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DescriptiveEssay: To the Unaccepted,
*Quick note, When I say "Her" or "She" in my essay, im talking about my girlfriend specifically, not a generic pronoun*
There I was, in what should have been one of the happiest moments of my entire life. I sat there on the floor of the ballroom, just up against the wall, my right hand caressed around her back, my left pushing her hair out of her face. I held her as she lay in my lap, trying to make sure she was as comfortable and happy as I was. Then we looked at each other. My eyes found hers and i was trapped, treading in the silver-blue crystal sea that was her deadly, beautiful eyes. She gave me that look, the look that always told me that she was thinking the same thing I was, and that she too, was locked in my stare. She lifted her head, and I lowered mine. And our lips met.
I might have gotten a split second of that feeling I loved; that high where you feel like you’ve gotten everything you wanted, and even if just in that moment, all was right in the world. There was no war, no hunger, no global warming, at least not while I was with her. However, as fast as it came, my high went away.
I started to hear random gasps from the crowd of students nearby, a crowd made mostly up of freshmen. Some of the girls from the group started to woot and ooh, as if we were on some distasteful talk show, in front of a live studio audience. I was almost waiting to hear someone start shouting “STEVE, STEVE, STEVE!” or for someone to ask for their Jerry Beads. As the kiss broke away i looked up at two particular girls where the two loudest voices were coming from. They had been staring right at us, giggling when they were not carrying on and hollering. They both looked away emediately, still giggling in both humor and disgust. They were belittling us, and just being so disrespectful right to our faces.
I hated that with every fiber of my being. That sick feeling when everyone looks down at you, like some pile of crap that should not belong near the rest of the community. I guess they think that I’m different than most people because I’m a lesbian. I used to think being gay was different, back when I had not known that I was. I thought it was the same kind of different as people who wear glasses versus those that do not, or people who wear braces and people that do not need them. I used to wonder if people like that thought differently, if they acted differently, if those people would be the same if they did not have braces or glasses. But now, I have braces, and I know that people with things like that are still regular people who do regular things, they just have different assets than a lot of people.
Being gay is like that, too. Most girls either have boy friends or husbands, or will have one later. Most guys have either girl friends or wives, or again, will get one. I just have something different. I have a girlfriend. It makes me feel a little bad now, when I think about it, because I did used to think that way. I did think that gays were somehow unexplainably different then straight people, or as I thought of it, regular people. In middle school I had a friend who was funny, bright, cool, artistic, and as I had found out, bisexual. When I found that out it never really left my mind. I could speak with her, work with her, play with her, or whatever, but I never actually forgot that she was bi when I was with her. I wondered how often she thouht about it, how often she just thought, ‘huh, im different.’ But, I know now that, when you’re gay or bi or whatever, you dont really think about it at all until someone mentions it. And even then, you dont really think about it unless you’re being made fun of or degraded for it.
I think, though, even when people say they totally accept it, there is no real way to know who fully and honestly accepts it until homosexuality hits home. My mother used to tell me that it was perfectly okay, whatever I turned out to be. She said that it ran in my family, that two of my cousins were gay and she still loves them very much. She said that all the time, and I used to deny it. “I'm not a lesbian, mom, God!” She’d annoy me so much because she’d say it every day. It was almost as if she’d thought I was a lesbian, or if not, like she wanted me to be. I was afraid of what she’d say to me when I told her, and I had reason to be.
I came home one day from school, and I knew that I had to tell her soon. It was may 16th, and I had only figured out that I was in love with Her the day before. I didnt want to wait; if I got too far into a relationship without telling her I was aware that she would be angrier than if she just found out later. I came home as she was getting ready to go to the gym, and told her.
“Mom,” I asked. “How would you feel if... if a boy asked me out?”
Mom immediately got that wary face, as if asking herself whether or not she was about to scream at me, depending on my explanation. “Why, did someone ask you out?”
I really didn’t want to tell her straight out, I was so scared, I just couldn’t do it... “Just hypothetically. What would you say?”
“Well,” She began. “I’d want to meet him first, and he’d better not have any kind of intentions.”
I couldn’t handle it, I had to go into detail. I closed my eyes and blurted out, “What if it wasn’t a guy? What if I wanted to go out with a girl?”
“What,” She got a scary face that I couldn’t really describe. It was as if I was a small child and said an array of curse words in front of her. “Did She ask you out?”
“Well, not really,” I tried to be quick to respond so that she couldn’t cut me off and jump to any kind of conclusion like she always did. “We just kinda both felt that way, and, I wanted to tell you bef-”
“No.” She interrupted. “Absolutely not.”
When I tried to tell her that she was just saying no because she was another girl, she decided to use the excuse that I was ‘too young to be in love,’ so I was defeated. I couldn’t argue with her unless I wanted to get angry enough to start packing. I was already in tears, so I decided to drop it. But as much as mom continues to insist that its not because I’m attracted to a girl but because I’m not sixteen yet.
So, having experienced what I have, I really think that acceptance is never really honest until it is put to the test. People can always just say that they accept gays as equals, and even if they think they mean it, as soon as they see it in front of them, they end up showing how they really feel about it. Some prove that they really do think its totally okay, but others end up enshrouding a false sense of acceptance to reveal a layer of ignorance and disrespect unknown even to themselves. The difference is shown, simply put, by the choice of the ‘aww!’ or the ‘ooh!’
I might have gotten a split second of that feeling I loved; that high where you feel like you’ve gotten everything you wanted, and even if just in that moment, all was right in the world. There was no war, no hunger, no global warming, at least not while I was with her. However, as fast as it came, my high went away.
I started to hear random gasps from the crowd of students nearby, a crowd made mostly up of freshmen. Some of the girls from the group started to woot and ooh, as if we were on some distasteful talk show, in front of a live studio audience. I was almost waiting to hear someone start shouting “STEVE, STEVE, STEVE!” or for someone to ask for their Jerry Beads. As the kiss broke away i looked up at two particular girls where the two loudest voices were coming from. They had been staring right at us, giggling when they were not carrying on and hollering. They both looked away emediately, still giggling in both humor and disgust. They were belittling us, and just being so disrespectful right to our faces.
I hated that with every fiber of my being. That sick feeling when everyone looks down at you, like some pile of crap that should not belong near the rest of the community. I guess they think that I’m different than most people because I’m a lesbian. I used to think being gay was different, back when I had not known that I was. I thought it was the same kind of different as people who wear glasses versus those that do not, or people who wear braces and people that do not need them. I used to wonder if people like that thought differently, if they acted differently, if those people would be the same if they did not have braces or glasses. But now, I have braces, and I know that people with things like that are still regular people who do regular things, they just have different assets than a lot of people.
Being gay is like that, too. Most girls either have boy friends or husbands, or will have one later. Most guys have either girl friends or wives, or again, will get one. I just have something different. I have a girlfriend. It makes me feel a little bad now, when I think about it, because I did used to think that way. I did think that gays were somehow unexplainably different then straight people, or as I thought of it, regular people. In middle school I had a friend who was funny, bright, cool, artistic, and as I had found out, bisexual. When I found that out it never really left my mind. I could speak with her, work with her, play with her, or whatever, but I never actually forgot that she was bi when I was with her. I wondered how often she thouht about it, how often she just thought, ‘huh, im different.’ But, I know now that, when you’re gay or bi or whatever, you dont really think about it at all until someone mentions it. And even then, you dont really think about it unless you’re being made fun of or degraded for it.
I think, though, even when people say they totally accept it, there is no real way to know who fully and honestly accepts it until homosexuality hits home. My mother used to tell me that it was perfectly okay, whatever I turned out to be. She said that it ran in my family, that two of my cousins were gay and she still loves them very much. She said that all the time, and I used to deny it. “I'm not a lesbian, mom, God!” She’d annoy me so much because she’d say it every day. It was almost as if she’d thought I was a lesbian, or if not, like she wanted me to be. I was afraid of what she’d say to me when I told her, and I had reason to be.
I came home one day from school, and I knew that I had to tell her soon. It was may 16th, and I had only figured out that I was in love with Her the day before. I didnt want to wait; if I got too far into a relationship without telling her I was aware that she would be angrier than if she just found out later. I came home as she was getting ready to go to the gym, and told her.
“Mom,” I asked. “How would you feel if... if a boy asked me out?”
Mom immediately got that wary face, as if asking herself whether or not she was about to scream at me, depending on my explanation. “Why, did someone ask you out?”
I really didn’t want to tell her straight out, I was so scared, I just couldn’t do it... “Just hypothetically. What would you say?”
“Well,” She began. “I’d want to meet him first, and he’d better not have any kind of intentions.”
I couldn’t handle it, I had to go into detail. I closed my eyes and blurted out, “What if it wasn’t a guy? What if I wanted to go out with a girl?”
“What,” She got a scary face that I couldn’t really describe. It was as if I was a small child and said an array of curse words in front of her. “Did She ask you out?”
“Well, not really,” I tried to be quick to respond so that she couldn’t cut me off and jump to any kind of conclusion like she always did. “We just kinda both felt that way, and, I wanted to tell you bef-”
“No.” She interrupted. “Absolutely not.”
When I tried to tell her that she was just saying no because she was another girl, she decided to use the excuse that I was ‘too young to be in love,’ so I was defeated. I couldn’t argue with her unless I wanted to get angry enough to start packing. I was already in tears, so I decided to drop it. But as much as mom continues to insist that its not because I’m attracted to a girl but because I’m not sixteen yet.
So, having experienced what I have, I really think that acceptance is never really honest until it is put to the test. People can always just say that they accept gays as equals, and even if they think they mean it, as soon as they see it in front of them, they end up showing how they really feel about it. Some prove that they really do think its totally okay, but others end up enshrouding a false sense of acceptance to reveal a layer of ignorance and disrespect unknown even to themselves. The difference is shown, simply put, by the choice of the ‘aww!’ or the ‘ooh!’
