget and I regret ever having second thoughts about going.

Descriptive Essay: The Gift or Memory

I never cried at my grandmother’s funeral.  At the time I felt horribly guilty.  While so many others, including my dad, were in tears over the tragic loss, I simply stood there expressionless, trying to relate to the sadness everyone else seemed to be feeling.  It haunted me for years until I finally figured it out one year.  It wasn’t because I was emotionally devoid or simply didn’t care that she died, what was going on is that I had accepted that she was going to die a long time before she actually did.  I knew it was going to happen from the day she was put into Brandywine Senior Hospital.  I chose instead to focus on the good times we had, whether it was her living room excitedly shouting answers at game show competitors, eating rice pudding in the kitchen, looking for groundhog holes in the yard or taking wood shop lessons from my quiet but loving grandfather.

           I grew up around my grandparents, spending every Friday with them while my mom and dad were at rehearsals.  So they were a big part of raising me while I was growing up, and they cared for me as though I was their own child.  I remember one day when I was happily sitting in the kitchen of my grandparent’s house, eating Cheerios out of a plastic cup with a panda bear on it.  As I sat silently squishing Cheerios with my fingers, I somehow managed to get my elbow stuck between the rungs of the hardwood chair I was sitting in.  At first I dismissed it as a simple misplacement of a limb, but after several minutes of struggling to get unstuck, I got nothing accomplished but minor chafing and being more stuck.  I called out  for help,  Within seconds, my grandfather, Pop-Pop, came dashing into the room in a panic, almost skidding on the floor.  He breathed a heavy sigh of relief as I told him I was stuck, laughing at my mistake and his panic in his friendly, deep chuckle.  He headed for the sink, smoothing his thin comb-over and pushing up his glasses as he calmly walked.  Once he was there, he grabbed a damp bar of soap and a good fistful of paper towels.  He ran the paper towel on the parts of the chair where my elbow wasn’t; calmly explaining every detail of what he was doing and why.  After ten minutes of more soap and towels, he finally got my elbow unstuck and we headed to the living room just in time for Wheel of Fortune.
           My grandfather was a very solemn man, but also very loving.  He sort of had this “macho man” mentality and made a great effort not to show emotion.  He showed love in his own little ways, often helping me with small tasks that in my youth I couldn’t do by myself, like getting a book off a high shelf or lifting a bag of blocks.  He was always very proud when I could finally do it myself. We also shared a common interest, toy trains. On rainy days we would set up elaborate mazes of Lionel train tracks that wound around the whole house or sometimes we’d go to a local train-themed restaurant called “Jimmy Johns”, where they sold the cheapest edible hot dogs known to man and had huge toy trains that went around the whole restaurant.
           When my grandfather died, I went into a sort of denial.  My childish mind kept finding pieces of evidence that could prove to my saddened family he was not actually dead, but simply asleep in the box.  Unlike my grandmother’s death, I wasn’t old enough to connect hi sickness to the fact that he was going to die.  I thought he was sick in the same way I got sick and would get better in a weeks time.  For three months I kept telling myself that.  It took me about a month to finally wrap my head around the fact that he was gone forever.
           My grandmother was a much softer person and even more quiet than my grandfather.  She was loving in her own warm way.  She showed her love through caring; much of my time spent at their house was in her lap.  She was also always the one to clean scrapes I got and cook special foods that my dad and I took time out of our day just to eat.
           When my grandmother died, I was ready.  Between the death of a few pets and another relative, I had learned what death was and how to accept it.  It still saddened me, but this time I also knew how to cope.  The trick was to look at it like the end of a movie.  The characters are still in your mind, you can always replay your favorite lines like a movie, but you’re still sad that its over.

Descriptive Essay: In What Do We Trust

By Sterling Perry:

English 2

                                                 In What Do We Trust?

            I was sitting in Mr. Block’s class thining of a topic to use for my essay. I honestly didn’t know what to write about. Mr. Block was talking about elements of a great essay and “hot words” as he calls them. I soon got bored, turned on itunes and began to jam and stop paying attention. All of a sudden I see him walking over as if he knew I wasn’t paying attention. He says, “So, Sterling can you read your scene?” I read it and he says you know trust is the first thing I think about when I hear your scenes. I think to myself, “Wow that’s like the perfect topic to write on.”

The strobe lights flicker, vision blurred, adrenaline running high and my clique hanging tight. Dancing, sitting, eating, talking and repeating the process. Man, was that a crazy night.

After 6 days of fun in Florida we approach the last day; the day we all been waiting for. My cousin, two friends and I were wondering what we were going to do for the last day in Florida. My mom and dad comes in the room announcing what we’re going to do. “Everyone! We are going to Universal Studios; So get dressed and ready to go we are in a hurry!” We rushed through our bags looking the freshest outfits we had and got dressed. I wore a Dark grey T-shirt with a lime green smiley face, my skinny jeans, a grey OBEY snapback and a pair of all black and lime green Jordans.

 

Ready to go we headed to the car where we soon fell asleep. “We’re here every one!” Anxious to see what was in store we hopped out the whip and ran into the park. Our first ride was harry potter. The line was so long my cousin Eric and I decide to talk to a couple attractive girls who were standing behind us. After a long conversation about nothing and exchanging numbers they handed us a flyer. “Come meet us at The Groove tonite it’s the hottest club in Orlando you have to be 16 and up” one of the girls said, “It’s from 10pm to 2am.” “Ok, sure we’ll be there” I said and we got on the ride. After riding a countless number of rides, chicken wings and slushees we were done for the day.

