My First Day In My Life

I on the other hand, was always the quiet girl who just got her work done and never strayed from the rules. I thought my brother was an imbecile before he left for college, always valuing trouble way more than diligence. When he left, I thought there was hope in the world. Like if my brother could do it, then I could too. When he came home, those expectations were shattered. There was constant fighting between Joseph and my parents. Arguments would echo throughout my household and create a thick tension that felt heavy in the air. Their voices would penetrate my room and bounce off the walls until they surrounded me. They would argue about basically anything. Joseph just had a constant itching to be right even when he was dead wrong. Our family slowly but surely became miserable with one another, like we were no longer family, but instead we were just people living in the same house. I dove deeply into reading and writing, hoping to drown out the sound of the obsessive combativeness that plagued my home. It triggered anxiety for me when he came home. I now have a deeply rooted fear

It was a sunny afternoon, after school, towards the end of my seventh-grade school year. When I came home and walked through the door, I went to the table to start doing my homework. About five minutes in, there was another unfamiliar family ready to walk out of my house. I thought nothing of it. Maybe it was just some family friends of my parents and they were here to help with something. I was in the midst of working on math homework when my dad called my sister and I into the other room. Both my parents were in another room, paying bills. I remembered this because they had told me to keep quiet. At first, I thought, I was about to be grounded. Typically, my sister and I are only called together because she had told on me for something. I was prepared for the usual “Leave your sister alone” talk. Except this time, my father’s voice was not angry. It was more sad, almost expressionless. My sister was the first to walk into the other room, myself following behind. “Sit down, we need to tell you something important.” My mom was sitting next to him, so then I knew whatever I was about to be told was something serious. Short after my dad said this, my sister followed with saying, “Is Anthony in trouble?” “Shut-up, Kristina,” I said angrily. “No, neither of you are in any trouble,” said my mom. Before I had any time to ask her why I was here if I was not in trouble, she said “Dad had just lost his job.”

It was the first day of school and for the past 5 years of elementary school i could sleep in because school started late but now school starts at 8:00 so I have to wake up early to get on the bus Over the summer i had moved to a new house and which meant i had to switch districts and now have to make new friends. Hopefully I wouldn’t get picked on because normally in my old school the new kids had always gotten picked on because they didn't know anyone and wouldn't have any friends. I quickly got up because i didn't want to be late on the first day of school.

Every Sunday, since the day I was born has been a day to spend with God, family and the people I love. Bright and early every Sunday morning my older brother Blake, Alex, younger brother Stephen and I would be woken up for the early morning service at St. Paul 's Lutheran church. My mother would have breakfast ready for my father, brothers and I by 6 o 'clock in the morning so that we were fed and ready for the 8 o 'clock service. After church, we would go grocery shopping or run any errands that needed to be done. Then we would go back to the house and change out of our nice clothes. By the time church and the errands were finished it was usually lunch time. We would drive over the river to Moline, Illinois where my grandmother lives and

I started my day like I had every day for the previous seven months. Wondering if today would end with me laying ice cold and lifeless in a coffin. Seven months prior, I got my first E.K.G., I found out there was something drastically wrong my heart. Spontaneously, my heart would beat at a vigorous pace exceeding far past a normal heart rate. These spontaneous fits of speed were impossible to control and felt as though I was slowly being stabbed in the heart by a dull and rotten blade. Every breath I took would plunge the knife deeper into my chest. Then, at the point where I felt as though my heart may erupt out of my chest it would finally slow. I would catch my breath and my day would continue. I lived in a consistent cycle of fear and acceptance that each day could be my last. I feared the day may come that my accelerated heart rate may not slow down. Finally seven months later, the doctors were able to diagnose me with Supraventricular Tachycardia. I was immediately scheduled for surgery.

The teacher called me in class and I was terrified to answer. It was my third day in my senior year when the teacher was in front of the class and she asked something to the class. I knew the answer and she saw that I had my hand half raised to answer. As soon as she called my name I felt the whole class started to stare at me. Somehow, I managed to give the right answer but it took all that I had to overcome my deep fear.

