My First Day In School

I came to Ridge Family Center for Learning in second grade. On top of being “the new kid” in school, I didn’t know anyone besides my neighbor. She had been going to this school since kindergarten and I ate lunch with her and her friends everyday. One day, as I ate my usual PB & J, she said “Are you excited for the musical?” Apparently it happens every year, yet I was not aware of this. Naturally, being a little kid, I was excited and screamed “Really? I love watching people perform!” My parents loved musicals and took me to see my fair share of them. She gave me a strange look and laughed. “You don’t get to watch. We’re performing on the stage, silly!” My jaw dropped. All I could think about was how scared I was. I was about to sing on stage in front of 200 parents.

On a stormy Monday morning, a girl wakes up and barely drags herself out of bed and forces her small feet across the hallway and into the bathroom. The girl steps on top of her step stool and stares back at the mirror. With tired eyes she stares at the dark skin, dark eyes, and dark cornrows covered with her favorite colorful hair beads, looking back at her. She smiles at her rainbow colored hair and shakes her head with a giggle as she hears the beads shake around, going about her morning routine as usual. She brushes her teeth with her Disney princess toothbrush, showers, gets dressed and gets ready for another day.

I stood there firmly and unchanging. My blouse became a sponge as I begged and pleaded not to go inside. "Quiet down Christine! We're in public!,” said my mom. As two women reached for my arms, I grabbed a nearby pole and latched onto the ground. With no success, my concrete feet were being forced beyond the doors and there was nothing I could do. My spirit was drowned out by the roaring inside as the weight of defeat fell heavy on my shoulders. It was my first day of school in a new suburban community and district known as Alief.

I hold back a flood of tears, as I reluctantly walk up the unfamiliar block-like steps of the mustard yellow bus, while waving my mother goodbye. I choose an empty, patched up seat close to the bus driver. I can hear the jumbled up voices of many others on the bus, but I cannot understand a single word. I sit alone with my mouth sealed shut with a lump forming in my throat, and I cannot help but feel like the black sheep of the family. This feeling only worsens as I arrive to school, the building with small hallways, white walls, and the scent of pencil shavings and hand sanitizer. I long to play with the rest of the energetic children, but I stay put as I know I won’t understand them and they won’t understand me.

Being born in December, I had to start school a year later. I hated this, though I was not that much older it still bothered me. I thought everyone was judging me because of my age, and the grade I was in. However, I knew that going to high school was my chance to graduate with my class. Throughout my freshman and sophomore year I pushed myself to come out of my shell; I went to my first dance, I joined the dance club, the softball team and sung for judges. The next year I was still determined to graduate early, so during registration I pleaded my case of why I wanted to graduate early. Another reason I really wanted to graduate early was because I was turning eighteen, and being adopted I knew my mom would no longer get help for me; as far as healthcare or food assistance. I was told that there was no guarantee that I would graduate early but just in case there was an opportunity I had an alternative schedule.

It’s August 18th, the first day of school. Many children are not as eager to start classes, as they are to catch up with classmates after the summer. Students then begin to leave the courtyard and explore the route to their first class; memories of last year’s terrible lunch menus resurface, and schedules are then eagerly exchanged amongst friends in effort to revel in the success of the perfect schedule. Generally, first period comes equipped with the perfect group of friends, the easiest course, and most importantly, the laziest “pushover” teacher. Unfortunately, for students assigned to her classroom, this first day of school will leave a lasting impression on the minds of 30 multicultural/diverse students in tenth grade English. She opens her classroom door; the new 10th grade teachers’ walls are covered with things to look at, things to provoke inspiration. She provides an introduction, one of her person, as well as one of her classroom’s conduct and expectations; the new tenth grade teacher then asks a student to volunteer sitting in her eclectically upholstered Indian fabric bearing chair in the middle of the classroom,and with an impressionable smile says, “your turn”.

My alarm startles me as I get out of bed. My shades are shut, no sun shines through. My first day of school ever and the first day that I have to officially get up out of bed early. I smell the pancakes and sausage sneaking through the crack underneath my door. My first day of school and I have no clue what to wear or how to act. I go downstairs and dad automatically greets me with a hug and a smile.

