Narratives of Celebration Fall 2020

into my head. It went dark, and I went
into a haze. My forehead felt hot and my
eyes started sweating. She walked away.
What did I do wrong?
After math class, and a good
crying session in my chair. I had recess.
Every kid in fourth grade admired lunch
time along with recess. Saldy, that day,
it was ruined. I didn’t find enjoyment, I
couldn't find happiness and I couldn’t
see myself play tag knowing that I let
myself down in math class. Ms. Busher
was right, I do waste time. Why am I out
here playing with my friends when I can
go inside and study for my math test? I
can do better than this. An old soccer
ball rolled towards me slowly. The white
skin, torn and worn. Dirty and wet from
being played in brown mud. “Hey Ally,
pass the ball?” My friend asked. I stared
at the dirty ball, my legs couldn’t
respond. Why should I give the ball
back? I should make him put in effort to
get it like Ms. Busher said. If I have to
put in effort, why can’t he? I shook my
head, and frowned. No. I was wrong.
“Yeah,” I found the force in me to
adjust my body to the side and kick the
ball back. I felt terrible when Ms. Busher
made me feel so little. Why would I
want to do that to someone else? Due to
Ms. Busher's lack of support, I learned
how to give my support to those around
me. I know how it feels to be left in the
mud like the soccer ball I kicked back. I
have to be here for myself, but if I can
help those around me, I wouldn’t mind
doing so at all. So thank you Mrs.
Busher. Wherever you are now, I hope
you’re doing okay. I know I am.
Three years have passed by since
then, I was in 7th grade and I met my
first male teacher. He had a good
posture, always stood with an assertive
stance. Kind of like Ms.Bushers. “Oh
no,” I thought to myself. I was scared,
afraid that he would be like her. The
way he stood and his glasses shaped his
face I had one thought in my head,
“He’s like her...but with a mustache.” I
was nervous all day. I couldn’t wrap my
head around the idea of going through
another year with a teacher that could
potentially hurt me as much as
Ms.Busher.
A bell rang in my ear and awoke
my friend next to me. “I’m so tired.”
She complained. Class started. It was
8:30am. My heart dropped at the sound
of his deep, raspy voice. “If he yells at
me like Ms. Bushser did, I’ll break down
crying for sure.” I thought. I would be in
the position of a toddler while my
mother scolds at me if he ever came to
yell at me. The thought irritated me. “I
will be taking attendance before I
introduce myself…” he said. Oh, how I
hated the fact that my name starts with