My Memories About My Childhood

My grandfather, J. King Burk, is a man of very few words, but if you get to know him you will come to find that he has been through a lot in his lifetime. My brother and I have a connection with him that most grandchildren don’t have with their grandparents because he was with us when our parents separated. He understands how difficult it is to be raised by one parent, he helped raise my brother and I, and I go to him when I’m making important decisions.

Yours truly have some extremely strong feeling, trying to replicate back to my earliest childhood memory of my life, my first version was describing the setting that of my father hitting my mother over the head with something. Now, I personally know it was a gun. She was lying in a pool of blood in front of the fireplace with, me by her side trying to wait her up, then going outside crying subsequently my, grandmother could hear me. There were numerous scary moments in my childhood. I myself, can recall as a child, my father and brother falling in a lake of water with my mother shouting for help to get both of them out of the water. Our house catching on fire with my mother and me along with three of my siblings trying to get out my mother powerful strength holding on to us without letting go. Which my father were no there to be found. Later we learned that he was drinking with his friends up the street under a tree. Yours truly was told a few neighbors came to help. At that point we stay with my grandparents which I adored them. For the reason that I loved waiting for my granddad to come home from work for him to take me to get vanilla ice cream. After moving to Cincinnati, Ohio at the age of six from Alabama. My father continues to be very abuses to my mother for fourteen years of their marriage. Thank God she’s still alive today.

My grandfather’s role at that time was different. He used to also take care of my brother and me. I remember my grandfather was quite energetic. He used to work at a company called Scepter; in the piping division; as a machine operator. After school, he and I would take the bus to travel to Scarborough Mall Center for groceries. I enjoyed these trips with him. I remember always asking my grandpa to slow down or stop because I was tired. He was good at teaching me the mechanics of life. He would say, “You must be active in life to get things done.” Another thing he said was, “Work hard, do well in school to get a good job.” His teachings were practical. He was also great at spoiling me. Whenever we went out for groceries, if I saw something I wanted he would buy it for me. I loved spending time with him. Those trips were special to me. When we got home; he would read the newspaper and write

The topic is based on childhood memories. In childhood we are not limited by reality. Childhood’s attractive and positive moments and things have been chosen to depict through the paintings. All the favorite memories are recalled and transferred in the present work in visual form. It seems like a college of all things related to the childhood. The mind has various memories of the early life but the thesis focuses on the precious ones that always pop up in the mind and makes the artist feel comfort and pleasure. In addition to the recollection of memories, the paintings also have the text written by the kids of the same age as that of the memories. Memories follow you anytime anywhere.

Paint this, it’s the late 90’s in Highland Park, L.A. County. An oriental looking boy is sitting on a wobbly wooden stool about 3 feet away watching PBS Kids in a black and white picture on 10” screen. I can still recall the flickering picture and the pixel barred pallet, also in black and white. I’m not stating I grew up misfortuned but this is one of my earliest memories, in-fact my grandmother did have a colored picture t.v. It’s the setting as the focal point, especially if some are familiar with the area. In my flashback, accuracy was not intended. Myself being an oriental boy was not the factually detailed truth.

The good old days, the days of being an innocent child without limits with care free attitude. My childhood, for the most part, consisted of intrepid adventures and endless hours of fun spent exploring and making huts in behind the family house. These were the times that I shall never forget for they will be forever ingrained in me for eternity. As a child, the world felt small and insignificant, all I knew was that I was living it up like another child on the block, free to do whatever we wanted, free from the pressures of society. These were the innocent days. The fondest memories of my childhood were the times spent exploring the back paddock behind my old house. It was like stepping into another realm, a place that was our own little hidden gem, like a secret garden that we could escape to at anytime.

