Good teaching versus bad teaching (final thesis)

During my high school years I had two teachers that truly had an impact on me and my education. One of these teachers really stood out in a positive way because I considered him the greatest of all. He was very open minded and always tried to see a situation from his student’s perspective first, before making a decision or judgment call. He also seemed to try very hard to accommodate each of his students needs based on their level of mentality. He realized that we were all unique and that, when it came to learning, one method would not work for all students equally. So he would encourage us to try and discover what would make learning easier and more fun for us individually, and then he would listen to our suggestions and try to accommodate. Knowing what his students wanted out of him as a teacher,  was very important to him. We called him Herr Dahm, ( "Herr" is the German word for 'Mister').

I sometimes wished that I could find a way to contact Herr Dahm now and tell him, how much I appreciated him during my adolescent years, and how he helped me succeed in graduating high school with top grades. I am convinced, that I couldn’t have done it without his help and support.

I was known for always getting in trouble during my school years, because I had a bad habit of constantly drawing or doodling during class when I was expected to pay attention. I remember my Mother telling my teachers:” I swear my daughter was just born with a pencil in her hand, therefore I don’t know how to make her stop drawing.” You would find drawings in my composition and text books, and sometimes I would literally create a nice piece of artwork that only my classmates seemed to appreciate. During my elementary years, nobody had ever seemed to care. I had always brought home decent grades and done my schoolwork regularly, so this habit was never addressed or had been considered an issue. But in high school things were different.  As soon as I would pick up a pencil and start drawing, I would hear my name being called by the current teacher and then I would have to endure the same lecture I was receiving almost on a daily basis. Somehow, every teacher was convinced that, if I was not making eye contact with them while they were speaking, but instead was scribbling away on a piece of paper, that just meant that I was not listening or paying attention to my class, when in fact I was. In reality, keeping my hands busy helped me concentrate better and retain information easier. Just sitting in one manor and listening to my teachers talk, was never very effective for me. I would find my mind wandering, getting sidetracked by my own thoughts and loosing concentration quickly. It was very frustrating sometimes, because I would try so hard to pay attention to my teachers and focus on what they were saying, but to no avail. Soon, all I would hear was:” Blah blah blah…,” and words that were spoken just became mere nonsense to me. But if I picked up a pencil and started drawing, I would find myself more focused on what was being said, and less distracted by other random thoughts. Sometimes my drawings would even reflect the topic we were discussing in class, which was often the result of my subconscious depiction of what was being said. And so it was, that my teacher Herr Dahm, who taught English and History, observed me one day during history class, once again breaking the rules by going at it with my pencil and paper during one of his lectures about the oldest German city called“Trier”, as he was teaching us about some of the historical monuments and palaces and ruins,  and how Trier was originally build by the Romans.

                                                                     

I wasn’t aware that I was being watched, until I heard my teacher’s voice call:” Anja!”  Right away I dropped my pencil onto my paper and looked up. Herr Dahm asked me to please hand over my artwork. I was afraid of getting in trouble, but no sooner had I surrendered my drawing, then his expression changed from reprimanding to curious, almost amused. My drawing depicted of Roman Legionnaires invading a city, (my version of the old Trier), with all it’s historical buildings and artifacts we had just been discussing in class. Herr Dahm turned to me and asked: “Can you tell me what I was just talking about?” I recited everything we had learned that day, including the dates of when some of the important structures of the city were erected. Without another word, Herr Dahm handed me my art work back and asked me to sit back down. Nothing else was said that day.

The next day during English class, Herr Dahm walked up to my desk and handed me a plastic bag. “It’s a gift,” he said with a wink of an eye and a smirk on his face.  The contents were a set of very good quality drawing pencils, charcoal pencils and a drawing pad. Herr Dahm, who remained my English-and History teacher for most of my high school years, decided to let me draw during his class, even challenged me sometimes on my artwork versus his lectures. And I suspect, that he had a talk with some of my other teachers, for even they eventually eased up on me and let my habit slide. Herr Dahm was the only teacher though,  that ever saw or understood, how much more I was getting out of his class, just by allowing me to have that bit of freedom.  And I never let him down. I ended up proving to be one of his top students in class. And once in a while I would still find little gifts on my desk containing new art supplies, which lasted all through my high school years. But this is just my own personal experience I had with my teacher Herr Dahm. I never heard other students ever speak badly about him either, for he truly cared about all of his students and wanted them to succeed. If there was a way he could help students become more efficient learners, he would go that extra mile to make it happen. And that’s what a good teacher should be about.