           Despite of a great night there was one problem. We forgot to ask about the club. We were on our way out the gates when my dad looks side to side and asked “ Isn’t there a teen club somewhere in this park?” I responded, “Yea, is it okay if we go tonight?” “Sure but be back at 2am” my dad said.

            We made our way to the club ready to see the girls we met in a line for the harry potter ride. The bass was bumping so loud it shook the ground…outside of the club. We brought our tickets and made our way in. All I remember after that was dancing, slurred talking and strobe lights. What exactly happened in the club? I’m just as confused as you are. We limped to the car, laughed and fell asleep. It was there were i realized the true meaning of being high off life.

            What does a club and some girls have to do with trust? Well, we don’t often realize how important it is to be trusted. If my dad didn’t trust me he wouldn’t have let me go to the club (or anywhere else) and I wouldn’t have that amazing story to tell. In the long run without the story I wouldn’t be writing about trust. I would be writing about something else boring like algebra or something.

            In every essay or paper your teachers always say use the who, what, when, where method. So, why not start now? What is trust how do I define it? I think it’s having faith in someone or something to come through for you. Who should we trust? Obviously people who are there for you friends and family. The sad thing is that some family and friends can’t be trusted. When you really think about the word trust I’m sure, like me, you can recall many life situations. On that note why not share another of my experiences.

The clock winding down and the rivalry and tension is in the atmosphere. This game was anticipated and waited for all season. The crowd was going wild, signs were raised and trash was definately talked.
           

It was like a moment from a basketball movie. The game was close and my team was expected to loose. The opposing Bulls had a team of superstars but my team stood strong.
First though third quarter was a blur. All i could remember was the fourth quarter. After a few more long minutes the game came down to one moment.

            The game was tied and i had the ball coming up the floor. Out of the corner of my eye I see the crowd going wild as my heart beats faster. Twenty seconds left “Isolation isolation!” i call as I stand at half court. 10, 9, 8 and down it goes. Behind the back into a slick spin move, shoot the jumpshot and....BOING! I missed the shot to win the chip. My team mate Greg snags the ball and throws it up with 3 seconds left and makes it. We all go crazy and the crowd runs on the court.
Even though we won i still felt that i should have trusted my team more.

            That brings us to another topic which I really don’t like talking about. Don’t worry though I’m not going off to something completely irrelevant. This topic I will be talking about is trust issues. Now don’t get me wrong, just because I didn’t pass the ball means I have trust issues. Trust issues, is also song by a famous rapper/r & b singer, but nothing more. Trust issues is more of a fad than it is a problem now. It’s also used as an excuse for many things. For example, i ask out a girl who I know likes me. She obviously isn’t ready for a relationship but likes me and doesn’t want my feelings hurt. So what does she say? I’m sorry but I can’t go out with you, I have serious trust issues but maybe we can take our relationship farther another time. My facial expression says “It’s cool” but inside I’m saying, “That was the worst excuse ever! Just say no and be done with it.” I’m tired of that same excuse being used over and over again. Like everything else in life teens miss interpret it and turn horrible things into stupid fads.

Descriptive Essay: Friends and Family

Sarah Charlotte Brown

English 2


Friends and Family are some of the most important people in someones life because they will always be there for you. There are so many different memories that I have and there is one special item that reminds me of them all. Its a photo in my kitchen and its right by the kitchen table.

The photo is of something very unusual. Its of a bagel garden. In the right top corner of the picture there is a bit of light gray side walk right along a black wrought iron fence. The fence covers the top of the artwork as well. The whole way along the inside of the fence, there square shaped shrubs, which are about half the height of the fence. Beside the row of shrubs on the right side, there is a small path made of the kind of gravel you would put in a fish tank. The gravel has a tiny bit of a purple color. The path turns left at the bottom of the picture and continues along the bottom. On the path there are two rows of bagels on the ground. The bagels are plain. In all there are about twenty-four bagels that are visible in the picture.

In the section that would be the middle of the garden, but what takes up about half of the left side of the picture is more shrubs. These shrubs are made to form the outline of a square flower bed. The inside of the square formed with shrubs is filled with dirt. Planted in the dirt are little pink flower plants. They look like mini circle bushes with little pink flowers at the top. There are twenty-two flowers visible. The pink is a light pink.

It was this photo that, when I looked at it, gave me all the memories of family and friends back. I don’t spend way to much time in my kitchen, but seeing this photo reminded me of a time that I had a lot of fun.

The room smelled like nail polish, spa supplies, and lotion. I was having a spa sleepover birthday party type of thing. We were in my kitchen doing manicures. I had my feet in a foot bath. The bubbles swarming around. My friends were doing a 1 minute manicure scrub in the sink. It smelled like passion fruit. While my feet were soaking, one of my other friends was doing my fingernails. The sound of running water, laughing, along with a mixture of crickets from outside filled the room. Soon I had hands under the running water. I was using the manicure scrub. It was bright orange. It was a mixture of gooey and gritty. As I scrubbed my hands I laughed with my friends and realized how much fun I was having. It was the best birthday party I had ever had.

