Model Narrative Paragraphs
Source: http://esl.about.com/library/writing/blwrite_narrative1.htm
Paragraph 1
Yesterday evening I got home from work at 6 o'clock. My wife had prepared
dinner which we ate immediately. After I had cleaned up the kitchen, we
watched TV for about an hour. Then we got ready to go out with some friends.
Our friends arrived at about 9 o'clock and we chatted for a while. Later we
decided to visit a jazz club and listen to some music. We really enjoyed
ourselves and stayed late. We finally left at one o'clock in the morning.
Paragraph 2
Every Saturday morning I get up at eight o'clock. I immediately cook breakfast
and my daughter and my wife and I usually have breakfast together. I usually
go shopping. My daughter and wife usually go to the park to have some fun
with the other children in our neighborhood. After I do the shopping, I come
home and my wife and I clean the house. My wife then cooks lunch while my
daughter plays in her room and then we eat together. After lunch, we
sometimes go shopping. If we don't go shopping, we often go to the
countryside for a nice walk. We often get home quite late and have a small
dinner. We usually watch a film on TV and then go to bed at about eleven
o'clock.
1
Source:
http://www.northland.cc.mn.us/owl/Swanson%20narrative%20paper.htm
1) It was a cool September evening. The trees were turning gold, and
the light was growing dim as the sun began to set. [5a] I was getting ready to
put my arrows and my bow back into my case and call it a night when
suddenly [7b] I caught a movement out of the corner of my eye. There were
three deer, two does and a year-old fawn, walking out on the meadow about
fifty yards upwind from where I was sitting. While grazing, they began slowly
[7b] to walk toward me, when I dropped an arrow and their heads popped
up. [1] [7a]
2) [3a] The two does must have seen me, for they bounded into the
woods. [4a] The fawn, however [8a], exercising either stupidity or curiosity,
[9b] started to walk directly [7b] at me. Her tail was twitching back and forth
almost like a dog’s, and her head was bobbing up and down [9a] while
checking the air current for scents [5b]. She knew that something was hidden
in the bushes along the fence line, but she couldn’t tell what it was. [7b] [6a]
3) [3a] My heart was pounding faster and louder by the second.
[4b] The pounding became so loud in my ears that I thought surely the deer
would hear it and bound into the woods. She didn’t, but instead kept coming
toward me. [7a]
4) [3a] She stopped about fifteen feet from me, still not being able to
see me completely because of my camouflaged clothing. [4b] She just stood
there, staring at me. [9b] She then pawed at the ground and snorted.
[5b] Since snorting is a deer’s way of checking the wind for scents and to tell
other deer that something isn’t right, it was clear that she knew something
was there that shouldn't be.[9b] [6a]
5) [3a] Her nervousness [9b] spread to me. [4b] I thought that at any
moment she might just run away. I could feel the hair on the back of my neck
stand up, and sweat beaded up on my face. A lump that felt like an orange
welled up in my throat, and the sound of my heart’s beating became
unbearable. [5c] I was struck at how close she was; I could see the hairs on
her mouth move as she breathed.[5b] She was so alive. [7b] [6a]
6)[3a] She looked at me once more with those big, shiny brown eyes
and then bounded away. [4b] Her white tail, waving wildly, was the last part I
saw as she disappeared into the darkness of the trees. [5b] [6b]
7) I will never forget that evening and the change that came over
me. I was close enough to a deer to distinguish the individual hairs on its
nose, and even though the incident lasted about three minutes, I hadn’t even
thought about raising my bow to shoot the deer. I’ve always loved
hunting: the stalking, the waiting, the excitement of the kill. However [8a],
now when I go out bowhunting, I go to have fun, to appreciate the sounds and
beauty of nature. If I ever get close enough to a deer to shoot it, I seriously
doubt that I could. [2] I can still see those big, brown eyes watching me. It
would be sad indeed looking into them, knowing that they would never see
again.
Analysis
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1) As is common in narrative papers, the introduction sets the scene. Notice
the detail that allows readers to visualize the scene. The last sentence also
raises expectation as deer meet bowhunter.
2) The thesis statement comes in the conclusion, as is common in narrative
essays where action leads up to the point being made by the writer in
describing the action.
3) Paragraphing helps readers keep track of the events.
a) Change in paragraph to indicate a change in focus between the hunter and
the deer.