On the other hand, the second teacher I cannot forget, was Herr Thiesgen, who was the complete opposite of Herr Dahm. Herr Thiesgen made my life in 7th grade a living nightmare. He was very prejudice, openly played favoritism amongst his students and terrorized the ones he didn't care for. Instead of focusing more on the lessons he was teaching,  Herr Thiesgen would find great pleasure in belittling his less favorite students, spending a great amount of time humiliating and berating them in front of the class. Up to this day I cannot comprehend, how he managed to teach young teenagers for as long as he did, before action was taken. Just the fact that most of the students were genuinely scared of him and that more than half of them were passing his classes with  low grades, should have raised eyebrows.   

Between my 6^th and 7^th grade, I had worked very hard all summer long, studying and preparing for an exam, which I had to take and pass with a high score, to be accepted into a more prestigious high school with a very reputable name of good standing. Attending this school meant so much to me, that I even sacrificed a family vacation to Austria and Italy, and instead remained with my grandparents and kept studying. A very hard decision to make for a 12-year old. But my effort was paid off, when I passed the exam with an overall score of 91% and received my acceptance call. But the joy I felt would only be short lived. This was the year I was placed in the classroom of Herr Thiesgen, who had earned nicknames like “The Nazi” and “Sergeant”.  Herr Thiesgen taught Math, PE-and Biology and one thing every kid knew about this teacher was, that he was highly judgmental about anyone’s appearance or physique. And he loved punishing students by making them carry out push up’s in front of class as he would shower them with horrible insults.

 This did not work in my favor, for as a child I was always slightly corpulent and not very athletic. I remember my first encounter with Herr Thiesgen. On my first day of school he asked me to come to the front of class and introduce myself, but after my introduction, before I had the chance to go sit back down at my desk, my teacher walked over and stood behind me, resting both of his hands on my shoulders, (holding me in place was more like it), and told the class:” This girl is the perfect example of why it is so important that we watch our diet.” Then he turned me around to face him and said to me:” Good god girl, if you were a cow on my brother’s farm, we’d slaughter you for all that meat. Now go sit down.” I was absolutely mortified. I heard some of the kids laugh, but I was much too embarrassed and too humiliated to make eye contact with anyone and see who they were. Back at my desk, I was holding back tears as best as I could, while I was still in disbelief of what had just happened.

And that is how it ended up being almost every day during his class. In math and biology Herr Thiesgen didn’t care if students  kept up or fell behind. Fat kids weren’t even allowed to address him or participate during his class unless they gave him 10 to 20 push up’s first. And if you couldn’t perform, you would have to sit with your back facing him so he wouldn’t have to see your “ugly pudgy face”. But during PE he was at his worst.  During this time I lost all self confidence I had. I was scared of going to school and my grades started reflecting that. I didn’t like my teacher at all and needed to get away from him in order to be successful, so I decided to transfer back to my old high school during 8^th grade. ”

Later I received news that Herr Thiesgen was arrested and charged for sexually molesting multiple students, including one of my friends and former classmate. But soon everything just got swept under the carpet to save the name of a school with a good reputation.

I was happy to be back with my old teachers and friends.  I finished high school in peace and at the top of my class. My experience with Herr Thiesgen had been a nightmare, but it also taught me a lot. I guess the grass really isn’t greener on the other side after all. I have no regrets. I look at all my life experiences as lessons, whether they’re good or bad. In this case who knows? Maybe I was lucky enough to escape a fate worse than what it ended up being. I’m glad I didn’t stick around to find out. 

Good teaching vs. bad teaching part 2

My experience of a good teacher vs. a bad teacher (part 2)

I’ve encountered many teachers during my school years, some of them I liked, some of them I didn’t care for too much, but I had two teachers during my high school years who really made an impact on me. One of them was very positive, whereas one of them managed to make my life in seventh grade a living hell.

