My Personal Experience : My Experience In Early School

I remember the first day I walked into my kindergarten class, I clenched my mother’s hand with all my might to prevent her from letting go. The kids around me, whom I supposed were my classmates, had long let go of their mother’s had and were playing together, and even as a five year old, at that point I felt like an outsider. I pleaded my mom to not leave but my attempts failed as I found myself alone yet surrounded by complete strangers. As I stood in the center of the room while pushing back my tears and eyeing my mother make her way out the door, I heard the teacher call my name. I timidly walked towards the spot on the yellow carpet she was signaling at for me to sit on. I heard Mrs. Ross’s soothing voice but no matter how much I concentrated

My parents came to America with no understanding of English, nor had they ever gone to college or finished high school. Both of their situations set a precedent for how my elementary school life could roll out. To begin with, the first days of school for me as a tiny girl who adored jumping around on all the furniture possible in her house and who hated sitting for more than ten seconds did not turn out as expected. The lump in my throat hid under my appearance: two curly mud brown pigtails, a navy blue skirt with an untucked white shirt, and the mask of a smile my parents begged me to keep all day. At first, the mask my parents told me to keep on stayed attached to my face. Yet, as minutes seemed to turn into hours, the constant thought of

From what I have heard about elementary school in America, I can definitely say it is not like the experience I had in the Netherlands. My elementary school was an international school in the middle of a large Dutch city about an hour away from my house. International, meaning there were kids from all over the world there, sharing their culture and building lifelong friendships without even realizing it. I certainly did not realize the culture or friendships I had picked up on until much later on and have only now come to appreciate the time I spent at that school.

Hello, I’m Radonna. I am proud to be the teacher of the 2yesr old classroom. I have been with Creativekidz since October of 2014. I have been awarded my CDA credential by the Council for Professional Recognition. I hope to obtain my Associate Degree in Early Childhood Education. I have 20 years’ experience working in the early childhood field as well as volunteering with disabled children. I have married to Byron for 15years, I have one son(Kevin) who is 20 and a 7-year-old niece(Janiyah) that I am raising. When I am not in the classroom I enjoy watching movies, going to church, spending time with family and friends. I enjoy working in the Early Education field because I enjoy helping children learn and grow in their own personal way. I also,

It was a cold winter morning in the middle of october, 2009. It was around 6:00 when i heard my mom come into my room . She was wearing bright red pajama pants and a plain black t-shirt. When she opened my door, she turned on my light switch, and said, “Get up, it’s time to get ready for school.” When she ended that last word with “school” i rolled out of bed, slowly and got ready. Once I was finished getting ready, my mom came into the living room and said “ It’s time to go down to the bus stop.” So, I put my small bookbag on both of my shoulders and headed out the door with my mom lagging behind.

We reached the same old brown-oak wood doors and in front of it was our school principal who greeted us with the normal "Good morning.” We marched through the doors to reach a crowded hallway jam-packed with children. They were like a colony of ants swarming toward a breadcrumb on the ground. Many of the younger children pranced toward their first grade classrooms. I took a glance at the first-grade room and began to

As I went to daycare in this different world where everyone looked odd and didn't understand a word I was saying, I felt completely isolated. To this day, I still remember the first time I was left out of my favorite game. I can still see that whirl of classmates dancing around me with their long blonde hair whipping while they called out repulsive nicknames. Feeling ashamed of myself I sulked away to a nearby bookshelf and buried myself behind a bean bag not understanding why they

I don’t remember much about my first two years of school; matter of fact the only thing I do remember is what my parents have told me. I do, however remember sitting helpless, lost in my own world as I watched the others in the classroom scream with excitement as they recited the ABC’s and sang songs while sitting on a large rug. I giggled and laughed along with them, somewhat mimicking them. I recall my teacher, many times, redirecting my attention to the lesson. I wasn’t a bit interested in anything outside playtime; or of course lunch.

No one told me where I was going or why I needed to go there, it all happened very fast. A woman came into the classroom and called for me and two others to follow her. The three of us looked at each other, puzzled expressions splattered across our faces as we slowly rose from our seats to follow the lady out the door. At first I thought I was in trouble, but I had always been a good kid and I did not know what I would have done wrong.

“Okay class,” the older women, who I presumed was the teacher began, “we have three new students this year!” I looked around trying to spot the other two kids who were probably feeling as overwhelmed as I was. The teacher continued, “They all came from Parkside Elementary School. What a coincidence!” My eyes immediately widened and shot up to the teacher in pure panic, oh no, is that what I nodded to? I looked at the kids around me who all seemed to be staring at me and two other kids sitting next to each other. Those two kids gave me a weird look that obviously said, I don’t recognize you, and I immediately wanted to throw up. I tried to will them with my eyes not to say anything while time seemed to pass slower

It all started on what seemed to be an average December day. My mom drove me across the road to school in the morning, I went through my day in Miss Small’s class, and boarded the bright yellow bus after the day was over. I never expected that anything out of the ordinary had occurred during my adventures at school. But a little while later, I would come to realize this wasn’t true.

Culture Shock, the feeling of disorientation experienced by someone who is suddenly subjected to an unfamiliar culture, way of life, or set of attitudes. That’s exactly what I felt as I walked into my first day of school in Kindergarten, although at the time I might not have known what I experienced is what it was. Teacher was explaining what we would be learning that year. I remember looking around the classroom at all the different colored and white people. Before I had entered Kindergarten I had generally been surrounded around people like myself who were also Latino, Spanish speaking Catholics. Diversity was something I don't remember been exposed too. So that first day of Kindergarten for me was an eye opening experience. As I surveyed the room I saw only a few people like myself and I began to see Asians, Indians, African Americans, White people, and many more races. Looking back on it now I know it was an early sign of culture shock for my five year old self. My accent was something that I was often embarrassed to let come out. Speaking slowly and really concentrated was the way I tried to hide my accent. Although I tried to make myself sound more like the other kids, my accent often slipped which made me feel compromised.

Everyone has a brief blink in life of prime innocence. Maybe a year, or a couple months, where everything appears to be magical. You’re old enough to barely grasp the simple version of what life is, but young enough to believe that Moss is just tiny fairy forests, or that if you pray hard enough, you might become one yourself. Kindergarten was my happy place as a child. Sure, I loved my family more than anything and definitely could not have been without my mother for more than 4 hours without breaking out in tears, but I loved that place with my whole heart. At home, my hyper, high maintenance sister would almost always take priority, even though I was the youngest by 2 and a half years. I didn't mind though, because I got to go to kindergarten the day after, where I got to play with my friends and make little bumble bee drawings. We had a teacher named Mrs. Altenburg, a tall woman with short blonde hair. I'm sure she looked like a giant to all of us, but we loved her more than anything. It was impossible not to, she gave us hello kitty bandaids and pancakes on pajama day.

It wasn’t until I started third grade that I became aware of the fact that the world was a little different than what I had originally thought. My parents had decided to put me in a public school outside of my community. This new school was actually way further and within a much nicer neighborhood. According to my parents, my education was too important to allow me to stay at the school near our house. At the time I didn't understand, I just wanted to be with my friends. My routine had changed from walking to school and playing outside as soon as I got back home, to taking a long bus drive to school, attending school, taking an even longer drive back home. During those bus drives, I had more time to notice how much bigger the houses near my new school was and how far away they lived from us.

“I’m glad we had the times together, to laugh and sing a song, seems like we just got started and then before you know it, the times we had together are gone.” - Dr. Seuss. This quote has a specific meaning to me because my elementary school isn’t just down the road, it’s 4 hours away.