Why I Am A Boarding School For Girls

Knock! Knock! Knock! Knock! There was a knock the door late at night. There was a letter, it was from the manager at the sunny slope apartments. The next morning we opened the letter. It said we were getting evicted. We didn’t know why. But we knew what it meant, we had to move! We were so worried, because we didn’t know where we could move or even worst of all we didn’t know if we were going to have to move a different school. I had been at that school my whole life, and known all of my friends there.

I remember the first day I walked into my kindergarten class, I clenched my mother’s hand with all my might to prevent her from letting go. The kids around me, whom I supposed were my classmates, had long let go of their mother’s had and were playing together, and even as a five year old, at that point I felt like an outsider. I pleaded my mom to not leave but my attempts failed as I found myself alone yet surrounded by complete strangers. As I stood in the center of the room while pushing back my tears and eyeing my mother make her way out the door, I heard the teacher call my name. I timidly walked towards the spot on the yellow carpet she was signaling at for me to sit on. I heard Mrs. Ross’s soothing voice but no matter how much I concentrated

It was on a frigid, dark autumn night that I entered this wonderful world. November 13, 2000, the date, almost November 14th. My siblings had no idea that my name would be Clayton Wayne Griep, and that minutes before midnight on that night I was their brand new brother. A few days later I would leave that hospital in Zeeland, Michigan and be welcomed to my new house, at 4096 Marion St. in Hudsonville, Michigan. Two of my siblings were more than excited to see me, but one didn’t have any idea what was going on. Cam, who was not even a year old, unbeknownst to him, had a new roommate. Jordan, who was in the 2nd grade at the time, was eager to meet me, his eyes constantly locked on me. Jalen, using her newly found vocabulary, probably babbling

I walked silently, my converse crunching on the wet sidewalk. I zipped up my jacket and took a sip of my coffee. I slowly walked towards my school when someone's shoulder slammed in to me. My coffee flew out of my hands, the lid came of as it hit the ground, spilling all over the sidewalk. I stumbled as I tried to regain my balance. I hate this small town I thought to myself. When I returned home I arrived to both of my parents sitting at the table. I looked at them with a confused look, “Ava why don't you take a seat,” Father said “we have something to tell you.” I took a seat not saying a word just giving them a confused look. “Ava honey your father got a promotion,” Mother stated “and we are going to be moving to California!” Fireworks were going off in my head thinking of all of the new things I would get to experience.

As I am walking with my mom to those big, scary double wooden doors, I am nervous to see how the rest of the boys turned out. A month before they called us, I was finally forgetting what happened on that island, and returning to society. I shudder as I remember that last day on that island, how we were all chasing poor Ralph and the look on his face. I remember running through the creepers, just on Ralph’s tail with the others. I wish I could forget all of the sounds I heard, the crazy laughter from some of the boys as we got closer, my own heavy breathing from running, and oh, the wild screams from those boys. I stop thinking about that part of the day as my stomach starts to hurt and I feel like I am going to throw up. While all of us boys

Fulfilling god’s plan, America forced Native Americans to attend boarding schools where the ideals of Christianity were implemented. In Abigail Graham’s article, “The Power of Boarding Schools,” a History of Education professor at Indiana University writes that boarding schools is a tool used to reinforce one’s ideas into individuals. Graham writes, “Boarding schools...significantly impact the social development of their students; for this reason...schools used [this] as tools for reinforcing power relationships and cultural identities.” America’s goal was to eliminate any existence of the Native’s culture by constantly embedding the values of being an American and being Christian inside the school. The boarding school is completely new to the Natives, and having someone tell them what to do was something unheard of. Within a school’s system—the students have the least authority, the teacher is second in line, and the principal is the highest. The students were of Native American descent, of course the teachers were white, and this demonstrates the power relationship with the Native Americans and the Whites; the whites had more power than the other race. Children were targets because if America were able to change the younger generation’s ideals, than as they get older their offsprings will be what America envisioned, a non-Native American who has no knowing of their culture. In Mary A. Stout book, Native American Boarding Schools, the author mentions that boarding schools

While being at the residential school’s students endured, physical, mental, and even in some cases sexual abuse. The children were anywhere from 4-16 years old. For the most part students were taken from their families to be put into the schools, but there were also a couple cases where parents took their kids there because the schools advertised in a way that made them look good, so parents thought they were doing something good for their kids. Little did they know it quite possibly could have been the last time they saw their child alive. During the time spent at the residential school, students were not allowed to see their family. It was

I glanced up at the clock. It was 12:18. Mrs. Ewert exclaimed, “One or two problems guys.” My heart sunk to my toe. I had langage arts next. Mrs. Berntson was coming back to school after her son went missing. My friends say that she is seeking revenge and locking up kids. I tried not to think about it and did a math problem, I knew they were exaggerating. The bell rang and Mrs. Ewert excused the class. I slowly walked down the crowded hallway. I turned the corner and could see her crusty, burnt door. Now I could believe my friends, Mrs. Berntson has gone crazy! I looked across the hallway and could see my friend, Will. You could tell by his face that he was scared to go in.

