Analysis Of 'Never Settle For Second Place When You Can Be First'

My first day of the second grade, I knew no one except the teacher and my younger brother. Kindergarten and first grade had been easy enough, but I was scared of the upcoming year. The only thing I knew about being the new kid was that it hadn’t panned out too great for Addie from the American Girl books. Mrs. Henson’s class was fairly quiet throughout the day, for most kids were nervous or tired. We neared the end of the day and I was ecstatic over the fact that hadn’t made a complete fool of myself. I hadn’t met anyone yet, but I thought that that would be a challenge for another day. Unfortunately, that’s not what Mrs. Henson had in mind. She sent us all out to recess with a grin plastered on her face and with me practically kicking

I remember the first day I walked into my kindergarten class, I clenched my mother’s hand with all my might to prevent her from letting go. The kids around me, whom I supposed were my classmates, had long let go of their mother’s had and were playing together, and even as a five year old, at that point I felt like an outsider. I pleaded my mom to not leave but my attempts failed as I found myself alone yet surrounded by complete strangers. As I stood in the center of the room while pushing back my tears and eyeing my mother make her way out the door, I heard the teacher call my name. I timidly walked towards the spot on the yellow carpet she was signaling at for me to sit on. I heard Mrs. Ross’s soothing voice but no matter how much I concentrated

It was not the voice they were familiar with to greet them. They had almost come to expect Mom’s warm, quipped voice, or perhaps Mrs. Fletcher’s sweet, pitched calls, given how many times it had happened in the third grade. They remembered the hot embarrassment of having her repeatedly yell to them in the middle of class, of having students snicker as their slow, sluggish returned to the present.

School can be scary, at first. School can be annoying, stressful, and seemingly pointless. But school has given me a lot that I cannot help but to give it credit for: a passion for learning, the greatest friends I could ask for, and teachers who have taught me a lot. But, as much as I love school, there has always been one part of it that is just a tiny bit better than the rest: the sound of the bell at the end of a long

On September 1, 2012, I walked into my fifth grade teacher’s classroom for the first time in my life. Mrs.Cullen was standing in the front of the door with open arms ready to welcome her new fifth grade students. As I made my way to my desk and sat down next to Charlie Schutt and Quin Timmerman, I got the feeling that middle school would be a time of talking to some of my best friends and cruising through classes. As the school year progressed, and classroom seats changed, my thought of how Middle school would be changed as well. On the first day Mrs.Cullen explained our schedule, Homework detentions, and demerits. After about fifty questions, she sent us off to our first class, and the first step of our Middle School journey. The fifth grade

I never thought I would be labeled an outsider, a misfit even. As I trudged my way through the halls of my small town high school, I would endure the gazing pairs of eyes, that belonged to my peers, followed by whispering and often times some laughter. I always used zone out during those repetitive speeches and commercials about the effects of gossiping and rumors; never did I imagine that one day I would be on the receiving end of of the everyday potshot. Growing up I was always the center of attention, the one everyone yearned to be friends with, never was I the antisocial child in the corner with nowhere to turn… not until high school. They say high school changes you. They say high school accounts for some of the greatest years of

I open the door to the school hallway. Inside I hear the chatter of many students at once. There were dozens of people in the area, and I was slightly overwhelmed. This place I have entered is what I wold come to know as Quest Middle School, one of the most stressful, but interesting two years I have had in a long time.

In my current youth, my childhood held a far different aspect. To be honest, I loved my elementary school and learning in general. However, I always felt secluded. If I were to walk, talk, or even shout I’d never be accounted. When it came to class projects or homework, my peers never consulted my regards. “Hey, do you know how to do this problem?” I’d ask my partner. Nothing. “Do you know how to spell library?” I’d ask

All of the walls are plastered with student work of hand-cut construction paper snowflakes and stockings. In the mornings, excited students swarm the hallway as they look for their classroom and their teacher. Echoes of “good mornings” bounce around the hallway from student to teacher. But farther down the hallway, the older students are not as excited for the day while the bare walls match their expressionless faces. About halfway down this hallway is a wide staircase down leading to the fourth grade classrooms. It is rather quiet in this hallway because there is a distinct lack of

From the moment I walked into the doors of Gertrude Fellow’s Elementary School as a five-year-old kindergarten student, I fell in love. I went into each day excited and ready to learn. This passion for school continued throughout my high school and college years. It is part of what drives my love for education. School was always an environment to be myself, explore new things, and to even make a few mistakes. As a young child, I thought everybody felt the same way. I was confused when peers said they hated coming to class, or couldn’t wait to go home. I couldn’t understand why anyone would hate something I loved so much.

Starting the day started off by waiting in my seat a 3rd-grade classroom at River View Elementary taught by Mrs. Course. Surrounded by the same people every day waiting in agony to get called out of the classroom. It was thoughtful of the teachers to let me leave almost every day, so I could gain help with reading during the time everyone else was reading with the teacher. Although leaving early every day left me wondering if anyone notices. The teacher walks up to me and says “Shaylee it’s time to go.” After that worry, the other 3rd graders will notice I abandon the classroom seeps into my thoughts. The volcano of questions starts to explode, creating inquiry thoughts of “What if they make fun of me?”, “Where did you

As the story goes, it was my first day as a freshman at Poplar Bluff High School. As I stepped off the bus to my new school, I found myself unfamiliar and nervous. My first instinct was to find my friends on such a wide campus, but, class would be starting soon so I wouldn’t have time. “Guess I will just get to my first class early”, I thought to myself while walking in the shivering, cold weather.

Leaving the securely locked doors of the elementary school was hard at first, but the independence of sixth grade made it better. We didn’t have a lot of freedom; that was the opposite of sixth grade. Sitting outside of the cafeteria with the fresh air and friends is outstanding compared to being locked up in a french fry smelling cafeteria for 30 minutes. Since everyone got used to it, no one complained. The cafeteria wasn’t

When I was a child, school was my favorite activity. The classroom was a place where I could have fun with other kids my age, and learn new things that I repeated to my mother every afternoon on the car ride home from school. Telling my mother what new knowledge I’ve gained was exciting, because I had a fascination of learning and sharing what information I knew.

The first year, the time to prove myself had arrived. Classes, rooms, teachers, and some students were unfamiliar. Eventually, minutes melted into hours, hours to days, and days to weeks. It didn’t take long before my schedule was routine, something of second nature. Humor and happiness were found in the form of my advisory family, where school was transformed into something more than going through the same motions of day to day activity. By the closing point of sixth grade, I was having a hard time letting go of what I’d adapted to. “What’s wrong?” my dad asked when I was getting into the car after being picked up early on the last day. I explained how distressed I was that my first year of middle school exceeded my expectations, and that it had to come to an end. Although his outlook viewed my reason for sorrow as trivial, I didn’t.