Final Reflection

In my year of AP Lang I have seen my writing grow and progress in many ways, from style to vocabulary.  A major indicator of said growth is that I have more of a personal style and voice to my writing. No longer do I feel as if my writing is generic and commonplace, indistinguishable from the writing of my peers. The blog assignment was most helpful in my development of my writing style. Unlike the journal project, where one could rant, curse and write almost incoherently for lines on end, the blog project set some rules creating substance to the entries. While I still possessed the freedom to write what I wished, I had to keep the foul language at bay and be aware of my audience- the World Wide Web. These constraints helped me to better articulate and form my blog posts, giving them more substance than a private journal entry.  Because of this I believe my personal voice and style of writing flourished in my blog posts.

Nonetheless, I need to improve on forming and articulating an effective argument. Creating and integrating support for my arguments remains a difficult task under a time constraint. In addition, more grammar can be implemented into class. While I may be an effective writer as a whole, I have trouble with grammar as it relates to my writings. For example, in-depth lessons on compound-complex sentences or subordinate clauses are unnecessary. However, comma splices (which I probably still have within this reflection) and how to use various punctuation are topics that can be implemented next year to improve the class.

Overall, the most meaningful and memorable activities, I felt, were the projects that left a physical, tangible mark on the world. The class project, where a whole group of independent, haughty teens could come together to create a children’s picture book in a matter of days is simply astonishing.  I can pop in the DVD into my computer to see my Scarlet Letter adaptation whenever I please.  On the internet now and forever is a website satirizing teen pregnancy.  These assignments are the ones I will remember about the class in five years’ time. 

UGA v. UNC Chapel Hill

I may be good student, but I’m not Harvard bound. As of now, my favorite past-time is to look at colleges. Due to a variety of factors-homesickness, cost, and prestige, I have come up with my top two colleges of choice- UGA and UNC Chapel Hill. I don’t want to be an engineer so Georgia Tech is out of the question. When I think of Emory all I see is a bunch of future doctors holed up in their dorm rooms studying- not my type of people. I’m applying to both UGA and UNC and if I happen to get accepted into both, well I’ll have a dilemma on my hands. Here are the pros and cons of both.

UGA Pros

• Close to home. (Meaning when I start crying for my mom, home is only an hour away.)
• I will most-likely be accepted
• UGA football. ‘Nuff said.
• Athens’ music scene
• All freshman dorms, make friends easily
• Hope Scholarship
• Better school education-wise than say Georgia Southern or Florida.
• I already love UGA

UGA Cons

• Huge Greek Life
• Less prestigious than UNC, GA Tech, or Emory, i.e. I can do better
• Less diversity
• No dental school

UNC Pros

• Better school than UGA
• Has one of the best dental schools in the country
• UNC basketball
• Less Greek Life

UNC Cons

• Cost
• UNC only accepts 18% out of state students
• Far from home
• My sister lives in North Carolina
• Boring city
• Not totally in love with UNC

See my dilemma? I visiting both schools this summer on a college tour of the southeast with my mom, but only time (and an acceptance letter) will tell which school I’ll decide to attend.

Almost Fatal Distraction

A few weeks ago, I was introduced to the works of Gene Weingarten, and later to his article Fatal Distraction upon recommendation by Mrs. Smith. I am not a parent, nor plan on being one any time soon, but I understood. After reading, I asked my mother if she had ever forgotten me in the car, and she quickly responded no, almost insulted. My mother is an organized, head-strong woman. My aunt-not so much. While by no means is she an unfit mother, she has managed to raise four girls ranging from age nineteen to age four, but with four excitable girls, she is bound to forget something someday. A one day it was her youngest, Aliyah. Don’t worry Aliyah is still alive, a bubbly and joyous four year old. but around three years ago my aunt almost suffered from a fatal mistake any parent could make. This story is passed around every year when they come to visit, laughed off as an Oh-My-What-A-Day! type of story, but upon thought, the scope of this problem affects parents everywhere.

Three years ago my aunt was driving home from the grocery store with three of my cousins. The windows of her mini-van were open, brining a much needed ocean breeze. My cousins live in St. Croix, a tiny Caribbean island owned by the United States where it is always a warm 80 degrees year-round. My second oldest cousin was twelve at the time. In the car seat was the youngest, Aliyah. She was maybe a year old. Next to her was her caring older sister and closest friend, my second youngest cousin around age four. They arrived home and began the dreaded chore of taking the groceries up the stairs and into their second story apartment. Aliyah, a quiet baby, waited patiently in her car seat. One-by-one they huffed and puffed as they brought the groceries up their stairs and into their home. Once they finished, they began to put their groceries in their respective places.

The whole task took around 10 minutes from start to end, and once finished they plopped down on their couches with a sigh. Five minutes passed and my aunt asked my twelve-year old cousin where was Aliyah, thinking she had taken her out of the car seat and into the house. My cousin responds with a shrug, yet at the same moment understood the look of terror on her mother’s face. Both she and my aunt rushed downstairs and threw open the door to the mini-van. There Aliyah lay, pink-faced and screaming. Fifteen minutes later she was playing, laughing as if it never happened. My aunt was mortified and crying. My twelve year old cousin parented Aliyah for the next couple of hours, and assured her mother they all forgot about the baby and she thought no less of her. In mere seconds, my aunt’s world turned upside down. While this story is passed around at the dinner table, never will my aunt forget the possible outcome of her almost fatal distraction.