First Day of School

My first memory of culture shock was my first day of school in the US. I was 11 years old and had only two weeks worth of English under my belt before the first day in the seventh grade. To make matter even worth, my mother took me to a barbershop school in lower Manhattan to get a haircut at a discount. Things got progressively worst as the language barrier between my mom and the amateur barber led to him completely messing up my haircut. As a result, my hair was completely shaved off. The night before was unforgettable because I spent the entire night looking into the mirror trying to convince myself the haircut was as bad as looked and reminding myself that my favorite basketball player, Micheal Jordan, also had a bold haircut.

The following morning, I woke up early anticipating my first anticipating a good first day of school. I finished putting on my favorite shirt and sneakers (which were dirty from playing at the park the day before) and headed to the kitchen for breakfast. Not long into my favorite bold of cereal did my mother enter the kitchen with a disapproving looking. She complained about my clothe and demanded I change into an outfit she handpicked herself. That was last day I would take fashion advice from my mom. 

I was taken to school to school by my mom and my uncle who had been here long enough to be considered to speak English fluently. As I walked to school, I could only think about how ridiculous i looked and how shinny my bold head looked under the sun. The experience was as I expected. I was stared at by everyone who came into contact with me. I would hear students and adults speak among themselves wherever I walked. They may not have been talking about my ridiculous outfit and unusually shinny head but my inability to speak English made me suspicious of everyone who laid eyes on me. 

What surprise me even more then the looks and reactions I received was the unruliness of the student of the classroom. I was amazed at the behavior of my peers in the presence of the teacher. Conversations were being carried by students while the teacher spoke and all the teacher would say was "quiet ...". I heard the word so much throughout the day that I was sure of the meaning by the end of the day. 

In the school attended in north Africa, Algeria, prior to the US, the teacher would never ask the class to be quiet because students were punished for misbehaviors. And if the student continued to misbehave, the teacher would contact the parents of the student. The embarrassing call to the parents would cause the student to be further disciplined once he or she arrived at home. 

I sat mute and deaf staring in amazement at the new culture that I was now a part of throughout the day. I would later realize the reasons for the students behavior in school and understand the affect the american culture had on the educational system.