Most words I wrote in pre-school were never legible without the assistance of my teacher. Thankfully my penmanship soon improved in elementary school.
Not only did I work on my penmanship in elementary school, but also my passion to write. My love for the English language grew drastically in the advance of the elementary school. I carried a small, handheld notebook with me wherever I went. I wrote down every little detail that crossed my mind. I would come home and give my notebook to my mom and she would try and decipher what I had written in my little notebook seeing as my penmanship was still far from beautiful. Every day for every year of elementary school I carried that notebook with me. By the end of my fourth grade year the notebook had seen better days. It had worn spots on it from where I always held it and the cover was almost completely off. I decided once Middle school rolled around the childish games of the nerd with the notebook would be over.
Fifth grade, the first year of middle school, wasn't terrible. The teachers knew it would be hard for us transitioning to middle school so they eased us into homework. We had a few weeks to write a paragraph summary on the chapters of Hatchet that we had read to us in class. We would have to take it home to work on it for one or two nights, but mostly we worked on writing in class so we could have help if we needed it. At the end of the year, I felt like fifth grade was a piece of cake so sixth grade, I thought, would be just as good as the last. Little did I know that sixth grade would end up being my hardest middle school year.
The first day was the same old middle school introduction-to-class day. We had five classes this year, and ELA (English Language Arts) was my first class of the day. My teacher's name was Mrs. Bury. Once she was done introducing herself she passed out a blue, black, and white composition book that already had our names on them in black sharpie.
