Student Writing Samples

Grade 11 student narrative

This essay was written a strong student in my grade 11 Composition course. It is a good example of students writing on a meaningful subject and using meaningful details, precise word choice, and effective punctuation. Read More…

Grade 12 student narrative

This essay was written by a student in my essential skills writing class, which was for seniors who hadn’t passed the state writing exam. He was very hesitant to write anything for me, but I was able to create a safe environment in which students were willing to craft very personal stories. This student even shared his writing with his class. While this is an exceptionally strong example of student writing, many students in that class made exceptional progress in their writing and wrote about similarly personal and important topics. Read More…

Grade 11 student research paper

This research essay was written by a student in my grade 11 Composition course. I ask students to choose meaningful topics and to incorporate narrative and creative elements into their research papers. This essay is a good example of how sophisticated a student’s writing can be when the teacher spends time nurturing craft in an authentic format. Read More…

Grade 11 Student Narrative: “A Hundred Times Before” 

My left arm rested on the black leather console as my right hand surfed the radio stations for the perfect tune. The July sun beat down on my bare thighs as we came to a stop sign on Main Street. I settled on a station where a sugary-sweet voice wafted out of the car speakers; two beats later, my mom’s phone rang. Her face crumpled in confusion when she looked at the screen, then she answered with a polite and cautious “hello.”

I waited impatiently for her to hang up the phone. I passed the time by drowning in my thoughts, looking forward to all the fun my mom and I would have at the mall. I got bored and mouthed to my mom, “Who is it?” she held up her finger while she listened attentively to the other end. Worry and irritation both co-existed on her face. When the beep that signified the conversation was over sounded, I asked who it was out loud this time. The phone call had been from my mom’s brother. The reason for her annoyance was clear now.

“We have to make a quick stop at your Grandma’s before we go shopping. My sibling said that she’s acting strange,” she announced blankly. I asked why my uncle couldn’t have attended to this, considering he was physically closer to my Grandma’s house than we were. My mother’s face contorted to something much deeper than annoyance: loathing.

 
I hadn’t considered what state my grandma was in, but I just hoped that she was okay. I hate admitting this, but I hoped she was okay so that we could continue on our mission to the mall. The rest of the car ride to Gram’s house was a blur, a lost moment in time.


Everything seemed the same as it always had been my whole life. Multnomah was as adorable as ever and each person we passed by seemed happy in their own worlds. We took the last corner and approached the blue house that perched on the hill. The steep driveway felt like it did every time my mom’s 2007 Ford Freestyle climbed it. My thoughts during this moment were gibberish, untranslatable.


As we sauntered to the back door, I extended my right hand to graze the bricks that lined the side of the house as I had done a hundred times before. My mom knocked four times on the screen door and called out for my Grandma. No one answered. She tried the door and it was unlocked. With caution we treaded inside. The house smelled the same except for a sour burnt taste in the air. We followed this odor to the quaint kitchen where my Grams sat at the table staring blankly at us. On the stove sat a batch of freshly burnt snicker-doodle cookies, my Gram’s favorite. The cookie’s sloppy composure was confusing and hard to look at. These cookies did not look like something my Grandmother would ever make; these looked like something a five year old would make.

 
I slid in next to my Grams on the built-in navy corduroy seat. She was in her night gown and had a stray purple curler in her hair. Her eyes drooped more than usual and her skin was more papery than I remembered.

 
My mom was asking her questions that I can’t remember. I do remember that my Grandma was having trouble answering them. Her thoughts were incomplete and her words were empty and confusing. All I remember her being able to say clearly was that she was fine. “I’m fine, I’m fine, I’m fine…” She was lying.

 
“You don’t seem fine. I am going to call someone to help us,” my mom said with authority strong in her voice. My Grandma continued to repeat the words over and over.

 
As my mom spoke with a stranger over the faded yellow phone, I couldn’t keep my hands from shaking no matter how hard I squeezed them. I watched my Grandmother weakly clench a half-burnt half-raw cookie in her fingers. She slowly raised it to her open mouth. Then when it was three inches away, her fingers lost grip and the cookie crashed onto the white floor. She looked dumb-founded, not knowing what just happened. I forced myself to move toward the disgusting snicker-doodle that lay lifeless on the linoleum floor. “Here,” I heard myself squeak. Not knowing what to do I put the cookie back on the table and handed her a new one.

 
All I could think was keep holding on, it’ll be over soon, stay strong… I so desperately wanted to implode into nothing. I pleaded that everything wasn’t as awful as it seemed in the moment. It took everything to just stay in that seat, to not escape to another room as I desired.
My Gram’s glassy eyes met mine and I didn’t recognize them. My stomach shot up into my throat and I could feel the tsunami of tears pushing on my tear ducts as I battled a silent battle of my own.

