There is a quote made by an anonymous person that says, “People never forget two things: their first love and their first day in New York City”. Well I haven’t had my first love yet, so I wouldn’t know about that, but my first day in the Big Apple is something I’ll never forget. It was the day of my 7th birthday, when my father decided to take me, my younger sister and my mother to Coney Island.
On July 4, 2006 I turned 7 years old and my parents wanted to do something different on my birthday since usually we would just stay home and eat cake. My family and I were living in Philadelphia at the time and my parents for some reason didn’t like the amusement parks that Philly has. My father used to live in New York so when we were deciding
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We’ll find another one.” Then my father turned to her and said, “I’m already here. I’m not going to get out and let him have it.” So basically, the yelling match between my father and the guy went on until the guy finally gave up and let my father have the parking space. As my father was parking he said, “you see that guy? He’s a real New Yorker.”
The first thing we got on was the bumper cars and I was extremely excited to drive. I got into one bumper car with my father and my sister got into one with our mother. Anna, my younger sister, was a bit sad because she wanted to drive and my mother said that she was too young to drive. Later that day she told me that she wish she had gone in the bumper car with our father instead of our mother. The next ride we went on was the ferris wheel. I’m acrophobic. But my fear of heights isn’t huge. What I mean by that is, even though I get scared it’s also exhilarating. I don’t really know how to explain it but it’s like a thrill. Like I’m scared but happy at the same time. As I said I can’t explain it but that’s what I felt when I was on the ferris wheel. Anna kept leaning over to look down but my father pushed her back and told her to stop. Apparently, a child did that before and fell a year or so earlier. I don’t know if that was true or not due to the fact that my parents would always lie to us to keep us safe. My mother was on the other was so terrified she
Today I woke up with a smile on my face and a tingly feeling in my belly; the reason for my joy was the name-plate hanging outside my door that read Dr. Agrima Agrawal, Assistant Professor, IISc Bangalore. My first day as a professor in this prestigious institute, giving me the opportunity to mould life, imbibe knowledge and make a difference; a difference which would matter.
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 date was June 1st 2012 when my life changed. On this date I stepped foot on John F Kennedy international airport , New York City. In the airport my dad is waiting for me . I flew from halfway around the world by myself at twelve years old with no parent or any relative but a plane full of strangers. I spent that summer with my aunts and father helping them in house work , and in the store to earn a living for us and the families we left back home. For the whole duration of the summer I was excited to start school in the fall. The day finally arrives that I will be starting school.
One early morning thirteen years ago, my parents had gone off to go to work. I would be upstairs watching Zoboomafoo in my room and I could hear the door slam shut from my room on the second floor. It was a couple of weeks before I had started my first day in Kindergarten. My uncle Francisco, who was nineteen years old, was taking care of my little brother Luis, who was two, and I; I was five years old. Once my parents would step out the door it all began. My uncle would start acting really immature. At first, he would take us to the downstairs room that was by the kitchen and would start yelling for no reason. You could not really hear much from the room, which is why I assumed he took us there. Luis was the youngest, so he was an easy target. He didn't say much nor defended himself because he didn't really know what was happening. The yelling would frighten my little brother. My uncle would scream “ no one likes you” and “ no one cares about you” at Luis, which really hurt his feelings. Luis would just stay quiet and pout.
The crisp of the autumn air bit me as I fought against it. Shivering, the hairs on my neck stand up as I am exposed to the cold air. Starting a new college in a country where I'd never visited in my entire life would be partially difficult. I would have to mind what I say. It didn't help that I would constantly be bombarded by questions in my first semester.
Waking up with my mom saying "Alexis, I took your dad to the hospital early this morning," that wasn't what I wanted to hear first thing in the morning. I began to sweat; my palms began to get clammy and this nauseous feeling coursed through my body. I didn't understand why mom took him at first but then remembering at 3 o'clock that morning he was struggling to breathe, then I realized why. Immediately when I got to school I told my best friend of 13 years what my mom had told me this morning. My best friend was with me throughout this whole journey.
My mom gave birth to me in a in a small town in Great Britain on February seventieth, seventeen fifty five. My mother, Martha Washington and father, George Washington gave me the name Donovan Washington. Donovan means strong warrior and that is what my dad wanted me to be one day. I started school during seventeen sixty, and on my first day of school, I met the most astonishing, charming, and breath taking girl in the whole universe. From the first glance I had at Bonnie Taylor I knew I was going to marry her one day. Growing up Bonnie and I were always best friends. Bonnie and I did every little thing together. Bonnie was not like any of the other girls she was different in ways I can’t explain. Finally at age fourteen I built up the courage to ask her to be my girlfriend. Everyone has always told us that it was our destiny to be together, and I always knew she was the one. We have been in love for fifteen years now, and we have been dating for six years I am going to ask Bonnie to marry me. I got on one knee and said “Bonnie Rose Taylor we have known and been in love with each other for fifteen years now, I feel like it is time to ask you to be my wife” She happily said yes! Now that we are engaged to be married, we must tell everyone, and start planning the wedding of our dreams. We told everyone in town, but no one was taken by surprise everyone was aware that this was going to happen sooner or later. Bonnie and I decided on a date April twentieth seventeen seventy five.
For me, the first day of high school felt as if I was a baby chick coming out of an egg. Of course, I had the right to feel that way because it was a whole different environment and a whole new game plan. I was super nervous walking to and from classes that I even got lost many times. My high school was big, with over 3,000 students and many programs. I was tiny to begin with and then I looked at other students, they were way taller than me, I felt out of place. On the bright side, I was not the only one who was lost; many other kids were lost, too. From there I began to make new friends and ended up circling the whole basement to find the lunchroom. Till today we still laugh at our silly mistakes. Overall, I felt like the four years of my high school experience were very memorable, but I learned the most my freshmen year.
I don’t remember much about when I was a kid. One memory slips through the fog and caresses my mind with the comforting aura that was once my childhood. It was my first day at Mrs. Joyce’s Daycare, little did I know that this place would forever hold a special place in my heart and in my mind. On the way there, from my house in Terra Alta, it was about a 5-minute ride which was just long enough to think about all the things that my little mind could think about. Namely how I was going to get along with the other kids and whether I would make any friends.
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?
When I was about seven or eight years old my aunt Melissa was watching me and she got a phone call and they said that both of my parents had died in a car crash so since she had just moved into the small town of Oceanside or so that is what she told me she could raise me as her own so that’s what she did, she did it all on her own. I started school at Oceanside elementary school and I was super nervous when I walked in the door I saw a girl sitting all alone so I decided to go sit with her and I did her name was Chloe and from then on we were best friends. The day we started high school was probably the last normal day of our lives until junior year.
“I need a picture of you guys!” My mom expressed in much excitement. As I walked to the front door, my seventh grade sister and I took our annual first-day-of-the-school-year photo. With bright smiles on our faces, I was looking forward to the next stage of my life: highschool. As I stepped out of the car, my dad remained there as he watched his son start his highschool career. I walked in the doors for the first time as a highschooler. A rush of excitement and a sliver of nervousness hit me. People of all ages are walking past me. Grown men a head taller than me and attractive girls that did not know that I existed were everywhere. One of my childhood friends came by me and we waved to each other. I could see in his face the same jittery