Descriptive essay Homage to family
Teige Dougherty
Descriptive Essay
9/16/11
Homage to Family -
Color flying, sun shining bright, leaves falling. I didn’t have a care in the word, except the next paint ball that might hit me. I was running left, then right, trying to dodge all the paint. I can still feel the gun in my hand. The push from the CO2 pushing the ball out of the chamber towards its target. Paint rushing by my head, I duck behind a bunker. I was pinned down, so I shouted to my friend “I'm pinned! Help me out”. So he proudly stood up and fired off seven bullets. In those six seconds I had enough cover to stand up and sprint across the field firing blindly with my left hand (probably not hitting anything but scaring the opponents). I looked over and I was reminded of a picture that my sister once painted. It was a picture of an elephant standing on top of a ball, with colors shooting out of it. I felt kind of like that elephant, precariously perched with colors flying at me from all directions.
Soon after my daring escape we fired our last bullets and just like that, the game was over. We all got up from our hiding spots and went and shook hands. The animosity that was there only seconds ago was now completely gone and replaced with grins and smirks. No care over who won or lost, just a care over how much fun we had.
We looked around to see how many times we had been hit. I saw two blotches of red and orange on my pants and one other pink shot on my shoe. Then I saw it, the blotch of reds, pinks, and oranges that used to be my friend. He was covered from head to toe in color. He looked like a clown that was caught in the rain. We all laughed for a while and refilled our ammo and started again. The animosity soon returning.
When I think about these moments in my life, I think about my sister, and my family. I have a big family and my family is very important to me. I think about her because she is the one who painted the picture. When I think about her I feel pride. Pride in what she has done, and how she has handled everything. My sister now lives in Germany with her boyfriend. When she moved she was just 25. She moved over there with my oldest brother who was just 22 when he left to travel the world. Now he is 31 and she is 29. They are both very successful by themselves. One time we went to visit them, and I felt like a fish out of water. It was very difficult to fit in. Not many people knew English, to this day I have no idea how my sister and my brother lived through it.
One time my brother and I went to the bakery to get pastries for the family and we had to order in German. We sat there thinking about what to say to the person. Using our collective knowledge of the German language we said “fear chocolate pastries”. The women behind the counter winced at our butchering of her language, then she laughed. She said in the most southern accent that I could have imagined “Do y’all want 4 chocolate pastries?” My brother and I said yes ma’am and paid for the pastries and left. That whole time I was thinking, that this would only happen if I was with my family. If I had been with my friends, everything would have gone off without a hitch.
I believe that through everything, your family is the most important thing in the whole world. This is because if you don’t have family then you will be lost. Its what keeps you on track and keeps you out of danger. Even through the craziness and yelling at each other, I love my family till the bitter end, and I would do anything for them.
Later that night, after shooting almost 4000 paint balls we collapsed in front of the camp fire. Something about watching a camp fire is hypnotizing. The way it sways and moves like nothing else on earth. It’s motions are so fluid that it is almost like a liquid. It just makes you want to stop everything that you are doing and look at it. Even though we were tired, and ache from a day packed with crazy amounts of paintball we still needed light to fight off the quickly darkening hill that we were on. This meant that someone needed to accomplish the incredible daunting task of getting firewood. If you have never done this in the dark, it is very problematic. This is because we had no other form of light that we could take with us, so that we could go and get the wood for the fire. So we did what every young teenager has wanted to do, we made a torch.
First we got a paint roller and stuck it on top of large stick. Then we wrapped the paint roller in string so that it would burn. After that it was the moment of truth. Would it light and stay on fire, or would it crash and burn? Miraculously, when we lit it, it stayed on fire.
Then we left the already dwindling camp fire, with the torch in hand. If you ever thought that a torch would be a good idea, it is not. As soon as we got out of sight of the fire, the torch melted something started dripping onto our hands. Then of course they all went out. With light the forest can be gorgeous, but when the lights go out you see the underbelly of the forest. You see how malicious and scary it can be. We couldn't see a single thing. It was as if someone had blind folded us and left us there. It is a freaky feeling not being able to see what is around you. The only way we were able to get back to the camp fire was by using our phones as flashlights
When we got back to the camp fire, our parents inquired to where we had been gone for so long. We answered truthfully, we said that we had no clue. Then we told them all about how the torch that we had made had gone out and that we had been stranded. Our parents reply to this was, “Where is the fire wood?”
We just laughed and went to pitch the tent for us to sleep in. We spent a good 2 hours trying to get the tent to stand on its own, but to no avail. So we did the next logical thing, we slept in the car. This works sometimes during the summer and when the weather is nice. Unfortunately for us with was 30 degrees, needless to say we didn’t get much sleep.
That night I realized that my friends and family are crucial to my life and that if I didn’t have them I would have nothing. I believe this because your rely on them through the bad, and you help them up when they are down. To this day, I still believe that if you have no money, no home, if you have you friends and family, you can get through it.
Changed, But The Same
By
the time I get home I’m exhausted, my feet just barely leaving the
ground with each step. The bus ride took an hour longer because of the
rain we’ve had for the past month. As I walk up the muddy path to my
house, I wince after each foot forward squelches into the dark muck and
turns the white rims of my new shoes brown. I feel a vibration in my
pocket and exhaling exasperatedly; I take the call from my mom “ James,
are you almost home”. She tells me that the basement has finally started
to flood after holding out for this long, and it’s flooded badly. Half a
foot of murky water dripped through the walls as my family and I went
about our days. I work my way up the rest of the way to the house,
hurrying this time, and start to help cleaning. As my brother, sister,
and father trudge up the path each in turn we start to work. Barefoot, I
fill bucket after bucket full of hurricane Irene and the tropical
storms and dump them in the driveway, adding to the soaked earth and
make a stream down the hill. We work out a system, I lift the heavy
buckets of brown water out of the basement, and my sister dumps it into
the driveway to roll down the hill. Meanwhile, my mom and dad vacuum up
the many inches of water and put them into buckets to be handed to me.
But after a few minutes of this, I feel as though there’s something off.
Then I realize, we are going about this inefficiently, and I knew the
perfect way to fix the problem and speed the work. I propose the idea to
my dad, and am surprised and hurt when my idea isn’t even considered
“No, this way is better” he says, and I feel crushed. I stormed away
blinded by what I saw as a betrayal, in that moment the world was
blurred. Morphed to only see an attack on my obvious genius.
I know I sound pathetic, but that’s how my brain work. To be honest, I hate physical labor, especially what we did that day with buckets, repetitively lifting and dumping for hours. It’s not always a bad thing though, I worked to make it easier for all of us. But my dad, as the person who came up with the original idea didn’t want to change. He felt in that moment the same way I did, we both had the better idea, but those ideas clashed.
As I sat inside, I heard my brother talking animatedly to my sister, to him this is a fun family-bonding treat. He smiles as he runs back and forth, helping the rest of us in the small ways he can “This is just like a movie” he says laughing “I want to do this more often”. His laughter had a calming effect on me, my anger was washed away, like our gravel driveway in the storm. When I went back outside, my dad was calmed down too, and considered my idea more seriously, because we are both fundamentally the same, and we both can’t hold a grudge. We finally finish after hours of work in the storm soaked basement, tired, but smiling.
My father and I are very similar, in our shortcomings and our best features, although there is one issue in which we are completely at odds, religion. Some of my classmates might be offended, but trust me, I didn’t become an atheist because of you. I was raised Christian, so I’m very proud of the fact that I could root through the fairy tales at a young age, and realize I needed to categorize them as just that. Where others turn to miracles, I recognize new discoveries in the field of physics and scientific fact.
When my parents caught on, from my subtle refusal to pray at meals unless we thanked the people who actually did something to give us our food, and silent protest in church by not paying attention, they didn’t say anything.
I was surprised, and a bit scared at that age. From what I had heard from the Internet, this was the part where they disowned you, calling you a worshiper of Satan, and never speaking to you again. But this dark image of the people I looked up to was a huge discredit to them. My mom and dad are clearer headed then most people I’ve met in my life, religious or not. Because of this acceptance, I’ve learned to give them more respect, and I’ve grown into an even more open minded and critically thinking person. I’m no longer scared and ashamed of who I am, I can’t hide myself in the dark, because understanding who I am is important.
Many times in my life, I feel like my grandparents have sensed, if not fully realized the extent of my heathenness. Many visits to them involve sudden transitions from conversations about the movie we just saw to “ God is so good in the world” or, even more ridiculous, “I can’t believe intelligent people believe in global warming”. Of all these visits, one in particular, to a lake house with some relatives stands out.
I was ten years old, I’m not sure if I knew what an atheist was yet at that age, but I was quite the expert on evolution, fresh out of school for the summer where I had proudly sucked in all the information there was on the subject. I played in the water all day, poking at the hairy spiders under the mossy soaked dock by the house, holding thrilling breath-holding contests with my sister, and learning how to dive by watching in amazement as my mom and an aunt sliced through the surface of the water with barely a splash. In the evening, I sat on a rotten log around the fire that my grandfather built, sleepily eating marshmallows. A step uncle of mine, wanting to know more about me since he lived in Florida, asked me how I liked school, “What are you learning about?” I can imagine the inner groan my dad made when he overheard, of coarse he knew I would talk about evolution, it was all I ever talked about in those days when asked about school. But he also knew how my uncle Spunk would respond. “ If people evolved from apes, how come I don’t see a monkey walking out of the trees over there right now?” I can tell you Spunk you’ve stumped me. In the entire world you are the man to disprove all those heathen scientist how don’t think your wife used to be a rib. You alone thought up the argument that can stump a ten year old.
I was stumped, not by the man’s incredible skills of pure logic, but by his stupidity. My father and I sat there on our stump wide eyed, we couldn’t figure out how someone could actually be so disrespectful of the reasoning skills that are easy for any human to develop.
It needs to be said, that when people take an idea to seriously, they start to shape their world around it and not take others seriously. I’m proud to say that I’m like my father, I try to take in every position laid out in front of my and think it through. I’ve become open-minded and I try to be gracious to everyone who offers the same sort of serious and thought out arguments that I do in a debate. I think in the same ways as my father, and although we don’t always come to the same conclusion, I’ve learned through experience to think before I speak. This last lesson came to me courtesy of my step uncle, who’s vast ignorance on certain proven subjects is something I’ll always avoid.
I know I sound pathetic, but that’s how my brain work. To be honest, I hate physical labor, especially what we did that day with buckets, repetitively lifting and dumping for hours. It’s not always a bad thing though, I worked to make it easier for all of us. But my dad, as the person who came up with the original idea didn’t want to change. He felt in that moment the same way I did, we both had the better idea, but those ideas clashed.