This is my experience with my bad teacher Herr Thiesgen:

Our high school years in Germany range from 5^th grade through  9^th grade, sometimes even 10^th grade. I remained in my high school for two years, but after 6^th grade I was given the opportunity to transfer to a different high school with higher requirements and an overall better reputation. In order to be accepted, I was to take an exam at the end of the summer, two weeks before the new school year would start. The final score would be the determining factor to decide whether I could be accepted into this school or not.  Although I really loved my high school and it too had a good reputation, this was still a chance I did not want to miss, so I decided that I was going to register for the exam. All summer long I studied very hard, while all my friends would go swimming in the local lakes or go on vacation with their parents. My mother and stepfather planned a two-week trip to Austria and northern Italy that summer with my siblings. Although I really wanted to go, I decided to stay with my grandparents and keep studying. A hard decision to make for a 12-year old. As the end of summer was drawing near, I became more and more anxious, despite all the preparation I had done. And then the day of the exam had arrived. My mother drove me to the school, offering me some words of encouragement.  And so I mustered up all my strength and took the five hour exam.                                                                                                                    Three days later my mother received the phone call from the school, announcing that I had passed the exam with a total score of 91% and was welcome to start attending “Leopold von Daun Realschule” in the fall. When I heard the news, I thought I was going to faint. I was so happy and proud of my accomplishments. But I also knew that I was going to miss my old high school with all my teachers and my friends. Little did I know then, how much I would really miss them.

I was placed in classroom 7c and my homeroom teacher would be Herr Thiesgen, who would also be my Math, PE-and Biology teacher. I was very nervous on my first day of school. I was the new kid on the block, whereas everybody else in class already knew each other, so things were a little awkward. And then Herr Thiesgen walked in, and I will never forget that horrible first introduction. First he glanced at me with an obvious disgusted look on his face, then had me come to the front of the class so I could properly introduce myself to my new classmates, as was custom in German schools at that time.                                       Now one thing you should know about me, even as a child I was always slightly corpulent and not very athletic. I was never teased by my schoolmates for being chunkier, maybe because I always just got along with everybody, always made others laugh, never picked fights or judged anyone for who they were and always helped friends out in need.                                                                                                               But instead, it was my new teacher who had something to say about my appearance. And in front of the whole class! After my introduction, before I had the chance to go sit back down at my desk, my teacher walked over and stood behind me, resting both of his hands on my shoulders, (holding me in place was more like it), and told the class:” This girl is the perfect example of why it is so important that we watch our diet.” Then he turned me around to face him and said to me:” Good god girl, if you were a cow on my brother’s farm, we’d slaughter you for all that meat. Now go sit down.”                                                        I was absolutely mortified. I heard some of the kids laugh, but I was much too embarrassed and too humiliated to make eye contact with anyone and see who they were. Back at my desk, I was holding back tears as best as I could, while I was still in disbelief of what had just happened. And this is what I had sacrificed my summer for? I knew I was not going to like this teacher.                                                              It soon became very apparent of how prejudice Herr Thiesgen really was. He absolutely hated overweighed, less than attractive and nonathletic students. And since he was also our PE teacher, he would bestow his wrath upon the overweighed and nonathletic the most during this class. Many students did not like him, even feared him. Behind his back, students had many terrible nicknames for him such as ‘the Nazi, or Sergeant’. One of the things we would sometimes do during PE class was, we would do a 4 km run on a trail through the woods, no matter the weather or season. For some it was the greatest thing ever, to me it was pure torture. If you didn’t keep up, you would fall behind and soon find yourself running alone through the woods. In the winter, these woods were dark since there was no lighting whatsoever. In my case I always fell behind, no matter how hard I tried. And I would be so scared. I was not a runner. But by the time I’d reach the finish line, I would always be welcomed by very harsh insults and sarcastic cheers from my teacher. As soon as he would see me coming around the last corner, he would shout things such as:” Hurry up you fat pig, if you don’t move that ass the big bad wolf will get you.”   During his other classes, Herr Thiesgen would constantly punish his students by making them do 10 – 20 push-ups in front of class, amongst other things, while enduring a shower of his insults. But the reasons for his “punishments” were ridiculous, if not sadistic. I once had to do 15 push-ups in his biology class, because Herr Thiesgen had observed me eating a granola bar, containing chocolate chips, which my mother had included in my lunch. So as I was laboring over my push-ups, Herr Thiesgen would point out to my classmates how disgusting I looked.                                                                                                This was without a doubt my worst year in high school. I talked to the principal multiple times, even had a few other students complain, but that had no effect. The principal just brushed us off, telling us to “suck it up”. My mother even met with the principal herself, asking him to place me in classroom 7a or 7b since I liked all my other teachers. But the principal told her that he was not going to disrupt the class sizes or the teacher’s routines over a small misunderstanding between a student and her teacher. My mother was furious and I was hopeless. I had always been a great student, but at this time I was failing all of Herr Thiesgen’s classes. I couldn’t focus on his lessons anymore. I feared him. I feared the next act of humiliation I was sure he had already planned for me. But I was not the only one. Many students were so scared of him, they wouldn’t even go to the principal, or tell their parents. Like my friend Inge. Inge was skinny, and could run like a champ, but she was extremely tall, had very bad acne and wore these glasses that were just too big for her face. Herr Thiesgen had nicknamed her “Moose”, (Elch in German), and the name stuck.                                                                                                                                                    

