In the news we often hear about a small Middle Eastern country called Iran. The people of Iran are usually portrayed as evil terrorist who teach their children to act out in violence and spend their every waking moment trying to build bombs so that they can attack America, all while wearing a nifty Keffiyeh(Arabic headdress). So imagine my surprise when I was told that my dad wanted to spend his whole summer in Iran visiting his family and that my brother and I had no choice but to go with him. My reaction, of course, was to beg, plead, and whine to get out of it but ended with no success. Soon I was packed up and shipped across the ocean. A tedious 12 hours later we finally made it to our final destination. As my father, my brother and I made our way off the plane and in the airport I could feel the anticipation in the pit of my stomach. What was waiting for us behind these walls? Camels and sand with a side of untimely death presumably. But I soon found out how wrong I was.
As soon as I stepped into the airport I was gathered up in a hug by a petite, plump, older woman. I was told not to be alarmed because the little lady was, in fact, my grandmother. She was welcoming and loving with a sense of comfort around her. Standing next to my grandmother was a slim, tall man with gray hair, my grandfather. There was a certain air around him, I had never met him before but I already knew he was a man who was to be respected. Surrounding my grandparents were my two uncles, Armine and Homon, and my Aunt Farah. I could tell almost immediately that I would get along well with them because they seemed loud, carefree, and playful, just like me. Soon after the introductions, hugs, and kisses we were loaded up in the car and taken to our new home for the summer.
In our trip we stayed in the authentic Iranian home my dad grew up in. The house itself was so peculiar; it was in a way its own unique work of art. Every piece in the house had a certain Persian charm to it, from the paintings on the wall to the rugs on the floor. But the first thing noticeably different about the house was that it was completely surrounded with high walls that were so tall that no person could look above it. I was told that almost all the houses are built like that in Iran because the walls block out the occasional dust storm, provide shade in the extreme heat of the summer, and protect the city from any invasions. During my trip though, I found the walls offered more than just protection, it created a kind of oasis for us. We could wear what we wanted, run around acting silly, and talk about any subjects without having to worry about getting in trouble under the watchful eye of the government. The overall structure of the home was about the same as the ones in America with a kitchen, living room, dining room, office, and bedrooms. The only big exception is that the toilet and sink may be in the house but the showers were not. The showers were in a separate building located behind the main house. The shower was comprised of one big room with tiles from floor to ceiling and about a handful of shower heads on the wall. When I first learned that I was going to have to walk outside to shower I was in utter horror. But seeing as how I was stuck there for about three months I had to learn to compromise.
It seemed every day that went by my brother and I made ourselves more at home and even started getting accustomed to Iran’s day to day life. We would go walking the streets, go to a family friend’s house, and even to the market with my grandmother. The streets of Iran can easily be compared to the busy streets of New York City. I learned that the car’s horn was not just a convenience, but a necessity. It was as if the horn had to be used as many times as possible in a day and if your car horn didn’t work you might as well not even drive. The traffic laws and lights were also there purely for suggestion, and most people didn’t follow them anyway. Even seatbelts were not of importance. On several occasions my brother and I rode in my uncle’s car standing up in the backseat with our heads sticking out the sunroof with no fear of getting in trouble with the law. I also learned that it was no big deal if a car only seated five people and there were eight of us, no need to bring out the second car when there is a perfectly good lap available.
While dealing with the fast pace shuffle of the city a person has to try and remember to take in the scenery around them, if they don’t they might miss the beauty of the buildings that they are surrounded by. In my opinion, Iran’s architecture is some of the most breathtaking in the world. It has the same feel and wonder as the Taj Mahal. It seems as if Iran’s philosophy was the bigger, the better because the buildings are massive. The structures are made with elegantly worked stone, dome rooftops, various arrays of columns, and mosaics. The landscape of Iran’s country side is just as amazing. It is scattered with mountain ranges, streams, farmlands, and to my surprise no sand or camels. On several occasions we gathered together with relatives and ventured outside the city limits to go mountain hiking, swimming, and have family picnics on the riverside.
