Rebecca Sharrow Early Childhood

During my observation at the preschool here at Harper, I looked around and realized a lot of similarities and differences it has; compared to other daycare and preschool centers. The age of children in the room I observed was ages 3-5 with one lead teacher, and depending on the ratio of how many kids showed up on that day, about three or four helping teachers. The program was set up to a very open, happy and overwhelming setting. Every furniture and object in the room had a sign saying what it was, and then underneath the typed out word was the children’s way of writing what the object was. For example, a book shelf was in the corner of the room; on the book shelf was the word printed out “Book

As a woman, Mama’s aspirations to get a house was uncommon in those days, but Mama always dreamed of moving out of there small apartment and into a nice house in a safer neighborhood with a small garden.(92). She describes her dream house like it is the most spectacular thing in the world. She is extremely happy for herself, but happier for her family. However, Mama’s goals are more complicated then just wanting a house. With this house she feels that the family now has hope and can accomplish their dreams. On the other hand, without this house Mama predicts that the family will continue with

Joyce Carols Oates highlights the importance of developing relationships in families. Connie’s future could’ve had a completely different outcome if she would’ve been raised with attention, love, and communication. Arnold would’ve never had the opportunity to manipulate her if she had her family’s protection; however, that was not the case. Connie’s family must live with a guilty conscience knowing that her kidnapping could’ve been avoided if only they were less neglectful towards

“Mrs. Manstey’s View,” a short story about the end of an old woman’s life, has a strong theme of the importance of nature. The titular woman has very little left in her life besides a small home with an extraordinary view of gardens and flowers. Indeed, early in the story, she states, “Mrs. Manstey’s real friends were the denizens of the yard, the hyacinths, the magnolia, the green parrot…” This dedication to her view causes a huge upheaval when a neighbor plans to expand her house, cutting off the view mentioned in the title.

One of the houses was Deep South looking; run down and bare of any organized growth, i.e. landscaping. It was just a large rectangle— greatly in need of paint and repair. And, this house just happened to be near the heart of The Town of Smithtown, right in the cross roads of the historic area of the celebrated main street. But, in hindsight, perhaps this dwelling was a part of that history—a reminder of the history that had its good and bad; the well to do and the have nots, with some of the have nots, not having because the haves didn’t want them to.

The beauty of not belonging and seclusion from Cane Creek Park create a feeling of wonder and amazement, that makes a person long to go back time after time. The willow trees stand gracefully, and elegantly as they dance around the park and convey positive vibes. There is a dock that contains many mysteries and many unanswered questions. The swing that stands distant from the rest is worn and waits for the next child to find it and to find comfort in it. There is also the rippling water and the curiosities that behold the tree that has been there for ages. It’s beauty is conveyed by the piercing warm sun. This park creates a safe place for those whose mind may be depressed or maybe just lonely, and it comforts those with the allurement of

The house that Lennie, George had bought had undergone many changes. It had a new coat of yellow paint like the colour of ducklings, with a black roof and a chimney for the stove. The house was perfectly located in within the hills and meadows, not far from the Salinas River. It was only just hidden from civilization but felt like a mile away from anywhere. A place like this would be difficult to find but certainly not impossible.

Lydia “Maria” Francis Child was born on February 11, 1802 in Medford, Massachusetts. She was the youngest child of Susannah Rand Francis and Convers Francis out of six children. Susannah was a successful baker and Convers was a flourishing businessman. Child was raised in a Calvinist household, reflected by her father’s religion. She lived with her parents up until her mother died when Child was 12. Her remaining father decides to send her to live with her newly-wed sister in Norridgewock, Maine. While Child stayed with her sister, she did household chores and continued to read books as well as correspond with her brother by letters. On her spare time, Child managed to get tastes of freedom as she goes the land, familiarizing herself with the town. It was during this time when she interacted with the Native Americans. There was nearby Abenaki and Penobscot tribes and she interacted with the Penobscot tribe. Through countless visits, she realized the plight of the Native Americans and developed a lifelong interest in them.

