Tutoring… Why would anybody have to go to a tutor class? Is it really helpful? I really don’t find it helpful. But I salute the determination of some people who wanted to tutor other people to help them succeed.
He was tutoring the young woman in the art of love. At least he thought he was. It is probably more the truth, that she was tutoring him in the art of seduction. He was under her spell but he didn’t know it.
As I struggle to find the words to explain to someone concepts that they have never heard of
I realize
How hard it is to inspire a desire to learn in a stranger.
The need for something more. It’s got to push through. What can i do? Seek assistance to fight the resistance or sleep it away. Give up, stuck up in this mind cemetery. Need a break, to the other side of this broken gate. And there it is, a tutor to show me the way.
When he initially agreed to tutoring Maximillian, Angela’s ‘very bright, but slightly unfocused son’ Adam thought it would be a fairly straight forward weekly meeting of tutor and pupil. However his thinking swiftly changed upon their first meeting. Teaching anything beyond very simple addition was going to prove significantly challenging to an over exuberant labradoodle.
The last time I picked up a book, I think it was probably in grade school. Huck Finn, I believe it was. After my parents passed I had to drop out of high school to get a job. Reading not required. Now I met a girl, her walls are plastered with books. If I tell her the truth, I think shel’ll leave me. And I can’t allow that to happen.
No matter how much turtoring the teacher gave him he could not concentrate. His mind was looking out the window, out across the fields and through the prairie wondering what his horse was doing as he was waiting for him to get out of school.
Tutoring, I thought to myself as I was reading the big black words on the screen. Now, what do I know about tutoring? As much as I know about law. Which is nothing. Im telling you, being 18 and having to choose a university sucks. Tutoring sucks. Everything is confusing.
What? Once more? What is this website? Not sure if I hate it or if I love it.
I told her everything I knew, at once, in a flood of words that poured of a place within me that had been locked for years. She sat patiently, and when I was finished and the flood died down, she said:
Nolan sighed, placing the text book on hte edge of the desk.
“Becca, help me out here, your sister isn’t undersntad this.”
“Sure dad,” she said and tok the book off the desk. Nolan walked out of the room, and sighed, heaing for the kitchen he took a seat on the stool.
“Tough time?”
It’s not hard, she thought.
Everyone else in her class could solve this problem in minutes.
Her tongue darted in between her teeth, licking her lips nervously. She could practically feel the stare of the older (smarter) girl next to her.
Why was this simple problem such a struggle for her?
I was thinking about all the
pretty things – and the sad
ones too – people has taught
me during these twenty and
an half years; I’ve learned
when tears should flush over
my cheeks and when smiles
should be painted on my lips;
I’ve became were of the futility
of life and the greatness of being
on this world; I’ve been taught
with books full of ancient words
and brave cold-hearted heroes.
But there is one thing I still am not
able to do – and probably it’s the
silliest of all; there is one thing no
one has ever explained me.
How could I forget someone?
How could I erase him from my memory?
Does somebody know how to do it?
tutoring always makes me think of the old Ball State tutoring office, which was one of the best jobs on campus, and were thus impossible to get. I didn’t try very hard to get an on campus job, and I really wish I had. It would’ve been a lot easier, and would’ve made the work/ study balance much easier.
We told our parents that I was tutoring him. That’s how it all started. With tutoring. What we didn’t tell our parents was what subject I was supposed to be tutoring him in.
Neither of us were taking anatomy classes.
It was not as hard as it appeared; that was tutoring the summer classes that was held for the second formers at the high school where I had offered my assistance.
Ohara had learned from her sister that the girl he was looking for worked at a school in Kawagoe, just north of Tokyo. With a little help from her sister, and a few little white lies, he got into her apartment. The large wardrobe full of party dresses told him that she did a lot more than just tutoring schoolchildren. He would have to start scouting the local hostess clubs.
