Pride Goes Before The Fall

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

In the beginning of the year I entered this class with a very sheltered and ignorant view of current and past events. Through time and sociological evolution I have begun to see things in a different light. The development of my ability, to look at something or some kind of situation, lets me use the sociological terms in such a manner to relate them to micro and macro problems in society. This started with the assigned readings of the class; the aim was to decipher the messages the authors were presenting. The goal was then to dig deeper and use my experiences to help myself understand the concepts throughout the course. "The mind is not a vessel to be filled, but a fire to be ignited." Plutarch (46-120 CE--common era) I was no longer

I frantically searched my desk, underneath my chair, and inside my backpack, and it wasn’t before long that my classmates began snickering. Confused, I demanded to know why they were laughing. At first, they didn’t bother to answer me, and instead continued in their self-sustained amusement. After being harassed for the entire school year, this was the last straw for me; the panic induced by my missing belongings and the increasing frustration of being ignored pushed me into a very desperate state of fight or flight mode. However, in this case, I chose to both fight and

It has been moments just before the start of the AP World History exam and my mind was already clouded with uncertainty. Utensil and sheet in front, my hands were trembling with fright, a cold sense in my chest, feet unstable as if suffering from an intense spasm. An immense pressure persisted within me as if drawing the weight of all my burdens. Looking around the environment felt frigid. A quick glance around saw faces of fellow comrades, each one fixated on the very same sheet in front of me. While five minutes had past, the familiar feelings of complete incompetence still persisted within me. I was unable to recall on my own proficiency: facts and concepts to which I spent months prior memorizing vigorously. Moreover, I was a sophomore taking my first AP exam, yet succumbing to the same old mental disintegration.

History is a remarkable subject that offers and eagles eye view into the past. With textbooks such as, Hist3, a great deal of interesting information can be acquired. However, a common misconception runs rampant through students minds; the idealism that history is useless and that the subject is that of a drag. Who can blame them? Our text books can only do so much in terms of providing the means in educating ourselves when we’re not in a class room and when given the opportunity to appear in class we have the luxury of (hopefully) having and interesting professor to enlighten us on all the side conflicts, affairs, and bloodshed that has happened. Even so, when we as students have exhausted the book and our instructors, we have the privilege

After lunch Miss B asked me to help all students to get ready for PE. When all students changed their clothes I asked them to line up. Some of students pushed each other and there was a gap between them. First, I put them in a line order, so that friends were not near each other, and the sneaky kids were in the middle of the line. If they have no one to talk to they can’t say much!

History class this past week consisted of lecture, class discussion, and our weekly exam. The topics discussed during this session were interesting and informative. The lecture content stimulated thought-provoking questions which lead to high student engagement level. The lecture for this week was easier follow in comparison to the lecture last week and I walked away with a better understanding of the subject matter.

The low ceiling cowered above and the black plastic chairs formed a restless crowd around me. From my seat, I could smell the acute scent of cleaning fluid, whiteboard markers, and the nauseating perfume of the girl sitting next to me. Like so many other students, she exuded concentration. Her brows were drawn as her hand moved rapidly over the testing booklet, only pausing to reposition herself or cast an almost imperceptible sidelong glance. The effortlessness of her actions furthered my anxiety as I began tapping my foot uneasily against the speckled linoleum floor. Through the dusty shades that hung precariously in front the only window in the room, I could see the outline of a solitary building shadowed by the dense gray fog that clung to the courtyard outside. At that moment, I would have given anything to be able to run and scream at the top of my lungs. I had an inexplicable urge to break free from the confinement of that room and what it

I kept fighting through my exam, clenching my cheeks with all my might. Beads of sweat began rolling down my neck. Suddenly, a loud, gurgling war cry came from my belly, and the entire class lifted their heads.

In both of Flannery O’ Connor’s short stories “A Good Man is Hard to Find” and “Good Country People,” there is a central theme about the negative effects of trusting one’s own judgment too readily, as well as using religion to manipulate people. It is easy to see multiple connections to this theme in the two short stories, although the specific events themselves are different. For instance, Hulga from “Good Country People” believes her intelligence allows her to see people’s true character, but she is ultimately left alone full of despair when her faith in herself and her leg is ironically taken away. In the same way, the unnamed grandmother in “A Good Man is Hard to Find” feels her morals and experience in life allow her to judge other characters without fault. Therefore, the two short stories are similar to each other because the plots, characters, and misuses of religion reflect the central theme of trust and manipulation.

When signing up for classes I hadn’t put much thought into my personal goals for this class, let alone any of my classes and being a liberal arts student my main purpose is to find a subject that clicks, something that challenges me, not only as a student but as a person as well. That’s what I want this class to do for me. I’m not looking for an easy grade, I want a class that forces me to think. All throughout middle school and high school history has been somewhat of a guilty pleasure of mine. And I say guilty pleasure because so many people have discouraged me from choosing the subject as a major in college. The past has always interested me far more than the future. I want to know our origins before I learn about what may possibly be in

I walked up to the red line and positioned my left leg behind my right. I coughed as loudly as I could to get everyone’s attention. Slowly, people started to stop talking and stared at me with curiosity. I paced back and forth trying to decide which teacher I was going to pie in the face.

Walking into the door of room E204, I attempted to mature myself by five years as I entered my first AP class, AP World History. With what felt like the posture of an erudite scholar and resembled a child with an intense sunburn, I sat down at a desk and retrieved a pen and a folder of paper from my backpack as I continued my façade of experience. This is a college-level course, came the whisper from some part of my 14-year-old brain, and I almost broke character, overcome with wonder at the presence of academia. This sense of awe, however, quickly disappeared with every passing September day, abandoning me in the presence of W.T. Woodson’s resident tyrant: Rebecca Watt.

Around eleven o'clock, everyone in the class but my friend and I were dismissed for lunch. My teacher

When Pride Still Mattered by David Maraniss, is a sports biography describing the life of legendary Vince Lombardi who is famous for his coaching skills in football. From the book review, I agree with the argument that the author had brought up about how Lombardi treated his players. He said “He did hold to the belief that an organization is only as strong as its weakest link, thus, the drive to get everyone on the same page. Also, he got to know his players. He did not always scream and yell at everyone. If he thought that is what it took to get the best out of a person, he would do that” as stated in the review. Vince Lombardi treated his players like they were his own family and did that with the utmost respect. He tried to understand them