I Can See the Forest for the Trees
Today is a good day; it’s raining and windy outside .My head is pounding with the pain. However; today is a good day. I can say this because today marks the end of my school semester, this will be the last of my headaches until next semester. My favorite class was English 111. English has always been my favorite subject even in high school. Eight weeks ago I was scared it was going to be the first time I had attended school since high school. I am 36 years old(go figure).On the first day of class I walked into the building , I can recall, silently thanking god for giving me the courage to move forward with my education, something I’ve pondered for years. I had read my instructors syllabus on the college blackboard prior to my first class. I was already afraid I pictured him to be very stern, tall, serious, dressed with a very expensive tailor-made suit on and gesturing with hands moving with every word
Everyone rallied outside of the classroom door, as class was to start at 7:15, my fellow students grew weary , along came this Caucasian guy, who looked like a hippy he was unshaven and disheveled. I later referred to him as a (weed smoking white boy). He punched the keypad on the door, never saying a word to anyone. We all watched and wondered if he was somehow our teacher. We hoped he was a substitute by the way he looked. When we entered the classroom we sat down and the strange hippy sat amongst us, I thought well maybe he’s a student and the Instructor is running late and sent him to open the door. The class became inpatient and we began making comments about the instructor being tardy. Out of no where the hippy Caucasian guy stands up and introduces himself as our Instructor. That was it. If my Instructor is reading this I want him to know I forever hold him close. You changed my views of thinking rhetorically and analyzing people and things. I was so afraid .My first day of class was like the first day of kindergarten when we cried while our parents waved at us through the bus windows. He looked like the students, he walked like the students, and he talked like the students my instructor treated us like humans and not like machines. That experience was the beginning of Rhetorical Analysis taught by my instructor. Later we were able to discuss our feelings as to what we thought when the instructor stood and announced himself. We were all in stitches (laughing). From English 111 I now view things differently, posters, billboards, magazine covers, commercials and even the world is now viewed from a different prospective. I understand that throughout my college journey , their will be instructors who are stern and strong faced, if ever intimidated by that I will retort back to my English 111 instructor and remember things , people and places are not always what they seem.
Today is a good day; it’s raining and windy outside .My head is pounding with the pain. However; today is a good day. I can say this because today marks the end of my school semester, this will be the last of my headaches until next semester. My favorite class was English 111. English has always been my favorite subject even in high school. Eight weeks ago I was scared it was going to be the first time I had attended school since high school. I am 36 years old(go figure).On the first day of class I walked into the building , I can recall, silently thanking god for giving me the courage to move forward with my education, something I’ve pondered for years. I had read my instructors syllabus on the college blackboard prior to my first class. I was already afraid I pictured him to be very stern, tall, serious, dressed with a very expensive tailor-made suit on and gesturing with hands moving with every word
Everyone rallied outside of the classroom door, as class was to start at 7:15, my fellow students grew weary , along came this Caucasian guy, who looked like a hippy he was unshaven and disheveled. I later referred to him as a (weed smoking white boy). He punched the keypad on the door, never saying a word to anyone. We all watched and wondered if he was somehow our teacher. We hoped he was a substitute by the way he looked. When we entered the classroom we sat down and the strange hippy sat amongst us, I thought well maybe he’s a student and the Instructor is running late and sent him to open the door. The class became inpatient and we began making comments about the instructor being tardy. Out of no where the hippy Caucasian guy stands up and introduces himself as our Instructor. That was it. If my Instructor is reading this I want him to know I forever hold him close. You changed my views of thinking rhetorically and analyzing people and things. I was so afraid .My first day of class was like the first day of kindergarten when we cried while our parents waved at us through the bus windows. He looked like the students, he walked like the students, and he talked like the students my instructor treated us like humans and not like machines. That experience was the beginning of Rhetorical Analysis taught by my instructor. Later we were able to discuss our feelings as to what we thought when the instructor stood and announced himself. We were all in stitches (laughing). From English 111 I now view things differently, posters, billboards, magazine covers, commercials and even the world is now viewed from a different prospective. I understand that throughout my college journey , their will be instructors who are stern and strong faced, if ever intimidated by that I will retort back to my English 111 instructor and remember things , people and places are not always what they seem.
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(He is reading this.)
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