I was in my Junior year of at Heritage High School in Saginaw. I was starting to turn my rebellious ways around and I was finally making honor roll at school. Most of the classes came easy for me except one, geometery. I never could understand the point of knowing how to prove theories and studing theorems. I daydreamed of taking those shapes and figures and using them to create a device specifically to torture the greek mathematician Euclid, the father of geometery.
It did make it easy that my old science teacher from Nouvel Catholic Central transferred over to the public school to teach and he was now our geometery teacher. I remember before school started I looked at my schedule and seen Talbot as to who teaching the course and thought to myself, This can't be the SAME teacher I had before. Sure enough on the first day there was Mr. Talbot up at the chalkboard in a shirt and tie. He looked refreshed to see a familar face as well. He used his knowledge of me to help pass out papers or to run errands. Unfortunally, he would also call on me often for answers to geometery problems. Overall, I think I got a C+ that year in his class which I was happy with. He wasn't a boring teacher. He did try to make his class fun as much as he could.
As you walked in the door the chalkboard was straight to the front. To the right were 3 rows of tables and to the left were also 3 rows of tables. Four student's would sit to a table. Mr. Talbot's desk sat in front in the middle of the walkway to the chalkboard. I don't know if it was the layout of the classroom or the students in it but it was a very comfortable class to be in. For the most part we all got along with each other.
I sat in the front row on the right hand side when you walked into the room. To my right sat a guy I was dating at the time and to my left sat a freshman boy named Mason. Mason was such a smart, sweet kid who wouldn't harm a fly. He was short and kind of on the chunky side. He was the type of person that everyone considered as a brother. There would be times we would be bored and doodle on each other's papers or try to stomp on each other's foot to see who would make a noise and get into trouble. He was fun to goof off with. However, if I did need something to be explained in my homework he was always willing to help. He was very kind in that way.
One day Mr. Talbot was trying to teach us something difficult. I must of been tired that day because I wasn't in the joking around mood. Mason would try to poke me with his pencil and laugh. Looking back I know he was trying to make me smile but I wasn't in the mood at the time. I asked him to stop. He did stop for a little while then I would feel a poke in my side from his pencil eraser. Then another poke. I firmly told him he needed to stop and that I was trying to pay attention. A few moment's later - poke, poke, poke. The eraser jabbed at my side again with Mason giggling thinking he was getting away with something. Without even thinking the back of my hand reached around and I backhanded him across his face. The sound of my hand smacking across his face echoed across the room. It was followed by a few gasps from students who witnessed the event. Mr. Talbot turned around to see what happened. Mason quickly got up and ran out of the room. For a second I was numb. It seemed surreal that I did such a cruel and hurtful thing.
"I can't believe you just did that!" came from Jason, the guy I was dating. He, then, got up and dashed out the door to find Mason. I sat there for a moment, eyes closed with my head down. Remorse sat in. I had never struck anyone like that in my life before. Mr. Talbot was still speechless. He was probably trying to make sense out of what happened as his back was turned when I backhanded Mason. It seemed like a minute had passed when I knew what I needed to do. I had to find Mason and apologize to him. I looked up at Mr. Talbot with a look that told him that I needed to remedy the situtation. Leaving my books on the table I got up and left the room in search of Mason.
I rounded the halls in the circular building and found Mason sitting on the floor leaning up against the brickwall, his head buried into his knees that were pulled up to his chest. Jason was already there consoling him. Jason took notice that I was there and gave me a disgusted look. The look he gave me was granted. I deserved it. He tried to shoo me away but I couldn't leave. I needed to make my peace with Mason.
I sat down next to Mason and put my hand on his shoulder. I never felt so horrible. I was ashamed of my thoughtless actions. All three of us sat out in the hallway talking and working things out. The bell to signal the changing of classes rang. We got up and gave each other a hug. All was well between us. We entered back into the classroom and Mr. Talbot looked at us wondering what happened. I apologized to Mr. Talbot for disrupting the class and for striking out at Mason. I think Mr. Talbot knew that doing such a thing was out of character for me and he knew we handled it. By all rights I should of received a detention for striking another student and I would of accepted it but I never got one. I believe Mr. Talbot seen our maturity in how we handled the situtation and he knew I was very remorseful for my actions.
