Learning
While 9th grade-12th grade still boggles my mind, as a crazy blur, one of the memories that I shall cherish forever, was that of learning how to write. For many, English comes simple to their mind and the way that their brain functions as a whole. However, for me, this was not the case. Ms. Davis, an English teacher, who had had her fill of students massacring the English language, would get angry over my attempts at writing.
“Why are you writing this way?” “Do you not pay attention in class?” These are just a few of the questions that haunted my mind, as I ventured through the path of trying to write eloquently, using the English language.
“Why?” I thought. “Why?” can I not understand these simple terms and how to write in a manner that behooved my high school knowledge. Although, I struggled with these questions every day, answers did not come easy. It wasn’t until the summer before my senior year, that my instructor insisted that I spend 2 hours once a week, working on my writing.
Just as the weeks ventured on, so did my knowledge of the English language. Each week brought a new prompt that I would have 40 minutes to write on and 2 hours to explain why I wrote, what I wrote, and where my argument lacked depth. As the weeks of summer flowed away, I began registering for my senior year.
However registration was far from what I had expected. As I closely picked my classes and went to submit them to the office, Ms. Davis stopped me and informed me that I should be her teacher's assistant, and so it was.
The first day of class brought a new insight into what it meant to be her teaching assistant. Unknowingly of the reasons behind the books I read every class period, I immersed myself into different works throughout the ages. As time grew near for me to take my A.P. Exam, she had me writing essays for her. It was only when I got to the writing section of the A.P. Exam, that I realized what all of the books were for.
Fifteen of the books I had read, for my "teaching assistant" class, were on the exam. I felt a sigh of relief as I began to write my assignment, and knew that all of my frustrations over the years, were now going to pay off.
It was at that moment that my brain began to process all of the information that my instructor had been teaching me over the years. That moment enveloped my mind, and it was only then that I fell in love with writing.
“Why are you writing this way?” “Do you not pay attention in class?” These are just a few of the questions that haunted my mind, as I ventured through the path of trying to write eloquently, using the English language.
“Why?” I thought. “Why?” can I not understand these simple terms and how to write in a manner that behooved my high school knowledge. Although, I struggled with these questions every day, answers did not come easy. It wasn’t until the summer before my senior year, that my instructor insisted that I spend 2 hours once a week, working on my writing.
Just as the weeks ventured on, so did my knowledge of the English language. Each week brought a new prompt that I would have 40 minutes to write on and 2 hours to explain why I wrote, what I wrote, and where my argument lacked depth. As the weeks of summer flowed away, I began registering for my senior year.
However registration was far from what I had expected. As I closely picked my classes and went to submit them to the office, Ms. Davis stopped me and informed me that I should be her teacher's assistant, and so it was.
The first day of class brought a new insight into what it meant to be her teaching assistant. Unknowingly of the reasons behind the books I read every class period, I immersed myself into different works throughout the ages. As time grew near for me to take my A.P. Exam, she had me writing essays for her. It was only when I got to the writing section of the A.P. Exam, that I realized what all of the books were for.
Fifteen of the books I had read, for my "teaching assistant" class, were on the exam. I felt a sigh of relief as I began to write my assignment, and knew that all of my frustrations over the years, were now going to pay off.
It was at that moment that my brain began to process all of the information that my instructor had been teaching me over the years. That moment enveloped my mind, and it was only then that I fell in love with writing.
posted by Emma at 6:24 PM
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