Collegiate Gladiator in the Gauntlet of Education :: Personal Narrative Papers

Collegiate Gladiator in the Gauntlet of statementI felt the presence of early morning dew against my skin as I marched through a grass field on a brisk October day. My classmates exuded enthusiasm this excursion was reason to escape the confines of our thoroughgoing(a) high drill. There was abundant conversation with the occasional youthful make up of animation, like sprinting downfield or throwing a rock. The world seems rightful(prenominal) a bit different when a student is taken from a schoolroom setting into a non-academic one. Opportunity and freedom appear to be invariably so present. Perhaps, that was reason for our class being outside during my regularly plan English period. In all honesty I was quite skeptical. I have never been a morning person and can be a silent cynic when it comes to group events. I staggered behind the group, hand in pocket, submerged in totally unrelated thought. My teacher guide the way stammering uphill and clenching his worn black book, a lmost appearing as if he was Moses carrying the Ten Commandments up Mount Sinai. After trekking through the endless barren of soccer and lacrosse fields, we came upon the overgrown pathway that led into the woods. Many of us were familiar to this area, coaches often made their teams run through these maddened trails. Others seemed puzzled. Stepping into the wild that day we crossed the threshold on many levels not just escaping into nature but escaping from ordinary thinking. For me, the change in location would excessively mark a change in philosophy. Some distance I have covered.The start of my journey seems like a lifetime ago. blind by innocence and burdened with little responsibility, being eight age old had its perks. Sure I had to attend school, but what exactly was school at that echelon? A day spent singing songs, playing evade ball, paper macheing cardboard figurines, with the occasional napping and recess break. Almost like spend camp. To my surprise, second grade w as far from what I imagined. My year revolved periodic lessons on reading and writing... in hopes of achieving basic literacy. With the occasional dip into the kiddy pocket billiards of arithmetic, second grade was a year of problematical work. I was thriving to have an incredible teacher like Mrs. Perdiz. She pushed me so hard, so hard that at times I disliked her. Music, math, and art took a definite backseat to reading.