By the time my summer vacation came to an end and I had to say goodbye to my family and my new home, I was heartbroken. Being away from home and out of my element for a couple of months had changed me. The trip made me open my eyes to the world around me and embrace my heritage. I became comfortable with going out into the streets of Iran and meeting new people. From what I was told at home I automatically assumed we would be shunned from society and treated with disrespect. But I have never been greeted with such enthusiasm and affection from complete strangers. It seemed every person either wanted to hug us, kiss our cheek, or invite us over and cook us dinner. It saddens me to think that most American’s connect Iranians with misogyny, deserts, and terrorism. It took me coming to Iran to realize the way things are and how the citizens act aren’t always the same as described on the news and I honestly can’t wait to go back for another visit.
Thursday, October 6, 2011
Narrative Essay Sample 3
It was a normal Saturday for me. I had went out the night before so really didn’t feel like getting all dolled up the way I did the night before to go out. Me and the friends going shopping, for the next great outfit no less. Well off to the mall we went. I was dressed not to impress in my cotton gray shorts and LSU t-shirt, no make-up and hair in a messy ponytail. The normal twenty something hang over look.
The day started with all our favorite specialty stores, 579, Wet Seal and Gap. No one took a second look at us. We were just a bunch of girls out shopping for clothes. We shopped till we couldn’t go anymore then stopped to refuel for lunch. While having lunch my mother called and asked me to pick up her dress from Cache’. She had purchased a dress and it had to be altered for her. I told her sure and we kept on our shopping spree. After we had filled our bags and emptied out wallets, we were done. As we walked to the car with our bags I remembered that I forgot to pick up my mothers dress. So the girls took the bags and I told them to just pick me up at the door and I would run back in to get it.
I walked back in the mall and found Cache’, (a very high end ladies store) as I walked in the store the bell went off to alert the store princess that some layman was entering the castle to view the queen’s attire. As I approach the royal check out, I was ever so rudely greeted by the equal in age Princess, dressed in her best attire, with her professial make up job. In her most snooty voice she asked”May I help you?” I said yes I am here to pick up a dress for my mother. She replied with “Are you sure you are in the correct store”. I said yes I know I am in the right store. She then proceeds to ask me what my mother’s name was. I told her and she turned and walked to the back of the store. I was standing there think what was this girl’s problem. Was I in the right store? Just want in the hell kind of store did she think this was. I was getting even more up set as she stood in the back speaking with one of the other princess, as they both eyeballed me up and down. As if I had no business being there.
Finally after what felt like forever she returns to the check with a dress. I grabbed the dress and she said wait we must see ID for you to pick up the merchandise. I hung the dress back on the hanging rack and asked the girl what her problem was. She said “you don’t look like someone that shops here”. I replied to here that I don’t shop here my mother does. I gave her the ID and she finally released the dress to me. I turned to walk out of the store, but not before telling her that she could kiss my lower class ass.
I remember feeling like a third class citizen. I had nice things and a little money, but because I did not look a certain way the people in that store thought that I was poor and had no business being in there. I felt that had I been all dolled up, that I would have been treated with respect and entitlement to be in the store. To this day I can still remember the feelings that I felt that day and I have tried my hardest to make sure that I never make anybody feel that way. I feel that this experience has made me have a negative attitude towards higher end clothes stores. I still shop at several of them, but to this day I never walked in a Cache’ and never will.
The day started with all our favorite specialty stores, 579, Wet Seal and Gap. No one took a second look at us. We were just a bunch of girls out shopping for clothes. We shopped till we couldn’t go anymore then stopped to refuel for lunch. While having lunch my mother called and asked me to pick up her dress from Cache’. She had purchased a dress and it had to be altered for her. I told her sure and we kept on our shopping spree. After we had filled our bags and emptied out wallets, we were done. As we walked to the car with our bags I remembered that I forgot to pick up my mothers dress. So the girls took the bags and I told them to just pick me up at the door and I would run back in to get it.
