My Grandpa Research Paper

When you travel up the driveway, the property is invisible until you reach the crest of the hill and turn around a bank of evergreens. Suddenly you see an old farmhouse and a cottage with a large, scrubby lawn, a huge vegetable garden and a field of clover behind it all with the Skimmerhorn mountain range framing the back of the picture. If you’re lucky you may have startled some deer in the orchard that you probably didn’t notice driving by as you drank in the view. There is an openness but at the same time there are fir and tamarack trees, maple trees and Saskatoon shrubs marking off the border of seven acres of rural peace and quiet.

My uncle Rube is someone special to me. A passion for computers ignited in me as bright as a star in the sky. That’s where it all started. We all have that one uncle or aunt who makes you feel like you’re the best out there. The one who always there for school events and birthdays with the best gifts. The uncle you want to ride to events with, with the windows rolled down because being around him makes you feel 10 feet tall. That is my uncle Rube.

Would you believe me if I told you my 50-year-old grandpa was in love with roller coasters? Every year since 2010, he's gotten my sister and I, along with both him and my grandma, passes to Six Flags Great America, except for the year 2014. That Christmas, my sister and I got a slip of paper saying we'd be going to Cedar Point on July 25th, 2015.

Guys my Dad is old, yep that is right I said it, he is, do you know why, he was born over 20 years before the public adoption of the internet and 33 years before the smart phone was available. Seriously how did he have an exciting childhood? Beats me. But there were benefits for Dad living in the dark ages, his childhood was not as severely impacted by the health, education and social effects that can technology can have on children today.

My uncle Donnie lives in Ohio, he owns a mountain and he lives at the top. At Donnie’s house it is always sounding busy for example people running around, kids playing, and people cooking. My cousins are usually at my uncle's house and I love hanging out with them.

The poem “The Fish” by Elizabeth Bishop is written with many devices to help illustrate and develop the story of the fish. These help the reader get a clear picture of the message Bishop is communicating. She uses a consistent structure and rhythm . The story could be any fisherman's story, but Bishop uses similes and imagery to allow the reader to understand the same appreciation she had for the fish.

The only thing worse than losing someone you love is losing yourself. When my Uncle Michael passed away at the end of my fifth grade year, despite being so young and not even able to fully grasp what was going on, I felt as though I lost a part of me that I would never be able to replace. My Uncle Michael was the heart of my family - he kept Thanksgiving dinners from turning into soap operas, could make anyone laugh with his loveable tendency to give everyone a nickname (whether they wanted one or not), and was both admired and respected by everyone in our community. Due to being obese and the many health complications that resulted from his excessive weight gain, he was homebound for his last few years of life, but no matter how many lemons

‘’ The Fish” by Elizabeth Bishop is overloaded with fascinating and bountiful description and imagery which help readers to visualize the actions in the poem. The author use of imagery, symbols and tones that allows the reader to visualize the fish and create a relationship with him. The poem displays Bishop ecological awareness that leads her to accept the relationship between human beings and animal. The poem at the beginning is a narration of what happened in a particular fishing day. The speaker narrates the poem of her catching a big fish.

According to Pew Research Center’s Social and Demographic Trends survey, old age starts when a person turns 68. I know my grandparents are old and someday won't accompany me through my life, so I try to spend a lot of time with them and visit them a lot. My grandpa is someone who I have always loved and adored. Therefore, I look up to him as a role model and I admire him to great lengths. These last few years, I have really noticed the decline in activities my grandpa is able to do, and it breaks my heart.

Almost everyone possesses something that they do well or excel in. Something that they do so well, they basically have become the expert of it. A majority of the time, expertise requires doing what you love to reach the expert level. For me, I have learned how to be an expert at being an aunt to my niece, Ellise. Since Ellise was born, I have learned how to excel at being an aunt.

It was a beautiful day in Hawaii on December 7th, 1941. Nobody was expecting what was about to come. When Pearl Harbor was attacked there was a multitude of chaos, but there was a force of unity and pride. This love for country and fellow citizens was unity and pride was in the heart of every American as the nation entered into World War II. My great grandpa proudly served for the United States Army during World War Two. He would tell me stories on how patriotic our nation was and the glory of being a veteran. He was a wonderful storyteller and I looked up to him and the examples he set through his selfless dedication to humanity and his country. Seeing the smile on his face when he was done helping out was all he needed to do to instil a passion in me to help those who need it, a pride that cannot be broken for my great country, and of course a love for a good story.

I have spoke with one of my relatives before about my ancestors. My aunt on my father’s side of the family had discovered some of our ancestors online. As for my mother’s side of the family none of my family members had done any research on their ancestors from Poland. My ancestors on my father’s side of the family came from Ireland. My aunt believes that some of our ancestors from Ireland were a part of a royal family and had owned a castle. However I briefly remember my aunt and some of my family members telling me that some of my ancestors came over to the United States from Ireland because they did not want to face anymore challenges due to the potato famine problem and they wanted to have a better life elsewhere. My family has given me

Two and a half years ago my grandpa sat in this very chair; the chair on the front porch. It was black and had small diamond looking shapes in the design with a maroon Cochin in the seat. Every time my grandpa would visit I would sit with him on the front porch all the time. It was surrounded by woods, the trees so many; in the season he was here they blossomed. He came to visit to get his “truck fixed” but he knew it was his time. He spent his last two months with me that spring.

One day my brother, mother, and father all went to my grandma’s for christmas. When we got there; my cousins, aunts, and uncle’s were all there. So once I got out of the car I got out and ran inside. As I was getting inside I saw all of my cousins. My cousins were happy to see me because I rarely see them. My cousins ran up to me and gave me hugs. After my family and I unpacked the car full of gifts we went inside and ate breakfast. After we ate breakfast we got to play a for little bit while the adults cleaned the kitchen up. So we went outside and played with the toys at my grandma’s house. When we got outside we got the football out and the wiffle ball bat and wiffle ball that went with it. First we played with the football me

Circling around my white, two-story house there is a field of scratchy grass and flowers with a path cut directly down the middle. If you follow the path, the creek rests behind it. The creek houses memories of my sister and I journeying out into the wilderness by ourselves (despite the fact that the creek was still in our “backyard”). To us, the world was small enough that the creek by the house became a whole new planet every visit. Snapping turtles turned into legendary stories we brought up yearlong, and a hollowed, gnarled Oak stuck out so far over the stream we envisioned bears resting beneath. We kept active by trudging around the creek in knee-high muck boots chattering about setting up forts. A couple stray boots lost their lives to the mud that our stick legs could not suck out of. I always trekked alongside my sister; consequently, in any memory I have of the creek I am never alone.