My First Day

My busy spring break was filled with laughter, love, and hatred. Rather I be at work or on the road, I was usually doing something. I had worked five days in a row, (which felt like an eternity) however when Wednesday (my final shift) came around a weight was lifted off of my shoulders, considering the final days of my break would soon bring me pure joy.

Fall semester has been an excruciating experience for me, having tests practically every week and a continuous frantic drama that just started at the beginning of the semester. However, the hard work had been paying off, only half-way through the semester and I felt rewarded already. English class has been of great experience to me, learning new skills that may help me in my future endeavors. I first expected to only learn basic English writing such as, improving structure and grammar, but from what I’m learning right now are much more. English 1B has taught me how to collaborate with people easily, planning and researching a topic, making a statement on a topic, and the ability to have fun during class.

I will never forget that day my family and I pulled into the hotel parking lot. It was the start of a wondrous and awesome vacation.

Cowardice, fear, terror, it was hard to control these words but I tried. Doesn't everyone put on a mask outside and pretended to be someone they're not. Then they come back home and finally take it off and all their frustration comes out like when air comes out of a balloon. It's almost a relief. But in the back of my mind I was always afraid if that mask would peel off or crack, what would they think of me then? But as a kid in elementary school that thought would be out shined by other thoughts like how would you make friends? Would your teachers be nice? What if everyone isn't nice to me? This was what my first day of school was like and I didn't even realize I was wearing a mask. My first friend was Laura but the funny thing was she was my only friend, although I wasn't sure if I was her only friend. It was so much fun hanging out with her and she wasn't like the other girls in my class who only talked about hair and makeup. We would always be with each other. At lunch, in class--luckily we had the same classes--, almost anywhere. Laura didn't know much about me though like things outside of my favorite movie, book, and color. It seemed like I wouldn't allow myself to tell her. But I talked about everything else, completely avoiding that subject. But Laura told me everything about herself. She told me that she had lived in Strawberry Court for all her life and that it was a beautiful place. She insisted I visit and told me about the pretty flowers in the gardens. From

While he sat on his old wooden chair, I watched the man who held me from birth slowly deteriorate before my own eyes. We sat in the veranda, played dominoes, and talked for hours, as we both enjoyed doing. Smiling from ear to ear, I rejoiced over my victory. After congratulating me, he looked at me and said, “God made you special and don’t ever let anyone make you feel otherwise. Remember to appreciate every aspect about yourself. You are a blessed child”. What seemed as a random comment would soon be of great importance to me for the rest of my life.

One early morning thirteen years ago, my parents had gone off to go to work. I would be upstairs watching Zoboomafoo in my room and I could hear the door slam shut from my room on the second floor. It was a couple of weeks before I had started my first day in Kindergarten. My uncle Francisco, who was nineteen years old, was taking care of my little brother Luis, who was two, and I; I was five years old. Once my parents would step out the door it all began. My uncle would start acting really immature. At first, he would take us to the downstairs room that was by the kitchen and would start yelling for no reason. You could not really hear much from the room, which is why I assumed he took us there. Luis was the youngest, so he was an easy target. He didn't say much nor defended himself because he didn't really know what was happening. The yelling would frighten my little brother. My uncle would scream “ no one likes you” and “ no one cares about you” at Luis, which really hurt his feelings. Luis would just stay quiet and pout.

Waking up with my mom saying "Alexis, I took your dad to the hospital early this morning," that wasn't what I wanted to hear first thing in the morning. I began to sweat; my palms began to get clammy and this nauseous feeling coursed through my body. I didn't understand why mom took him at first but then remembering at 3 o'clock that morning he was struggling to breathe, then I realized why. Immediately when I got to school I told my best friend of 13 years what my mom had told me this morning. My best friend was with me throughout this whole journey.

It was my first day at work and I thought to myself, Is my hair straight? Are these the right clothes? Are the people going to be mean? I walked in with confidence in my face as the sliding doors opened for me. It was busy and every register was full of people. At least ten customers were in each line. I walked in and walked to the supervisor. “I’m ready to work,” I said with a big smile. He looked at me as welcoming as ever and walked me over to behind the counter. He gave me an old, plastic bag full of money and a solid, black register tray that looked well used.