According to the Wikipedia page, Native American boarding schools, “ they were established in the United States during the late 19th and early 20th centuries to educate and [simulate] Native American children and youths according to European standards”. So, the intended purpose of the Indian boarding schools was to educate and assimilate the children with the idea of the “living the American way”. The reformers wanted the children to understand and have practical knowledge of the American culture , and be kept away from their traditional Indian relatives. Probably, their Indian relatives were closed minded and did not want to expose the younger generation to different things. According to the website nativepartnership.org, “reformers assumed that it was necessary to “civilize” Indian people”(par. 2). The reformers wanted the children to understand the outside world, not have influences from their tribal life, be a self sufficient member of society, and not have anything, get in their way.

How would you feel if you were at a summer college program and found out it was an old asylum with a creepy background? In Asylum by Madeleine Roux, the mood gives the reader chills and the teenagers who are drawn to it. This creepy tale of a haunted asylum and teenagers who are drawn to it. The details have terrifying chills to have the reader feel when you don't know what is gonna come next. When Roux creates the story she uses brutal pictures to go along with the story. Books can have readers so intimidated in their books by simple things that happen.

She vicious placed the piece of paper in my hand then ran away. Curiously I opened the envelope and three crumpled pieces of paper fell out. I opened then and they read “Hello stranger, my name is Anabel I am 16 years old and female. I live with Mum, Dad and older brother(Jason). My older brother is 18 and finished school. I hate my life… and everybody that I care for hates me. My parents are happy together but they hate me. They beat me up, swear at me, deprive me of food and don’t love me.” I read the start of the letter with a smile but then it took a vicious turn. I continued to read with my chin hanging from my jaw. “Every night, morning and during the day I have to find my own food with the money that I make. On school days’ struggle to get there. At school I have no friends everybody teases me for having colourless and holey clothes. I am thinking of moving out of my house because at home all I receive is violent abuse. I lay in my bed every night thinking of what I screw up I am. At about 11:00 o’clock at night Jason comes home extremely drunk he is so tipsy that it looks like he is trying to walk on a sailor’s boat. He storms into my room banging on everything in his attempt to walk. Jason then grabs the first hard thing he sees and starts to hit me with it. I never know what to do because my parents wouldn’t care. In these situations, I grab a blanket run outside and sleep in the tree in our backyard.” My eyes

I gather up my books and pencils and walked out of the classroom. My best friend Sally was about to cry. So we had our little best friend moment. “be safe” she said taking her seat in the back of the classroom. I looked into her heartbroken eyes I felt like I was about to cry “I will, I promise”. i said walking out of the classroom and down the hallway and on my way to the office. I then heard two familiar voices. “does she have to go there are more than just one black student at this school other than just her” a lady’s voice said. “yes, she does don’t worry she will be in great care-” i could tell that was Ms. Clinn voice until she got interrupted by a grown men. “ how do you know that?” he yelled making me jump.”because she will be living with Melba Pattilo Beals and her family until you guys are ready to move down there yourselfs.” Ms. Cinn said i’ll be living with melba? I’LL BE LIVING WITH MEBLA I thought in my head over and over and over again. “were not moving anywhere” a man’s voice said. “i’m sorry sir but if not then Arianna will have to move on her own” Ms. Clinn said those words made my heart stop. “ And either is my daughter” A woman said, wait that’s my mom and dad. “mom and dad?” I questioned walking coming face to face with my mom and dad, Ms. clinn, the school board and none other than Mr.

My thought on reasons for creating boarding schools for indigenous children. The imperial of the residential school system was to remove and isolate children from the power traditions culture, homes, and families, and to assimilate them into the dominant culture and having the fundamentals of the American academic education. These objectives based on the assumption on the native cultures and spiritual beliefs were inferior and unequal. Therefore, the westerner is "killing the Indian in the child” (Pratt). Recognizing this policy of the assimilation was wrong, which as we know caused a great harm within the culture. As we are aware of it, destroying their identity. For instance, from the Zitkala-Sa, when the westerners were cutting the girls hair. As the

“How did I get here?” A question that finds its way to the front of my thoughts on almost nightly basis since I began high school at Phillips Academy. I ponder how my low-income, black, public school educated and sarcastic being was capable of manipulating its way through lengthy admissions forms, holistic selection committees, and wine up at one of the best high schools in the nation. How?

“Academy for the Adolescence, founded in 1774.” I read out loud to my parents. My family and I are standing in rounded cement pathway around a statue with what I assume is the headmistress. I gaze up at the statue, I look at all of her face facial and take in the sense of what it would be like to actually be her presence. After awhile of me standing there in awe, daydreaming, my parent 's guide me into the big brick house. There is a deck, wood, very old, it creaks when I walk on it. There are two giant door, side by side, that are propped open by two women who are greeting each family by name. It’s our family turn to walk through the door. “Welcome back Mrs. Emerson!”, the two ladies say in sync with one another. We walk onto newly