My Autobiography By Jocelyn Campbell

My mother, Amy Neuzil, has grit because she works hard everyday to get things done. She is the reason the word grit was invented. She stumbles out of bed every day at six a.m. Then she retrieves my sister, Madison, from her sleeping quarters and dresses her in the fanciest get-up you’ve ever seen. While she is completing that task, she also has to dress for work or college. While cramming a turkey sandwich, blueberries, and five or six bulky blocks of frosted plastic ice into a teeny tiny black insulated lunch bag. After she has finished that magic act, she is practically late for whatever she is trying to get to. So, she frantically gathers Madison into the Buick. Then she starts rushing back and forth through the front door, to grab

I was born in Northern, New York, about forty miles from the Canadian border in a wasteland of a town called Carthage, sixty miles from the nearest walmart. My mother, now Louise Percy, is ex-navy and worked for the federal government on Fort Drum until she retired ever since I was born. My father, Donald Bishop, was a beauty. He was in and out of prison all his life, including juvenile. He was imprisoned much through my baby-toddler stage and when he wasn’t imprisoned he jumped from construction job to construction job, drinking and smoking marijuana heavily until the day he died, last May 28th. I was born into a household with my mother, father, brother and half-sister for the first few years in my life. My half-sister skipped town after developing a heroin addiction and my father drove my mother psychologically insane until she ended up in a psych ward and we spent a few weeks with my grandmother (father’s mom) until she was released. My mother and father split up and my father never fought for custody nor paid child support. My mother had been a single mom for ten years

Since the moment my oldest brothers moved to the United States my family knew we could not be apart from each other. Four years past, enough time to finally go start a new life with my brothers in the U.S. In between those four years I was born, my sisters would always talk about my unknown brother to me. Then they told me we were going to move. I was barely two years when we came to the U.S. It was February 25, 2004 when we said goodbye to my grandparents, mom and dads family. It was a long ride from Mexico City to Nogales, when we arrived in Nogales my brothers friend, Alejandro was waiting for us in a minivan. Alejandro told us that the toughest part was coming. He said we had to split up, my sisters and dad was going to walk through the

Many times, we have memories that we would like to forget, such as an unpleasant or traumatic experience. My memory of my first internship was something that I always tried to forget, along with a lot of other negative experiences in my life. However, now that almost two years have passed, and after reflecting on it time and time again, I began to reclassify that memory as a learning experience rather than a negative experience. In life, we are faced with many obstacles, sometimes on a daily basis. Our society values stories of overcoming life’s obstacles because they are inspiring, interesting and may lead to personal growth.

Now before you get too comfortable with the simple little title listen up buttercup and allow me to let you in on a little secret. I’m not what you would call a nice guy I might walk the walk, but deep down once you get to know me on a comfortable level I can come off as a dick and often times I don’t think before I talk. It’s good that I’m getting this out of the way because according to Mary Karr in her book titled “The Art of Memoir” she mentions that “the best writers make you feel they’ve disclosed their soft underbellies." Which I believe highly qualifies my memory as a memoir due to the fact that I’m being honest and I’m being myself. I believe that I have given my all into this paper disclosing to you about my personal love life. Now before you read on into my so called “exciting” life allow me to give you a bit of a warning I may or may not say something that might offend you and if you are one of those that gets easily offended, I highly advice you to put this paper down and walk away just pretend you never even laid eyes on it. Now for you brave souls that are still reading this then congratulations, you have passed and you are ready to read about my dysfunctional life.

Although I had an older brother and sister, I felt alone a great deal of the time I was growing up. I never "acted out" my need for attention. I did not get bad grades in school. On the contrary, I was a quiet child who made the honor roll. I was always given my sisters hand-me-downs which I resented. My grandmother was very strict and often cold. There were never hugs or kisses and not once do I remember an I love you. My father still came to visit, but remarried when I was eight. His new wife was like something out of a horror novel. The mental torture that I endured was a million times worse than what Cinderella went through. My grandmother along with my brother and sister came up with a nickname for me. They called me dog and taunted me every time we passed the pet supplies in the grocery store. At the age of ten my beloved paternal grandmother Memo, the only light in my otherwise dark world, died in her sleep while I was in the next room. I sat and watched as the paramedics tried to revive her with no success. On the car ride back home, my stepmother screamed at my father to "shut me up and stop my crying," as if what I had just been through should not have affected me at all. She left my father a few years later. At fifteen I ran away from my grandmothers house and went to live with my dad. I was receiving survivors support which I never saw once I moved in with my father. Although I did not know it

