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Jessica Powell
Richard Vollaro
ENC1101
02/02/16
Narrative
High School Importance
Career development comes along with various lifetime goals which have to be
accomplished for an individual to achieve the best in their lives. Through such commitments in
the achievement of goals, then an individual is bound to be successful in everything good that they
do. Among such career development goals is in the field of education whereby an individual ought
to work substantially hard to ensure that they achieve their goals. Therefore, failing to have much
commitment to the educational goal could lead to regrets in my future. My high school journey
was full of great dreams on how I would work hard, pass my exams well and, in turn, become a
successful person in the future according to my career goals. On the contrast, the experience was
not what I would now expect it to have been due to the distraction that I got as a result of poor
choice of friends.
During my first year in high school, my class work performance was substantially good
due to the commitment that I had in order to achieve my dreams. I wanted to go to a good
University. I used to have a few friends from middle school who would work with me on my
homework and in most cases all that we talked about was our life time goals and the fact that we
should work hard in order to achieve them. The turn of events occurred when a new family moved
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into our neighborhood, and their children were admitted to the same high school that I was studying
in. Their children were extremely outgoing and felt that they should only be associated with the
most popular students in the school. As time went by, I ended up breaking up with my former
friends and joined the company of my neighbors and the more popular students in the school.
According to my new friendly group of friends, working hard was not such an important factor in
school. I could always catch up later. Most of our time were spend on shopping and focusing on
our popularity within the school compound. We had earned some level of respect by other students.
The change was drastic since it was noticeably reflected in the drop in my grades. My
parents tried to talk to me regarding the issue that was causing such a great change in my studies
but due to the motivation from my friends to focus on popularity and silly things, I had no much
time to explain my failure. I always promised my parents that I would do better during my next
exams. Since they knew that I was a good and disciplined teen, they kept on believing in my
dreams to the extent of hiring a tutor who would teach me after schools. However, my mind was
completely diverted from studies, and the tutoring was just a waste of time. I always wished to
spend most of my time in school. As well, my initial friends in high school tried to talk to me
regarding my new company because they had realized how much it was affecting my grades and
personality wise. “You have changed so much you don’t even realize it anymore” they would tell
me. I turned down their advice on the basis that they were just a group of some low-class students
who did not know what it felt like to be popular and have fun.
The situation worsened when it allowed myself to be dragged into a situation that led to a
detention.. As a result, the school contacted my parents regarding my behavior. They were very
shocked to realize that I was no longer the disciplined person they used to know and, as usual, I
made a great promise that I was going to work hard on my grades. I also made a decision that I
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was going to change the choice of friends in order to achieve my dreams. However, I was so much
into the popularity such that I could not even go a day without my “friends”. Time had already
passed by and we were almost doing our final exams. Despite all the motivation from our teachers
and parents, I still did not see much important in the need to pass my main tests. I missed my SAT
/ACT. According to the popularity we had gained, I though I could use the connections and keep
my friends.
The final exam’s results were out, and I had not performed well as compared to the dreams
that I had when I was still in my freshman year. As well, our neighbors moved out of that area,
and I never really kept in touch withthem again. It is during that moment when I got to focus on
the reality and realized that what I had done would affect my future forever. I used to spend day’s
crying and regretting having made the wrong choice of friends. “ I wish this. I wish that” I told
myself over and over about the things I wish I could change. But it was too late.
My first year’s friends had performed very well in their exams, but they still gave me hope
that my lower grades in my high school education was not the end of my dreams and that I could
still work hard towards the achievement of my goals. Of course it will take more work and a longer
time.
As well, I regularly offer guidance to other students when we talk because I knew I could
have performed better .If it were not for the change of friends, then I would have done very well
in my class work. Therefore, it is crucial to focus on long-term goals such as career development
that would be of great help in an individual’s future instead of focusing on short-term goals such
as popularity and classy friend. Besides, the choice of friends is an important aspect of the life of
any learner since they play a great part in determining the amount of focus that they put on studies.
As well, the choice of friends could also be an important aspect for other individuals in different
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aspects of life such as the working class. It is possible for friends to influence someone into quitting
their careers. Hence, the lesson I got from this experience is that I should always focus on important
aspects of life since the future belongs to an individual and not a group of friends.