As I sat inside, I heard my brother talking animatedly to my sister, to him this is a fun family-bonding treat. He smiles as he runs back and forth, helping the rest of us in the small ways he can “This is just like a movie” he says laughing “I want to do this more often”. His laughter had a calming effect on me, my anger was washed away, like our gravel driveway in the storm. When I went back outside, my dad was calmed down too, and considered my idea more seriously, because we are both fundamentally the same, and we both can’t hold a grudge. We finally finish after hours of work in the storm soaked basement, tired, but smiling.
My father and I are very similar, in our shortcomings and our best features, although there is one issue in which we are completely at odds, religion. Some of my classmates might be offended, but trust me, I didn’t become an atheist because of you. I was raised Christian, so I’m very proud of the fact that I could root through the fairy tales at a young age, and realize I needed to categorize them as just that. Where others turn to miracles, I recognize new discoveries in the field of physics and scientific fact.
When my parents caught on, from my subtle refusal to pray at meals unless we thanked the people who actually did something to give us our food, and silent protest in church by not paying attention, they didn’t say anything.
I was surprised, and a bit scared at that age. From what I had heard from the Internet, this was the part where they disowned you, calling you a worshiper of Satan, and never speaking to you again. But this dark image of the people I looked up to was a huge discredit to them. My mom and dad are clearer headed then most people I’ve met in my life, religious or not. Because of this acceptance, I’ve learned to give them more respect, and I’ve grown into an even more open minded and critically thinking person. I’m no longer scared and ashamed of who I am, I can’t hide myself in the dark, because understanding who I am is important.
Many times in my life, I feel like my grandparents have sensed, if not fully realized the extent of my heathenness. Many visits to them involve sudden transitions from conversations about the movie we just saw to “ God is so good in the world” or, even more ridiculous, “I can’t believe intelligent people believe in global warming”. Of all these visits, one in particular, to a lake house with some relatives stands out.
I was ten years old, I’m not sure if I knew what an atheist was yet at that age, but I was quite the expert on evolution, fresh out of school for the summer where I had proudly sucked in all the information there was on the subject. I played in the water all day, poking at the hairy spiders under the mossy soaked dock by the house, holding thrilling breath-holding contests with my sister, and learning how to dive by watching in amazement as my mom and an aunt sliced through the surface of the water with barely a splash. In the evening, I sat on a rotten log around the fire that my grandfather built, sleepily eating marshmallows. A step uncle of mine, wanting to know more about me since he lived in Florida, asked me how I liked school, “What are you learning about?” I can imagine the inner groan my dad made when he overheard, of coarse he knew I would talk about evolution, it was all I ever talked about in those days when asked about school. But he also knew how my uncle Spunk would respond. “ If people evolved from apes, how come I don’t see a monkey walking out of the trees over there right now?” I can tell you Spunk you’ve stumped me. In the entire world you are the man to disprove all those heathen scientist how don’t think your wife used to be a rib. You alone thought up the argument that can stump a ten year old.
I was stumped, not by the man’s incredible skills of pure logic, but by his stupidity. My father and I sat there on our stump wide eyed, we couldn’t figure out how someone could actually be so disrespectful of the reasoning skills that are easy for any human to develop.
It needs to be said, that when people take an idea to seriously, they start to shape their world around it and not take others seriously. I’m proud to say that I’m like my father, I try to take in every position laid out in front of my and think it through. I’ve become open-minded and I try to be gracious to everyone who offers the same sort of serious and thought out arguments that I do in a debate. I think in the same ways as my father, and although we don’t always come to the same conclusion, I’ve learned through experience to think before I speak. This last lesson came to me courtesy of my step uncle, who’s vast ignorance on certain proven subjects is something I’ll always avoid.
Descriptive: Sports Make the Man
“Strike Three, yourrrrrrrr out,” “GOOOALLLLL,” “AI-YAH,” If you’re a sports aficionado you should now what these are. The sting of a third strike in an important game, the glory of the game-winning goal, the smash of a perfectly executed round house kick. To do any of these means hard work, dedication, discipline and sportsmanship. When I started sports I’ve tried to carve these principals into my day-to-day life.
When I was about six I started playing baseball, for Mt. Airy in Philadelphia. Obviously it didn’t matter if you were skilled or not it was solely to have fun and make new friends. It was easy to. No one cared if you could throw the ball from second to first. Or stop a slow grounder. If you had peanut butter and jelly for lunch you had friends.
I remember my first baseball game; it was my birthday and didn’t really feel like being there. Armed with a stiff plastic glove, and narrow a blue Warrior metal bat I started to feel a little more at home. 9th to bat, after the all the kids who could make a pop fly catch, I grasped the thin electric taped handle of my bat, and walked into the batters box. We had gone over what side you go to at practice a few times, but I didn’t remember the first time. I tapped the bat to the plate, aimed at the ball sitting atop the tee and swung. I was never sure if I actually made contact with the ball or the hard pedestal. But I saw the ball on the ground and I ran. I was going to make it to first base. I tripped and my arms fell forward. I wrapped my arms gingerly around the bag. “SAFE,” yelled the umpire. Maybe with some hard work and sticking to it I could make it to second base next time. Either way, I was hooked. I knew, from then on baseball was a part of me, an idea that has the ability to make anyone feel safe and befriended. I was now part of the gigantic body of fans that are will forever be my semi-close family.
“Ai-yah.” Most people would think is just a random yelp or something you’d hear down in the subway howled by the local crazy person. But I will explain how it is more then that.
The word “Ai-yah,” or Kia comes from all types of karate, martial arts, and self-defense. It is used in attempt to scare the opponent when yelled in part with an attack. Some teachers enforce this tradition ritualistically, occasionally punishing the student for failing to yell louder. These simple words can easily affect the outcome of ones life.
I still remember getting my black belt and always try to cherish that moment. I was 13 and had been studying karate for 5 years. My teacher Sensei Mike had been gruelingly training me for a while and it was finally the black belt extravaganza. This event is where, after the initial test where you perform techniques and katas is preformed, you receive your black belt.
We were all lined up, my brother and I, also a few of or friends. At the front line of the karate mat, we were waiting for our belts. The instructor announces our name and we freeze. This moment would change our lives forever. A heavy man, Sensei Mike dented the mat with every step towards me. Carrying our black belts sewed with golden lettering, inside a thin plastic bag. He told us to take off our old belts, and lay them on the floor. I was reluctant to do so, after being told the years before to never let my belt touch the ground. He gently smacked the belt into my hand. The feeling of biting your tongue or human nails gouging a black board ran up my back. I undressed the belt from the plastic covering and began to tie it. My hands shaking, my heart pumping, the crowd watching. Green and blue eyes in the background, the shiny yellow letters in the foreground mixed with my hands. It took me a little long to finish the knot but I defiantly didn’t care. I had gotten my black belt. For me it meant authority, he power to tell people right from wrong leading in the right direction towards success and responsibility. It meant more then just a differently colored belt. It shows who I am and what I had to work for to achieve this title.
Discipline shaped me. I work well when told what to do. I try my best to fulfill the requirements set on me. I if I put my mind to it I can always overcome the obstacle. I know what is good for me. I know that work comes before play, Brains beats brawn. But I would rather have both. Training myself to achieve maximum excellence. Discipline makes sports discipline makes me.
Soccer has been around for a long time and through the ages, the people who play it are almost always attached for life. Maybe it’s the fun or the friendship but for me it will always be the glory.
I love that feeling of a great kick. Perfectly connecting with the bounciest part of the soccer ball. The crowd, or the few parents, hushes as the ball sails across the field into the net. The goalie gets up dusts themselves off and, in defeat, walks back to the sidelines. I strive for this feeling, an injection of pure success and glory.
I started playing soccer when I was about seven, my mom asked me if I wanted to be on my best friends team, the Revolution. Of course I said yes, this was going to be so fun. My friend’s dad was the coach, and he started me at defense. Trying hard to not let the other team get past usually went in vain. I really needed to learn how to play better. I bet a few years would help.
Now I was ten and joined my school team. Again I started for defense but this time I knew what I was doing. Almost every time an offender came down the field I stole the ball and passed it back up the sideline.The few times they dribbled past me usually resulted in a goal. Gulled, by the skill of the kids I watched them yell and scream. Some times they even came over to me. Juiced with selfishness and ignorance they called me names and pushed me around. It probably wasn't the best idea to retaliate. But I really had to hold myself.
After the game my coach had a team small meeting. He really expressed how important it was to reamin calm and uphold the golden rule of sportsmanship. I was stunned, people cared about this so much, and I should too. Sportsmanship was so important, and now I knew. I would uphold this for the rest of my life. I love to make new friends, achieve the glory of a goal and express my self through sports.
Now I am 15 I bat fourth in my baseball lineup, start forward for soccer, and I am going for my 1st degree black belt in October. I have gone a long way since I began doing sports. After all the years I have been changed physically and my outlook on the world. Hard work, Dedication, Discipline, and Sportsmanship. These make the person and the sports, if I try my best to follow these principals, hopefully I can achieve my goals. I could like feel everything is reachable with only a solid good effort, an effort that shows what I am capable of and what really makes me, me.
love story
The date is October 6Th to be exact .I had just got out off the Franklin institute and I was on the way home with a friend that I have a lot of feelings for but I don’t know how to tell her. But today I decided that I would do something about to change it. It is now around 4:45 in the afternoon and are on the eastbound Market Frank-ford train. The train says that the next stop is York-Dauphin so I think to myself if I’m going to do something I would have to do it before Allegheny. Now we are at Berks so I think that now is the write time to do so and tell her how I was feeling. I froze at about what I was going to say. Now I’m at York and dauphin. So I start to tell her the things that I like about her. I tell her, wow I love the way you and I are always chilling. It makes me muy feliz to talk to you. She blushes and covers her face. I knew I was in the clear when she did that because that was a sign of he liking something. So I begin to hug her. I think to myself its now or never. So I tell her, mi amor what do you think if we, and like a fortune teller she finishes my thought. She says, whatever your question is the answer is yes. So I now I'm at my stop, I give he a kiss on the cheek and she grabs my face and kisses me and I say hey hit me up when you get home and I walk off on the platform on Allegheny and go home.
