Jennifer Cohen
Writing and Rhetoric ENC 1101
23 September 2013
One Word, Three Letters Writing this paper, I came across a couple of challenges. My first one was writing an open form essay. Throughout high school, I only ever had to write one of these. I’m used to writing a closed form, with a thesis and a guideline to follow. My only guide line for this narrative was no thesis, and to follow the story line and not get carried away with the story. I sought out help from multiple people, and have a few drafts. At first, I thought it would be so much easier to write a paper with no thesis, but in actuality, it’s ten times harder. After my first revision, I realized that I included some information that made my paper seem like a closed form, and I got carried away and off topic in my paper. The peer revisions in class were extremely helpful the first time around. Not only because my peers helped me out, but also because I got to see more examples of open form and I got more ideas and it helped me see how other people went about this writing assignment. I heard some good ones, and I heard some bad ones. The good ones helped me see the clear writing process we needed for this assignment, and the bad ones helped me see exactly what I didn’t need. In the end, comparing closed form and open form papers, I think that ultimately, open form is easier because you don’t just have one thing to talk about, you have a personal story of your own to write about whatever it is you want to talk about, and there are no bounderies, just to follow the little guidelines there are.

Jennifer Cohen
Writing and Rhetoric ENC 1101
23 September 2013
One Word, Three Letters
In Hillel Community Day School, I remember the long lines of five year olds for the seesaw and the monkey bars that seemed to be as tall as a giraffe, which you were considered a daredevil if you crossed, and I remember the crying kids who were upset because they couldn’t cross them. Entering kindergarten with knowing little to no English, was a challenge. Especially when Hebrew isn’t a common language in America. As a five year old, the monkey bars was what made you either the queen bee or the scaredy cat. My fear wasn’t to cross the monkey bars, my fear was to communicate with my extremely broken English.
Growing up in America with my parents who both sound like Adam Sandler in ‘You Don’t Mess with the Zohan’, it was tough to learn English, especially when they could barely order an iced coffee from Starbucks. My parents always pushed me to look at English books and watch Barney teach children about love and family, but all I got from the show and books were appealing pictures and happy-looking children. All the words and phrases looked like circles with lines next to them, and lines with dots on top, and looking at them just made me more and more confused.
I dedicated my free time to learning my ABC’s and connecting the noise ‘Moo’ to a cows face. I was taken out of lessons with my fellow classmates because I needed special attention. The teachers spoke with my parents to try and figure out a solution, so I was told to try and communicate with what I learned, and to go play with the children during recess and maybe I would pick up on the language through the other kids.
Eventually, as time progressed, I started to sit in lunch with the English-speaking children who were who I looked up to. I wanted to be just like each and every single one of them, playing in the dusty sand lot, assembling sand castles, playing hide and seek and having the greatest hiding spot.
Four o’clock was the highlight of my day. The time I saw my mother’s face and got to hug and hold her, and even seeing my three older siblings, who I hated most of the time, made me happier than I ever thought it would. It was the time of day when I felt most comfortable being myself. The feeling was though every single endorphin in my body was released at once. I got to go home and speak in a