I am six years old; it is lunch time. A peanut butter and jelly sandwich gets sat in front of me; “eat up,” says my mom. I struggle to chew as the bread starts sticking to the roof of my mouth. Half way done with the sandwich, “I’m done.”
The White Room
Nobody quite prepares you for the day you leave your whole life, to move into a tiny room, only to be surrounded by thousands of strangers every day.
Hard News
Hard News
It was a normal day in September, I was eight years old, starting my day at Independence Elementary School.
How to Survive as a Babysitter
Many young adults and teenagers turn to babysitting to earn money. It can be a nerve-racking experience to babysit for the first time.
How To Study Effectively
Studying. Whether you are a high school student or on your way to getting a Ph.D. learning how to study is going to help you—although if you are getting a Ph.D., I assume you already have a pretty good grasp on this concept.
The Game in Question
St. Francis Borgia’s number 7, Sydney Castelli, is sprinting down the right sideline with a Hannibal High School defender hot on her trail. She gets closer and closer to the end line trying to find a pass to her fellow teammates. Finally, only five yards away from dribbling straight out of bounds, she gets a cross off.
I Met a Guy
And he ruined everything.
My Grandmother’s Calling Is Now My Own
When I was little, I spent almost every weekend at my grandma Dee’s house. I was the youngest of four children, who all had different activities that my mother would have to go watch. So while my sister was acting in plays, I would be at my grandmother’s house either eating cookies or playing with dolls–which I believed was much better than watching a three-hour play put on by high schoolers.
Morning Madness
I wake up to a jolt of excitement; finally, the first day of my first-grade year. Stumbling out of my bed I scurry over to my mirror— shocked with what I was met with—I take a deep breath and begin to examine what I’m working with, scanning and collecting data as my eyes trickle down from my chocolate ball of frizzed-out hair to my half-painted toenails.