So as the love story begins to unravel I sit there as I slowly become the envy of all of our friends. We went to every one our classes together because I had purposely took a placement test so I can be in side all our classes together .The first couple of weeks were cool, we were always together and would eat, study, chill, do work, and everything together. I was told that her and I would be together for all of high school or at least a very long time together because we were really in love. I knew everything about her and she knew everything about me. I loved the fact that I was so open with her like for example when I had a problem in any class or in life in general she was always their to talk to, those are the things that I will never forget and will always hold dear to my heart.
The only problem that i had when I was going with her was the weather and the way it affected my asthma. So to give you a big picture to explain my condition; when it got cold and I inhaled the brisk October/November it made ma air ways tighten and get smaller not letting me breath. 400 grams , 600 grams , and still counting grams of Steroids,Albuterol,Ranitine, and many more medicine that I received where the only thing keeping me able to breath but it was also only available at the hospital. When i needed medicine it was either to late or not strong enough for my asthma so their fore I had to go to the hospital. While admitted she would come to my beside and tell me how school was and also bring me food and tell me a random story on how she fell out of no where or how she was going to run a billion miles in a circle(its realy more of an Oval). Track and Cross-Country where her favorite things to do but i was never able to be their because it was in the hospital and that wasn’t fair for her.
When I think back to that day all I can do is cry. I cry not because I am sad but I because I am not able to handle all the feelings I have. I guess you can say that its my fault because that’s what would be a good idea so I wouldn’t have to see the one I love go through a bunch of conflicts and hard ships because I’m not their to help her with her problems and console her. But at the same time what can I do the last time I was in school I left in an ambulance to Hanamin hospital because I couldn’t breath. To make this tense scenario I guess I couldn’t breath because being with her was breath taking. So the date is December 26,2010 and its about 4:45 in the afternoon and I get on the phone and call her and tell her that I don't want her to go through all this and I make the decision to break up with her . It was not easy to tell the one you love the most that you and her can no longer be because of the fact that your asthma is acting up and leaving you in the hospital. So she takes the break up pretty hard from what I heard but by the time school had started again after the winter break she was over it and also me. Even though it hurt a lot I think that it wasn’t a bad decision because I still care about the one I love but, also I think it was dumb for the reason that I gave her up. One day I hope to rekindle the spark that we once had…
Just me
Ethan Reese Copper
Just me
My life has always been interesting but one of the most interesting was a breezy autumn day filled with the smell and feel of fall, which made me excited for the upcoming holiday Halloween. But nothing was more exciting than what happened next. I approached my house climbing the concrete steps holding on to the cast iron railing, I brushed the bush and felt the dew of the freshly fallen rain that gave me goosebumps and made my arm smell like the car fresheners that are shaped like pine trees. I continued up the steps to hear the screams of my mom and sister. I ran up the rest of the steps to get to my door. I scrambled to get my key out to see what was happening.
I heard the squawking of a bird which made me stop to see where it was coming from i looked to the garden in front of my house the forest to the left to the skies to the bushes filled with berries. But I didn’t see the bird so I unlocked the door and heard the key move the locking mechanism out of the way I swung the door open. To see the house torn apart with my mom running with a broom my sister with a towel that looked like their was blood stains on it. My cat was puffed up with his claws out crying and baring his teeth at a seagull trapped in the corner. Like the last kid in a game of tag.
I ran to get something to help but I didn't know what I scrambled into my room to see the TV smashed into thousands of pieces of metal and glass and plastic all over the place with drops of blood leading out of my room. The window was wide open with a cool breeze blowing in with the smells of fallen leaves and dying plants. My eyes dart quicker than a cheetah looking for something to trap the seagull with, I see my laundry basket tuned over on the floor. I tip-toed across the floor filled with blood and broken glass and grabbed the basket.
I ran back to the living room to see they still hadn't caught the source of the destruction and mayhem, so I charged at the winged beast and missed and ended up hitting the cat stand.
Finally my sister caught the bird and I got a close look at it and realized that it was as scared and confused as we were it hurt itself because i left the window open i could see the blood coming out of the bird and made me think if it would even survive i begged my mom to help it but she said their was nothing that we could do to help it. I met eye to eye with the foe that taunted me for so long and looked inside of it and saw not a creature bent on a structure but a scared child that just wanted to cry and scream but just couldn't.
I thought i saw a tear leave its eye but i couldn't tell for sure my sister threw it outside like trash i watched it squirm on the ground trying to get up and than i saw that little kid that just wanted to scream and cry but couldn't. I couldn't help but think if I would have done what I was told than the horrible tragedy that happened could have been avoided.
Soon after this my vacation started and the thought of that poor bird being thrust into the situation that i caused was still in my head it would be nice to go somewhere to try to forget about the whole thing. We arrived at DC and the first thing I wanted to see was the Lincoln memorial because to me the mans idea out grew the man and i don't think the memorial is to remember Abraham Lincoln I think its to his idea of equality and fairness in a world that didn't accept you because of the littlest things. He is truly one of the greatest men in history who’s ideas and name will live forever, he shaped the way i want to live my life and how i live my life. I never once discriminated against someone because of something they couldn't control, and to this day i really wish that everyone could do what Abraham Lincoln did one-hundred years before anyone would have even thought of having the same rights as a white man.
I think this is something that we as Americans really take for granted and we don't respect what the man stood for and who he really was. When i told this to my mom she thought i was just saying stuff so we would go their first but she didn't understand that my words were spoken from the heart not the mouth.
So we went to her places first, the first place we visited was the Washington DC zoo, where we wasted our time in our nations capital i could see lions tigers and bears at any zoo but their was only one Lincoln memorial i kept trying to explain this but i was shutdown over and over again.
Than we went to lunch where i found myself eating something called a gooey duck which had the flavors of a rotten fish and oranges.
But finally the memorial was on our agenda i walked up the cool shining steps leading to the man who influenced my life and philosophy. I stood at his gigantic feet if his body was any representation of his ideas than my respect and admiration of the man and his ideas were well earned. I stood their and just appreciated the man who started it all the father of freedom, and made me resolve my problems with what happened with bird if it was alive and healthy it was free and if it was dead than it was free from all mortal boundaries.
Shanayia Roland-Rainy days
Shanayia Roland September 19,2011
Copper Stream Final Paper
Copper Stream Final Paper
I went in to my hot pink room that looked as if we took a bottle of pepto bizmol an threw it on the wall. I said to my older sister “Whats the plans for the day?” the room fell silent you could almost hear a pen drop even though we had carpet. Her eyes began to water a little and she chuckled and said “we’re moving” with a half smiling half crying face as if she had just saw the funniest thing in the world. I began to historically laugh and i said “ha ha Happy New year to you to, Now we both know we're not moving anywhere why would you joke like that.” After living in South Philadelphia for three years we were pretty content and i was pretty sure that moving was out of the question for at least another year or two. Her face fell serious and she hesitantly said “ I’m not joking now get dressed and help us move dad’s stuff out.” My heart dropped and felt as if it had fallen on the floor and broken. My eyes began to tear or more like waterfall.
Later on that day after I had gotten dressed I went down stairs into my living room squeezed pass the bags and i looked at there picture Hanging on the wall beside the staircase, taking up the width of three panels, the light brown frame surrounding the black inside of the frame. Their picture perfect smiles shining brightly like joy was in the air. Sunlight beaming through the tree’s that filled the plain behind them. His brown skin looked smooth with his black hair. Her white dress brought out the lighter color in her skin, and the darker color in his. Her skin glowed and made her pearl white dress create the Cinderella and Prince Charming beginning to their marriage.
This picture stuck in my mind from the day we moved him out until the third week, and fifth day after when moved him back in. I guess that picture remained there through it all to show that no matter what they’ll both still be there for each other. Whenever their having trouble I think about the picture, or even back to the day that it was taken.
“Wake up girl its your big day” My aunt says to my mom on this bright but rainy day in July. My mother woke up and climb out of bed with a bonnet on her head making her look as if she was a cone head. Her hair was freshly done, nicely rapped into a bun she had just gone to the hair dressers the night before. She went down the stairs to see all of her flower girls, bridesmaids,maid of honors, and matron of honors waiting to welcome her to the breakfast table with big beautiful smiles. We sat from oldest to youngest at the table starting with the oldest on her side. Her seat at the table was decorated with congratulations ribbons and white rose petals to make her day turn out beautiful. My aunt opened the window shutters to the big front window to let the little bit of light in form the rainy day. We ate a little bit just enough to hold us over because we were tight with time. Eleven girls needed to be dressed and ready to go within the next couple of hours.
She began to get dressed but with 10 other women running around the house like wild chickens with there heads off, there was no chance of us being on time. She looked out the huge bedroom window that had white shutters covering them to see where the tiny gray Toyota was parked so that she could go get her nails and toes done. Just then she realized that it was no where in sight after talking to my day in a tone of panic she found out that he had taken the car. She slipped on the cream wedding dress that was laced with beads. My aunt went to zip up the back of the dress and there was a ripping noise, and weird feeling in the room that made us know that something happened. My aunts face feel blank and with the zipper in her hand began to apologize like there was a death in the room. From that point on the day was filled with horror around every Conner. This became a nightmare wedding, it had no effect on there marriage or the way that our family looked at them as husband and wife.
It takes rainy days and obstacles in order for people to be come stronger and more prepared. It took my parents a horrible wedding day and many fights and arguments to just except the fact that there will be tests in life to show you how strong you are, and how strong you become.So when there’s a rainy day be happy be because that means some strengths and things to learn from coming with them.
Imani Blog
I have a Pink leg.
