Personal Narrative: Mrs. Kellor

The familiar aroma of coffee fills the air as I enter the not so common area. I feel very bewildered in the labyrinth of hallways searching for my classroom just like I had stepped into corn maze as a child. At last, I locate the secluded room tucked away inside the massive building. Even though the number on the door matches the number on my schedule I am still second guessing if I am in the right place. The door opened up as students poured out. Finally, I took my seat at the back, trying my hardest to sit down unnoticed. My hands were shaking as I wrote the class name at the top of my paper. After what seemed like ages the professor proceeded to

My first day of the second grade, I knew no one except the teacher and my younger brother. Kindergarten and first grade had been easy enough, but I was scared of the upcoming year. The only thing I knew about being the new kid was that it hadn’t panned out too great for Addie from the American Girl books. Mrs. Henson’s class was fairly quiet throughout the day, for most kids were nervous or tired. We neared the end of the day and I was ecstatic over the fact that hadn’t made a complete fool of myself. I hadn’t met anyone yet, but I thought that that would be a challenge for another day. Unfortunately, that’s not what Mrs. Henson had in mind. She sent us all out to recess with a grin plastered on her face and with me practically kicking

I called the constituent, Ms Kathryn Chase, she said that is frustrated that nobody helps her to stop her siblings and her uncle stealing her mother's money and jewelry.

“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.

The article provides many examples of the teacher's cruel nature including, "I'd head off to class, where the teacher would hold my corrected paperwork high above her head, shouting, 'Here's proof that David is an ignorant and uninspired ensigiejsokhjx'"(Sedaris 86). It would have been easier to give up and try again with a different instructor or even switch instructors. The author shows just how cruel this teacher could be and how she insulted her students from day one. This shows how determined the narrator and the other students in the class to keep dealing with this cruel teacher. Only the students determination to succeed in the class made them return each day. It's easy to return to a class where the teacher is supportive and nice. It is not easy to deal with a cruel teacher. Many other people would have given

The moment arrived. When I opened the doors, I scanned the architectural design of the room. The classroom looked like a mid-size basketball gym. The concrete blocked walls were painted white. The hard-wooded floors complimented two black pianos scattered in different locations of the vicinity.

For my sophomore year, I was blessed with one of the best English teachers at our school, Mr. Granger. From the first day of class I knew that Mr. Granger represented everything I wanted to become in the future, and I made sure to tell him. Soon enough, snacks, lunches, and hours after school were spent in his classroom chatting with him or just enjoying his and the presence of the few other students that loved to be in Room 220. Mr. Granger was the everyman: a friend, a brother, a teacher, and a trusted adult, and in many ways Room 220 was a safe haven and home.

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.

Truly, the thought of an education system is one based around what cartoons and shows make of it: a drab, boring location only meant to educate students by menial methods and to essentially waste their times. That fiction is just that, nothing more, nothing less. From my years within school, I’ve encountered some fantastic educators and some poor ones. However, there’s one teacher I’d love to commend for everything she’s ever done for me, ranging from the bare bones of the language to the complexity of my writing today: Mrs. Fetchko. My first instance of being her pupil was in seventh grade, back at Valley Elementary Middle School, where I was warned and cautioned over the harshness and cruelty she has with her homework and grading policies. Honestly? I was mortified.

You’ve reached the classroom now, the right one, you’re sure, but there’s already people inside and you’re early, so you lean against a wall and wait. You keep your mind perfectly blank as you watch the students, now your peers, go by. You notice the rock in your shoe again, and you contemplate it’s and then your very own existence for a while, very heavy but not unpleasant before class thoughts.

The first day at my new school was strange. I didn’t know anyone. I went up the creaky staircase to my classroom. My teacher entered the room. The woman’s name was Mrs.son . She was a strange teacher. She almost looked possessed. Her eyes were huge and dark as blood. Her voice was low and mysterious. She gave us a unexplainable item.

You are one of the typical supermom and super nurse as well. It is not shocking since, at one time, I was guilty of abusing my body as well, with lack of sleep and over-commitment. In fact, I can recall my younger days, homeschooling my three daughter and working night shifts every Fridays and Saturdays for years. Fortunately, my colleagues at work were very supportive since a majority of us were busy mothers as well. Also, our institution was supportive of shift naps at night so that helped us recover a little to finish the 12-hour shift. Having said that, aside from being proactive to a good sleep hygiene, nurses must also advocate for recovery breaks/naps and less mandatory work overtime. Currently, I have witnessed many young

On my way to Language Arts I hear the word spreading fast about seeing the most dreaded teacher . Ms.Gulon apparently came back early from her week off.

my 5th grade teacher was always very strict and “mean” at the time. Yet, still she would want to