Developmental Autobiography

I was slowly rolling up the street, sitting in the back of school bus number 741, for what felt like a normal Wednesday afternoon. I looked out the window as we entered my street and I couldn’t believe eyes. Little freshman me had my face pressed up against the bus window, desperately trying to comprehend why there could possibly be so many emergency vehicles in my driveway. The bus came to a stop, I ran to the front, and scrambled down the steps. I got off the bus, stopped, and looked at the 7 house walk I took every day to make it home. This walk I did everyday felt ten times as long and as I got closer and closer my vison started to blur, legs started to crumple, and all

Transitioning from childhood to adulthood is often portrayed as a long drawn out process. Growing up, I pictured my coming of age to be gradual, and swift. I imagined going through the motions, (as they do in Disney Channel sitcoms targeted at 12 year old audiences) being an angsty teen,dying my hair an outrageous color, getting a piercing without asking moms permission, or dating the high school “bad boy” (I’m talking to you DJ Tanner) and finally coming full circle; a well behaved fully-functioning citizen on her way to college. Instead of this swift, gradual development I had in mind, my switch from girlhood to womanhood felt more like someone kicked down my bedroom door at five in the morning, flicked on the lights, and proceeded to scream at

My whole life I felt love, but never like the love I experienced three years when I walked in the Lawrence County Developmental Center. The LCDC is the special needs program for the student of East Lawrence and I was chosen to be an aide my sophomore year. Most of the kids could not speak, if they could speak they still had problems communicating. I felt like I had walked into a totally different world, and that made me want to spend every free moment in the LCDC. My three years with those kids taught me the most incredible lesson: your life is what you make it.

The diaper pin represents when I took my first breath on July 12, 1989 in St. Cloud, MN. I was born on a clear morning just after 8am, and I was 7 pounds 11 ounces measuring at 21 inches long. I also had a head full of curly brownish red hair, the only one of my 2 older brothers and 2 older sisters that had hair. My parents were married at the time of my birth, and there were no significant issues with my mother during the pregnancy that impacted my development. I was however, a C-section baby, due to my brother being a C-section baby just 1year and 11 days before my birth. After my mom returned to work, my aunt watched my siblings and I until I was about 1 year old when my neighbor became my permanent daycare lady.

Being close to her sparked my passion for helping people, especially people with special needs. She taught me that it’s ok to love someone who is “different.” Seeing how much of a difference therapy made in her life, and her family’s life, instilled in me that I want to make a difference in people’s lives. I witnessed first-hand how difficult it was for this family to carry out everyday activities and the profound impact that therapy had on their lives.

Maybe I was too little, or maybe I was too short, but either way I did not make the jump. In the second grade I was your average eight year old, who always wore her hair in ponytails, and enjoyed playing tag at recess. One day I saw the fifth graders on the monkey bars at recess doing something I had never seen before, they were jumping to the fourth bar. I waited untill Kids Inc. that day to try the jump, but it was no use I was acting like a scared baby.

Growing up as a child, I was different from the rest of the kids in my current community. I grew up in a tiny religious dot, barely recognizably on a map; West Union, Ohio. I moved to Cincinnati shortly before my first grade year, but I can visually account for many memories that were created during my first portion of life in West Union.

During the second trimester is when my mother Donna, found out that she was pregnant with me. One morning she got out of the bed doing her normal routine and went to use the restroom where she then passed out on the bathroom floor. My father Patrick, rushed her to Florida memorial hospital in Miami dade county. She said that she woke up and Dr. Joeseph walked into the room, and told her that she was dehydrated and not getting taking in enough iron. Dr. Joseph then proceeded to include, as he handed her an ultra sound picture that she was thirteen weeks pregnant with me. She was in shock, because she said that she always knew when she was pregnant from having two pregancies prior to me there was always a sign but this time it wasn't because she was still having a menstral cycle.

After the initial shock and awe of finding out I was pregnant after 10 years of struggling and wondering if I would ever have the baby I had been dreaming of for so long, I began to plan every detail of my birth. I found a midwife and birth center when I was 8 weeks pregnant. I hired a doula at 12 weeks. My birth plan was written and finalized at 24 weeks. Every detail was planned-I had even planned the song that would be playing when my son would make his appearance. I'm a recovering control freak.

My condition has helped me to understand the plight of others who live with chronic conditions and, more broadly, people who have daily struggles that they have to overcome. I have realized that in life we do not choose what journey we will be given, but we can choose how we will take it on. From my own journey I have learned to see from the perspective of others as they try to navigate their own paths and to look at others not with our eyes but with our hearts.

I cannot believe it took one person to destroy me, one person to discard all of my trust for anyone. One person to make me forget who my real friends were. One person to banish me to the deepest parts of my mind. One person to make me think that I’m not worthy of anything. One person to be so ignorant as to make me think it was all my fault. That one person, under that pretty little face is called Ashley Melgar. From here on out we’ll call her “Little A.” Little A was a curious tale of my not so great past. Boyfriend and all, I still continued to fall for her lies and manipulation. My mind was clouded and there was no way to clear my vision. In my head she was a damaged soul with a fucked up boyfriend; in reality she was a fucked up soul with

My mom got me my very first dog when I was seven. As a seven year old you can only imagine my excitement, but I had to contain myself or my mom would get mad all I wanted to do was talk about my new puppy. Instead I bounced my leg and hummed the whole way there. Once I saw him I knew he was the one. I had a hard time finding the name for my new puppy, my brother, Jacob, was the one who suggested the name Kooter as a joke, but to his surprise I loved it and ever since his name changed from Baby to Kooter. There are times when Kooter gets on my nerves, but I try not to yell at him. I do this because I know my time is short with him and I don't want him to remember me as a mean and high stress owner. I've had Kooter for ten years that makes

I came to Ridge Family Center for Learning in second grade. On top of being “the new kid” in school, I didn’t know anyone besides my neighbor. She had been going to this school since kindergarten and I ate lunch with her and her friends everyday. One day, as I ate my usual PB & J, she said “Are you excited for the musical?” Apparently it happens every year, yet I was not aware of this. Naturally, being a little kid, I was excited and screamed “Really? I love watching people perform!” My parents loved musicals and took me to see my fair share of them. She gave me a strange look and laughed. “You don’t get to watch. We’re performing on the stage, silly!” My jaw dropped. All I could think about was how scared I was. I was about to sing on stage in front of 200 parents.

It is a pleasure to be able to attend one of your classes, UNIV 190, during the fall of 2015. First, to introduce myself, I am a freshman at Clarkson University named Ashanti Larisse Fleming. I was born to two African-American parents named Arthur Fleming and Kimberly Dowdell 17 years ago on December 22, 1997, in Hartford, Connecticut. I have spent the majority of my life living in Connecticut, and the experiences I have there is what influenced and shaped my personality, behavior, and other aspects of myself into what it is today.

I was born in Santa Ana California in 1951. I was the second of seven children. From a very young age I was my mother’s babysitter and helper. With each one of my mother pregnancys I took on more of my mothers house work. By the time I was in my junior year at high school I was cooking meals and washing the clothes every night and hanging them out, then removed them when I got home from school and start all over again.