I walked back in the mall and found Cache’, (a very high end ladies store) as I walked in the store the bell went off to alert the store princess that some layman was entering the castle to view the queen’s attire. As I approach the royal check out, I was ever so rudely greeted by the equal in age Princess, dressed in her best attire, with her professial make up job. In her most snooty voice she asked”May I help you?” I said yes I am here to pick up a dress for my mother. She replied with “Are you sure you are in the correct store”. I said yes I know I am in the right store. She then proceeds to ask me what my mother’s name was. I told her and she turned and walked to the back of the store. I was standing there think what was this girl’s problem. Was I in the right store? Just want in the hell kind of store did she think this was. I was getting even more up set as she stood in the back speaking with one of the other princess, as they both eyeballed me up and down. As if I had no business being there.
Finally after what felt like forever she returns to the check with a dress. I grabbed the dress and she said wait we must see ID for you to pick up the merchandise. I hung the dress back on the hanging rack and asked the girl what her problem was. She said “you don’t look like someone that shops here”. I replied to here that I don’t shop here my mother does. I gave her the ID and she finally released the dress to me. I turned to walk out of the store, but not before telling her that she could kiss my lower class ass.
I remember feeling like a third class citizen. I had nice things and a little money, but because I did not look a certain way the people in that store thought that I was poor and had no business being in there. I felt that had I been all dolled up, that I would have been treated with respect and entitlement to be in the store. To this day I can still remember the feelings that I felt that day and I have tried my hardest to make sure that I never make anybody feel that way. I feel that this experience has made me have a negative attitude towards higher end clothes stores. I still shop at several of them, but to this day I never walked in a Cache’ and never will.
Narrative Sample Two
Note: I'd like for y'all to view this as an essay example that could be edited or changed. The basic theme here is an interesting one - a student talking about the first times in her life that she recognized the existence of racism. Talking about topics like this can be very powerful. But what I want you to think about is how the essay would be different if she had chosen to focus on a single moment and describe her feelings and thoughts in detail, rather than providing us with a simple overview of a number of instances. THis is a good shell for an essay, but it needs more focus and detail.
“Oreo”, “White Girl”, were just some of the names that I was called. Ever since I can remember I’ve always been judge by other people, because of the way I talked and act. I grew up with white people and when I was really young I used to think that I was white. I went to a private school where I was one of four black kids in my class. My best friends were white I went to a predominately white church. I was emerged in this white culture. I did not understand that there was a difference between whites and blacks. My mom helped contribute to this by given me the name Kristen, she told me that she did not want me to be judged by my name. I even find that in my family because of the way I talk, I am mocked.
Years later I finally started to see that I am black. I never really experienced racism in my life, until one day I was sitting in my teacher’s class and she asked her young daughter do you want go home with Kristen and then she replied “ No, I don’t like brown people”. I understand that she was young, and she really did not understand what she was saying, but her words cut me deep. I was forced to see that racism exist. It also forced me realized that some whites feel that they are superior to blacks and other races. I would like to think that a little bit of grew up that day. I started to see things a lot different. The next year, I went to Central High school, and I can remember that there was not a lot of outward racism, but the races did stick to themselves, even though I bought into that, it still bothered me that there was a separation. I still was mocked by the way I talked, and it even got to the point where white people would call me “Oreo” and other things like that. I was thought of white black girl, I can remember sitting in my class and some random white guy told me that “you’re not like all the other black girls, you always keep your hair nice and you don’t do all those ‘styles’, you carry yourself very nice.” I did not really know how to take it, because it was a complement to me, but it was putting down other people. Throughout high school, I did not really change, I still talked and acted the way that I always had, but I was introduced to another side, and it felt good.
“Oreo”, “White Girl”, were just some of the names that I was called. Ever since I can remember I’ve always been judge by other people, because of the way I talked and act. I grew up with white people and when I was really young I used to think that I was white. I went to a private school where I was one of four black kids in my class. My best friends were white I went to a predominately white church. I was emerged in this white culture. I did not understand that there was a difference between whites and blacks. My mom helped contribute to this by given me the name Kristen, she told me that she did not want me to be judged by my name. I even find that in my family because of the way I talk, I am mocked.
