Me's essay
Kyla Means
Period 4
Mrs. Derbidge
AP English

Not quite the Bayeux
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Seventeen years ago, I was born into a world of love and vibrance. First and only child to my mother, the third child to my father, and, at the time, the newest addition to the gang of kids that grew up in our suburban neighborhood. Secluded, wooded, and far away from a store in any direction, Bridlewood was a perfect picturesque place to be a kid. The childhood of myself and the children growing up there was sheltered from the blacks and greys of city life. Nature was our playground. The horse trails were long and windy, with many exciting colors and textures that required no imagination to take us to wonderland. These people that I called my friends, were the very ones that helped raise me. Every day I would leave my home with not so much as a quick "ByemomI'mgoingtogoplay!", and be gone from morning to sunset, my entire day revolving around who I would spend my minutes with. Each person I have met in my years has affected me in their own way, weaving their own shades of color into the tapestry that is my life. Like many other children, I began my education in pre-school. Not old enough to form my own opinions, I simply adopted the same ones that my parents had, with no second thoughts. I was curious and energetic, the only things on my mind were the toys in my hands. I was the center of a world that had meaning only in terms of its effect on me-- what I could see from a height of three feet and what I could comprehend with the intellect and emotions of a child. The only people I listened to were the Sunday School teachers that would watch us play and teach us moral lessons about sharing and kindness, all with a religious twist. I learned forgiveness from Noah's ark, and kindness from the good Samaritain. In my naive mind, these people could do no wrong, as I was too young to grasp the concepts of sin and repentance, I absorbed and adopted their teachings all with a grain of salt, and continued on with every one of their lessons dyed into my character. The other children in my class were the same-- but also so much different. The other children came from all kinds of backgrounds and upbringing that were completely unheard of to me. There was this one little boy named Farshad. He was quiet and shy, and he always preffered playing by himself. His quiet demeanor was always a mystery to me, as I would ask him to play many times only to be rejected every time. Finally, in an angry fit, I bit him. He went running to the teacher and I got called into the principals office and suspended from preschool for three days. When I returned, I approached him to ask why he was so cold to me and the other children, but upon seeing me closing in on him, he ran to the teachers again. This was the first time I learned to dislike someone. His reaction to my prescence gave me these new feelings that manifested themselves whenever I was treated the way he treated me that day. Not until many years later and after growing up with Farshad did I learn that his family were devout Muslims, and his father was abusive to him and his siblings. Elementary school was a blur. I began to solidify friendships with anyone who wanted to be my friend. I had different bestfriends each year until sixth grade. That is when I met Briana. She was the new girl on the block, moved into a house that was only three doors down from mine. She was shy at first, but something about her and something about me just clicked. After only knowing her for a few weeks, we were inseperable. We went on walks and I showed her the horse trails and she told me about her life in public school, which was a completely foreign concept to me at the time. Briana was one year older than I was, but to us, that didn't matter. I looked up to her, and followed and copied everything she did.We were the best of friends until ninth grade, when her bad habit of trash