Student’s Name
Professor Vollaro
ENC 1101
September 28, 2010
Narrative Essay
Dead Eye
“You’re going to do what?” my best friend inquired of me with disbelief. My head
popped up quickly and I looked into her perplexed eyes full of concern for me. “Huh?” I uttered
still dazed from the daydream I was having. If it wasn’t a book I was reading, it was some silly
wishful dreaming that spell bounded me and I shut out the whole world briefly. I quickly
gathered my thoughts and scanned the courtyard of my school that was apparently becoming
crowded all of a sudden. Curious spectators moved near my position and waited eagerly for my
response. “They call it a Shakespeare Tournament.” I said. “It’s a contest between Archers to see
who the better shot is, you know, like William Tell with the apple?” “Only we will be using
targets, I think.” As I sat there pondering it, I still couldn’t believe I had actually agreed to do
this. To tell the truth, I was sort of nominated, I really didn’t have a choice, I just said “ok” to it.
What was I thinking? Archery may be in my blood as my dad put it but that didn’t mean I was
actually any good at it.
As my friends and classmates began to chatter to each other like chipmunks, I started to
recollect my youth and how I had grown up in a family of archers and bow hunters. My father
was a natural Sagittarius and had always loved the sport and hunting. If he wasn’t shooting at
competions, he was off on some hunting trip in Canada or southern Ohio. He also taught archery
to kids at the local Recreation center. He worked in his own archery and repair shop. My entire
family worked in the shop repairing bows, making strings, and fletching arrows. We would also
teach at local camps, the proper technique for competition type shooting. My father, mother, and
brother were all state champions with shiny medals and trophies littering the walls of their rooms
at home. My little brother Mike was even a junior Olympian in the nineteen eighties, they, were
all that good. I, on the other hand had only competed once or twice when I was really little and
won a few freestyle medals that were probably rusting in a box under my bed. Competing
wasn’t really my thing. I liked working in the shop making bow strings and fletching colorful
arrows with real feathers or plastic vanes depending on the order. I had never conceived the idea
that I was talented at the sport. It was what it was, something to do once in a great while. I had
never really shot with serious archers, (other than my dad) and I didn’t perfect my technique. So,
what in heaven would make me think to even consider agreeing to something I hadn’t really
done since I was much younger?
The contest was between the sophomore, junior, and senior class. A representative would
compete for the prize which consisted of a golden apple. It was announced also that a teacher
could also compete if they were from that class. I had inquired as to why they had picked me out
of an entire sophomore class? The answer: “You’re the sister of a state champion and junior
Olympian, Duh?” Oh, that was it, yeah, now I get it. I thought to myself. “What?” I argued,
“What does that have to do with…” and they all walked away tickled pink that they had their
contestant. “Great,” I said, “perfect!” That’s when I felt a cold shutter of dread.
So, here it was, less than an hour ago I was a carefree high school youth enjoying a nice
spring day when fate decided it wanted to make a complete fool of me and my name. I had no
time to prepare or even practice and I did not have time to go home to get my own bow which
was made for me. Soon after that thought, It was announced on the loud speaker that equipment
would be provided for those who had not brought any, and all I needed do was to just show up.
My nerves went on high alert when I heard that. My heart was racing and I began to sweat
badly. My bowels were beginning to cramp and I felt chilled as the bell rang signaling that it
was time to head towards the P.E. field for the contest. My mind was completely blank and it
was a miracle I was even walking upright. I had no recollection of how I had made it to that
field but my feet seemed to know the way just perfectly! “Traders!” I thought to myself.
I ambled up through a valley of onlookers who whispered to each other as I passed them.
I was seriously shaking, and felt as if I were attending my own execution. I finally reached the
front line and saw three bailed targets about fifty yards out. I looked to my right and saw this
puny, little, toe haired, boy who was representing the junior class. My friend whispered to me
that he was an eagle scout and had earned his badge for archery. In his hands he held a very nice
wooden recurve bow that had probable been given to him by a proud father. It looked as if it had
been designed just for him, as were the arrows. “His dad probably bought the damn bow in our
shop.” I muttered under my breath. As I turned to look in front of me, a tall boy approached me,
smiled, and handed me a plastic stick bow and quiver of matching plastic arrows, you know, the
ones that you could buy at Kmart and give to your six year old to shoot in the back yard with.