It all started when my sister decides to make herself some hot chocolate. It was a hersey brown, and by the looks of it you can tell it had the perfect amount of sugar. On top of the hot coco was small marshmallow the ones that come with the pack of hot chocolate. On top of the smaller marshmallows were two bigger marshmallows. That was the icing on the cake that made me drooling over the hot chocolate. My sister asks me “ Do you want some.” Me in a shock moment I respond and say “huh” Then very annoyed she says “ I see you staring at my cup of hot chocolate now do you want me to make you some or not.” I ignored the fact that she totally disrespected me and just nodded my head yes. We headed to the kitchen where our walls is painted grey with a white trim on the top and bottom. Near the stove we have tile by it so the heat want make our kitchen wall looks greasy and nasty. Then over by our dear park water dispenser is a radiator and the big white refrigerator. I head over to get me a tea cup by our mahogany colored counter where a white dish drying rack had sat on top. When I looked to see if there was any tea cups I realized I had to wash my out one in the silver colored sink with a hose on the side. While I was doing that my sister was getting the ingredients ready to make me the best hot coco a kid at the age of 9 had tasted. After the ingredients were out and my cup was cleaned, we went over to full the white and pink tea cup up with hot water. I remember the day before my mom told my sister and I that if we have the bottom of the water dispenser filled with water again that was our behinds. So I told my sister “ When your pouring the water go slow because I do not feel like hearing Mommy's mouth on the bottom of the dispenser full with water let alone hot water.” My sister sucked her teeth and responded, “ I know I’m not no little kid.” By the time my cup was half way filled I hear the phone ring. Our phone had the annoying answer machine where it calls out the number and name slow as to say your slow or something. I heard the numbers 215 742 and quickly assumed it was my grandmother calling about picking me up for the weekend. As I turned my head towards the phone to hear the remaining 4 digits I realize I had to keep an eye on the hot water from the cup. As turned my head back towards I seen my sister wasn’t paying attension either which cased the bottom of the dispensier to have little water in it. In my head just from the few drops of water I could picture my mom yelling and screaming about her having to clean up the water. So I quickly shoved the cup into the dispenser as if I was some superhero stopping a car, to keep any more water from go to the bottom. After that moment everything moved so fast. It was like i was in a move but in fast forward mode. The cup of hot water fell on my left leg leaving a big pink scar. I was screaming so hard I though my lungs would come out of my mouth. I started Running all around the house. I even dropped stopped and roll, because the heat from the water felt as if my leg was on fire. moments later my mom came down and from the look in her eye i can tell that she was just as scared as I was. On my leg was a bright highlighter pink scar and you can see as the water dripped my skin slowly started to peal also. So she frantically said “ Alisha grab you and Imani a coat and get her some shoes to wear.” Then my mom scooped me up and ran to her car, right behind her was sister crying. The ride to children hospitals was 7 Min's top, and normally that ride is roughly 10-15 Min's. My mom was driving like there was no other cars on the rode. During the whole car ride I prayed. I was calling to God Jesus, and even my grandma to not let me die from this tragic accident. When we arrived at the hospital they immedietly took me to a room and started operating on my leg. The room had a blue curtain to cover me from seeing the ill patient on the right of me. The Bed had an annoying plastic on it that I ripped after the scrworming around I did. Above my head was some sort of annoying machaine that kept on beeping, which in my mind was a good thing and bad thing. The good thing was I was still alive. The bad thing was I was alive to feel this escroning pain. Out of my right eye while lying down I can see my mom walk away crying. In my right ear I can hear my sister sobbing and crying praying she was making me even more scared. After about 10 Min's I seen my uncle come in and I can hear my mom tell my aunt who lived in Maryland to stay home that we have everything under control. I felt so much love but even that wasn’t enough to keep my mind from focusing on the pain in my leg. When the doctor came in he told me some devastating news, I had to stay over night and only my mom can stay. That could not happen. My mom sister and I are a trinagle. A perfect polygon and with out one side we become a non-polygon. Therefore we always stay together no matter what. So at the moment I started praying. For the whole 45 Min's I was in there. I was praying so much I could hear the nurses talking about going to church the following sunday. Through the whole experience I must say that my pray was answered, because with a second degree burn I was out the hospital in 45 Min's. I went home in my mom queen size bed with her big green soft cloud like comforter laid down in the middle with my mom and sister arm wrapped around me. After a few minutes of closing my eyes I was relieved that all of out heartbeats was beating in the same place and that was at home.
+ Kitchen
+ the emotionally behavior
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? Describe Hospital
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Hot chocolate- coca- More interesting
Tea cup- More interesting
Before incident more desritvie
Marshmallows
Placement+
Work on beginning.
Transtiion
Have you ever cried tears that felt like atomic bombs hitting your checks causing your skin to become weak. That's what I did repeatedly as I tried to cope with the situation I was in.
It all started the night before. My mom was in her bed room where the old wall paper pealed of like an onion be striped from its skin. Her queen size bed set in front of roughly a 35 inch Panasonic colored television. On the side of her laid a cluttered end table full with papers pens half full soda bottles and other junk. My sister and I ran into the room playing around just to have fun before it was time for bed. I sworn in and quickly said “Mommmmmmy” in a voice a 12 year old to immate the annoying voice of a little kid. My mom looked at me in disbelief that i was acting childish and quickly responded “ Girl get out my face I’m about to get on the phone, how about you and your sister get up out my room.” When our mom say the lines “GET OUT MY ROOM” to my sister and I that's an invitation to the play the “How long can you annoy your mom game.” So my sister and I jumped on the bed and quickly started laughing while cracking jokes on my mom. Just as we were getting started her phone rung. It was my God mother Jackie calling to talk to my mom because a few days ago she had recently had a baby girl. As soon as we heard that it was our god mother on the phone we got super happy. Then my sister and I began acting like 3 year old by jumping on the bed and messing with our mother. Of course the game had to end because not only did we have to head to bed for school, but my mom was about to go in one of her talk for hours deep conversations. Just to get one more laugh in we begged out mom to let us say goodbye to our god mom before bed. My mom insisted it was our bed time and told us, “ You will talk to her another time now go to bed.”
Next day my mom calls me on my cell phone saying “take you and your sister to uncle mopey’s I’ll pick y’all up from there.” I thought to ask more questions because my mom toned sounded as if she was in some serious trouble that she felt obligated to discuss when she picks us up. So I left it at that and told my sisters the news. My sister and I waited for my mom at our uncles. His house is extremely big. It was an old pretzel factory that he decide was best to fix up and turn into a house. Even thou the green paint is chipping and the grass was as high as a cornfield, the inside of his house was beautiful. He has these glass mirrors that have glass within the glass that makes up an unique pattered Steps with columns to follow up them and two big columns that is at the end. His couch is a nice big golden couch that it looks as if he robbed it from queen Elizabeth himself. In his dinning area is a long supper table with different cakes and cookies for people to come in and snack on, and right behind that lies an old piano me and my sister joke saying that its so old that bavtoven played on it. As you walk down the long table it leads you to two glass doors. On the doors says Ralph Lauren, behind the door lays a small kitchen area where pots dangling over top of the counter and chips and food feast on the counters. After spending a few hours in my uncle home my mom finally arrived. She showed up in my god mom small green car. She came in the house got my sister and I and then talked to my uncle for a few minuets. When my mom came in the car that’s when she was attacked with 21 questions. We started asking why she had god mom jackie car, where was god mom jacke, did she see the baby with out us, and by the look in my mom eye I can tell she had enough. She told us to sit back and shut up. The short 5 minuet car ride became a long 5 hour car ride because questions wasn’t being answered.
When we arrvived at the house my mother quickly told my sister and I to have a seat. I can hear it in her voice the news was bad so I stood up just so I can prepare for the worst. Thats when the words started fighting with her closed lips to give us the news that our god mom Jackie had passed. Thoese words came shooting at me and pierced me right through the heart. My eyelids was fighting back the tears. My brain couldn't tell what was real and was fake. Next thing I know our dinner room have became flooded with water from the tears that our body couldn't stop producing. I was so angry so upset that the wall has became an innocent victim of crossfire as my fist blistered into the white wall knocking it sheet rocks into pieces.
The death of my God mom lead me to think different. One I never said my last goodbye to my loved one leaving me never take another person life for granted. Two I have so many questions on why god chosen to take a prize possen out of my life.
I learned that I am a Strong writer but I can work on being on one topic at one time. Also I can work on my transition and expanding my vocabulary. Through My whole experience of writing these scenes I realized that there is a writing side of me. That I decide that I may want to try and practice more so i can write a book. As I was writing these scenes I notice my Strong points was getting descriptive and understanding where I can fit
Have you ever cried tears that felt like atomic bombs hitting your checks causing your skin to become weak. That's what I did repeatedly as I tried to cope with the situation I was in.
It all started the night before. My mom was in her bed room where the old wall paper pealed of like an onion being striped from its skin. Her queen size bed set in front of roughly a 35 inch Panasonic colored television. On the side of her laid a cluttered end table full with papers, pens, half full soda bottles, and other junk. My sister and I ran into the room playing around just to have fun before it was time for bed. I sworn in and quickly and screamed, “Mommmmmmy” in an annoying voice of a little kid. My mom looked at me in disbelief that i was acting childish and quickly responded “ Girl get out my face I’m about to get on the phone, how about you and your sister get up out my room.” When our mom say the lines “GET OUT OF MY ROOM” to my sister and I that's an invitation to the play the “How long can you annoy your mom game.” So my sister and I jumped on the bed and quickly started laughing while cracking jokes on my mom. Just as we were getting started her phone rung. It was my God mother Jackie calling to talk to my mom because a few days ago she had recently had a baby girl. As soon as we heard that it was our god mother on the phone we got super happy. Then my sister and I began acting like 3 year old by jumping on the bed and messing with our mother. Of course the game had to end because not only did we have to head to bed for school, but my mom was about to go in one of her talk for hours deep conversations. Just to get one more laugh in we begged out mom to let us say goodbye to our god mom before bed. My mom insisted it was our bed time and told us, “ You will talk to her another time now go to bed.”
People can’t predict the future but rather make assumptions, and sometime those assumptions we will regret.
The death of my God mom lead me to think different. One I never said my last goodbye to my loved one leaving me never take another person life for granted. Two I have so many questions on why god chosen to take a prize possession out of my life.
Through this experience I realized that what we think will be here forever can be taking from us in a blink of an eye. We should never ever take anything for granted especially our loved ones. Also god will have you go through the storm just to get you to the rainbow even if that means taking away a loved one. So never question it just accept it because what don’t kill you makes you ten times stronger.
