Descriptive Essay About Strawberry Hill

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

Indifference filled the air on this, the most average of fourth grade Thursday afternoons. So unbearably ordinary. When the dismissal bell rang, I leapt out of my seat, not bothering to close my backpack, and out of Ms. Jones’ classroom. The warm May air met my face like that of a blowdryer on the highest heat setting.

The rooms were inviting, and the students were engaged in learning. I quickly noticed that having a positive, and inviting classroom environment is of upmost importance for successful student learning. As the students walked through the second grade classroom they were greeted with a hug. When the students’ finished their morning work, the chimes signaled the students to line up, and transition to their first class of the day which is Science. This is where I was able to observe both Mrs. Stanford, and Mrs. Taylor

A typical routine of a fourth grade student in Five Oaks, Michigan shifted immediately when the unfamiliar substitute teacher entered the classroom. Mr. Hibler, the students’ normal teacher, came down with a cough and wasn’t in the classroom for a few days. Inside the school setting is where all the important and developing events throughout the story occurred. The students were used to the typical memorization of facts, predictable subjects, and uneventful classroom teachings. Miss Ferenczi disrupted this normality of the routine of a day the students had. “She said that the Egyptians were the first to discover that dogs, when they are ill, will not drink from rivers, but wait for the rain, and hold their jaws open to catch it.” (Baxter 256) The facts and statements she said to the students engulfed their thoughts. Leading them to be confused, intrigued, and curious to hear more. These were feelings they never expected to feel at school. While, more often than not, Miss Ferenczi was presenting mythical, untrue, or incorrect facts, the students mindsets shifted in the classroom. Boredom no longer invaded the students whenever Miss Ferenczi was speaking. “There was no sound in the classroom, except for Miss Ferenczi’s voice, and Donna DeShano’s

When the children walked into the classroom, they all seemed excited and eager to start their day. Miss Suzy greeted each student with respect and a smile on her face. Every child seemed to know where

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

The five-minute warning bell goes off. I rush to my first class of my junior year, eager to see my classmates, who I was going to spend the rest of the 9 months with. I find myself stumbling into a classroom plastered with decorations of Denzel Washington with a Dr. Seuss book in his hand, a t and college flags galore. My AP English 11 class suddenly seemed so appealing to me. As a beautiful, curly haired short lady stood in front of me and said “Welcome to AP English 11,” I knew that I had found a treasure so much greater than just a pretty classroom. Little did I know, that short lady was going to inspire me throughout my challenge filled second-to-last year of high school.

This year I had the prestigious honor of being in Ms. Brown’s class, and let me tell you, it was anything but normal. Ms. Brown’s cheerfulness (and maybe a bit of messiness) really helped me realize that teachers actually have lives. They’re not just some robots who are only activated to teach, and then turned off when the class leaves, as much as we might think they are.

It was my first class, of my first day, of my first year at Sartell High School. As a freshman, everything about high school is nerve wracking. Simply just looking at an upper classman would send chills throughout your spine. Basically, school was prison at the time (metaphor). Every freshman would walk into their classes, crossing their fingers, and wishing to see one of their friend’s vibrant faces. I clearly remember that day; I trudged through the halls with some of my very best friends, and we tried to find our first classes. The smell of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies swam up my nose (personification); I then realized that I must be close to my first class, foods and nutrition. Standing outside the room, I look in and notice the room was white and vacant (Participial Phrase). My stomach dropped to the floor; I knew nobody in this class. I quickly glanced around the bare room, looking for a familiar face. The only other girl in my grade was absolutely the last person I would want to share this class with. She looked like somebody I would not normally want to associate with, conceited and stuck up. With rapid, quiet feet, I walked into the classroom, and I heard the rustling of papers (Prepositional Phrase). This could only mean one thing, a seating chart. I scurried through the chart and found my spot. Of course, I sat next to her, the cruelest girl in school,

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.

As we drove up to Grand Island Senior High School, I could not believe my eyes at the size of the school. The towering, brown building towered over the surrounding area and seemed to only get bigger as we entered the doors. When I entered the milling commons the wide array of races danced through my vision as I heard the chattering of several different languages all around me. After talking to Mr. Hester I was relieved to hear that we would have a guide to navigating the maze of hallways. Once I was shown my first classroom, I meet Mrs. Kurz who was teaching a freshmen English class, and she was kind enough to walk me to my second classroom with Mrs. Kier and her sophomore theater class. While we were walking Mrs. Kurz informed me that during

I begged the secretary to change my classes. She said no, and walked me over the gold, white, and blue tiled floor. I breathed in, noticing the french-fry like smell. She opened the door to reveal an overly-blue room. Mrs. Smith smiled at me and welcomed me. She asked where I was from and I told her Arkansas. She asked me where in Arkansas, and

My childhood was filled with adventures of Kansas City, my grandmother was always provoking new experiences and understanding of the world around us. Naturally, I knew the perfect person to accompany me along this adventure. The site that was selected for this review was the historic ethnic neighborhood known as Strawberry Hill. Unfortunately, The Strawberry Hill Museum and Cultural Center is only open on weekends, at an almost impossible times for me to attend. Although, on this adventure the most amazing event occurred. Saddened by the change in holiday museum hours, my grandmother and I began walking away, until one of the museum staff members popped out to ask if we needed any assistance. She was full of wonderful historical insight. There is so much rich history within this neighborhood, and such a special find in Kansas City. The staff member encouraged us to further explore the neighborhood, and research the webpage that is chalked full of information of the history. I will incorporate some photos take on this adventure, while connecting the research I have conducted with my experience of the site.

First day of school for the new term, I woke up with a burning passion. I cannot wait to enrol in the art class, anxious to see the beautiful face of Miss Sophia, eager to prove my ability in Miss Rina’s subject. With all these positivity, I arrived at school twenty minutes earlier. I never this early. Skipping my breakfast at home, something called me to have it in the cafeteria of the school, I don’t know why, but that was what I did that morning. When I arrived, many students were already there, hang out at the cafe while waiting for class to begin. I prefer to sit in a corner, where I can see all the every angle clearly. Nothing really interesting beside the coffee that I sip. A group of girls then came and sat at a table near me. Five of them. Pretty. Trendy Voguish. Whatever they name it, to me it’s too much. Simply too much. But there is one of them who caught my eyes. The simplest among the other who threw me a friendly smile. I never saw her, or most likely, I never noticed. Usually, I will buy me coffee and enjoy it with a cigarette under the tree or behind the building. Conversely, I smiled back at her. A moment later, a butch came and joined the group. A new face, I'm sure, because people like me can be counted with the fingers at this school. She kissed the cheek of every girl in the group and took place next to the girl who smiled at me just now. They looked very cherish talking and occasionally bursting laughter. Tired of the noise, I took my backpack and