Descriptive Essay About My Uncle

I never has a chance to meet my grandparents from my father’s side because they were both deceased before I was born. They both passed away from terminal illnesses which include lung and colon cancer. Although I did not have a chance to meet them they are still known through the legacy their children have passed on. My grandparents gave birth to four children including my father. My aunt, Madlen, and my two uncles, Avik and Vartan. From all of my aunt and uncles the emotional endurance and strength of my Uncle Vartan has amazed me. His wife recently passed away from a terminal illness in which she lost her ability to complete everyday functions such as speaking, eating, or moving. As her

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.

I even went fishing and golfing with him several times at home, and we would always have a great time. As all the men stared at me with smirks on my face, my dad told me that I couldn’t go on the trip because I was too young. My cousin, just a year older, staring at me with a satisfied sneer was allowed to go just because he was a boy. I gave my dad an angry and betrayed look as my cousins laughed and taunted me. The rest of the afternoon, I refused to help with dinner and angrily fished by myself.

February twenty-third 2010 was just a regular ordinary day. I was on my way to class on this cold February afternoon, when my phone rung. It was my cousin on the other end telling me to call my mom. I could not figure out what was wrong, so I quickly said okay and I hung up and called my mom. When my mom answered the phone I told her the message but I said I do not know what is wrong. My mom was at work and could not call right away, so I took the effort to call my cousin back to see what was going on. She told me that our uncle was in the hospital and that it did not look good. Starting to tear up I pull over in a fast food restaurant parking lot to listen to more to what my cousin had to say. She then tells me to tell my mom to get to

You walk into a humid gym. It reeks of chalk and feet. The music is playing and it seems like everyone is talking at once. You walk around the corner and parents are sitting in gray stands gossiping. You look straight ahead and see girls working out on different apparatuses. Coaches are explaining drills to some, and giving corrections to others. With so many people talking, you can't hear what the coaches are saying. You only see their lips moving as they talk to the kids. Girls are in suim suit looking uniforms. They all look different ages, ranging from 4-18 years old. The girls you watch do a skill, jump off the beam, then talk happily to their friends. They look like their focused when performing, but when their done they all laugh and talk at once. My friends and family use different traits to describe me depending on the atmosphere we're in.

Richard Puz once said “Death leaves a memory no one can heal, love leaves a memory no one can steal.” I don’t remember every moment with him but he was someone who I looked up to, someone who told me stories, someone who watched over me and someone who loved me. He was my grandfather.

When I think of my Papa many things come to mind, but one of the most important is how loving he is. He is a tall man, about six feet tall and is in good shape. He has a silver-colored hair and an infectious smile. He is very joyful and loves to crack jokes with his family and friends. His real name is Tony Morton, but he is lovingly known as Papa to me as well as his 3 other grandchildren. Papa was born January 14th of 1947 in Concord, North Carolina to Paul and Della Morton. He grew up in the neighboring town of Kannapolis. Papa still lives near the same area that he was raised.

When I was 10 years old, I realized I was different from my father. I was in my room playing with LEGO’s when dad called up.

A bulky, vigorous elderly man, who had voyaged an incredible journey was prepared to combat the rest of his life with bliss. He appeared to be callow with small thin patches of hair connected to the sides of his glassy, bald head. He had only a single viable kidney sustaining his life, the other having been appropriated from him at the age of forty, but, nevertheless, he still managed to stimulate a lively charismatic presence around himself. Though his occupation remained only as an accountant, he still managed to regard the positive aspects of life. He would watch the adversities only as a spectator, and would attentively escape them with the people whom he loved. The land around him contained an hyperactive aura that compelled him to thrive from the energy surrounding him. I never understood how he could take pleasure in fervently listening to the repugnant chatter and bickering of the townsfolk that could be heard from my bedroom window. I never understood how the bittersweet melodies of the pecan colored nightingale that perched upon his chalky windowsill at dawn served as a source of amusement to him. I had always indulged in deep admiration for my grandfather, for he was a strong man that had guided me through the most difficult points in my life. Yet I did not have the ability to guide him through his.

My grandfather’s name was Charles Asa Davis, Jr. He was the son of Charles A. Davis Sr and Lois Lee Loggins Davis. My grandfather grew up in Bradenton, Florida which is about forty-five minutes south of Tampa, Florida. He came from an extensive line of fishermen and was a hard worker by all accounts. As a young man, he learned the art of plastering to better support his family. When building was slow, he would then go on commercial fishing trips for more income. My grandfather which we called him “Papa” was an honest, good, and tough man.

“Wake up kids!” my mom exclaimed her words dragging me off the bed and into the shower. I jumped back as the sharp cold water pierced the skin on my chest, a stream of “wake up” filled my body immediately. We woke up earlier than usual, which would probably be the usual for other families, my family was already dressed and downstairs ready to go to our friends family reunion. I threw on a faded shirt and a worn pair of jeans, they were old and i was wearing them, and headed down the stairs and into my mom’s grey minivan.

Every household does sleepovers a little differently than all the rest, varying in scale and frequency among a wide variety of traits. Around three years ago from the current date, my family made plans for my younger cousins to have a week-long sleepover over at my house. Inside my mind, I was musing, “This better not get too loud.” Each of my cousins had a tendency to get pretty noisy with very little reprieve in-between, and it got amazingly ear-splitting. Tyler, the youngest, was the king of noise as it turned out. He was very bouncy and rambunctious, and verbally fought with my brother literally every single visit.

My cousin, Richard, was such an inspiration to my two brothers and me. I looked up to him for everything. He was an amazing athlete who would never give up on or off the baseball field. I never knew how fast something could be taken away until January 12. I thought the world was just simply punishing me, but then I realized that I couldn’t control what happened even if I wanted to.

My brother is not just someone I share blood with but someone I can rely on and look up to. Patrick, my seventeen year old brother, has been by my side since I was a little baby. My youngest memories are of Patrick and I running around in our backyard laughing. As he grew older, I began to look up to him. He was everything I aspired to be: intelligent, passionate, and athletic. Patrick always seemed to know what he wanted in life, and I admired how he chased down his goals. There were points in my life when I was very unmotivated, especially when I was seven years old. Insecure and unsure, I did not believe in myself from a very young age, and Patrick was there for me when no one else was. He made me believe in myself and my own abilities above anything else. I have my big brother to thank for finding the strength to persevere through my struggles and overcoming my obstacles.

One year ago, my brother went on an incredible journey, from being top of the school to falling of it’s grace to eventually climbing back and reclaiming his throne. During this time he went through changes that tested him mentally and physically to a point where he isolated himself from the world and me as well.