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My wonder years Essay


I was so late that I almost slipped on the bridle path as I ran to catch my bus. I looked like an inhuman jumble sale. My clothes where so large on me they where either cast off Pavarotti uniform or designed for the ‘supersized’. My shoes had the clumpy factor that matched my entire look. Any 70s sad Dad having a mid life crisis would be proud to own them; they were loafers of another era. To add to physical insult I was very ungainly… tall, skinny with big hands and feet a typical reject. I couldn’t have stuck out more if I had YEAR 7-NEW MEAT imprinted on my forehead.

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The kids on my bus thought I was direct evidence that God has a sense of humor. The journey to school felt totally traumatizing, when I finally got off the bus I was so nervous my knees could’ve beat James Stuart at a jitterbug dance off. To my relief there were a dozen other rather inconspicuous kids from my year that failed at being invisible by huddling under one tree. We followed the mass of students into the playground in attempts to find people we knew. As the bell sounded it wasn’t hard to do-a tidal wave of tenth years swept over us, they left behind a large entourage of first years.

A teacher rescued us from the window ridicule we where being subjected to-courtesy of every other year group. We got placed in our ‘forms’ I knew absolutely no one! Our tutor looked as equally as nervous as us. He himself looked out of place, like he belonged to the hippie mud baths at Glastonbury not in a Science lab, with a bunch of kid strangers. Our first lesson was French-affreux! It was fairly simple but ‘Madame Mao’ seemed rather too eager to make our lives a living hell. Her ‘salive’ took out the front row with accompanied by ear piercing terrier like shrieks.

Cooking was less exhausting but the smell of sunshine bars was beyond stomach turning, sulpher dioxide mixed with rotting flesh and hush puppy’s (I think in England they’re called Cornmeal fritters or battered cornmeal) would be understated. Lunch, if you classify the canteen food as edible was adequate. My new found friends and I walked through the school. Over 300 million people speak English you wouldn’t think so if you were in a school playground. The language of teenagers seemed similar to that of a caveman. A lot of monosyllabic words making no sense at all.

Speaking of language, teenagers are like Inuit’s they have fifty words to describe a variation of snow but not one word for just ‘snow’. (Reading Bill Bryson fills your head with unnecessary facts). Teenagers in the school seemed like that-there were plenty of cliques but no happy medium-there was no such thing as just a teenager. I was given little time to worry about where I would fit in as the third lesson approached. Geography-I am one of the many geographically confused that often end up asking for directions.

Luckily it seemed to involve earthquakes-to which I was no stranger (Hong Kong provided me with first hand experience) rather than map reading. Finally Music, the less said about the boy that got his fingers stuck in a flute the better-and I thought I was accident prone! (I don’t know whether it was due to first impressions but I no longer take any of the aforementioned subjects! ) The trip home was hardly a rollercoaster, yet somehow it still made me feel dizzy and a little dazed. The first day had confirmed my worst fears, that my childhood was O. V. E. R (alphabetical breakdown was so ‘this year’).

I felt so maladjusted, even though I had made quite a lot of friends in the one day. There was and still is so much to take in! I went home 11 going on 15. I have changed tremendously as time has gone on, now that I am 15 going on 16; the 90’s occasionally calls with its re-runs of Dawson’s Creek. Pangs of nostalgia pass as the past brings me back to my childhood and 2003 my ‘wonder year’. Show preview only The above preview is unformatted text This student written piece of work is one of many that can be found in our GCSE Miscellaneous section. Download this essay Print Save Not the one? Search for

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