Chicka Chika Boom Boom Will There Be Enough Room

Distant Drumming of pens dancing on paper grows as each minute passes. My heart skips a beat, my heart begins to pound in my ears, my heart starts to race as I anticipate what to write next. The clock is ticking and time is running out. A cold sweat engulfs me as I crash into a writer’s block. Suddenly without warning the timer sounds and its is time to stop the timed essay. The throbbing sound of pens gradually comes to a halt. I take a deep breath and try to scan over what I have written. While handing in my paper I start to ponder how it all began. Memories of my struggles in kindergarten pass over me, then, flashes of freshmen year in high school along with thought of my family’s expectations shortly after.

It seems like it has been years since I set foot in my kindergarten classroom. Those were among the hardest years in my life. Before school, I was accustomed to speaking my native languages, Tagalog and Spanish. Hardly knowing much English I soon began to struggle in class trying hard just to sustain with the rest of the pack. I did not understand why certain words went together, why people talked the way they did, why I have to mimic the same hand motions on paper like the others to communicate. Curiosity of the other language continued to haunt me each and every day, that is, until I was transferred to another class. This new teacher was like the candle that lit up my dark room. To this day I still remember Mr. Schall sitting down beside me on the rainbow rug with a book in hand, Chicka Chicka Boom Boom. As he read I absorbed each word like a sponge. I soaked up all the secret knowledge confined within the pages. “Chicka Chicka Boom Boom will there be enough room,” he read over and over again. Will there be enough room? I asked myself. I understood the importance and difficulty of earning a great education from that point on I knew that I had to preserve and improve on my literature. Kindergarten was the establishment of my literary knowledge.