After School I’m going straight home and I will have my mom, sister and aunt read it over. Then I will edit through it to make sure its an A project, also to make sure i have learned something about descriptive language. Reread rubric
It all started when my sister decides to make herself some hot chocolate. It was a hersey brown, and by the looks of it you can tell it had the perfect amount of sugar. On top of the hot coco was small marshmallow the ones that come with the pack of hot chocolate. On top of the smaller marshmallows were two bigger marshmallows. That was the icing on the cake that made me drooling over the hot chocolate. My sister asks me “ Do you want some.” Me in a shock moment I respond and say “huh” Then very annoyed she says “ I see you staring at my cup of hot chocolate now do you want me to make you some or not.” I ignored the fact that she totally disrespected me and just nodded my head yes. We headed to the kitchen where our walls is painted grey with a white trim on the top and bottom. Near the stove we have tile by it so the heat want make our kitchen wall looks greasy and nasty. Then over by our dear park water dispenser is a radiator and the big white refrigerator. I head over to get me a tea cup by our mahogany colored counter where a white dish drying rack had sat on top. When I looked to see if there was any tea cups I realized I had to wash my out one in the silver colored sink with a hose on the side. While I was doing that my sister was getting the ingredients ready to make me the best hot coco a kid at the age of 9 had tasted. After the ingredients were out and my cup was cleaned, we went over to full the white and pink tea cup up with hot water. I remember the day before my mom told my sister and I that if we have the bottom of the water dispenser filled with water again that was our behinds. So I told my sister “ When your pouring the water go slow because I do not feel like hearing Mommy's mouth on the bottom of the dispenser full with water let alone hot water.” My sister sucked her teeth and responded, “ I know I’m not no little kid.” By the time my cup was half way filled I hear the phone ring. Our phone had the annoying answer machine where it calls out the number and name slow as to say your slow or something. I heard the numbers 215 742 and quickly assumed it was my grandmother calling about picking me up for the weekend. As I turned my head towards the phone to hear the remaining 4 digits I realize I had to keep an eye on the hot water from the cup. As turned my head back towards I seen my sister wasn’t paying attension either which cased the bottom of the dispensier to have little water in it. In my head just from the few drops of water I could picture my mom yelling and screaming about her having to clean up the water. So I quickly shoved the cup into the dispenser as if I was some superhero stopping a car, to keep any more water from go to the bottom. After that moment everything moved so fast. It was like i was in a move but in fast forward mode. The cup of hot water fell on my left leg leaving a big pink scar. I was screaming so hard I though my lungs would come out of my mouth. I started Running all around the house. I even dropped stopped and roll, because the heat from the water felt as if my leg was on fire. moments later my mom came down and from the look in her eye i can tell that she was just as scared as I was. On my leg was a bright highlighter pink scar and you can see as the water dripped my skin slowly started to peal also. So she frantically said “ Alisha grab you and Imani a coat and get her some shoes to wear.” Then my mom scooped me up and ran to her car, right behind her was sister crying. The ride to children hospitals was 7 Min's top, and normally that ride is roughly 10-15 Min's. My mom was driving like there was no other cars on the rode. During the whole car ride I prayed. I was calling to God Jesus, and even my grandma to not let me die from this tragic accident. When we arrived at the hospital they immedietly took me to a room and started operating on my leg. The room had a blue curtain to cover me from seeing the ill patient on the right of me. The Bed had an annoying plastic on it that I ripped after the scrworming around I did. Above my head was some sort of annoying machaine that kept on beeping, which in my mind was a good thing and bad thing. The good thing was I was still alive. The bad thing was I was alive to feel this escroning pain. Out of my right eye while lying down I can see my mom walk away crying. In my right ear I can hear my sister sobbing and crying praying she was making me even more scared. After about 10 Min's I seen my uncle come in and I can hear my mom tell my aunt who lived in Maryland to stay home that we have everything under control. I felt so much love but even that wasn’t enough to keep my mind from focusing on the pain in my leg. When the doctor came in he told me some devastating news, I had to stay over night and only my mom can stay. That could not happen. My mom sister and I are a trinagle. A perfect polygon and with out one side we become a non-polygon. Therefore we always stay together no matter what. So at the moment I started praying. For the whole 45 Min's I was in there. I was praying so much I could hear the nurses talking about going to church the following sunday. Through the whole experience I must say that my pray was answered, because with a second degree burn I was out the hospital in 45 Min's. I went home in my mom queen size bed with her big green soft cloud like comforter laid down in the middle with my mom and sister arm wrapped around me. After a few minutes of closing my eyes I was relieved that all of out heartbeats was beating in the same place and that was at home.
+ Kitchen
+ the emotionally behavior
+
? Describe Hospital
?
?
Hot chocolate- coca- More interesting
Tea cup- More interesting
Before incident more desritvie
Marshmallows
Placement+
Work on beginning.
Transtiion
Have you ever cried tears that felt like atomic bombs hitting your checks causing your skin to become weak. That's what I did repeatedly as I tried to cope with the situation I was in.
It all started the night before. My mom was in her bed room where the old wall paper pealed of like an onion be striped from its skin. Her queen size bed set in front of roughly a 35 inch Panasonic colored television. On the side of her laid a cluttered end table full with papers pens half full soda bottles and other junk. My sister and I ran into the room playing around just to have fun before it was time for bed. I sworn in and quickly said “Mommmmmmy” in a voice a 12 year old to immate the annoying voice of a little kid. My mom looked at me in disbelief that i was acting childish and quickly responded “ Girl get out my face I’m about to get on the phone, how about you and your sister get up out my room.” When our mom say the lines “GET OUT MY ROOM” to my sister and I that's an invitation to the play the “How long can you annoy your mom game.” So my sister and I jumped on the bed and quickly started laughing while cracking jokes on my mom. Just as we were getting started her phone rung. It was my God mother Jackie calling to talk to my mom because a few days ago she had recently had a baby girl. As soon as we heard that it was our god mother on the phone we got super happy. Then my sister and I began acting like 3 year old by jumping on the bed and messing with our mother. Of course the game had to end because not only did we have to head to bed for school, but my mom was about to go in one of her talk for hours deep conversations. Just to get one more laugh in we begged out mom to let us say goodbye to our god mom before bed. My mom insisted it was our bed time and told us, “ You will talk to her another time now go to bed.”
Next day my mom calls me on my cell phone saying “take you and your sister to uncle mopey’s I’ll pick y’all up from there.” I thought to ask more questions because my mom toned sounded as if she was in some serious trouble that she felt obligated to discuss when she picks us up. So I left it at that and told my sisters the news. My sister and I waited for my mom at our uncles. His house is extremely big. It was an old pretzel factory that he decide was best to fix up and turn into a house. Even thou the green paint is chipping and the grass was as high as a cornfield, the inside of his house was beautiful. He has these glass mirrors that have glass within the glass that makes up an unique pattered Steps with columns to follow up them and two big columns that is at the end. His couch is a nice big golden couch that it looks as if he robbed it from queen Elizabeth himself. In his dinning area is a long supper table with different cakes and cookies for people to come in and snack on, and right behind that lies an old piano me and my sister joke saying that its so old that bavtoven played on it. As you walk down the long table it leads you to two glass doors. On the doors says Ralph Lauren, behind the door lays a small kitchen area where pots dangling over top of the counter and chips and food feast on the counters. After spending a few hours in my uncle home my mom finally arrived. She showed up in my god mom small green car. She came in the house got my sister and I and then talked to my uncle for a few minuets. When my mom came in the car that’s when she was attacked with 21 questions. We started asking why she had god mom jackie car, where was god mom jacke, did she see the baby with out us, and by the look in my mom eye I can tell she had enough. She told us to sit back and shut up. The short 5 minuet car ride became a long 5 hour car ride because questions wasn’t being answered.
When we arrvived at the house my mother quickly told my sister and I to have a seat. I can hear it in her voice the news was bad so I stood up just so I can prepare for the worst. Thats when the words started fighting with her closed lips to give us the news that our god mom Jackie had passed. Thoese words came shooting at me and pierced me right through the heart. My eyelids was fighting back the tears. My brain couldn't tell what was real and was fake. Next thing I know our dinner room have became flooded with water from the tears that our body couldn't stop producing. I was so angry so upset that the wall has became an innocent victim of crossfire as my fist blistered into the white wall knocking it sheet rocks into pieces.
The death of my God mom lead me to think different. One I never said my last goodbye to my loved one leaving me never take another person life for granted. Two I have so many questions on why god chosen to take a prize possen out of my life.
I learned that I am a Strong writer but I can work on being on one topic at one time. Also I can work on my transition and expanding my vocabulary. Through My whole experience of writing these scenes I realized that there is a writing side of me. That I decide that I may want to try and practice more so i can write a book. As I was writing these scenes I notice my Strong points was getting descriptive and understanding where I can fit
Have you ever cried tears that felt like atomic bombs hitting your checks causing your skin to become weak. That's what I did repeatedly as I tried to cope with the situation I was in.
It all started the night before. My mom was in her bed room where the old wall paper pealed of like an onion being striped from its skin. Her queen size bed set in front of roughly a 35 inch Panasonic colored television. On the side of her laid a cluttered end table full with papers, pens, half full soda bottles, and other junk. My sister and I ran into the room playing around just to have fun before it was time for bed. I sworn in and quickly and screamed, “Mommmmmmy” in an annoying voice of a little kid. My mom looked at me in disbelief that i was acting childish and quickly responded “ Girl get out my face I’m about to get on the phone, how about you and your sister get up out my room.” When our mom say the lines “GET OUT OF MY ROOM” to my sister and I that's an invitation to the play the “How long can you annoy your mom game.” So my sister and I jumped on the bed and quickly started laughing while cracking jokes on my mom. Just as we were getting started her phone rung. It was my God mother Jackie calling to talk to my mom because a few days ago she had recently had a baby girl. As soon as we heard that it was our god mother on the phone we got super happy. Then my sister and I began acting like 3 year old by jumping on the bed and messing with our mother. Of course the game had to end because not only did we have to head to bed for school, but my mom was about to go in one of her talk for hours deep conversations. Just to get one more laugh in we begged out mom to let us say goodbye to our god mom before bed. My mom insisted it was our bed time and told us, “ You will talk to her another time now go to bed.”
People can’t predict the future but rather make assumptions, and sometime those assumptions we will regret.
On the way home from school my mother m calls me on my cell phone saying “take you and your sister to uncle Mopey’s I’ll pick y’all up from there.” I thought to ask more questions because my mom toned sounded as if she was in some serious trouble that she felt obligated to discuss when she picks us up. So I left it at that and told my sisters the news. My sister and I waited for my mom at our uncles.
