My Experience In High School

I remember the first day I started high school I was so nervous. As a kid I always remember I would had an anxiety problem for almost every little thing. I wake ever morning nauseated, even though there was nothing to worry about because I mean after all it was just school. I remember thinking damn I just got out of middle school here goes another 4 long school years. But what I didn’t know was that those years would go by so fast. After all like everyone says, a lot happens in 4years. On my first day everything was amazing. I had made new friends, so far I liked all my teachers, and I got into this Culinary Arts class that I didn’t even know I liked. I learned so much in Culinary, Everyday I would go in excited to see what I would learn the next.it amazed me so much I even started to help my mom cook, I learned so much in so little so that’s when I discovered I had a passion for learning how to cook and for food. I can honestly say I’m so glad I got into that class because now I know how to cook a little bit of Italian thanks to my culinary class and to wonderful godfather who is an excellent chef in New York City. I learn a lot from my mother who I’m forever thankful I just don’t tell her as much. Thanks to her I learn how to cook almost all kind of Mexican food, I learn how to be a little more responsible, I got into finishing my Diploma.

I am embarrassed and ashamed of the snapshot you have viewed of my performance in high school. Aside from my parents, no one apart of my life over the past decade is aware I am capable of such a poor performance. I feel ashamed because my actions represent more than just myself, I represent the Army as a senior leader, one who is charged with mentoring, training, and educating some of Americas brightest young men and women. My high school years do not define me; please take in consideration the tremendous work I have strived to accomplish over the past 15 years.

Me, a student attending a normal day of boring school, or so I thought. This all started with a teacher named Mrs.Reed that many students disliked due to past experiences. Stories have lingered around the school of her locking kids in her closet for bad behavior which most have not yet to been seen since. She also smacks the kids with rulers if they fail to complete their work on time. After hearing all the rumors that people murmured about Mrs.Reed I prayed that I would never have to have that teacher throughout my high school education. So far I’ve made it through a year of highschool successfully. The last thing I need is a teacher like Mrs.Reed to come along and ruin my overall thought of highschool. So, it was the first day of a new semester and the bell to first just had rung. I needed to look at my schedule to see what class I had and where. I pulled the schedule out of my back pocket to look down and see the death of me, Mrs. Reed for HIstory, Room 306. Thoughts of terror and torture drained through my mind unable to even move my feet to class. The thoughts in my head things like “am I going to be the next victim of her known history of holding kids hostage in her closet?” I inched my way down the hallway classroom 304 passed then 305 passed and then 306 the classroom of doom. I stand in the doorway with trembling knees. I took a big gulp and made my way into the class head down trying to navigate the location of my desk. Finally, finding my desk I slipped into it

Throughout my high school career, all I really knew was wrestling. The hard practices, making weight, and the camaraderie of all my teammates is all I cared about. I lived and breathed the sport, all thanks to a friend of mine that encouraged me to go to one practice Freshman year. Looking back now that I have graduated, like many other people I wish I could go back and do it again. I want one more match. But life goes on and I must keep going. Going through high school wrestling has shaped who I am today, the confidence I developed, the self-discipline, and the leadership qualities I learned. I am so glad I took on the sport.

I spent most of my elementary at what I think is an old run down school called Greeley Grade. I loved going to school there because the classes were small and everyone knew everyone which could be bad at times. I enjoyed all the teachers and staff members because they cared so much about each and every person. One thing I loved the most about being a small school is that I felt like I was able to learn more and be more myself than I have ever been. I also like that the teachers could have more time to spend with you to make sure you know what you need to. Everyone there respected each other and helped everyone out. At the high school we have a teacher for every specific job, a para that goes certain places, and nobody goes to another class to help any other teacher out. At Greeley Grade that is what we did, helped each other out. We had a cook that was also a para that worked with students, teachers helped other kids with work for anything, and everyone knew we could rely on each other for everything. I felt more like I was home and welcomed more at Greeley and maybe that is just because I was there for so long. I am not saying that Greeley was the perfect school but I definitely liked it there. It is an easier transition from elementary school to the high school if you went to an elementary school with fifty or so kids in your class, but it is difficult when you go from fifty kids in your whole school to fifty kids just in your grade. My sixth grade year I did decide to go

4th grade was a filled with chaos. Even if I try to remember one moment, I can only pull out blurry images. But out of all of these foggy memories, one stands above all. Three years back, I’m standing in front of the whole class; face as red like blood as everyone gawks and laughs. How I got into this situation is a long story. Very little did I know, it would alter my singing ‘career’.

