The alarm blared in my ear; I jumped at the slightly unfamiliar sound, and as I reached to turn it off, I found my self tumbling off my bed and hitting my head on the card board box that served as my nightstand. After finally turning it off I wobbled to my feet and dressed for school. Glancing up at the clock I realized I had about 15 minutes left, so I began searching for my bible. After ten minutes of futile searching I gave up, assuming it must still be packed. I was thrilled to hear a noise in the kitchen; it had to be my dad I thought, but when I got to the dining room I heard his truck leave the driveway. My first day of school was not going well.

I was eleven years old, and going into the sixth grade, this was my third school this year, but this school was much bigger, and I was scared. Now with my dad gone without a good bye. I wasn’t sure what to do I wanted to cry but I knew I had to be strong -- especially for my mother, with the three week old baby to worry about not her oldest eleven year old. I looked up at the wall clock. “OH SHOOT!!” I said, grabbing my backpack, throwing it on my back, and with just my luck the strap broke, but I still ran, but by the time I reached the end of my driveway the bus had passed me and turned the corner. I dropped my back pack, and my eyes began to sting. “NO!” I shouted out loud, fighting back the tears “I promise I won’t cry!” I ran inside past the crib of my sleeping infant sister, woke everyone and assisted my other two sisters with getting ready, the whole time wearing a fake smile so my sisters wouldn’t worry. My mother drove my us to school. As she pulled into the parking lot of Magnolia sixth grade campus, I opened the door, but she stopped me by asking “Honey, are you going to be ok?” I paused and turned to her, “mom, I promise I won’t cry”, I said softly, she smiled and I ran off to class. My first class was math, and my teacher was by far the meanest woman I had ever met. The work was hard, and at least a dozen times my eyes began to sting as the liquid in my them begged to roll down my face, but my promise prevented it. I prayed that God would give me His strength. I went through each class, and most of the kids laughed at the way I dressed or the way I walked, but I didn’t cry, at least not on the out side. In gym the girls laughed at my running, but no tears. In choir even the teacher laughed at my singing, but no tears. At lunch I ate alone, still no tears. I fought them back for my mother and for my self, And as I fought I found in my self the ability to hide sadness, but at the end of that long day, when I stepped off the bus I ran and threw my back pack on the porch. My dad’s truck wasn’t there but my mom’s hunk-a-junk car was. When I got inside I saw my mother cutting coupons, I froze six feet away from her. “Oh, Hi how was school, dear?” I didn’t answer; but instead I jumped into her arms and unleashed all the tears I had held in.

In the end it is for you to decide if I won the battle against my tears, but I believe, inside all of us is a sensitive side, and when we want to cry we don’t, but would it really be so bad to show our true feelings? Through this experience I learned that even some one as delicate as me can make them selves look tough, but every one and I mean every one has a place to seal away their tears and even though they don’t fall Jesus Christ counts them all.