Well my nephew came by last week, my husband took him out and showed him how to flirt with woman to get a girl friend. I was concerned by this because my husband has so much charm when he tries. He could talk the most hard core feminist into waiting on him hand and foot. I was not sure My nephew Peter was ready for this type of tutoring.
He taught me about a new kind of love. His tutoring was odd, but gave me lessons in how to love without asking anything in return. I’m not sure I would pay for that type of learning now, but at the time, it seemed like the perfect lesson.
Give it to to me
let me hear
mind wide open
pour it in let it be mine
the drudgery of lessons
timeless act of new
cascades of words
sometimes awkward
sometimes absurd
It was supposed to be a tutoring session, vanilla all the way. Of course, when it came to Dana nothing was really vanilla so, all in all, Ariella wasn’t really surprised when the brunette pushed her back onto the bed, straddling her waist.
He was behind me, my back to his back.
I was glowering over my notes, he was idly perusing books.
“Are you done yet?”
“N-No…”
“Are you stuck on something?”
Yeah, you’re too close dummy.
she was to be his tutor, something which neither of them were too pleased about – he didn’t want to appear dumb to her, and she didn’t want to be forced to spend all of her time around him simply teaching him. all of her friends, however, considered her very lucky – he was very cute, and they’d be able to spend so much time together through all the learning! she disagreed with this very strongly, however.
The tutoring was always more than just that. It was the catalyst of our friendship. I taught you to master bearings, graph piece wise functions, understand the unit circle, etc. But you taught me to, “go with the flow,” and dive into life head first, without fear of any repercussions. You taught me to always face life with a smile. In those tutoring sessions, you taught me more than you could ever know. Thank you
The tutoring was always more than just that. It was the catalyst of our friendship. I taught you to master bearings, graph piece wise functions, understand the unit circle, etc. But you taught me to, “go with the flow,” and dive into life heard first, without fear of any repercussions. You taught me to always face life with a smile on my face. In those tutoring sessions, you taught me more than you could ever know. Thank you.
My fourteen-year-old daughter is tutoring 3rd graders. She does it feverishly, as if the world is coming to a careening end and nothing will save it but the satisfactory reading comprehension levels of 8-year-olds.
Harry stared at the books in front of him, daydreaming about nothing and everything, when Hermione reached over and poked him on the shoulder. His green eyes focused once more and he glanced down at the sheet in front of him. Tutoring, they’d said, to help Harry focus, not that it was doing much good at all.
tutoring is hard. i typically hate it not because i hate teachong but beacuse im so bad at it. i thingk it takes some skill, patience and kindness to tutor. im just no the kindof person eho can, i will tell you how, show you, but then, im done
two to a row
under benches
they scour the hour
often looking for their escape
’round every corner
inside each soul
never leaves the people they love
gathered together they look like paintings.
the child wanted to be a doctor but his grades were far too short. the triple digets needed were more like double, sometimes even singular in form. the dreams were dashed, smashed headfirst against the chalkboard, blood dripping down into the chalk tray. no amout of tutoring could ever save him now. but his parentss tried girl after boy after girl to no avail.
“Again”
Her temples throb, and she grits her teeth. Abigail puts all her energy into the sparking at the end of the yew wand. It fizzles out, and she can hear him start to speak.
“Again-”
“Merlin’s Beard! Would you just shut up!” she screeched, turning. The tutor hems and haws, and she throws the wand at him. “Stop! Stop speaking. Leave.” he sighs, likely marking this on her record.
