Reaching for Your Goals Essay Example For Students

Reaching for Your Goals Essay It all started when I was in first grade. The sun was shining so bright that I could feel it hit my skin. We were all out at the playground on our recess and the school bell rang. Every time the school bell rang, we had to freeze and stand still. I always loved that time of the day because all you could see around you were the kids not moving, birds chirping from the trees, and the swing moving back and forth, making that squeaking sound every time it swung. Then after a minute, staff would blow the whistle so we could go back to class. As my friends and I walked back to class, we discussed about how lame and boring reading was going to be. We finally got to our classroom which only had a big red door and no windows on the sides which always freaked me out for some odd reason. As you walked in the door, straight ahead was the teachers desk, on the right side was just the chalk board with the alphabet all around it, and on the left side was some rounded looking tables. Those tables were are desks. I always sat next to two girls that I had crushes on. One’s name was Danielle and she had blonde hair, Audrey was the other which had brunette hair. But we sat closest to the door and book shelf. So class continued on and finally we got to read a book which I can’t quite remember the name of it but was a yellow and thin book. Our teacher stood up from her chair and began to read the first chapter for us out loud. As she read, we just followed along and listened. After reading six sentences from the book, she began to call on a student to read the next sentences. I knew then that I was going to get called on and read to the class. She called on three kids who all read as if they were smart but all had ugly shirts on that were colorful. Mrs. Sudou then called my name and I was just so nervous to read out loud. So I tried getting through the first sentence but the words weren’t coming out of my mouth so great. I mumbled at the words and read them as if they were questions and not a story. I just remember the class being so still and silent. When I got through the sentence, I looked up at my teacher and she had a look on her face as if I did something wrong. I then realized she was angry at me because I wasn’t reading like she expected me to. I remember her hands were placed on her hips with the book being at the tip of her toes, eyebrows were slanted downward and her upper lip was raised up. At that point in time, I was scared to continue on but she yelled at me and said to keep reading. It took me about five minutes to finish reading. My mind was just exhausted from just six sentences but I was relieved that I didn’t have to read anymore. As days went by, she would have me stay after school to help me improve my reading. She would still give me that same look every time I read after class. I could tell she was furious with me but I had no control of it. I was afraid of her every time she talked to me but for some reason I still passed the class with A’s shown on my report card. I was actually glad I didn’t have to see her after passing her class. Two years goes by and I was taking summer school before I entered the fourth grade. It was a boring year so I decided I’d continue on with learning at school. One day I remember sitting in class all by myself with just the teacher at her desk. I decided I’d start reading books since I had to wait for class to start. I slowly improved my reading each day and my teacher acknowledged that about me. Then one day I had to wait for my mom to pick me up from school so I stayed after class and started to read some books. .ue28e29cfe49b20c7f34240c1a7d0e20f , .ue28e29cfe49b20c7f34240c1a7d0e20f .postImageUrl , .ue28e29cfe49b20c7f34240c1a7d0e20f .centered-text-area { min-height: 80px; position: relative; } .ue28e29cfe49b20c7f34240c1a7d0e20f , .ue28e29cfe49b20c7f34240c1a7d0e20f:hover , .ue28e29cfe49b20c7f34240c1a7d0e20f:visited , .ue28e29cfe49b20c7f34240c1a7d0e20f:active { border:0!important; } .ue28e29cfe49b20c7f34240c1a7d0e20f .clearfix:after { content: ""; display: table; clear: both; } .ue28e29cfe49b20c7f34240c1a7d0e20f { display: block; transition: background-color 250ms; webkit-transition: background-color 250ms; width: 100%; opacity: 1; transition: opacity 250ms; webkit-transition: opacity 250ms; background-color: #95A5A6; } .ue28e29cfe49b20c7f34240c1a7d0e20f:active , .ue28e29cfe49b20c7f34240c1a7d0e20f:hover { opacity: 1; transition: opacity 250ms; webkit-transition: opacity 250ms; background-color: #2C3E50; } .ue28e29cfe49b20c7f34240c1a7d0e20f .centered-text-area { width: 100%; position: relative ; } .ue28e29cfe49b20c7f34240c1a7d0e20f .ctaText { border-bottom: 0 solid #fff; color: #2980B9; font-size: 16px; font-weight: bold; margin: 0; padding: 0; text-decoration: underline; } .ue28e29cfe49b20c7f34240c1a7d0e20f .postTitle { color: #FFFFFF; font-size: 16px; font-weight: 600; margin: 0; padding: 0; width: 100%; } .ue28e29cfe49b20c7f34240c1a7d0e20f .ctaButton { background-color: #7F8C8D!important; color: #2980B9; border: none; border-radius: 3px; box-shadow: none; font-size: 14px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 26px; moz-border-radius: 3px; text-align: center; text-decoration: none; text-shadow: none; width: 80px; min-height: 80px; background: url(https://artscolumbia.org/wp-content/plugins/intelly-related-posts/assets/images/simple-arrow.png)no-repeat; position: absolute; right: 0; top: 0; } .ue28e29cfe49b20c7f34240c1a7d0e20f:hover .ctaButton { background-color: #34495E!important; } .ue28e29cfe49b20c7f34240c1a7d0e20f .centered-text { display: table; height: 80px; padding-left : 18px; top: 0; } .ue28e29cfe49b20c7f34240c1a7d0e20f .ue28e29cfe49b20c7f34240c1a7d0e20f-content { display: table-cell; margin: 0; padding: 0; padding-right: 108px; position: relative; vertical-align: middle; width: 100%; } .ue28e29cfe49b20c7f34240c1a7d0e20f:after { content: ""; display: block; clear: both; } READ: Women And Writing EssayI was reading so good that I started laughing out loud because of what I was reading and it felt good to understand what I was reading. I looked to the corner of my eye and my teacher called my mom to tell her about my reading. I continued to read and laugh and my teacher just had this big smile on her face because I was enjoying myself. Nobody really showed me the steps to reading but when I saw my teachers smile, that made me feel good inside. It made me feel proud of myself. Ever since then, I improved tremendously. She then gave me a certificate for reading and writing and I knew then that my life was going to get better. And it did.