Francis 1

Juliana Francis
Malcolm
UWRT 1103

Literary Narrative: Rough Draft

Fitting in
My first memory is one that is blurry, and maybe even a little different then how it
originally happened, but its how I remember it. It was the day my aunt came to adopt me. After
being bounced from home to home, she took me in. I remember my her standing before me with
a huge smile on her face and a little karaoke machine in her hands. It may not seem like much, or
even very important, but it was the beginning of who I am now. She took me from what I knew,
and into a new world. Before she took me in I had no friends, and most of the homes I lived in
were ones I could do whatever I pleased. I was a difficult child, and when my aunt finalized my
adoption I think it got worse. I was angry and violent and I dont remember everything that I had
done, but that a few weeks in to living with my aunt I came home from school and she told me to
be nice to the other kids at school. Apparently I had been biting and scratching and being an
overall nuisance to the teacher. I tried, oh how I tried to be nice, but it was as if no matter how
hard I tried to be good, to be nice, the other kids just got in the way! The absolute worst moment
was during lunch one evening sometime in elementary school.
The cafeteria lights were blinding me as I slid down the lunch line. My lunch tray was
slowly filling up with food and all I could think about was sitting down with the few friends I
had made this year and eating my lunch. I was having a normal day, and it all came crashing
down when this pudgy little boy walked up to me like he owned the place. I remember thinking

Francis 2
of just brushing him off and ignoring him, I mean, I was having such a great day, a great week. I
was making so much progress being nice, but he made a comment that made me stop and turn
to look at him in utter amazement.
what did you just say to me? the question fell from my mouth like heavy lead and I
turned to look at him. Looking back on it now I know I should have ignored him, I should have
never asked, but I did, and it made my life even harder when he smiled a wicked smile and said
in a low voice,
I guess your mom didnt want you cause youre stupid. It was no secret that I wasnt
that great in school, I barely passed my classed and I could hardly keep up with the other
children; and it was no secret I was adopted. The other children ridiculed me and teased me to no
end, I was an outcast among those who understood they had a mother and father and that I did
not. My next actions would haunt me for the rest of my life. The rage bubbled inside me, rising
up like lava ready to burst. The clatter of my food was deafening, and the sound of heavy plastic
hitting flesh was a satisfying sound. My tray connected with his face, his head, his hands; I was
ruthless, my tiny hands angry at something I could barely understand. The rest of the skirmish is
just a blur, the teachers pulled me off and escorted me to the office. I knew I was in trouble, I
knew what I did was wrong, but I also knew it was justified. I acted in self-defense, how could I
have known what was too much and what was not enough?
I had been bounced from home to home before my aunt found me and took me in. I had
never been in one place long, I barely had a chance to interact with children my age, how could I
have possibly known what was acceptable in that situation, or any situation? I was unprepared in
a world where everyone knew the rules, and so when my aunt came to the school and gripped me
by my arm, I was confused. She dragged me out the school and into the car, her face was dark

Francis 3
with anger, embarrassment, shame; ultimately these are the emotions I interpreted as regret. I
began to see myself as a mistake, one she never should have taken under her wing. Mind you she
had never said this to me, she was a loving woman who did her best to raise me alongside her
two children, and I am grateful for her every day. Despite my gratefulness now, back then I was
filled with anger.
Feeling left out and shunned from school I began walking a thin line of what was
acceptable and what was not. Looking on my actions now, I remember how I blurted out answers
in class, instead of raising my hand. I yelled out my anger, instead of telling someone what was
wrong. I hit kids who picked on me, instead of using my words. I walked out of class whenever I
felt like it, instead of asking permission. I didnt understand what I was doing wrong. I do now,
and looking back I can see what I should and shouldnt have done, but try to view my situations
from a childs point of view: I hit that child because he told me I was unwanted, unloved, and the
fastest way to quiet him down was to hit him, to stun him. I walked out of class because I had to
go to the bathroom and the fastest way to get there was to walk out.
Reading this now those two situations are completely different, and the severity of them
are different; but to a child it is all the same. I eventually learned right from wrong but before I
could do that, I had been sent in an out of the principals office, and I remember constantly being
asked Do you know what was wrong with what you did? The question was asked with
judgment in her tone, I was just another nuisance to her. My reply was simple.
No. I wanted to know the same thing! What did I so wrong? Why was I sent there time
and time again? Why was I always sitting in that crappy plastic chair that made my butt feel like
pins were stabbing into me? Why?

Francis 4
The principal looked at me with pity, and told me, You cant just do whatever you like.
You cant hit children, and you need to stop. That isnt nice. Nice. Being nice means to act in a
pleasant manner, but I still didnt understand why I should be nice. My aunt had told me to be
nice, the children and teachers told me to be nice, and now here was the principal telling me to
be nice. But why? I asked, Im sure my voice was filled with desperation for an answer to a
long standing question. And the principals answer must have flipped some switch hidden in my
brain.
Because its what people like, and thats what we find O.K Her voice was soft and
caring, I dont remember her name, and I dont remember much of her face, but her words struck
some cord in me. Her advice would be later stored right along with my adoption and skirmish. I
didnt begin to act nice right away, but I began to get quieter, calmer; I paid attention to the
things around me and to the way the other students were interacting. I still had a quick temper
and still got angry, but I was no longer the student the teachers wished they could be rid of, and
that was an accomplishment. I worked hard to make it where I am now.
My friends think its hilarious to look back on my younger days. The fights and the anger.
They encourage me to be better, and I know what I can and cannot do with others. I am still
quick tempered. I am still badmouthed. I am still angry. I am still who I was, but in moderation.
Looking at me now, no one would see the countless moments I sat with tears in my eyes, the
countless lectures I had to endure about being nice. No one would see that reckless child who
just wanted to be seen and excepted. All I hear now is youre so nice and youre such a sweet
girl. I learned to be nice so I would never again have to hear, go to the principals office or
youre such a bad child. And I will never hear the words, why cant you be nice?
Because I am nice.