My Memoir Of My Life

“I will not regret a thing.” was what my six word memoir was about. To me it means that whatever happens you should never regret your actions and what you’ve done in life. I chose a girl looking at the sunset for my picture to show that she has no stress and has no worries because she is not looking at the past. She looks so peaceful while she is trying to look forward and take life one step at a time. When you regret things you are just stuck in the past so when you don’t have any regrets you would be a more relieved person.

My memoir tells the story of two very excited teenagers going on a camping trip. These two teens are me and my friend, Zach. During this trip, everything that could have gone wrong, does. The story is told in a series of key events among that weekend that were just one disaster after another, followed by optimistic attitudes, continuously searching for the positive in each situation. The audience that I will be able to reach with this narrative is very broad. A younger audience will be easy to appeal to because this is the age of adventure and making mistakes. In addition to this, an older audience can be acknowledged because I believe one is never too old for adventure. That is shown through the inclusion of the women that were the ones to

My personal memoir is going to be about when I moved here in Homedale, Idaho. When I was 6 I moved to Homedale and I was going to start 2nd Grade. When I got dropped off by my parents I went to the playground. When I was young I used to never speak to anyone because I was so shy and scared. When I got there a kid named Oscar came up to me and asked me what is your name, for a few seconds I stood there saying nothing and finally I said my name Osue. There were one of his friends that I remember, there was Antonio, but that wasn’t the first time I have seen Antonio because the house we moved into I went outside threw rocks and so did he but when I backed up and went forward etc. he copied me. I When we went I she Ms. Garrett was welcoming us

I know that he’s always watching me now. I was living life just as normally as the other 10 year old. That was until my grandpa had been acting up in the following weeks of my 11th birthday, he was not being his normal self. He underwent a CT scan in early December, and it revealed a tumor on his brain. He underwent surgery to remove the tumor and lost his beautiful, prized hair. Not many men could grow hair like he could. He was recovering well from surgery, and according to the doctors, he would have 6-12 months to live. All was well I was until I was in Fort Wayne, Indiana for a hockey tournament with my PeeWee A team 6 weeks later. My father had received a call from my mother, who was my grandpa’s daughter. She told him that a tumor had regrown behind one of his eyes, and it was the size of a softball. They had no choice but to put him on life support because the tumor rendered him brain dead, and let everyone say their goodbyes. “Feed the good wolf,” was something he would always say to us kids. He loved that saying. He lived by it. I lost the man I wanted (and still strive to) be like. He was the perfect grandfather, and although his life was taken from him at the age of 63 by some horrible disease, he lived a full life. On the dark, candle lit night of January 14th, 2012, I realized how precious life is, and I chose to “Live Like Larry.”

As the frost crept up my window, each snowflake was perfectly plastered in front of me. They seemed as if they were putting on a show just for me, and I couldn’t help but imagine that there were tiny people living in each one. The soft hum of my mother’s CD’s played in the background as my little brother was fast asleep to my right. I brushed my fingers through my dolls knotted hair, feeling the itchy yarn envelope each finger. Looking out the window again all I saw were cars speeding past us, all rushing to get to their own winter plans.

Typical, just a typical summer day for me. In fact, everything about it was typical. The time I got up, what I had for breakfast and what projects my dad had in store for me to do on the old house. My other family members would too also get jobs and projects to do around the house. Most of the time everyone would work on separate things and we would get many things accomplished putting us closer to our goal of getting the house on the market. But there would be times where we would have to work with other people. Depending on who you worked with you either got stuff done or you were arguing with that person about the silliest of things which would inevitably cause you to slow done and not get anything done. For me, that was

While everyone around me was grieving, I stood and held on to her hand, hoping she would feel my presence and wake up from my touch. But some things are too good to be true. The reality was that I was holding onto more than just my best friend’s hand. I was holding onto her dead soul which became another victim of cancer. I had to say good-bye one last time. “You will always be my best friend,” I whispered slowly in her ears with my trembling chapped lips. With just that it felt like my emotions had escaped from me, as if I had taken a long deep breath and

Delano then pulled a gun from his ankle holster and places it on the table top. --

It was a right of passage where I grew up. Beer cans littered the backroads and glistened in the moonlight. For miles around country music filled the honeysuckle perfumed air, boots hung out the passenger windows, and mud flung off the tires when we hit the highway burning rubber as far as the tires would let us. Those nights we spent on gravel roads making memories with long time friends are irreplaceable but it all changed in a split second on a beautiful, warm, and sunny morning. When my phone rang and his Moms voice came over the line and all I heard was "He's gone." Before the screaming started. It took me a while before I realized it was me screaming and I sat on the floor and waited for him to call. I thought if I waited long enough

My closest friend of 6 years was moving to South America tomorrow. I’ve cried every single day since I found out, feeling the loss of her even though she wasn’t gone yet. Talia’s the only person I have ever been truly comfortable with, which is extremely significant as I have social anxiety. It feels like I’m losing my other half. These thoughts provoke tears, but I blink them away.

I sat there, numb, unmoving, my breathing shallow. I just sat there thinking about the time I was able to spend with him. The way his little fingers would grasp my larger hand. I sat there remembering how his sad little smile could warm my heart, even on my worst day. Then I remembered my reluctance to get close to him, knowing he wouldn’t be able to stay with us long. I remembered how I would never volunteer to hold him, not wanting to bond with the sweet boy that would leave before he had the chance to walk or even utter his first syllable. I felt a cold regret slowly seep into my body, regret for not loving on him more than I did, more than I should have.

My earliest memories of being read to were when I was five years of age and my

They walked in as slow as a sloth. My brother and I decided to stay in the lobby while they went into the room. It was just silence and constant glances around the room. They came out a couple minutes later, my aunt sobbing. Everyone piled into their cars and we headed to my grandma's house since it was closest. The whole car ride I was thinking about everything that was happening, I was just frustrated and sad that this had happened. When we got to my grandmas house we sat and watched T.V, but I don't think anyone was paying attention, just thinking and looking

How does a person begin to write a narrative of their own life, relating events and ideas back to their own culture? Well, first, I’d like to give some baseline information about myself. I am a white, middle-class, educated, mid-western, Christian female athlete. I come from a traditional family with a mother, father, one brother, and two sisters. Taking those characteristics into account, I would say that I am a privileged member of society, and being privileged has been part of my culture. In addition, the largest influences on my life and worldview were my family, school, church, and the area I grew up.

I remember myself sitting near a little block with letters and my mother teaching me the name of each of them. She starts to sing me a song to help me to memorize the alphabet. It is so funny singing the ABC song. At that instant, the door opens, and my father enters the room. That is the first thing carved in my memory, and each time when I think about it, I conclude that we are the best family in the world.