Think about your own high school. In the style of francine j. harris, what would you find buried in the dirt of that school? Think both literally and metaphorically.
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Course Description: A course in effective essay writing and basic research techniques including use of the library. Demanding readings assigned for classroom discussion and as a basis for essay writing
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Ursula C. Schwerin Library
New York City College of Technology, C.U.N.Y
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Thinking back to my own high school i think buried in the dirt would be womens dreams. I went to an all girls catholic high school. They taught women how to stay home raise children and maintain a house.
First you will find all the annoying vapes used in the bathrooms between classes. There will be the fake nails and wigs. Then there will be the ping pongs that are all broken from getting hit too hard and the paddles broken because of a missed point. There will be all the gum that was chewed in class. There will be all the footballs that got thrown over the gates and the basketballs. There will be all the chunky nasty milk and the disgust pieces of meat that was given at lunch. There will be the reports written on students walking down the halls when there was class. There will be the mouses that were broken in tech.
In my past high-school you most find buried textbooks. Film cameras, perverted teachers, volleyballs,, lost dreams, weed, vapes, half frozen pizza, that one weird kid, lost jackets, and money
In my high school years thing you would find buried are students coming to school under the influence , students smoking anywhere they found a hiding hole, backpacks were actually empty, contraband and more reckless living.
The pages from the library books with a stamp, the cigarettes smoke, the old money, new coins, brakes flowers from celebration, the friends book with love questions, the notes from the teachers, the tests with awful grades, forgotten gym shoes and dreams, composition books with Leonardo Di Caprio from titanic on the cover drown in the pile of papers, soil and rocks.
mask with different patterns and style. Broken and lost computer that the department of education give us. Volleyball that have been inflated. Broken, colorful and designed pens with a piece of fake diamond on its cap. Different type to fidgets, in more details pop it. Laughter and cryer from graduation.
smoke: empty vapes, in every color and flavor. blunts, the end of it only. drums sticks and broken instruments. deflated basketballs. dirty jerseys from every sport. torn up report cards. balled up test, from the English teacher of course. full lipgloss tubes.
chunks of curly hair from girl’s fights in the hallways, broken pencils and new pencils. Teacher’s dramatics conversations about how hard bad their students in their class are. vape bars in the bathrooms, sweaty underwear and tank tops, old dusty microscopes in the shelfs of laboratory classes that they never use.
Small and cramped. Same face at every corner. Freshman, quite shy while a Juniors would make a racket. Broken doors, broken windows, broken desk and were pretty common. Outside was pretty dangerous but in all I quite enjoyed it.
Marble Hill High School of International Studies. One filled with students wearing a white collar shirt, black dress pants and black shoes. One with students skipping class to hang out at Van Cortland Park. One with students being disrespectful to certain teachers they hated. One with students smoking on the 6th floor after lunch. One with students gossiping about each other at the end of the school day. One with students copying off of each other so they won’t fail the class. One with students arriving 20 min late to first period. One with students of different backgrounds. One with students of different personalities. One with students who have grown over the course of 4 years. One with students who I built a bond with. One with students who love and respect each other. One where I smiled saying goodbye to everyone during graduation.
What you would find buried in my high school is graded test papers crumbled on the floor, sticks with student names thrown out the window, weed and edibles, ripped out pieces of hair from all the fights, drink spills in the middle of the hallway, you would find gossip and drama, broken jewelry and lost student ID cards.
What you’d find burried on my high school would be students smoking weed, vaping, security cruising by. Students in class yelling, gossiping, stealing. Carrots and spilled milk on the D stairs of the second floor. One wall that revealed past paints.
What you’d find buried in my high school.
Books and sheets stained with lead graphite.
Half deflated footballs , but good enough to play one more time.
Anti-acne lotion and puberty odors emanate from those classrooms.
The clock’s hands ticking boredom away.
The emptiness of a classroom full of feelings: joy, sadness, anger, enthusiasm.
Bolts, circuits, batteries and little engines from robotics labs that never worked.
Pieces of chalk that were used to draw on a blackboard.
These are the memories of the place I ambiguously considered
A prison, a haven.
What you would find buried in my high school is…
Hot Cheetos bags scattered all over the floor
School Safety keys clack while they chase misbehaving students in the hallways
The assistant principal yelling at students to take their hoodies off for the 5th time
A blood-curdling bell to signaling a new class
Empty vape carts all over the bathroom floor
The mental detector’s loud beeping
The smell of weed radiating from the students who smoked before school
Ripped pages of textbooks crumpled on the floor
Students complaining about the school lunch
Office phones nonstop ringing from the complaints of parents
Phones beeping from students who bypassed the metal detectors
Librarian telling students to be quiet on the computers
What you would find buried under my high school is a way of discipline. You might find a whole new way of life and something very similar. My school was founded in 2002 so things there would be different uniforms maybe a walkman, a phone buried there, a person thinking of war, or whether they would be safe in the South Bronx. You would have different generations of technology. You would find yearbooks and masks. You would everything from 2002 and so on from a high school kid’s perspective and a teacher’s perspective
My experience in high schools was totally different from francine j. harris. My high school is a high school for newcomers and most of the students are good people they try to help and support each other. The only thing that I would like to change in my old high school is the food.