Personal Narrative: Coral Park Sr. High School

On April 08, 2016, I arrived to my designated school, Cypress Point Elementary School. Upon my arrival to Cypress Point Elementary School, I went to the main office of the school to see the assistant principal, Mrs. Dewitt. She could not make it to school on time, due to her having car troubles. The secretary told me she would notify her that I arrived and to set me. As I waited for Mrs. Dewitt, I noticed quite a few students having to call home due to violating the school dress code. Mainly it was more girls violating the dress code than boys. I am assuming from what I saw, the children only wore clothes that they saw the adults wore, or whatever their parents picked out for them. During this time, I noticed a little Asian or Hispanic boy being brought to school but he was supposed to be at home due to suspension. The secretary asked him “Why are you at school?” This young man told the secretary that his mother brought him to school. The secretary informed him that he needs to call his mother so that she

My mother’s irate words echoed deep in my heart for years as I tried to understand the simple words she would constantly repeat to me, “When will you ever change?” As a child, I was well known for being that foolish kid who would be put in the back of the class with his seat facing the wall. Eyes facing a blank white wall, fingernails tapping the desk, head down, and the smell of exasperation in the air. I was the type of boy who would sprint through the hallways cackling, furthermore resulting in repeatedly get scowled at by teachers for my obscene and inordinate behavior. In hindsight, I realized Freshman year after pulling the fire alarm that my behavior needed to have a parameter and come to a complete termination. Consequently, I spent the entire Summer in my room contemplating my life and my decisions.

Prompt: Some students have a background, identity, interest, or talent that is so meaningful they believe their application would be incomplete without it. If this sounds like you, then please share your story.

There were exactly 83 days that Brick Memorial High School gave its children to use for whatever they wanted. We were able to be young and dumb (to a degree) with no repercussions or scoldings from adult authorities. I would say that the majority of kids spent all 24 hours of their days doing what makes them happy; staying out late for parties and waking up early to see the sunrise are a couple of things that my friends and I did over this past summer and look forward to doing next as well.

My eyes repeatedly peered to the stands which had a crowd of at least four hundred students eagerly waiting as we were warming up. Observing the crowd I noticed the left side of the field was full of students in orange Parkview High School shirts while to my right students were in purple Brookwood High School shirts. It was the Lacrosse Region Championships between Parkview, the school I played for, and, Brookwood High School. Both of our schools were ranked top ten for biggest rivalries, we knew it would be a fight to win the most significant game for us.

Growing up in Catholic schools all my life I have always been told, “God created this earth now it’s our job to save it and keep it as beautiful as possible”, yet my High School did nothing to keep it beautiful like we were always told. We did not recycle the hundreds of water bottles kids drank at lunch, papers we used everyday in class, old textbooks at the end of the year, the list can go on forever. Instead, all of those items have ended up in landfills, polluting the world. Everyone agreed something needed to be done about the problem, but nothing ever changed. My school, Boylan Catholic High School, even created a Go Green club that would hang up signs saying “Save the Environment” or “Don’t forget the 3 R’s: Reduce, Reuse, Recycle”.

Change, for me has always been quite a scary and difficult concept. I want constants. I want to feel comfortable, and I am too stubborn to try new things. Though undesired, change is inevitable and I know life must move forward; so here I am, a shy, insecure, seventh grader moving forward onto my first day of junior high. I knew this was going to be terrifying simply by the size of the school; all four foot nine inches of me stood paralyzed at the main entrance of Poston Junior High. Not knowing who I would have in my classes or who I would sit with at lunch had to be the worst part. As I walked into my third hour, which was choir, I realized I knew nobody; sheer terror flushed over my face as I peered around looking for the friendliest face

I am an eighteen-year-old senior at Sumter Central High School. I am from a small community called Pine Grove. I am the youngest of three girls. My parents are Diane and Tony Jones. I come from a loving and supporting household. My family supports me in all of my decisions. My family is my support system. If no one else believes in me, I know my they do. They give me the motivation to do my best in every aspect of life.

A true masterpiece of a bong, the likes of which I had never seen before, stood on the floor, surrounded by, Austin and Greg, two of my other friends. Charlie and I took our places around it.

My days at Hudson High School have been utterly normal; filled with chemistry labs, AP classes, and long essays. Though classes are hard and days are long, I do not feel the extreme stress of my studies as much as my fellow peers. Instead, I get my daily dose of stress from the girls’ bathroom.

When recalling my high school days at Center Grove High School, I can’t really recall all the various kinds of drugs which were used around the school. I know that tobacco, alcohol, and marijuana were the drugs most would talk about. While the tobacco could be down played do to the fact that some were old enough to use it, I can still recall times were I have found what looks like “dip” spit in either the toilets, and even in a sink once or twice, with the occasional cigarette smell as well. With the other two, I can’t really say how often they occurred in or around the school due to me being in a special program which kind of kept those involved away from the rest of the school unless it was for electives. When comparing what I can remember,

It was August and school was just around the corner. I was going to be a freshman that year. It wouldn’t be too bad if I hadn’t just moved to the west side of Cleveland. Once again, I was going to be a new kid, but I guess we all were because we were freshmen. Later I found out that the school I would be attending, John Marshall High School, was a 9th grade academy. They separated us from the upperclassmen because the High School wasn’t big enough. Construction workers were in the process of building the new high school that year, so that grades 9-12 could be together. We were placed in an old middle school, it sucked! I wanted the real high school experience, but in this situation, I still felt like a child.

Roaming through the halls of Willow Bend Elementary School, a tiny, curly-haired girl was anxious for the little hand to land on the 12 so that she could board the yellow school bus. The day seemed like any other as she looked out of the bus window to see her grandma standing next to a beautiful, fuschia tree waiting to pick her up, just as she had every other day. Although everything looked normal, it did not feel that way at all. Uneasiness welcomed the young girl as the bus door slid open. That was the last day that the young girl remembers of the life she once had. That girl was me.

After being in my small modest apartment for a whole Sunday I finally had finished my English homework that had felt like it took years to finish. I showered, then ate my mom's delicious Cuban arroz con pollo. It was around 4:00 pm when I talked to him; I hadn't spoken to him for several weeks because of our own busy schedules. But that afternoon of October 6, 2013, he asked me for the invitations to our friend Barbara's quincieñera, a party where I was helping organize. It was the last thing he ever said to me. A couple of hours passed, and it was now sometime around 8:00 pm when I got a call from Barbara. She gave me the news.

My last year at Dixon Elementary. I felt excited for promotion to the next grade of education: new classes, new teachers, and most of all, new school. But in my last year there I faced some unique obstacles. Over the course of year, our teacher had become bitter with our class. Really, it had to do with discipline. One group talks out of turn, is too loud, or too rowdy on the playground, and the entire class of 25 takes a form of elementary punishment. Stay inside for five minutes after class. Or, stand at the wall, in the cold, unforgiving shadow of the brick structure. Don’t talk. Don’t have fun. Look to the sunlit playground and long for its warmth. Just wait―and reflect.