The door slams shut, rattling the windows. If only she could get the hang of her magick, then she could move on. Abigail’s tempted to break her wand. It lies on the floor, innocuous. She can’t. That would be the fifth one this month. Dean Larson would refuse to compensate her for it. If Abigail had progressed to Magi at the last testing, she wouldn’t be in this situation. There wouldn’t be tutors, she wouldn’t be alone in the Hall of Housing. Well, she could stay with Auntie, but that was against the point of her coming to the Institute. This was her chance at freedom. It might be Abigail’s only chance. Auntie wanted her to get married. To save magick for party tricks like Abigail’s mother and grandmother before her. It was only by the grace of Dean Larson (and a few favors owed to her father) that she was able to afford the tuition. Coming here had been a dream, witches weren’t often educated in proper magick. She’d made fast friends with the two other girls enrolled. Cora and Lucy were lucky, first of their lines to have the powers. Cora’s parents had encouraged her to go, selling heirlooms right and left to afford her books and wand. Lucy’s brother-in-law had helped her, donating his grandfather’s wand to her schooling. But none of that mattered. Why should they progress so well, when they were mere First-Borns, and Abigail had so much magick in her veins she glowed. Abigail kicked the wand farther away. That was the kind of thinking her father had, what he’d said when he found out her failure. Auntie, he said, was waiting for her to give up. If she didn’t make it next semester, he was sending her home.
There was a knock at the door, and it opened to reveal a boy with carrot orange hair. “Excuse me, I was looking for the girl who sent Tutor Miles running ‘cross campus. Would that be you, Miss?”
“Miles? The one with the big nose?”
“That would be him.”
“Then yes, I’m the one you’re looking for.”
“Lovely, I’m his replacement. Thomas Under-hill at your service.”
“Abigail Woods. Pleased to meet you, Fairy-boy.”
he laughs.
“You and I will be fine friends, Miss Abigail.”
he stood there, wonderment glared over his wanting eyes. The wrecked, homeless man wearing a black tank top, which was not noticeable because of his scuffed hairy face–stood there in wonderment. I, and, my womanly accomplice drove away from Starbucks, hoping he was pulling a gest on himself. To deny our notion, he grabbed two metal chairs, belonging to starbucks corporations, then stuffed them in to his already-full target shopping cart. I blasted into laughter, with it, exploding with her joying laughter, together. “I cant believe he would do that”, she astounded, with phasing laughter. “People will do anything for livability”, I smiled. Our laughter degraded to slow touches on the arm, then deceased because of the drowning voices of hip hop music. I finger-flicked the volume knob, zoned into an oasis hosted by Robin Thicke, enjoying the sheer beatification of her company–her brown eyes, innocent like a goat–her brown hair that rooted from black, but had the capability of two-toned coloration because of her fine dark south American eye brows. Amidst this sensation of love, I pushed down the gas pedal, accerlating to craigslist job ads. Finally, I met the etching that I longed for.
As much as I knew I needed a tutor – my parents were right – I sat on my bed thinking that I didn’t want to admit it. I didn’t want to acknowledge that I couldn’t do trigonometry on my own, and I chuckled.
Perhaps you may need some tutoring in these anonymous stories I’ve been sending out, hoping you might see them. De-coding. Summoning. The moments. The lines ran – recounting all of it is an attempt to –
The Healer stared at the young apprentice’s work. “Well, my boy…” he trailed off. After a long lecture, the boy left wiser in the ways of his Master’s work.
I had been tutoring Glenn for three years now, and he had improved his grades tremendously. Still, he had told his mother that he was not ready to end the sessions just yet. In a way, I understood that. The relationship we had was different than most of his family connections and his friendships. I may have been scrutinizing his academic work, but I never exactly “judged” him. I was an outsider helping him trace out his future in graphite, ink, and computer code, and Glenn, as a result, was extremely grateful for my presence.
He’d always known his younger brother had never really fit the mould. His brother wasn’t normal. Simple as that.
So why did everyone else see that as a bad thing?
Why did they try to cram him into their stupid little boxes, when clearly he’d never fit into any of them?
Why did they insist he was a freak, when his abilities and talents meant he towered over them in superiority (and didn’t he just know it)?
His brother didn’t need tutoring. He didn’t need to be forced into any kind of shape or person- he needed to remain himself.
Tutoring… Why would anybody have to go to a tutor class? Is it really helpful? I really don’t find it helpful. But I salute the determination of some people who wanted to tutor other people to help them succeed.
He was tutoring the young woman in the art of love. At least he thought he was. It is probably more the truth, that she was tutoring him in the art of seduction. He was under her spell but he didn’t know it.