 
Then the paramedics came. They hustled in with a sense of purpose and overwhelmed me like a crashing wave on the beach. My mind went blank and I just sat still in place with my clammy hands folded in my lap, not knowing what to do with my body. After two agonizing minutes I awkwardly found my footing and brushed past the medics before the kitchen was swarming with them. As soon as I cleared into the main foyer that housed the white piano where Grams used to play a little Heart and Soul, I released my tense body in defeat and fell onto the couch where I folded in half and sobbed violently. I reeled myself in when I heard a deep voice ask me if I was okay. I looked up at a paramedic who stared at me waiting for an answer. A wobbly smile spread across my face and I heard myself mutter, “Yeah, I’m fine.” He nodded and moved along.

 
I returned to heaving oxygen in and out of my lungs. I tried to tame to noise pushing to exit my throat, but it just made me sound like a dying animal. The torment continued to gnaw at my insides, producing a wretched feeling.


I was all alone in that room, the natural light making the room glow softly. The baby blue walls and the grandfather clock on the shelf comforted me like my Grandmother had done a hundred times before.

Grade 12 Student Narrative: “My Eyes Open”

My eyes open. All I feel is apathy, a numbness in a way. I’m dead. “Well okay this is just how it is,” I think. No fear. Not a worry in my head. I look down to see a bruised and battered body that is me. The first thing to come to my consciousness is that I have been hit by a car, not that it matters to me. After all, I’m dead.


No repercussions have fallen upon me other than my apparent death. I don’t think anything else will happen, as I believe that I am in the last conscious part of my brain, so I won’t be around long enough for my dad to scream and eventually put his hand around my neck, threatening to knock my teeth down my throat. At this point being dead seems like a good deal. No pain, no punishment, just nothingness seems like the best option.


The last thing I remember before waking up in the hospital strapped naked to a bed is fighting off six cops and being loaded into an ambulance and telling them that I had indeed taken several hits of this crazy man-made chemical called 25i, or as I call it, store brand acid. A few hours after I come to, my dad walks in. I ask him if he is dead too. He tells me I am still alive and I get very angry and begin screaming and cussing, telling him to “Fucking kill me!” Man I am in trouble. I am going to have to deal with this; I have no one to blame. I scream and scream, getting angrier and more dehydrated. They only gave me water after I had been there for hours. “Don’t you know what drugs do to your fucking body!?! They dehydrate it! I can feel my organs failing!!”


That apathy I had only a few hours ago, the feeling of nothingness, is gone. Life is coming crashing down all around me as I realize just how badly have screwed myself over. My dad is so mad he isn’t saying anything… I know that means all hell is going to break loose when we get home. And it does… I get home to see my bedroom no longer has doors on it; my room is destroyed, trashed by my dad as he was looking for more contraband, I assume. I guess I deserve it. What I don’t deserve however, the the fact that my father would no longer allow me to have a standard of living. I no longer have any life. He will continue on down this path of making me more and more of a slave that has no say in anything at all. My dad has officially become unglued, which is what finally makes me realize that this was a horrible living environment and very likely is part of the reason I turned to drugs in the first place. I have to get out. But that is another story, for another time.

Student Research Essay: “Mac and Cheese Forever”

Most foods don’t look edible to me. I only like ‘kid’ foods. I consume ridiculous amounts of chicken nuggets, macaroni and cheese, and French fries. I don’t do this by choice, but because I have Selective Eating Disorder (SED). I cannot bring myself to eat the meals that most people consider ‘normal.’ Because of this disorder, I eat “an extremely limited range of foods,” and I “avoid unfamiliar foods” (Satter). Recently, I’ve discovered that I’m not alone; others have the same disorder. We share the same anxiety about food, and all eat “a four-year-old’s dream diet” (Krause). The truth is that Selective Eating Disorder has a devastating impact on those people who suffer from it and their families: it causes discomfort in social situations, creates tension among family members, and often leads to many health problems.


Selective Eating Disorder falls under the same category as Anorexia or Bulimia in that it is a psychological eating disorder. It is different, however, because individuals who have it are not concerned with body image. Rather, they have a phobia of certain foods and textures.


Going out to eat makes me incredibly nervous. Within my very limited range of foods, I only like certain brands. I can’t just order chicken nuggets or macaroni and cheese at restaurants; I only like Tyson chicken nuggets and Kraft macaroni and cheese. Because I can’t find anything to eat at restaurants, I always eat beforehand. Arriving to the restaurant’s table after I’ve already eaten allows me to use the excuse, ‘I’m not hungry’ to avoid ordering food. Ordering nothing is preferable to trying something new. These odd eating habits often draw unwanted attention. My grandparents always ask me why I’m not eating and why I don’t just order something and try it. Then I am faced with trying to explain my embarrassing food issues. I often feel as though I’m impolite for not ordering food at a restaurant, however, I usually feel worse if I order something and I can’t bring myself to touch it. I was at the Spaghetti Factory with my boyfriend’s parents recently, and wanted to be polite, so I ordered plain pasta. When the waitress set the plate down in front of me, I knew instantly that I couldn’t eat it. The noodles had been cooked in oil instead of butter. I could only bring myself to gag down one greasy bite. My efforts to avoid being left at the end of the meal with a full plate failed.


