Final draft.

Clifford Nordstrom

English 101 5:30

Dr. Sonia Begert

11 October 2015

Narrative Paper

Let me tell you about something that happened when I was in 4^th grade. Back then I was always reading books from The Magic Treehouse series and any other fantasy books that really interested me. There was a test called the AR test or The Accelerated Reader test that students could take when they finish reading a book. Books were cataloged into different levels based on grades. The average student would read a book suited to his/her level in the current grade. What made this enjoyable was that students can read books and then test their knowledge on what they read. There were many books I read and was tested on and by taking these tests I have risen up to about grade 6 as far as reading. Though that wasn’t much of an improvement cause there were other people above my grade achieving levels as far as high school. It tended to get me down at times but, I never really let it bother me so I just keep reading and testing.

Lunch time always came and went like clockwork. I usually enter in to the lunch room and hear almost glass shattering echoes from children either screaming or talking over other people talking. Smell of food wafts down the hallways like a wind rushing through the crowds of children making their way to the attractive smells. I usually get the first thing that comes to mind when entering the lunchroom which usually ends up being whatever is being served that day. Though the school lunch doesn’t make out to be the best at food due the plastic feel of cheese that if you ball up in to tight little ball shape would bounce as if it were a bouncy ball and the cardboard pizza that seems to smell just like pizza but is really tough to chew and generally tastes bland and unappetizing. Though the food is not the best, it does always help to wash it down with a nice pint of chocolate milk. Every day at lunch I would strive to eat as fast as possible so I could race over to the library and enjoy a good read. I had a favorite spot in the back corner of the library. I still remember every time I would walk into the library you would be hit from what seemed like a wave of warmth and smell of old books and paper. Like a mother reaching out to her child so did this warmth grasp a hold of me every day during recess time. I would immerse myself deep into the book I was currently reading at the time and just be swept away from reality until the loud bellowing sound of the bell will rip me into reality beckoning me to the classroom.

My classroom is located way back behind the actually school in one of six portable classrooms. Seems kind of ominous at times but teachers get kids to make decorative cement stones to put along the walkway toward portables. Often times you can hear the wildlife of the birds chirping off in the distance and frog’s croaking as loud as possible. While making my way toward the classroom I imagined what could happen in class today considering it was going to be time for English portion of the day. Upon walking into the classroom like the library you would always get hit by a wave of warmth and smell only this time it hit me more combined with the chill of the outside winter air and the sheer warmth of the classroom feels like a vortex sucking you in violently and dragging you into its depths. The smell like an overused piece of chalk and the long forgotten cardboard that nobody seems to use any more became my welcoming mat and my greeting was at the center of the classroom was my teacher. Like all teachers she was very warm to welcome in her students as a mother goose would welcome her goslings. With a tall black dress and short black hair, she had a very warm and gentle presence with a smile that will make you melt. While making my way toward my assigned seat it felt like every step had taken its toll and felt like I could fall asleep any moment. While the taste of milk still lingered and my stomach full of sustenance I feel at ease taking my seat. The teacher has always known me to bury my face in a book and has always encouraged me to strive higher in AR, though this time she approached me with another purpose. She asked me how I felt about reading and writing. I explained to her that every time I would pick up a book it would sweep me away to another world but writing has always been less interesting to me. She then smiled and was content, though the thought of her approach was a bit weird and so after the class which seemed to go passed in no time at all I approached her and asked her, “What if I did have an interest in both reading and writing?” She then said, “Write a story, it doesn’t have to be big but it has to be yours. Write a story that you would like to read.” After brewing over the idea of writing a story I had several ideas in mind all hitting me like a traffic jam. Later upon arriving at my designated bus stop I had the perfect idea. The moment the bus stopped at my bus stop I made my way toward the door and the moment I stepped on the coarse gravel road I raced like lightning all the way home which in reality was only two blocks away. I quickly made my way to my room and dropped everything to pull out my notebook from my backpack. My room was your average sized room with one window clouded over with dust and debris, my floor usually cluttered with clothes and super Nintendo games. My bed so messy it looked as though it wasn’t a bed but a nest made just for me a lined with many books as an outline for my nest. I grabbed the closest pencil that was your average wooden number two pencil and opened my notebook to place it on to my nest and went to work.

The topic was about a boy who was a farmer of a village whose dad ran the local saw mill. The boy had many chores to do every day and was not surprised to have his old man come home only to give him more chores. He repeated the process day in and day out. Only to rest on days his old man was either too drunk or too tired when coming home. The boy one day finds an egg while filling a water bucket at the nearby creek. This egg was about the size of his entire torso and contained a mystical dragon inside. I wrote about the many things this boy had to do to keep the dragon egg safe and when the egg finally hatch so did the boy into a man. The dragon befriended the young man and was able to talk and speak telepathically but only to the man because of the bond he and the dragon shared. The young man’s father finally passed leaving only his bad presence and smell. The boy and the dragon went on an adventure and left everything behind.

I wrote this story and what seemed to take only moments really took 5 hours. I even skipped dinner and snack time. It wasn’t until my father came in and said good night to me that I realized what time it was. That following morning I presented the story to my English teacher whom upon reading it started to tear up. I was worried that there may have been something she did not like and I was worried I did something wrong. Hesitant a spoke but then she interrupted me saying, “I’m Alright” taking a moment to finish the story. She then said to me, “I hope you keep hold of these stories and one day become a great writer.” From the wonderful words my teacher told me I was prepared to be an inspired individual.