Since September, my AP Language experience has drastically changed paths many times. This class has challenged me mentally, yet is not the hardest and most challenging thing I have ever done. I came into the year, and the class, with a relatively open-mind, but majorly underestimated my writing abilities. Since that ill-fated September day, the first day of school, I have gained an exceptional amount of confidence when it comes to my writing abilities. Needless to say, I definitely feel challenged this year, which was much overdue. It was an adjustment from just being able to whip up an essay up from nothing, to having to critically think about what I was writing. This year, has definitely pushed me as a writer, and I feel as though I have gained a vast repertoire of writing strategies. Overall, I would rank the class at a medium level of difficulty, as I do not find it easy, but it is also not impossible. In terms of overall experiences, I am beyond satisfied with my growth and the time that is devoted to developing our skills. I was elated beyond belief when I started the year out at a 6/9, because I had doubted my abilities and did not think that was remotely achievable. Additionally, the amount of time and practice that we do to develop and maintain new skills is phenomenal, because it allows me to use all the new techniques in my everyday writing.

It 's funny what it 's you remember as a child. I don 't remember my third birthday or my first day of school, I don’t remember running around the playground or what my favorite food was. But I remember very clearly the day my cat died. It 's been 10 years since, and still the most memorable memory of my childhood.

On the first day of junior year I woke up bitter, tired, and angry. I knew this year would be the toughest year of my high school career and in no way shape or form was I looking forward to it. I went to school as if it were any other first day, greeting friends and trying to fight through the crowd to get to the locator list where I would find my first period teacher. After five minutes of pushing and shoving, I finally reached the front and found my name. I traced my finger along the dotted line to find “Mr. Hall”. I had never heard of this teacher before, therefore I knew this was a bad sign. The bell finally rang and junior year had officially begun. I walked into Mr. Hall’s class and I had already concluded that he was the happiest,

It was my final week before summer break came to an end. I hated being the only child, living with my parents, who needed to prepare for the commencement of school. But, what made that thought even worse was having to attend a brand new school. The physical portion of everything was already finished. To start off, I ironed my clothes, bought school supplies, and organized each piece of material I’d need to use on my first day. On the flip side, I was not mentally organized for this new chapter in my life. Being a skinny African American that stands 6 feet tall didn’t help either. Ignoring the burden of wanting to fit in, I finally executed my final task that night, sleeping. The next day, August 17th, started the 2015-2016 school

I woke up alarmed and breathing heavy. Fear was coursing through my veins. Was it from the recurring nightmare I had for the past week or what was to come that day? I didn't know. Both seemed pretty bad to me and I wished neither of them would have to happen, but they did. That day I had my first day of school. I wouldn't mind if it would have been the year before, this year was different though. This past summer was the hardest thing I've done. I had to say goodbye to everything. My friends, my home, everything that ever made me happy. The only thing that I brought with me was my very precisely chosen wardrobe of cool toned shirts and expensive bottoms and my old and useless cat Luna. Our new house was on the edge of town, the richer

Throughout my life I experienced a lot of firsts: first words, first steps, first day of school, but nothing could ever prepare me for my first time in sin city. Out of all the places in the world that I wish to explore, I chose to visit the legendary, Las Vegas. My friends and I wanted to voyage out to this magnificent city, since it was the last summer before our senior year. The night before, my friends and I were too busy to sleep. We were planning and packing, so we would have everything ready for the next day. Even if we wanted to sleep the excitement was too much to bare and we just could not keep our eyes shut. I was excited to see how the colorful city looked in person and how it felt to be in another state. Seeing as it was everyone’s first time in Vegas, we were determined to make the trip memorable.

A bright but cold morning, January 2014, I woke up early, jumped out of bed and smiled because it was my first day of school. First I went to take a shower; I thought, “What would I do in school today, who will be my teachers”? I walked to the bus stop, people looked at me like I'm alien with five heads and with a large nose. I sat down on a tree trunk waiting for the bus and the bus arrived after 15 minutes, I aboard the bus. The driver was a woman she was wearing a black shirt and brown pants. She told me “ Do you have the paper that shows that you have permission to go to school in a school bus” I stared at her and said “ No English”. A good girl seating behind the bus driver translated into Spanish what the bus driver asked

Ring, ring, ring, the school bell goes off. “My first day of school and I’m already late I tell myself.” As I run up to the school doors I can see all of the teachers closing their doors ready to start the day. Luckily my class is still open and I run inside throw my things in my locker and make it to my classroom just as my teachers closes her doors. It was just like any normal year but that’s about to change.