exemplary student writing.
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The Pain of Learning
by Christopher Robb
It is sad to say that it took reconstructive surgery and more than a few stitches, before I learned to listen to my parents. I was just one of those kids that did not behave at all, a complete terror. I was stubborn and defiant to the end. It was because of my stubbornness and the fact that I did not want to listen to my mother that my eyes were opened to the pain of learning. more >>
A Little Farm in Arkansas
by LaToya Minton
The Watson farm in Jersey, Arkansas, was first owned by my great-grandpa, Deacon Denson Watson. He bought the land where the farm sat at a time when an African American owning his own property was unheard of. He owned eighty acres of prosperous land, so he was considered to be one of the more wealthy black men in the area. Several times he was approached to sell the land, but he refused. When he died, he left the farm to his children, and it will continue to be passed down through the generations. What I know to be the symbol of my family's history is that farm, and many of my childhood adventures took place there when we visited. more > >
by Dilfuza Kasymova
I was born in Uzbekistan where the majority of people are Muslims, as I am. We have many different holidays that we celebrate. My favorite one is called Id al-Fitr, which is the festival that breaks the fast of Ramadan. It is usually called Eid and is celebrated the day after Ramadan. more > >
Stop Right Away!
by Dilfuza Kasymova
“D-D-Di-Difusion!” screeched the five-foot instructor as he clenched on his clipboard. “You have to use your brakes,” explained Mr. Peterson. He was right. I was driving like a bat out of Hades. The colors of the passing cars blurred by me as my frightened passenger reminded me of the speed limit once again. more > >
Entering the System
by Lexi Van Fleet
I had always been used to making my own decisions and being given the luxury of options to choose from. Unfortunately, everything changed when I became a ward of the state and entered the foster care system. It was June 21, 2004, when an officer and a woman knocked on our door and told us to each pack a bag of clothes. Our mother had left that morning to buy my sister a present for her thirteenth birthday, and she still wasn’t home. We knew something was wrong. Our mother had been changing throughout that year. Her behavior had become erratic and offbeat. She would hardly ever eat or sleep. She was addicted to methamphetamine, and we children knew we could do nothing to change her habits. I didn’t understand it at the time, but I soon came to realize how complicated things really were and that the changes to come were inevitable.more > >