Riding the Bus with My Sister

long, and dreadful. I endured a full day of nothing but sitting on a bus. I couldn't wait to finally get to Memphis! I had never been to Tennessee, and I was full of excitement like a bee that spotted a beautiful flower. All the way down there all I could think about was all the different sceneries I was going to see. Everywhere traveled was a new experience, and I was beyond excited to take on this one. When I first got on the bus I could feel the excitement in the air. Classmates were laughing and

basketball with my brother and cousins. I wanted to play but I know I could not play basketball. Also they would only allow boys to play with them. I remember standing under the goal as they were shooting the ball through the net. I was thinking they would not try to make the basket. Boy was I wrong; they continue to shoot the basketball. The ball would go through the net and bounce off of my head. My brother and cousins thought that was so funny. After a few minutes of the ball bouncing off of my head I

I don't consider myself a Good Samaritan or even a role model but I do take 5 day out of my life in a whole year to help kids with many types of disabilities including my little sister. Every year I volunteer at Kamp Dovetail in June, we sleep in a tent every night outside in the blistering heat and unpredictable weather. Every day we get up at 7 am and start our day off with breakfast, which many different sponsor donate, we then proceed to group time where we talk about our fun filled activities

driving myself to school since my sophomore year; however, the cold weather killed my minivan. Desperate to not ride the bus, I scrambled for my phone so I could call my friend in hopes she could give me a ride to school. Luckily, I caught her in enough time to catch a ride with her and her sister in their very old, over driven, Pontiac Grand Am. As I awaited her arrival, my mom came from her bedroom to notify me that the roads would be slick and to pass the message on to my friend who would be driving

him as a human being and she told him to go back to his country. What’s more surprising was that the other Korean people just sat there and watched. As I was watching, I could relate to him. I was once told to go back to my country because I could speak English and that time it was my second week in school. The person who says that to me told me that I should be able to speak in English because it is an American. As you can tell by now, many of Asians want to have white skin color. Skin color plays

I was nine years old at the time. It was December 15, 2011, just over five years ago. I remember riding the bus after school to my mom’s house, I was bringing back frosting and candy because we had built gingerbread houses that day at school. Two or three days before my oldest sister Aly graduated college. A couple hours after I got home from school my step dad at the time went to take me to my dad’s house, we rode in this big loud truck. Not knowing at the time we got there early. When I got out

Imagine a time where you were at your lowest, a time in your life that nothing seemed to make you happy. That was where I was at a few months ago, I was lost and felt like God was completely out of my life. Then a mission trip to Nicaragua was offered to the youth at my church, and that trip changed my life drastically. I learned how to treat others before myself, and that there is a world outside of the United States. Step by step I learned that the world does not evolve around me or a single person

this statement has truth behind it. My middle school was a long two-story building that had mirrored halls on its floors, save for the gym, cafeteria, and front office, which were all found on the bottom floor. There were even colored tiles on the floor that indicated the walking paths from one class to the next. Now the experience I had in middle school wasn’t the greatest thing in the world, but it could have been worse. Sixth grade year I was separated from my friends I had in elementary school

terrible thought suddenly hit me while riding my bicycle on the blacktop and thinking about kindergarten starting the upcoming day. Overcome by intangible fears I stopped in the middle of a circle and began to sob. My parents rushed to comfort me and discover what could be wrong. “I’m afraid to go to school,” I cried, “I 'm positive the principal will spank me!” Relieved that nothing was seriously wrong, they understood the importance of the problem to my little brain and were quick to reassure

Willie Collins, a gentleman who is my personal barber gives more antidotes about the rebellion, who was in his early twenties during the time of July 1967. Engaging in the occupation of being a barber, another important element within the black community, Willie started in 1964, while also employee working for General Motors, and working as a barber to supplement his income, before transitioning into full-time ownership in the world of barbering. Willie looks back to July 1967, by giving some background