It was the last day of school with less an hour left on the clock. I had my eyes glued to the clock counting down the seconds, each minute felt like an hour, and right now I wish that was true.

It was the first day of school and I just was so excited about who was going into be in my class I was also nervous. That what I was thinking. I went upstairs and got dressed and brushed my hair and my teeth.

I hadn’t felt my dad’s warm, comforting hugs all summer and I was ready to plunge into his arms. My father was picking me up from my grandfather’s house. There was a woman in the car. She had long, curly hair, pretty eyes, and freckles. The first time we met, I felt her cold glare from the car window, tracing my every step as I hurried to my car. I plopped into my booster seat and rode back to North Hills, CA, where a shiny, new house awaited me. Mesmerized by the tall shrubs and the vibrant, freshly-trimmed grass, I walked up the driveway and took my first step into my new home. The lady (whom my dad introduced as his friend) showed me to my room, where a younger version of her was sitting on the bed. The little girl’s name was Carmen. She was about three years old and four years younger than me. I was more than ecstatic to make her my new sister. The woman introduced into my life, Courtney Harris, became the wife of my father. They were blissfully married in the winter time of 2008. I accepted her to my step-mother and was beaming from ear to ear that I would get a new mom.

While he sat on his old wooden chair, I watched the man who held me from birth slowly deteriorate before my own eyes. We sat in the veranda, played dominoes, and talked for hours, as we both enjoyed doing. Smiling from ear to ear, I rejoiced over my victory. After congratulating me, he looked at me and said, “God made you special and don’t ever let anyone make you feel otherwise. Remember to appreciate every aspect about yourself. You are a blessed child”. What seemed as a random comment would soon be of great importance to me for the rest of my life.

Today was the day. The day that would change my entire perspective on anything and everything that had to do with my dad. Since my parents were divorced, weekly visits to my dad's house were pretty much mandatory at the ages of eight and eleven. Eight was how old my little brother was and at that age you knew stuff without actually knowing stuff. By that I mean, my brother knew only the surface of our father, the side that my father wanted him to see. So he didn’t understand all the other things that were going on in our organized yet chaotic life. But neither did anyone else for that matter. Maybe because they didn’t know the full story. But then again, no one ever really got the full story. They either assumed or just didn’t care enough to get involved, but how could one blame them?

I never imagine of going to school the next day because I would imagine putting myself in other people place from being from a different school and going all the way to the East Noble Middle School to be in 7th grade. I imagine being by myself on the first day because I know that my friends will just leave me alone on the first. I never seen 7th grade coming so fast to me i was just a kid in grade school first but now I am walking in my dreams to the school where I found myself alone and no one there with me.

The day started off pretty good, the birds were chirping, the grass was green, it was a beautiful August morning. I was listening to my happy, epithalamic, and soothing music before I had to leave. It was the first day of school, we had just moved to Parma from Seattle Washington. I never really had trouble with making friends, so I was fervid to meet new people. The city seemed perfect for me. I felt untrammeled and joyous in my new neighborhood. The city gave me a great aesthetic pleasure. I expected the school to feel the same. I couldn’t have been more wrong.

The first day of school, running in school with tears in my eyes, shredded with a wound in my heart because of my parents, dropping me off at school and leave me all alone. It was only me sitting at the corner of the entry door, all I see is strangers, run around screaming, jumping, and chasing playing with balls. Then, I started to wonder around the school, as happy as I was when I see there are foods. I lowered my backpack, reach for a couple of bucks which my mom gave me in the morning if I want to buy something to eat or drink. Afterward, I continue walking.

After what seemed like the longest day of my life, I got home from school – the most dreadful place imaginable to the average teenager – and lugged myself as well as my backpack full of heavy books and overdue assignments through the front door of my apartment. Not being able to take another step, I dropped my bag and the weight of a long strenuous day off my shoulders and crawled into the living room. There I lied trying not to think about the mountain of homework I had yet to finish, all while my body searched for the tiniest shred of energy to get up, dust myself off, and continue with the rest of my day. Not even a few seconds went by when suddenly, I heard a loud, “YOU’VE GOT MAIL!” booming from my computer speakers. As if rising from