I hadn’t felt my dad’s warm, comforting hugs all summer and I was ready to plunge into his arms. My father was picking me up from my grandfather’s house. There was a woman in the car. She had long, curly hair, pretty eyes, and freckles. The first time we met, I felt her cold glare from the car window, tracing my every step as I hurried to my car. I plopped into my booster seat and rode back to North Hills, CA, where a shiny, new house awaited me. Mesmerized by the tall shrubs and the vibrant, freshly-trimmed grass, I walked up the driveway and took my first step into my new home. The lady (whom my dad introduced as his friend) showed me to my room, where a younger version of her was sitting on the bed. The little girl’s name was Carmen. She was about three years old and four years younger than me. I was more than ecstatic to make her my new sister. The woman introduced into my life, Courtney Harris, became the wife of my father. They were blissfully married in the winter time of 2008. I accepted her to my step-mother and was beaming from ear to ear that I would get a new mom.

The crisp of the autumn air bit me as I fought against it. Shivering, the hairs on my neck stand up as I am exposed to the cold air. Starting a new college in a country where I'd never visited in my entire life would be partially difficult. I would have to mind what I say. It didn't help that I would constantly be bombarded by questions in my first semester.

I am 5. I am sitting on our loveseat with my mix-matched Chuck Taylor’s propped up on my moms lap as she ties them. My dad comes out of our bedroom (I only say our because I am still too scared to sleep in my own.) He kisses all 6 of us on the head, saving the best for last of course, my mother. She has sleepy eyes and they are the most beautiful shade of brown. The kind where you can hardly see the pupils. It is time to go to school. My first day ever. This is the earliest memory I can recall from our tiny yellow house on the hill. The place I grew up. The first place I called home. I remember sitting in kindergarten crying for the normalcy I once knew. Whining for the chipped paint and the white fence that wrapped around the porch. I was, by definition, homesick. It eventually got so bad that my teacher called my mother to come pick me up, at least I got what I wanted. I thought she was going to be thrilled to see me, I figured that if I missed her this much then surely she had to be missing me too. My teacher walks me to the office where she is waiting and her once sleepy eyes are now frustrated. I wrap my arms around her waist and she softens, but only for a moment. We ride home in silence and when we reach the driveway she makes sure I know this can’t be an everyday thing. I have to go to school, even though it smells that glue and floor wax. I get inside and throw my body on the couch, relieved. I can finally breathe again. The couch had never been this soft before, I

My mom gave birth to me in a in a small town in Great Britain on February seventieth, seventeen fifty five. My mother, Martha Washington and father, George Washington gave me the name Donovan Washington. Donovan means strong warrior and that is what my dad wanted me to be one day. I started school during seventeen sixty, and on my first day of school, I met the most astonishing, charming, and breath taking girl in the whole universe. From the first glance I had at Bonnie Taylor I knew I was going to marry her one day. Growing up Bonnie and I were always best friends. Bonnie and I did every little thing together. Bonnie was not like any of the other girls she was different in ways I can’t explain. Finally at age fourteen I built up the courage to ask her to be my girlfriend. Everyone has always told us that it was our destiny to be together, and I always knew she was the one. We have been in love for fifteen years now, and we have been dating for six years I am going to ask Bonnie to marry me. I got on one knee and said “Bonnie Rose Taylor we have known and been in love with each other for fifteen years now, I feel like it is time to ask you to be my wife” She happily said yes! Now that we are engaged to be married, we must tell everyone, and start planning the wedding of our dreams. We told everyone in town, but no one was taken by surprise everyone was aware that this was going to happen sooner or later. Bonnie and I decided on a date April twentieth seventeen seventy five.

I don’t remember much about when I was a kid. One memory slips through the fog and caresses my mind with the comforting aura that was once my childhood. It was my first day at Mrs. Joyce’s Daycare, little did I know that this place would forever hold a special place in my heart and in my mind. On the way there, from my house in Terra Alta, it was about a 5-minute ride which was just long enough to think about all the things that my little mind could think about. Namely how I was going to get along with the other kids and whether I would make any friends.

The day had finally come when the Shaker Music Group would perform for the very first time, and nothing could have prepared me for Marjorie Doyle Rockwell Center.

“Lub dub lub dub lub dub” That was the sound of my heart pounding out of my chest at 8 O’clock in the morning of September 6th. This was not just another Orthodox day. This unholy day signified the end of summer and the beginning of students despondency: School. I laid my right hand firmly on my chest, in efforts of stopping my alarming heart beat from waking up my cousin that was gracefully sleeping just 7 foot away. I tried in vain to imagine jubilant experiences at American Public schools, which I had obtained from books to make me feel less nervous. I held on to books by Maya Angelou, Harper Lee, and other great authors to familiarize myself with the complex American culture.