Tuesday, September 1, 2009

3 potential ideas for memoir answering questions what is it about? and so what?

Idea #1






I was 9 years old and I was bored. It was math class, my favorite subject, and yet somehow it was too easy. I had the same sentiment when I sat in my other classes. Why did the teacher have to repeat the lesson over and over again? Didn't everyone already hear it the first time? Then one hot summer Miami afternoon as I was effortlessly finishing my classwork, my teacher pulled me aside and led me to the library without a word. When I arrived I noticed a group of my closest friends from school all huddled, she pointed to them as if to say "Go join your comfort zone." As I approached them they all looked at me with big owl eyes waiting to pounce on me with the question "Why are we here ?" I unfortunately had to disappoint them with the news that I had no clue what was going on either. Then our principle came out and announced for all of us to take a seat quietly. She began explaining that my friends and I had been selected to take a special test to see if we qualified for the Gifted Program. We had all shown excellence in our studies and had been highly recommended by a teacher. That day I took a test that changed my academic life. I passed that test and was officially a Gifted student by the following morning. I took classes above the average level of my class mates in science, mathematics, and social studies. I stayed in the gifted program all through elementary, middle, and high school. I graduated top three percent of my class putting me in the Summa Cum Laude category. The day I was told that I had the ability to excel past what I ever thought possible was the day I realized that I really could become anything I wanted to be. I learned that an A was all I wanted, I learned that excellence is what was expected of me at home, but most importantly I learned it was achievable. I am now attending the University of Central Florida and not Miami Dade Community College. I was able to skip that level and win my scholarship and grants to put me through school. I am a proud double major for hospitality and restaurant management, and know that the push I received in the 3rd grade got me where I am today.









Idea #2









It was the most exciting day for us. It was the day that the bell would ring and let us free for 3 months. 3 months filled with pool parties, birthday parties, days at the beach and sleepovers. I was 6 years old and I was fidgeting in my chair as if I had ants in my pants. The bell finally rung after what felt like a century had past and we jumped for the door. I raced outside and embraced my mom who was always patiently waiting outside for me. She hugged me and told me she had great news for me. Thoughts ran through my mind at the speed of lightening wondering if she had gotten me the new bike I had asked for during spring break and almost every single day after. I buckled my seat belt and waited for her to continue. Then the words came, the terrible, dreadful words. "I bought you a ticket to go see your cousins in Colombia for the whole summer!" She said it with a grin which angered me. We had spoken of this earlier that school year and I specifically said I was not in the least bit interested. I wished to stay home sleeping in and spending time with my friends. I burst into tears of anger. I felt betrayed and wished never to see her face again. She had ruined my summer. I was going to sit in 1st grade the next school year hearing all the wonderful stories of what had happened that summer and how great it was and how I had missed out on it. This was war. My temper of course flared and I began yelling and crying about the betrayal she had just committed. She only sat there with a sad disappointed face asking me why it was so hard for me to accept that family should always come first? Why I couldn't find some interest in going to the place she once called home? I being the selfish naive brat I was at the time ignored all this logic and continued to vent my anger. I was to leave the next day and wouldn't return for a full 3 months. My life as I officially knew it, was over.



Little did I know the wonderful eye opening cultural experience that was waiting for me. I arrived and met my family members. They hugged me as if they had known me my whole life, why did these strangers love me so much if they had just met me? I was treated special, I was the little American girl, or the "gringa" as they called me. I knew my spanish well but struggled every so often to communicate. I was shown the way they lived, in a home much smaller and older looking than the one we had in Miami. My mother called me everyday to see how I was doing. I acted mad for about a week before I couldn't hold in my excitement. My cousin Christian was the closest in age and we spent the summer basically inseparable. We went to the corner stores, we waited for the ice cream guy to come in his little cart, and we helped my aunt cook everyday. I learned the game of Parcheesi and snakes and ladders. I saw how the poor filled the streets in Colombia, and how fortunate I was back home. I enjoyed every second of that summer and went home with better stories than any of my classmates. I had been exposed to another world, a world that taught me to appreciate the opportunities my mother had been able to offer me.





Idea #3




The sweat was dropping down my face as I ran another lap. It was my punishment for not facing my fear. I was training to be the new goalie on my club soccer team and could not for the life of me manage to throw my body off to the sides to block a kick without hesitation. The action may not sound difficult but let me tell you, when your body knows the pain that is coming, it hesitates. So after I ran my lap, which was already my 10th that day, I was put in front of the goal again to attempt facing my fear again. I had my knees bruised from landing on the floor with hesitation and my hands were sweaty inside my gloves, all I could think about was not caring about pain and throwing myself. My coach kicked the ball and I caught it, but not with the correct move, I just happened to catch it by moving fast enough. He dismissed me with a disappointed sigh. We had a game the next morning against our rivals and I was the only goalie. The team was notorious for kicking low corner shots, low corner shots that could only be blocked by throwing yourself to the ground and blocking it with your torso. I barely slept thinking about the shame I would face the next day. My team knew the issue and had prepared to block them off as long as possible but the moment was coming, I could feel it in my veins. My blood was pumping, I was sweating already and I saw the forward from the opposite team coming. She was flying through my defense and positioning herself for the shot. The shot that would let them gain a lead on us. She kicked and I jumped. It hurt terribly, I thought I had broken a rib but I looked down and hugged that soccer ball as if my life depended on it. I had thrown myself in a moment of passion and done my job. I had blocked the shot and made my coach and I proud. The pain was worth it. We ended up winning that day and I had faced my fear. My dirty cut up legs were like a trophy to me. I had cut my knee on a rock pretty badly and the scar I would gain was to remind everyday that although somethings are tough and they hurt they are worth fighting for. Blocking that soccer ball taught me to take a hit and enjoy it all at once.

1 comment:

  1. All three sound like viable ideas, but it looks like #2 is going to give you an intersting chance to set detailed and descriptive scenes of people and places, and to show how these places changed you.

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