Childhood Memories Of Childhood

My earliest memory of my childhood has to be the first major fight my parents had that has been seared into the memories of my childhood. We all hate to see our parents fight and usually when I would witness my parents fight I would block it out because “mommy and daddy will always love each other no matter what.” They would tell me that over and over again no matter how bad their fights got. I yearn so badly to tell my younger self not to hang on to that idea of love because that idea in the end wasn’t really love at all.

This transition into public school made me very aware of my race, gender, religious beliefs, social

It was as if I was stuck in a shallow hole, in which I could easily climb out of, but I was too embarrassed to so. This was indicative of my entire middle school experience, swallowed by my insecurities and unable to recover. I spent 3 years, as the sole black girl, anxious and unsure. I often muzzled myself in fear of appearing more unlike my friends than I already was. Despite Mr. Fletcher’s slight apprehension towards me following my heated outburst, I began to stop regretting what I said, because, well, I was right. I was capable of more than he allowed me to show in that project. During a time when I never even considered the value of my voice, Mr. Fletcher gave me a chance to speak. It was in his social studies class l learned for first time my words meant something, he changed my life. Whenever something absolutely ridiculous came out of Mr. Fletcher’s mouth I was no longer afraid to retort. Now, when I see an injustice, when I’m underestimated, I say something, and people

Though it was a struggle to maintain a normal life to do extracurriculars, congregate with friends and be a normal suburban kid, it wasn’t my life. Living in what seems to be two worlds is humbling. It aids me in developing perspective as I view others. The environment in which I was raised is only microcosmic compared to the true issues occurring in the world and I aspire to be able to address and provide

Weeks later, I received the most calamitous news of my existence. My grandfather, whom I had recently been sharing such fond moments with, passed away. On the day of his funeral, watching over him, I observed a faint smile plastered upon his face. Holding back tears, I reminisced of all the great memories we shared. After returning home, I dwelled on the significance of his last words to me. In efforts to make sense of what he saw in me, I stared in the mirror trying to value every quality about myself. I had no idea how soon this sense of self-appreciation would slowly be diminished. It was my first day back to school when I was interrupted by an ambiguous compliment from a Caucasian girl. “You’re pretty for a dark-skinned girl”. In such a way I took offense; nonetheless, I responded with a monotonous “Thank you”, and walked away. I began to question myself. “Why couldn’t I simply be complimented as being pretty? Was there

Childhood memories are something people cherish for a lifetime. Even the memories you do not want to remember have an impact on you. Only thing you get out of these bad memories are the lessons that will never be forgotten. My most vivid childhood memory is when my dad and I went to gym and I had torn my ligament while playing basketball, because a soldier had stepped on my ankle.

How did changing ideas in regard to childhood shape the newly developing Romantic style in poetry and literature? During the 19th century, the subject of childhood sparked debate among society (Metz). According to popular Enlightenment thinkers of the age, and a majority of society, youth were essentially just smaller versions of adults. That is to say, children were seen as young adults that simply lacked life experience, but were still mentally and physically capable of dealing with adult problems and responsibilities. This was eventually brought into question as the Industrial Revolution was set in full swing and working class children were sent off to make money for their families (Reynolds). People began to question the ethics of exploiting children as factory workers that had to be exposed to dangerous, physically taxing, and often traumatizing conditions. At the same time, a new literary movement was beginning to form. In reaction to the logic, reason, and lack of emotion brought on by the Enlightenment and Neoclassicism (which was prevalent in society and literature at the time), the Romantic era began. Romantic writers rejected the ideas of Enlightenment thinkers and favored emotion and imagination above strict logic and reason. As a result, many Romantic poets and writers began to question the idea of children and adults being functionally and emotionally equal to each other. This emerging idea of childhood innocence shaped British Romantic poetry by providing an

Romeo Clay Robinson is an African American Artist passionate about humans’ “condition, feelings, thoughts, dreams, and aspirations” and motivated by his family to produce work treating issues faced by society (Houston Museum African American Culture). Growing up beside his grandchildren, Robinson noticed how heavily social media impacted them and compromised their self-esteem. One of Robinson's work displayed at the HMAAC, “Closing Arguments”, portrayed the difficulties faced by younger black females. Society has excluded this group and has held a mediocre image of them, making them feel worthless. These are important points that need to be further highlighted, which is why I chose to write a poem reflecting on them, “Closing Remarks”. I used a variety of poetry devices to speak to black girls and encourage them to appreciate and love themselves because their worth is much more significant.

My childhood was a very dark place for me, I didn’t have as many friends and people were bullying me and I started to become a bully myself including hurting my family members. There was also a lot of family issues in my life, Also with my school life with the grades that I was making.When I would come home from school, my parents would always argue and have always fight. My mom would always make me read a book to her before she and I went to sleep and before I finish my last sentence,an argument occurs and then I would cry and feel depressed and a lot of adults were making fun of body and making rude comments. For example: I would open my fridge and my grandparents friend would come over and see me pull out a jar of ice cream and say to my grandparents “she looks like she pregnant, why would you allow her to eat ice cream. She will get bigger.” I didn’t have as many friends or talents. I tried everything I can to help others, but they just use me and call me mean things.