High school teachers tend to give “easy points” and not care too much about what students do and learn. In my experiences in high school all my teachers acted as if they didn’t care, leading to my inability to be prepared for college.

n the second grade, after a fun weekend of watching football, I decided to go to my parents if I could start playing football. They decided to get me to play soccer first and see if I enjoyed that, and being the stubborn little kid that I was. So after a year of soccer, my parents asked if I liked it and I told them no. That fall I signed up for the Little Devils, a little league football team. My football career started out great. I was a starter for my first four years at the Little Devils. Quarterback which was my favorite position to play. In my last year as a starter, my team went undefeated and won the championship with me at quarterback. The next season everyone had grown a lot more than I did. I was very short and the head coach decided to not let me start at quarterback and instead moved our running back at quarterback. The next year was my 8th-grade year I started the first game, but I struggled and eventually lost the job. I also broke my left arm ending my little league career.

High school started for me in August, and it was my freshman year. My arsenal of pens, pencils, and binders were ready to be used. Also, I purchased a burly backpack, chic clothes, and swaggy shoes. The school supplies were supposed to impress the teachers while the aesthetics were supposed to impress the girls. Only one worked out.

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.

All my life I have attended my hometowns education school districts. I knew every student in school because we had all grown up together since preschool. I recall middle school being the best three years of my life for the reason I was very popular and had a boyfriend who I once thought was perfect for me. As I knew everyone, everybody knew me and wanted to be in my life. This was until I moved on to high school and that's when everything changed for me. I went from being this girl that everyone praised to a depressed girl that was loathed, and for that reason, it encouraged me to switch schools.

Maybe it was the thought of what people felt about me, or the way I felt their glare on my back as I walked past a group of people. It could also have been the way that people stopped talking as I got closer to them and all that gave them away was the accusatory look in their eyes. The tables had turned suddenly letting me with no choice but to experience the way that other half lived. Living as a socially awkward student was difficult, but living amidst all the flying rumors was close to impossible. That fall was a life lesson that made me appreciate the friends I had and humbling me to see past the materialism that existed in the school to the vanity of it all.

In the late months of the two-thousand and fourteen first semester, I had begun my dangerous excursion into a precarious realm of stress and irritation to a juvenile network of literacy and instruction. I was beginning my first year of high school, which was still a new territory for me. I had previously attended at Howe middle school, but I was not prepared for high school. At my high school, the building is different than any other building on the campus. The high school building is on one continuous slab of the concrete foundation, but there is a gap in between the two halves of the building. In this gap, there is a connecting concrete flooring that is level with the two previous halves’ floors. The Howe students, faculty and I called this structure the “breezeway.” During a hot school day, the wind tunneled through the breezeway and brush across me like an ocean of cool air. Of all the memories in the breezeway at my high school, I can remember one moment where I saw something that changed my outlook on what I wanted to become.

Until the summer of my sophomore year, I was unquestionably shy. I was the kid whose raised hand lifted four inches off the table and who slouched over her sketches of strangers. That summer, I was forced to change.

The day I left home for the first time to start Junior High was a bright day, brimming with hope and optimism. I’d always done well at school, so expectations for me were high, and I had gleefully set foot into a new chapter of student life, relationships and experiences. Now appearances, of course, can be deceptive, and to an extent, this spirited and energetic persona of mine had only been a veneer, although a very convincing one. The truth is underneath of it all, I was deeply unhappy, insecure and fundamentally frightened-- frightened of other people, of the future, of failure, and of the emptiness that I felt was within me. Despite all of this, I was very skilled at hiding it, and from the outside I appeared to be someone with everything to hope for and aspire to. This fantasy of invulnerability was so complete that I had even deceived myself, and by the end of the first year, no one could’ve predicted what was about to happen.