Descriptive Essay About Growing Up

LIfe was great. There was a lot of stuff that made me happy but i 'm gunna have to say that my favorite thing was the food. Mmmm. When I walked in every morning the smell of sausage, bacon and fried bread hit me like an hammer. But it was an good kind of hammer like a cloud hammer. I guess. Anyway, the chairs were gorgeous, and the tables were marble. The tables were set in rows. Each table on the outside of the row. Had an window, so you could look at the beautiful ocean, see all the shades of blues and deep purples.

Prepare notes on the following questions and bring them to class on the first day of school:

What does it mean to grow up? Does it mean washing your car, paying your bills, getting a job? Does it mean getting married, having kids, and sprouting gray hair? Is it necessary? Is everyone capable of it? Is it going to be hard and will it be worth the effort? All of these questions are probably what made Peter Pan decide to never leave Neverland. Growing up means a lot of different things to many different people. If we look at the words “growing up”, we simply think of the physical aspect of ageing, growing tall and wide. But for most people, growing up means something deeper involving a change in the approach that an individual has to life and the actions that are taken with it. In this essay, we will look at why people have

I sat at the window staring at the wave of traffic waiting for my mum to come and pick me up. All the cars looked like a massive rainbow serpent moving along the road and I was trying to look for my mums purple car. Every morning when I was four I woke up and had to go to my baby sitter Ann’s house so I was thrilled, she had enough play dough that you could make a house and all the toys you could every think of but I loved it because I had friends there and we would play for hours on end.

Everyone has a coming of age experience in their lives at some point of time or another. A huge coming of age experience is starting to work, take responsibility for your actions and your life, as well as making your own money. I sat down and interviewed Starla on her training courses for her job and on her experiences. I asked her if she went to college or experienced any types of training for a job and If so what was it for, she calmly responded by saying ¨ Yes I went through 9-12 months of training and I trained for medical assistance.¨

I sat on my bed with my arms wrapped tightly around my pillow swaying back and forth. My mom lightly knocked on my door and asked if she could come in. I tried to wipe away the stains left by my long stream of tears, but I felt my skin sting and eyes swell instead. She asked if I wanted to talk about it, but my response got stuck in my throat, so all I could do was shake my head and shove my head deep inside my pillow. Her bare feet smacked on the concrete as she made her way over to my bed. Her weight made an indent in the corner of my mattress as she sat down and laid a hand on my back.

Growing up in a small apartment with my mother wasn’t always the easiest. Sometimes I would have to stay with a girl who never really liked me. Even though I always was oblivious to the fact she didn’t like me. When I would stay tonight with her, her and her sister would abuse me because they assumed it was funny. My mother knew but she couldn’t very much do anything about it because she couldn’t find another job at the time. Finding a job was hard for

I am Alyssa DeLillo. Growing up I have lived a decent life. I was raised in a good household, tried to always keep people happy, and made lots of friends. Up until the age of eight I lived in a small city in California. I had the best parents and grandparents a child could ask for. At a young age though, I lost my father to a heart condition that couldn’t be controlled. At the time of it happening I didn’t understand what was going on but later as I got older my mother explained it to me. For a while, it was all I could think about and it still sits in the back of my thoughts but, I learned to move on and to cope with the sad thoughts. I reminded myself I still had my mom.

Growing up as a kid, I was quite the troublemaker. I would act out inappropriately at unfitting times, which frequently led to consequences. It did not matter whether I was in public or at home; I would continue to act the same. It ranged from using offensive words and physically hurting others, to being inconsiderate. I was a naïve child who was oblivious to the real world, and acted on a whim without the thought of the consequences for my actions. One may describe this behavior as simply what makes a child, a child; however, I never knew how much it would affect my life going forward.

Same things happened as almost every night. I would walk to my house after I got off the boat, unlock the door, and my biological mother would be laying on the couch asleep. She never worked, only slept, ate, yelled, and everything that goes along with that. When she was asleep, it was peaceful and I felt there might be a possibility that today would be a good day. Maybe she wouldn’t wake up before bed time. I could be a normal kid. I could do my homework, take a bath, and go to bed without feeling scared or worried. Without locking my door or looking at the light underneath to make sure no one was near my door. I would sit at the kitchen table and do my homework while eating a snack. Afterwards, I would go to our backyard and get scratched by two medium-sized, brown dogs as I tried to make my way to their bowls to feed them. Along with trying to rush so I am not scratched more than I needed to, I had to make sure the dogs stayed quiet to make sure she wasn’t awaken. If I woke her up on accident, which did happen a few times, I would have to face the wrath of it once I got inside. That night I would cry in the shower and go to bed with my door locked. Continuing keeping my pain a

My house was not a home. Everyone would sleep all day or in till my dad got home for break to destroy the atmosphere. When everyone was awake they’d stay in their rooms playing video games or watched Netflix. I hated it. I was the only adult in that house ever since I was 14 and I didn’t remember the feeling of being a kid or a teenager till I left. My dad would always have mile long list of chores for me to do and I did everything. I cooked, I cleaned, I was mom, dad, and big brother. I wasn’t allowed to do anything either regardless if the house was white glove spotless. I was a slave to the house and only got to go out on occasions. I never got homework done and my goal everyday was to get stoned and see how much I can clean which I still did remarkable housework. This was not the life for me. I was angry, mean, and hateful I wasn’t very much fun. But I knew that wasn’t me, not at

So we arrived to the house. The house was old enough to tell that it was not expensive,by the way the house had overgrown vines and weeds climbing up the side of the it. My father told my four older brothers to help him unpack the furniture, he told my sisters and I to go inside and pick out our rooms. My twelve year old sister picked the room right next to mine and my sixteen year old sister picked the one that faced the street.

Growing up it was hard being your own person with a twin attached to you, but that didn’t stop from trying. When I was little I didn’t have a clue what the world my parents were trying to protect me from. They tried to cover up the fact about their finical issues and about their jobs. My first day of school ever was with me crying saying I wanted to go back to my mom, making any excuse to get out of school. In 3rd grade I wanted to join the basketball team mostly because my sister was in basketball, but they told me I couldn’t join basketball until I was in 4th grade thus the beginning of my athletic career stared in fourth grade.

They tell me it’s wrong to look at little kids, but it feels so right. Getting away with it is the hardest part, living under my parent’s roof controls every aspect of my life. I have to hide the pictures in my textbooks, and hope that they don’t fall out during class, or that my lab partner doesn’t mix up our books. The interest started this summer, when I had a broken leg, and I could see her playing as I retreated to the front steps of our home. She lived this great childhood, riding her bike, playing with friends, running around in her swimsuit. I swear, she had a new friend over everyday. I loved watching them play in the sprinkler that was set to go one every night before twilight. I seldom had visitors. Some kids I interacted with at

Remember when we were young and all we could think of was growing up and getting to do ‘grownup’ things? We spent our whole childhood thinking of what we would do when we finally ‘grew up’, and here we are, almost completely grown up and we still haven’t made up our mind of what it is we will do when we grow up. We’ve painted this pretty little picture in our head of what it’ll be like when we eventually do grow up, and when it finally comes for the picture to be taken off the wall and put into action, it’s not nearly as fun as creating the painting.