Personal Narrative: Mrs. Jackson

I walked silently, my converse crunching on the wet sidewalk. I zipped up my jacket and took a sip of my coffee. I slowly walked towards my school when someone's shoulder slammed in to me. My coffee flew out of my hands, the lid came of as it hit the ground, spilling all over the sidewalk. I stumbled as I tried to regain my balance. I hate this small town I thought to myself. When I returned home I arrived to both of my parents sitting at the table. I looked at them with a confused look, “Ava why don't you take a seat,” Father said “we have something to tell you.” I took a seat not saying a word just giving them a confused look. “Ava honey your father got a promotion,” Mother stated “and we are going to be moving to California!” Fireworks were going off in my head thinking of all of the new things I would get to experience.

Mary Jackson was an African American mathematician who worked for NASA as an aerospace engineer. She helped launch the space program and worked for women’s working rights. This is the story of the life of Mary Jackson.

Mary Jackson was born April 9, 1921, Hampton, Virginia, U.S.A. She was a math genius and an aerospace engineer. most importantly she was the first African American female engineer to work and be the first flight engineers for NASA. Mary Jackson attended school and graduated with

“If, when you’re older, someone comes knocking on your door asking you some heated questions that you’re not sure how to answer, just stop and say “I want an attorney” and they’ll have to provide you with one as a basic right,” she stressed. All around me, my peers were hovering

Pacing back and forth, legend constantly checked her watch, feeling like she had been waiting for hours. When it only had been five minutes, to say she was nervous was an understatement.

I have had many great mentors that have stood out in my life thus far, but I have one lady that really stands out. Her name is Tina; I know her better as Ms. Hicks. She is a kindergarten teacher and Glee Club director at the middle school I attended. I came to know her really well when I joined the Glee Club my sixth grade year. She is so selfless and always puts others before herself. I just began watching her one day and realized that I wanted to be just like her. I began to volunteer in her classroom the last period of the day because I want to be an elementary school teacher as well. I decided why not learn form the best. Throughout the year, I learned so much from her. She taught me that students can learn and have fun while they

Mary Winston Jackson was born on April 9, 1921, in Hampton, Virginia. Her parents are

The person I have chosen to do my essay on is Mrs. Gardner. Mrs. Gardner is my advisory teacher. When I first started school here at Potosi High School, I had a very difficult time adjusting to this new place. I had come fresh out of a homeschooling program and before that, I attended a small private school. I was scared that I wouldn't do well in this school. I was especially nervous about grade checks. I've always been a good student and made good grades, but I was worried that the stress of switching schools would get to me and I'd struggle. Mrs. Gardner has been encouraging and empathetic to me since day one. She has reminded me not to worry so much and that as long as I'm doing my best, that's all that matters. She has taught me

As high school freshmen, most kids do not get very excited about walking into their College Preparatory Biology class, but I sure did! Everyday I looked forward to Mrs. Wilson's 3rd period biology lesson because she never disappointed. Mrs. Wilson was a special kind of teacher, she was the type to turn boring lectures into a captivating learning tale and had the gift of making tests enjoyable with her creative illustrations. Yes, you read that right, I enjoyed her tests. One day, Mrs. Wilson presented us with a demanding project; “Okay class, I am challenging you to create the BEST “Bunnimoose.” she announced. As we sat there with puzzled faces, she went further into explanation.

Jane and I grew up in grade school together. She was in the class ahead of me, but her and I were still friends. My father was into politics and involved himself in whatever he could with Jane's dad. Since our fathers were away quite often, we would spend a lot of time together. Since Jane didn't have a mother, my mother would often include Jane in whatever my sisters and I were doing. We would have great talks together talking about what we wanted to do when we grew up. Even though neither one of us knew what we wanted to do, Jane was someone that always had the biggest heart for helping people. She was always talking about the stories her father told her about President Lincoln, and even though she didn't know how, she knew she wanted to be someone to make change like he did.

her mother (narrator) saw her. Through her reverie, we feel the mother's pain that her

“Hey, terrorist,” a boy called out to me from across the classroom, drawing laughter from his friends. I pretended not to hear and stared into my book. It was a typical day in my life growing up as a first-generation American attending public school in a poor Bronx neighborhood. Being one of the few Indian kids there, I was relentlessly picked on. My school was desperately underfunded where teachers often spent their own money on supplies.

As part of the greater push at that grade level to introduce kids to a greater depth of books, Mrs. Oak created a game that would award points based on the number and length of books that you read, with a prize being given to the winner at the end of every month (usually candy). Now being the clever nine year old brat that I was, I decided to game the system by quickly flipping through a great number of small children’s books every day. While this did put me ahead on points, I was completely avoiding the entire point of the game. So to Mrs. Oak’s great credit, she decided to limit the number of books I could check out of the school’s library to three per week. With my lead in the literary scoreboard slipping away, I checked out a book that

It was a normal afternoon. I had just finished homework and Then, as the last girl passed through, everyone went back to their places. I sucked in a rasped breath as I pushed the red, thick steel lunch room doors. With my hair covering the front of my face like a funeral veil, I examined the hard, smooth marble floors as I shuffled through the sea of shoes until I reached the wall. A hush fell over the crowd as the principal came strolling in. He started giving a speech about the school dance this Friday, yet I drowned him out. Today was January twenty-seventh, Stella’s birthday. I could not hold it in anymore as I sank against the wall, silently letting all the sorrow and despair flow out of me. Two pink sneakers came to rest on the glazed marble floors. “Well, do you not want to join us?” questioned a clipped, sickly sweet voice. Willing myself to raise my head, I slowly brought my eyes up. She was wearing a short checkered skirt with a navy blue collared shirt. I met the girl’s eyes. A shocking electric blue. “Well, are you going to answer me or not?” she asked again. “Um...sure…” I replied, mesmerized by the amount of makeup the girl had on. I felt hands on my shoulders as her crew pulled me to my feet. I stared at the floor the whole time until I reached the designated “popular”

In my life there have been many times where I have been taught important lessons or supported by others, but my most prominent memory is from sixth grade choir. In this moment in time, Mrs. Symans taught me a very important life lesson about attitude and hard work. I initially