Competitive Edge Level 1: An Effective Teacher

The first day of 6th grade, I was shaking in fear, disliking everything about it. But after 3rd period, I realized it wasn’t too bad. The rest of the day went pretty smoothly and I was about to get one the bus when someone pushed me out of the way yelling, “Move it fatty!” When I got on the bus and found my assigned seat, I was frozen in fear to see that I was right in front of the kid that pushed me. His name was Luke. Luke was an 8th grader who was notorious for bullying the younger kids for his entertainment. “Looks like we got the fatty in front of us!” He yells to his friends as they crack up. I sit there ignoring them, feeling horrible. Luke leans forward and says, “Did you hear me, big boy?” I keep ignoring him as he continues to verbally

During Junior High I had many absolutely dire problems that were constantly on my mind. My out-of-date wardrobe continuously embarrassed me. My hair would not acquiesce to any attempted hairstyle. My parents didn't understand me, my teachers were all picking on me, and nobody really liked me for me. These beliefs were all false, of course. At the time, it never occurred to me that all my concerns and volatile emotions were "normal". I never considered that while I was going through the transition from elementary school to high school, from kid to teen, that I was creating my own world-view and that I was emotionally vulnerable to every imagined slight. There was one event, though, that made me

The thought of starting sixth grade terrified me. I didn't have any friends or someone to talk to. I sat alone every day at lunch. Sometimes people would try to talk to me and sit by me, but I always felt uneasy and out of place, so I just smiled and sat through it, waiting for the bell to ring. I wasn't interested in what they were talking about: most of their conversations were comprised of gossip and which teachers they hated. Occasionally I would skip lunch altogether and go sit in the library. My grades were all A's, although I never raised my hand in class-even though I usually knew the answers-because I didn't want to speak out loud in front of thirty other kids. I knew it was unhealthy behavior, but I didn't know what to do.

My elementary life is eventful and enjoyable. One vivid memory I had in my elementary years, specifically first grade, is vomiting every other day during school. This was not caused by bullying; it was caused by scheduling P.E right after lunch. Every lunch I would drink chocolate milk with my meal. After enduring a vigorous exercise in P.E, the entire grade would line up so they could go back to class and continue their learning. Before we would leave to go to class, that is when I would erupt my lunch onto the green carpet we ran on. One noticeable food item in my vomit was chocolate milk. After first grade, I had the desire to switch schools, not because I was tired of the school I was going to, but because I wanted to go to the public school my aunt taught at. Sadly, I was not able to go to that school, and I went to a different public school, one that was closer to home. After experiencing a couple months of the public school life, I wanted to return to the private school I had attended. I wanted to return because I was disinterested in what the teacher was teaching. I was disinterested because what the teacher had taught me I had already been taught in first grade. Since I was bored in second grade, I stopped working on my homework, and this resulted in an immense drop in my grades. Once I had departed from public school for a grade, I returned to my private school in third grade. I

It felt as if I was surrounded by freezing water while on the inside being burned alive. I let my grades drop I did not care, all that mattered was being an adult and supporting my sister. My teachers did not care, I was invisible. Easy to lose in the crowd.The kids in my grade avoided me because I was “ abnormal” because I did not speak. The people who were supposed to be my guardians did not have enough money to feed both my sister and me. So I did not eat except for what was left over from dinner. I became pale and skinny. I looked like sick all the time. The only time I ate good was every other weekend when I went to my great aunt and uncle's house. This was the very best that life was going to get from me. I believed I was going to end up like my mother a drug user, and have no life. A few years later, my sister and I moved in with my aunt and uncle. They took my sister and me and gave us a great home. We both started to do a lot better. I got healthy and not so sickly looking, I started to talk a lot more, and I got my grades up. Unfortunately, my little sister did not like the fact that she wasn't entitled to anything anymore, and moved back in with our old Guardians.

The worst year of my life was in the seventh grade. It was a time of unforgettable and painful moments which took place throughout the school year. This taught me a significant lesson. The summer before seventh grade, my parents informed me that it would be beneficial to join a sport. When I did not find one that interested me, the color guard was counseled to me; which to be honest, I resented. My mother had a strict policy that once an activity is started it must be continued throughout the entire season; for this reason, I did. My color guard instructor was one of the most bounteous woman I knew. Moreover, she was an admirable and gracious woman who cared deeply about her students. When school started, I was a self-effacing, lonesome girl,

Freshman year at Renaissance High School, I was hanging out with the wrong crowd. I was skipping class and didn’t do classwork the handful of times I was in class. Time passed and before I knew it, it was my junior year in high school and while you are supposed to have 33 credits I only had 9 credits and 1 regent exam. When I was 16, I became depressed because I was raped. Throughout the time I spent in therapy, I was considering dropping out of high school. I thought it was too late for me to catch up with the credits I was missing. I felt as if my life had spun out of control and I couldn’t take control again. I thought I wouldn’t be anything besides a Bronx girl from the ghetto who dropped out of school. One night I was talking to an old

