Mr. Edmunds-Personal Narrative

It seems like yesterday when I met Ezrith Wolfe. The first day I met Ezrith was the day before my birthday August 11, 2013. Ezrith and I became best friends very quickly. We liked to do a lot of stuff when we saw each other. Both of us talked about a lot of things that we had in common with each other. Ezrith was my best friend and we did a lot, I just wish that we could have done more together.

For my sophomore year, I was blessed with one of the best English teachers at our school, Mr. Granger. From the first day of class I knew that Mr. Granger represented everything I wanted to become in the future, and I made sure to tell him. Soon enough, snacks, lunches, and hours after school were spent in his classroom chatting with him or just enjoying his and the presence of the few other students that loved to be in Room 220. Mr. Granger was the everyman: a friend, a brother, a teacher, and a trusted adult, and in many ways Room 220 was a safe haven and home.

Boom! Startled, I quickly put my sharpened knife on my counter. With a smirk appearing, I realized we had company; therefore, I worked my way down our marble steps to the entrance of my chateau. Slowly but surely I walked down to see the door open with two men standing, only one I knew immediately. As I glared to find the face of the man who dared walk into my island, I suddenly recognized the face - Sanger Rainsford. Aha! In that moment, I knew he would be my best match on this island.

I told mess-up, my son was trying to set up my reader for my disability for the course and I accidentally started the Ch. 1 - Investigation An Answer Form. It said no Time Limit does that mean I can go back. I am so sorry, I promise not to be a pain. I am just trying to get everything set up and got to know the website.

Alan Brito is a friend of mine from childhood. When we were young, he and I, along with a bunch of other kids from my neighborhood, used to play tops, marbles and “twenty-one”. We had a top contest in which those who could spin the top in the air with

Coach Shapiro raises his monogrammed aluminum whistle and it is the most unholy sight I have ever laid my eyes on. I allow myself to exhale. I attempt taking in the air of the room when I inhale. Instead, I am greeted with the sweet ripe smell of ‘determination’. Determination is Coach’s word for sweat, as in Ya ain’t had enough ‘til ya got determination all over your body or Practice ain’t over ‘til ya are able to fill a glass with your determination. My pores are boundless and eager. My anxiety starts to show itself through the determination that leaks off of me like a faucet.

There are times when I need help from those I love the most, such as parents or grandparents. But sometimes they may be unreachable or there’s a problem that I cannot tell them about. That is why I have friends that I go to when life gets a

It has been a week since I handed in my project for English, things still do not feel the same at home, something feels as if it’s missing with Johnny and Dally went. Like a shadow has gone over our group. Nothing feels quite the same around a home, Dally seems more gentle with me almost as if I’m glass and will break, but I can see why. They try to make me feel better, and slowly my life is getting back on track, my grades are slowly climbing up, again Dally thinks I still got a good chance to get into a great university, he thinks that if I enter track next year, and do well I can even get a sports scholarship. I hope what he is saying is right. The whole group seems to be pushing me forward. Sodapop also seems happy for me, he is smiling more, but he almost seems more protective. Now that my head is clear I feel like I can see things the way they are. Because of that, they are careful around me, not wishing me to become like what I was again.

Her expansive shoulders lay motionless, Seated with open arms offering its knowledgeability to anyone that walks by. her mind flooded with pure intellect is occupied with Melbourne’s comprehensive history. Before her entry, fixed with boundless glory and pride stands Edmond Barry. Carved with her intricate design to match her exterior, myriad of fiction, mystery

To all who cares, I am an enslaved African American bought by an army surgeon. My owner’s name is John Emerson. Emerson bought me in Missouri, but took me and his family with him to an army base in Illinois. Illinois is above the North latitude 36 degrees 30’N, so it is a free state. We did not stay very long in Illinois because Emerson was called to Wisconsin Territory which is also a free slave state. I can’t believe that I have been in TWO free states, yet I am still be counted as a slave. Once Emerson was done in Wisconsin he packed up his family and me, and went back to Missouri. Soon after we returned Emerson passed away. Emerson was a loyal owner. Since I am property of Emerson and he is now deceased what am I? Free? Still a slave? So back in 1846, I sued for my freedom from Emerson’s wife-Irene.

The Mashed-Erpice One particularly bright, sunny day, I woke up to the sound of birds chirping and squirrels chattering. It was New Year’s Eve and I was going to have a party with my family and friends. I looked at the list of foods I was going to prepare for the party. This year, we all agreed to have a Mexican-themed food party. I checked off the foods I made and the last necessity was guacamole. I looked up the recipe online and the one that caught my eye was the famous Chipotle Hand Mashed-Erpiece Guacamole. Two ripe Hass avocados, one teaspoon of lime juice, two tablespoons of chopped cilantro, one-fourth cup of finely chopped red onion. One-half of finely jalapeño, and one-fourth teaspoon of kosher salt. Simple, right? That’s what I thought until I made the recipe for a disaster. I took out two avocados, lime juice, cilantro, and a few jalapeños from the refrigerator. Then, I pulled out a red onion and a glass container full of a white substance in them. I also pulled out a medium-sized bowl and wore an apron. I felt ready. I cut both of the avocados in half and removed the

As one drives up the California coast, they will begin to notice several things. First, the general atmosphere shifts. The further north they travel from Los Angeles palms and golden beaches, the cities begin to lose their positive, sunny vibes. They go from beach villas to industrial apartments to suburban neighborhoods to run down harbor towns. The positive emotional vibrations emitted from such architecture slowly surrenders its grip on its surroundings to a grim, hopeless one. As new, booming cities fade into sleepy and ancient villages only occupied by drunken sailors and lost tourists, the traveler will soon realize they are in a much less pleasant place as where they originated their journey.

There are few teachers who are as caring and kindhearted as Mr. John Cox. Mr. Cox is a special education teacher here at Potosi High School and it is safe to say that I have known him for most of my life. I have never had Mr. Cox as one of my teachers personally, but he taught my oldest brother, Floyd, from 3rd grade until he graduated his senior year. Floyd is pretty unique. He has been blind since birth and has developmental delays, meaning that he needs patient, understanding teachers. Mr. Cox is definitely one of those teachers. My family was quite close with Mr. Cox because Floyd (and the rest of our family) loved and appreciated him. I remember several times when I was young, when Christmas rolled around, Mr. Cox would send a gift home

My pain is so constant; my insides feel like they want to explode. Why? Because it’s my fault he died; it comes down to one thing, and that was it wasn’t anyone else’s responsibility to stay by his side but mine, so I, and I alone failed him.

On April 3, 2018, I received a called from Ms. Judi from Jim Herrings office to let me know that I had a 2:30pm meeting with Mr. Herring. Once I arrive down stairs Mr. Herring was in unexpected meeting with the Mayor. I was then told I could go in Mr. Jim office since the Mayor left at 2:41pm. Once in his office I was joined with Ms. Pamacheche, and Chief of Staff Davison. During the meeting we were talking about my timesheet and why I will only get paid for 48 hours when I was approved of administrative leave for the following dates of March 21-25, 2018. I sent Mr. Davison the email on March 20, 2018, and I received and approval email from Mr. Davison that evening.