Years later I finally started to see that I am black. I never really experienced racism in my life, until one day I was sitting in my teacher’s class and she asked her young daughter do you want go home with Kristen and then she replied “ No, I don’t like brown people”. I understand that she was young, and she really did not understand what she was saying, but her words cut me deep. I was forced to see that racism exist. It also forced me realized that some whites feel that they are superior to blacks and other races. I would like to think that a little bit of grew up that day. I started to see things a lot different. The next year, I went to Central High school, and I can remember that there was not a lot of outward racism, but the races did stick to themselves, even though I bought into that, it still bothered me that there was a separation. I still was mocked by the way I talked, and it even got to the point where white people would call me “Oreo” and other things like that. I was thought of white black girl, I can remember sitting in my class and some random white guy told me that “you’re not like all the other black girls, you always keep your hair nice and you don’t do all those ‘styles’, you carry yourself very nice.” I did not really know how to take it, because it was a complement to me, but it was putting down other people. Throughout high school, I did not really change, I still talked and acted the way that I always had, but I was introduced to another side, and it felt good.
Narrative Sample One
As a child, I was different from most children. I was a shy, quiet, good kid who pretty much kept to herself. I had only a few friends at school; therefore, I spent most of my time playing by myself. I would find ways to entertain myself such as investigating nature, taking things apart, riding my bike, and playing in the ditch. I had always been more of a “tom boy” than a “princess”. When I was eight years old, I was diagnosed with dyslexia. As most people know dyslexia is a type of learning disability.
A few schools have programs that teach those with dyslexia certain techniques and strategies that help students to learn. Furthermore, in these programs, teachers instruct in a manner that is more conducive to a dyslexics learning capabilities than that of a typical instructional environment. At the time, there was only one public school, in the Baton Rouge area, that had such a program designed for dyslexics. Therefore, my grandmother thought it would be beneficial for me to transfer to that particular school. Attending this school ended up being extremely traumatizing for me.
From day one, that school was horrible. My first memory of ever being bullied was at that school. On my first day there, we had a substitute teacher and it seemed like the students used that as an excuse to be unruly and on their worst behavior. While I was sitting at my desk, wondering what in the world was going on, one boy crawled under my desk in order to look up my dress. When I asked him to stop, he hit me. I was in shock. For one thing, I had never seen students be so bad in a classroom. They were using desks as platforms to stand and sit on. They were tearing things off the walls, yelling and screaming, and not paying any mind to the teacher who was trying to get them to sit in their chairs.
The above is one of two incidences of abuse from that school that I can recall from my memory. I believe that I may have subconsciously blocked out the other events that I went through while attending that school. The reason I can inform you of these other occurrences is due to my grandmother documenting them each day I came home from school.
Prior to my grandmother noting the incident mentioned above, she wrote in her log, “Boys grabbed Ashley and were kissing her.” It was recorded that two weeks later, “Dustin”, not the boy who was trying to look up my dress, kicked me in my “private parts” and spit out of the bus window onto my clothes. Those events occurred on Friday, September 22nd. That next Tuesday, the 26th, Dustin elbowed me in the ribs.
On October 22, three boys dragged me through some oil at the school bus transfer point. Also, according to my grandmother’s report, Dustin jumped onto my back. The following day, Dustin hit me in the back of the head with a branch from a pine tree when we were at school. Dustin hitting me with the branch was the second and only other incident that I can recall from my memory.
Continuing from my grandmother’s record, on October 4th, I fought Dustin back. The documentation states, “Ashley came home with a reddish bruise under her right eye. She said Dustin hit her and she hit him back and he socked her very close to the eye.” Then on the next day after that, I came home with some brush burns on my right arm because Dustin had tripped me.
Out of the ten days that event were recorded, it is listed six times that I asked or said that I did not want to return to that school. The documentation stated that one night I cried myself to sleep because I did not want to go to school the next day. My grandmother tried to get me removed from the program but they did not want to release me. I was a minority there; one of maybe 3 or 4 white children. The school received more grant money from the state with because I was going there. It wasn’t until my Social Worker got involved that they let me transfer back to my previous school.