Mason and I both agreed that we both were wrong that day. He said he should of stopped bothering me when I asked him to but that still was not an excuse for my actions. I never lashed out at anyone like that again. I am not proud of my actions that day in class but I have learned from them. I learned to check my actions and not be spontaneous with my emotions. I learned to own up to what I had done and to know to seek and apology without someone guiding me to do so. I did a lot of growing up that day.
I ended up moving across the state at the end of that year. I will never know what ever happened to Mason or if he even remembers this situtation. But I still remember and I still regret my careless actions.
Showing posts with label school. Show all posts
Showing posts with label school. Show all posts
Tuesday, May 7, 2013
Tuesday, April 16, 2013
Memory Of A Song
Have you ever heard a song and flashed back to a memory from when you were young? I believe certain songs, when heard at the right moment, helps create a special memory that is forever stored in a file located way back in the corner of our brains. I have several songs that when I hear them I am catapulted back in time to relive the moment in my thoughts.
It was the summer of 1992. I finished up my freshman year of high school at Nouvel Catholic Central in Saginaw. Unfortunally, I enjoyed many other things rather than school and my grades suffered because of that. Since my grades were well below "f"antastic I had to take a few classes of summer school at Arthur Hill High School.
It wasn't so bad taking summer classes. Some of my friends that aided in my dimishing grades were the same ones in my classes at "The Hill". Personally, I think we all corrupted each other and we enjoyed it. Before school and out on breaks we would gather in packs out in the parking lot to see who has cigarettes and some would be passed around. Sometimes the security guard would even walk over and smoke with us. He would never give out one of his cigarettes but he would offer his zippo for anyone who needed it.
One beautiful warm summer day we were tired of sitting in the classroom. We passed notes with each other daring to just get up and walk out. Finally, my friend Shannon and I decided to go for it. Right in the middle of class we packed up our stuff and just blatantly walked out of class. We went out to the parking lot for a cigarette and to decided what to do next. Soon another friend, Erin, joined in with another girl from class. FREEDOM! We decided to call a friend of ours ,Scott who just graduated from another school, to come and pick us up. We walk back to the school parking lot to wait.
Scott pulls into the parking lot in his pick-up. He brought along his friend Joe. Shannon shouts out, "SHOT-GUN!" and squeezes her way between them in the front. Erin, the other girl, and myself climb up and over into the bed of the truck and make ourselves comfortable in the corners of the truck resting our arms on the side. We took off. The music was loud and we were young and carefree.
Scott turns down the radio and hollar's out that he has a new song for us to listen to. He opens up the cassette case and pops a cassette into the player in the dash. We start to hear the lyrics:
It was the summer of 1992. I finished up my freshman year of high school at Nouvel Catholic Central in Saginaw. Unfortunally, I enjoyed many other things rather than school and my grades suffered because of that. Since my grades were well below "f"antastic I had to take a few classes of summer school at Arthur Hill High School.
It wasn't so bad taking summer classes. Some of my friends that aided in my dimishing grades were the same ones in my classes at "The Hill". Personally, I think we all corrupted each other and we enjoyed it. Before school and out on breaks we would gather in packs out in the parking lot to see who has cigarettes and some would be passed around. Sometimes the security guard would even walk over and smoke with us. He would never give out one of his cigarettes but he would offer his zippo for anyone who needed it.
One beautiful warm summer day we were tired of sitting in the classroom. We passed notes with each other daring to just get up and walk out. Finally, my friend Shannon and I decided to go for it. Right in the middle of class we packed up our stuff and just blatantly walked out of class. We went out to the parking lot for a cigarette and to decided what to do next. Soon another friend, Erin, joined in with another girl from class. FREEDOM! We decided to call a friend of ours ,Scott who just graduated from another school, to come and pick us up. We walk back to the school parking lot to wait.
Scott pulls into the parking lot in his pick-up. He brought along his friend Joe. Shannon shouts out, "SHOT-GUN!" and squeezes her way between them in the front. Erin, the other girl, and myself climb up and over into the bed of the truck and make ourselves comfortable in the corners of the truck resting our arms on the side. We took off. The music was loud and we were young and carefree.
Scott turns down the radio and hollar's out that he has a new song for us to listen to. He opens up the cassette case and pops a cassette into the player in the dash. We start to hear the lyrics:
Blame it all on my roots
I showed up in boots
And ruined your black tie affair...
