Part II: Narrative

SAT and ACT Essays 

It’s Saturday and it’s seven in the morning; no one should be up this early except for the thousands of people around the world who have to take the SAT. I roll out of bed, put on a sweatshirt and sweatpants, grab a granola bar and water, and walk out the door. I sit in my little red car nervously as I wait for the garage door to open. As I back out and continue down the street, I think of formulas, rules, and strategies that I have studied for weeks. I pull into the parking lot at Eastlake High School, grab my calculator and pencils and start my long walk to the back of the school. I walk through the empty halls as my flip flops click on the linoleum floor, passing locker after locker, and vending machines with metal fencing and locks around them. This was definitely not the school atmosphere I was used to. Sitting in the cold unfamiliar classroom my nerves became more present. The hands on the clock seemed like they were at a constant 7:55; when was eight o’clock going to come? As the final students entered the classroom, the instructor went to the front of the class. She handed out our test books and answer-sheets and began reading. We filled in the corresponding bubbles to spell out our name, date of birth, and address. Once we finished that section it was time to begin the test. I broke the seal on my test book and started the test.  

Finally, in three hours, the multiple choice portion of the test was complete. It was time to start the essay. Breaking the seal on the essay booklet I read the question, “With budget cuts in today’s public school system, music classes are being taken from the curriculum. Do you agree with the school’s choices? Why or why not?” We were given fifteen minutes to plan and twenty-five minutes to compose the essay. During the planning period all I wrote were three reasons why. They were; students enjoy music class, a student need a break from their everyday schooling and having music class give student more variety in learning and makes them more diverse.

 My reasons were broad and generic; I didn’t know what they were looking for so I gave answers that I thought they would want to have read. I remember rushing to write this essay and I felt like I kept repeating myself. I think that was my downfall. If I had more specific examples to why music class was important to keep in school I would have scored higher on the essay portion of the SAT. Being in comp one has taught me how to be more specific when writing papers. Before taking this class I didn’t know how to explain myself adequately in writing. In the few weeks of taking comp one, I think that I have become a more descriptive writer and I am able to explain myself better in my writings.

Why Students Should Not be Homeschooled

Third quarter of junior year, the time everyone dreads, the time in English class where we have to do the unspeakable; write a research paper. It was like any normal day; I walk into class and sit down in my last row seat and wait for class to begin. I look forward to going to room 615 everyday to see the smiley, red bearded man standing at the front of the class, excited to talk about the Anglo-Saxon Warriors. Today it was different, there was a strange vibe in the room, and as everyone sat in silence Mr. DeNote chuckled evilly. He said, “It’s that time of year again…” there was an overwhelming groan that filled the classroom. As he stood there explaining, all that ran through my head was my sophomore paper on Earnest Hemingway and how angry I was with the results. I remember spending countless hours making sure that this paper was perfect and when I got my grade back I was heartbroken to get a B. My careless mistakes with my citation and note/source cards would not hold me back this time. This essay was going to be perfect, there were no exceptions.

He gave us our assignment; to write a 7-10 page research paper on an issue in today’s world that we feel strongly about. The topics ranged from religious concerns, to offshore drilling, to legalizing marijuana. I chose something that no one else would ever thinking about writing a whole research paper about; homeschooling. I have a very strong belief that children need to be in a classroom setting, surrounded by other children, socializing and learning; in a homeschooled setting children cannot learn the social skills that they need to prosper in the real world.  Some of my peers might have gotten offended if they read my essay, so when choosing students for my “peer edits” I was very selective. The first draft had to be our paper as a whole, without all of the details. We had to have all paragraphs mapped out and both sides of the argument presented. I was apprehensive about letting anyone read my paper except for one of my best friends, Adam Hollifield, so we quickly swapped papers. I see Adam reading my paper; I see his tall frame bent over and his shaved head bouncing up and down because he was holding in his laughter. At the end of class he comes over to me and his infectious laugh filled the hallway. He wasn’t laughing because he found what I wrote comical but because it was so blunt. He said, “As I was reading your paper I could hear your voice in the back of my head saying everything that was written.” Because it was the rough draft to the rough draft I was completely honest and didn’t try to hide my feelings on this topic at all.

I thought about what Adam said about my paper being “blunt” and “brutally honest” had and I knew that I had to find away to getting my point across without being hurtful. I went home that day and I knew that I had revisions to make on my paper. I sat on the cold, dark mahogany wood floor and I laid out all my materials. I had a plan to be more organized and more efficient this time writing my essay; every time I would find a new piece of information I was going to copy exactly, word for word on the note card. After copying down my information I would get the APA citation and copy that word for word on a source card. I had everything sprawled out on the floor in my living room, I was exhausted. I spent hours handwriting these note cards. As I laid there staring at the snow white front door I thought about the last time I wrote a paper this way, about outcome, and about my disappointment. I started to get discouraged and I gave up for the night. I piled up the note cards and tied a rubber band around them and I went to take a shower. In the shower I got to thinking about my paper and my head was flooded with ideas on how to compose my paper. I quickly got dressed, wrapped my soaking wet hair in a towel, and sat down at my computer. I took out my note cards and started to write. In a time span of an hour I went from being completely done with this paper, to having three pages written. 

Everything in English class that quarter was based around this paper. I couldn’t seem to get away from it. Even on days where we were suppose to get indulged in epics like Beowulf and plays such as Shakespeare’s MacBeth, we went to the library do research for our paper.