Why they bullied and caused me so much grief, I don’t know. There are numerous possibilities that it could have been. I was different from them in the way of me being quiet, shy, and well behaved. ‘I didn’t talk right,’ i.e. my grammar was awful. Also, something I didn’t know then, but I know now, is I that have somewhat an accent that is all my own. I was born and raised here in Baton Rouge but people from here ask me where I’m from. However, the main reason I think they tortured me was because I was a cute, blonde-haired girl in a school full of people that were nothing like me and I was ‘a good girl’ so they saw me as an easy target that wouldn’t fight back.
A few schools have programs that teach those with dyslexia certain techniques and strategies that help students to learn. Furthermore, in these programs, teachers instruct in a manner that is more conducive to a dyslexics learning capabilities than that of a typical instructional environment. At the time, there was only one public school, in the Baton Rouge area, that had such a program designed for dyslexics. Therefore, my grandmother thought it would be beneficial for me to transfer to that particular school. Attending this school ended up being extremely traumatizing for me.
From day one, that school was horrible. My first memory of ever being bullied was at that school. On my first day there, we had a substitute teacher and it seemed like the students used that as an excuse to be unruly and on their worst behavior. While I was sitting at my desk, wondering what in the world was going on, one boy crawled under my desk in order to look up my dress. When I asked him to stop, he hit me. I was in shock. For one thing, I had never seen students be so bad in a classroom. They were using desks as platforms to stand and sit on. They were tearing things off the walls, yelling and screaming, and not paying any mind to the teacher who was trying to get them to sit in their chairs.
The above is one of two incidences of abuse from that school that I can recall from my memory. I believe that I may have subconsciously blocked out the other events that I went through while attending that school. The reason I can inform you of these other occurrences is due to my grandmother documenting them each day I came home from school.
Prior to my grandmother noting the incident mentioned above, she wrote in her log, “Boys grabbed Ashley and were kissing her.” It was recorded that two weeks later, “Dustin”, not the boy who was trying to look up my dress, kicked me in my “private parts” and spit out of the bus window onto my clothes. Those events occurred on Friday, September 22nd. That next Tuesday, the 26th, Dustin elbowed me in the ribs.
On October 22, three boys dragged me through some oil at the school bus transfer point. Also, according to my grandmother’s report, Dustin jumped onto my back. The following day, Dustin hit me in the back of the head with a branch from a pine tree when we were at school. Dustin hitting me with the branch was the second and only other incident that I can recall from my memory.
Continuing from my grandmother’s record, on October 4th, I fought Dustin back. The documentation states, “Ashley came home with a reddish bruise under her right eye. She said Dustin hit her and she hit him back and he socked her very close to the eye.” Then on the next day after that, I came home with some brush burns on my right arm because Dustin had tripped me.
Out of the ten days that event were recorded, it is listed six times that I asked or said that I did not want to return to that school. The documentation stated that one night I cried myself to sleep because I did not want to go to school the next day. My grandmother tried to get me removed from the program but they did not want to release me. I was a minority there; one of maybe 3 or 4 white children. The school received more grant money from the state with because I was going there. It wasn’t until my Social Worker got involved that they let me transfer back to my previous school.
Why they bullied and caused me so much grief, I don’t know. There are numerous possibilities that it could have been. I was different from them in the way of me being quiet, shy, and well behaved. ‘I didn’t talk right,’ i.e. my grammar was awful. Also, something I didn’t know then, but I know now, is I that have somewhat an accent that is all my own. I was born and raised here in Baton Rouge but people from here ask me where I’m from. However, the main reason I think they tortured me was because I was a cute, blonde-haired girl in a school full of people that were nothing like me and I was ‘a good girl’ so they saw me as an easy target that wouldn’t fight back.
