Kickball Monologue

Oh how I hated Seth! He was a small, shrimpy, pale kid. His voice was squeaky and sounded like there was a frog in his throat. Since he never t want to play, we decided to make him umpire. He was the worst ump in the whole world. . The first day we played kickball, P.J. and I were on the same team. P.J. was the opposite of Seth in my mind. He was great at kickball, and like me, he always argued. We had known of each other, but we never had a conversation. P.J. and I became friends quickly. We loved playing kickball together every day. Also, whenever Seth made a call against our team, right or wrong, we argued. Oh, how we argued! Challenging Seth was what we looked forward to, day after day. It was nonstop entertainment, and we had a lot of ammunition, with Seth as ump. We argued balls and strikes, safe and out, and catch or no catch.

My name shawn and I live in NewYork. I play basketball for my school. I get straight a's and B' I do good in school I pass all my test and I do all my work. But my mom said we will move out from NewYork

"I wasn't, we were out of rotation and the person who was playing setter wasn't comfortable playing setter so I was asking her if she wants to switch," I retorted.

Every girl in their childhood, of the Hispanic culture, fantasies about the beautiful day their Quinceanera will come. A successful Quinceanera can be thrown with lots of planning and preparation. A Quinceanera is a once in a lifetime event, so make the effort to take the appropriate steps, to make it

It is customary for all Latin American cultures to celebrate a coming of age party for their daughters called a quinceanera. Parents commemorate their beloved daughter’s transition from being a little girl to becoming a fifteen year old young lady by inviting family and friends to join in this huge event. A modern day young lady is celebrated with a ceremony, grand party with extravagant decorations, exquisite food, memorable toasts form the godparents, and usually wrapped up with a funky dance. Every little girl awaits the day when she will be treated and given the attention of a princess for a day. It was my pleasure to attend my cousin Daira’s quinceanera, and witness my first quinceanera in Mexico.

To me being Hispanic means so much more than how I look, how I dress, and how I act. To me being Hispanic is the pride that I have in myself, for my culture, and the connection we as Hispanic/Latinos have as a community. With being Hispanic/Latino one grows up with traditions that have been around for many years. Quinceañeras being one of them. For my family having a quinceañera was the way of telling family and friends that I was turning into a woman. On the other hand, those that are not in the Hispanic/Latino community can throw a Sweet Sixteen party for their children to show their adulthood. Other things that may vary within heritages are traditions for certain holidays. For example, Christmas, every year we as a family travel to each

Between the years 1999 and 2003, I lived and worked in the west Texas oilfields near Odessa, Texas hauling crude oil from oil locations to manufacturing pipelines. Due to the population density of Mexican-Americans in this area I was afforded the opportunity to befriend a co-worker who hailed from this lineage. This friendship grew to such a state of familiarity that when one of his many cousins was about to turn fifteen he invited me to attend her quinceañera. Although it is not unheard of for a European-American to join in the festivities of this time honored tradition, nonetheless, I was still thrilled to have been invited.

“How could you live in such a dreadful place?” The sun poured down on us like you were in the desert the shade of the trees tried shying away from the sun. However one great man said, “It is just as hot for the other team as it is for you.” So we competed each game as if it was our last. We were in the land of Omaha, Nebraska.

Since La Quinceañera is a very important event that most Latinos celebrate, there are a complete set of celebration including the reception,

If anyone asked me—and they most certainly did not ask me—I never wanted to work at the YMCA. I wanted to get out of this shit-hole town, like everyone else. Pack up my car and head out to Cali.

Jesus and telco the day he was born, and the quinceaneras is the day a teenage girl turn into a woman with the permission of her parted by throwing her a lavish party. These rituals are beliefs most Latinos stand by and has been practiced from generation to generation; it is natural to embrace the matters. My family and I don't go a year without

When I first started playing basketball I only tried it out cause my dad said it would be fun for a kid my age to start playing basketball. I was about 11 when I first started playing and like everyone when they first try something new they terrible in it, so when i would go to my practices and my games I would always say i'm a terrible player and shouldn't set foot on another court. My dad started noticing this in my games when i would seem afraid to touch the ball and even dribble or shoot and i will never forget what he told me he said, “ Sebastian If you don't want to play anymore just tell me, but If you want to improve and give it another try I'll support you.” With just a few little words my dad has told me throughout my whole life

That night I didn’t know what lied ahead for me, I just wanted to clear my head from the tragedy that was left for me.  The one thing I can’t decided is which took the bigger toll on me the physical damages or the mental.  Here we will jump in to the horrific things that have happened to me. You may not believe a single word I utter. I tell you this really did happen, this story is true, and I’m not insane.  Let me introduce myself before we get into the story.  I am Izzy Hallis.

It was the morning of October 24, 2010 when I first received the news. I had just come back from a trip to Orlando’s Halloween horror nights, where I had an amazing time and

Last night I got dumped. My boyfriend and I went to Panera just down the grey, slush-covered street and I asked if he was going to see me before I left for the winter. But then, he paused and said, “we need(ed) to talk.” The scene I always feared progressed in slow motion in front of me whilst my heart fell soft and incongruously shattered on the floor. Nevertheless it was only when tears came to my (previously long since dry) eyes and I begged him to fight for me, that our relationship leaped off the faux wood table and entertained the on-looking patrons, pre-occupied the stages of my friends’ dorm rooms, and gave a topic of interest to the bright little screens of smart phones belonging to gossipers I barely knew. But why did anybody