When I remembered this story, it helped me realize that my friends are some of the most important people in my life. I also realized that I had some of the best friends in the world. They are always there for me. I think that during that night, I laughed more than ever before. 

My mom was just finishing up dinner. I was excited. I started jumping up and down, almost bouncing, like a rubber band ball. 

“Settle down, its almost done.” my mom said.

I was a little kid, and my mom was making my favorite dish for dinner. I could smell it baking in the oven. It was tuna casserole and it smelled like tuna, but not in a bad way. My mom started to serve it. I could hear the dishes clanking together as she took them over to the kitchen table.

“Yum, tuna casserole.” My dad said as he sat down.

I sat down in my spot next to my dad. As I was eating and savoring the taste in my mouth, I looked around. I realized that the reflection of the fork on the wall was a tiny bit of light. I thought of a fairy. 

“Mommy, daddy, look. It looks like a fairy!” I said to my parents in a high-pitched mouse-like voice. 

I started playing with the reflection on the wall. That became a normal dinner thing when I was little.

I hadn’t thought about those times at dinner when I was little for a long time. By remembering it, I realized how important family was. I always knew they were important but I never really noticed how much. They mean so much to me. They are the people who will always be on your side no matter what happens. I will never forget that fairy, or any of the other memories of my family because they are so important to me. 

Friends and family have their similarities and differences. But they both have one similarity that outweighs all the differences put together. They will always be there for you. Its always nice to feel like you belong and to feel accepted and if there is ever a time when you don’t feel these things, you know theres a place to go. That photo of the bagel garden was only a photo to me in the past, but now I know it has a lot more meaning to it. I never think I will look at the quite same way again.


Descriptive Essay-Dance

“Okay ladies, time for class. Get into your positions. Ready, first position…second position….third position.” The teacher just goes on and on and on. I was never late, always on time. I was the one who really was cool with a lot of people. I was always a part of the crowd that was social we were all stretching and hoping to relax before practice started. Bars are surrounding the perimeter of the rooms and bright clear mirrors around the whole studio. To be a dancer, it takes a lot of endurance, strength, and commitment. I need to use my legs, arms, and abdomen. In order for I to do that, they need to be strong enough. For some people, it can be a way to express your feelings or just do it, just to do it. Additionally, it can be a very good work out and keep you in shape. Taking ballet when I was little was fun. I would dance around at Philadanco in West Philly with my godsisters.

It was a couple years ago. I hop out the car and rush into the studio. Everyone is in their bodysuits and tights. Before everything starts, we are all stretching and talking among ourselves. Then the instructor comes in, “Hello girls, time for class!” Everyone gets up and is ready. Feet and arms move together in the five basic positions.  I’m moving to the rhythm of the music. “Run run run run, JUMP!” says the instructor. It has been a hour in a half practicing our moves, then we take a break. There are so many conversations going on at once. All the chattering from my peers talking about different topics. Then all conversations stop. It was sounded like we were in a library and no one was to make a sound. Shhhh, someone new comes in. No one knows her but me. Long hair, glasses, and tall. I stand there in amazement wondering why she’s there. I knew dancing was in her but I never knew she would want to do it.. Whether it was ballet, tap, hip-hop. Well, I’m not too sure about the tap dancing. I make her comfortable and introduce her to everyone. She’s pretty good. First position, second position and it keeps going on and on. Never ending. She makes friends quick and blends in but is a stand out. “Demi plié everyone”, says the teacher. Tick tock. The clock is moving by fast. Now it’s coming towards the end of the day and yes, I am very tired. The soles of my shoes are worn out. The long, thick straps leaving a mark around my legs. I think it’s time to go home. Hopefully, the new girl enjoyed her first day. Well, she did cause that new girl was me!

 That day was so much fun. For me, it was kind of nerve reckoning with all of the stares and looks only because I was new, but it all paid off well in the end. After walking in the studio for the first time, I immediately fell in love with it. The moves, the posture, and the technique of it all.

Okay, so now let’s move forwards some years. It’s been a long time since I have danced. Whether it was ballet, hip-hop, or whatever. Yeah, I might go on and dance with my friends at church or when we’re all at home just dancing for fun! I see people on T.V. moving to the beat. Whether the beat was slow or fast. It was years ago and now I’m feeling that I should do it again, along with other things. Every time I go out with my mom to the super market, or to the mall with my friends, I always end up dancing, and most of the time, there’s no music playing. My mom always tells me, “Raeven, I’m going to you back into a dance school.” I always blew it off but now that she’s said so many times, I think I would really like to do it. When she’s not home, I will always put on some music and learn the dances of different music videos …well, not study them, but just look at them and see how precise the dancers are with their moves.

It had been a while since I’ve danced. I have always loved doing it. Whether it was hip-hop or ballet. Sometimes, I do it because it can can be a way to express myself and it’s just fun. Now that I am older, I would like to get back into doing it and really becoming committed to it.

 

 

 

 

Laughter And Relaxation

There’s a picture hung up in my dining room. The sky is slightly cloudy yet light blue and it looks like the sun is setting. There are a few opaque clouds letting the sun shine a radiant orange, but the sun is painted white. Below the sun, in the background of the picture are distant blue mountains. They seem small because in the front of the picture are houses blocking the right side of the mountains.