We all started to groan and scream, "NOOOO! IT'S COUNTRY! WHY ARE YOU LISTENING TO COUNTRY?!" But Scott was persistent that we listened to it.
The song grew on us. It wasn't long after that we were wanting to listen to Garth Brook's "Friends In Low Places" song. By the time school dances came around we all had the song memorized and we would sing along, badly, with the lyrics.
This was my first exposure (besides Kenny Rodgers but everyone loves his classic songs) to country music. His album "No Fences" was enjoyable. To my suprise the album came out 2 years prior. I still prefer other methods of music genre over country music but I can tolerate some country songs.
Tuesday, June 5, 2012
Last Day of School
As kids, the first day of school is equally as exciting as one other day. That day is the last day of school. Sitting in classroom as a child it seemed as if May kept adding hidden days to its calendar. It never seemed to end. Then June arrives and in no time we are giving our teachers a final hug as we dash out the classroom doors, down the halls enter on the bus to take us home for another exciting summer adventure.
The last week of school seemed like fluff. There really isn't homework and we get extra recesses in to pass the time. In elementary I remember going through all the text books we had in our desks and look through the pages for any pencil marks we might of made during the year. As I got older I would intentionally leave notes hidden on the pages of the text. On one page I would have turn to page 34. Then turn to page 88. I would end it with a "Hi" or something silly. With buckets of warm soapy water we wiped down the front and back cover of our books and piled them neatly on a shelf for next years students. We would pull lost papers out of our desks and reveal them to other students nearby. Other students would also share their lost treasure of papers hidden in the depths of the desk. Then we would take the wash rag again and rinse out the desks.
Next we would pile out to our lockers with huge garbage bins lining the hallways. Some lockers were neat as a pin and others were thankful for the garbage bins. It seemed as if there were always lockers that had a lost juice box stuck to the bottom or a lost hat left over from winter. Classroom posterboard projects were usually curled up and pushed towards the back. The teachers would had out extra bags for those who wanted to take their items home to share. Then another use for the wash rag and the lockers had to be cleaned from top to bottom. It wasn't so bad. It seemed more like playtime than work.
Teachers would usually toss in extra goodies into our bags on the last day. Sometimes a textbooks when the school is getting newer textbooks, summer packets to work on, or pictures that were taken throughout the year.
The bus dropped us off one last time at our house. We would run inside anxious to take off our school uniform and put on summer clothes. Mom would always be inside awaiting our arrival and wanting to hear about our last day. My sister, brother and I would each have our highlighted time with our mom sitting on the couch as we go through all the papers and books and other treasures we brought home. The other two sibilings would sit on the floor patiently waiting their turn and also engaging into the conversation. It usually ended by a competition of whose work was the hardest. I usually lost because I am the baby of the family and everyone could do my work. I value those moments that I had with my family then.
With my children waiting for their last few days of school I can only imagine what they are doing around the classroom, excited children can't wait for summer break and feeling older as they go on to the next grade. As a parent the roles have changed. I still get anxious waiting for the bus to get home and 5 little ones come running up the driveway waving their backpacks eager to show me their stuff. And I sit there on the couch for our special time and have them show me all of their papers and happily hear all their stories.
The last week of school seemed like fluff. There really isn't homework and we get extra recesses in to pass the time. In elementary I remember going through all the text books we had in our desks and look through the pages for any pencil marks we might of made during the year. As I got older I would intentionally leave notes hidden on the pages of the text. On one page I would have turn to page 34. Then turn to page 88. I would end it with a "Hi" or something silly. With buckets of warm soapy water we wiped down the front and back cover of our books and piled them neatly on a shelf for next years students. We would pull lost papers out of our desks and reveal them to other students nearby. Other students would also share their lost treasure of papers hidden in the depths of the desk. Then we would take the wash rag again and rinse out the desks.
Next we would pile out to our lockers with huge garbage bins lining the hallways. Some lockers were neat as a pin and others were thankful for the garbage bins. It seemed as if there were always lockers that had a lost juice box stuck to the bottom or a lost hat left over from winter. Classroom posterboard projects were usually curled up and pushed towards the back. The teachers would had out extra bags for those who wanted to take their items home to share. Then another use for the wash rag and the lockers had to be cleaned from top to bottom. It wasn't so bad. It seemed more like playtime than work.
