The English Student
It was a Tuesday morning during the third period when I met my Sophomore English teacher, Mrs. Carol Hughes. I started judging her thinking that she didn’t know how to teach since she taught at a high school considered ghetto. During class, I was usually disruptive and Mrs. Hughes had so much patience that she wouldn’t say a word. She kept calling me to answer questions about pronouns, adjectives, and nouns. I remember leaning back on my chair as if I was the instructor dictating the class. The last question she asked, I answered correctly. She looked at me and said, “Very well, I see that you know what you are doing in class.” I was extremely confused since I didn’t know if she was sarcastic or giving me a …show more content…
Hughes, with details of how I felt. The letter was more like an essay about what really happened on March 27, 2013. The letter was about feeling like it was a happy morning when I walked into class. The day somehow transitioned to a day of distraught, a day that I couldn’t cry because I couldn’t process or let the words of grief sink in. I was confused, I was angry. I felt like I was in hell, I felt like this place where I was at was filled with desolation, no hope and it was the end of the world. I too thought that I was going to die. Mr. Calderon, my seventh-grade teacher asked someone to help me go outside, but at the moment, I just wanted to be alone. I told him that I was going to be fine alone so I sat at the playground. I never had someone so close to me passing away and the emotions I felt were running through a maze, trying to look for the center where my heart was at. Unfortunately, all were lost and I felt nothing for two hours. When I was finally alone, all of my emotions found the center of my heart and sprinted so fast that my heart shattered into a million pieces. I couldn’t cope with it and it felt as if sorrow drugged me and put me to sleep. Mrs. Hughes looked at me while the class read Fahrenheit 451. Out loud, Mrs. Hughes said, “Sharon, I need to see you after class.” Everyone looked at me and cringed their nose and looked sorry for me. When class ended, I remained sitting on my seat until everyone left the room. I came up to her and she said if I worked on the letter that looked like a seven-page essay the whole night. I told her, “It took me an hour of silence to just write what I felt. I went back in time when I was a seventh grader and remember my surroundings; it was like reliving a nightmare.” She told me that writing is about persuading others to read how one feels. She told me that my writing needed to be polished. I knew this wasn’t an assignment
It was a Tuesday morning during the third period when I met my Sophomore English teacher, Mrs. Carol Hughes. I started judging her thinking that she didn’t know how to teach since she taught at a high school considered ghetto. During class, I was usually disruptive and Mrs. Hughes had so much patience that she wouldn’t say a word. She kept calling me to answer questions about pronouns, adjectives, and nouns. I remember leaning back on my chair as if I was the instructor dictating the class. The last question she asked, I answered correctly. She looked at me and said, “Very well, I see that you know what you are doing in class.” I was extremely confused since I didn’t know if she was sarcastic or giving me a …show more content…
Hughes, with details of how I felt. The letter was more like an essay about what really happened on March 27, 2013. The letter was about feeling like it was a happy morning when I walked into class. The day somehow transitioned to a day of distraught, a day that I couldn’t cry because I couldn’t process or let the words of grief sink in. I was confused, I was angry. I felt like I was in hell, I felt like this place where I was at was filled with desolation, no hope and it was the end of the world. I too thought that I was going to die. Mr. Calderon, my seventh-grade teacher asked someone to help me go outside, but at the moment, I just wanted to be alone. I told him that I was going to be fine alone so I sat at the playground. I never had someone so close to me passing away and the emotions I felt were running through a maze, trying to look for the center where my heart was at. Unfortunately, all were lost and I felt nothing for two hours. When I was finally alone, all of my emotions found the center of my heart and sprinted so fast that my heart shattered into a million pieces. I couldn’t cope with it and it felt as if sorrow drugged me and put me to sleep. Mrs. Hughes looked at me while the class read Fahrenheit 451. Out loud, Mrs. Hughes said, “Sharon, I need to see you after class.” Everyone looked at me and cringed their nose and looked sorry for me. When class ended, I remained sitting on my seat until everyone left the room. I came up to her and she said if I worked on the letter that looked like a seven-page essay the whole night. I told her, “It took me an hour of silence to just write what I felt. I went back in time when I was a seventh grader and remember my surroundings; it was like reliving a nightmare.” She told me that writing is about persuading others to read how one feels. She told me that my writing needed to be polished. I knew this wasn’t an assignment