Personal Narrative: My Glass Castle

This English class was the best English class I have ever had. There were no tests, vocabulary quizzes, or in class essays, which made the class less stressful. Before this English class, I was afraid that I would not enjoy writing many essays or writing so many words in one paper. Afterwards, essays have become something that is not so much my favorite task in the world, but it has become more enjoyable to an extent. Professor Sullivan’s class has taught me to formally write a research paper, to analyze a book through responding to different quotes from the story or novel, to understand magical realism, and to understand my own passion for school and how much effort I will be willing to put out in years to come.

Unlike Jeannette I never moved around a lot in my life so maybe that’s why it so strange to me, but both she and I have some things in common. We both don’t seem to like our distant relatives, both of our mothers like to be hypocrites, saying stand up for what you believe in and then reprimanding us about it, and both of us have been and are tricked by our fathers; in her case standing up to her racist parents and digging a foundation for the Glass Castle that the family only wanted to use as a garbage disposal. Anyway her family has issues with pride just as much as mine does, only in a different way. The Walls were and are the poorest in any poor neighborhood they move to, but they bring their misfortune upon themselves. Honestly they could

People say that I’m too young to have problems in my life but they don’t know that even though I’m only sixteen years old, life forced me to become a mature person at a young age. I see things differently than most teenagers, which means that it’s harder for me to fit in. I’m not good at making friends, I’m very selective but I like to help people if they need me. My crucible started since I came to the United States when I was twelve, and after that my life has been so different.

I, Deputy Gough received a call reference a white Ford truck driving in the Gamester trailer court all over the roadway. Upon my arrival I spoke with David Vore and Jennifer Vore. Jennifer Stated that Randy was the driver of the white Ford truck that said, “All Good Construction.” David and Jennifer both stated that they saw the truck drive through the yard hitting a slow child at play sign and the stop sign.

I only had fifteen minutes left. It was then that I understood that this essay would not be perfect. In fact, it would most likely be disorganized and flawed, but, regardless of the outcome, I would have to write. With this realization, the weight of perfection lifted off my shoulders and it was strangely liberating to know that I would not be able to meet the impracticable standard I had set for myself. The unmarked page seemed less of an adversary and more of a companion as I began to write. At first, my words came slowly and laboriously. Then, they came all at once. One sentence led into another until sentences formed paragraphs and paragraphs formed an essay. When the proctor rose, considered us with practiced sympathy, and told us to put our pencils down, I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. I was simultaneously filled with relief and self-doubt. I had completed the essay, but, in the process, I had compromised an aspect of my identity that placed faultlessness above all else. In the past, I had seen that part of me as an asset, but on that day, it seemed unpleasantly clear that it was my greatest weakness. As I slowly unfurled my stiff fingers, I considered the now empty desk in front of me. Perhaps perfectionism is as much of a hurdle as it is a

I never thought I would be labeled an outsider, a misfit even. As I trudged my way through the halls of my small town high school, I would endure the gazing pairs of eyes, that belonged to my peers, followed by whispering and often times some laughter. I always used zone out during those repetitive speeches and commercials about the effects of gossiping and rumors; never did I imagine that one day I would be on the receiving end of of the everyday potshot. Growing up I was always the center of attention, the one everyone yearned to be friends with, never was I the antisocial child in the corner with nowhere to turn… not until high school. They say high school changes you. They say high school accounts for some of the greatest years of

While attending public schools english teachers did not begin teaching students the proper method to create a essay until the sixth grade. I never understood writing, because the stress of the state test, the teachers only taught what will earn students a successful score. In lectures, we learned to create and revise an essay. The teacher trusted student to be accurate in their corrections. By analyzing Richard Straub’s document, I have gained knowledge on where to put place my comments, how to criticize an essay and goals a responder should encounter.

