Narrative Essay On Makena Brown

As I walked into school for my first day at Rockhurst, I was nervous about what to expect from English class. As my classmates gradually arrived into homeroom, tension was building inside of me. Then, before the bell rang for the start of the day, a short, stout man walked in: Mr. Gustafson, my English I teacher. At the close of

It was the first day of school for many in Maycomb, including myself. I had just moved from a college in Winston Country. Almost 30 years have past since that day in Maycomb when I first saw the school I was to be teaching at. The classroom smelt stale after being closed up for the whole summer, as I met my students who I would teach for the next year. The one child I remember most had a trail of dirty footprints leading to his desk. The little horror looked like he was straight from the pig pen.

Lynda Barry's writing demonstrates to the reader that schools are more than just institutions that provide learning spaces. Ideally, every kid in a classroom should be living a happy life outside of school. But in reality, this is seldom the case, and some kids are living a rough time at home. Family values are fundamental to a kids' development, yet every day it seems families get disoriented with disputes life troughs in their paths. Forgetting of what truly is important. The school is like a second home to some kids. Barry's essay demonstrates this by explaining the effect school had on her. As a result, she sees the janitor in which she is delighted to see and quickly sparks a smile on her face. Another example is when she sees her teacher Mrs.LeSane and goes up to her and cries. Finally, the last case is the therapeutic value of art Mrs.Lesane believed on.

On September 1, 2012, I walked into my fifth grade teacher’s classroom for the first time in my life. Mrs.Cullen was standing in the front of the door with open arms ready to welcome her new fifth grade students. As I made my way to my desk and sat down next to Charlie Schutt and Quin Timmerman, I got the feeling that middle school would be a time of talking to some of my best friends and cruising through classes. As the school year progressed, and classroom seats changed, my thought of how Middle school would be changed as well. On the first day Mrs.Cullen explained our schedule, Homework detentions, and demerits. After about fifty questions, she sent us off to our first class, and the first step of our Middle School journey. The fifth grade

Let me take you back to a time filled with pure joy fueled by a foundation of knowledge. For most, Valley Road Elementary School, appears to be simply a school. Yet its meaning is beyond that straightforward of a definition and much more lies within the walls. Valley Road will forever have a place in my heart as I recall all the great memories from the recorder concerts, book fairs, halloween parades, and cake walks. I have gained an immense amount of knowledge from my time there. Overall, it allowed me to aspire to dream and shaped me into the leader you see today. I found passions that drove me to attain such outstanding accomplishments and successes.

The five-minute warning bell goes off. I rush to my first class of my junior year, eager to see my classmates, who I was going to spend the rest of the 9 months with. I find myself stumbling into a classroom plastered with decorations of Denzel Washington with a Dr. Seuss book in his hand, a t and college flags galore. My AP English 11 class suddenly seemed so appealing to me. As a beautiful, curly haired short lady stood in front of me and said “Welcome to AP English 11,” I knew that I had found a treasure so much greater than just a pretty classroom. Little did I know, that short lady was going to inspire me throughout my challenge filled second-to-last year of high school.

Middle school, when that word pops up in one’s head, it’s a sudden reminder of dreadfulness, broken promises, regrets, first crushes, and last but not least, learned lessons. Another morning had brought another school day. Seeing familiar faces and teachers I just wanted to get through the day with no hassle, but that’s not always the case. At least it wasn’t for me. Making my way through the extended halls and walls that seemed to enclose upon me, I felt nothing more than like a chained prisoner. The bell rung and I remained seated in my class, encompassed by boxed, outdated computers and rusty white walls, I felt

The sun was beating down on me as I apprehensively stepped up to the big box that held the folder with my fourth grade teacher’s name pasted onto the front. Helpers were asking my name, but my mind was on the awful rumors about Mrs. Glassic. A hand was reaching down into the box, shuffling through the folders when abruptly, it came to a halt. It felt like years, but eventually, the manila envelope arrived in my hands, labeled “Mrs. Glassic”. As my stomach dropped I thought back to a week before, when I heard awful rumors about the meanest, strictest teacher at Green Valley, Mrs. Glassic. On the first day of school I was apathetic and not looking forward to the school year. Quickly, I found myself growing closer and closer to Mrs. Glassic, the patient and encouraging teacher that is determined to find what’s best for her students. For those characteristics, I admire her.