They are old multi-colored wooden houses standing on an actual dock. Both houses are wide in the front and slim on the side. The house farther away is very small and has 2 windows on the front, right below a brown roof and 1 on the side of the house. The body of the house is painted white but has aged, so it’s a dirtier white and almost tan. The house which is closer to the front is taller, by almost half of the smaller house. The roof of this house is painted the same color as the middle of the mountains, a light blue, and the body is painted the same as the smaller house, which is white.

From the bottom of the mountains to the bottom of the picture, is calm water. The water has a beautiful color to it due to the sunset spectrum. There are 2 sailboats parked at the dock and the water behind them is a sea blue because it’s the shadow of the boats. They are rather old and look like they have been there for a long time because there is a lot of bird poop on them. The wooden sails on both of the boats stand taller than the blue-roofed house, and the colors of the boats are dirty white also.

In the lower left-hand corner of the picture is a small island-like dock to park boats. It is  made out of grey rocks and 3 short wooden tree logs coming out of the ground to tie the rope of the boat on. This picture is like a glance of vacation to somewhere far away from home, so relaxing.

I love when the funniest things come unexpectedly. My friends, Ben, Andrew, and I were all in my dining room making our own video series that we brilliantly thought of to upload on YouTube. The videos were based on a class setting, and students making up funny excuses on why they didn’t do or forgot to do their homework. We would do this almost every other day when we would get enough excuses to put in a video. Although, today was different, my friends forgot their list of excuses at home so we decided to record a different kind of video. Not to be racist, but since Ben was Asian we wanted to make a random kung-fu fighting episode. Ben and Andrew take out all their stuff from their pockets and set them on a table. Andrew, by the way, is taller and bigger than Ben by about seventy pounds and eight inches. To tell you the truth I didn’t know what was going to happen, it was all improvised and not even thought out. Seconds later, the fight started… Andrew leaned in for an attack, but Ben’s quick senses stopped and countered the slow attack with a swift 360 degree spin to his left and BACKHANDED Andrew to the light-colored hardwood floor where he got knocked out! All it took him was one move to take down someone way bigger than him! And I got it all on camera! It was a funny day, and Andrew woke up about 10 minutes later.

The most boring English class I’ve ever been in. In eighth grade our teacher, Ms. Parks, made us read a really long story in the old torn up textbooks we had. That was normal for us, but what made it boring was the whole room being quiet except hearing classmates read aloud in monotone, messing up words, and reading unusually slow. Half the class was asleep and I was almost there. Out of nowhere, I began to think to myself about anything and everything. Where then I thought about a dog eating homework and how I hear that in movies all the time. It finally hit me; I started thinking of ironic and hilarious excuses that nobody ever thought of. I wanted to introduce the idea so badly. “Ben!” I screamed quietly. “Yeah?” he asked.

“You want to make some YouTube videos?”

“About what?”

           “We should make up funny excuses for why we didn’t do our homework”
           “…That’s genius!”

From there we planned meetings and had a goal to make a total of 101 excuses. That’s how we came up with the name “101 Excuses For Not Doing Our Homework”. It’s a simple title but we all agreed on it. We also asked around the school if they wanted to be a part of the “classroom”. We didn’t really get much people and we never reached our goal. Although, we had so much fun doing this, and it gave every boring class something for us to do when we finished our work!

These are just some of the great times my friends and I making a YouTube video series. They are connected because they both happened 2 weeks apart, and without making the series the backhand would’ve never happened. I remember when almost everyone in my school knew about our series and they liked it, and when I showed the kung-fu video to my friends and my teacher at school they all laughed hysterically.

I guess we stopped because summer was over and we didn’t see each other as often as we went our own ways to different high schools. Ninth grade past by, and now we’re both in tenth grade, I still wonder when we’re going to get together again, we had a goal... Goals should be achieved, and in life everyone should have laughter and relaxation.

Descriptive Essay: Middle School

Middle school years are in your memory for a long time, especially the good times. All the friends you watched grow up become your family. From the day I started 1st grade, to the day I graduated Green Woods Charter School, has been an amazing adventure. My friends, teachers, and my parents helped me get through the good and difficult times of the unique school.

My favorite classes varied throughout the years, but it was never math! Science classes were the most interesting. Throughout the years, we went on many hikes on the trails and explored wildlife. We were able to interact with what we were learning, which gave us a different opportunity then most kids. Our usual walks through the leafy pathways, up and down hills, trees above shading us, carrying our clipboards, seeing deer trotting through the woods, dodging all the trees, having annual tick checks, and carrying clipboards was annoying then, but now I always think how lucky I was to be able to do those kinds of activities.

Most of my other favorite memories took place during art class. When you walk into the grand room, you see the tall bookshelves taking over the right walls. Above them were famous drawings by various artists. I smelled clay, glue and paint all mixed together. When you sit down in the tiny paint stained tables, our teacher Ms. Mail would begin teaching different techniques and or skills. Her gold leaf earrings would dangle from her ears as she walked around the classroom helping us get inspired. Sometimes the projects were related to some of our classes, and others were about us.

One of my favorite projects was making animal masks. Each of us had to think of an animal that we would want to create. We looked through books to get the sense of the animals, and from there on, it took several weeks to make it all happen.

Sitting lonely in my bright, empty kitchen, licking the peanut butter off my face from my snack, I open the laptop to surf the web. The clock ticks and it was 3:45pm. I heard the garage door open and the jingle of my mom’s work badge. She walked in the door from her day shift at work.