I wasn’t there to see my siblings being born, but I was there when I got to visit them, and when my mom was pregnant, but wasn’t there for their birth. They aren’t twins, they are 4 years apart, if there was any confusion. When my nine year old sister was born, we were living in the state known as Texas. We only got to see her for a few minutes before we had to leave. When my mom was pregnant, I couldn’t wait to be a big sister, and that was a mistake, (she scares me). When my mom was pregnant with my five year brother, I was the one to know first, and she didn't tell us what gender, I just knew, she kept denying it, but I was the one who had that feeling that he was there, she never told me she was pregnant and I knew

As many people wouldn’t believe I, Mikayla Ann Lee or Miki, was born up north in Hartford, Connecticut . . . I know the horror! But thankfully my family and I moved down to South Carolina when I was merely two years old. I caught on to the southern ways rather fast besides my quickened voice and unpleasant dislike for sweet tea. Shortly after that we moved to Texas were all you see are trucks, ranches, and open land. This started my love affair with Ford trucks.

On a Sunday morning of March 15 1998, we woke up super early to the phone ringing on the other side was my dad. My grandmother answered the phone her face paled as she heard the words “mom I shot myself.” After talking to him for a bit my grandmother rushed out of her room to get my uncle up and they rushed to the house to see him up walking around with a hole in his stomach. Ambulance came to get him then rushed him to meet life force. He flat lined once on the helicopter. They were able to bring him back and stabilized him, and kept him stabled till they got to the hospital. They rushed him immediately into the OR, it was around 15 to 20 minutes into surgery that he had passed away, they were unable to bring him back due to the major loss of blood. My mom soon remarried and I gained two annoying step brothers and a step dad. One step brother didn’t bother me to bad, the other one poked and picked on me trying to pick fights. My step dad had episodes where he was violent and threw things at me and my mom. I withdrew more and more until a few of my friends literally grabbed me by my arm and told me to wake up that they were not going to let me push them away

I used to feel uncomfortable and maybe even a little ashamed talking about myself and my family dynamics. I and use to be a cry baby and the middle child, but the year I turned ten years old, I was bump from middle child to the eldest daughter. I am one of four siblings, I have an older brother that lives in Houston, then it’s me, I have my only sister and my best friend that lives in Irving and then there is my kid brother, he was brought home August of 1988. My parents had left us home for two days. I didn’t have a clue why they were gone but when they finally came home, my dad was hold a 10 pound baby boy.

Patience is wearing thin , the shocking moment is almost here. Then a miracle happens! A beautiful brown eyed baby is born into this world.

On April 26th,1999 I emerged into the world a happy baby given the name Bethany Gavin. I’m now in year 12 and I attend Cooks Hill Campus, Big Picture. My education began here in year 10 after leaving three years of home schooling and have grown as a student as the years have gone on.

Before I came to this life there were family members who had lives. Let’s start with my mother. Her name is Lisa Hansel back then. She told me, when I asked her 20 questions before, she told me what my name stands for her. Because she has Faith in me. Before I was born my mother gave birth to my older brother. Leroy Jr. He was still born, and didn’t make it. Losing a child and then trying again must have been a tough choice. My father’s name is Leroy Curlin. He’s right now at least near his fifties. I’m eighteen; he was in his thirty years old when I was born. Before I was born my parents were together. Either dating, or have a mutual relationship. I didn’t want to know all the facts, for imagination

It all started 17 years ago not my birth but the birth of my little brother who was mostly the reason that my father left and the reason that my mom is overweight but still loves him to death including me who I always dealt with him since the beginning also my little sisters who had cared for him but had given me a hard time sometimes because I never knew how to properly control him or how to properly keep him inside the house instead Leo which is his name sometimes wondered off and in the 90’s many did recall boy calls wolf which Leo who loved to climb the water tower did giving people a fright and thinking that he might kill himself for it which was the complete opposite of his attentions which could’ve been that he loved the view and

I was born and raised into a hardworking family that are the complete opposite of culture alienators. My siblings and I are all first generation in America on my mom's side and second generation on my dad's side. Life was very hard for my parents to raise all seven of us and depended on my grandparents for most of their help. Being that my grandparents brought all nine of their kids to America from Belize it was also very hard for them so survive and find stability. Most families that come to America from a third world country usually find it very difficult to keep up family traditions and sometimes lose all contact. My family found a way to stay very close and keep the Belizean culture very alive still to this day. As you can tell by now