Quiet and unassuming, a modest-looking house lies in the middle of a vast, empty plain, located away from the city and close to the pastoral natural world. Separated from the forceful influences of conformity, but still in touch with the surrounding world, this house is free to think, feel, and experience as it pleases. That’s because this house represents more than the entirety of its physical and visual features; it is a metaphor for my memories, ambitions, secrets, feelings, and emotions.

Jeff stepped out of the car doubtfully on that first day. The face was plain, green, and colonial, and the garage held only one car. This was hardly the house of his dreams. The boys, however, did not hesitate. Slamming doors, they ran across the yard and began playing among the six stately columns of a giant poplar tree. Before long, weekends and vacations were spent cutting limbs and vines and pulling holly stumps. Now there is an endless play of light and shade. The breeze lifts, leaves dance, treetops sway, and I can

My friend Rebecca almost died several times in her life. Children like her need the motivation to help fight for their lives. The Make-A-Wish program motivates children by granting wishes to those children who suffer from a deadly disease like my friend, Rebecca. Rebecca was born with two deadly diseases; Spina Bifida, and Turner’s Syndrome. Spina Bifida is a disease where a baby has a hole in his/her spine. Turner’s Syndrome causes shortness, heart defects, and infertility. According to Make-A-Wish’s website, their mission is to change the lives of the kids they serve. In 2015, Rebecca’s sister-in-law stated Rebecca was again seriously ill. Offering Rebecca a wish, Make-A-Wish bestowed it, and the family accepted the wish to give Rebecca a goal to motivate her to recuperate and leave the hospital. Make-A-Wish began in the 1980’s, and grants kids’ wishes every 35 minutes. The program has granted more than 180,000 wishes! I will talk about the first child, Chris, who asked for a wish, Rebecca's life, and about her wish. Here's Chris’s story.

“When things looked most discouraging,” he went on, “I came back here once and bought the place from the railroad company. They took my note. I found my willow stake,-it had grown into a tree,-and I planted three more to mark the corners of my house.” (43)

My parents and I drove to Orange County CA. to look for a home to rent. One of the city’s my mother noticed, was called Garden Grove. She spoke to my father, saying, “That sounds like an excellent place lets drive over there and check it out.” After arriving there, the city looked like something resembling a fairy tale; it was like its name “Garden Grove” there were strawberry fields, orange groves, and avocado orchards. My father located a newspaper stand, stopped and purchased a paper, my mother turned to homes for rent in the classified section, she began scanning the page for homes. When she discovered one, they thought they could afford she studied the map to find the best route, and we drove to the house.

The willow tree to the right of the red brick house was also a place that we made our own. The long, slender branches made soft music when the cool wind swept through them. Although these branches were weak, we constantly swung from branch to branch like wild monkeys. Sitting within the farthest boundaries of the tree, we would argue over what we wanted to play and which part each of us would have. When we would finally figure it out, it would be getting dark and we could hear the voice of my grandma faintly calling us to come in.

Now the small, white Cape Cod-styled home wasn’t really the prettiest house to look at. The door changed colors quite a few times over the years, but it was always paired with the off-white aluminum siding. The front of the house had shown a view of the living room through the largest windows I had ever seen on such a little house. My grandmother’s gardens, her pride and joy, were strategically placed around the tiny lot. Most of the time they would overgrow and become a hassle that she loved to handle. My little brother’s toys were strewn across the yard for the better part of sixteen-years. He would refuse to put anything away and he’s still the same exact way about his things now. The inside of the house felt like home to anyone who stepped in it. The well-lived space always felt comfortable to be in and everyone felt like family, no matter who you might have been with. It was never the fanciest house; the mismatched furniture, the walls that never were the color my mother wanted them and the 60s-styled linoleum flooring was always questionable. But, the style was never the main focus, that