My Favorite Class

Unlike the windows and walls in the classroom, there are no physical barriers to stop him from doing as he pleases in the fields, as he could only see “the cut patches bare to earth dotted with stooks” beyond him. In class, not only does he seem to be restricted, but all the words on the page in front of him are “figures” and “symbols” which “were nothing, related to nothing in his experience.” This suggests that he has trouble making sense of what’s on the page in front of him which heightens his sense of alienations because he is unable to relate to the work in front of him and the

I frantically searched my desk, underneath my chair, and inside my backpack, and it wasn’t before long that my classmates began snickering. Confused, I demanded to know why they were laughing. At first, they didn’t bother to answer me, and instead continued in their self-sustained amusement. After being harassed for the entire school year, this was the last straw for me; the panic induced by my missing belongings and the increasing frustration of being ignored pushed me into a very desperate state of fight or flight mode. However, in this case, I chose to both fight and

As the clock ticked with both hands pointed to the ceiling, along with the jangle of tin bowls from the back kitchen, I unzipped my backpack in anticipation, and slipped my hand through the vacant spaces between my toys. Stretching my arms deeper, my hand did not feel any hard textured objects. The immediate apprehension twirled in my brain with doubt, then aggravated in the hubbub atmosphere. I surveyed the backpacks stacked neatly on top of the wardrobe like a mountain of gold (simile). I lifted the backpacks one by one with the bangs followed onto the hardwood floor. Unfortunately, no signs of my Game Boy appeared around the cabinet. I opened my mouth, intending to shout out, however, my courage was lost in the battle against my timidity. Instead, I observed the classroom as the other kids were

You’ve reached the classroom now, the right one, you’re sure, but there’s already people inside and you’re early, so you lean against a wall and wait. You keep your mind perfectly blank as you watch the students, now your peers, go by. You notice the rock in your shoe again, and you contemplate it’s and then your very own existence for a while, very heavy but not unpleasant before class thoughts.

All of the walls are plastered with student work of hand-cut construction paper snowflakes and stockings. In the mornings, excited students swarm the hallway as they look for their classroom and their teacher. Echoes of “good mornings” bounce around the hallway from student to teacher. But farther down the hallway, the older students are not as excited for the day while the bare walls match their expressionless faces. About halfway down this hallway is a wide staircase down leading to the fourth grade classrooms. It is rather quiet in this hallway because there is a distinct lack of

What do you guys do in this place, it’s called school right?” Margie asked the student. Like last time,the student did not even reply to Margie. The student seemed to have only his own business in mind. Completely ignoring Margie,but not the other students around her. They held conversations and interacted with each other. Until a bell rang,and each of the students went to their own separate rooms. Margie followed the student she talked to into his room. She first noticed a big board,and many desk. This room felt familiar to Margie. As the students took their seats,a woman walked in the room and introduced herself. The woman seemed like a teacher. Compared to Margie’s teacher, she was quite different. She remembered about what Tommy told her about schools back into the past. Margie’s eyes scattered the room, until she found a calendar. She noticed the date, it stated in bold words “September 6th 2016”. Margie then suddenly had a complete understanding of what this time period she is in. She remembered all that Tommy taught her. Margie looked at the woman and thought about how man cannot be as intelligent as her mechanical

It was early July in Southern California: the sun was high, the air was warm, and the palm trees were swaying. Unfortunately, the bright sun could not light the darkness of the pit I had been slowly falling into during my tumultuous school year at my new charter school. On that day, when the other girls were tanning beachside, I was sitting deskside. I was trapped in a tiny, moldy, yellow-carpeted education office at the school I had transferred to the year prior. Like my fading hope, the dusty chandelier was barely hanging on from the ceiling. The room’s peculiarity added to my anxiety, as I felt failure lingering in the musty air. Though I had been sheltered by my parents’ optimism, I knew what I would soon hear: “I am so sorry sweetheart,

 It was spring of 2011 when i attended my first class at Piedmont Technical College. I was excited and nervous as I opened the blue double doors in the back of the machine shop. The air was musky with a strong smell of wood and hot metal. Following the odors led me into a small room in the back of the shop filled with a diverse array of people. The firearms in front of them were just as unique as the smith behind them. The room was filled with three rows of doubled wooden benches, two large safes, two white boards, and a vast assortment of strange equipment. I found an empty bench in the left rear of the room and called it home.