I stayed at Leopold von Daun Realschule for a little over a year before I decided to transfer back to my old high school. I was literally a nervous wreck at that point and had developed very low self esteem. It took me a while to find my way back to my former self.                                                                            Months after I left Leopold von Daun Realschule, I received the news that Herr Thiesgen was suspended from teaching at the school until further notice. Apparently he was under investigation, but nobody knew why. I found out much later that he was arrested and charged for sexually molesting multiple students, including my friend and former classmate Inge. But soon everything just got swept under the carpet to save the name of a school with a good reputation.

I was happy to be back with my old teachers and friends.  I finished high school in peace and at the top of my class. My experience with Herr Thiesgen had been a nightmare, but it also taught me a lot. I guess the grass really isn’t greener on the other side after all. I have no regrets. I look at all my life experiences as lessons, whether they’re good or bad. In this case who knows? Maybe I was lucky enough to escape a fate worse than what it ended up being. I’m glad I didn’t stick around to find out. 

Good teaching vs. bad teaching part 1

My personal experience between a good teacher vs. a bad teacher (part 1)

I’ve encountered many teachers during my school years, some of them I liked, some of them I didn’t care for too much, but I had two teachers during my high school years who really made an impact on me. One  of them was very positive, whereas one of them managed to make my life in seventh grade a living hell.

This is my experience with my good teacher, Herr Dahm:

I had a passion for art and loved to draw. I remember my Mother always telling people:” I swear my daughter was born with a pencil in her hand.” So I had this bad habit of always picking up a pen or pencil during class and either doodling in my composition books, or literally creating a piece of artwork on a blank sheet of paper. During my elementary years at my old school, nobody ever seemed to care. I had always brought home decent grades and done my schoolwork regularly, so this habit was never addressed or had been considered an issue. But in high school things were different. Although I had quickly build a pretty good rapport with all my new teachers, as soon as I would pick up a pencil and start drawing, I would hear my name being called by the current teacher and then I would have to endure the same lecture I was getting almost on a daily basis at that time, of how I was not in art class and that I needed to pay more attention to what we were learning. Some teachers were harder on me than others and would punish me by giving me extra assignments to be turned in the next day, or would even send me to detention. But what none of them realized was, that in fact, keeping my hand busy helped me concentrate better and retain the lesson we were given easier. Just sitting there and listening to my teachers talk, was never very effective for me. I would find my mind wandering, loosing concentration and thinking about many other things except for what we were doing in class. It was very frustrating sometimes, because I would try so hard to pay attention to my teachers and focus on what they were saying, but to no avail. Soon, all I would hear was:” Blablabla…,” just a bunch of jibberish and nonsense, like watching the teacher in the Charlie Brown and Snoopy cartoons. But if I picked up a pencil and started drawing, I would find myself more focused on what was being said, and less distracted by other random thoughts. Sometimes my drawings would even be related to the topic we were discussing in class without me fully consciously knowing what I was drawing. And so it was, that my teacher Herr Dahm, who taught English and History, observed me one day, once again breaking the rules during his history class and just going at it with my pencil and paper. We had been learning all about the old German city “Trier” that day, with all it’s  beautiful historical monuments and palaces and ruins,  and how Trier was originally build.

