Заранее приношу извинения за нижеследующие диферамбы в свою честь ))) Начиная учебу в США я больше всего боялась класса English Composition. На это у меня было три причины: во-первых, я очень много наслышана о том, что для многих Американцев это один из самых сложных и нелюбимых классов, во-вторых, принимая во внимание то что английский не мой родной язык, я боялась, что мне будет намного труднее, чем англоговорящим студентам, в третьих, мне моя школьная училка привила мысль, что я хреновый писатель. К тому же, сколько я себя помню, у меня в школе по русскому постоянно еле натягивалась четверка, т.к., несмотря на то, что я обожаю читать и перечитала кучу литиратуры за свою довольно короткую жизнь, я не очень большая грамматейка. Представьте мое удивление, когда по своему первому сочинению написанном на не родном мне языке (в Америке) я получила 97 баллов!!!

Задание состояло из прочтение эссе "Rick" by Brad Benioff, в котором он рассказывает о своем школьном тренере, написания краткого содержание этого эссе и изложения собственных мыслей по поводу прочтенного. Перевые две части задания были довольно простым, с последней пришлось повозиться. В результате, я решила "обосрать" мою школьную училку по биологии, которая полностью отбила у меня желание изучать когда-то очень любимый мною предмет. Разумеется, я значительно преукрасила и преувеличила реальные события (только около 10% сказанного соответствует действительности) + досочиняла несколько других моментов для придачи более драматичного оттенка (факт выйгрыша мной олимпиад самая наглая ложь ))... По содержанию мое соченение вышло вроде как неплохим, однако, больше всего я горжусь тем, что я не допустила ни одной грамматической и пунктуационной ошибки (по мнению учителя), большинство моих ошибок - просто тупые опечатки. Ниже привожу свой "шедевр" с коментариями препода (красным), может кому-нибудь пригодится...

Lost Inspiration

In the essay “Rick,” Brad Benioff focuses on one of his most memorable high school experiences: joining a water-polo team. The author decided to give the game a try because of a friend, who persuaded him that water-polo was a lot of fun and that the team had the best coach. Since Benioff knew nothing about the game, he felt very nervous on the first day of practice; the description of his feelings and thoughts on the way to the pool opens the narrative. While joining a new group of people is never easy, one of the main reasons for of Benioff’s nervousness was the anticipation of meeting the coach. He heard about Rick many times before; the man was much admired by the players and well-known at school as a great Math teacher. Rick’s friends were thought to belong to an exclusive club, and Benioff was very anxious to see if he would be accepted.

Upon meeting the coauch, Benioff was surprised to find out that Rick was neither friendly looking nor fun to be around. From the very first moment, Benioff felt quite uncomfortable and inadequate under his intent look; the situation did not improve after the author began to practice. During daily trainings, no matter how hard Benioff pushed or how quickly and flawlessly he played, the coach was not happy. Moreover, Rick seemed to enjoy torturing the new player: he blamed Benioff for incompetence, punished him with pushups and wind sprints, and always played him against much stronger players. As a result of such an attitude, the author came to hate both the game and the coach and decided to quit.

After a particularly unpleasant training session, Benioff walked up to the coach and told him that he had decided not to play water polo any longer. Rick’s only response was that Benioff could not quit until after the first game. This brisk answer became a final straw for the author, who decided that the best way to get revenge on his coach would be to make the man sorry for loosing such a great player as himself.  Benioff decided to show the coach what he was capable of. During the game, he played as furiously as he could, anger and need for vengeance giving him energy. As a result, Benioff scored five goals and shut out the other team with a few key defensive plays.

After the game was over, ready to spit “I quit” in his face, the author walked up to Rick and was startled to see him smiling. The coach approached him, shook his hand with exuberance, and said that he had known about Benioff being a great player all along. In a matter of seconds, Benioff understood what stood behind Rick’s attitude towards him. The author realized that Rick had never hated him; on the contrary, the coach pushed him to his full potential and helped to uncover his talent. The hate that Benioff felt for the man suddenly evaporated; not knowing what to say, he stood in front of Rick completely confused. The coach burst with laughter once again and asked Benioff to call him Rick. 

This essay reminded me of an experience that I had in school with one of my teachers; unfortunately, it was completely opposite to that of the author. I was ten years old when I spent the whole summer with my cousin, Natasha, who just finished her freshman year in college where she was majoring in Biology. Natasha was absolutely in love with the subject and was constantly telling me about many fascinating things she learned in school. That summer, she brought me to numerous field trips and labs where I could watch students during the experiments and listen to their teachers. I also helped her with some of the projects by drawing pictures of different organs, plants, etc. (I was much better artist than she was) and participated in other Biology-related activities, from catching bugs to putting those bugs to sleep with ether. By the end of the summer, I knew for sure that I would become a bBiologist one day.

In seventh grade, I finally got an opportunity to start studying the subject I was so fascinated with for the last two years. I was even more excited to find out that we had a young teacher who seemed to be no less in love with Biology than my cousin was. During the first semester, I was on top of my game; there was no single person in our class who enjoyed the subject as much as I did. At first, the teacher seemed to really appreciate and encourage my enthusiasm; however, as soon as she got to know the rest of the class better, I began to notice that, as far as any of out-of-class activities were concerned, she, for some unknown reason, was not interested in involving me.

Like coach Rick from the essay, my teacher was known for taking students on weekend excursions and throwing parties for the members of the Biology club. Very soon I realized that I was much less likely to be invited to the events that did not require knowledge of the subject than some of the students who were not members of the club and could hardly get a “C+” in her class. However, no matter how upset I was about not being included, I still adored the teacher and studied hard to be the best. I finished the seventh grade with an “A” in Biology and was determined to do everything I could to become part of the “exclusive club” next year.

Unfortunately, the first day of school after the summer break turned out to be a major disappointment. One of my classmates, who was also pretty good in Biology, was showing everybody photos from the Biology camp to which she was invited by our teacher. The fact that I was never told that the camp even existed became the last straw. My attitude towards the teacher changed in a matter of minutes; I could not even look at her without feeling deeply hurt. No longer did I care about being accepted to little circle of her friends; my only desire was to prove that it was I who deserved being in the camp. That year, I studied even harder than before and, by the end of the eighth grade, won both school and district Biology contests. However, I did not do any of it because of my love for the subject; on the contrary, I lost interest in Biology completely. As a result, when we got a new teacher the next year, I did not even care to open the book and almost failed the class.

I believe that, unlike Rick, who helped Benioff to discover his talent, my teacher killed any of the potential that I might have had. Never in my life have I experienced passion for any of the subjects as big as passion I used to have for Biology. Although I started middle school with a clear idea of who I wanted to be, I graduated without a clue of what to do next. Even today I’m not sure whether the career field I’ve chosen is right for me. Sometimes I think that I should thank my Biology teacher for that.    

Very well done. Summary is clear and response is nicely tied to the original idea while still adding new information.  Keep up the good work.

A/97