Descriptive Essay About My Father

Many people have ways of influencing others. Most people use words to affect other people. An amount of individuals would utilize their gift of persuasion to convince others of their causes or maybe arguments, while some use authority to force people to do as they are told. These several differences can apply to fathers as well. Not all fathers are similar when it comes to educating their children. Many are gentle, while some are more dominant. Randy T Caldwell, a somewhat young spirited middle aged man. Dark skinned with black Gucci frames to accommodate his big brown eyes. Standing 5’11, board shoulders, happy, loving, man of

There have been countless influential people in my life that I’ve come across. One who was a meticulous inspiration continues to be my grandfather. My grandmother had remarried to the one I call “grandpa” when I was at the age of five, and they both took to each other’s grandchildren as their own. With my mother and me only living a mile down the road from their farmhouse out in the country, I’d spent heaps amount of time there as a child. Indeed, I had been without a father but my grandfather stepped up to the plate and had taken me under his wing and willingly played the personification of a father figure.

A morbid melancholy stole over me. Anxiety gnawed at my heart. I was a living corpse. There was a feeling of chill in the air every day as I felt. I faked illness so as not to go to school. Despair hangs heavy in the stifling air. It was a dreary day for me , cold and without sunshine. I dread people and always avoid people. The door was locked from the inside. A cold grey light crept under the curtains. The windows were secured with locks and bars. The room felt cold and sterile.The flowers faded for want of water. A single lamp was suspended from the ceiling. The clock ticked louder and louder in a quiet room. I regarded the room as a refuge from the outside

I walked towards the Bleeding Heart Cemetery. The cool October wind blew against my frame, making me wish I wore a coat. I readjusted my grip on my oxygen tank. As I neared Augustus’ grave, the sun light captured the diamond ring Isaac gave me. My stomach flopped upside down. Although the wedding is in 2 weeks, I still felt unsure. I mean, who in their right minds marries their dead boyfriend’s best friend? I slipped the ring into my jean pocket. I located Augustus’ grave and sat down. I felt my stomach churn, realizing I haven’t visited him in months.

Everyone exclaimed over what a beautiful baby he was and he truly was beautiful. He had beautiful deep blue eyes the color of the ocean and light brown soft baby hair. He was a chubby happy baby. But even as I held him that night I knew he was already looking beyond the veil. Call it a premonition or a grandmother’s sense, I just knew that he no longer belonged to us but to something greater. The party was a resounding success and everyone left to sounds of laughter, I love you and promises to get together more often. Little did everyone know that would be the next day to plan a funeral?

The day was gloomy and a bit chilly−a perfect day for a funeral if that was possible−as she sat on the folding chair staring at the bronze casket a few feet from her. Ruth recalled while growing up her grandfather always treated her special and they shared many good times. A tear rolled down her cheek, but she wanted to smile knowing shortly her grandfather would be laid to rest beside the love of his life, her grandmother. Since his heart attack she had visited him daily at the Mountaineer Nursing Home. He told her stories about the ghost on Putney Mountain, the loud screams in the day and the lights at night. Sometimes he talked about the secrets of Howardsville and promised one day he would divulge them to her. However, he passed away before

The leather feels cold under my fingertips as I sit on our living room couch. My feet are propped up on the small coffee table, banging together lightly in boredom. Mom sits with me, our shoulders barely touching. It's only been twelve hours since I found Laura in the alley and the police already want to put us into protective custody. I don't want to go, but there is nothing tying me here anymore. Laura's gone.

I remember the dark clouds looming heavy above, filled with potential moisture ready to be released to the ground. I remember sitting on the soft chair of the funeral home next to my family. But mostly I remember my little brother lying so still, so peaceful, in the small white box meant to preserve him from the cold grasps of deterioration. Bouquets of colorful flowers surrounded him and how out of place they looked with the gloomy atmosphere. He was dressed in the sharpest little white suit, his hair done as the Great Gatsby himself. He looked so angelic lying there, unmoving, painless. He looked as though he was finally free, free of the pain from the terrible convulsions that racked his tiny

Today was funeral day. My mom’s funeral. It was a dark October thursday, the clouds were brewing a storm. A slight breeze disturbed my neck. My uncomfortable suit sleeves bellowed in the cold breeze.. I hadn’t felt any emotions since the day of her death, which was weeks ago, almost as if my emotion is grey. It was warm then, as my mind was too. Nowadays, up until today, my mind has been a dark fog, as if my mind was released into the sky, darkening everyone’s day, arriving at my mom’s funeral or just to cuddle up with their friends and family in front of a warm crackling fire, telling the stories of their childhood and how times were better. Not me, my dad usually ignored me and he only worked on managing my mom’s fortune. Yeah. My mom’s

My dad has always been my biggest motivator and the reason for growing up the way I did. We had a very tight relationship; I was definitely a "daddy's girl." I always wanted to be around him, he was someone I looked up to when I was younger. I always looked at him like he was so much more

Mr Jackson decided to also keep in touch with the people that lose their beloved ones. The tour of the premises was quiet interesting and the type of casket they have and the services they do were impressive. The tour of was premises was kind of giving me some thoughts on how I want my funeral to look like. The premises showed a lot of remembrance book albums and framed wall picture as remembrance of the people that were known because this is how I would want my beloved people funerals to look like. The tours of the premises brought in tears in that I do not want to die now or in the near future. The premises in a way was giving me nightmare where I actually saw people dying on the spot right in front of

There was a sadness that filled the air all around me and no matter where I went it followed me like a shadow. There was no escaping the dark gloom that I could see in the eyes all around me. This sadness was like nothing I had ever seen or felt in my whole 13 years of existence, and it wasn’t in the air that I breathed when I first woke up this morning in my aunts house in my small hometown in Tama, Iowa.

The morning was gloomy and cold. Today was November 22nd at the Hope Lutheran Church. Today, my family and I were attending Grandma’s memorial service. My family looked so cleaned up and fancy. I thought if this wasn’t a memorial service we were going to, we looked like we were going to a fancy dinner. Nevertheless, it wasn’t the latter. All 14 of us piled into two separate cars and headed on our way. I felt empty and hollow approaching the church. Today would be the day that my family and I would shed waterfalls streaming from our eyes. The church had felt homely and rustic before, but now it felt dark and sad. Grandma didn’t deserve to die, I thought, as I went through the doors of the church. The church felt warm inside, like a warm blanket from the dryer. Why is 2014 such a bad year for us? Why did Uncle Mike die? Why

The synagogue was filled with unfamiliar faces, including the clergy of the synagogue, mourning the loss of my Bubbie. I sat, amazed by the number of people she had touched in her ninety-nine years. There were numerous prayers sung and speeches read at the service, none of which resonated with me. Most of what was spoken flew over my ignorant, fifth grade head. My youth overwhelmed me, creating a confusing experience. A pang of nervousness went through me when I was told that there was a following service at a nearby cemetery.

What is the definition of a perfect father? Someone would say it is a man who goes to their child’s baseball games, dance recitals or theatrical plays. A man who attends all family outings as if it is their duty. A man who showers their child in love and affection. A man who apologizes for his faults when they occur. My father was not described this way. My father is known for leaving his two young children and wife to serve his consequence in jail for five years. It was as if one minute he was there reading me as story and the next he was gone. I had the chance of living a normal life as some people would call it with both my parents, until I was six.