My Experience At School And Outside Of School

As we pulled up to the massive elementary school building, I begged my mom to let me stay home from school, just once. As usual, she said no. Realizing my attempt to get out of school was futile, I shouldered my backpack, swung open the door, and trudged over to the front door. I would rather be anywhere else than here. For the majority of my life, I attended public schools. It wasn’t rare for me to fail a test or even a whole class. It was because of these failures that I would get even more demotivated and threw away the idea of working hard or completing quality work altogether.

It was a good day, woke up early so i could go to the gym and warm my body up and just to get some practice in. Went home to my mother making breakfast as usual, started to get my things together for school like usual made sure I had all my books, computer and pencils. When I got to school it felt just like a regular day went to class like always i didn't have any test so that was a big load off. As it got closer to the end of the day the more nervous I started to feel I started to feel worried, nervous and scared but I did not know why I knew I was gonna be fine. It was an unusual feeling it was like my heart was feeling those emotions but in my head it was totally different i wasn't scared or nervous not even worried. It was my last class of the day the whole class i wasn't even focused on what was going on more on what was about to happen later. The bell rang school was over, it was time for tryouts.

In school, I have always been a relatively successful student, and I was always considered one of the smarter kids by my parents and a lot of the other students. In about sixth grade when they started to split the grade up into certain classes for the “advanced” kids and the kids that weren’t considered advanced. I was in the classes with all the kids that weren’t considered advanced. At the time though, I didn’t realize what they were doing or that I wasn’t actually considered a smart kid by the school, I just knew all my friends were in classes I wasn’t in, and it really upset me. I got put in the classes with a bunch of kids I didn’t like, or just people I didn’t know, and had never seen before. I still had the bus where I got to see a few of my friends, but other than that, they just weren’t around.

I’ve been anxious about college admittance since I first learned what college was. When the first trimester of fifth grade ended, and I learned that my good name had been sullied with a B+ grade in my reading class, I was unreservedly hysterical until my mother finally cornered me into my bedroom. I imagine she was getting snot-and-tear stains out of her woolen sweater for days.

Right now I am a freshman taking both honors Biology and English. I have actually never thought about not taking honors classes before I was even in high school. I guess it has always been assumed that I would be taking honors classes and harder classes. It’s something that my parents have talked to me and my sibling about when we were little so that it could be a goal for us. The high school is different, but in a good way. We have longer passing periods, longer classes (so you can finish more work) and more opportunities such as clubs, more sports, and different classes.

I watch from the beige colored sidewalk as my Ma pulls away in the Nissan Pathfinder that we dubbed as the ‘Blue Shoe.’ I turn and look up at the newly built building. There it stands in its newly built glory, the sun is rising behind the building and it seems to cast a halo effect on it. Little did I know it would be like Hell more than Heaven. It was my first year of going to a public school, I was a 6th grader this year, as I had been doing my schooling at home. With this came the ability to be a grade ahead because Ma said that I was to busy when I was younger.

When I first attended Park fall of last year I was vastly unprepared for college, so when I entered as a nursing major I quickly realized two things. 1) I had no clue how to study 2) I’m not very good at anatomy.

I’ve never been one to jump in without looking. I can count the times I have been impulsive on one hand. My time at school is spent shifting from one class to another and then eventually heading home at the end of the day. I considered deciding to hang out with friends for an hour after school spontaneous. At school, I played tennis on a team and hardly ever wore my hair down. I was beginning to settle into the routine of high school -- the steady plodding along with backpacks spilling over with textbooks. I assumed that this would occupy the rest of my time during high school.

It was just another ordinary run-of-the-mill Friday in the bustling City of Hutchinson, Minnesota… or at least that's what I thought as I awoke to the sound of my Mom calling for me to wake up from the downstairs kitchen. The birds were chirping, the sounds of traffic on main street were growing increasingly louder, and the sun was starting to slowly creep above the trees and shine into my small upstairs bedroom. Little did I know that this was the day I would get into a sizeable amount of trouble at school for the very first time. This trouble would not only be extremely shameful, but would also teach me a valuable lesson that would stick with me for the rest of my life.

Surrounded by all of the “Americans” I waved to my mother eager for her to finally leave and let me experience my first day of school. I had waited for the day I would finally be able to speak English, the language that I heard all of the other kids speak at the local park my mother took me to. English seemed like the most mysterious concept for my sister and I. So much so that her and I would start making up words in public, screaming gibberish at each other, hoping that people would think we were speaking the same language as them. Even though I was born in the United States, I was raised as a Pakistani, not an American. There were constant reminders by my parents that I am not an American. So when I was finally able to let go of my mother’s hand and walk off with the American kids into school I had the biggest smile on my face. I was so excited to be able to escape the circle I was in. Being 5 years old did not mean that I didn’t understand I was different. I knew my clothes were different then what the people on T.V. wore;

“School time! School time!” exclaimed my Dad as he burst into my room at seven in the morning. Groggy and tired, my siblings and I woke up and dragged ourselves to the kitchen for breakfast. All five of us kids, ran from room to room, grabbing clothes, toothbrushes, and backpacks to get ready for school. The sixth would watch in astonishment, sitting comfortably on the couch, without a worry in the world. Along with some warm milk to her liking, she watched as the rest of the house filled with the daily before-school chaos. Once everyone was ready, we loaded up in our rather cramped Chevy Tahoe, making our way to three different schools all over the city of Irving. On the way, listening to Norteñas, my parent’s favorite type of classical Mexican music. Soon we’d all be dropped off, ready for a day full of learning. Next came the afternoon craze, but that’s a whole other environment.

A gentle tap on my shoulder from my mother woke me every morning, providing me with the sheer motivation I needed to develop the desire to attend school. Every day was a fight for me to push through school as I was the wallflower that never seemed to blossom with my peers. This rejection in my early school years prevented me from focusing on relationships and rather on grades and my passion for music. I determined myself to be an outcast since I could never make a friend that desired to talk to me above anyone else on their spare time, causing me to take a turn in my self-confidence and acceptance.

That day I found out If I was a school shooter I would be a straight white male, 79% of the time. However, if I were to go to jail I would find that all I would have had to be, was a different skin color.

When I was a freshman starting in Gladstone High School, all I thought my only goal was to actively participate in the classes that I needed to go to college. I was reluctant of high school since I did not know what to expect. I was not the athletic one but I was smart in academics. However, there was one event during the middle of my freshman year that presented a challenge I had to face.

Throughout my years of school, I often was the top of my class. I excelled in subjects such as science and math, and even could write an essay worthy of applause. In kindergarten, my mother gave our teacher a paper with nine different math problems, all advanced for what we were learning at the time. I had completed them all with ease and efficiency. I was recommended for a program at the school called Challenge. This program was for the students who “thought differently” and “performed tremendously” in normal schooling. I took the qualifying tests and passed and was to begin attending the next week. I recall my parents telling me sometime later that the instructor for that class told my parents that she had never seen such a young boy with the intelligence I had.