At one point in my life the only thing that interested me were my friends. I was too busy trying to impress my friends that I screwed around in school not being academically there. I was usually getting into fights and pushing peoples buttons; I would do anything that I knew could make people mad and extremely frustrated. I was the neighborhood punk. I was normally trying to find a way to pull a prank on someone to be accepted as a cool person; being accepted by all my peers were usually my intentions at school. Being cool to me was the only thing that mattered. I wanted everyone to see me as the rebel child. Usually people look up to the disobedient children thinking them to be independent and rebellious that’s what was classified as cool to me. That’s how I wanted other people to look at me because I felt like if it would have made people look up to me or even just remember me as being the cool person. While growing up in Norwalk, California an area that to some people would think to be somewhat of a ghetto, this was not really the best route for a young teen to be going down. Freshman year I pulled a 1.4 G.P.A. My parents had very little trust in me, they would even remind me how much they didn’t really trust me every so often, because of all the trouble I would normally be getting into. My parents absolutely hated the fact that I was the oldest out of four boys because of the bad influence I was on them, it even started to show when my younger brother had started getting into trouble every so often. Being a freshman in high school, college was never on my mind; I Gomez 2
had told everyone that I would never go to college. Just the thought of a minimum of four years after thirteen years of school was not appealing to me; not one bit. Slowly all these actions were catching up to me. I had to think hard about what I could do to repair the damage that at the time I thought was unfixable because of all the frustration and anger I had caused my parents for the actions that I had done.
In eighth grade I had a very young teacher; it was probably her first year ever teaching, and a horrible year at that. She is probably the meanest teacher in the world now because of all the frustration that I had put that poor woman through; Ms. Bullock was her name. Ms. Bullock in my eyes always had little to no control over the class. She was very skinny, about 5 feet 9 inches with very blonde hair; she was the most innocent looking woman in the world. Ms. Bullock was about twenty-four years old and was always really good at the teaching part of her job but once I, the classroom clown, got started fooling around the whole class would laugh and get out of control. Whenever Ms. Bullock would yell she would yell at the top of her lungs, her neck would tense up and her veins would become very distinct, appearing as if they were going to explode when she would yell. I thought she was scared of the students or something in that range because she would always threaten to expel me or send me up to the office on a referral, or something along those lines but always failed to do so. I think that by her doing that kind of reassured me that I would never get into trouble; I could always try and be that cool child that I thought everyone would look up to me for without any punishments.
Nonetheless one day in her class I planned out a scheme to make all my friends laugh, all I had wanted at the time was have people look up to me and actually want to be my closer friends. I loved the idea of being the cool child that was always getting into trouble and being rebellious. I had made just about twenty paper airplanes at home one night and my parents had Gomez 3
bought me these really sensational pair of shoes that were called Heeley’s; they were these shoes that had one removable wheel on each heel of the shoe so you could glide around effortlessly with everyone’s attention. That day I had gotten into her class and I had...
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