As I sat in my seventh grade science class, I tiredly watched my classmates display their science fair projects. Presentations about which laundry detergent works best and the density of objects like eggs and oranges, nearly bored me to tears. After all of my classmates finished their presentations, my teacher Ms. Arriola told me to stay after class. Why does she want me to stay after class? Did she hate my project? Did I do something wrong? My mind raced with all the possibilities and probabilities behind her reasoning for wanting to speak to me. I gazed as all my peers left the classroom and slowly made my way up to the front of the room.

Today’s class began with a survey over Dr. Swan and his teaching. Since this took up approximately 15 minutes, we did not begin our class discussion over Samuel Johnson until 12:45. Although we were shorted by a few minutes, we still were able to go into our discussion and use the rest of the class time provided for it.

The smell of wood from pencils ,unused books, girly perfume, are strong I smelt it as soon as I walked in. That nervous gaze on the students is relaxing knowing that I wasn’t the only person in the room that is nervous is relaxing.This is the first day of my seventh grade year. Not knowing what to expect is frightening. As I sit down I peek around and notice that there is no color in the room. The teacher looks aged and strict,I peek around and see posters of world war one and other historical events.I see a friend she immediately after walking in sat next to me. During class Bryanna and I had made a new friend she had black glasses,dark jeans, and a grey uniform shirt. She sat beside us and the three of us made conversation after she asked

Lindsey Buckingham once stated “ when I work alone, it can be like dabbling on a canvas. Maybe you paint over bits, and it starts to form its own life and leave you off in a direction. It becomes intuitive, subconscious process.” these words expressed that working alone can create something beautiful because you get all the credit, you have no distractions, and you learn to be independent.

Remember being taught something new in a mathematics class and thinking to yourself, “when am I ever going to use this in life?” Sure, not every mathematical theory taught in class will be used in your career, but from my experience, many of the skills learned in mathematics are frequently utilized each day. While mathematics may not be everyone’s favorite subject, I found it to be not only the subject I use the most outside of school, but the one that I enjoy the most, which is why mathematics is my favorite subject.

In the Brigham Young University Winter 2014 semester, I timidly stepped through the doors of the Joseph Smith Building to begin my first class ever at BYU. Just having returned from my mission, I was more than ready to take on any challenge that was in my way of scholastic achievement. I was in the pre-contemplation stage of the Stages of Change, and felt no great need to change any of my study habits. As the semester went on, I began to realize the challenge that University presented to me on an intellectual level. Scrambling to cope with this unexpected challenge, I committed to my scholastic endeavors by throwing vast amounts of time into my studies. At this point I graduated to the contemplation stage, as I began to look for solutions to my agony and largely lacking scholastic achievement. My most wasteful and time consuming method of study was rote memorization, which has now become basis for the study habit I wish to change. I have initiated this process through planning and isolating what to change, as well as refining the actual method of how I was changing.

All it takes is seven seconds to completely assess and categorize a person you’ve barely met. This has happened to everyone, especially as a student. Small visual clues such as one’s expression, their race, gender, demeanor, and clothing, set the precedent for how the teacher will view their students from the beginning of the school year to the last day. Most favoritism teachers dole out is subconscious. The reason they may gravitate towards and dote on particular kids could stem from the initial assessment they made or even bias. Humans tend to gravitate towards others similar to them. While there is the belief that teachers playing favourites is natural, necessary, and unavoidable, this behavior is harmful to the student, harmful to their peers, and is often completely irrational.