Memoir Essay Early Draft
Joshua McDowell
Memoir Essay Early Draft: Engl 202 AAH
Jon Troyer
Ivy Tech Community College
Memoir Essay Early Draft
As I step off the yellow school bus, I looked up at the big, brown brick elementary school. Kids were everywhere. I was excited. The night before, I could hardly sleep. I kept getting up every five minute, afraid I might oversleep. I felt like the big man on campus, but in reality, I was the little man on campus. I was about six years old and so tiny among the older children. I was taken to the cafeteria, where all the kids were to find their teachers and walk to their homerooms as a class. I found my teacher. She was a middle-aged Caucasian woman with blonde hair. Her name was Ms. Bishop. She was nice. The bell rung and we walked in a single file line to our classroom for the next couple months.
The classroom was bright and colorful. It was like a world of wonder. We hung our backpacks up in the small cubbys and got settle in our seats. Each of the desks had our names on them. Some of the kids were accompanied by their parents on the first day. My mother didn’t come with me. She said I was a big boy and I would be fine. As Ms. Bishop was walking down our class schedule on the chalkboard, I decided to go introduce myself to my classmates. I have never been a shy person or afraid to meet people. “Good morning, everybody and welcome to your first day of kindergarten,” Ms. Bishop said.
Memoir Essay Early Draft: Engl 202 AAH
Jon Troyer
Ivy Tech Community College
Memoir Essay Early Draft
As I step off the yellow school bus, I looked up at the big, brown brick elementary school. Kids were everywhere. I was excited. The night before, I could hardly sleep. I kept getting up every five minute, afraid I might oversleep. I felt like the big man on campus, but in reality, I was the little man on campus. I was about six years old and so tiny among the older children. I was taken to the cafeteria, where all the kids were to find their teachers and walk to their homerooms as a class. I found my teacher. She was a middle-aged Caucasian woman with blonde hair. Her name was Ms. Bishop. She was nice. The bell rung and we walked in a single file line to our classroom for the next couple months.
The classroom was bright and colorful. It was like a world of wonder. We hung our backpacks up in the small cubbys and got settle in our seats. Each of the desks had our names on them. Some of the kids were accompanied by their parents on the first day. My mother didn’t come with me. She said I was a big boy and I would be fine. As Ms. Bishop was walking down our class schedule on the chalkboard, I decided to go introduce myself to my classmates. I have never been a shy person or afraid to meet people. “Good morning, everybody and welcome to your first day of kindergarten,” Ms. Bishop said.