My Grandfather

My grandfather, Cosmo Damiano Depinto was born on May 15, 1939 in the small town of Molfetta, Italy. He is the son of Nicoletta Depinto, his mother, who was one of three siblings. Her two sisters were named Lina and Giovanna. His mother had a full time job as a seamstress. His grandmother was responsible for making fishing nets. His grandfather, Orazio, had a similar profession in the fishing industry and and worked as a local fisherman. But unfortunately he passed away when a mine blew up while he was fishing in his boat after World War I (1914-1918).

She lost her parents at a young age, so her grandparents struggled to take care of her and her brothers. Soon after her sixtieth birthday, my mom married my father, and they both welcomed me two years later. I was born in September 1999; unfortunately, five months after my birth, my father died in the hands of a stranger from a gunshot to the head. Although both my grandmother and mother were devastated by his passing, they both decided to once again fight for our future and raise me.

With white whiskers on his face, even after his morning shave, and the noticeable balding, my grandfather always looked comparable to a gruff man. You could tell he was strong and had a lot of pride by the way he carried himself. Being more of a cowboy type, he dutifully wore a plaid button-up shirt, bootlegged jeans, and country-style boots to match on the average day. He was a diligent man, and although his job kept him away from the home most of the weekdays driving semi-truck across the country, living on the farm he seemed to constantly be keeping himself busy doing something with his time off from feeding the horses, tending to the garden, riding four-wheeler, finding odd jobs here and there, and regularly playing with all of us kids.

Hello, everyone can I have your attention please, thank you for coming for my great grandmother and grandfather's memorial. They would off been so happy seeing all of their children, grandchildren, all of the family from both sides. So, this feels like a gloomy room. If they would have seen the color of this room they would have hated it. They would’ve run to the walls and covered it up with some fresh paint. There's a time in our lives that we come back to ourselves and get serious about the events happening around us. So this memorial is one for us to take in consideration of what we are doing because all of our pasts have something in common, like for example, we were all born in Mexico and we all loved spending time with our people, our “rasa”. They wouldn't want us to be sad for them they would've wanted us to be happy and cheerful that they are no longer around to scold or yell at us for doing something.

In 1952 my grandfather, Albert S. Thanhauser, waited in line with the incoming class of Air Force soldiers in upstate New York as they prepared to enter the Korean War. Each quaking private presented their papers to the stone-faced officer at the front of the line, to receive their military assignment. As my grandfather approached with his documentation, something peculiar happened. “Hmm… Thanhauser,” muttered the gruff officer, “M.O.T.?” he asked quietly. A Brooklyn Jew, Al’s eyes lit up as he nodded and his papers were placed with the rest in the pile. M.O.T: Member of the Tribe, was an instantly recognizable code of camaraderie amongst Jews. Two weeks after this encounter, the night before being shipped off to Korea, Al received a memo: He was being pulled from the pack headed for Hell and instead was shipped to Japan to set up a flight school at an American base. The two years he spent on the airbase were some of the best of his life. Was this story was likely intended to instill me with a connection to Judaism? Was it just another of my Grandpa’s crazy stories? I had always focused on the result of this story - how it dramatically affected my grandfather’s life. But as I have grown older, the story has begun to resonate with me as beautiful demonstration of an act of kindness and virtue that I learn and grow from.

I choose to write about my grandfather because I have always been proud to say that he fought in the second world war. I thought that this would be a great opportunity to learn more for my family and I to get a better idea

From powerless and poor, to happy and humble, he overcame many battles and took on many burdens with almost no complaint. Although I knew him as the loving ole grandpa who would treat me to anything I wanted, he lived a much darker and wilder life in his younger years. My grandpa, Timo took my family from the slums of presidio, to what he called his “little paradise” right here in Odessa, and rescued us from falling into the proclivities passed down from generations.