As I struggle to find the words to explain to someone concepts that they have never heard of
I realize
How hard it is to inspire a desire to learn in a stranger.
The need for something more. It’s got to push through. What can i do? Seek assistance to fight the resistance or sleep it away. Give up, stuck up in this mind cemetery. Need a break, to the other side of this broken gate. And there it is, a tutor to show me the way.
When he initially agreed to tutoring Maximillian, Angela’s ‘very bright, but slightly unfocused son’ Adam thought it would be a fairly straight forward weekly meeting of tutor and pupil. However his thinking swiftly changed upon their first meeting. Teaching anything beyond very simple addition was going to prove significantly challenging to an over exuberant labradoodle.
The last time I picked up a book, I think it was probably in grade school. Huck Finn, I believe it was. After my parents passed I had to drop out of high school to get a job. Reading not required. Now I met a girl, her walls are plastered with books. If I tell her the truth, I think shel’ll leave me. And I can’t allow that to happen.
Haha, I meant tutoring. Oh well
No matter how much turtoring the teacher gave him he could not concentrate. His mind was looking out the window, out across the fields and through the prairie wondering what his horse was doing as he was waiting for him to get out of school.
Tutoring, I thought to myself as I was reading the big black words on the screen. Now, what do I know about tutoring? As much as I know about law. Which is nothing. Im telling you, being 18 and having to choose a university sucks. Tutoring sucks. Everything is confusing.
What? Once more? What is this website? Not sure if I hate it or if I love it.
I told her everything I knew, at once, in a flood of words that poured of a place within me that had been locked for years. She sat patiently, and when I was finished and the flood died down, she said:
Nolan sighed, placing the text book on hte edge of the desk.
“Becca, help me out here, your sister isn’t undersntad this.”
“Sure dad,” she said and tok the book off the desk. Nolan walked out of the room, and sighed, heaing for the kitchen he took a seat on the stool.
“Tough time?”
He placed his hand on her thigh, smiling gently when she flinched. “Come on,” he said softly. “This is how it starts.”
She looked away nervously, but then flicked her eyes to his.
“Here,” he said softly, “put your hand here.” And he took her hand in his and placed it on his body.
Lernen, immer wieder
niemals hört es auf.
Immer wieder etwas neues,
am besten du kannst alles.
Lernen…
It’s not hard, she thought.
Everyone else in her class could solve this problem in minutes.
Her tongue darted in between her teeth, licking her lips nervously. She could practically feel the stare of the older (smarter) girl next to her.
Why was this simple problem such a struggle for her?
I was thinking about all the
pretty things – and the sad
ones too – people has taught
me during these twenty and
an half years; I’ve learned
when tears should flush over
my cheeks and when smiles
should be painted on my lips;
I’ve became were of the futility
of life and the greatness of being
on this world; I’ve been taught
with books full of ancient words
and brave cold-hearted heroes.
But there is one thing I still am not
able to do – and probably it’s the
silliest of all; there is one thing no
one has ever explained me.
How could I forget someone?
How could I erase him from my memory?
Does somebody know how to do it?
tutoring always makes me think of the old Ball State tutoring office, which was one of the best jobs on campus, and were thus impossible to get. I didn’t try very hard to get an on campus job, and I really wish I had. It would’ve been a lot easier, and would’ve made the work/ study balance much easier.
We told our parents that I was tutoring him. That’s how it all started. With tutoring. What we didn’t tell our parents was what subject I was supposed to be tutoring him in.
Neither of us were taking anatomy classes.
It was not as hard as it appeared; that was tutoring the summer classes that was held for the second formers at the high school where I had offered my assistance.
Ohara had learned from her sister that the girl he was looking for worked at a school in Kawagoe, just north of Tokyo. With a little help from her sister, and a few little white lies, he got into her apartment. The large wardrobe full of party dresses told him that she did a lot more than just tutoring schoolchildren. He would have to start scouting the local hostess clubs.