4) Narrative essays also make use of topic sentences.
a) Sets time and place for the details in the paragraph.
b) Focuses on details that lead to the overall point in the story.
5) Narrative essays use details to create a picture for the readers so that they
can relive the experience with the writer.
a) Details are used to recreate the scene.
b) Details are used to recreate what the writer sees in the deer.
c) Details are used to recreate the writer's physical reaction.
6) Narrative essays also contain analysis since the writer is making a point
with the story.
a) Sentence emphasizes the writer's overall feeling while looking at the deer.
b) Details make further analysis unnecessary by creating a picture of the live
deer in action.
7) Tone is the writer's attitude toward her or his content.
a) Paragraph ends with an action that increases suspense.
b) Writer uses appropriate adverbs to add to drama of meeting.
8) Transitions are necessary to keep the story moving and to tie the story
together.
a) Use of transition word or phrase.
b) Repetition or synonym of key word or phrase.
c) Use of comparative form to compare action or object to previous action or
object.
9) Sentencing
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a) Good parallel structure with bobbing up and down matching twitching back
and forth.
b) Personifies the deer by comparing her actions to human actions. Impact is
to establish a bond between the hunter and the deer as both parts of a living
world.
4
Source: http://www.erraticimpact.com/cyberedit/lth_narrative.html
SAMPLE ESSAY 1: Brown, achievement: Martial arts competition
A faint twinge of excitement floated through my body that night. A hint of
anticipation of the coming day could not be suppressed; yet to be overcome
with anxiety would not do at all. I arduously forced those pernicious thoughts
from seeping in and overcoming my body and mind. I still wonder that I slept
at all that night.
But I did. I slept soundly and comfortably as those nervous deliberations crept
into my defenseless, unsuspecting mind, pilfering my calm composure. When
I awoke refreshed, I found my mind swarming with jumbled exhilaration. The
adrenaline was flowing already.
After a quick breakfast, I pulled some of my gear together and headed out.
The car ride of two hours seemed only a few moments as I struggled to
reinstate order in my chaotic consciousness and focus my mind on the day
before me. My thoughts drifted to the indistinct shadows of my memory.
My opponent’s name was John Doe. There were other competitors at the
tournament, but they had never posed any threat to my title. For as long as I
had competed in this tournament, I had easily taken the black belt
championship in my division. John, however, was the most phenomenal
martial artist I had ever had the honor of witnessing at my young age of
thirteen. And he was in my division. Although he was the same rank, age,
size, and weight as I, he surpassed me in almost every aspect of our training.
His feet were lightning, and his hands were virtually invisible in their agile
swiftness. He wielded the power of a bear while appearing no larger than I.
His form and techniques were executed with near perfection. Although I had
never defeated his flawlessness before, victory did not seem unattainable. For
even though he was extraordinary, he was not much more talented than I. I
am not saying that he was not skilled or even that he was not more skilled
than I, for he most certainly was, but just not much more than I. I still had one
hope, however little, of vanquishing this incredible adversary, for John had
one weakness: he was lazy. He didn’t enjoy practicing long hours or working
hard. He didn’t have to. Nevertheless, I had found my passage to triumph.
My mind raced even farther back to all my other failures. I must admit that my
record was not very impressive. Never before had I completed anything. I
played soccer. I quit. I was a Cub Scout. I quit. I played trumpet. I quit. Karate
was all I had left. The championship meant so much because I had never
persevered with anything else.
5
In the last months, I had trained with unearthly stamina and determination. I
had focused all my energies into practicing for this sole aspiration. Every day
of the week I trained. Every evening, I could be found kicking, blocking, and
punching at an imaginary opponent in my room. Hours of constant drilling had
improved my techniques and speed. All my techniques were ingrained to the
point where they were instinctive. Days and weeks passed too swiftly. . .
I was abruptly jolted back into the present. The car was pulling into the
parking lot. The tournament had too quickly arrived, and I still did not feel
prepared for the trial which I was to confront. I stepped out of the car into the
bright morning sun, and with my equipment bag in hand, walked into the
towering building.
The day was a blur. After warming up and stretching, I sat down on the cold
wooden floor, closed my eyes, and focused. I cleared my mind of every
thought, every worry, and every insecurity. When I opened my eyes, every
sense and nerve had become sharp and attentive, every motion finely tuned
and deliberate.
