My school life was great; when I look back at myself …I’m proud off how far I have Journeyed from year seven, right until year ten. That’s where my problem began. I had a dilemma that usually accured on school days. Everyday I was turning up into school late. The main reason why I was attending to school late was because …well, I had a little brother; which I had to take, everyday to his primary school. My teachers always made me feel humiliated and stressed. I couldn’t really do anything about it. My dad’s work was roughly about 600 miles away. I have four siblings; two sisters and two brothers. One of my sisters called Nysha, who was thirteen years old, in year nine and went to Whitefield Secondary School. My other sister, called Faith, she was four, she went to a primary school called Sunnyfield Primary School, and was in reception. My other two brothers went to Bell Lane Primary School. The oldest one, called Joseph, whose eleven, and my youngest brother named Marrion, who is seven years old. My mum goes to Middlesex University; and I go to Hendon Secondary School.
It all started when I arrived to school late, on a Monday morning. Whilst I was signing in at Pupil’s Office, the head of Pupil Service, who was called Ms Fella, she complained at me as usual, saying how constantly late I usually am. She went into her office and called a teacher called Mrs Whiteing. As they were talking, I over-heard the conversation, Ms Fella told Mrs Whiteing to bring me to Mr Clifton Goldson. Mr Clifton was a Jamaican. Well at least he told me he was. He always tied a scarf of a shirt over his head. He had a long beard with some strikes of grey hair. Really…if you looked at him, you’ll think he is a ruster. After that as Mrs Whiteing dragged me to Mr Clifton, I asked, “Why am I going to him for”. The response I heard was “Because your lateness is becoming major concern.” Well…fair enough. Mr Clifton was a mentor. The school never told me that they were bringing me to a mentor. I only found out when at the end of my first session, when I had a target sheet it said ‘name’ in caps, and next to it, it had ‘mentor’ in caps as well.
During the first session, he was acting as if he didn’t know me; yet all this time teachers were informing him about me. He tried to pull out very personal information; he spent a long time talking to me about rubbish, which lasted me for a bad three hours. He would ask me questions that were really irrelevant ton ever I had a point that was contrary to what he wanted, he got angry. His mouth shook viciously, his eyes wore wide-open windows; and to me… it seemed like he was to grawling, like a wild animal, instead of talking and not swearing…with his favourite word… ‘bullsh**. And whenever he asks me a question, he doesn’t even give me a time to answer. He explains for another 20 minutes. Then he tells me to be quicker in answering next time. That very session he tried to squeeze out from me what my dad works for.