Well my nephew came by last week, my husband took him out and showed him how to flirt with woman to get a girl friend. I was concerned by this because my husband has so much charm when he tries. He could talk the most hard core feminist into waiting on him hand and foot. I was not sure My nephew Peter was ready for this type of tutoring.
He taught me about a new kind of love. His tutoring was odd, but gave me lessons in how to love without asking anything in return. I’m not sure I would pay for that type of learning now, but at the time, it seemed like the perfect lesson.
Give it to to me
let me hear
mind wide open
pour it in let it be mine
the drudgery of lessons
timeless act of new
cascades of words
sometimes awkward
sometimes absurd
It was supposed to be a tutoring session, vanilla all the way. Of course, when it came to Dana nothing was really vanilla so, all in all, Ariella wasn’t really surprised when the brunette pushed her back onto the bed, straddling her waist.
He was behind me, my back to his back.
I was glowering over my notes, he was idly perusing books.
“Are you done yet?”
“N-No…”
“Are you stuck on something?”
Yeah, you’re too close dummy.
she was to be his tutor, something which neither of them were too pleased about – he didn’t want to appear dumb to her, and she didn’t want to be forced to spend all of her time around him simply teaching him. all of her friends, however, considered her very lucky – he was very cute, and they’d be able to spend so much time together through all the learning! she disagreed with this very strongly, however.
The tutoring was always more than just that. It was the catalyst of our friendship. I taught you to master bearings, graph piece wise functions, understand the unit circle, etc. But you taught me to, “go with the flow,” and dive into life head first, without fear of any repercussions. You taught me to always face life with a smile. In those tutoring sessions, you taught me more than you could ever know. Thank you
The tutoring was always more than just that. It was the catalyst of our friendship. I taught you to master bearings, graph piece wise functions, understand the unit circle, etc. But you taught me to, “go with the flow,” and dive into life heard first, without fear of any repercussions. You taught me to always face life with a smile on my face. In those tutoring sessions, you taught me more than you could ever know. Thank you.
My fourteen-year-old daughter is tutoring 3rd graders. She does it feverishly, as if the world is coming to a careening end and nothing will save it but the satisfactory reading comprehension levels of 8-year-olds.
Harry stared at the books in front of him, daydreaming about nothing and everything, when Hermione reached over and poked him on the shoulder. His green eyes focused once more and he glanced down at the sheet in front of him. Tutoring, they’d said, to help Harry focus, not that it was doing much good at all.
tutoring is hard. i typically hate it not because i hate teachong but beacuse im so bad at it. i thingk it takes some skill, patience and kindness to tutor. im just no the kindof person eho can, i will tell you how, show you, but then, im done
two to a row
under benches
they scour the hour
often looking for their escape
’round every corner
inside each soul
never leaves the people they love
gathered together they look like paintings.
the child wanted to be a doctor but his grades were far too short. the triple digets needed were more like double, sometimes even singular in form. the dreams were dashed, smashed headfirst against the chalkboard, blood dripping down into the chalk tray. no amout of tutoring could ever save him now. but his parentss tried girl after boy after girl to no avail.
“Again.”
“Again”
“Again”
Her temples throb, and she grits her teeth. Abigail puts all her energy into the sparking at the end of the yew wand. It fizzles out, and she can hear him start to speak.
“Again-”
“Merlin’s Beard! Would you just shut up!” she screeched, turning. The tutor hems and haws, and she throws the wand at him. “Stop! Stop speaking. Leave.” he sighs, likely marking this on her record.
