Imagine Yourself as Me I
To do this (if you're an adult) you're going to have to mentally shrink yourself down to the size of...an angry eighth grader. Yep...welcome to my life (sorry about the cliche').
So...here's a little bit of second person for you
You walk into picture day about a week before school starts. You are excited and anxious to get your schedule and know what classes you have. More importantly, which pod you're in. Because this determines what people you go to class with everyday. Later, you'll want to email your friends your whole schedule and demand that they get back to you asap. Then one will ask you what asap means. And in your head you'll be thinking a few things. Which we'll get to later.
With your grandma you make your way to have your picture taken. Grandma messes a little with your hair. You are embaressed (sorry, Grandma) but continue your wonderfully happy life with the occasional nervous jitter. Because you NEED to have made it into algebra. Last year you worked so hard, day in and day out. Night and day you would stress over the homework that if not turned in the day after you got it, would result in that dreaded grade. That's right, an "F". And with the worry that that teacher doesn't enjoy your presence, you worked even harder, calling your aunt (Thanks, Em) in the late hours of the night multiple times.
You finally make it to have your pictures taken. The photographer lies to you cleverly. She tells you that your smile is "beautiful". You may not be a lie detector or have any real training, but your smile is for sure not as good looking as some other people I know. Maybe it was the best one she'd seen that day. After all, you'd come early and probably was the tenth person that she took a picture of.
Then, there you go. Whizzing down the hall with your grandma. Wanting to go faster. Luckily, your line that you're supposed to get into is empty. You slide into place, waiting for your seventh grade Social Studies teacher-the only teacher you had last year that didn't wear a cute little mustache on his chubby face- to hand you what you reallly came for. After giving your grandma a few papers, you snatch up your schedule, looking hard for what you want.
Okay, you think. Patriots. Not what I was shooting for, but I really don't care. There's no difference and no reason to want the other one. Your eyes scan the page, mouth tucking in as you walk with your grandma over ot a table where she grabs a pen and signs the paper. Suddenly, you feel like crying. Right then and there in front of everybody. But you'd built a reputation already at the school. Even if it wasn't the best, it wasn't going to turn to the worst. You mouth the words to yourself: Patriots-Math Williams. That was what you couldn't deal with.
There, nice story, right? It gets worse.
You walk into 7th period, stepping into the room and barely even glancing around. It's been a weird day and you can't wait to get home and tell everybody about it. They might listen, but chances are the only one who will listen to your complaint is your grandma and mom. The first thing you do, well it didn't matter. All that you picked up that day was that you would be doing a math book. A certain math book that...you'd already learned. Last year. And you knew that this would be a stinking easy "A".
No, it was for sure, not really. Your math teacher hadn't liked you. He didn't reccomend you for algebra. He thought that you were stupid. The few problems we did for the next few days were easy. You would see the guy in front of you turn around. Then you'd make a face, and he'd laugh and say something about how it was probably WAY too easy for me. Truth be told, I was bored. And I've never been bored during math. Usually, you were stressed or angry. And looking back, you liked that. It's nice to have a challenge.
It's horrendous to not.
You went home that day with a headache. Every day you did. You went to science with a headache. And that's not the most amazing place to have a head that won't think when you're in a class that requires you to think.
A few days later you ask the teacher why you weren't in advanced math. No new information, but you smile and nod the whole time. Just like men do when they're half-listening to woman. Like they do that in real life.
That's the end of the story for. Come back for part II
So...here's a little bit of second person for you
You walk into picture day about a week before school starts. You are excited and anxious to get your schedule and know what classes you have. More importantly, which pod you're in. Because this determines what people you go to class with everyday. Later, you'll want to email your friends your whole schedule and demand that they get back to you asap. Then one will ask you what asap means. And in your head you'll be thinking a few things. Which we'll get to later.
With your grandma you make your way to have your picture taken. Grandma messes a little with your hair. You are embaressed (sorry, Grandma) but continue your wonderfully happy life with the occasional nervous jitter. Because you NEED to have made it into algebra. Last year you worked so hard, day in and day out. Night and day you would stress over the homework that if not turned in the day after you got it, would result in that dreaded grade. That's right, an "F". And with the worry that that teacher doesn't enjoy your presence, you worked even harder, calling your aunt (Thanks, Em) in the late hours of the night multiple times.
You finally make it to have your pictures taken. The photographer lies to you cleverly. She tells you that your smile is "beautiful". You may not be a lie detector or have any real training, but your smile is for sure not as good looking as some other people I know. Maybe it was the best one she'd seen that day. After all, you'd come early and probably was the tenth person that she took a picture of.
Then, there you go. Whizzing down the hall with your grandma. Wanting to go faster. Luckily, your line that you're supposed to get into is empty. You slide into place, waiting for your seventh grade Social Studies teacher-the only teacher you had last year that didn't wear a cute little mustache on his chubby face- to hand you what you reallly came for. After giving your grandma a few papers, you snatch up your schedule, looking hard for what you want.
Okay, you think. Patriots. Not what I was shooting for, but I really don't care. There's no difference and no reason to want the other one. Your eyes scan the page, mouth tucking in as you walk with your grandma over ot a table where she grabs a pen and signs the paper. Suddenly, you feel like crying. Right then and there in front of everybody. But you'd built a reputation already at the school. Even if it wasn't the best, it wasn't going to turn to the worst. You mouth the words to yourself: Patriots-Math Williams. That was what you couldn't deal with.
There, nice story, right? It gets worse.
You walk into 7th period, stepping into the room and barely even glancing around. It's been a weird day and you can't wait to get home and tell everybody about it. They might listen, but chances are the only one who will listen to your complaint is your grandma and mom. The first thing you do, well it didn't matter. All that you picked up that day was that you would be doing a math book. A certain math book that...you'd already learned. Last year. And you knew that this would be a stinking easy "A".
No, it was for sure, not really. Your math teacher hadn't liked you. He didn't reccomend you for algebra. He thought that you were stupid. The few problems we did for the next few days were easy. You would see the guy in front of you turn around. Then you'd make a face, and he'd laugh and say something about how it was probably WAY too easy for me. Truth be told, I was bored. And I've never been bored during math. Usually, you were stressed or angry. And looking back, you liked that. It's nice to have a challenge.
It's horrendous to not.
You went home that day with a headache. Every day you did. You went to science with a headache. And that's not the most amazing place to have a head that won't think when you're in a class that requires you to think.
A few days later you ask the teacher why you weren't in advanced math. No new information, but you smile and nod the whole time. Just like men do when they're half-listening to woman. Like they do that in real life.
That's the end of the story for. Come back for part II
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