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Scholarship Boy Essay Research Paper Scholarship Boy

Scholarship Boy Essay, Research Paper Scholarship Boy You re a pretty lucky kid to have received this scholarship to that private school in Virginia. Mrs. Casas spoke to me in her very serious tone of voice, which caused my brownish eyes to focus deeply on her intense look. Esther Casas was a member of the I Have a Dream Foundation, and the woman who made it possible for me to be admitted to VES by giving the school good word about my work ethic and potential that I carried within my small frame.

Scholarship Boy Essay, Research Paper

Scholarship Boy You re a pretty lucky kid to have received this scholarship to that private school in Virginia. Mrs. Casas spoke to me in her very serious tone of voice, which caused my brownish eyes to focus deeply on her intense look. Esther Casas was a member of the I Have a Dream Foundation, and the woman who made it possible for me to be admitted to VES by giving the school good word about my work ethic and potential that I carried within my small frame. Yeah, I m a pretty lucky. I responded with a spark in my immature voice because I was excited and felt lucky. Excited I was, because it was my first time attending a boarding school, and everything seemed so mysterious to me that I could not wait another second of time to be present in Virginia, a place that I knew nothing about but only that it was located in the eastern part of the US. When the time came to finally begin this great new experience, I was overcome with happiness that the mystery would be solved by a couple of hours of flying above the endless mountainous land. When I arrived on this campus, I found it quite amazingly quiet and peaceful. My journey to this beautiful green campus had started four years previously in Mrs. Brown s sixth grade homeroom class at Markham Junior High. Mrs. Brown was asked by the I Have a Dream administration to pick ten names of students in her class who she thought were good all around students and also who seemed interested in continuing their education. Mrs. Brown felt that I had the requirements to qualify for the lucky ten who would soon become Dreamers. Being a Dreamer was one of the best things that could happen to me while I was trying to grow up in a community of violence and crime. While other kids were out hanging at the corners, the IHAD would pick up a group of us in a spotless, long white van with markings on the side that read I Have A Dream Foundation, Los Angeles in big black letters. This van would wind is way through the crowded smoggy streets to a place where our education would be expanded. This place was a large room located inside a Great Western bank. The room inside contained computers, books, tutors, and other helpful sources that would challenge our minds and increase our knowledge. The IHAD not only tried to increase our education, but the foundation also manage to take us on trips to places that I had never seen before such as the Big Bear mountains in California or to operas such as the Carmen. The impression that I got from this program was that they were trying to open up the world for me in many ways so that I would have a wider view about things in life. Since the first day at VES everything happened the way a new student would want his first year to be. During this year I maintained a steady average of 83%; I had a lot of friends; the teachers were all polite and helpful when needed, and I had a big role in athletic as a member of the varsity soccer team, j.v. basketball team, and the track team where I broke a school record in the 800-meter relay. I felt good about my accomplishments my first year and there were no complains from any of the teachers or administration because I was living up to the expectations they had for a scholarship boy.

About the half way into my sophomore, the scholarship boy began to take different decisions and quickly drew the attention of some faculty members who looked upon him as someone with a bad, violent, and negative attitude. This all happened when I and a few other students got into a big brawl with other students from E.C. Glass, and I decided to pull out a knife. I pulled out the knife to protect my friends and me from the opponents, barbarians who were getting ready to fight our tiny group of four because we were from a prep school. The school did not see my actions as a form of protection for our group; instead they saw it as a delinquent reaction in me. I had violated the school rules and was suspended for a day of boring classes. I had let their expectations down; I wasn t fully satisfying their hopes. You can do better than this. Mr. Mundy, my advisor, spoke to me in his deep powerful voice as he handed me my schedule for the following trimester. Handing me the light piece of paper, Mr. Mundy walked away leaving me alone in a world of mysteries that had to be discovered. I though to myself standing in the blocks of dirty clay below my cold feet, an 80% average is not the best grade in the school but is not close to the worst. I felt that my grades were pretty decent, but Mr. Mundy did not accept that fact and left me with no room to talk. He turned his back on me. Since the embarrassment with Mr. Mundy, I began to think that being at a private school on a scholarship wasn t the best thing, and definitely not the lucky situation that Mrs. Casas had told me and I had thought. It seemed as if all eyes were on me, the scholarship boy from Watts, watching every single step and action I made to make sure that I didn t cross the boundaries that they didn t expect me to cross. Then the thoughts of other students began to swirl around my busy mind. If it had been another student committing a minor offense or getting bad grades, he wouldn t have had to worry as much because he came to this school with no expectations from teachers, but only from parents and friends. It felt as though I carried a heavy burden on my back to do well because it was expected of me. It was not just that I wanted to do well or that my family expected this of me. I knew the whole time that I was working hard for myself and nobody else, but I felt as though too much perfection was required of me because I was a different type of student. To this day I still find myself thinking that teachers expect more out of me because I came here in special circumstances and with very high e expectations for my future that I felt had to accomplish. In reality I do everything for my own will and because of my love for my family and friends but nobody else.

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