Teachers would usually toss in extra goodies into our bags on the last day. Sometimes a textbooks when the school is getting newer textbooks, summer packets to work on, or pictures that were taken throughout the year.
The bus dropped us off one last time at our house. We would run inside anxious to take off our school uniform and put on summer clothes. Mom would always be inside awaiting our arrival and wanting to hear about our last day. My sister, brother and I would each have our highlighted time with our mom sitting on the couch as we go through all the papers and books and other treasures we brought home. The other two sibilings would sit on the floor patiently waiting their turn and also engaging into the conversation. It usually ended by a competition of whose work was the hardest. I usually lost because I am the baby of the family and everyone could do my work. I value those moments that I had with my family then.
With my children waiting for their last few days of school I can only imagine what they are doing around the classroom, excited children can't wait for summer break and feeling older as they go on to the next grade. As a parent the roles have changed. I still get anxious waiting for the bus to get home and 5 little ones come running up the driveway waving their backpacks eager to show me their stuff. And I sit there on the couch for our special time and have them show me all of their papers and happily hear all their stories.
Tuesday, January 24, 2012
Remembering the Challenger Explosion
There are times in our lives when an event impacts us so much that when we hear about it, we are transported directly back in time to that day. We remember small details that would seem meaningless any other time. It could be a personal memorable moment or a national moment. One of those moments for me happened on January 28th 1986 - The Challenger Explosion.
This blog entry is dedicated to those who died in the Challenger.
In the back row, from left, mission specialist Ellison S. Onizuka, Teacher in Space Participant Sharon Christa McAuliffe, Payload Specialist Greg Jarvis and Mission specialist Judy Resnik. In the front row, from left, Pilot Mike Smith, Commander Dick Scobee, and Mission specialist Ron McNair.
I was two weeks shy of my 9th birthday, in the third grade at St. Thomas Aquinas School in Saginaw, Mi. Sister Sandy was one of the third grade teachers. A lot of our class discussion that year was about how the space program was on a mission to send a teacher up and teach a class from space. The teacher, Christa McAuliffe, we learned, was an average person, a wife, mother and teacher, that was selected by NASA to be a part of this historic event. We were all mesmerized by the romance of the space program. Many of my classmates wanted to become astronauts, myself included. We would study all about the space program, first man on the moon, first air walk, how spacecrafts evolved. Sister Sandy was one of the first teachers who discussed current events in our classroom.
It was the day of January 28th, 1986. The day was like any other day. I knew many of the adults were getting excited about the launching of the Challenger. The junior high school students at St. Thomas Aquinas were all gathering together to watch it on TV. We were a bit disappointed that we wouldn't be able to watch it ourselves. Our lunch hour was at 11:30 and Sister Sandy excused herself to watch it with the other teachers in the teacher's lounge. It was common for the students to eat lunch in the classroom and the teacher would go to the lounge before we would head outside to play. On this day, it was biter cold and our recess was to be indoors.
We played and ran around the room and goofed off like what any other third grader would do on their indoor lunch break. Everyone was enjoying their break. Sister Sandy came into the classroom and we all scurried to our desks, even though we knew it was still a lunch break but no one wanted to be caught horsing around and getting into trouble. We could tell she had been crying. The room got serious real fast. Something was the matter we just didn't know what.
Sister Sandy explained that there was terrible news. The other teachers and herself were watching the launch in the lounge. She informed us that something went wrong and the shuttle exploded and they believe everyone on board died. A numbness filled the room. It was so quiet that the ticking of the clock seemed loud at that moment. Lesson plans were put away for the rest of the day. We focused on talking about the accident. I think Sister Sandy needed to talk about it as much as we students did.
Soon it was time to get ready to go home. Usually we rush out to the hallways to get our snowgear, boots and bookbags. Instead I grabbed my friend, Melissa, and told her we need to pray. Under the crucifix hanging on the wall we knelt down, made the sign of the cross, In the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit, Amen, and prayed for those who had died in the explosion and comfort for their families. We followed it by reciting the Our Father Prayer then arose and walked quietly out to the hallway to gather our belongings. Sister Sandy stopped us at the doorway and wondered what we were doing. I simply told her we were praying. She gave us huge hugs.