The door slams shut, rattling the windows. If only she could get the hang of her magick, then she could move on. Abigail’s tempted to break her wand. It lies on the floor, innocuous. She can’t. That would be the fifth one this month. Dean Larson would refuse to compensate her for it. If Abigail had progressed to Magi at the last testing, she wouldn’t be in this situation. There wouldn’t be tutors, she wouldn’t be alone in the Hall of Housing. Well, she could stay with Auntie, but that was against the point of her coming to the Institute. This was her chance at freedom. It might be Abigail’s only chance. Auntie wanted her to get married. To save magick for party tricks like Abigail’s mother and grandmother before her. It was only by the grace of Dean Larson (and a few favors owed to her father) that she was able to afford the tuition. Coming here had been a dream, witches weren’t often educated in proper magick. She’d made fast friends with the two other girls enrolled. Cora and Lucy were lucky, first of their lines to have the powers. Cora’s parents had encouraged her to go, selling heirlooms right and left to afford her books and wand. Lucy’s brother-in-law had helped her, donating his grandfather’s wand to her schooling. But none of that mattered. Why should they progress so well, when they were mere First-Borns, and Abigail had so much magick in her veins she glowed. Abigail kicked the wand farther away. That was the kind of thinking her father had, what he’d said when he found out her failure. Auntie, he said, was waiting for her to give up. If she didn’t make it next semester, he was sending her home.
There was a knock at the door, and it opened to reveal a boy with carrot orange hair. “Excuse me, I was looking for the girl who sent Tutor Miles running ‘cross campus. Would that be you, Miss?”
“Miles? The one with the big nose?”
“That would be him.”
“Then yes, I’m the one you’re looking for.”
“Lovely, I’m his replacement. Thomas Under-hill at your service.”
“Abigail Woods. Pleased to meet you, Fairy-boy.”
he laughs.
“You and I will be fine friends, Miss Abigail.”
he stood there, wonderment glared over his wanting eyes. The wrecked, homeless man wearing a black tank top, which was not noticeable because of his scuffed hairy face–stood there in wonderment. I, and, my womanly accomplice drove away from Starbucks, hoping he was pulling a gest on himself. To deny our notion, he grabbed two metal chairs, belonging to starbucks corporations, then stuffed them in to his already-full target shopping cart. I blasted into laughter, with it, exploding with her joying laughter, together. “I cant believe he would do that”, she astounded, with phasing laughter. “People will do anything for livability”, I smiled. Our laughter degraded to slow touches on the arm, then deceased because of the drowning voices of hip hop music. I finger-flicked the volume knob, zoned into an oasis hosted by Robin Thicke, enjoying the sheer beatification of her company–her brown eyes, innocent like a goat–her brown hair that rooted from black, but had the capability of two-toned coloration because of her fine dark south American eye brows. Amidst this sensation of love, I pushed down the gas pedal, accerlating to craigslist job ads. Finally, I met the etching that I longed for.
As much as I knew I needed a tutor – my parents were right – I sat on my bed thinking that I didn’t want to admit it. I didn’t want to acknowledge that I couldn’t do trigonometry on my own, and I chuckled.
Perhaps you may need some tutoring in these anonymous stories I’ve been sending out, hoping you might see them. De-coding. Summoning. The moments. The lines ran – recounting all of it is an attempt to –
The Healer stared at the young apprentice’s work. “Well, my boy…” he trailed off. After a long lecture, the boy left wiser in the ways of his Master’s work.
Kenshin likes tutoring Kaoru, it makes them closer and the fact she blushes each time he brushes their fingers together only makes it better.
I had been tutoring Glenn for three years now, and he had improved his grades tremendously. Still, he had told his mother that he was not ready to end the sessions just yet. In a way, I understood that. The relationship we had was different than most of his family connections and his friendships. I may have been scrutinizing his academic work, but I never exactly “judged” him. I was an outsider helping him trace out his future in graphite, ink, and computer code, and Glenn, as a result, was extremely grateful for my presence.
He’d always known his younger brother had never really fit the mould. His brother wasn’t normal. Simple as that.
So why did everyone else see that as a bad thing?
Why did they try to cram him into their stupid little boxes, when clearly he’d never fit into any of them?
Why did they insist he was a freak, when his abilities and talents meant he towered over them in superiority (and didn’t he just know it)?
His brother didn’t need tutoring. He didn’t need to be forced into any kind of shape or person- he needed to remain himself.