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Mr. Halvorson

My most powerful personal experience in a learning community did not take place inside of classroom walls. In fact, I was in bed, missing my sixth-grade Christmas party due to the dreaded chicken pox. What timing! I had been looking forward to the event for weeks. Everyone was bringing in treats, and our teacher had a number of games and prizes planned. Meanwhile, I was miserable at home, trying not to scratch myself silly. About an hour after school had ended for the day, a knock sounded on our door. This might be a good time to mention that I lived a half-hour from town, at the top of Mount Kilkenny. Our driveway (AKA York Pond Road) was about five miles uphill. There were only three houses at the top of the mountain, all lived in by employees of the Berlin Fish Hatchery. Knocking at the door was a foreign occurrence. My mother opened the door to find my teacher, Mr. Halvorson, complete with bow tie and sweater vest, standing in the frigid mountain air. In his hands he held a bakery box. He had personally stopped at a bakery and bought me an assortment of goods. On top of

Independent Adolescence

Children always depend on their parents. No matter how young or old; a mother and father are deeply needed in their child’s life. Unfortunately, some children don’t have their parents to depend on due to death, jail time, or something of that sort. So it is a pity when a parent is with their child and the child can’t depend on them. That’s where I come in. When I was little, my parents were my rock, and they were well fitted in my life as they should’ve been. Nevertheless, when school started, my sibling started having depression problems. Though he was only a few years older than me, my mother was concerned that a 7th grade child was having depression problems. By this time my parents were only focused on my brother, and I didn’t mind because I was very scared for him. As my brother’s condition got worse, so did my parent’s tolerance for me. My older sister didn’t mind not getting attention; she got a job to help out with the medical and therapist bills. At home, I was invisible. My mom stopped cooking for me, and she often ignored me if I tried to carry on a

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