My grandfather was involved in many wars during the 1900s. His experiences started in the First Indochina War in 1946 and ended with the Vietnam War in 1975. His first war experience was during the First Indochina War, in which he fought for the French army against the Viet Minh force, an anti-French alliance. He was captured in 1953, but eventually and released in 1954 when the war ended with the International Geneva Conference. He then proceeded to move to Saigon in 1955 and worked as a journalist for a newspaper company during the Vietnam War.

Above all, I would like to dedicate this to my mother, Maria Mojica, because she has shaped me to become the individual I am today. Moreover, I am truly appreciative for everything she has done in regards to my education due to the fact that she was my motivation towards becoming the best version of myself as possible. Also, my mother has taught me how to become responsible, respectful, and sincere. Since she has involved herself in my education, I have been able to succeed and continue attempting to improve to show her that I am thankful for everything she has done. In addition, her extremity of dedication towards education was beneficial due to the fact that it served as motivation to strive for success. Furthermore, my mother has endeavored

I want to start of by welcoming everyone here today, My name is Irasema Nevarez and the person i'm introducing today is someone that i truly admire for his courage of going above and beyond for his community when he didn't need to. That is how he has earned the respect of his community.

I admired his perseverance and passion to be a minister and helping the poor children in the Philippines when he was in his forties. He enrolled in bible courses and studied part-time at home while working. I admired his courage and determination to preserve on despite the times he had difficulties doing his assignments due to his limited education background. My father had influenced me to take on greater leadership role when I was a teacher so I could undertake the challenge of creating and delivering high-quality services for children and their families (Rodd, 2006). I continued to upgrade my professional and career development and completed courses to be a qualified principal and mentor in the preschool sectors. I found job satisfaction and developed self-concept in working and counselling parents of children with special

Edgar Estep, age 82, was born on 1936, in Paintsville Kentucky, an older gentleman with a sturdy but gentle look to his face. He is the son of Elizabeth and Richard Estep and the youngest of his 4 siblings. Edgar explains, “Growing up in a holler of the hills of Kentucky. "My family was not of wealth and my father Richard moved to Ohio to gain his fortune” He like many other men at the time wanted to fight for the pride of his country.

Sanchez Nino. She has a heart breaking story. I don’t know any man or women who could ever go through something like she did. She prevailed and worked hard. She has told me her life story many, many, many times. I will never be able to tell it the way she does. I always ask her to tell me her story, in spanish. I feel like it adds a different feel this way. An every time she tells me it, I cry. Every time I listen, I hear new details and I don’t think I could ever do something like what she did. No words could ever give justice to what I am trying to say to show. I would like to thank the person who told me that she wouldn't eat unless I ate during my pre and full anorexic times. The person who fell asleep with me as a child to help aid my irrational fear of the dark. To the person who would tell me that she’s going to work to buy me toys, since I wouldn’t let go of her in the morning when I was younger. To the person who makes sure that I am okay and have everything I need and want. To the person who I knew loved me no matter what, even though I didn't acknowledge she was always there for me. Mom, love

My grandma is the oldest out of the five children my great grandparents had. She married Bill Gilstrap and they had two children; my uncle and then my mother. My grandparents were married seven years before they decided to get a divorce. After their divorce, my grandma was set on raising her two children.

While interviewing my grandmother I have come to respect the changes her and my grandfather made within their own family. My grandmother and grandfather grew up in a home where their mothers were always cooking and their fathers were never home. Dinnertime was never a time their parents believed was important. They decided together that when they had children of their own they would make things different. My grandfather always made us breakfast and drove us to school, and no matter what meal it was my sisters and I always ate together at the table. My grandmother always did all the grocery shopping, and we would all help her prepare the dinner, set the table, and clean up. Our dinners always started with a prayer, and we would tell each other about our day. Most nights at the table were pretty rambunctious, because there are six of us in our family. One was always speaking over the other, teasing each other, and making jokes. Dinner time was relatively very fun in our household.