The Walls Made Of Cinder Blocks

Firstly, the actual classroom setting was filled with materials and vibrantly colored. One wall was made up of windows with shelving space all along the lower half. The windows let in wonderful

The gray, bland walls still hold my drawings from years ago. Blood scattered around the room adds some color the dull, grey walls and floor. The only source of light comes from a small, prison-like window. There’s no bed or anything. Just emptiness. In the far corner, a chain with blood dripping off it hangs.

In Miss. Hooker’s classroom she never makes a problem, just the student’s problem, but a problem they share and can fix together. Once the student would see that Miss. Hooker wanted to help them, they were very less offensive and were happy to have someone on “their side”. Another big thing I learned was to use every resource out there. She uses so many different websites and reading materials to get ideas, and talks to other teachers or other adults, she does not limit her circle of information. I also learned that sometimes it is true what they say “less is more”. In Miss Hooker’s classroom I almost felt claustrophobic. There were so many posters/resources on the walls, and every shelf was pilled full of books or totes, I was very over stimulated by the clutter. The stuff was not useless junk, it was mainly books, and different learning materials but there was so much stuff out that I do not think half of it got used. One big thing I realized is you cannot fix everything. There was always someone that had a hurt body part or did not feel good. Yes, Miss Hooker would show compassion to this matter, but she did not stop everything to try to best accommodate the student either. If she would have done something to accommodate every student she would have never been able to complete a lesson.

The moment arrived. When I opened the doors, I scanned the architectural design of the room. The classroom looked like a mid-size basketball gym. The concrete blocked walls were painted white. The hard-wooded floors complimented two black pianos scattered in different locations of the vicinity.

This year I had the prestigious honor of being in Ms. Brown’s class, and let me tell you, it was anything but normal. Ms. Brown’s cheerfulness (and maybe a bit of messiness) really helped me realize that teachers actually have lives. They’re not just some robots who are only activated to teach, and then turned off when the class leaves, as much as we might think they are.

Located in the depths of Powers Hall, Room 236 serves as an english classroom for a plethora of students. Five neat rows of desks are noticed by any child who peers into the wooden door’s window. A worn Buffalo Bill mat greets every person who enters the class. Posters of renowned authors like Twain and Poe adorn the walls. A high definition television that projects notes to the pupils hangs in the front right hand corner. A _____ colored rug lies beneath the feet of the

Middle school, when that word pops up in one’s head, it’s a sudden reminder of dreadfulness, broken promises, regrets, first crushes, and last but not least, learned lessons. Another morning had brought another school day. Seeing familiar faces and teachers I just wanted to get through the day with no hassle, but that’s not always the case. At least it wasn’t for me. Making my way through the extended halls and walls that seemed to enclose upon me, I felt nothing more than like a chained prisoner. The bell rung and I remained seated in my class, encompassed by boxed, outdated computers and rusty white walls, I felt

I had arrived at my destination- a lot sooner than I wanted to. I hurried in the classroom to get the best seat, which was always in the back row by a window. The professor walked in with an energy that I had never encountered before. She carried herself with an air of confidence. She spoke with certainty. She introduced herself and dove right into the first lesson before the first five minutes of class were even over. She informed us that today we would be introducing ourselves to the entire class. I could feel myself becoming nauseous. My hands started shaking and my mind started sorting through a million cliché facts about myself. I could not seem to think of my favorite color at the moment. I am an average, boring, normal eighteen-year-old girl who has a crippling fear of public speaking. That is as far as I got before I heard the professor call my

I was in Berlin visiting my wonderful, loving family when i stepped outside for some fresh air . When suddenly I hear in the distance a ruckus west side of Berlin.

The classrooms are separated by shelves and a small plastic door. Each small room is divided into different activity sections. The room I observed was the smallest of the four. It was divided into two sections. In the first section was composed of a table surrounded by eight chairs. Around the table there were shelves with toys and learning materials. Some of the learning material that could be found on the shelves were construction blocks, simple puzzles, and writing materials. The second section is covered by a carpet. Two of the walls are made of shelves and a third wall is covered by a board. In the shelves you can find books, music instruments and toys. The board is covered by the letters of the alphabet and corresponding

Park’s classroom looks like a typical American high school classroom. It is a square room with beige and dark blue walls. As soon as one enters the room, he or she will see a word wall filled with math terminology accompanied by a picture that represents the given term. On the back wall, Mrs. Park has a bulletin board with absent folders for each of her classes, which are filled with all handouts given during class time. This allows students to have access to papers that were given out on the day that they were absent. Inspiration posters, created by the students, surround the bulletin board. There is a blackboard in the front of the room and also on the adjacent wall. The blackboard on the adjacent wall serves as a bathroom sign out list so that Mrs. Park can see who is out of the room at any given time. This system helps to manage her

All eyes are drawn to the massive figure standing in the middle of the room. Teacher has an intimidating figure that would scare most children who didn’t know her. She is hefty with an angry mop of dirty blond hair wrestling around on her head and her skin is tinted red due to high blood pressure. The bare face that adorns her skull is bare of makeup. She redeems herself

Middle school, when that word pops up in one’s head, it’s a sudden reminder of dreadfulness,broken promises,regrets,first crushes, and last but not least, learned lessons. Another morning had brought another school day. Seeing familiar faces and teachers I just wanted to get through the day with no trouble, but that’s not always the case. At least it wasn’t for me. Making my way through the extended halls and walls that seemed to enclose upon me, I felt nothing more than like a chained prisoner. The bell rung and I remained seated in my class, surrounded by boxed, outdated computers and rusty white walls, I felt helpless.

The building labeled B appears to be the main building for courses at Local Community College. Students walk in and out of the building all day and stop only to enter a classroom or buy food from the vending machines which fill one corner of the building’s long hallway. Often, students sit on the chairs that line the walls while waiting for a class to start, but for now the hallway is nearly empty and waiting for the ambush of students.

Suddenly, there was a hush in the room. The teacher had asked someone a question! I tried to seem casual as I glanced up to see if I was the unlucky person who had been called upon. My heart jumped and then I realized that the teacher was looking at the person to my right, waiting expectantly for an answer. I stared at the girl also, as if I was truly interested in whatever ramblings might come out of her mouth about the dead general and his battle. I felt my face grow warm with a slight blush as I became embarrassed for her and her inability to answer the question. She must have been paying as much attention to the lecture as I had been. Finally, she was able to formulate a less than mediocre answer that satisfied the monotone voice at the front of the room and the lecture resumed. Another glance back at the girl and I saw the cell phone palmed in her left hand down by her side. She had been text-messaging someone instead of paying attention!