The preliminary rounds were quiet and painless, and the championship fight
was suddenly before me. I could see that John looked as calm and as
confident as ever. Adrenaline raced through my body as I stepped into the
ring. We bowed to each other and to the instructor, and the match began.
I apologize, but I do not recall most of the fight. I do faintly remember that
when time ran out the score was tied, and we were forced to go into Sudden
Death: whoever scored the next point would win. That, however, I do recall.
I was tired. The grueling two points that I had won already had not been
enough. I needed one more before I could taste triumph. I was determined to
win, though I had little energy remaining. John appeared unfazed, but I
couldn’t allow him to discourage me. I focused my entire being, my entire
consciousness, on overcoming this invincible nemesis. I charged. All my
strenuous training, every molecule in my body, every last drop of desire was
directed, concentrated on that single purpose as I exploded through his
defenses and drove a solitary fist to its mark.
I was not aware that I would never fight John again, but I would not have
cared. Never before had I held this prize in my hands, but through pure, salty
sweat and vicious determination, the achievement that I had desired so dearly
and which meant so much to me was mine at last. This was the first time that I
had ever really made a notable accomplishment in anything. This one
experience, this one instant, changed me forever. That day I found selfconfidence and discovered that perseverance yields its own sweet fruit. That
day a sense of invincibility permeated the air. Mountains were nothing. The
sun wasn’t so bright and brilliant anymore. For a moment, I was the best.
6
COMMENTS:
The admissions officers admired this essay for its passion and sincerity. In
fact, most of the noted drawbacks were based on the writer being too
passionate. “Kind of a tempest in a teapot, don’t you think?” wrote one. Other
suggestions for improvement were “purely editorial” such as the overuse of
adjectives and adverbs, using a passive voice, and making contradictory
statements. “For example, he says, ‘I slept soundly and comfortably as those
nervous deliberations crept into my defenseless, unsuspecting mind, pilfering
my calm composure.’ How could he sleep soundly and comfortably if the
nervous deliberations were pilfering his calm composure? There are a few
other examples like that that I won’t go into here. I would just suggest that the
author look carefully to be sure his ideas stay consistent and support one
another.”
What I like about this essay from the point of view of an admission officer is
that I am convinced that the change in attitude described by the author is real.
I do believe that he will carry with him forever the hard-won knowledge that he
can attain his goals, that perseverance and hard work will eventually allow
him to succeed in any endeavor. This is an important quality to bring to the
college experience. Especially when considering applications to prestigious
institutions, the admission committee will want to feel sure that the applicants
understand the need for hard work and perseverance. Many times the
strongest-looking applicants are students for whom academic success has
come so easily that the challenges of college come as a shock. I always like
hearing stories like this, of students who know what it means to struggle and
finally succeed.
7
SAMPLE ESSAY 2: Harvard, hobbies and interests: Violin
Struck with sudden panic, I hastily flipped through the many papers in my
travel folder until I spotted the ticket. I nervously thrust it toward the beaming
stewardess, but took the time to return her wide smile. Before stepping into
the caterpillar tunnel I looked back at my parents, seeking reassurance, but I
sensed from their plastered-on grins and overly enthus-iastic waves that they
were more terrified than I. I gave them a departing wave, grabbed my violin
case, and commenced my first solitary journey.
Seated in the plane I began to study the pieces I would soon be performing,
trying to dispel the flutterings in my stomach. I listened to some professional
recordings on my Walkman, mimicking the fingerings with my left hand while
watching the sheet music.
“Where ya goin’?” smiling businessman-seatmate interrupted.
“To the National High School Orchestra,” I answered politely, wanting to go
back to the music. “It’s composed of students chosen from each state’s AllState ensemble.” After three days of rehearsal, the orchestra would be giving
a concert at a convention center in Cincinnati. I focused back on the music,
thinking only of the seating audition I would have to face in a few hours.
When I arrived at the hotel in Cincinnati, instruments and suitcases cluttered
every hallway, other kids milled around aimlessly, and the line to pick up room
keys was infinitely long. In line I met my social security blanket, a friendly
Japanese exchange student, [name], who announced proudly and frequently,
“I fro Tayx-aas!” Both glad to have met someone, we adopted each other as
friends of circumstance, and touched on a few of the many differences
between Japanese and American culture (including plumbing apparatuses!)