“Hey Karly, how was your day,” she asked with a smile.

“Usual,” I responded.

“That’s good. Karly! What did I tell you? After you’re finished eating, put your plate in the dishwasher,” she exclaimed.

“Sorry, here I got it.”

Scooting my chair out from under the table breaks the silence. I skip to the dishwasher. Thunk! My butterfly mask I made in 6th grade had fallen off the corkboard. “Man this thing is old,” I mumbled to myself.

                 My mind traveled back into 6th grade. It was art class, and it was one of the final weeks of making the masks. I had just finished painting the base of the mask. The aroma of the paint base filled my nostrils with a chemical smell. I try to ignore it, and ask my art teacher where the paint is. She points me to the direction of the blue metal drawers. I open the 3rd one. Many different colors were organized so neatly it was hard to choose. I picked the colors that I thought would be good for a somewhat realistic butterfly. Walking back to the table, glancing over at other’s people’s work, I was hoping mine would turn out well. I began painting the wings of the mask gold. I turned off everything else around me, and time flew by. Looking across the room and seeing that everyone was packing up, I put my butterfly on the drying rack. Finally, I was done.

                 “Come on Karly, let’s go do the laundry.” Mom’s voice brought me back to kitchen, out of my flashback. I placed the mask back on the corkboard, and went to help.

Art class always inspired me throughout the years, and I still have most of the artwork I made hanging around the house. Throughout all the years at Green Woods, eighth grade was the one that was most special to me. Towards the beginning of the year, we were all just excited to be heading off to high school in a few months. We all thought it was nice to be the oldest in the school. It was all fun and games until the high school preparation came along. Weeks went by, sitting in our homeroom looking at all sorts of high schools. Our counselor took us through the long process. Waiting patiently for our acceptance letters. Months went by, and most of us were still gnawing on our nails waiting patiently for the replies. Science Leadership was my first choice. This past year they had their first graduating class, so there was over a thousand applications. It seemed as though I was the only one without a letter. The day finally came.

It was last after lunch; we were in science class taking notes. The classroom was pretty quiet, except for a few coughs here and there. Then, the front door broke the silence. It was one of the teachers from the front desk with an envelope in her hand. She said the letter was for me, so I hopped out of my chair and darted over. Ms. Geist told me I couldn’t open it until class was over. My eyes were glued to the letter the rest of the class.

“Class is over,” Ms. Geist shouted, “See you tomorrow!”

Struggling to pack up my books, I tried to hurry out of there to open the letter. Tearing it open, not caring about a thing, I saw the 2 words that made my heart stop. Waiting list. I wasn’t sure what to do with myself. Two of my other friends got accepted right away. What did I do wrong? I thought to myself. Was I too nervous at the interview? I created a whole new project about my pet! At that point, I had no confidence in myself and I starting to feel down. This was the only school I had really wanted to go to. After a few hours, I decided to let go of it, and relax.

Months went by. It was now April and all the middle school students were boarding the huge yellow buses to go to our Earth Day field trip at Temple. I just walked on the bus and sat down. As I was pulling out my music, Ms. Wallace, the principal stepped on and told me to step off. Hoping I wasn’t in trouble, I got up and followed her out to the blacktop.

“Someone’s on the phone for you.” She said with a smile.

Looking confused, I picked it up. It was Mr. Lehman from Science Leadership Academy. He said he wanted me to attend SLA in the fall. At that moment I felt more special then anyone else. I was more then excited to get accepted into that school.

Next thing I know, it’s already graduation day. It was extra fun because we didn’t go to school. I had got my dress on sale for twenty dollars at JCPenney. It was a silver halter dress with a diamond as the belt. I was excited, but more nervous to be the first one to walk out the door.

The doors opened. There I was, standing in front of all my family members, minutes away from graduating middle school. Holding the bright red rose tightly in my clammy hands, I take my first step down the deep red carpet. The music makes the moment even harder to take in. My eyes met my Mom’s. I hand her the rose and hug her tight. “Thank you,” She mumbled softly into my ear. My eyes started to water, but I managed to hold it in until I got to my assigned seat. One by one, each of my former classmates made their way down the aisle. I try my best to hold back my emotions I didn’t expect. Being first for everything, it was time for my diploma. Tripping towards my teachers in my new heels, I hugged my vice principal first, then got the diploma from my principal. The black frame with fancy writing and our class picture inside made me feel like a made a huge accomplishment. I held it up in the air smiling. Flashes went off, all I could hear is clapping. I was ecstatic. Middle school is finally over with.

            Over the years at Greenwoods, I had an amazing, unique experience. Throughout all my classes, all the hikes, up until my graduation, it will be in my mind for many years to come.

Descriptive Essay: Burden of Memories

Vannary Kom

September 15, 2011

Iron stream, B band


                      Descriptive Essay

                   Burden of Memories


When you transfer to a new school, you usually feel stuck up. I had experience this twice. The time I had transferred to a new Elementary school and when I had entered high school. It’s pretty hectic when you’re at a new school. Its like you have to experience and go through the steps all over again.


