Mishaps in the Fifth Grade
Until the fifth grade, I felt that being "smart" meant being able to do well in school. I was completely off base. I became used to earning excellent marks regardless of whether or not I grasped the topic because of certain primary instructors' lack of enthusiasm in teaching. When I met Ms. Roark, my kind but strict fifth grade teacher, everything changed. Between my lack of self-confidence and my plenty of stubbornness, I found myself in a predicament in fifth grade I graduated from fifth grade with a dreadful letter grade and a crushed ego as a result of these two failures.
Most instructors divide their classroom into two sections: one for challenging students and one for the brightest pupils. I was seated in the middle of the class on our first seating chart, so I wasn't as brilliant as I thought I was. I was overjoyed when, later in the year, she put me to the far back of the class. This year had been a great one for me, and I felt that my hard work paid off. Our books and pencil cases slid out from beneath our desks as she called out our seats, and we moved to our new "homes." She started a new session by copying phrases from the Smart Board as I set my stuff down and sat down. At this point in time, it dawned on me that this may be the worst present I have ever received: the Smart Board.
After straining so hard my eyes were almost shut, I was still unable to read any of the words. In my youth, I was quite self-conscious about my appearance. As a result, I lacked the courage to speak out in front of my instructor about my issue. Having difficulty seeing the Smart Board led me to believe that there is a problem with my eyesight. Furthermore, I had worked hard to get this position. Because I didn't want to lose it! The only time I was able to understand what Ms. Roark was saying was when I had my math note-taking binder out and listened intently. I got a feeling of being left out as I saw everyone else jotting down what they had on the board. With the help of random numbers and arithmetic symbols, I was able to solve this problem. Rather than being scared, I was petrified. My mum helped me a lot with arithmetic that year. I don't think I would have required any assistance if I could see the board. The quizzes and assessments were quite challenging, despite the support of my mother. My grades began to show how little I was learning in class. Somewhere in the neighborhood of 80s and 70s was tossed in for good measure. A progress report in March made me more concerned about the situation.
A few minutes after Ms. Roark distributed the report cards, all of my grades were expected to be A-plus grades. As I scanned the list of topics, I remember thinking to myself, "It's a AAAAAC. My arithmetic grade was C." I felt my stomach plummet right away. A swarm of pessimistic ideas invaded my mind as my heart pounded furiously. "You've never had a pupil like this before." Because of your indifference, this has happened." As I asked Ms. Roark if I might use the toilet, tears streamed down my cheeks. She gave a nod of agreement. As soon as the door closed behind me, I buried my face with my hands and attempted to keep my cries under control. After a few weeks, she asked us to duplicate a gigantic word that she had written in large, bold characters. So I asked her if I may write it down at the front of the class instead of waiting for my friends. She gasped in disbelief when she discovered that I was having trouble seeing. Students in Ms. Roark's classroom the next day discovered that they had a new seating arrangement; I was placed immediately in front of the Smart Board .'s However, it was too late in the school year to make a big difference in my arithmetic grade. This was amazing. A few days later, my mother received a phone call from Ms. Roark, who informed her that I urgently required new glasses.
This incident has etched itself into my psyche and formed me into the person I am today. While I was receiving unsatisfactory grades, I was humiliated because all of my other peers who I sat around were making great grades. As a result, I'm a quiet person who seldom speaks out in class. After that, arithmetic was and still is a source of anxiety for me, particularly when I watch others making progress while I falter. I've learnt not to be afraid to ask a teacher a question or voice an issue that's upsetting me. In addition, I discovered that a student's grade or seat in a classroom has little to do with how smart they are as a person.