Just off the topic, here are some fun history facts about Trier and what we were discussing during class, just to help you understand more about what happened next:                                                                      Trier in Rhineland-Palatinate, whose history dates to the Roman Empire, is often claimed to be the oldest city in Germany, with ruins of an old roman amphitheatre, dating back to approximately 100 AD and it’s tourist attraction, the “Porta Nigra”, ( latin for black gate ), which was build between 160 – 180 AD.          It wasn’t until 870 AD, that Trier became part of the East Frankish Empire, which would later be called Germany under the reign of Henry I.

So here I was, drawing the entire time as Herr Dahm was speaking, until I heard his voice call:” Anja!” It was a very harsh and reprimanding voice which demanded attention, so right away I dropped my pencil onto my paper and looked up. Herr Dahm was scarlet red in his face, one of his trademarks when he would get angry, and he ordered me to immediately come to the front of the class with my drawing. I felt humiliated and exposed, feeling 23 pairs of eyes staring at me as I took the “walk of shame” and handed over my artwork to my teacher. No sooner had I done so, then his expression changed from angry to curious, almost amused. My drawing depicted of Roman Legionnaires invading a city, (my version of the old Trier), with the Porta Nigra in the background and an amphitheatre. Herr Dahm turned to me, his face back to it’s normal state of color and his voice calm as can be:” Can you tell me what I was just talking about?” I recited everything mentioned in the above paragraph, how Trier came to be the oldest city in Germany, and  in which year the above mentioned structures were erected. Without another word, Herr Dahm handed me my art work back and asked me to sit back down. Nothing else was said that day.

The next day during English class, Herr Dahm walked up to my desk and handed me a plastic bag. “It’s a gift,” he said with a wink of an eye and a smirk on his face and walked back to his own desk to continue his lesson. I waited until the end of class to look inside the bag, much to the dismay of my very curious classmates.  I couldn’t help but smile when I retrieved it’s contents, a set of very good quality drawing pencils, charcoal pencils and a drawing pad.

Naturally, Herr Dahm, who remained my English-and History teacher for most of my high school years, would randomly select me from time to time and ask me to recite what we were discussing during class that day. Sometimes he would even ask me to come to the front of the class and write the answers on the blackboard, as he would give me a ‘five-minute-pop-quiz’, just to make sure that I was really still paying attention. But as I never let him down and ended up proving to be one of his top students in his class, even the random quizzes became fewer and fewer and eventually stopped altogether. But he never said a word again about my drawing during his classes. He must’ve understood, how much it actually helped me to be a better student. And he even encouraged it. Once in a while I would still find little gifts on my desk, which lasted all through my high school years while attending Hauptschule Gillenfeld, Germany. I would find erasers, or a new set of colored pencils, or a new drawing pad, all of good quality. One time I even received a book on how to draw landscapes. And up to this day I suspect that Herr Dahm had a talk with some of my other teachers after that particular incident, for most of them started turning an eye, whenever I would start drawing again during their lessons. 

I believe Herr Dahm to be the best teacher that I had. He understood my needs and accommodated me to be the best student that I could be. He bend the rules a little by giving me the freedom to do what I enjoyed doing, which ultimately helped me to be a better learner. And I saw him treat other students the same way too. He always tried to help his students by accommodating to their needs, by keeping an open mind, making learning a fun experience for students, but at the same time making sure to keep them on track. And that’s what a good teacher should be about. 