“What the….?” is all I got out when a friend of mine tapped me on the shoulder and indicated to
me to look to my left.
I gazed at the senior representative that I recognized as a history teacher named Mr.
Blackburn. That wasn’t as shocking as the fact of what struck me dumfounded. In his hands
was a fully loaded White Tail Hunter Compound competition bow complete with sites,
stablelizer, a burger button on the string, arm rests, hand tabs, and a leather quiver full of
beautifully fletched XX seventy-five Game getter arrows that matched the color of his bow
limbs. My fear and dread soon gave way to downright, absolute, fury and disbelief. “Oh, Hell
No!” I blurted. “You have got to be kidding me!” I shouted. How in the world was I supposed to
compete fairly in a contest with a Centaur who was seriously packing on one side and Forest
Gump on the other and me shooting a little “Howdy Doody” bow? I was furious! I bellowed
out, “How unfair can you get?” That’s When Mr. Blackburn retorted back in a snide tone,
“What?” “Are you afraid of a little competition?” “Miss My dad owns an archery shop?”
My head bobbed back a few inches and I closed my open mouth and took a deep breath.
I relaxed my clenching grip on the bow in my hands and calmly said back to him, “Bring it on
little man.” A thunderous applause of cheers and howls erupted just then, from the crowd of
mixed spectators as we began the contest. The rules were easy; one only had to empty their
quiver of arrows into the bailed targets. The points would be added up by the color rings on each
target. I closed my eyes, breathed in deeply and said a quick prayer to my ancestral Cherokee
family. I then began to nock my arrow, check my stance, and lower my right elbow to the level
of my shoulder. I pulled back the string and lined up the arrow to the corner of my mouth and
began exhaling slowly as I released the string. “Bulls eye!” yelled one boy. I took up another
arrow and systematically repeated the steps until all the arrows were fired. The crowd was on its
feet screaming “Bull eye!” “She got Another Bulls eye!” “You mean Dead eye!” cried another
boy. The term “Dead eye” in Marksman talk is one who places each shot consecutively in the
same area until all shots have been fired.
After I had finished, I laid my equipment down on the grass and looked to my junior
comrade who had actually given up half way during the contest having not hit the target one
time. He smiled at me sweetly and said, “Nice grouping.” “Thanks,” I said, still numb from the
adrenaline rush. I looked to my left at Mr. Blackburn who was gawking at my target in wild
disbelief. “I don’t freaking believe it!” he said. “Congratulations, Julie, incredible!” I turned to
view his bail and was genuinely stunned as I looked at his target and shook my head. All the
arrows were in the bail but, they were all over the place. Only a few arrows had hit the colored
part of the target and he was using state of the art equipment. When I looked at my bail, that’s
when the emotion all hit me at once.
I not only shot all my arrows into the yellow Bulls eye, but, it wasn’t a bad grouping.
(My dad could do so much better). I was totally elated and could done a tribal victory dance right
then and there. The sophomore class went nuts screaming, “We’re number one!” “We’re number
one!” I had never been slapped in the back so many times in my life. The realization continued
as I told myself that Not only did I win the Shakespeare Tournament, but I did it with a little
plastic stick bow that was made for a child. It didn’t matter how many competitions I had been
in when I was younger. It didn’t matter, if I had practiced over and over and studied technique
or watched as my family won championship after championship, and that in nineteen seventy
seven, my father was voted the fifth greatest archer in the world. All the mattered was that I was
his daughter, and it was in the blood and would hopefully remain there to be passed on to future
generations. My father is retired now, and we don’t have the shop anymore, but that didn’t stop
him or I from teaching his grandchildren how to shoot with a bow and arrow. To his amazement
after watching them, my dad had remarked that they had a real natural talent for it. I looked at
him and asked him “why are you surprised?” I said, “After all, it’s in the blood.”
…
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