Soon all of the performers received an audition schedule, and we went
rushing to our rooms to practice. I had an hour until my audition, and repeated
the hardest passages ad nauseam. When my time finally came, I flew up to
the ninth floor and into the dreaded audition room. Three judges sat before a
table. They chatted with me, futilely attempting to calm me. All too soon they
resumed serious expressions, and told me which sections to perform. They
were not the most difficult ones, but inevitably my hands shook and sweated
and my mind wandered. . . .
I felt giddy leaving the audition room. The immense anxiety over the audition
was relieved, yet the adrenaline still rushed through me. I wanted to yell and
laugh and jump around and be completely silly, for my long-awaited
evaluation was over. After dinner the seating list would be posted and I would
know just where I fit in with the other musicians, all of whom intimidated me by
their mere presence at the convention.
Solitary, having been unable to find [name] or any of my three roommates, I
entered the dining room. I glanced feverishly around the giant room which
swarmed with strangers.
8
I gathered up all of my courage and pride for the first time ever, and
approached a group I had no preconceived notions about. I sat quietly at first,
gathering as much information as I could about the new people. Were they
friend material? After careful observation of their socialization, I hypothesized
that these complete strangers were very bright and easy to talk to, and shared
my buoyant (but sometimes timid), sense of humor. I began to feel at home as
we joked about S.A.T.’s, drivers’ licenses, and other teenage concerns. I
realized then how easy it is to get along with people I meet by coincidence. I
became eager to test my newfound revelation.
The flutterings returned to my stomach when I approached the seating lists
which everyone strained to see. “I knew it; I got last chair,” I heard someone
announce. My flutterings intensified. I located the violin list and scanned for
my name from the bottom up. My tender ego wouldn’t let me start at the top
and get increasingly disappointed as I read farther and farther down. “There I
am, seventh seat. Pretty good out of twenty,” I thought. . . .
Every day at the convention seemed long, only because we did so many
wonderful things. We rehearsed for at least seven hours each day, made
numerous outings, and spent time meeting new friends.
On the second day, during a luncheon boat ride on the Ohio River, [name]
and I sat together, both dreaming of Japan. Looking over at her as we talked,
I remembered that in two days I would be torn from the young, promising
friendships I had been building. When some friends-including a few I had met
at the dinner table on the first night-approached us, bearing a deck of cards, I
became absorbed in a jovial game and quickly forgot my sorrow.
Rehearsals were magical right from the start, because everyone rapidly grew
accustomed to the strangely professional sound of the group and began to
play without reserve, with full dynamics. I continually gazed, wide-eyed,
around the large, bright room, watching others, admiring their skill. We were
surrounded by pure talent, and the sky was our limit. We blossomed under the
conductor’s suggestions, using our pre-developed technique to its fullest.
Each time the orchestra played, my emotion soared, wafted by the beauty and
artfulness of the music, bringing goose-bumps to my skin and a joyful feeling
to my soul. I felt the power of the group-the talent and strength of each
individual-meld into a chorus of heavenly sound. I was just where I wanted to
be. I had everything I’d ever need. I was no longer doubting myself among
strangers; I was making music with friends.
COMMENTS:
This essay contains a good example of wowing the committee with a good
closing sentence. Last lines are usually hard to manage. However, this
essayist does a great job with hers, and the panel definitely noticed.
The last sentence of the essay is wonderfully composed.
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The last line of this essay captures what I think are the two strong points of
this piece. First of all, the author is an accomplished musician. No matter what
sort of institution you are applying to, be it a music program, a liberal arts
university, or a technical institution, strong musical ability will always be a big
plus with the admission committee. This is because they know that proficiency
in music requires self-discipline, a desire to improve and a willingness to
learn. If you have achieved a notable level of accomplishment in some area of
music, and have also succeeded in maintaining good grades, it tells an
admission officer that you can manage your time well and set your priorities.
The second strong point of this essay is the author’s description of how she
made friends and became completely immersed in appreciating and enjoying
the entire experience. This tells an admission officer that she will almost
certainly take to the college experience the same way, that she will overcome
initial shyness, throw herself into a new situation, and soon extract every
ounce of pleasure and personal growth from the experience. She will certainly
be an asset to the incoming class.
Good essay, well written and heartfelt.
