Reflection Paper

I started Kindergarten at Hobart Elementary, and it quickly became apparent that school was an environment I would flourish in. Thanks to my sister, Kensey, I knew how to read fluently by the time I was four and how to multiply by the time I was six. In Hobart, word got around quickly about “that Garrison kid in Kindergarten.” Before I knew it, my teachers

School wasn’t always the easiest thing, and I did get in trouble when I was younger for speaking to seat partners, or reading during lessons, but my thirst to learn new exciting things remained and was never completely satiated. When I was 9, I was called into the guidance counselor's office to take a test. After my results came back, there was a a meeting between my teacher, my parents, myself, a teacher I had met a few times during mathletes practice, and a few other school officials. I didn’t really understand what was going on, just that the table we were sat at was the biggest my young eyes had ever seen, and that I was to be starting some sort of Program for Academically Talented

It was my first day of middle school. I stood outside the classroom alone, waiting for the school bell to ring. While many other students were nervous for the new school year, I was excited. I was very different from other twelve year olds. Since kindergarten, I’ve always stood out from my fellow students. At four, I was able to read chapter books and do division and multiplication. Now I’m eight and attending seventh grade.

For those of you who already have enough meaning in your lives, feel free to cover your ears. It might seem to some that school has been a walk in the park for me, but I have not always been academically successful. My elementary school teacher once said I would “never be good” at math, and I could barely read until third grade. The school psychologist tested me for learning disabilities, but my parents resisted his efforts, believing a diagnosis would only discourage me.

Do you remember your first couple of years in Elementary School? It was your first time going to a big school with kids many years older than you, and not wanting to stay because of the new faces you didn’t recognize. Then you start to remember the good times you had, maybe meeting your best friend, or how excited you were to be the line leader for the first time. When kids are young they don’t see the importance of education or school, they’re energetic, and eager to see their friends every morning. It was all fun for me, too. I couldn’t wait to see all my friends and to tell them what I ate for breakfast that morning or about the new dog I got the day before. I was one of those kids until I was held back

I don’t remember much about my first two years of school; matter of fact the only thing I do remember is what my parents have told me. I do, however remember sitting helpless, lost in my own world as I watched the others in the classroom scream with excitement as they recited the ABC’s and sang songs while sitting on a large rug. I giggled and laughed along with them, somewhat mimicking them. I recall my teacher, many times, redirecting my attention to the lesson. I wasn’t a bit interested in anything outside playtime; or of course lunch.

For my service learning project I worked in Mrs. Evelyn Costa's first grade class at Meadowlane Elementary. Meadowlane is located at 4280 W 8th Avenue in Hialeah, Florida and was constructed in 1957. There are one thousand one hundred and seventy seven students enrolled at Meadowlane Elementary school. Meadowlane has fifty three classrooms and fourteen portables and there are one hundred and seventy nine students per grade level. The school was built on nine acres of land. The student population of meadowlane Elementary is comprised of 97% Hispanic, 2% White, and 1% Asian.

As noted above, school has not always been easy or enjoyable for myself. During elementary school I was behind in my English and spelling skills and thus felt out of place. My elementary school had a practice of separating the students into different classes in the areas of excellent, average and needs improvement. I was in the needs improvement class for both English and spelling. This took a psychological toll on

“Writing an essay is not difficult! I am actually great at it.” This is a common statement that I would formally say, and even believe. In the past, I had never felt the need to thoroughly revise my essays before. In all my past essays, I would work intensely on my first draft and then just turn the essay in. I never spent too much time re-evaluating my writing decisions before turning it in. This process had worked well for myself in the past, and as a result, each essay I turned it would be an easy “A”. When I signed up for EN100 I figured that it would be just like the other easy English class that I have taken. I assumed that I would work on an essay, turn it in, and then earn an A on it, but this was not the case. When I signed up for EN100 I figured that I could continue my previous essay writing methods, but that was quickly disproven. When I received my first graded essay, I was unsure why I earned anything but an “A” on it. It soon became clear to me that I was going to be required to change the way I formerly wrote my essays and spend more time with correcting them.

Growing up, I convinced myself that if I tried hard enough, I could learn every single fact in the world. Each day I sought out something new to explore, learn, or experience. For me, school was the best place for learning-where I could tap into seemingly unlimited resources on science, math, literature, or history. In short; I was in love with school. However, the excitement of learning every day and feeling fulfilled by the knowledge I was receiving came to a screeching halt in ninth grade, when I realized that my classes spent more time reviewing for standardized tests and controlling students' behavior than on any actual learning. I felt stalled in my classwork. The tutoring classrooms were overcrowded, my teachers never seemed

I always loved learning, I loved the national geographic and discovery channels and reading articles, but I hated school with a passion. I despised getting up and in kindergarden I actually stabbed my mom in the hand with a pencil in protest of writing my letters. I believe that 's when a lot of things clicked, at least on my moms end. A lot of parents would have forced their kids to do well in school mine, never did. I couldn’t thank them enough for it.

One of the most admirable characteristics that my mother has is her great work ethic. I would not be as far in life as I am today if it were not for my constant observation of her determination in everyday life. When I was around six, she was going to school, working, and raising me. I remember specifically spending nights on the living room floor going over her flashcards with her to help her prepare for a test. At the time I wasn’t really sure why I was reading

Growing up, I loved school and always wanted to be there. Perfect attendance awards were an incentive that made me want to come to school everyday. I started school (preschool) when I was three and attended for two years because I couldn’t start kindergarten until I was five. Once I did start kindergarten, it was such a fun time for me, that’s where I met some of my closest friends and had one of the best teachers. All throughout elementary school I never had a teacher that I didn’t like and that’s what motivated me to come to school everyday. Over the next couple years after that, going to school was just the best get away for me, but when 3rd grade hit, I started to get bored with school. This is the year where you start answering the “What do you want to be when you get older?” question

The morning of my first day of school was warm and quiet...until I got to school. The day that my parents tried to send me to the vile place, known as Jasper Preschool, was a nightmare. My dad and I shared an unbreakable unity. I loved spending my care-free days with him.  There was no way I wanted to be taken away from my loving family--even seven gruesome hours. So, preschool didn’t even stand a chance, in fact, I wasn’t even there a week.   My parents ended up waiting another year, where they put me into kindergarten with Ms. Hankins. She was nice, but she was nothing like Dad.  School was horrible up until the third grade with Ms. Hudson, where I began to learn the true meaning of school.

Imagine yourself as a young child, just starting the first year of junior high. You sit on the floor with your siblings in your living room on the weekend, playing Sorry, Monopoly, Clue, or whatever game spikes your interest. You do not have any other cares in the world, as you turn around to see a parent or step-parent leave for work. You tell them bye and that you love them, as they walk out the door, but receive no response. You feel hurt by this and think that you did something wrong, but soon find out that you will never see this parent again. They left your family, for a “better life.” This takes an emotional toll on your whole family, but particularly you. You begin to experience uncontrollable anger, depression, you begin to blame