I thought the nightmare would stop in middle school. However, middle school was a lot worse, not only was I verbally assaulted but also physically. As the days went by, I felt an increasing animosity towards my new language. (Since it was the root if all my problems.) I don’t know how my mom found out, but even thought I didn’t admit it, I was relived she did. Joe1, who bullied me on a regular basis, was expelled from the school. However I felt guilty since he was just a kid who didn’t know

On March 4th, 2005 I sat in Mrs. Musser’s first grade class. I talked with my friend Olivia Thacker, like I did everyday. We talked about boys; how smelly they were and how we would never have boyfriends. We talked about our sisters who were also friends, and we talked about our parents. However, that year we mostly talked about my mother. Around 2:45, my sister, Lauren and I, would walk to the farthest end of the school. That end of the school was filled with the bigger kids and I was always scared to walk on that side. My sister who was in second grade at the time, always walked with me, so I had some protection. Anyways, we walked out the doors to the student car-rider pick up line. My grandmother on my father's side always picked us up

7th grade was the year I woke up. My mom called me into her bedroom late one afternoon and was still sitting on her bed, wearing her pajamas. The bright and cheerful sunshine that lit up the room gave a false ambiance of the tension that clouded the air. I already knew what she was going to say, but I did not want to believe it as the truth. I had noticed that my mom and dad's relationship with one another was growing apart just by the way they acted around each other. The conversations between them became shorter and their affection for one another began to fade. My dad spent his nights falling asleep watching TV on the couch, while my mom slowly disappeared back into her bedroom, alone. This had been happening for a while now, so I do not know why I was even surprised when my mom said to me that, “Your dad and I are getting a divorce”. I should have seen it coming. The clues were all in front of me, but I was too afraid to put them together. I was scared because, for the first time in my life, the image of my "perfect" family was crumbling before me. I knew inside that my family was falling apart, but I was desperately holding onto the fibers that I thought were keeping us together. It is hard to believe that one encounter can change the course of one's life forever. In this instance, I was awoken from the dream that I had been living in for so long.

Due to economic circumstances and my father's alcohol abuse, my family suffered from family problems and emotional pain. My father would come home drunk and argue with my mother about our economic circumstances. I was too young to understand what was occurring between my parents and I grew up believing that this was the typical family. I remember a specific occasion when my dad came home and he said that he was tired of us. He left my mom with my three siblings and I without money and anywhere to go. This situation terrified me and caused me to focus in school to forget about my personal problems. I could not understand how my father could leave us and not care for us. We then lived in someone's garage because we could not afford a home. Throughout

It was 2nd quarter in 6th grade. I was sitting on my saucer chair relaxing, and enjoying the silence in my bedroom. I sit there thinking in my sweats cuddles up in a large fuzzy purple blanket. Then suddenly I was awakened after spacing out from my phone. The text was from Emma, I was a little sceptical because we hadn’t talked in a couple of days. I hesitantly opened it and slowly and carefully read it. The text said, “I hate myself, I hate how I look, I hate how I feel, and I hate how people look at me”. I felt absolutely terrible, and was in a bind not knowing what to say back. All I knew was Emma needed to know how important she was to this world and that she meant so much to her friends and family.

At the time I was in eighth grade, I had just successfully completed my first semester of the 2014-2015 school year. Everything in my academic career was good, the high tide had finally gone down and the waters leveled. See I was a blue student, I maintained my studies. My Power school report reads all A’s, except for math. In which I fought and fought for a higher mark, but proudly accepted the B+ my teacher thought I deserved. I saw my studies as something important, but (naive of me) my social life was equally as important. I have always been so caught up in what other people thought of me and whether or not I was worthy enough. My days at Roosevelt (Junior High) were so black and white. One moment I was on top of the world, the next I couldn't

I complained to mother every day about her being so impulsive and leaving without consulting any of us about it first; and how now my life will be forever ruined because there was no possible way I could make all new friends in such a short time. I texted my dad asking to take us back and how mom is never home, always working, and there's never even anything to eat. He always told me that he was working on it. My mother was way ahead of me as she had always been in trying to make the move more conducive for us. I got enrolled into a Youth Center where numerous children from the surrounding schools went to mingle: somewhat of a teen club. In those prime years, bullying runs rapid. I still remember on my first day being dropped off, hearing the car door slam shut, and how my feet grew heavy carrying them to the door. As I walked in I was greeted by my counselor Jennifer who looked the same age as me. She saw the reluctance on my face and offered a tour. I declined, and of course chose the corner with a table and socket to charge my

After 3rd grade, I was okay fourth grade was calm nothing really eventful happened. Then came fifth grade the bullying got worse if I got sad I didn’t come home crying I came home a little depressed and I would cry myself to sleep. One day I went to school and the guy that I hadn’t liked in years Dominic Pugh sat beside me at breakfast and he lost it, he asked me if I could move, he didn’t even ask me