My Grandfather : A Short Story

My mother sat down with my sister and I, and told us that ultimately, the four of us would have to move because we were being forced to sell our home. I accepted this decision, not comprehending fully how far away I would actually be. I could not grasp the idea that I would be leaving the people I was with since I could walk. Everything I went through and everything I did was with them. All the memories we made on the street would slowly fade, but be kept forever. Moving day, I knew deep down that I had to be strong throughout this new development in my life. I was moving to a place where I didn’t know anyone, where I did not know what school I would be going to, or if I would have neighbors just like the ones in Southington. I climbed into my father's truck, not knowing what would happen from then on. I was surrounded by my all neighborhood friends, all in tears. I remember feeling fearless, ready to take on anything life would throw at me. As one of my close friends walked up to the truck with tears in her eyes, I looked at her with reassurance that everything would be

That beach house brought great time but it also brought the worst times of my life. Next door was an extremely large mansion, although there lived a very rich and pretty lady named Mariana. The beach house belonged to the pretty lady, but was sold to my father by a very close friend of

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.

There have been countless influential people in my life that I’ve come across. One who was a meticulous inspiration continues to be my grandfather. My grandmother had remarried to the one I call “grandpa” when I was at the age of five, and they both took to each other’s grandchildren as their own. With my mother and me only living a mile down the road from their farmhouse out in the country, I’d spent heaps amount of time there as a child. Indeed, I had been without a father but my grandfather stepped up to the plate and had taken me under his wing and willingly played the personification of a father figure.

On a warm and sunny day my mom and I pack the last of our things from our now old house. At the time we were living in a 2 story condo in Issaquah. We had been living here for many years, but our landlord had come back from Africa and gave us a week's notice that he was moving into our house. Forcing us to try and find a house in a HURRY!!!!Luckily my mom was able to find a house that was about 20 minutes away from our home in Issaquah. This house wasn't a normal sized house that we found. It was gigantic. Over 4,000 square feet, 6 stories and tons of rooms. It had the biggest backyard that leads into a beautiful forest, it kind of reminded you of being in a fairy forest. But even though it was in a huge gated community there was still something off about it. The house itself reminded you of a horror movie ,

The last narrative Collection I choice to create was a rewrite. For the rewrite, I choice to rewrite a scene from Grandfather’s perspective. The scene is taken placed during Grandfather's eightieth birthday (Final Banquet, his death). Since this scene was originally written from Cassia’s perspective, someone with completely opposite thoughts and ways of thinking would be Grandfather. At this particular scene, Cassia has not rebelled yet. Her innocence for the Society is still present as she is still believing that The Society makes no mistake and is the perfect world. However, grandfather, on the other hand has lived much longer than Cassia. He knows the secrets behind the Society that Cassia is not aware of. Additionally, lies and deceit are

My parents as well as my extended family have been crucial in providing the foundation for my beliefs, attitudes and values. I grew up

There once was a small village in which everyone had a special magical talent. Everyone, expect for Theo the town's baker. For a long time, his family's magical talent has always been Enlargo. It always seemed to make everything much bigger than its original size. That being said, everyone in his family has always been taller than him and a little on the chubby side. Theo, however, was rather short and thin for being a member of his family. Every person in town would normally visit Baba's bakery in the morning for the best baked goods of their lives, there are giant pies, enormous breads, and colossal cakes, but when Theo was working no one ever came in.

There were many things about the house that I absolutely hated. First, the roses painted on the ceiling that my sister and I shared. At night, in the dark the flowers glowed looking like tiny eyes always watching us. We wanted to paint over the flowers, get rid of them, but we didn’t live there all that long so we never got the chance. The last thing about the house that we hated was that behind the house there was an old radio tower. My siblings and I thought that the radio building was haunted by a ghost, or some sort of evil witch. Once we walked up the hill that was home to the tower, as we neared the top the metal door on the building swung open. We were so scared, we ran down the hill to our house. We told our parents what happened but they didn't believe us. The next day we went back to the tower and the door was closed again, after that we never went up to the tower again. We were terrified and believed that it was haunted and afraid that the ghost who lived there would attack us.

I have an abundance of grotesque, yet, barely visible memories of childhood. However, no breathtaking family trips, no unique family togetherness that taught a moral lesson, no abnormal holidays. We still ate family meals together, but most often the children and adults lived in different worlds. When I needed comforting or wanted the best of both worlds, I could turn to my Grandpa.

I think the person who has had the most profound effect on my life besides my parents is my grandfather. I never realized before how much of an effect he had on my interests and goals for the future. Years ago, he used to tell me stories about historical events and experiences he had fighting in Vietnam and my great grandfather fighting in World War 2. His vivid descriptions always made it so interesting and, in some cases, more light-hearted than what actually happened. To this day he still has more stories to tell me, and never fails to captivate my interest. In doing this, he opened my eyes to my biggest interest, history, and encouraged me to pursue this interest throughout school. I feel like it would help to give a short summary of his life and how it affected me.

“I can’t believe that’s true!” I exclaimed, my laughter echoing through the room. My grandpa and I had been chatting on the phone for the past half an hour. You would imagine a man his age would be boring and dull. However, he was quite the joker. At least with me, since I was, of course, his favorite granddaughter.

The house that used to be in the middle of the country with miles of land and nobody to be seen or heard. It was the house I used to see every Friday. It had a gravel driveway a mile long, grass cut perfectly, and the smell of fresh air all around. There was a massive tree in the front yard that was the size of a skyscraper that the kids used to play on. Then you would see the cute brown house on the hill. It was as the house that seemed so big when I was a kid, but the bigger I got, the smaller the house seemed to become. My Grandma’s house was like going to a museum, because it always had things to look at and explore.

Ancestors completely shape, determine and mold their descendants’ lives. Family values are rooted deeply in how a person is raised. Although I never met my great-grandfather, the way he lived directly affects my life. In Little Rock, Arkansas in 1924, J.C. (Jake) Red was born. He was number ten of eleven sons born to the Red family. After his younger brother, W.E. (Buck), was born, his father would leave them to start a new family, across town. He and his brothers would be raised by a single mother, during the Great Depression. To say he was poor, is putting it mildly. Dirt poor is a term that better describes the way my great-grandfather was raised. Jake was smart, athletic, and willing to work hard. Everyone describes my great-grandfather as the cornerstone of my family. His life was proof that opportunities are endless, if hard work and determination remain the central focus. Although, I never got to meet or know him, I have learned he was a very respected and revered man.

When we were together we were invincible, us against the world. I’d look up to him, not only because he was 6’4, but because he was my grandpa. I have clear memories of him picking me up from school, playing old school reggae music during our adventurous car rides. We’d always sing along to our favorites, sometimes turn the music up so loud the people in the cars next to us could hear it. When I would visit his apartment, the familiar smell of drywall and pennies would fill the air. It was my hideaway, my home away from home. My grandpa collected pennies in water jugs. He would say that one day they’d be worth more than just pennies. I loved it there, not only because he had a freezer filled with many flavors of ice cream to which he would often say to me “you can have all you can eat” but because it was our time to bond. For five years it was my mom, my dad, and my grandpa helping me to grow. Those are my favorite people, my role models. Being around my grandpa brought me such comfort and joy.