Each morning was always the same. Awakened by my dad’s knock on the door, I would slowly crawl out from my favorite pink quilt and slide off the bed until my toes touched the cold hardwood of my bedroom. The only light that guided me to my lavender-colored dresser drawers was the spinning lamp that cast a moving image of zoo animals on the wall, which even circled around me while I slept. I removed the same three things from my drawers: knee socks, a plain white polo shirt, and my blue plaid skort, the ingenious mix of a skirt and shorts. After pulling up my skort, its elastic gripping my round stomach, and lacing up my oxford shoes, my uniform was complete and I was off to school.

            After hanging my backpack in my cubby, identifiable by the name Julia neatly written on the stomach of a smiling laminated frog, I took my place on the mat to start the day. Always beginning with a prayer and the pledge of allegiance, the words that I did manage to understand lost their meaning. After reviewing the weather, day of the week, month of the year, and season, our class went on to review addition and subtraction with large flashcards. Straining my brain to learn these new math skills, I would always work up an appetite, just in time for our morning snack. Using our small chairs as tables as we sat on the floor, there was a resounding crunch of pretzels, Goldfish, and carrots as well as the slurping of juice boxes.

            After a short time of reading, which I always spent engrossed in the pages of a Junie B. Jones book, I unwillingly returned to my cubby to get my fleece blanket, complete with all seven Disney princesses. This was the part of the day that both my best friend Carolyn and I always dreaded. Full of energy, the idea of having to lie still on the floor and possibly even close our eyes was ridiculous. Our heavyset teacher with frizzy red hair and bright red lipstick was always intent on everyone in the class taking a nap, which Carolyn and I never understood. As everyone began to find an open area on the floor, the lights were turned off and the class began to settle down. Carolyn and I took our usual spots in the back of the classroom, farthest away from where our teacher would sit. Convinced we were completely out of sight, we excitedly whispered and giggled. I always got such a rush of adrenaline when I went against the instructions of our teacher, especially because it didn’t happen often. Most days we would quietly entertain ourselves by playing our favorite games, our all-time favorite being Rock Paper Scissors. For us, the game never got old, and we would have to control our laughter if we both chose the same motion. Whenever I failed to contain a laugh, I would always carefully peer back at our teacher and lay my head down low so we weren’t busted. It seemed as if our times of I Spy, Slaps, and Rock Paper Scissors lasted for hours and hours on end. I never thought I would come to enjoy the times of taking a snooze, and at the time it seemed like a pointless part of the schedule, which I gladly refused to participate in.

            After many months of continuing my horrifying choice to opt out of naptime, the consequences finally ensued. My morning routine began to take longer and longer. It seemed impossible for me to crawl out from my pink quilt, and the floor felt colder than ever as I slowly slid off my warm bed. The animals circling around my wall even appeared to have slowed down. Some days I would grab the same three items from my drawers, but getting these garments on my body correctly began to be a problem. In the middle of the day I would realize my knee socks were mismatched, or even more mortifying that I had put my polo on inside out.

            Even worse, during reading time, the grammatically incorrect voice of Junie I always turned to was too hard to concentrate on. Despite all these obvious signs that it was time to make a change, I was too young to see what was going wrong. But finally I reached the breaking point, the moment when I finally understood why my frizzy-haired teacher insisted on naptime.

            I was sitting next to Carolyn in a pew in the large Cathedral one Friday for our weekly mass. The pattern of the marble in front of me was always so distracting; every time I glanced at it I saw another face or animal within the swirls and natural color of the stone. The glittering gold mosaic designs around the statue of Mary and the long towering stained glass windows I’m sure were just as fascinating to the rest of the kids stuffed into my pew. The homily, the longest and most boring part of the mass for people of our size, had just started. Usually the teachers would have to closely monitor us for any excessive whispering or laughing, but today I was silent. Within minutes I had fallen into a coma, and not even the voice of the priest, or the movement of people standing up to recite of the Nicene Creed had phased me. Finally a firm shake from a nearby teacher awoke me, and I was thoroughly disoriented. After multiple stares and a few laughs from my classmates, I was mortified as I stood up. I learned a valuable lesson that day: never again would I skip naptime.


I chose this piece of writing for “specificity” because I am very happy with the details I used to help the reader see kindergarten life through my eyes. I even think I smiled while writing a lot of this paper because I just loved the opportunity to remember all the little things from life as a 5 year old that I had almost forgotten.

I almost included too many details towards the beginning of my paper because I found myself getting to the actual point of the story, writing about a time I was challenged, and having almost the page limit for the paper. The second half of my paper is more rushed, and not explained with the same amount of detail I used in the first few paragraphs talking about my morning routine.

One of my favorite lines that I used in this paper was “Using our small chairs as tables as we sat on the floor, there was a resounding crunch of pretzels, Goldfish, and carrots as well as the slurping of juice boxes”. I thought this line was a great way to incorporate multiple senses in my description.

Because this was a creative essay, it was again one of my favorites to write. I think that if I had no limit to how much I could write, and I tried to use as many details as I could possibly remember, I could have gone on six pages. This was a time where I believe my writing developed and I discovered not neccesarily a new way to transport the reader but a new level at which I could show the reader exactly what’s in my mind by giving the simplest details that make all the difference.


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