“Ring Ring Ring!”  The sound of the alarm clock had screeched in my ears. I woke up with a devastated mood to turn it off. There I went, reaching for the door knob sighing in disbelief, “First day of school...” I walked into the washroom and stared in the mirror for several minutes. One litre of tears. I was unable to hold back the silent tears. It dripped silently down one cheek. I suddenly said to myself, “It shouldn’t be that bad. I’ll get through this first day.” I wiped off my tears and got dressed. Forty minutes later,  I went downstairs to put on my shoes. My dad came down and asked if I was ready. My mind went completely blanked. Dark clouds fell over me and I could hear voices screaming in my head.  

“Hey! Are you ready to go to school?”  

He asked again. I jumped and had woken up from an unusual nightmare I had pictured. 

“Yes, I’m ready dad,” 

I said nervously as I got up. Here I go again, turning the door knob. I opened the door and stepped out as the door had closed behind me. One block away till I reached my destination to a new learning environment.

I had transferred to a new Elementary school, entering fourth grade. I remember clearly standing in front of the classroom full of unknown faces on the first day. A lady with thick body, blonde highlights, with glasses came and introduced herself. 

“Hi, I’m Mrs. Mesi and I will be your teacher for the year. Nice to meet you. Come in and introduce yourself to the class.”  

I stepped in the classroom and stood beside my new teacher.  I stood there biting onto my lips as she told the students to quiet down. The room became dead silent. Now, all eyes on me. I stood there panicking. My chest felt like it was caving in with extreme discomfort and pain. I felt like I was receiving death stares from each person. I tried to speak up, but words kept blocking my mouth. Here I go again, 

“Hi everyone...My name is Vannary.” 

There, I said it. The whole class became severely dead. I was drenched in drips of boiling sweats. My teacher then escorted me to my seat. I sat with two boys in my tables who think they were tough enough to fit in the “hood.” I felt as if my back were against the wall. Everyone in class burst into rowdy laughters and joked around. I was extremely quiet. Blood started rushing through my veins causing inside of me a great pain. I was in my own little corner getting caught up in my own day dreams. Several days, weeks, months, and years later, I had gotten used to the school system. I knew more faces than I ever did when I first came to this school. I opened up to people and had became close to them. I felt more accepted than ever. By eighth grade, I had a group of friends who I considered as my “Best Friends.” They were always there for me through thick and thin. 


By the end of eighth grade year, I had made a creative piece of art. I picked out this special hard cover piece of art that means a lot to me. There are colorful polka dots decorations on the front cover that reads, “Somewhere In Our Lifetimes” in rhinestone letters. Each pages inside consists full burden of memories. Flipping through  these pages each time brings back nostalgic memories. I always kept in a drawer, where no dust can ever land on the surface of this marvelous scrap book. This scrap book consists of black and white printed snapshots with written summaries. This symbolized the adventures my friends and I had explored and the memories we had captured. Every adventure we had, every snapshots we took. I did this to fill the pages with flashbacks of my friends and I and what we did in Elementary/Middle school. One of my favorite pictures would have to be a photo booth that was taken at the movie theater. There it was, five of us girls ganging up on each other to fit inside the minuscule seat at the photo booth section. One, two, three! SNAP! Capturing our foolish and horrendous faces as we tried so hard to stay in place and not burst into laughers. The pictures were something to look back at. Five of us, on a girls day out adventure. This piece of art work will engrave all the memories we created. 


As I stepped into this building on the very first day as a high school student, I felt as if was experiencing my life in Elementary school all over again. There were teachers, unfamiliar faces passing through the hallways, a different learning environment, in this new school of SLA. I felt as if my life was in crisis again. It was hard to move on from those awesome times I endured. It was burdensome when I had to approach these new faces at this new school. This reminds me of the Elementary school I had transferred to Elementary. I had to go through every single step I had already did all over again.  

Descriptive Essay: Getting over fears

Sara Nesbitt

Iron Stream

Getting over your fears.

Everyone has a negative mind about something. We all do. We have fear, anxiety, and struggle towards things. That’s what makes us human. But we have to learn how to take that fear and turn it into something we are brave about facing.

Art was always something I didn’t truly understand, but always had curiosity for. I never thought I was good at art. I would fear art class because I didn’t have the confidence within myself. But then I learned that life is full of unexpected moments, and we should just go with it. I started to not fear, but to stand up to the things I wasn’t comfortable with, and go out of my safety zone. I ended up loving art. One time I was taken completely off guard when I did a project that I didn’t want to do, but ended up enjoying it.

It was 8:15am on a Wednesday morning and I woke up anxious to what we would do today. I arose, brush my teeth, put on the clothes I picked out the night before, and took a quick glance at the mirror, not thinking twice about what I looked like. I was too eager to go to school, but not for art class that was first period. I rush into the classroom, passing the morning chatter, heading straight to the stool with my name on it. Ring Ring. “Good morning class, I’m very excited for the assignment we’re doing today.” My mind then jumping to the array of projects we could possibly do. Drawing still life? Going outside and painting? “In front of you, there is a small black bag, in it is clay. You will be making whatever I say to, without looking at it.” My jaw dropped, this is so stupid I thought. We started the project, and it was strange. Not being able to see what you were doing gave you a whole new perspective on art and how to interpret it. The warm clay, soft but fragile in your hands, as you change it into different pictures you realize different views of art. I thought too much on what my peers might think, and it made me scared that I had to try something new. But going through the process, really not knowing that I could see my creation gave me confidence because I had nothing to worry about. It was supposed to be a fun project that reminds you not to take everything seriously, and if your having fun what your doing you will turn out with amazing results. By the end of class, I was in love with this assignment. It taught me to be patient and to never give up on your work, to always listen and go along with different things. And lastly, to always recognize the views of other people.

