My first heart break was a result of writing my first narrative essay. I was in 5th grade and we were learning about the Gold Rush of 1849. We were told to write a story, in first person, about what the long journey may have been like for a child traveling with their family to California in hopes of “striking it rich.” The title of my essay was “Kitty’s Dream” but it turned out to be more of a nightmare for me.
I was excited to do this homework. I had a whole week to finish this assignment but I went home that afternoon and started it right away even though it was a Friday. By Saturday evening I had completed it all. Everything. I wrote it and rewrote it because I wanted it to look neat. I drew a beautiful covered wagon on the front title page with perfectly round wheels because I traced the rim of a cup. I colored it with realistic colors and even laminated the picture because I thought it was so good. This was by far my best work ever.
I proudly took it to school on Monday, and turned it in five days early. I had a good morning filled with pride and happiness. I didn’t think I could feel any better but after lunch I found out that I could feel a lot worse.
My teachers, we had two of them, called my name and asked me to follow them outside. …show more content…
She explained to me that it only meant that I could write better than most kids my age. My mom knew the hard work I put into that assignment that weekend. She had praised my final product, I thought everyone else would do the same. Unfortunately, reality can be so harsh, so unexpected, and too early at times. Just like the harsh reality of the journey to the Gold Rush, most didn’t strike it rich or make it there at all, they just gave up or died during the long journey. So as it turned out, that’s what happened to me, I didn’t strike it rich with teachers that year and as a result I gave up on a dream and my desire to write
I was excited to do this homework. I had a whole week to finish this assignment but I went home that afternoon and started it right away even though it was a Friday. By Saturday evening I had completed it all. Everything. I wrote it and rewrote it because I wanted it to look neat. I drew a beautiful covered wagon on the front title page with perfectly round wheels because I traced the rim of a cup. I colored it with realistic colors and even laminated the picture because I thought it was so good. This was by far my best work ever.
I proudly took it to school on Monday, and turned it in five days early. I had a good morning filled with pride and happiness. I didn’t think I could feel any better but after lunch I found out that I could feel a lot worse.
My teachers, we had two of them, called my name and asked me to follow them outside. …show more content…
She explained to me that it only meant that I could write better than most kids my age. My mom knew the hard work I put into that assignment that weekend. She had praised my final product, I thought everyone else would do the same. Unfortunately, reality can be so harsh, so unexpected, and too early at times. Just like the harsh reality of the journey to the Gold Rush, most didn’t strike it rich or make it there at all, they just gave up or died during the long journey. So as it turned out, that’s what happened to me, I didn’t strike it rich with teachers that year and as a result I gave up on a dream and my desire to write