Stand and Deliver

Bad teaching vs. good teaching

After watching the movie Stand and Deliver, I have come to the conclusion that there is no bad teaching involved at all. Of course this is all based on personal perspective, but in every scene where Mr. Escalante comes across as too "harsh", or maybe too belittling of his students, he manages to always make a strong point of why he acts the way he does, which is also a lesson in itself why we should never be too quick to judge a situation.
Mr. Escalante criticizes his students and sometimes even humiliates them. At first glance his strategies might come across as bad teaching, but in reality he uses his methods to encourage his students to try harder and do better. He challenges them.
In one particular scene, Pancho is solving a Calculus problem on the board in front of the class. He becomes overwhelmed with the problem and feels he cannot do it. Pancho expresses to Mr. Escalante in front of the whole class, that everybody knows he is the dumbest person in school and doesn't have what it takes to learn Calculus. Pancho goes on mentioning to the whole class that he wants to quit school instead of letting the rest of the class down by failing the test. But Mr. Escalante refuses to give in to his outburst of self pity. He mocks Pancho by telling him in a very sarcastic voice how "heartbroken" everybody must feel for the "noble sacrifice" his student is making for the "sake of his team". He asks Pancho:" You want me to do this for you," referring to the Calculus problem on the board. Pancho answers:" Yes," and Mr. Escalante answers by telling his student:" You're supposed to say NO." He does not want Pancho to just give up and quit, he wants him to try harder and succeed. In the movie Pancho also mentions how he wants to join a union and work in construction. He tells Mr. Escalante that in two years, he will be making more money than his teacher does. So the teacher takes his student for a car ride. During the ride he speeds up the car and almost crashes. He gives his student the choice of which way to turn to avoid an accident. Pancho makes a split-second decision and tells Mr. Escalante in a very panicked moment to turn right. The teacher follows his students instructions and turns right. The erratic car ride comes to a stop at a Dead End. Mr. Escalante tells Pancho then:" All you see is the turn. You don't see the road ahead." Even though his approach to getting his point across is much exaggerated, it does seem to have a very positive effect on Pancho. He stays in school and keeps working hard at learning Calculus.

Another example of "bad teaching" happens, when Mr. Escalante exposes Claudia in front of the class as she decides to just leave early. He makes the comment:" She has more boyfriends than Elizabeth Taylor." Claudia get's upset with how he humiliates her in front of everybody by replying:" I don't appreciate you using my personal life to entertain this class," then she storms out of the classroom. Mr. Escalante realizes that something is wrong and that he's crossed the line. He goes after Claudia to find out what's really bothering her. Apparantly she's dealing with the regular teenage issues that many adolescent kids have. Mr. Escalante does not shrug her problems off, but offers Claudia comfort and support instead. Even with that gesture he's showing that he's a good teacher because he cares for his student and let's her know he's there for her, no matter what.

The other teachers feel as if Mr. Escalante is setting up his students for failure by raising the standards higher than the schools expectations, but Mr. Escalante disagrees with this way of thinking and says, quote:" Students will rise to the level of expectations," suggesting his students need to be more challenged to succeed and also do better than society gives them credit for.
It makes him a great teacher for setting up a path to a better future for his students and implementing self confidence in teens that are under privileged and had no faith in their own abilities before.  

Beautiful Hardships (Final Narrating Education)

There are so many lessons I've learned in my life, so this is turning out to be a more difficult assignment than I had thought it would be. I've encountered numerous people throughout the years, who have truly made a great impression on me and have taught me valuable lessons, but I've also lived through a whirlwind of events from which I have gained many life experiences and that have taught me lessons as well.

I would write about all of them if I could, but since we are limited on time and length of this essay, the one topic I chose to write about is the most painful lesson of my life, but also the most valuable of all:

The Loss of my First Daughter, and the long Years of Fertility Treatments that followed

I became a Mother at a very young age and in a foreign country. I was born and raised in Germany, so I found myself alone in the States where I had nobody to lean on, except for my husband at the time. My pregnancy was anything but easy. I became very ill and left doctors dumbfounded since none of them really knew what was wrong with me. The medical issues I was experiencing almost resulted in my not surviving the birth of my first child. But I did.

Ronya-Marie Rose Ellison was born on March 3rd of 2000, and although four weeks early, she was 23 1/2 inches long and 8 lbs 5.5 oz. She appeared healthy enough, save for the common case of jaundice which afflicts many newborn Infants, and a minor infection she apparently had, but which Doctors assured me was easily treated with an antibiotic. I also had a speedy recovery, and after 10 days of medical treatment and close observation, both my Daughter and I were released from the Community Hospital in Princeton, WV, and two months later we moved to Tucson AZ to start our lives together.

But our happiness would only be short-lived, for on September 6th of 2000, only days before our Baby Girl would've reached her 6-month mark, she unexpectedly suffered  from a brain aneurism which send her into a coma from which she would never wake again. Words will never describe what a mother feels during the loss of a child. From the moment I called 911, to watching helplessly as my Daughter drew her final breath three days later at the ICU at Tucson Medical Center, all I could think of was:" Why her and not me?" I would've laid my life down to save my Baby in a heartbeat, had that been an option. But there was nothing any Doctor could do for our daughter. She was gone, and our lives continued.