On October 4, 2016, at 1203 hours, I responded to the Rohrer Middle School for a reported sexual assault, which did not occur on school property involving a juvenile female.

It was the beginning of the day and Kullan was in a rush to get to his classroom, He took his lunch and said goodbye to his mother. Once he got to his classroom, he said hello to all his friends and to his teacher, Mr. Metten, who has been teaching at Kullan’s school for 6 years. Lately Mr. Metten has been getting to know his students on a more personal level and has been enjoying his job more. Mr. Metten has been teaching the second grade for four of his six years of teaching. Before he was a middle school history teacher, Oh, how he hated middle school. All the obnoxious, ornery, loathsome, vile, and naive seventh and eighth graders running around trying to impress one another. He hated how arrogant middle schooler’s were, So, when a position at the local elementary school opened up he jumped on it, if only he knew.

It is just like any other day for Cathy Hurley, principal of Wylie E. Groves High School. She sat at her desk, blindly clicking through several emails, her tortoise glasses resting lazily on the tip of her nose. The sun was hidden behind several thick, grey clouds; it looked like it would snow later. The thought of getting new tires for the upcoming weather briefly crossed her mind when there was a sudden knock at the door, making her jump. She briefly fixed her glasses and smoothed down her hair before calling “Come in!”

In this memoir of my fifth grade year I convey my hatred towards Mrs. Horton, and I ridicule the school administration. I convey this hatred by repetition of the word “hate”, having a bitter angry tone, and using many different names for my teacher including: witch, Mrs. Horton, and Mrs. Karen Horton. I show this by repeating the word hate throughout the passage, and even the first sentence shows that I hated her “I hated my fifth-grade teacher.” I use metaphors to show the intensity of the situation, and to make it more easy to digest. An example of this is, “She was yelling so loudly like a bird screeching atop a tree warning you to stay away.” This makes it easier for my audience to imagine how she was screaming. I show how much I do remember

She is a young lady with a big smile and a personality that matches her smile. Yet, it is her quiet and selfless leadership in her school and community that reflects her noble character. Alison is a Jack Kent Cook Young Scholar Cohort ’14 who loves to write poetry and has published one poem to date. Three years ago, Alison transitioned from a public school in the Bronx to a private, independent, all-girls’ school in Manhattan. During these three years, Alison has already left an indelible imprint on the Spence School. Although this transition was not easy, Alison saw a void at her school and came up with a solution in filling it. To this end, she ran for class representative and became a voice for those students like herself who were

The first year, the time to prove myself had arrived. Classes, rooms, teachers, and some students were unfamiliar. Eventually, minutes melted into hours, hours to days, and days to weeks. It didn’t take long before my schedule was routine, something of second nature. Humor and happiness were found in the form of my advisory family, where school was transformed into something more than going through the same motions of day to day activity. By the closing point of sixth grade, I was having a hard time letting go of what I’d adapted to. “What’s wrong?” my dad asked when I was getting into the car after being picked up early on the last day. I explained how distressed I was that my first year of middle school exceeded my expectations, and that it had to come to an end. Although his outlook viewed my reason for sorrow as trivial, I didn’t.

After a year in eighth grade at the junior high school in Bangor, I missed the intimacy of the small private classrooms when I was in Florida. So, the following year, in the summer of 1962, my parents enrolled me at Oak Grove School for Girls in Vassalboro, Maine, one of the oldest, most elite private finishing schools for girls in the world. The school was run by a board of Quaker trustees and an elderly and very strict Victorian headmistress, Mistress Owen, whose demeanor well suited the school with its towering brick buildings that dated back to the 1880s. It looked like a grand castle of brick and ivy on a hill with towers that reached into the sky. It was surrounded by over one hundred acres of emerald grass, slopes for skiing, its