Personal Narrative: Lessons Learned In High School
I learned a lesson all the way back in first grade, and that lesson has stuck with me ever since. I was coming in from recess, and I was talking to a friend of mine off to my left. Unfortunately, I was not watching where I was going. I kept barely taking glances of what was in front of me, and that was a huge mistake. Someone was running behind me, and wasn’t watching where they were going either. As I approached the building I heard yelling, but thought nothing of it. After all, recess had just finished, so obviously kids would be yelling, right? It turns out some kids had been playing tag, and decided to play until they got inside. One that was still running away, because God forbid he’d be “it,” was Nick. Well, as fate would have it, Nick ran into me. The momentum he had on impact, caused me to fall forward, right into a brick wall. I remember the pain running through my arms and face, but nothing hurt as badly as my lip. My first grade teacher came out, and she helped me to the nurse. The nurse called my mother, and told her that I had to go to the hospital. Before my mother got to the school, although she was driving pretty fast, I got to look in the mirror. My upper lip was split open, and did not look pretty. It was bleeding excessively when my mother got to the school. She quickly got me into the car, and we drove off.
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You see, my simple first grade brain just thought of it like a splinter. After a while, I refused to tell anyone that I had a splinter. They just grew into my body, and that was that. I thought they would just go away. When I found out I had to get them taken out, I was devastated. I was absolutely terrified. It only took one strong doctor and my mother to hold me down this time. The doctor got out some scissors and started to cut the stitches so he could take them out, and that was almost as bad as getting them put in. I was crying again, almost, if not just as badly as the first
You see, my simple first grade brain just thought of it like a splinter. After a while, I refused to tell anyone that I had a splinter. They just grew into my body, and that was that. I thought they would just go away. When I found out I had to get them taken out, I was devastated. I was absolutely terrified. It only took one strong doctor and my mother to hold me down this time. The doctor got out some scissors and started to cut the stitches so he could take them out, and that was almost as bad as getting them put in. I was crying again, almost, if not just as badly as the first