Art can resemble many other life situations. A lot of times we are so caught up in something, and if it gets ruined we’re devastated. But to me, that’s why we make mistakes, to learn from them and to make the second time even better than the first. I remember one time I worked all year on a painting, and then only had a few hours to make another. But, in the end I was happy I did it, because it was better than I ever imagined.

I wobble as I walk through the door, my book bag taking up my left shoulder, and my equipment bag taking up the right. As I finally get in I drop the things on the floor, my eyes droopy and my back slouched over from the tiring day. When I walked over to grab a snack, a slow smile started to take up my face. My mom hung up my painting, the one I worked all year on, I was so proud.

I remember it. Last Thursday, wait maybe Tuesday? No, Thursday. I went in the art room at 1:30pm. The atmosphere was loud. Chatter, stools screeching, paint splatter, brushes falling, it was a mess. I put my orange, black, and red paint on a pallet with a big fluffy brush and walk over to my canvas. “Hey Sara, come here I got to tell you something.” My art teacher said slowly with a worried look on her face. “Sure” I say shaky, not knowing what was going to happen. “Rachel spilled water on your painting, I’m sorry but it got ruined.” The room suddenly started spinning, my heart, every beat was faster and louder. My mouth was so dry I couldn’t swallow. I was very silent for what seemed like forever, but was only a few minutes. My head was full of anger, frustration, and failure. “Umm, Uhh” were the only things I could get out. My teacher let me work in the backroom because I had to start over, and it would give me some quiet.

I worked there for over 6 hours. Painting, repainting, drawing, critiquing, moving, sliding, everything.

And there it was, completed. It was actually better than I ever imagined. Seeing it on my wall in my house made it even better. All my work had finally paid off.

It’s very hard to get over fear. But once you do, your entire world is open to new experience with great opportunities. Art is like a clean slate, and you can create anything within your imagination and yourself. This reminds me of coming to SLA for the first time. It was first day of freshman year. I was a tiny little freshman that people mistaken for a shadow, I didn’t know anyone. I walked in, looked around, and only talked when I needed to. But when I went into the bathroom I met this tall blonde girl that hated Justin Bieber. Excitedly, we never left each other’s side the entire day. Luckily, I was blessed with a best friend from the start. Friends can always help you get over fears. She has helped me so much from the first day, to projects, to random things I have to get over. Good friends are always there for you and can help so much with your fears and once you overcome them, nothing can stop you from being the best you can be.

Descriptive Essay: A Guitarist's Passion

Anthony Buchanico

Iron Stream

A Guitarist's Passion

 They say everybody in life has a passion. And if you don’t you simply haven’t found it yet. For those that haven’t, I highly suggest going on a venture to find it for the betterment of your life. My passion has been guitar for quite a while, and even though I’m not the best at it, I continue to aim higher and higher as my practice continues. And if you haven’t found a passion yet, well maybe guitar can be yours as well!

Having a passion can help in a number of ways. In my case, it not only gives me something to do, but something to strive to be better at as well as relieve stress, and get away from daily life. The possibilities of what you can learn or create are practically endless and show no signs of dwindling. Of course, it’s not always so simple finding something one could love to such an intense amount.

The first time I had picked up a guitar was when I was 8 years of age. After listening more and more guitar in the world my interest sprouted enough for me to walk up to my parents and say, “Mom, Dad, I want to play the guitar!” They liked the idea of me taking an interest in music, so within the week my dad took me to the only small music shop around the neighborhood and there I purchased my first and only acoustic guitar so far, A Jasmine, by the name Takamine.  It was a cheap guitar, brown body, black pick guard and lining, and an illustrious fret board. Of course back then I didn’t understand much about what makes a good guitar just that, but I didn’t care I finally had a guitar!

            I Started playing more and more through the days I had it, but no matter how much I practiced I just wasn’t getting anywhere with playing. After realizing this, my parents decided it was time for me to get some guitar lessons. With a quick search we found a local teacher who would hopefully show me where to go. Of course being a young kid around the time, I had no patience and just wanted to start rocking out riffs left and right. Sadly it wasn’t that simple. Contradicting my previous statement, I had an idea of what I wanted to learn, but as with many things, they never go as planned. My teacher was a very “classical” type of teacher. She stuck to the simple form of learning jingle bells and spending a month and a half on the G note. After about 3 months I looked at my past lessons and it hit me  “What am I doing?”  “This isn’t what I wanted at all.”

            After some discussion, I left her teachings and slowly faded away from guitar. I thought I was done with it; after all it was just some old hobby I picked up. So I put my jasmine down in the corner to collect dust for the next couple of years. I thought I was done, the end of just another short chapter in the book of life. But just like a book, you never know what’s on the next page until your there.

            I was 12 and like most twelve year olds all the days were boring and repetitive; Video Games, food and the Internet. I badly needed a hobby, my parents agreed.

“Hmm, what do we have around this house? I need something good.”

I thought to myself with no idea about what to do. Just then I started hearing piano. It was my sister playing again; she’s an amazing pianist! It seems so easy for her.