Many people have left legacies from when they were alive. Some are good, and some are bad. Those people may not agree with what they have left behind, and some may be perfectly okay with theirs. For me, I would like to leave behind a legacy that shows my family that I was a good person. I would want them to know that I had good intentions for my life and that I wanted to do good for myself and others. In this essay, I will explain what I would like my legacy to be like.

From an early age I have been passionate about reading. Like seriously, when I was five years old I was upset that I didn’t get the newest Little Mermaid book for Christmas. However, I have never had an interest in writing. Unfortunately, as I plan to go to graduate school to obtain my Ph.D, I really cannot avoid it. Over the years, my lack of enthusiasm about writing has caused me to view most English classes as a chore, something I needed to do in order to advance to what I really wanted to do with my life. With the risk of sounding like a suck-up, this is one of the first English classes I have valued because I have felt like I improved some aspect of my writing in each essay.

When I entered your classroom on the first day of school this year, I was confident that what I had learned in previous years was sufficient enough to call myself an experienced and competent writer. However, I discovered throughout the semester that this confidence hindered my ability to improve in the beginning. The first few days of analyzing essays and literary works was something I had never experienced before, opening up my eyes to a side of literature and the English language that I previously did not pay any attention to. After we finished writing our very first in-class essay, I was extremely surprised to see that the score I earned was a 6. But when I look back on that very first essay, I am even more surprised to see what I could improve using the knowledge and strategies I learned in AP Junior English.

After Finals, I came back to San Pedro for the summer. You wouldn't think the place would have changed that much in a year, but it sure as hell felt like I was living in another country. Most of the guys I went to high school had moved on by then and the whole town seemed so fucking strange.

It’s Monday, March 15 1943. Each day just gets harder, more people start getting sent to execution camps or how my parents tell my little brother, “a place that needs more workers.” I’m scared for the day it’s my parents getting called to leave, or my little bother, Ash. I know things will start to become stricter due to the Resistance fighters, me being one of them, which have been trying to get through the Muranowska Pokorna Wall. The number of German soldiers to barricade walls has increased. With the hundreds of us that attempted to escape through the wall, I was lucky I wasn’t killed and was able to get away without the Germans knowing I was part of the resistance. I know my family couldn’t handle losing me now. Both my parents are weak and they know that there time to be sent to the concentration camps is coming soon. I just hope it’s me who leaves before them. I don’t think I could take care of ash on my own. I don’t think I could make the situation we’re in seem any better than how it really is. He’s seven years old, but he’s had to grow up a lot faster than most seven year olds his age, everybody in Warsaw has. Tonight was the last night I will be staying in Warsaw, or at least that is what I am hoping for. It took a lot for my family to understand my decision to be part of the resistance. But they respect my choice now. I know it is selfish, and I know it won’t be easy. But I can’t hide anymore, I can’t wait around to be killed. I want to fight back even if it means maybe leaving behind the thing I love most in the world. The fights are

I stared at the computer screen at the three different versions of the same essay, feeling unfulfilled, knowing that starting over again would yield the best product. It is immensely difficult to open a blank page and let go of the past. On the other hand, like a fresh coat of paint, I am simply renewing who I am. And so I started my essay again…

For the Composition 101 final, the student is revising the Reader’s Response Essay and expanding the Memoir short essay. These two essays offer the most room for improvement. The Reader’s Response essay contains many errors in grammar and citing. The author is correcting these errors to improve the effectiveness of the essay. The Memoir is a short essay covering a topic the author feels very passionately about, so expanding the essay is not difficult for the author. The author is editing and revising the Reader’s Response Essay and the Memoir short essay so she can craft the best essays possible.

Since the beginning of the semester, my writing has changed and evolved to accommodate and sustain longer essays. With longer essays, there is more room for in-depth analysis. Further analyzing a topic has led me to findings that I did not know existed. As I continue to write, I uncover addition and superior methods to approach my writing to the benefit of me and therefore, my audience. Throughout the semester, I have incorporated techniques to further my narrative throughout my writing.