When you go to my uncle house it gives off a 80’s soulful look. He lives in an old pretzel factory, that he decide was best to fix up and turn into a house. Even thou the green paint is chipping and the grass was as high as a cornfield, the inside of his house was beautiful. He has these glass mirrors that have glass within the glass that makes up an unique pattered Steps with columns to follow up them and two big columns that is at the end. His couch is a nice big golden couch that it looks as if he robbed it from queen Elizabeth herself. In his dinning area is a long supper table with different cakes and cookies for people to come in and snack on, and right behind that lies an old piano me and my sister joke saying that its so old that Beethoven played on it. As you walk down the long table it leads you to two glass doors. On the doors says Ralph Lauren, behind the door lays a small kitchen area where pots dangling over top of the counter and chips and food feast on the counters.
While waiting my sister and I was jamming to some old school music. I started dancing doing the tootsie roll and cabbage patch. Then she tried to top me by doing the running man and robot. When the radio started playing Pattie Labelle, Gerald Lervert, and Luther Vandross, that's When we really started jamming by lip singing to their songs.
After spending a few hours in my uncle home jamming to old school music,my mom finally arrived. She showed up in my god mom small green car. She came in the house got my sister and I and then talked to my uncle for a few minuets. When my mom came in the car that’s when she was attacked with 21 questions. We started asking why she had god mom Jackie car, where was god mom Jackie, did she see the baby with out us, and by the look in my mom eye I can tell she had enough. She told us to sit back and shut up. The short 5 minuet car ride became a long 5 hour car ride because questions wasn’t being answered.
When we arrived at the house my mother quickly told my sister and I to have a seat. I can hear it in her voice the news was bad so I stood up just so I can prepare for the worst. That's when the words started fighting with her closed lips to give us the news that our god mom Jackie had passed. Those words came shooting at me and pierced me right through the heart. My eyelids was fighting back the tears. My brain couldn't tell what was real and was fake. Next thing I know our dinner room have became flooded with water from the tears that our body couldn't stop producing. I was so angry so upset that the wall has became an innocent victim of crossfire as my fist blistered into the white wall knocking it sheet rocks into pieces.The death of my God mom lead me to think different. One I never said my last goodbye to my loved one leaving me never take another person life for granted. Two I have so many questions on why god chosen to take a prize possession out of my life.
Through this experience I realized that what we think will be here forever can be taking from us in a blink of an eye. We should never ever take anything for granted especially our loved ones. Also god will have you go through the storm just to get you to the rainbow even if that means taking away a loved one. So never question it just accept it because what don’t kill you makes you ten times stronger.
After School I’m going straight home and I will have my mom, sister and aunt read it over. Then I will edit through it to make sure its an A project, also to make sure i have learned something about descriptive language. Reread rubric
Descriptive Essay-Say what?!
Say what?!
There I was standing on the second floor hallway looking at something ugly, black and sooty. Something horribly ugly! Disgusting, it made me want to puke I wanted to cry!
Wednesday afternoon. At school and I get a phone call from my mom saying that I needed to go over my friends house and spend the night. I wasn’t worried...I was clueless. I was around 10 or 11 years of age.
I get home the following day, not sensing that anything has happened. I run up the wooden stair case to my bedroom and before I could go to my bedroom I turn around and I see that the wall going up to the third floor was black and there was a hole in the wall. I could see my parents bedroom... There I was, standing on the second floor hallway looking at something ugly, black and sooty. Something horrible ugly! Disgusting, it made me want to puke I wanted to cry!
My house was filled with the aroma of burning sticks and paper in a campfire, but worse we had a fire.
I still wonder from time to time, why on earth was I laughing when I found out that my older brothers room on the third floor or should I say his “little apartment” that he just finished fixing up and putting surround sound system in just a couple days before, got the most damage, which meant for 6 months he had to sleep in my non damaged room...
I wasn’t laughing then...
“Have a great time , enjoy your self and work hard!” , “I’m so proud of you!” “I’m going to miss you so much!” That isn’t even half of the good-bye’s and the good-lucks or even the “I’m proud of you” , that my brother got before he left for College.
I remember saying good-bye to my brother before he left for College like it was yesterday. For the first 2 months , I had to get used to not having my brother around to mess with or prank. The detachment took about to 2 months for me to get used to , because my brother and I were pretty close.. After a while it was like a vacation , I got spoiled once he left , it was the life! Before I knew it , one day the door opens and my brother is standing in the door way , I was pretty happy to see him , because I haven’t seen him for some time , then my brother tells me that he is going to take a break from college , and my smile turns into a solid face , I wanted to scream! Why me?!
I have been waiting for this day...forever!
For the past 6 months, my family and I have been trying to get our house back to normal and in better shape after the fire. We’ve been ordering mattresses, getting bed frames, picking out colors, getting contractors, and getting our floors re-done. So much! Oh, and I’m even getting my room remodeled!
I’ve been waiting for this day...forever! Here I am, in my new looking house and my new looking room, waiting for people to bring in my mattress, and then my room will be complete! They come through the door, up the staircase, up to the 2nd floor and to my room, and put my mattress in my new bed frame. My room is a granny smith apple green, with a white bed frame, and white desk, a wooden bookcase, white doors with black knobs.
That night I slept great...matter of fact it was the best sleep I’ve ever had, no more stinky brother in my room with his nasty socks, and now I don’t have to find socks and lotion missing! I finally have my space, my privacy back….my independence back! I take in a deep breath, smelling the new fresh paint, the new mattress. As I lay in my bed … I think to myself … now this is more like it.... this is home
When the fire happened, it made everything for 6 months an inconvenience, because my brother had to sleep in my room and we had to go and my family and I even had to stay at a hotel, and everything just wasn’t right. Everything wasn’t the same. I had no privacy , no one did! My else was limited because half of the rooms in my house was off limits because of the fire.Also because of the fire my brother and I became closer. Having a fire is somewhat disturbing, for me it was. You think everything is fine that day and you come home to find out that you had a fire, and now you’re back to square one. It’s like you just moved in to a new house and once you buy it, you have to fix it up, pick paint, get carpet, and get the essentials for a room, which is like a 6 month process.
For some reason when I had a fire, it didn’t hit me until the next day. I bursted in to tears, I wondered why. I asked myself why am I crying? I didn’t feel the tears coming, it didn’t feel like I had a lump in my throat like it usually feels when I’m about to cry, it just…came out.
Could we have stopped the fire early enough, if someone was home? Then again if someone was in the house they could of got injured. A bunch of questions come to my mind when I think about the fire, and they’re all unanswered.
There I was standing on the second floor hallway looking at something ugly, black and sooty. Something horribly ugly! Disgusting, it made me want to puke I wanted to cry!
Wednesday afternoon. At school and I get a phone call from my mom saying that I needed to go over my friends house and spend the night. I wasn’t worried...I was clueless. I was around 10 or 11 years of age.
I get home the following day, not sensing that anything has happened. I run up the wooden stair case to my bedroom and before I could go to my bedroom I turn around and I see that the wall going up to the third floor was black and there was a hole in the wall. I could see my parents bedroom... There I was, standing on the second floor hallway looking at something ugly, black and sooty. Something horrible ugly! Disgusting, it made me want to puke I wanted to cry!
My house was filled with the aroma of burning sticks and paper in a campfire, but worse we had a fire.
I still wonder from time to time, why on earth was I laughing when I found out that my older brothers room on the third floor or should I say his “little apartment” that he just finished fixing up and putting surround sound system in just a couple days before, got the most damage, which meant for 6 months he had to sleep in my non damaged room...
I wasn’t laughing then...
“Have a great time , enjoy your self and work hard!” , “I’m so proud of you!” “I’m going to miss you so much!” That isn’t even half of the good-bye’s and the good-lucks or even the “I’m proud of you” , that my brother got before he left for College.
I remember saying good-bye to my brother before he left for College like it was yesterday. For the first 2 months , I had to get used to not having my brother around to mess with or prank. The detachment took about to 2 months for me to get used to , because my brother and I were pretty close.. After a while it was like a vacation , I got spoiled once he left , it was the life! Before I knew it , one day the door opens and my brother is standing in the door way , I was pretty happy to see him , because I haven’t seen him for some time , then my brother tells me that he is going to take a break from college , and my smile turns into a solid face , I wanted to scream! Why me?!
I have been waiting for this day...forever!
For the past 6 months, my family and I have been trying to get our house back to normal and in better shape after the fire. We’ve been ordering mattresses, getting bed frames, picking out colors, getting contractors, and getting our floors re-done. So much! Oh, and I’m even getting my room remodeled!
I’ve been waiting for this day...forever! Here I am, in my new looking house and my new looking room, waiting for people to bring in my mattress, and then my room will be complete! They come through the door, up the staircase, up to the 2nd floor and to my room, and put my mattress in my new bed frame. My room is a granny smith apple green, with a white bed frame, and white desk, a wooden bookcase, white doors with black knobs.
That night I slept great...matter of fact it was the best sleep I’ve ever had, no more stinky brother in my room with his nasty socks, and now I don’t have to find socks and lotion missing! I finally have my space, my privacy back….my independence back! I take in a deep breath, smelling the new fresh paint, the new mattress. As I lay in my bed … I think to myself … now this is more like it.... this is home
When the fire happened, it made everything for 6 months an inconvenience, because my brother had to sleep in my room and we had to go and my family and I even had to stay at a hotel, and everything just wasn’t right. Everything wasn’t the same. I had no privacy , no one did! My else was limited because half of the rooms in my house was off limits because of the fire.Also because of the fire my brother and I became closer. Having a fire is somewhat disturbing, for me it was. You think everything is fine that day and you come home to find out that you had a fire, and now you’re back to square one. It’s like you just moved in to a new house and once you buy it, you have to fix it up, pick paint, get carpet, and get the essentials for a room, which is like a 6 month process.
For some reason when I had a fire, it didn’t hit me until the next day. I bursted in to tears, I wondered why. I asked myself why am I crying? I didn’t feel the tears coming, it didn’t feel like I had a lump in my throat like it usually feels when I’m about to cry, it just…came out.
Could we have stopped the fire early enough, if someone was home? Then again if someone was in the house they could of got injured. A bunch of questions come to my mind when I think about the fire, and they’re all unanswered.
