Personal Narrative: Algebra In High School

Sitting in my desk at the back of the class, on a beautiful Monday morning; I stared at a single piece of paper with a bright red marking surrounded by white and black. In simple terms I was happily in shock. In more complex terms I was brimming with excitement, my chest swelling with pride; trying to focus on anything other than that damn piece of paper on my desk but this was my first time. Soaking in in, everything else around me was non existent. Finally, after what could have been hours, but in reality was only a minute, I was brought out of my trance by the sound of applause and the feeling of thirty-two eyes on me. Not being able to handle the attention, I looked back down at the paper with the a large letter in the center written in

In eighth grade I was put into an algebra class that was usually reserved for the first year of high school, and failed it miserably. The next year in high school I chose an elective that would, excluding my AP and honors courses, place me with the same people in all of my core classes for all four years. This meant that I had algebra with people I had never talked to before and did not really talk to them for the next three year. I digress, however, because not knowing or talking to anyone may have been one of the greatest things that has ever happened to me.

Algebra was my second period meaning the sun was not that blinding light at noon that gave everything in the desert a yellowish tint because of the light reflecting off of the beige and brown colors surrounding us, it was not the early morning sun where everything is washed out and the sky is a burst of muted colors, but it was a bright light that allowed the sky to be its truest blue and nothing else was tainted by reflection or refraction. My algebra class had four rows of desk with ten desk going back in the middle rows and eight going back on the two outer rows. All the desk faced the front where the whiteboard

I would diligently write down everything he wrote on the board, real life examples he would use to describe what we were learning, and little tips that would help us remember things. He would call on people to answer the questions he let us do on our own. I was so immersed in his teaching that when the bell rang I could not believe how fast the time had passed. As my peers and I walked to our next period I trailed behind them and listened to their conversations. “He’s crazy if he thinks that any of us understood what he was saying!” “I know! It’s only the second day I can’t believe he already has us doing so much.” a boy and girl complained. Others seemed to mumble in agreement with them. I was dumbfounded. How could they not of understood what he was saying when I was easily able to answer the two questions he asked me. This moaning and groaning from my classmates became some sort of ritual amongst them. Always trying to get the homework done together the period before class always blaming him as the reason why they could not get it done at home. It was not until three weeks later when we were going over what was going to be on the test that friday, integers and basic