I got off the bus and went inside. My mom, and my grandparents were already gathered in front of the the console TV. They watched the whole thing and couldn't pull themselves away from the TV. I sat myself on the couch and that is when I first seen the pictures of it. I think I must of gasped by the horror of it all and then the realization that their families were probably in the crowd of people watching right there in Florida. I couldn't imagine what it would be like seeing someone you loved, either a friend or a family member die like that and they were watching, powerless to help. How do you walk away from something so tragic like that? They would of had to scrape me off the stands.
Time marched on and as a nation we healed our wounds. Five years later I was able to go to Washington D.C. for a class trip. Walking through Arlington National Cemetery I came upon the Challenger Memorial. I paused for a moment reliving the day all over again. Their faces etched on the memorial gave tribute to those that lost their lives that day will never be forgotten.
This blog entry is dedicated to those who died in the Challenger.
In the back row, from left, mission specialist Ellison S. Onizuka, Teacher in Space Participant Sharon Christa McAuliffe, Payload Specialist Greg Jarvis and Mission specialist Judy Resnik. In the front row, from left, Pilot Mike Smith, Commander Dick Scobee, and Mission specialist Ron McNair.
I was two weeks shy of my 9th birthday, in the third grade at St. Thomas Aquinas School in Saginaw, Mi. Sister Sandy was one of the third grade teachers. A lot of our class discussion that year was about how the space program was on a mission to send a teacher up and teach a class from space. The teacher, Christa McAuliffe, we learned, was an average person, a wife, mother and teacher, that was selected by NASA to be a part of this historic event. We were all mesmerized by the romance of the space program. Many of my classmates wanted to become astronauts, myself included. We would study all about the space program, first man on the moon, first air walk, how spacecrafts evolved. Sister Sandy was one of the first teachers who discussed current events in our classroom. It was the day of January 28th, 1986. The day was like any other day. I knew many of the adults were getting excited about the launching of the Challenger. The junior high school students at St. Thomas Aquinas were all gathering together to watch it on TV. We were a bit disappointed that we wouldn't be able to watch it ourselves. Our lunch hour was at 11:30 and Sister Sandy excused herself to watch it with the other teachers in the teacher's lounge. It was common for the students to eat lunch in the classroom and the teacher would go to the lounge before we would head outside to play. On this day, it was biter cold and our recess was to be indoors.
We played and ran around the room and goofed off like what any other third grader would do on their indoor lunch break. Everyone was enjoying their break. Sister Sandy came into the classroom and we all scurried to our desks, even though we knew it was still a lunch break but no one wanted to be caught horsing around and getting into trouble. We could tell she had been crying. The room got serious real fast. Something was the matter we just didn't know what.
Sister Sandy explained that there was terrible news. The other teachers and herself were watching the launch in the lounge. She informed us that something went wrong and the shuttle exploded and they believe everyone on board died. A numbness filled the room. It was so quiet that the ticking of the clock seemed loud at that moment. Lesson plans were put away for the rest of the day. We focused on talking about the accident. I think Sister Sandy needed to talk about it as much as we students did.
Soon it was time to get ready to go home. Usually we rush out to the hallways to get our snowgear, boots and bookbags. Instead I grabbed my friend, Melissa, and told her we need to pray. Under the crucifix hanging on the wall we knelt down, made the sign of the cross, In the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit, Amen, and prayed for those who had died in the explosion and comfort for their families. We followed it by reciting the Our Father Prayer then arose and walked quietly out to the hallway to gather our belongings. Sister Sandy stopped us at the doorway and wondered what we were doing. I simply told her we were praying. She gave us huge hugs.
I got off the bus and went inside. My mom, and my grandparents were already gathered in front of the the console TV. They watched the whole thing and couldn't pull themselves away from the TV. I sat myself on the couch and that is when I first seen the pictures of it. I think I must of gasped by the horror of it all and then the realization that their families were probably in the crowd of people watching right there in Florida. I couldn't imagine what it would be like seeing someone you loved, either a friend or a family member die like that and they were watching, powerless to help. How do you walk away from something so tragic like that? They would of had to scrape me off the stands. Time marched on and as a nation we healed our wounds. Five years later I was able to go to Washington D.C. for a class trip. Walking through Arlington National Cemetery I came upon the Challenger Memorial. I paused for a moment reliving the day all over again. Their faces etched on the memorial gave tribute to those that lost their lives that day will never be forgotten.
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