Upon first arriving in high school I was very shy, not knowing anyone at my new school, except one of my old teachers who had transferred there two years earlier. I had left my small close knit suburban middle school friends to go to a completely different school in the inner city. There were hundreds of people at this school, sights every where, and teen aged drama at every corner. I remember seeing a student getting arrested on campus, it felt like I was watching a movie. I quickly became fascinated by it all. I had never experienced anything like it. I was used to being in small environments where everyone knew each other, and the biggest issue any of my friends had was what movie to go see on the weekend. But, high school, this high school, was different. Much different. Students fought in the hallways, sold drugs in the bathrooms, and gambled in classrooms. It took a while for me to get used to it, but eventually I did. I became comfortable around these people. The drugs, gambling, fights, and all of the other problems became an extra in my daily routine. That part did not surprise me, because I have always known that people adapt to their environments, but what did surprise me was the fact that I was I was slowly becoming apart of the problem.

I had found a group of older “friends” and quickly began following their lead. Ignoring all of the values my mother instilled in me. I started to get involved with everything that I found fascinating. Drugs, cutting class, bad attitudes, gambling, and even running away from home. I was like a lost puppy running with a pack of wolves. My grades plummeted, going from all A’s to mostly C’s and some D’s. The teachers always shunned me because they said that I had so much potential to be something great, but instead I was wasting it. They all gave up on me, all of them except my old teacher; Ms. Tyler. The same one whose car I vandalized earlier in the year because my friends did not like her. She had witnessed me go from a smart, strong-willed, curious, girl to a troubled teenager.

One day, late after school, Ms. Tyler ran into me while I was waiting in the office because I had gotten into a fight earlier that day. The look in her eyes when she saw me sitting there, in hand-cuffs, took me by surprise. I did not see anger or disgust like with all of the other teachers, I saw sorrow. What she said to the officer to make him let me go, I do not know. What I do know is that he told me to get out of the office and to go with Ms. Tyler. I followed her to her car, and we simply drove around. Around the block, around the city, it even seemed liken we drove around the world that day. While in the car, Ms. Tyler told me that she knew that I was the one who had busted her windows, and wrote on her car. She also told me that she did not care. She told me a story about a girl who was smart, and had potential (like myself) but had gotten mixed up with the wrong things, which led to of trouble. The girl in the story had gotten pregnant, kicked out of her parents house, and was homeless for a while. While homeless, her drug dealer raped and tried to kill her. This lead to her having a miscarriage. That was when the girl decided that she wanted more for herself. She did not want anything like that to ever happen to her again. She cleaned up her life, went back to school, and then on to college. Little did I know that the girl in the story was Ms. Tyler. I was so shocked that gorgeously perfect Ms. Tyler had been through so much and could relate to me. She told me that she wanted more for me than what I wanted for myself, and that she was never going to give up on me. Tears were shed that day, and decisions were made. I apologized for everything that I had done, no only to her, but to others and myself. I decided that I did want more for myself. I wanted to be someone in life.

At school no one accepted the fact that I had really changed, teachers and friends alike. I asked everyone that I had hurt or disappointed to forgive me. It took some time and proof ,but eventually they did. I turned a new leaf, and it would not have been possible if not for second chances. This is the sole reason why I believe in second, third, fourth, or however many chances. If I was not given a second chance, I dread to think where I would be today. I would still be the troubled teen that I was, rather than the smart, level-headed, determined young lady that I am today. I am definitely a better person now than I was when I first arrived in high school. I seek out to help younger girls who were misguided like I was through a program named Above and Beyond. I believe that there is never an instance where a person should not be given a second chance. Maybe deep down they want to be different or do right, but they lack the inspiration to do so. Without second or third chances would any of us be where we are today? Would I be preparing to go to college? Of course not. We all make mistakes, but it’s the second chances that gives us the opportunity to correct and learn from them.