Call Me Narrative

It's a Friday afternoon, I plan to go to Great Wolf Lodge in an hour with my church. I see one of my friends so he says to his mom “ Hey, that's my friend” I said “Crap” So I go inside to sign in to go and see my friends just sitting in a corner on a big sofa. We are listening to music and just talking then a green bus comes.

I have lived in only one location my entire life: Edwardsville, Illinois. A peripheral suburb of St. Louis, it stands as the rare oasis of people in a desert of corn, pinned in its own personal bubble. Due to this blend of time and isolation, I developed a natural familiarity with my hometown. But, throughout my childhood, I longed to break free from the confines of the bubble and venture outward. However, this changed last summer, as I walked through Richards Brickyard, our family heirloom, that my great-grandfather, Benjamin Richards, founded over 120 years ago. I felt these childlike sentiments slip away. The bubble that had surrounded me for so long began to vanish, and the picture that it had been obscuring was slowly revealed.

Rosa Gonzalez is a 28 year old, Latino woman, who was raised in Tempe, Arizona. She came from a low socio-economic status family. Rosa’s records indicate that her mother was in prison while she was pregnant with her, and her father was out of the picture. She was placed in several foster care homes until the age of four when her father came back into her life. It was around the same time that her mother was released from prison, and began a relationship with her dad. She grew up with one sister and two brothers. She depicted having been psychologically, emotionally, and physically abused by her father until the age of 16. She conveyed that her mother was neglectful, even though she knew about the abuse (R. Gonzalez, personal communication, July 23, 2014).

That was a lot of money, and I didnt want to let Tony down so I got in the car and started to drive. As I drove the road was empty. I had confidence I was not going o get caught. It was a slightly wormer day out witch might have been because the sun was out. I had the windows down and was blaring music just trying to enjoy life when a cop pulls out behind me.

It was a cool November day, in the middle of Afghanistan. As a medic, I was sitting outside my make shift aid station with one of my buddies sharing stories about home. We hear a loud explosion right outside of the wire. I looked up and could see the cloud of smoke billowing up from about two hundred meters away. Not knowing how bad the situation was, I grabbed a few of my soldiers, our translator and my aid bag and ran straight to the smoke. When we got there, a group of civilians were huddled around a group of people who were yelling, screaming and crying. The translator found out that a group of three men and three children were walking around a field when one of the children stepped on a mine. One of my soldiers grabbed the mine

There we we're just chilling in my military grade jet with my friends. We were sitting there playing games while circling an island, then you wouldn't believe me if i told you that we saw 20 military birds. They didn't see us until my friend sneezed they started shoot left and right. So we turned my jet into and military plane an we shoot and shoot.. We killed all of them except wan which we tortured too tell us where their base is until at his final moments he tells us an we get go searching for it. We find it an we go fast there are 50 more and we shoot and shoot until there all dead. Then we cooked them and ate them the entire way home.

When I was a kid me and my mom didn't really get along all that much, always had problems, and I never knew exactly why that was. I tried everything I could to avoid any and all fights and arguments, so I did everything she wanted and whatever she said to cease all of it. Things didn't get any better, they more like they got much much worse, I was finally able to move out in with biological father and things seemed to go good for awhile I was sent to military school and made out of that. Moved back home and moved out on my own and working 2 jobs to pay for all the bills, so when you're living with mom and dad don't take for granted what they give you cause its hard when you're on your own. Graduated high school doing everything that a young

I’ve never told this story before. Not because I’m ashamed or embarrassed. I’ve put off telling it for so long because it terrifies me. It is a story of a time I lost complete control. It is a story of loneliness and isolation. By not recalling it, or writing it down, it became just a string of events that happened in the past, meaningless and disconnected from the future. Putting it into words makes these past events the future. They become immortalized in writing, they become forever. But maybe putting words to my thoughts and feelings will alleviate some of that terror. Maybe I’ll be setting myself free.

On July of 2016, my aunt had to move in with my family. She got evicted from her own home. My mother took her in our home because she did not want to see the kids living on the streets. For about a year my aunt and her three kids were living with my family. This was a nightmare because my aunt’s kids had no discipline. Willa let them do whatever because she did not want to punish them. This made things very difficult for my family. With her kids doing whatever they wanted things could never get better for my aunt.

This week I worked on my finial LOCA with my field instructor, The case is a Hispanic female who is thirty five and her husband who is also thirty five. The mother tested positive for marijuana while pregnant. The child tested positive for Marijuana, mother lost custody of her newborn baby, and he was placed in a foster home. The mother has a history of Department of children and families cases were her parental rights were terminated. Currently her two older children from a previous relationship is are in foster homes. The mother and her husband have a history of domestic violence and the two older children are terrified of him.Interviews were conducted with the mother and father, along with the caretakers of the newborn baby. The parent have

There is someone I wish was still around from before that is my dad. He passed away in the first week of summer the summer before 6th grade. I lived with my mom until I was 7 then he went and got visitations so he seen me every Wednesday and every other weekend in the summers I was at his house 1 week and my mom's 1 week. Sometimes when he was close to my house or my grandmas he would bring me "care packages" they were mainly toys the one I remember was he was at Walmart and in the middle of the night he brought me Legos the Legos were batman ones. One Christmas he brought my a huge monster truck it was remote control it was about 2 feet tall I had it for a couple years I really liked to do donuts with it in the snow. He had a girl fried and

The moment a man told me to give him ‘all the money in the till!’ with a gun pointed between my eyes, I did something very few people have ever done before – and ever will do.

Larry's sitting in the back of the squad car wishing he was anywhere but there. Why won't they believe me? Why won't anyone believe me? He thinks, leaning his head against the window.

It is also assumed that the act of telling a story can provide insight into past, present and future events (Espinoza, 1997). By going through this process, individuals can find the importance of certain events and assign roles to people who are a part of their story. This act can allow a client to find new meaning and understanding to their reality (Espinoza, 1997). Not only is a

The house appeared to be empty as the car pulled up to the front, I glanced out of the tinted windows surveying it. A modest two story place with a stereotypical white picket fence. It liked the kind of place to raise a family, at least that’s what TV always told me. It had been at least a day since the file crossed my desk but like most Halflings my memory was Eidetic. The house had belonged to the Matthews family, a small family consisting of a mother pregnant with her second child, a father who worked in an office building, and a blonde seven-year-old girl. I could even remember the look of horror on Mrs. Matthews’ face in her crime scene photo. Her once swollen belly split wide open. I shuddered shaking the memory out of the forefront of my