Personal Narrative: Actions Are Longer Than Words
Actions are louder than words; which is how the common phrase goes. Except, that wasn’t true in my case. I am not a person who looks for fights or finds reasons to get outraged. I usually have a strong opinion about things, but I’m not one to usually voice them for all to hear either. There have definitely been times where I kick myself for not speaking up or taking a stand but I’d rather regret the few times I didn’t say anything then having to back up my opinions with actions. Actions can send a message fast, but words will always leave a stronger impression and leave you looking like the bigger person. I’ve attended two high schools in my life. My first school was spent at Chugiak High School in Alaska. Everyone knew everyone; people were
…show more content…
I slowly became numb to the overly used profanity and scuffles that were consistently taking place around me. I learned that fights at lunch were a common practice and trash talking was just what friends did. I learned to keep my mouth shut and mind my own business unless I wanted to become someone’s next problem. My last class of the day was “Fashion Class”, which is a fancy way to describe basic sewing. Already knowing how to sew, I usually found myself in the position of helping and teaching others. When someone needed help with their machine, the teacher, Ms. V, usually told them to find me. The classroom was set up with two appointed “teacher assistants”. How these girls were selected out of the whole class to help the teacher will always be a question in my mind. Teacher assistant #1 was a petite girl with a mean manner who plucked her eyebrows too thin. She had a rude way of speaking and I think to this day still hasn’t touched a sewing machine. Assistant #2 was a taller girl who always wore black, which made her drug induced, bloodshot eyes stand out. Ms. V would usually give them small and easy tasks to do as the rest of the class were forced to copy down dictionary terms related to sewing. The assistants usually looked down at the others and loved having the power to run the class when Ms. V occasionally stepped
I slowly became numb to the overly used profanity and scuffles that were consistently taking place around me. I learned that fights at lunch were a common practice and trash talking was just what friends did. I learned to keep my mouth shut and mind my own business unless I wanted to become someone’s next problem. My last class of the day was “Fashion Class”, which is a fancy way to describe basic sewing. Already knowing how to sew, I usually found myself in the position of helping and teaching others. When someone needed help with their machine, the teacher, Ms. V, usually told them to find me. The classroom was set up with two appointed “teacher assistants”. How these girls were selected out of the whole class to help the teacher will always be a question in my mind. Teacher assistant #1 was a petite girl with a mean manner who plucked her eyebrows too thin. She had a rude way of speaking and I think to this day still hasn’t touched a sewing machine. Assistant #2 was a taller girl who always wore black, which made her drug induced, bloodshot eyes stand out. Ms. V would usually give them small and easy tasks to do as the rest of the class were forced to copy down dictionary terms related to sewing. The assistants usually looked down at the others and loved having the power to run the class when Ms. V occasionally stepped