Report Card

July 4, 2009
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I was born in a small country named Bangladesh. I grew up there, for five years, with my family. Some of my most vivid memories are from my younger years, back when I lived in my native country. One of my favorites is one of my first school year. Pre-school in Bangladesh is much different than pre-school in the USA and like any three year old, I made silly mistakes, which turned into lovable memories.

I walked to school everyday with my parents, hand in hand, wearing my navy blue school skirt and tie, with my hair up in pigtails. I sang songs in the morning, memorized poetry in the afternoon, and practiced writing my alphabet when I got home, usually for homework. But one day, instead of handing us our notebooks at the end of the day, our teacher handed us identical brochures of thick, shiny paper. Each one had the name of the school on top and when I received mine, it had my name printed neatly on the bottom.

Without stopping to think what it might be, I picked up my “assignment” and walked home with my nanny. I wanted to finish my homework before my mom got home and ran into my room with my backpack. I pulled out the shiny brochure and opened it to find rows of boxes all over it. In the first box of every row was an A. From that, I knew what to do and began filling in every box thereafter with the rest of the alphabet.
When my mom came home, I quickly showed her my beautiful letters, but some reason, she was more worried than impressed. She took my homework away from me and didn’t say another word about it until the next day, which was a Sunday. She brought me back to school, talked to my principal, and then took me home. She had gotten another shiny brochure.

Finally, on the way home, I worked up the courage to ask my mom what had happened. I thought that she didn’t like my handwriting or that I had written a letter wrong. Then, she looked at me and told me what my homework really was. That was the first time I ever heard about a report card.

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Yvaine_96 This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. said...
Jun. 27, 2010 at 6:42 am

Im a Bengali and it feels amazing to know you are one too. Im still living in Bangladesh and I cant imagine moving to some where else permanently. Do you come home often? And where is your village district? Mine is in Barishal. One last ques: Are you from Dhaka?

BTW a really cute and funny article. Even my pre-school days were silly. I forgot my name on my first day! Can you believe it?

Sitav N. replied...
Jul. 1, 2010 at 1:19 pm


Actually I live in an all white town where my family and I are the only Bangladeshi family. I am from Dhaka and have only gone home once in the past 9 years. And honestly, not much of the home I remembered was there besides my family. I have written a poem about leaving and will post it when I find it. But, I love my home now and my memories of my country inspire a lot of stories. =)

xLoVeLyCuTiEe428x said...
Feb. 26, 2010 at 7:07 am
Oh so cute!! Really good.
pinksage33 said...
Jul. 10, 2009 at 2:00 am
This is good.
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