Personal Narrative: John Pickett High School

One time I came across failure. It all started when playing in a baseball game for Serra High School. Up to that game we had been undefeated in league play. As the game moved along it got more and more intense. Every batter and runner on base you could tell both teams were completely focused on winning that game.

The referee blows his whistle and I start to lead the ball down the court. I glance over and see a split down the middle of the court, exactly what we needed. I dribble the ball the middle of the paint, right as I see the defenders start to cut me off. I make a sharp cut, turn, and pass the ball right to my shooting guard. He takes the ball in his hand and swiftly goes up and makes the three.

How life goes on we experience a lot of things that can either teach us an important lesson or nothing at all. I have learned more than one lesson in my life, but there’s one that I will always keep in mind to help others like it helped me. Thanks to John Tyler High School Drill Team I have self-confidence and courage to do risky things that I never thought I would be doing. Now I believe in myself and I don’t let fear dull my success, I fight for what I want until I get it even if it take a long time, I don’t give up that easy anymore.

Summer has come to an end, the school year has just started and Professor Steven Currents, a staff member at the Danville University for the last 27 years, is preparing to teach his first lesson. Life in the town of Danville is just as expected in an average size town, many people know each other and have regular jobs. Danville University is the only college in the 3 surrounding counties, which makes it rather large, holding around 16,000 students. Although the town is average size, the University is large. Professor Currents begins taking attendants when he realizes that 5 of his students enrolled in his class are missing.

"You 're in!" Exclaimed Coach Thrash. As the point guard for the opposing team shot a three-pointer and missed, I was sprinting down the court. Wide open, my teammate sees me and passes the ball to me. Someone was sprinting from behind, and when I went

At 5:45 AM the alarm on my phone blared some generic default tone that I had never gotten around to changing. This was probably the earliest I’ve ever gotten up in my entire life. I groggily removed myself from the pile of blankets on the floor that I had been sleeping in and headed for the shower, brushed my teeth, washed my face and searched my near empty closet for something to wear on my first day of school. Although I was absolutely exhausted and there was yet to be any furniture in my room, I was thrilled to be transferring to Pattonville High School in midst of my junior year and living in a bigger house in a better community.

As a junior I moved from Ryan HIgh School to Braswell High School due to my zoning with the new school. Braswell High School was a brand new high school. I attended the first year it was open in which the highest grade level they offered was juniors. Most of the students moved from their old high schools to Braswell were devastated due to the strong school spirit at their previous schools. The administration at Braswell attempted to inspire new school spirit in all the students especially the junior class.

It all started when my mom told me this: “David, you are going to spend your eighth grade year at Guilford Middle.” Guilford Middle School, my school prior to Holicong, was considered infamous by the community. Their horrible reputation mostly came from the gross condition of the school. The school was about a hundred years old and the walls were abundant with mold.

Moreover, I ran up and down every court after every loose ball just to never let it go. I could not believe that I had forgotten the pleasure that I had with this ball.” Without you, I can’t survive,“ I said calmly while I fall asleep with embraced the ball with both hands. Since then, I had determined my dream that no matter what, I will be in the NBA player and proved Mr. Jonathan that I can be better, more athletic, and eligible to be a part of the greatest basketball league.

I am 17 years old and a senior this year at Cary-Grove High School. I live in Cary and have lived here all my life. School is a very important aspect of my life and I continue to challenge myself every day in order to give myself a chance at receiving a quality education. Some of my favorite hobbies include listening to music on Spotify and watching some of my favorite movies. When I am not listening to music of watching movies, I am most likely at some extracurricular activity.

I completed my placement hours at Northside High School. The population of the school is four hundred and seventy students. Of those four hundred and seventy students enrolled at Northside, 95% are White, 2% are Black, 2% are Hispanic, and 1% is Other. The percentage of students identified as living below the poverty index is 33%. Northside had eight class periods a day, which meant each class period was around forty minutes.

Sweat dripping down my face; using what little dry spots I had left on my shirt to wipe it off. Darkness filled the night with one light that flickered on and off every few minutes was all that I had to illuminate what was in front of me. Not even an hour ago there was about forty people here and sun shining and now it’s just a ball, a basket, and me. I dribble and crossover the imaginary defender, spins around the other, and finally finishes the lay up right past the last man. Just like every other day in the summer of going into my freshman year of high school, I was the one of the first on the court ready to play and the last to work on what I hadn’t done great on that day.

It was a cloudy fall day, this perticular morning in first grade. The air was cold and the wind crept up my back. The walk to John Stewart Elemantry School was the worst. Yesturday, I had gotten into a fight with my friend, Ava about what she thought I said. It turned out to be the day that I had to walk with Ava to school.

As soon as I got the ball, I started to race down the court pounding the ball as I was dribbling. I squared up facing the hoop getting ready to take my shot. I raised my arm up, releasing the ball with my fingertip with poor form and arc. The ball went flying towards the hoop very fast. The sound of the net went swoosh

Last Spring, I had the pleasure of completing my field experience at Springfield High School. There, I worked with a student who, for the sake of confidentiality, shall be referred to as Zeke. Zeke was a senior. He was disinterested in his classes and often arrived to class without completed work or an attitude that spoke eagerness to learn. During an occurrence in which Zeke was scolded by my cooperating teacher, I felt a sense of sympathy arise within me.