As my Dad and I pull up, driving on the opposite side of the road to the big, iron gates of my new school we see a sign that reads:f School for Girls. I nervously twirl my freshly cut, hair and brush the pleats in my new, navy blue and pink, plaid kilt. He parks the car in a small lot in front of a building that looks to me more like a castle than a school. We head up the steps of the old brick building. I am grasping my Dad’s hand so tight as if it is the only thing to keep me from the dreaded day ahead. The headmistress greets me at the doors and leads me to my home room. The second my dad left my sight I felt my stomach drop. I walk into the room and find a sea of navy blue pullovers exactly like mine and I quietly take a seat in the back. As the class starts, the teacher says in her British accent,”Raise your hand if you are new to this school.” I see about six other hands go up and some hope is restored. I am too overwhelmed with curiosity and anxiety to listen to what she says next but now the new students are speaking one by one. This is the first time I’ve ever been thrown by a new dialect. As my turn approaches I try desperately to figure out what they are saying. It sounded like they were saying where they were from and where they went to school previously. When it was my turn I assumed that the teacher and other students would not know where my small town in the states is, so I simply said,”I’m from America.” The teacher looked at me with a confused look and asked what school I went to. I reluctantly told her the name of my school. The teacher, still confused, was silent for a few seconds and moved on to the next student. After the formidable introductions were complete we received a small notebook and a dayplanner. We were told to pull out a pen and write down what she was about to say. I look in my pencil case and all I have is a pencil an eraser and a highlighter. At first I did not see this as a problem, until the teacher saw another girl using a pencil and asked her to switch to pen. I turned to the girl next to me, who was also new, and asked if she had an extra pen. She flashed a kind smile and me handed one. Her name was Louisa and she became my first and best British friend. Suddenly an announcement came on, ”Upper Three East and West may now report the to gymnasium.” It was time for the morning assembly. As we all file out of the room the teacher pulls me aside and asks,” Have you got a bobble?” I had absolutely no idea how to respond or what she was asking, but i could tell by her bitter tone that she was not pleased with me. I timidly ask her to repeat what she had said. She let out an irritated sigh and repeated herself this time pointing to a hair band on her wrist. Unbeknownst to me, it was a uniform violation to wear your hair down. I put my hair up, and caught up to my classmates and followed them to the gymnasium.

My time in England and the obstacles I faced on my first day taught me how to cope with cultural differences and dialect that I had never experienced. I went on to make close friends in my class and grew quite fond of the culture. I believe that with fear it is impossible to experience important moments. Fear set aside one can adapt and develop a new perspective. I believe that having an open mind can lead to a journey of learning. In my case, I learned how to live like my classmates not only at school but in daily life. My classmates and teachers in England made my first day imfamous but by the end of it, they gave me a sense of optimism for the rest of my British adventures.