Everyone with SED experiences these awkward meals, which causes them to avoid social events, or make up excuses to get out of eating at them. People with Selective Eating Disorder feel embarrassed about the way they eat, and often try to hide it. Bob Krause, an adult with Selective Eating Disorder, said, “If I could snap my fingers and change, I would.” His fear of dining out has even limited his career options. He’s had to quit several jobs because he can’t handle going out to business dinners or lunch meetings (Nixon). People without this disorder may not realize it, but food is a major part of nearly every social event.

 
Dara Vance, the parent of a child with Selective Eating Disorder, says that she worries that her daughter, “avoids certain social situations because she is embarrassed about her eating peculiarities.” Vance indicates that her daughter also dislikes traveling because it’s hard to find foods that her daughter will eat away from home. “You can’t really travel to a foreign country with frozen chicken nuggets and Eggo brand waffles.”


Selective Eating Disorder creates conflict between family members. In my family, I get nagged constantly about my nutrition. My parents always ask me if I’ve eaten a fruit or vegetable recently. Frequent comments about my poor nutrition cause me anxiety. When I was little, meals were challenging because I refused to eat anything that wasn’t in my food repertoire. My parents tried various things to get me to expand my range of foods. I was bribed, rewarded, and consequenced during mealtimes. Sometimes, I wasn’t allowed to leave the table until I sampled a new food, or at least allowed it to sit on my plate. Other times, I was put in a “time out.” I was stubborn and never gave in. This created a battle night after night between my parents and me. I feel guilty about this, but I literally could not bring myself to try new foods. As Amber Scott, an individual with SED, says, “telling someone to just try something is like telling an individual with Parkinson’s Disease that they could stop shaking if they just tried to hold themselves still” (Srochlic).

 
Families can be torn apart by Selective Eating Disorder. Bob Krause says that Selective Eating Disorder ruined two of his marriages (Nixon). Parents who have the disorder have a difficult time explaining it to their kids. They often feel like they are bad role models for their children. On the Facebook “Picky Eaters Association” page, one woman who faces this issue asked, “Does anyone tell their kids that they are allergic to vegetables so they don’t ask questions when mommy isn’t eating them?” Many individuals with Selective Eating Disorder are too embarrassed to even tell their children about their unusual eating habits. Parents of children with Selective Eating Disorder also face other difficult situations. Dara Vance’s family gradually stopped eating out. It was “too difficult to find a restaurant that was okay” for her daughter. She would complain and feel awkward if they went to a restaurant that didn’t offer one of her daughter’s acceptable foods. Vance and her husband grew tired of ordering and paying for foods that their daughter wouldn’t eat. Vance blamed herself for her daughter’s weird eating habits. Her friends would tell her to “step up and be parents with a backbone.” They told her that she shouldn’t “prepare something special just for her daughter.” Not only did Vance blame herself, but others were blaming her as well.

 
I am always worried about how my limited eating will affect my health. I don’t eat the ‘daily suggested number of servings’ in any food group. I feel accomplished if I eat even one fruit a day. My diet consists of foods that are major contributors to diabetes: macaroni and cheese, chicken nuggets, French fries, yogurt, white bread, plain pasta, and hot dogs. I eat mac and cheese at least six days a week. When I was around ten years old, I had a spell where I passed out four times in one month. It always occurred shortly after I woke up in the morning, and before I’d eaten breakfast. I visited my doctor and had an EKG done on my heart; the medical professionals determined that my fainting issue didn’t stem from a heart problem, but from my diet. 

The fact is, Selective Eating Disorder can lead to some serious health concerns. Lesa Thieroff, an adult with Selective Eating Disorder, was recently diagnosed with Type II Diabetes. Her doctors said that it was directly related to her diet. Having Selective Eating Disorder means eating a lifetime of greasy, fatty foods. These foods lack the nutrients that the body needs. People with SED often experience health complications like malnutrition, heart problems, or a diminished immune system (Srochlic).


Selective Eating Disorder is not yet treatable. Psychologists are trying exposure therapy as well as desensitization programs to try to help those with the disorder (Natenshon). Many sufferers have tried this therapy, but it only expanded their food repertoire by one or two foods. I take daily vitamin supplements in an attempt to get at least some of the nutrients I need, and I have been to multiple therapists about my eating. So far, I have had no success, but I do find comfort in the fact that here are others like me.

*Works Cited omitted for brevity.