A Little Kid Personal Narrative

I know I'm not an ordinary ten-year-old kid. I mean, sure, I do ordinary things. I eat ice cream. I ride my bike. I play ball.

It's the last day of 5th grade. Today we’ll find out who our new teacher would be next year, and then it happened! Our teacher handed out our report cards and supply list and right on the bottom in big, bold letters, said the name. It was our 6th grade teacher, Mr. Persampire.

It was second grade,I remember it like it was yesterday. The worst day of second grade. The day started out just fine with me eating breakfast,starting with oatmeal and a glass of milk. I rode the bus and my stomach started to rumble and I was feeling weird. It went away after a little while. When lunch rolled around things started to change.

Sixth grade the first year of middle school. Some think it will be really hard and some think it will be a piece of cake. For me the first few days are going pretty good. I’ve got all my classes down. There are no mean teachers. Plus, the homework is extremely easy and there is not a lot.

It was a normal school day at Brookhurst Jr. High in 7th Period were my friends and I were talking and waiting for the bell to ring so we could all go home and the school day would be over. Before I left I needed to go to the bike racks to get my skateboard so I could ride it home.

I was ten years old when middle school first began for me at the Dr. An Wang Middle School in Lowell, Massachusetts, and already, I was excited for a new school year with new people, new teachers, and new friends. Sadly though, I never could have expected what the real turn out for me at that school was, and in truth, it was harsh, and cruel bullying. Mostly, the beginning of the year was fine for me, and everything seemed pretty normal, but as kids became more comfortable in the new school, they also became meaner. One rainy morning in October, a group of eight or nine kids decided to play a game with me, and because I was the shortest, and the chubbiest, they thought it would be funny to lock me outside of the school in the pouring rain. I tried getting in, and banging on the windows, but nothing would ever happen.

Wide eyed, wobbly kneed sixth grader slowly walked through the large middle school hallway crowded with kids, and searched for friends from fifth grade. Slowly took a step forward down the hallway that seems to go on forever, and looked around for her locker. She inhaled slowly and took a step down the distant hallway. Kids pushed, shoved, her slowly down the hallway. The sounds of her classmates loud voices overwhelmed her, this is nothing like elementary school she thought to herself. She looked slowly at the little numbers engraved into the dull lockers. The lockers seemed huge as they loomed over the little sixth grader, as she tried to remember where it was located. She finally spotted the locker she had been looking for, 387. She started

This is the last component of “Intake” in the early intervention experience. Although this might take some time in setting up, this step is an optional activity for families to complete. This step provides the family with the opportunity of telling their child’s story and everything that is happened up to this point in time. The coordinator should make sure the family feels comfortable with telling their story. According to McWilliam (2010), “…early interventionists need to remember one rule at all times: acknowledge feelings first, deal with facts second” (p. 24). This means that the coordinator should focus on how the family feels first before stating facts about the problem. For example, if the mother is describing her child’s story, the coordinator should offer support and acknowledge whatever she is feeling during this time. By asking her what she feels, a more comfortable relationship is developed them. Dealing with facts afterwards is important because in some situations the coordinator cannot automatically assume what is going on,

I chose to sit silent in my balcony and observe the world around me. The very first sound I heard was the joyful chirping of the birds, which almost sounded like a smooth and connected melody of an orchestra, with birds taking turns and following a certain beat to their chirping. This was followed by the harsh mechanical noises of the vehicles that surround us, ranging from engine whine, raspy exhaust notes and hissing sounds of buses stopping by. What proved to be just a nuisance at first to the sounds of nature that I was expecting, turned out to be a nostalgic experience for me. Those sounds reminded me of my childhood, waiting downstairs for the bus to arrive and take me to school. Moreover, the vehicles whizzing past me with a diminuendo dynamic to their sound that faded away slowly acted as a reality check for me, reminding me that my days as a worriless child have long gone.

My best memory about writing is from back in elementary school, 4th grade. I had just passed out of my reading and writing class that I was taking for extra help. I struggled with reading and writing, but that class taught me to keep pushing to learn even if it’s hard. My 4th grade class was writing stories and I wrote one about a lion and a dog that became friends because they both liked ice cream. It was a competition because whoever wrote the story with the least amount of grammar and spelling errors would get an ice cream sandwich after recess. Eventually my teacher announced the winner after reading and correcting all of our stories. I, Elizabeth Loberg had won the ice cream sandwich because I didn’t have any grammar or spelling errors

Since birth, I have always had a dog. My family is huge dog lovers, and I have grown up to be as well. I was taught how to feed, to bathe, to play, to train, and to love dogs. There had never been a moment I was not receiving wet kisses, or playing tug-a-war. This was all routine to me.

One stormy dark night me and 3 of my friends were about to the unthinkable for a bunch of 14 year olds. My friend Dave was wearing a black shirt with a black beanie black pants and a backpack filled with things we were gonna need for what we were about to do. My other friend joe was wearing the same thing as Dave. And my other friend Zane was wearing the same thing as Dave and Joe. we all pretty much wearing the same thing.

Think back to the time when you were eighteen. What category of kid would you put yourself under? The wild type? The rebellious and difficult type? Or the stay at home good kid? That is me right now. I have always been the good kid. Doing what every errands my parents wanted me to do. Cooking, cleaning, babysitting my two younger siblings, going to school and now working two jobs to help out even more. I am pretty content with my life and how things are going but sometimes my thoughts get to me. Usually when I'm sitting in the house alone I think to myself. And the same feeling always seems to come back. That sort of empty feeling. Like I'm running the marathon of life, everyone is passing me and I finally realize I'm stuck on a tredmil. It resembles the color gray. Dull, flat, but there is beauty in it. I hope. But for now its not much.

During my childhood waking up early in the morning was one of my favorite things,especially during the summer.I remember waking up one morning to the sound of spongebob on my T.V..Almost as soon as I opened my eyes I immediately got out of bed and ran into the kitchen to find bacon on the table.I shoved two whole peices straight into my mouth and I swear that it was some of the best I have ever had.I sat down in my wooden chairto eat more off of the table.As I finished I remember looking ouside to a bright day.The suns rays hit the dew on the grass just right to make it glisten.

When I was in the third grade I had a friend named Taylor; we were like sisters. We did everything together. Our mothers kept us together. But one day she told me they were moving. I didn’t believe her because she was always joking around. When I asked her mother about it, she told me that it was true. Me being a kid, I asked her if I could come with them. She laughed and said, ¨I don’t think your mother would let you leave.¨ She told me that they were moving to New York. I knew it was far, but I did not know how far exactly. So I said okay and went back to play. Taylor told me that she was going to be coming down every summer to be with her grandparents. So I wasn’t as sad. I went home and told my mom that I had lost my sister. She just looked at me. She had already talked to Taylor’s mom and agreed that I could go to New York for winter break. That made me happy. I went to school a few weeks later thinking I was going to see my sister, but I didn’t. She was getting ready to leave. My mother took me over