English essay : Unforgettable memories
Unforgettable memories
By: Maria Latorre
There we were standing ready to lift off the
airport. I looked back one more time to say bye to the state I was born in,
“bye Venezuela.” We lifted off, the flight was long and it was so high to a
person that was three feet. It was
also very fun after four hours. We had landed on a strange land that I had
never seen before. There where so many people all of them were bigger then me
but then I saw him I was very happy. My dad was waiting for us to get here. I
was so happy but I was really tired that the moment I got in the car after
walking from the ice-cold airport, I fell asleep faster than you can say I love
you.
It was winter
for me. Where I had come from I never felt this cold because it was nice, worm,
or very hot. At the same time it was almost my birthday by the time I got to
America. I got a lot of presents. One of the present was a stuffed animal named
storm. She was a black stuffed dog with brown eyes. I always love animals so I was
very happy to have gotten this one. A month later it was really winter and
little ice-cold things stared falling from the sky, Americans call it snow. I
knew that part but I never saw it fall on the main lands, I only would see it
on mountains. Then Christmas came and I got more presents. I loved it. I got so many things that I can’t name
them all.
The seasons flew and it was summer. No more Ice, no
more deadly cold weather, and no more heavy clothing. Now there’s nice hot air
I can go swimming, but this summer was different. I played tennis that’s where
I met a good and dear friend. It was really funny how we met because when we
were playing she hit the ball too hard and it smacked me on the middle of my
face. She ran to me and asked me if I was ok and that is how we started talking.
Now it’s time for school. I didn’t want to go I was
too scared. I would ask myself, “What if the others think I’m weird because I
don’t know English?” What if they hate me? I don’t want to go I want to be with
my family. The moment my dad took me to school and we entered the big halls
that had not a single sound and it was very dark too, I started to cry, “Papi yo no
quiero estar aquí no mi dejes.” I would say that every day until I had gotten use to
school in America. I also met Mrs. Rosemary she was very nice and she would
take care of me from the beginning of the day to the end of the day. My
homeroom teacher was also nice to me and she would talk really slow so I could
understand what she was talking about. I got used to coming to school that I forgot
about the time and as a blink of and eye the school year was over.
The next school
year they made me repeat because I was too young to go to first grade. The good
thing about that was I meet her again, the girl that hit the ball so hard that
it went flying into my face. We were always together, we became more than
friends we were family. However sometime she would be hard to deal with. We
would get into fights a lot. Being friends with her was like an emotional
rollercoaster ride. I would always take in every single emotion she had so that
she wouldn’t burst out on anyone. She would get mad a lot but I was the one
that would cure her anger and I was ok with it. Another thing I would do for
her is make her happy and take care of her when she’s sad. She would always
come crying to me. I had become her mother, but I wasn’t only her mother I’m a
mother for all of my friends too. I would act like their mother because I care
for them a lot.
I’m in the second grade and we are all happy together
have more fun then before. It was gym when I got into a school run. It was
really fun we had to run and win the race in the end we won. That was so cool
for me because I was there and helped my team to win.
Many years had past and its finally my 8th grade year.
It was our last year together and we were all sad but we had a lot of fun. This
year was different I was able to tell my sister (better known as my first
friend) that she was hurting me a lot. Mainly emotionally because I was tired
of taking her anger, which was always full force. She then said that she was
very sorry and that she would try to change. After that we played a lot, went
to the mall, the parks, on trips, and many other place. We are about to go to
high school, graduation is tomorrow. As I was sleeping I had a dream that we would
never leave but then I woke up and reality hits me in the face like an ice cold
water fell from the sky.
Now I graduated
from my middle school and we all want our different ways. The begging of a new
school year started and I had made new friends. SLA was like another home to me
it was very fun. I would always smile with my new friends. Even when we would
get into a lot of fights, but the fight always ended with both side smiling
happily at each other. I still had my other friend in my heart. We would meet
time to time. Just so our friendship stayed together. The school year past very
fast too, so soon that the next school year had already started.
I’m a sophomore
its fun so far and I’m trying new things. Having friend and meeting new people
is the best time for me. This school year will be very fun I just know it. All
of my experiences are like a bumpy car ride but here I am, still going and
really for any big bumps my car will have to go though. That makes these
unforgettable memories.
Who Am I?
So many years have past but this lingering question has still followed me. Even after finishing the project I was still uncertain of whom I was, and made it a basic project. My life has always been filled with so much uncertainness. As a result I have always been indecisive in all my decisions, even the simplest decisions. Who do I want be? What will I become? I wonder why it was so hard for me. Was I afraid?
Was I fearful? The more I thought about it, the more it kind of made sense. When spending time with a group of my friends I am usually loud and extroverted. Playing video games on our laptops like Call of Duty 4, Spore and mine craft. We are hyper, running around messing with each other and joking around. Sometimes sit around talking and chill, awaiting the next class. In class it is always a different story. It is like a switch was flipped on me. Shy, hesitant; peers would hardly know I was there. I was always terrified to share my thoughts, so I nearly always kept my hands down. And when I actually did put my hand up every once in a blue moon, there was a huge round of applause from everyone in the class like it was the most amazing thing they have seen. Embarrassment was definitely a factor.
So was it my lack of detail in explaining myself. Like when I did the descriptive writing essay. As I was staring at that 6x4 photo in my brightly lit, slightly messy room, trying to figure it out, it seemed impossible. First of all, I have never been good at descriptive writing for the last 15 years of my life. For my assignment I was told to write a thorough description of a piece of art important to you, so I chose a photo that I treasured. Even though I treasured it, I realized that I never really looked at it, I didn’t even remember the reason I treasured it. I looked at it sideways, backwards and even measured it, but still, nothing. So I finally looked at, looking for anything and everything. As I stared at the photo intensely, like it was the most interesting thing in the world, all I could see were the obvious points. In the photo were both my grand mother and my little brother Nathaniel when he was around 4 or 5 years old. So I looked at closer, staring at my brother’s old braided hair, looking at the old him, it was like staring into the past. He was older now, with shaved hair; I had forgotten what he used to look like. So I continued to stare at it, remembering lost memories, trying to recall anything and everything.
But no matter how many questions these answered my main one was yet to be answered, who am I? So I just sat there and thought. I thought about everything that had happened to me up to now. I tried and tried and tried. I wanted to remember something to answer my question.
I found it, the answer. It was in piece of me writing that I had forgotten. Something I shared out despite the fear and embarrassment.
They say I’m not American
I say
I am Jamerican
They say that I’m no good
I say
I know how to rise above stereotypes and be good
So
Don’t judge me by the fact I came from the hood
They say my people are all a shame
I say
I am not the same
They say I’m not anything I’m hopeless
I say
Stop the dumbness
Instead
I’m gonna stay out the darkness
To rise to greatness
This poem reminds me of who I am, I am different, think different, and do things different. It might take me a while to completely understand myself, but that is ok. As I head out on my own path, I know it’ll all be fine. I am undefined and I am fine with that. I doubt anyone else understands themselves either, so why should I sweat it.
“Why do I have to do this?” It was all I could think about while I continued my 7th grade project. It touched on all the things that I had always tried to avoid. I had to describe myself. When asked to describe myself as a simple beginning of the year question I have always kept my answers short, simple, uncreative and each time the answer was generally identical. It was the thing I hated most in the world. Why? Maybe I didn’t understand myself. But to be given a whole project on that subject alone, it felt like my stomach had just done a somersault. So I just sat there, thinking, who am I?
So many years have past but this lingering question has still followed me. Even after finishing the project I was still uncertain of whom I was, and made it a basic project. My life has always been filled with so much uncertainness. As a result I have always been indecisive in all my decisions, even the simplest decisions. Who do I want be? What will I become? I wonder why it was so hard for me. Was I afraid?
Was I fearful? The more I thought about it, the more it kind of made sense. When spending time with a group of my friends I am usually loud and extroverted. Playing video games on our laptops like Call of Duty 4, Spore and mine craft. We are hyper, running around messing with each other and joking around. Sometimes sit around talking and chill, awaiting the next class. In class it is always a different story. It is like a switch was flipped on me. Shy, hesitant; peers would hardly know I was there. I was always terrified to share my thoughts, so I nearly always kept my hands down. And when I actually did put my hand up every once in a blue moon, there was a huge round of applause from everyone in the class like it was the most amazing thing they have seen. Embarrassment was definitely a factor.
So was it my lack of detail in explaining myself. Like when I did the descriptive writing essay. As I was staring at that 6x4 photo in my brightly lit, slightly messy room, trying to figure it out, it seemed impossible. First of all, I have never been good at descriptive writing for the last 15 years of my life. For my assignment I was told to write a thorough description of a piece of art important to you, so I chose a photo that I treasured. Even though I treasured it, I realized that I never really looked at it, I didn’t even remember the reason I treasured it. I looked at it sideways, backwards and even measured it, but still, nothing. So I finally looked at, looking for anything and everything. As I stared at the photo intensely, like it was the most interesting thing in the world, all I could see were the obvious points. In the photo were both my grand mother and my little brother Nathaniel when he was around 4 or 5 years old. So I looked at closer, staring at my brother’s old braided hair, looking at the old him, it was like staring into the past. He was older now, with shaved hair; I had forgotten what he used to look like. So I continued to stare at it, remembering lost memories, trying to recall anything and everything.
But no matter how many questions these answered my main one was yet to be answered, who am I? So I just sat there and thought. I thought about everything that had happened to me up to now. I tried and tried and tried. I wanted to remember something to answer my question.
I found it, the answer. It was in piece of me writing that I had forgotten. Something I shared out despite the fear and embarrassment.
They say I’m not American
I say
I am Jamerican
They say that I’m no good
I say
I know how to rise above stereotypes and be good
So
Don’t judge me by the fact I came from the hood
They say my people are all a shame
I say
I am not the same
They say I’m not anything I’m hopeless
I say
Stop the dumbness
Instead
I’m gonna stay out the darkness
To rise to greatness
This poem reminds me of who I am, I am different, think different, and do things different. It might take me a while to completely understand myself, but that is ok. As I head out on my own path, I know it’ll all be fine. I am undefined and I am fine with that. I doubt anyone else understands themselves either, so why should I sweat it.
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.
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.
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?
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.
Unseen Beauty
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.
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.
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.
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.