Many people have asked me since then, how I've dealt with my grief.

But how does anyone live through a tragedy without loosing their sanity?

I believe it's all up to us individually, really. I believe that our minds are very powerful, and that we can control our emotions if we really put our mind to it. It is up to us, whether we take shock and trauma and let it affect us negatively, or whether we take these horrible life experiences and gain strength from them. Sadness, Fear, Grief, Depression...etc., all are a state of mind, and you choose how you let them affect you. As for myself, I was always a very upbeat and positive person with a strong conscious, fully aware of my inner self. 

I always had an inner strength that would allow me to keep a clear head during the most trying times of my life, and kept me from just giving up and letting myself go. 

After the loss of my Daughter, I almost wanted to let grief and depression take over and just give up. I had seriously hit my lowest low of all, and so did my husband at the time, who started self medicating by drinking every night until he passed out. He was all I had left, and there was no one there to comfort us and help us through our grief. So I knew I had to keep going and stay strong. For the both of us.

As time passed by, I started teaching myself to focus on other things in life besides my grief and the pain of loss I would feel. I would distract myself by staying busy. I had been a stay at home Mother, so first I decided to get a job. 

Going to work was probably one of the smartest decisions I made during this time. It allowed me to be amongst other people and meet new friends. Every day life was becoming normal again with one exception: I started to realize that, due to my tragic loss I had suffered, I had developed a deeper appreciation for the smaller things so many of us take for granted every day. Overall I strived to be a better person and be thankful for what I still had. And so my life continued on a strong and steady path, my outlook on the world as a whole much altered in a positive way, and my appreciation for the people in my life much deepened.  

But the years that followed, would be far from easy and pain free.

I had always wanted children, so after some time, my then husband and I decided we wanted to try for a second child. But easier said than done.

Besides the fears we had after our first experience, and the "what-if's", we were faced with a new challenge: Infertility!

I remember the day we left the Doctor's office, after receiving the news that we were most likely never going to have another child of our own again. I was completely devastated.

I had experienced parenthood, although very briefly. I had felt the Love one has for their own child. Dreams, hopes and plans I once had for the future had been instantly destroyed, and when I had finally just dared to hope again, this was what fate had chosen for us?

My husband’s drinking was becoming increasingly worst and I started noticing drastic behavior changes in him. I blamed myself for what was happening and decided that I was going to do whatever it took to make things right again. And I was not going to give up on the dream of being a mother again. I was going to fight back and keep trying for something I so desperately wanted.

But I refused to give up. I decided that I was going to fight back and keep trying for something I so desperately wanted.

We ended up leaving Tucson, AZ, along with all it's sad memories and broken dreams, and we eventually ended up in Washington, where we started consulting different Fertility Specialists and seeking multiple options.

We finally settled with one Doctor who was very upbeat with a positive outlook on our situation. He was the only one that actually told me:” If you believe you can do it, then you will, and I will support you both all the way.”

Nobody else was supportive of my decision. I remember my mother calling me from germany one day, maybe during my fourth year of fertility treatments, begging me to please stop “trying”. “Is this really worth all the risks and stress you’re putting yourselve through,” she would ask. I was never mad at her for feeling the way she did because I knew that she was just worried about something happening to me. But at the same time I couldn’t help but feel more lonely than ever during this time. I had nobody to really speak to about what I was going through. No one could relate to how I felt, or understand why I was doing what I was doing. I had no one that could give me words of encouragement or hope, because nobody agreed with my decision. And when I tried to speak to my husband, he would avoid the topic like a plague, so I stopped attempting to have a talk with him about anything “fertility related”.     

The years went by, and the emotional rollercoaster became almost unbearable at times. I remember one day for instance, I ended up in the hospital with severe abdominal pain and extreme bleeding. I found out that I had a “tubal pregnancy” in which the fetus has no chance of growing and developing, and therefore had to be removed. I was released from the hospital the same day. When I arrived at home, I found my husband, who had the day off, playing video games and chugging what appeared to be his 12^th beer of the day. He was completely oblivious as to what had happened to me that day, assuming I was just getting off work. Up to this day he is unaware of that incident. I just quietly retrieved myself to our room and cried uncontrollably, wishing I had somewhere to turn for comfort.