After rereading and editing time and time again, my paper was finally finished. I bundled up my note cards and put my drafts in order. I placed everything in a large manilla envelope, set it to the side of my table, and let out a sigh of relief. The next day in class, as I looked around the room I saw a sea of smiles as everyone clentched their envelopes. We turned them in, when mine was in the hands of my teacher I felt a huge elephant lifted off of my back. A few weeks later, we were handed the rubrics with our final grade on them. I looked at the paper sitting facedown on my desk, took a deep breath, and flipped it over. I was ecstatic, I received a ninety six! I was so proud of myself, it was such an improvement from last year. As I read the comments that my teacher left I was given confidence that I didn’t have before I wrote this paper. This showed me that I did have the ability to write, if I took the time to really try. I always remember this experience when I get frustrated while writing. I use it as motivation because I now know that with time and effort I can accomplish any writing tasks.

Why Catholic School is Important to Me

Its late January of my senior year, I walk into the classroom at the end of the back hallway of Bishop McLaughlin Catholic High School; Mr. Murphy’s English class. I take my seat in the second row, second seat from the back wall, as I turn around to talk to my friend Tiger I hear Mr. Murphy’s thundering voice, “Sit down, take out a piece of paper, and write an outline on the following topic!” Our instructions were to write an outline for a five paragraph essay on why Catholic School was important to us. He explained that this essay was a school wide contest to see who would read their essay at mass later in the week. His voice was like Charlie Brown’s teacher to me. Everyone knew who the winner was going to be, teacher’s pet Rachel Turn. I had so many other things going on in my head; I didn’t want to be bothered writing an essay for a contest that I knew I wasn’t going to win. I quickly jotted down an outline for my essay and turned my attention to my biology study guide. The bell rang; I collected my belongings and rushed out of the room, ignoring Mr. Murphy’s reminder about writing our essays at home that night. The day went by quickly; I rushed home from school and went straight to my 5-10pm shift at Publix. The Catholic School’s essay never crossed my mind once while I was at work. When I got home I was exhausted and went straight to sleep.

The next day I was in my fifth period biology class, it was the day after a test so our teacher gave us a “reading day.”  I was standing there and a reminder to write my essay hit me like a ton of bricks. With twenty five minutes left in class I took out my computer and my shabby outline and started to write. The page quickly filled up with heartfelt words about my late father. I explained how he grew up in a Catholic family, and it was always important for us to go to church as a family. When it was time for me to attend school he pushed to have me in a Catholic environment. When I was 6 my father was involved in a hit and run accident and he was taken from us. My mother was left alone to raise nineteen day old baby sister and me all by herself. She knew that it would be a challenge to keep us in Catholic School but she was determined to do it because of how it was important to my father.

I printed out my essay at lunch time. Seventh period came around quickly and it was time to turn in our essays. Looking around the room, I felt like mine was a complete failure. I never thought that my teacher would even pick up my personal essay, however I was wrong. Mr. Murphy pulled me aside the next day and told me that he loved my essay and he chose it to be read in mass the next day. I stood there in shock; I couldn’t believe that he actually read my essay and he actually liked it. The reason I was so shocked is because when you think of someone who would win a writing contest, Kristen Spencer doesn’t come into your head. He told me that the reason he chose it was because it was to the point and personal. He liked it because it wasn’t another cookie cutter essay that people would be bored listening to. He said that people don’t want to listen to another generic “I love God and church” essay. My essay was short, but powerful enough to really touch the hearts of the audience.

Mr. Murphy and I finished our conversation and departed ways. I walked to lunch so slowly that day I felt like I was just punched in the stomach. Public speaking was my enemy and in less than twenty four hours I had to fight it. I wasn’t only nervous about being in front of hundreds of people, I was nervous to their reactions. No one in my school except a select few knew my story; I was about to share it not only with them but with four other schools filled with complete strangers.

That morning when I woke up and the nerves ran through me head to toe. Having to give a speech in a few hours was consuming my whole day because I couldn’t get my mind off of it. At third period I started the treacherous walk to mass. I walked alone to try to calm myself down but that wasn’t working. As I continue my walk I hear my name being called. I turn around to find my best friend, John. He was one of the few people that I told that my essay was chosen. He knew I was nervous and he tried to calm my nerves. As we walked into the theater her reassured me that I would be fine and everything would go smoothly.  I took my seat at the front of the theater and looked up at the podium. Visions of me falling off the steps or knocking over the microphone ran through my head all of mass.

 It was finally time to give my speech.  I couldn’t stop shaking; I took a deep breath and looked out into the audience. Everyone was a blur to me except for my best friend John; I saw his blonde hair and blank facial expression perfectly in the sea of people. I remembered what he said before mass, I saw the calm expression on his face, and my nerves subsided. I started to read my essay; when I got to the second page I could hear people crying in the audience. I was in shock to see that they essay that took me twenty minutes to write actually brought people to tears. I sat back in my seat and people started coming up to me telling me how my essay touched their hearts. The last person to come to me was my English teacher, Mr. Murphy. He looked at me with his large glasses and white beard. He shook my hand and smiled at me; I knew that I had his approval. Because Mr. Murphy gave someone different the chance to tell their story people weren’t bored by another generic speech that day. People actually listened instead of tuning out the speaker and I am honored that that speaker was me. It doesn’t matter if you’re at the top of your class or just average, anyone can make a difference. I am proof that connecting with your audience isn’t a difficult task to accomplish if  you personalize your writing.