This was a nice essay. The writer took her time to formulate her ideas about
this experience and was keen to stay focused on telling her story succinctly.
She took this very important opportunity in her life and was able to tell the
reader a vivid account without overdoing it.
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Source: http://www.thewritesource.com/models.htm
Lindsey's essay is well organized, explaining her interest in public speaking
from her childhood to the present. Her conclusion focuses on the next logical
step in the sequence—the future.
My Greatest Instrument
Some people express themselves through beautiful art; others are
masters of the page and speak silently through writing. I, on the other hand,
express myself with the greatest instrument I have, my voice.
Nothing gives me more satisfaction than public speaking. I have been
involved in communications events most of my life. At age eight I realized that
I belonged in front of an audience. I started giving demonstrations and
speeches in local county 4-H competitions until I was eligible to participate in
state competitions. I won every state competition that I entered.
Soon other public speaking opportunities arose; I represented an artist
named Ann Cross at the Art Walk in Keene and was an active participant on
the debate team and the captain in eighth grade. During March of eighth
grade, I had the best opportunity ever to practice my oratorical skills: I was
selected, out of all the students entered in New Hampshire, to write and read
a four-minute speech on national television. My job was to introduce Elizabeth
Dole, who at the time was interested in running for president.
I was notified the day before the event and so had only one night to
write and memorize my speech. When I arrived the next morning in Bedford,
New Hampshire, I was greeted by photographers, camera crews, and
newspaper reporters! Then I was escorted backstage to meet Elizabeth Dole.
After speaking briefly with her and having her review my speech, we marched
through a crowd of flashing bulbs to our places on the stage.
Soon it was time for my speech. I was introduced, and as I walked to
the podium, I couldn’t help but smile at the audience. I had a feeling of
complete exhilaration flowing through my veins. When I finished, I received a
standing ovation, and Mrs. Dole surprised me by giving me a great hug and
thanking me for my comments on the importance of education. But even after
she finished speaking, the excitement was far from over.
I was with her for all her photographs, and I was interviewed for a few
moments by WMUR and later by the Keene Sentinel. After the media finished
with us, I met various supporters of Mrs. Dole’s. They were all happy to meet
me and flooded me with questions and praise. I truly felt on top of the world.
From that day on, public speaking became my life.
Since then I have participated in various competitions and events. My
favorite by far was Young Chataqua, a wonderful summer program. In
Chataqua I portrayed the life of Margaret Bourke-White, a pioneer
photographer, in a 12-minute monologue that took a month to research,
prepare, and memorize. It was the most amazing experience of my life.
Although the other students and I were only expected to perform our
monologues once, two other organizations asked me to speak.
11
After Chataqua, I participated in my first play, Everybody’s Crazy, and I
am currently organizing a debate team with Mrs. Lester. I plan to continue my
4-H activities, do volunteer work, go to Chataqua next summer, and hopefully
participate in the American Legion’s Oratorical Contest next year.
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Alita, the tenth-grade writer of this model, presents a cluster of incidents that
work together to form a unified piece presenting one theme. Alita links the
incidents in an effective, creative manner.
Snapshots
Most of the snapshots of my life are held in the photo albums of my
mind. Some were captured by a camera, and those pictures I keep in a
shoebox under my bed. I’m lucky to have “shoebox photos” of the earliest
things I can remember. For example, three days after my third birthday,
Katherine Emily arrived. I remember my dad taking me to see my new baby
sister; we stopped at a gas station on the way to the hospital and bought my
mom candy and a cola.
That day, the camera caught the tiny smile only a big sister could have
as she holds one of the best birthday presents ever. I don’t take up even half
of a blue hospital chair as I cradle Katie in my arms. She is wrapped all in
white, like the little angel that every baby is. My white, hooded sweatshirt has
faint patches of sky blue, and just a tiny crimson triangle of a T-shirt peeks out
from behind the zipper. Looking closer, a third person can be seen: my
mother’s wrist-banded hand holds Katie’s head up. My tiny arms weren’t quite
strong enough for that task.
That was the first time I ever posed with Katie. Looking at that photo
makes me remember all the other pictures I have of Katie and me, even when
there was no camera with film and batteries ready to go. It’s these pictures
that I’ll never lose.
Before Katie and I went off to school, we spent our days in the tunnels
and caves of cardboard boxes and secret hideaways under the kitchen table.
