Personal Narrative: Transition From Elementary To Middle School

From my experience, surviving middle school takes a mixture of luck, naive fearlessness, and an aggressive number of colorful plastic binders. I started my first day of fifth grade a jumbled mess of nerves, anxious about making friends and doing well in class, and inexplicably dressed head-to-toe in red, white, and blue swag my mom got when the Summer Olympics were in Atlanta. I mean, my backpack matched my shoelaces, which matched my pants and my shirt. I might have even had a hat. A hat. A precisely matching hat. That I wore all day. Needless to say, I was not a particularly cool child. I studied hard, had a core group of equally nerdy friends, and constantly worried about whether I was doing the right thing or, perhaps more accurately, becoming the right thing. Was I not studying hard enough to get into college? Or maybe studying too hard, missing out on my youth? Would I grow into my teeth one day? Would my skin eventually stop looking like greasy peanut brittle?

When I hear the word “survival”, I think of someone who has made it through the impossible or conquered a near death experience; but that isn't all that it means. According to the the Merriam Webster dictionary, “A survivor is a person who copes well with difficulties in their life.” Moving from elementary school to middle school taught me many new characteristics such as how to be more independent, responsible, and more open to changes.

It was a normal school day at Brookhurst Jr. High in 7th Period were my friends and I were talking and waiting for the bell to ring so we could all go home and the school day would be over. Before I left I needed to go to the bike racks to get my skateboard so I could ride it home.

In my whole life there was only two time that I didn’t belong. The first time I felt that way was when I switch middle school. The second time was when start a summer program in CSULA called STEP.

Last year, I was shy of speaking English because I didn’t know a lot. I was afraid that the people would laugh about me If I said something wrong. But the last day of school, my English ESL (English Second Language) told me, “Saul, come”, so I went, “I just wanted to tell you that you have developed your English a lot, and next year you are not going to be in the ESL program anymore, I don’t want you to be afraid of talking English. Good luck.” I thought she was right, so this year I’m not scared of talking English anymore.

Elementary school is hard. Mrs. Valerie, my first grade teacher, gave us a math worksheet, and it was easy up until I got to the back side. There were four long word problems! What does she think this is: middle school? Only I said it in my head. If she heard that, I would have gone straight to the principal’s office. I started the first one. I read all the words swiftly until I got to a word that I had never seen before in my life. It was only four letters: A-L-S-O. It looked like a whole different language. “When you come across a word you do not know, sound it out,” my mom would always say to me. I started to sound it out. “A-L-O-S,” but it was wrong. “A-L-Y-S-A-W,” I tried again, but it was still wrong. I did this over and over again thinking I was never going to get it. At the corner of my eye, I saw Mrs. Valerie walking around. Oh no, she is going to think I cannot pronounce simple English words. I pretended like I was hard at work on another problem until she walked past me. Now I just had to figure out what the word meant before she came around again. I tried everything that I could possibly think of. I tried to sound out each letter, and I

There is a picture on my fridge of my two best friends and me on the last day of Kindergarten, rosy red cheeks, smiles that could light up the night on our faces, the innocence of being five years old beaming from our bright eyes. An image that might outlast our friendship, but will forever be in my mind. All through Elementary school these two remained my best friends. Our little circle of friendship slowly grew as more people started to enter our lives for different reasons and we developed small friendships that threatened to pierce the bubble of our little trio. Nevertheless, our friendship didn’t falter. I believed this was the way friendship would always be: a tight-knit group who would alway be by each other's’ sides, through thick and thin. And then came middle school.

Growing up, there are always those few girls in elementary, middle, and high school that are just cruel. They roam the halls picking on other people, making them feel bad because they have nothing better to do with their life. Middle school was when I first experienced the harsh and painful words of those mean girls. While in middle school their words didn’t affect me much, it may have made me think about my appearance every once in a while; but their words didn’t affect me as much as it affected my friend, my suicidal friend.

I didn’t see it coming. All I know is one moment I’m leaving fifth grade preparing for middle school, and the next I’m packing my stuff into boxes. In the early morning of June 29th, we piled into the car ready to leave Florida for Chicago. The door slammed. My dad stood in the driveway saying goodbye to all of us. The car pulled out of the driveway with its roaring engine and started making its way down the road. My dad’s tall figure faded away, still waving. My heart sank knowing that this was the mark of something significant. It simply seemed like we were going on a road trip, which was partly true, except we weren’t going to return to that house to live in. My brother would but not my mom, my sister, and I. That wasn’t going to be our home anymore.

My elementary and middle school years were excellent. I got good grades, on time to class everyday, never talked back to the teachers. I was the perfect student.

It was high school; what was I to expect? Hundreds of individuals trying to find their way to their new classes, just like me. You have different people in every class, and sometimes you have to cross the school just to get to one school. I thought I wasn't going to survive. However, I did, fortunately for me, and it was one experience that was totally different from middle school.

I’d like to attend one of Essex County Vocational Technical schools because I believe the can shape me to not only be a better student, but to mold the path for my future career goal. Throughout my middle school journey, I have faced a series of challenges that have shaped me as a person and changed my perspective on academics entirely. The thought of my future has pushed me to set my goals higher, and in order to reach them, I had to do better academically. These setbacks set a series of questions that changed the way I viewed my educational opportunities. Without a proper high school education, how equipped are you for college? Coming from a charter school has provided me with the education and structure needed to be a successful, well-rounded

Middle school was a mess. Puberty was punching me in the face. I was emotionally unstable (still am), awkward, clumsy, and lengthy. I wanted to fit in and be well liked. 6th grade year is comical now that I look back on it. 7th grade I was still struggling with school. 8th grade year was the year I started doing really well in school.

After track practice was over we walked back to the locker room. I got dressed into my regular clothes. 'I feel sorry for you dude," Jose said. I replied back,"yeah"! Even though practice was done my body was in pain still. "Can I borrow your phone," I said to Ethan D. 'For what," he replied. "Oh I need to call my dad to pick me up," I expalined. "Okay," Ethan said.

Middle school is usually not when people hit their peak, I definitely didn’t. I was pretty weird, and shy, and for awhile I took on that whole “emo kid” vibe, but that settled down a bit by this time.