There is one childhood memory that I can easily remember, even though it was ten years ago, I can remember it as if it were yesterday. Reminiscing back to the sad day racing my brother home from the bus stop where I had the accident of my life. Him being nearly a year older he beat me home but shut the door in my face as soon as I reach home where I was running full speed right into the door head first. That day change my life in all the wrong ways because I chip one of my tooth and lost a one as well. I was mad at my brother for weeks even though I know he didn't mean to hurt me or wanted to damage my teeth because I understand that accident do happen. I forgave him for that incident but indue time I realize the way my teeth was growing which wasn’t normal.

It is hard to recall which one of my memories is actually the first because there are so many. However, as I tried to decide between various different memories there was one that stuck out to me. The memory itself is a little bit foggy, but I can remember that I was extremely young. It must have been a weekend because both of my parents were home, and I can remember the sun shining through the windows in my house. I was in my room playing and dancing around, watching myself in the mirror. I heard my mom scream out for help and I dashed down the hallway, through the living room and kitchen where I found my mom on the stairs. She was about halfway down the stairs and had something resting on her lap. I remember being frightened as I rushed down the stairs to see what had happened. Her screams were loud and dramatic and I wondered why my sister and father were not there. I realized that the item on her lap was a laundry basket full of towels, she had fallen on her way to the laundry room. I tried to help my mom, but as little as I was there was not much to do. My mom explained for me to go get my dad or sister because she was hurting. I then also began yelling, looking for my family. I found my dad downstairs on the couch snoring, he had slept through the incident. When I woke him and explained that mom needed him, he was not as concerned as I expected. He got up slowly, saying “I’m coming, I’m coming” as I ran back to sit with my mom. I held her hand, worried, until both my

As a child, I had always been the outcast. I would find myself hiding in the bathroom during recess to avoid the embarrassment when kids wouldn’t let me play with them. I sat at a table at lunch with a group of kids who were rejected by the others as well. No one wanted me in their cliques. My peers would make fun of me because I had a speech impediment or because I was a lot taller and chunkier than the average fourth grader. Everyone avoided talking to me, unless it was to make fun of me. Teachers were my only friends which made people hate me even more, calling me the “teacher's pet”. I will admit I was a very awkward child, but regardless I was a child who felt abandoned and worthless. I didn’t look or talk how everyone else did and since I was different, I was rejected.

The time of pure innocence in other words, childhood. When I visualize my childhood, I can hear faint laughter in the distance and I feel serenity wash over me. Moments of memories flash through my eyes like a movie, I can still feel the swelling happiness that grew within my chest. The smell of "outside" that I wore as a perfume. Imagination taking me away to the vast open oceans on a huge pirate ship as I sword fought my opponent inevitably making him walk the plank, or slipping through an obstacle of lasers that I need to get past in order to complete my top secret mission. Living in my house that is outlined in chalk on the driveway and pretending to be an adult, or at least what I thought being an adult is. My biggest protector against evil monsters that lurked in the darkness is my brave and noble teddy bear, he is so intimidating that every monster cowered in his presence. I remember when I fell asleep in the car after a very eventful night only to magically wake up in my bed snuggled in my blanket. I remember being so excited for what tomorrow may bring that I couldn't sleep.

One of the earliest memories I have of me reading, is when I was six years old. My grandmother would watch me in the summer when both of my parents were at work. She compared going to the library as a treat for us to do together. I remember being in that same library for hours at a time, you could call us frequent flyers. She would always start at one end of the library and just slowly snake the aisles. She would let me wonder by myself in the kiddy section to find any book I wanted. I was always so excited to go to the library, but looking back on it, I think I was just excited to go hang out in the play area. I don’t know the specific point in time where I decided I didn’t like going to the library anymore. I just knew when my mom would drop me off I would dread thinking if my grandmother was going to take me back today. She would keep up with the books I kept and would make sure I returned them or got an extension. Sometimes I wonder if I was a bother to her. We really never did anything together other than that. I would always bring some toys and coloring books to entertain myself. She was always relaxed in my grandpa’s huge recliner, watching Dr. Phil in such an intense way I felt like he was preaching to her. My only concern was to make sure I wasn’t too loud. I will never forget her forcing me to read what felt like an eternity every day I was there. I felt trapped into doing something that I didn’t want to do anymore. I had no escape, slowly hating the thought of

Reminiscing my childhood has given me a good kind of nostalgia. It reminds me how it felt to have no worries about school papers that is due on Monday, no responsibility whatsoever on cleaning the house, and especially no anxiety on how I looked or how I acted stupidly with my friends, just pure enjoyment and play. Indeed, this stage in man’s life was the best. It is free from the dirty and corrupt minds of the world. In the eyes of a child, everything is innocent and perfect.