My full name is Zachary Scott Kilgore, but everyone calls me Zach. I got my names from my parents. My first name, Zachary, was a name on the list of names they came up with for me before I was born. My parents liked that name because of the biblical and historical meaning behind it. Also, they liked it because Zachary can be shortened down to Zach, which is easier to say but still sounds good. Next, my middle name, Scott, came from my dad. His first name was Scott and my parents liked how it sounded coming after Zachary. Last, my last name is the family name that has been passed down from generation to generation.
The Hebrew meaning of my name is “Remembered by God.” I feel like this is a fact, because I think God remembered me when giving me my family, parents, and friends. He remembered me when assigning my parents to me. He gave me the best parents, family, and friends I could have. He didn’t leave anything out.
I feel that my name fits me well. When people look at me and call me Zach or even Zachary I feel like it fits perfectly like a puzzle piece being placed to finish the puzzle. When I look at myself I see a young man named Zach, and when other people look at me, they see a mirror of what I see. I know many people named Zach and/or Zachary and I feel like it fits them too but, to me, I think the name Zach fits me in better and more special way.
A couple months ago my family and I offered to help an elderly lady, Rose, from church. We offered to mow her lawn and trim her bushes and rake the leaves. Rose’s yard was messy, like boxes full of leaves were dumped all over her yard. We assigned each other jobs to do and got started.
We started by cutting the grass and moved through everything else we were supposed to do. It was a hot, sunny day outside and we were feeling it. We just wanted to get done so we could sit down and drink some cold water. A short while later, we finally finished. We sat down and started drinking water and talking to Rose. She started talking to me asking about school and I didn’t notice so I responded by saying “what?” louder than I meant to. My parents gave me a dirty look and Rose repeated what she had said.
When my family and I got home my parents pulled me aside in the garage as my brother went inside and told me how rude I was. They told me rather than saying “what” I could say something else like “pardon” or “excuse me.” Since then I have watched how I spoke to people.
Band has been in the center of my middle school career for three years. I have played my trumpet every day in the same room for three school years. I have learned how to play an instrument, but more than that, I’ve met people and some of my best and first friends there.
My first day of school I had band 8th period, last class of the day. Everyone was excited to get out because it was a Friday. It was also near the end of the year so we weren’t doing anything. I was sitting alone just waiting to leave and a group of people came over to me. They started talking to me, the first one being my best friend now Kaleb, and I started talking with them. After what felt like a couple of minutes the bell rang and we all left. Kaleb, who rode my bus, came with me and we sat with each other and talked some more.
After being in band for three school years I have learned a lot about working hard and practicing to achieve a goal. I’ve learned some people have brains the size of a pea and don’t care, and others have hearts as big a melons and will work as hard as they can. I’ve learned what it’s like to have friendships end right where they started.
I feel like my personal vignettes have shown how my identity has been affected. I was rude and inconsiderate when I spoke to people and now I care more and am less rude. That I have to talk and act like a more grown up person, a young man. In band I have learned how to become a better person and make life long friends. I have changed a lot through the time I have been in band. All the hard work taught me how to work for something and how it feels to have all that work pay off.
In “The House on Mango Street,” I can relate to how Esperanza felt lonely at times. My dad has been is Navy for twenty years and his job makes him move all the time and my family goes with him. Every time I move I have to say goodbye to my best friends and then start all over again. I have to make new friends, and I have to go to a new school. I feel like I have felt my “coming of age” because at every place I’ve lived I have learned new lessons. I’ve learned about friendships and work and saying goodbye only to say hello in another place.
I have not enjoyed reading “The House on Mango Street” plainly because it made me, a normally happy person, feel sad. The book was eye opening though, it taught me about dreamers who dream about what they want and how they hope to get it one day. I am used to getting everything I need; food, clothes, a home, and that helped show me not everyone is so lucky.