Grandpa-Personal Narrative

“You never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view-until you climb into his skin and walk around in it”. I chose to shadow my grandfather because I do not know all that much about him. My grandpa has always seemed like a very interesting person but he does not open up easily. That is another reason i chose to shadow him. My grandpa is usually toiling with a black powder rifle or he is making his own guns or doing research on a weapon unknown to him.

My current plan as far as outlining where this thesis is going to go involves dividing Grandpa’s story whereby every part of it will fit into each among the five assigned milestones, starting with his earliest memory in 1941 of Christmas Day at 4 River Lane.

A family loved one dies,she was different from everyone else. She had a history of using dark forces to help her through life. She became distant,but knew the existence of all pre-existing and existing family. She focused on one in particular,Sen. Sen was a kid who has been beat up,bullied and his parents died when he was 7 so he was adopted. By the Pikes. 8 years pass… then Sen's informed his great great aunt died last night. When he goes to school that day,he gets informed his failing school. When school is over, five kids jump him outside by the school parking lot. Two kids hold him back as one punches him then they left him fall to the ground he stumbles to his feet only to get kicked back to the ground. Then as Sen starts to fight

“Yet another boring, standard Monday morning.” Richard sighed as he walked to wake the men up. “Attention!” Richard called out loudly to the groggy and fatigued Marines. The men immediately woke up and began their rigorous routine of drills for the day, which are: eating a hearty breakfast, run 2 miles, then do the obstacle course, and then everyone's favorite part, the shooting range. Then, as always, Diedrich Manfred was horsing around again, playing with his rifle. “You no good scoundrel!” Richard shouted walking over to Diedrich Manfred.

Sometimes becoming elderly does not mean losing everything, and not being able to walk and do things. It can mean you grow frail yes, however it does means growing wise, smart and being able to cherish your life, looking back on the things that you once loved so dearly. I chose to write this paper on my Lee Manor resident Jean. She is a very smart lady that has many different aspects to her. She is slowly deteriorating, but has never once turned rude. She wanders a lot, and is on a variety of different medications, but that has not stopped her from anything. This paper will talk about the different ways that we can try to help her, and will show the reader a little bit about her life.

First, we checked out my Uncle’s new house. It was a big, white house with a big backyard. They had a very cute dog who loved me! I made a new friend that day. Then, we all went to my Aunt’s house with my grandparents, cousins, aunts, uncles, and some of my mom’s friends from high school and college. The second I walked into their backyard, the smell of hotdogs and sausage hit me like a bullet. Everyone greeted me with hugs and smiles. There was a pool and a cute little dog named Zeus who was sleeping on the deck and snoring. I swam for a little and then I talked to all of my relatives that were there. The food was absolutely amazing! I had a bunch of hot dogs and sausages with salad and pasta salad. For dessert there was yummy chocolate cheesecake with strawberries that my aunt made, which was even more delicious than the main

I lay my pencil down for a short break and roll back from my desk. The chair’s wheels resist my efforts, slowly squeaking from the friction of my furry rug. I stretch back and my eyes become level with my window which overlooks my backyard, highlighting the beautiful day that I am missing. The parabolic arc of a football breaks my train of longing thoughts and I see my brother Luke dash from behind the garage. He is followed by my grandfather, who we call Dibbi, a name I created when I couldn’t pronounce Grampa. I become lost in the convex trajectory of the ball, tracking it’s path from hand to hand. After a couple of minutes the ball begins to find its way to the recently cut grass. Luke wipes the clippings off the ball and continues to throw

My grandpa Bill Headly should be the 2018 A.A.R.P Grandparent of the year. He is caring about family, hardworking, and a good role model.

Have you ever wondered who these people are that keep you safe everyday? My dad was one of them. He was in the Michigan State Police for twenty-seven years. He has helped save the lives of many people.He started working in the MSP even before he met my mom. He eventually married her and was working nights.He worked everynight to protect us. You. Everyone. Every night, when you were asleep, he was out working. Working to protect you. When he had a kid, my brother Logan, he was still working nights. He had to move from place to place, taking his family with him so he could do his job. When something bad happened, he was there to protect you. Even when you wanted to hide in your house and not come out, he was there to protect you. My dad is an amazing person. This is why my dad is my Michigan Hero.

I woke up and there was layers of layers of bandages on my arm. I asked my mom what happened and she told me the whole story. I was blown away with what my mom told me. From this day on I am always careful with what i do and how i should listen to

My dad was an alcoholic all my memories consisted of me coming home from my babysitters or school, he would be drunk passed out on the couch with beer bottles everywhere, and nascar on the television.

On the first day of eleventh grade It was just another sunny morning Until the phone started ringing And it was hard to believe what I was hearing How was it even possible that grandma was no more? My world shattered into a million pieces,

I slowly get up and look around. The bed I was lying in is decorated with pink peonies and tulips. The room is bigger than I thought. It has a little wall TV with a cute wooden border, a mahogany desk with a matching chair, a split rug in the middle and a wooden clock marked with white patterns. I suddenly smell food coming from the next room, so I skip out of the bedroom and walk into the kitchen. I see my grandpa cooking some bacon & eggs, so I ask him,

Grabbing the rusty bars, I shake them. My efforts do nothing. My heart pounds and I can’t seem to catch my breath. I’m panicking. I’m letting myself panic.

When I was a child, my late grandfather and I spent every summer on the bank of the river ganges. We would skip stones across the water, breaking the surface of incoming swells. We would wage Wrs, with sticks for swords and shells for arrows, like the most fearsome of ancient kings and queens. Idyllic. They never ended. Like the ebb and flow of the tide, under the azure and warmth of the indian skies, these days continued. My earliest memories of my grandfather were couloured by the times in these moments. Coating the wet-sand with the dryer sand grains on the bay, throwing clay-sand bombs from his biomechanical trbuchet. Twiddling his toes amongst the cool baysand and fiddling with his platinum-irridium vile. 20 years later I cant help but feel the same cool clay on the bank .