Our house has never been short on toys (there were six kids born before
Katie and me), but boxes have always been a favorite. I remember being able
to easily slide through the long passageways, my back not even brushing
against the “ceilings” of our tunnels and forts. Katie had an even easier time
but often needed a flashlight in the darkness. Our cities of cardboard were
draped in rainbows of blankets and quilts. On the insides, however, the less
light we had, the better. It’s too bad my memory camera has no flash.
“Picture Sales” were the basis for the kids’ economy in our house.
Competition was fierce in our system of capitalism. Jake is three years older
than I am, and I’m three years older than Katie, but we all tried to outdo each
other drawing pictures, attractively placing them around our bedrooms, and
bringing in the customers. Prices ranged from 1 to 25 cents, and we loved
counting the money at the end of the night. Katie and I often combined our
assets and tried to steal Jake’s business. Our walls were lined with neat rows
of crayon drawings. We stocked anything from flowers to people, but
supportive parents and older siblings made purchases from all of us.
Katie and I loved having our big sister Megan take us for summer
walks. She was in high school, and hanging out with her added “coolness” to
our status at Winkler Elementary. Filled with excess energy on the way to the
park, beach, or the Hunny Tree gas station for pop and candy, we always
loved to run ahead. Megan would let us, usually to the next telephone pole or
13
two, where we would have to stop and wait for her. Shorter legs made the
telephone pole seem distant, growing slowly closer as the Queen Anne’s lace
flew past in the ditch. I can recall countless times that Katie and I woke up
late and found ourselves running down the road to catch the bus. Looking
back, this has to be one of the more ironic rolls of my “memory film,” because
I ended up running cross-country; Katie wound up in poms and football.
Of my six sisters, Katie is the closest to me in age, and she’s often
been my closest companion during family events. We are usually the only
teenage kids around at family gatherings and on shopping trips in the family
van. This explains why Katie and I are expert mimes. The shopping trips
provide hours of being stuffed in the van with our younger siblings, Scarlet
and Michael; the visits to Minnesota to see relatives yield seven hours of
driving each way. On one occasion, Katie and I boarded the van, choosing
the back seat. After 10 minutes of being annoyed by everyone else, we
formed an invisible wall between the two front seats and ourselves. We
mimed a smooth, perfectly flat, soundproof surface to perfection. The last
picture on that roll of memories was Mom telling us to stop it.
The Niagara Falls/Canada/New York trip last year was the closest
Katie and I have been. The same week of our shared 16th and 13th birthdaybonfire party, we spent days cramped in the back of my sister Sara’s car, next
to her one-year-old daughter, Hannah. Our quiet brother-in-law Brad was
driving, and Hannah cried the whole way. That trip provided enough scenes
to make a full-length movie, but I have only one shoebox picture of Katie and
me in front of Niagara Falls. We are both bundled up like we were in the
picture taken 13 years earlier. This time, though, we wear dark blue jeans and
gray sweatshirts, our matching brown hair pulled back, hers in a ponytail and
mine behind a pale pink bandana. The background doesn’t take us to a quiet
hospital room, but to the continuous rumble of beautiful Niagara Falls. On the
left, the American Falls turn over beneath a rainbow of October foliage.
Farther away, on the right, Horseshoe Falls bubbles under a mist that slowly
rises above the horizon. Katie and I lean against the heavy, black railing, and
against each other. Our smiles are sweet and happy, reminiscent of Katie’s
first birthday.
These two shoebox pictures of Katie and me are just two snapshots in
a shared photo album, filled with every cake, thought, joke, and sweater
we’ve shared. In the midst of looking through the collection, Katie yells at me,
“Hey, that’s my shirt!”
“You borrow my stuff,” I reply.
“Not without asking.”
“You had my black skirt for three months.”
“I asked for it.”
I let the fight peter out, not wishing to waste a memory on an argument
about clothes. There will be plenty of hair-pulling, name-calling, and angry
situations between Katie and me to come. I want to save my film for better
times.
14
A clever, attention-getting opener pulls the reader into this personal essay by
tenth grader Crystal. The organization, developed with examples, seems to
flow naturally to Crystal's conclusion about judging other people.
It’s a Boy!
“Congratulations, you have a new baby boy!” my child-development
teacher said as she handed over the 10-pound bundle.
