I Was A School Year

Learning that school is something to be glad about was one aspect I will never forget. School helps spark and form the character of discovery in one’s mind. To find problems in the world’s society and attempt to fix them so future generations will not be forced to make that same mistake. Other than social media, education is the most powerful tool to train an adolescent’s mind. Coming from the Nobleboro Central School I have this story. The first trimester was a long one, I had never presented a project before and didn’t know the first thing about talking out loud in front of a class. Also, my English was considerably bad with papers handed in, in rough draft form. My English is still a little rusty, although my past teachers have guided me past the few trimesters preparing me for an average High School paper. Concludingly, the first trimester of public school was a real learning experience with mostly a C average in most of my classes which left room for improvement. The second trimester I had an understanding of school and was trying more and more on improving how I could understand teachers. This time of education at public school was the aha moment wherein I could explore the true reasons of presentations, tests and open book exams. The third and final trimester was a matter of consistency in grades. Because of this, most of my trimester average grades were in the B+/A range. Thankfully, because of this I had finished the 8th grade with most subjects having a yearly average of a

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

The fifth grade school year ended very quickly, Mrs.Cullen retired, and my classmates and I moved on to the next chapter of our lifes, sixth grade. As the next school year arrived, I went about sixth grade the same way I had started about fifth grade, I had a ton of friends in my class, and I thought that sixth grade would be a walk in the park. My advisor was Mr.Ferry, and having to write about 1000 times I will not disrupt class, I finally began to approach sixth grade in a different way. In sixth grade I learned the importance of mindfulness, and doing what I loved from

Change, for me has always been quite a scary and difficult concept. I want constants. I want to feel comfortable, and I am too stubborn to try new things. Though undesired, change is inevitable and I know life must move forward; so here I am, a shy, insecure, seventh grader moving forward onto my first day of junior high. I knew this was going to be terrifying simply by the size of the school; all four foot nine inches of me stood paralyzed at the main entrance of Poston Junior High. Not knowing who I would have in my classes or who I would sit with at lunch had to be the worst part. As I walked into my third hour, which was choir, I realized I knew nobody; sheer terror flushed over my face as I peered around looking for the friendliest face

Middle school, when that word pops up in one’s head, it’s a sudden reminder of dreadfulness, broken promises, regrets, first crushes, and last but not least, learned lessons. Another morning had brought another school day. Seeing familiar faces and teachers I just wanted to get through the day with no hassle, but that’s not always the case. At least it wasn’t for me. Making my way through the extended halls and walls that seemed to enclose upon me, I felt nothing more than like a chained prisoner. The bell rung and I remained seated in my class, encompassed by boxed, outdated computers and rusty white walls, I felt

The beginning of high school is the start to the next four years of hell. No one wants to be there. Everyone says, “these will be the best four years of your life!” Along with, “it goes by so fast,” and, “in the blink of an eye,” but the truth is, I don’t see it. Every waking moment I have to sit through a lecture in a cold, solid, chair is like sitting silently next to your parent in a car as they scold you for what you’ve done. You can’t go anywhere, or say anything. You just have to embrace it.

In the First Grade I had Mrs. Stevens as a teacher. Ms. Stevens was about 35 or 40 at the time, 2002, in Alba Michigan. Ms. Stevens had grown up and went to the same school her entire life. This school was very very small, an average of 12 students per graduating class it was a K-12Th. The county was a population was about 1000 and less than 150 kids in the school. In 2000 my mom fought for Asperger diagnosis and the school at the time did not have a single teacher who was certified in special education. Along with this diagnosis came with an ADD diagnosis. The class was small, there was 7 kids in the class and my friend Jahkaya and I were the only girls in the class. Jahkaya was also the only person of color in the entire school.

Have you ever detested one of your school years? Did you get into a lot of trouble over frivolous, immature actions? Did you have one of your beloved family members kick the bucket? Or forced your frail teacher to astonishingly collapse and be swiftly wheelchaired to the drafty, hushed atmosphere of the office to the point of them retiring?

I am the oldest out of four siblings. I have two younger brothers and a sister. Aaron is currently in 8th grade, Mauricio in 5th grade and my little sister Ariana who's just two years old. No schooling yet, but soon will be attending. I have my 48 year old father and my 37 year old mother who I truly love them with all my heart. Our primary language spoken in our household is Spanish. English is our secondary language, even though my parents are not fully 100% fluent. We still speak English to get better at. As mentioned being misunderstood as a small child or in their point of view is very common in my life and currently in their life. At the age of five I began schooling. I began Kindergarten at Silver Valley Elementary School located in Lexington. I remember my teacher was Mrs. Hall. A very tall blonde. My assistance teacher named Mrs. Parish. A very nice short brown headed. At only five years old I had a very difficult time to communicate with others at school. I didn’t know much English. Why? Because English wasn’t my parents primary language to communicate. As the oldest, it was very difficult for me to pronounce certain words, and very difficult to respond to questions. The way I expressed myself caused lots of conflict between my teachers and myself. I still pictured some of the teachers didn’t have patience with me. Teachers would get very frustrated and so did I. At some point I didn’t want to go to

My junior year began relatively normal. I was successfully running REACH, the religious club I began, taking on more responsibilities, and even had the standard “OhMyGodWhyAmITakingSoManyAPs” breakdown. But beneath the surface, things were different. My classes were being taught through a rigid curriculum, not offering any time for discussion or input. The vibrant classrooms I had grown to love were now sterile, coated in initiatives from the district. And one morning, almost instantaneously, things began to make sense.

I had finally had enough of Anna, so i told my mom and dad what had been going on, mom said “well im proud of you and jessica for being the bigger person about all of this mess, so i will talk to your principal tomorrow morning”. I was having a normal day no jessica problems in matter in fact i have not seen her all day until… They called me down to the office as if i was in trouble, but really is was my dad picking me up for the day, because my mom had died. I was too worried about Anna, that i didn't even realize that my

The 1979-80 school year was my sophomore year; the 1980-81 school year was my junior year. For both of these school years the Mid-Valley Junior High School and Mid-Valley Senior High School continued to operate in a campus environment in Olyphant.

Sitting on my mother’s bed with my two younger sisters, our eyes are overflowing with tears and I step out of the room.Their yelling is all I focus on instead of taking action. My parents are arguing over nothing, as usual. My heart begins to beat at the pace of a butterfly’s wing and I freeze. The volume of their argument has increased and I attempt to persuade them that this argument can be solved in a more positive way. I remember the fear I felt when I saw my mother crying immensely, it was gut-wrenching. My father was standing in front of her, I knew he was going to hit her because it was not the first time this had happened.

My 8th grade school year was a quite interesting one indeed, but I am safe to say that last year wasn't the greatest year. You must be wondering why my previous year of school wasn't the greatest one, or you might not be wondering why it wasn't so great. But i'm going to tell you anyway. It all started on the first day, my hopes were filled i thought i was going to have a great year, learn a lot and etc. i was surely mistaken, not about the learning part but about having a great new fresh year.

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.