And so the years went by, and I held on to my dream with everything I had. But there came a time when I had to come to terms with the fact that my husband had become an alcoholic, and that our marriage was seriously starting to fall apart. The winter of 2005/2006 was rough. My health insurance at work changed, and some of the fertility drugs that had been partially covered by my old insurance, were going to cost us an additional $600,- Dollars a month now with the new insurance. And then while visiting with family, a relative was trying to back our car out of their driveway and crashed and totaled it. We decided to not sue the relative, mainly to keep the piece in the family and because he was already struggling as it was. So we bit the bullet, bought a new car and decided to quit the fertility treatments. Instead we planned a trip to visit my family in germany for the following summer and try to salvage our marriage. And that’s when I found out that I was expecting again.

I wish I could end this story with: And they lived happily ever after, The End!

But that’s not realistic. My pregnancy ended up being a breeze the second time around, save for the monthly trips I had to take to the UW for extensive check up’s. With the close care and support I was receiving from some of the best fertility specialists I could’ve asked for, 

I was able to give birth to Angelina Juliana Ellison on the 6^th of October 2006.  And maybe it wasn’t the most perfect time to have a Baby in my life, she was the most perfect Baby I had ever seen. My husband and I were never able to save our marriage again. We tried for our daughters sake, but things just kept getting worst. We separated when Angelina was only 2 ½ years old and finalized our divorce four years later,  in the summer of 2012. I have been living with my boyfriend for over a year now and couldn’t be happier. I never gave up on having a child again, even after the painful loss of my

 first and only child.

 In conclusion I like to say, that all of these experiences have taught me patience, perseverance, strength and courage. Don’t let the bad times bring you down, but just learn from them and keep going. In the end it’ll all be worth it, because if you set a goal and you really keep working towards it, then someday you will. I hope that my story can also encourage you to never give up. I hope you can draw some strength and inspiration from my experience either now or in the future and utilize them in your own life. That’s why I like to share this story, my beautiful hardships.  

On Cate Huston's "How I Learned to Love Traveling Solo"

I must say, this narrative was quite a bit different than the last four articles we read in class. Feross Aboukhadiejeh, Joshua Romero, Malcolm X and Mike Rose basically all write about accomplishments in their lives and how it affected them. They speak of goals they set, how they achieved them and what led them to do what they did. But with Cate's article I feel that it lacks stimulation. Her essay is very informative on the "do's" and "not to do's" while traveling by yourself, should one ever consider traveling alone, but she doesn't speak of personal encounters that would set good examples to back up her opinions. I find her style of writing to be structured, but very dry. On a more positive note, I think that anyone who has ever considered traveling by themselves but has not yet done so, or would like to travel but hasn't yet for fear of having to go by themselves, should read this article. I admire people who are strong and independent, and don't let things get in their way of pursuing what they want to pursue. And that is the vibe I get from Cate Huston, although she might not be the best writer. I myself have traveled much in my life since my early childhood years, both alone and in company with others, and one thing I will vouch for is: It does require a lot of courage to travel by yourself, especially when you're visiting other countries and embracing new cultures. So while her style of writing is not very inspiring for my own essays, her courage is.

Malcolm X's "Learning to Read"

I found that the article :" Malcolm X's Learning to Read" was well written, easy to understand and straight to the point.
I was very intrigued by Malcolm's story and what he eventually accomplished. He set a goal and worked very hard to reach it. It's similar to what Joshua did. He also set a goal and was determined to keep working at it until he had completed the task. But Malcolm's experiences are more personal, more heartfelt, and extend over a much longer time frame than Joshua's. And above all I found his topic of choice much more interesting than Joshua's and Feross's combined. Now in Feross's case the situation is different because he never really set himself a goal to achieve success. Instead, he had a passion for designing Websites, so basically through practice, skill and with a little luck, his hobby eventually made him successful and become a hit. What I like about all three stories is that, each man kept at what he was doing and did not give up, no matter how long it took. I will strive to work hard on my papers as well and not give up easily. This particular essay was definitely very inspirational to me. I look forward to reading Mike Rose's "I Just Wanna Be Average" article next and compare it to Malcolm's writing.