And then it hit me, I had an instrument, granted that instrument was now a pile of dust in my room it was an instrument. So I hoped up and waltz my way up to the familiar blue and orange walled safe zone I called a bedroom. I looked at the guitar and with a smile on my face thought, “Let’s try this again.”

From then on out I slowly started getting back into it; I practiced more and more, this time progress slightly quicker than last time. Now I was twelve and about to be 13, a teenager! My birthday was coming up and I knew exactly what I wanted, my first electric guitar. So my birthday came, and I got what I wanted, well almost anyway. Being a young kid I assumed I’d be able to just waltz right in and pick out the nearest multi-thousand dollar guitar. I wound up settling for a beginners pack, I was a beginner after all.

Months went by and even though the guitar wasn’t the nicest sounding it got me by. After a while I had the desire to save for a better guitar. Luckily for me I had a little friend named Christmas coming up. I’ll never forget that Christmas morning when I awoke to find a guitar under the Christmas tree. On the cold and silence of the Christmas Eve night my family and I drove home from South Philadelphia after the annual visit and dinner with my grandparents and the rest of our grand family. As we were driving home on the endless road I could sense the thoughts in the air and interest of what my two younger brothers, my older sister and my self would all receive for the amazing holiday of Christmas. About 45 minutes form departure; we finally arrived to the familiar haven we all call home. After the usual tradition of exchanging gifts between the families we all headed off to our rooms ready as ever to receive gifts and everything on the side. No matter how bad of a sleeper I am, Christmas always manages to be the exception with me quickly falling asleep like a sound child each and every time. My eyes shut, and in the feeling of a blink I was back up with 2 familiar faces in my vision.

            “Wake up Ant!”
                        “Santa Came!”

In the early morning confusion, I almost had forgotten what day it was. It was Christmas of course! As my brother and I anxiously stood at the top of the stairs Stephen, my younger brother, went to wake my parents up on this 7 am Christmas morning. As my sister comes rumbling out of bed it becomes apparent she cares more about sleep than gifts at this moment. So we let her go for later. Right after, my parents come shuffling out of their room just as ready to go downstairs as we were. Halfway down the stairs I looked over, and there it was. A black Les Paul waiting for me. Without even as much as giving the other gifts a glance I scurried to it ecstatic as anyone could imagine. And with each day of the month passing by, I could feel myself growing closer to this Black Les Paul. Now it is the only thing I use more than my computer!

            To this day guitar is still in my life every moment. There hasn’t been a single day where I have been ashamed or regretful of my choice as a passion. Although it may have seemed like rambling it was to show how much passion can take over your life and make you a better person. If there were one thing to do, it would be to implore a passion into your life someday. You won’t regret it!

 

 

Descriptive Essay ; The Damaged Picture

       Honesty plays many roles in life, therefore it is always good to be honest and not lie because you would be in the wrong position and have guilt in life. When you’re honest too someone you let out more relief. When you keep something from someone and they end up finding out it will be worse. Such as lets say if you were in an relationship and you hid something and lied about it and they find out afterwards it might lead to a break up, but if you’re honest they would be mad but at least they know they can trust you not too lie again.

        Such as in my scene 2 we weren’t honest about the situation nor did my grandfather found out “As we put it together we immediately hung it back on the wall. Leaving no appearance of damage we left it as if nothing had happened.” Even though sometimes you want to lie and not be honest because you don’t want to face the consequences you’re going to end having too anyways.

     My mother had this picture that might have been the only picture she had of her childhood. In the picture it shows her as a young girl with dark blondish hair cut short with a light dress, and a background of nature behind her. It was like a paper picture type connected to and old light wooden piece with damps of dark wood printed on certain spots. 


       One day my brother and I were playing with water and throwing it at each other, the picture was placed on the table because the nail it was placed on wasn’t stable. We had forgot that the picture was placed there, so as we were throwing water around not remembering by accident a whole cup of water had spilled on the picture. As my brother and I took a quick glance at the picture I saw as the water started to make the left corner of the picture to tear off. I had gotten so scared because the picture had meant a lot too my mom, a gift from her grandmother before she had died. My brother and I had gotten so scared we quickly hid the picture, my mom had gotten home looking for the picture me and my brother had gotten so frightened. But I knew I would have too face the consequences afterwards if she found it so I came and told her by accident a cup of water spilled on it so I had put it away so that way it can dry up.


         
So I had brought the picture out and gave it to her as she quickly tried to fix it. I knew that if I didn’t tell her she would be really upset, and when I told her I felt so relieved. I didn’t have to face the consequences if she had found it. By the look of her face I can see the redness appeal coming out, but as it started too fade she just gave me and my brother a glance nodding her head and quickly drying the picture up and putting it away. As she talking walking away “ Yous are lucky you told me this now or not you guys would’ve been punished for trying to hide it”. I quickly inhaled a breathe, thinking in my head “WHEW”, I had felt relieved, as my brother looked at me with a scared suspicious look on his face immediately walking away from the table.


            As my mom came back she had looked upset because there was nothing she could’ve really had done because we had already fixed the situation. She sat and starting talking to me about how much that picture meant too her, as I started too tell her it was an accident and what had happened my brother came rushing in the conversation telling his part. I quickly interrupted him because I wasn’t to honest too my mom about the situation, she just said what is done is done. My brother and I just walked away as i pushed him up the steps before he had made the situation worse then it was.