Personal Narrative: Mr. Cox

I have lived in only one location my entire life: Edwardsville, Illinois. A peripheral suburb of St. Louis, it stands as the rare oasis of people in a desert of corn, pinned in its own personal bubble. Due to this blend of time and isolation, I developed a natural familiarity with my hometown. But, throughout my childhood, I longed to break free from the confines of the bubble and venture outward. However, this changed last summer, as I walked through Richards Brickyard, our family heirloom, that my great-grandfather, Benjamin Richards, founded over 120 years ago. I felt these childlike sentiments slip away. The bubble that had surrounded me for so long began to vanish, and the picture that it had been obscuring was slowly revealed.

There is a quote that I have embraced during my professional journey I like that state, “The influence of a good teacher can never be erased”. As a product of the Muscogee County School district, my life mirrors that statement. If it were not for my awesome teachers I would not be the person and teacher I am today. Growing up poor, I lived in Wilson Apartments and attended Fox Elementary School. It was my kindergarten teacher Mrs. Vignery that ignited my passion to become a teacher. She would always hold my hand and made me feel loved despite my many issues. As a result, I wanted to pass this love to my students. I cannot remember not one single thing that she taught me, but I will never forget how she made me feel. I find myself holding

The end of an era is now upon many current and former West Virginia University students. After the 2017 spring semester there will be no more clanking of the heating system, no more puke in showers, no more shattered windows in the breeze way and ultimately no more Arnold Hall.

The next morning, Mr. Cassidy woke up early, dressed and was ready for the hearing, he was anxious to save his home. Since he wasn’t familiar with the streets, he left the house in plenty of time to find the office in Charleston. When he arrived, he found the building, but he needed to find the parking structure. At last, he saw it on the opposite side of the street and went across to it. While looking for an empty space, he saw one and parked beside a new BMW. When he got out of the truck and straightened his clothes, he noticed Louise Anderson, The President of the Women’s Club getting out of the BMW.

When thinking about the neighborhood, school has to come to mind. Mr. Ellis, my third grade teacher, prided himself on educating students. No matter the problem Mr. Ellis would try to help in any way possible, which without a doubt makes Mr. Ellis my favorite teacher. An example of the undying devotion Mr. Ellis shows Other than Everett, the Capital Area Career Center was one of the best schools around Ingham. Understudies could pick any class that fit their field of study. As the understudies work through their class they can acquire school credits which can trade to Lansing Community college or Davenport just to give a couple of cases. Assignments sanctioned us to learn the required information while being able to work at our own particular

    It was six A.M. on a beautiful yet brisk Saturday morning and I was fast asleep. Suddenly I was ripped from my blissful dream world by the incessant blaring of my alarm. Groggy, I shut off the alarm and stumbled into the kitchen for breakfast. I had a light breakfast consisting of warm cinnamon toast and butter so as to not upset my stomach during the looming Cross Country race.

Growing up in a small town can be difficult if you are a curious person. Until about halfway through my sophomore year I was completely content with going to a college near home, graduating, doing my job, and settling down right back in Middleville Michigan where I had grown up. Something changed though, it’s difficult to pinpoint what made me do a complete 180 to be the person who wants to travel, go to school ten hours away, have an actual and incredibly successful career. The whole way I thought changed.

There is someone I wish was still around from before that is my dad. He passed away in the first week of summer the summer before 6th grade. I lived with my mom until I was 7 then he went and got visitations so he seen me every Wednesday and every other weekend in the summers I was at his house 1 week and my mom's 1 week. Sometimes when he was close to my house or my grandmas he would bring me "care packages" they were mainly toys the one I remember was he was at Walmart and in the middle of the night he brought me Legos the Legos were batman ones. One Christmas he brought my a huge monster truck it was remote control it was about 2 feet tall I had it for a couple years I really liked to do donuts with it in the snow. He had a girl fried and

I headed out first,swimming my way back onto land,I screamed as I felt myself get scooped out of the sea by some men and women,scared that the man in the blue car had returned. But these men and women were dressed in hazmat suits but without their helmets on. They looked over me as if they were scientists,asking me and each other several questions. I couldn't muster out any words, I was terrified, I wanted Craig to help me but I was terrified of what they would do to him. This part of the dream is very spacey and is chopped up. I hardly remember most of it. From what I can remember after they’ve finished me out of the water. They place me in this building, this building filled with children. They all looked genetically modified or something,

Home is the beginning of one’s book. It is where your story begins, forms its characters, shows its purpose, and reveals its ora. This is how mine is written. Home is on the buzzing highway down a bumpy gravel road. It’s Brandon, Mississippi. It is the only home I’ve ever known. Home is the smell of homemade biscuits and tomato gravy on Saturday mornings. It is “Bless Your Heart” and “Yes Mam” and “No Sir”. The little bedroom in the back of a grey double-wide where Carrie Underwood songs played and where I learned to curl my hair and put on mascara. My cousins and I running around with mason jars, chasing the lightning bugs. Bar-B-q on the back porch and never meeting a stranger. It is the morals learned and the identity

I was on my way to tutoring about to get into the car. When my parents get into an argument. It was a normal occurrence that happened every time. I already knew that my parents were getting a divorce. But I didn’t expect anything bad from the argument but it began to get physical.

I began storytelling long before I could read or write. But it was only when I began writing that I realized how much more complicated crafting a narrative was than I initially thought.

I slowly sit up and rest my back against the headboard of my old bed. Closing my eyes and taking everything in that has happen since I’ve woken up. Being in my old room, brings back a lot of memories of when I used to live here as a child. Moments with James, moments with my mum. I let a tear escape my eye, quickly wiping it away. I can’t let it get to me anymore. It was five years ago. A few more tears escape and I go to whip it away again when light bounces off the scars on my arm.

Time to go to the weight room announced Mr. Cohen. While i was lifting waits in the fitness room, I tried two lift 50 pounds. I was nervous because my spotter was talking to his friends instead of watching me lift I was scared that I could get hurt. when I was done, I found another partner to work with.

he first thing I did when I was first placed into my mom’s arm was wink. It was the most peculiar thing ever. She and my dad were both confused, thinking about what that wink would symbolize. Little did they know they had a daughter who would continue to stimulate their brains and logic. I was always an outgoing, awkward child. I was also very conscious of expensive things. I, as a “mature” 3 year old, once told my brother, “Anna (that’s Telugu for older brother), be careful! Is epensive( expensive on three year old speak)!” Every where I would go, I would say hello to every person that crossed my path; if a person didn't respond, I would pester them to the point that a response seemed like their only savior.