Last year in my high school child-development class, each student had
to take the “Think-It-Over” baby home for a night to get a taste of parenthood.
Even before I received the baby, I knew I was not ready to be a parent as a
senior in high school. I could still remember when my brother and sister were
little and I would have to take care of them all the time. At least the doll had no
dirty diapers I would have to change.
It was a Friday night when my turn came to take the 10-pound plastic
doll home. The doll really did look like a live baby from a distance. It even had
a pleasant baby powder smell. After I took the baby home in his car seat, I
changed him into some really cute clothes because my friends and I were
going out that night. I then decided to name him Tyler.
Inside the body of this doll was a computer that was programmed to
make periodic crying sounds. I was the only person who could stop the crying
because I had the key. This key, tied to my wrist, could be inserted in the
doll’s back to stop the crying. So far, so good. The doll had not cried, yet.
My friends came over, and we all piled into the car. It was kind of
squished because we had the baby’s seat in there, too. I had to treat the doll
like a real baby because the computer inside also measured any abuse to the
doll, such as shaking or neglect. The hour-long drive to the restaurant was
uneventful. It was rather chilly, so I decided to wrap Tyler in a blanket and
carry him in that way. I also had a diaper bag with diapers, a bottle, and an
extra set of clothes hanging on my arm.
Because it was Friday night, there were a lot of people waiting in line to
get a table. When I walked into that crowded entryway, I got some very weird
looks and quite a few raised eyebrows. My friends also noticed the glares and
stares, so we decided to make a game out of the whole situation. I stood in
the corner pretending to rock Tyler to sleep. Every once in a while my friends
would peek in the blanket and say, “Oh, how cute.” I could not help but laugh.
And although it was funny to my friends and me, some of the people did not
think it was so funny that I had a baby. I overheard one couple say, “Why
would she bring a baby here?” These people were giving me rude looks and
forming judgments about me because they thought I was a teenage mom.
Others just smiled at me sympathetically and felt sorry for me because I was
only a child with a child.
We finally got a table, and the waiter, not knowing I was carrying a doll,
asked me if I needed a high chair. I told him it was just a doll, but a high chair
would be good. He thought it was funny that I actually dared to bring a doll
into the restaurant, so he brought a high chair, plus a red balloon for the little
one.
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Again, during our meal, my friends and I received strange looks from
the others in the restaurant. One couple kept walking by our table just to get a
look at my baby. I think they were trying to figure out if the doll was an actual
baby. As the couple walked by, my friends and I started discussing how
people so quickly judged me and assumed that I was the mother of the baby.
We decided that we would probably do the same if we saw a teenage girl
coming in with a child and a group of friends. Teenage pregnancy is not
accepted where I live and is definitely not the norm; many girls would hide
their pregnancies if they decided to keep their babies.
We went to the mall after we were finished eating, and I had to take
Tyler with me. My friends were looking at clothes, but I couldn’t because I was
carrying this “baby” (which was becoming quite heavy). So I just roamed
around wishing I could try on clothes, too. Then the baby started to cry this
horrible imitation baby’s cry. It was so loud and terrible. I quickly put the key
into the doll’s back so it would quit crying, and then I had to explain to the
salesclerk why I was carrying around a plastic doll. I was so glad to finally go
home.
I learned a lot through my experience with the “Think-It-Over” baby.
The doll definitely reinforced my thinking that I was not ready to be a parent,
but it also made me more aware of the larger picture. It opened my eyes to
the judgments people make about others. People do not realize that some
things are not the way they seem. The doll seemed like it was my baby, but
that was not the case. I was only carrying it around for a class project. The
people in the restaurant were so quick to judge me because they assumed I
was a teenage mom. They undoubtedly thought I was stupid for taking a baby
to a noisy, smoky place; they didn’t realize it was just a plastic doll underneath
that blanket.
I sometimes catch myself judging people I do not know, just because of
the first impression they give. In reality, I do not have a clue about their real
stories. I especially think people judge teenage girls with babies too quickly.
Sure, they may have made a mistake, but the girls usually know that, and they
are the ones who have to pay the price. I only experienced the glares and
rude comments for one night, but I thought of all the girls who have to deal
with these looks wherever they go. We should all be slower to judge these
girls, or anyone else, and realize that some things are not as they seem.
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