Thursday, September 22, 2011
Notes from today's class
Ways to make your essay engaging for a wider audience:
- Broaden your scope (nursing school vs. college vs. school)
- Interviews – detailed experiences to help audience understand
- Describe clearly what the experience is like
- Explain more for a wider audience
- Exaggerate – make it bigger
- Tell stories (anecdotes)
- Broaden your scope (nursing school vs. college vs. school)
- Interviews – detailed experiences to help audience understand
- Describe clearly what the experience is like
- Explain more for a wider audience
- Exaggerate – make it bigger
- Tell stories (anecdotes)
Essay Two
Heading:
Name
WRIT 1310-3
Ms. Tohline
Date Handed In
Typed, Double-spaced, preferably TNR 12 pt font
Minimum length - 1 1/2 pages
Focus: Content and description
Option One: Public Figure
For this option, choose a public figure whose image has changed over time, and discuss the two (or three or more) different ways that they have been seen. What changed about their appearance, their attitude, their speech, their actions, etc. to cause the public to view them differently? Your goal here is to show an understanding of how we INTERPRET public behavior and appearance – to show that certain details about an individual can change how they are understood by a viewing public. You can choose the details you want to focus on, but your descriptions should be clear and should paint a detailed picture of the person being analyzed, and the reasons behind your claims about that person.
Option Two: A Person Familiar to You
In this option, describe two (or more) sides of a person who is familiar to you in some way. Your goal here – much like above – is to examine the way that appearance, words, and actions are part of the impression a person creates. You might talk about someone who appeared one way when you first met them, then turned out to be different. Or, you might choose to discuss someone that you and another person saw differently (like the example of the Story of Miss M that we read in class Tuesday). You can choose the details you want to focus on, but your descriptions should be clear and should paint a detailed picture of the person being analyzed, and the reasons behind your claims about that person.
Option Three: Online Identities
For this option, you are studying the way we present ourselves in online forums. You can either
(a) Examine the way someone presents themselves online, and compare that to the person that they appear to be in a real-life situation OR
(b) If you’re feeling creative, invent a profile for a person – either real or imagined. In this case, you would use your essay to explain the choices that you make in the profile, and how those choices help to create the kind of identity you are attempting to manufacture
The goal here is to understand how, in an online world, we carefully control the details of our self-presentations in order to maintain a certain image. You can choose the details you want to focus on, but your descriptions should be clear and should paint a detailed picture of the person being analyzed, and the reasons behind your claims about that person.
Name
WRIT 1310-3
Ms. Tohline
Date Handed In
Typed, Double-spaced, preferably TNR 12 pt font
Minimum length - 1 1/2 pages
Focus: Content and description
Option One: Public Figure
For this option, choose a public figure whose image has changed over time, and discuss the two (or three or more) different ways that they have been seen. What changed about their appearance, their attitude, their speech, their actions, etc. to cause the public to view them differently? Your goal here is to show an understanding of how we INTERPRET public behavior and appearance – to show that certain details about an individual can change how they are understood by a viewing public. You can choose the details you want to focus on, but your descriptions should be clear and should paint a detailed picture of the person being analyzed, and the reasons behind your claims about that person.
Option Two: A Person Familiar to You
In this option, describe two (or more) sides of a person who is familiar to you in some way. Your goal here – much like above – is to examine the way that appearance, words, and actions are part of the impression a person creates. You might talk about someone who appeared one way when you first met them, then turned out to be different. Or, you might choose to discuss someone that you and another person saw differently (like the example of the Story of Miss M that we read in class Tuesday). You can choose the details you want to focus on, but your descriptions should be clear and should paint a detailed picture of the person being analyzed, and the reasons behind your claims about that person.
Option Three: Online Identities
For this option, you are studying the way we present ourselves in online forums. You can either
(a) Examine the way someone presents themselves online, and compare that to the person that they appear to be in a real-life situation OR
(b) If you’re feeling creative, invent a profile for a person – either real or imagined. In this case, you would use your essay to explain the choices that you make in the profile, and how those choices help to create the kind of identity you are attempting to manufacture
The goal here is to understand how, in an online world, we carefully control the details of our self-presentations in order to maintain a certain image. You can choose the details you want to focus on, but your descriptions should be clear and should paint a detailed picture of the person being analyzed, and the reasons behind your claims about that person.
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