Who you are and what you will become is shaped entirely by you childhood. A childhood that is abundant with both negative and positive experiences will result in a person becoming a valuable asset to society in the future. I believe that from my past experiences, both the negative and positive experiences from our childhoods, which later go on to become our memories, allow us to function at a greater capacity than without it. Memories in essence, are the key to success. A common, but consequential memory is the day that I was torn apart from my beloved mother and thrown into an environment that was quite alien to me, of course I’m talking about the dreaded first day

Looking back on my childhood, the experiences that have shaped and molded into the person I am today were immensely influenced from my mother. Women from vast cultures are expected to be subordinate and tend to be oppressed by the men in their lives, and this was no different in my mother’s case coming from a Latin culture. Growing up, I witnessed my mother being subjected to the traditional gender role that handicapped her in gaining her own independence outside of my father. She was expected to be submissive, stay home, raise the children, clean the house, have dinner waiting when my father got home. She wasn’t “allowed” to work because my father didn’t want her interacting with other men, nor did he want her to earn her own money because this would make her less dependent of him. Yet it was common knowledge that my father had extramarital affairs and everyone turned a blind eye. She had to ask for permission before leaving the house and in the instances that she didn’t, it always resulted in hostile arguments between them where I would fear for the safety of my mother.

After a month of planning and trying to reach my old mates through their phone numbers, I was in relief. Some of my friends were difficult to contact due to having different corresponding phone numbers. I almost felt like I wanted to tear my hair off my head or want to sock something with my bare fists I made with my hands. However, Rex and Shari were able to contacted, and they helped me reach out to the others. I told them about the broken picture frame and how I found their number in the back of the photo to explain how I still even remembered them. Saturday, July 7, 2035 was tomorrow. For the past month, my wife and I decorated and cleaned the whole dwelling and my son, Ryan, helped me paint the dull living room amber orange, yet he

The idea of forgetting what happened in my small town never allowed me to recognize that I was very scared during those years of my life. On the contrary, I have been always looking at the good side of the situation. Obviously, this happens because I do not want to go to that place of pain again. I prefer avoiding that pain by talking about the good experiences that have come from that frightening situation: I lived in Bogota, I met many people, I came to the US, etc. However, the reality is that I did not address the fear directly, I just avoided the elephant in the room, but I know it has been always present.

The air was beginning to cool as the sun set just behind the trees beyond the left field wall. I dug my cleats into the dirt inside the batters box until I felt grounded and secure. Looking down I touched each corner of the plate with my bat as I had done so many times before. Slowly, I lifted my head and initiated the stare down with the pitcher, focusing on the position of his throwing hand preparing myself for the same sequence I had experienced a thousand times. Over my left shoulder, I could hear my coach voice his last words of encouragement and say, “let it rip” as he stood just off the third base line. I was in my element. Everything felt so familiar, yet the result would be quite different this time and the first game of my senior season would unknowingly shape the next 8 years of my life.

From a very early age I knew that I wanted to do something with my life to make other people 's lives better. My mom likes to remind me of the time when I was a small child in Washington, DC.Even with all of the awe and sights to see in DC, she said that I could only focus on all of the homeless people. Seeing a homeless person was new to me, let alone seeing hundreds, but my mom likes to remind me about how I wanted to “make lasagna and feed all of them”.

Throughout most of my life, I have been drawn toward suffering. Some of my first childhood memories of suffering revolved around funerals. As a young child, death was an abstract. Life was carefree and everyone I loved was immune to the trials of life. The first funeral brought the reality of death closer than I wanted. Watching the people I love cry with such a devastating sadness made me acutely aware of how fragile our lives are. While it can be uncomfortable to hold that fear so close, I maintain the closeness so that I never lose sight of how quickly it can all end. This fear inspires me to help others when they are facing a time of crisis and provokes me to do whatever I can to ease their pain.

Many of my fondest childhood memories involved a stuffed lamb doll and one of my grandfather 's old stethoscopes. As a precocious seven-year-old, I would often stand beside my grandfather while he examined his patients. Watching him carefully, I mimicked his every move, an act that rarely failed to pull a laugh out of even the sickest of patients. Even in these moments of childhood play, I noticed the sheer joy and relief that his healing hands had the capacity to bring to the suffering and worried patients he treated. Seeing this, I remember thinking to myself that one day, I wanted to bring people that same joy.

Our life is full of joy and interesting like a garden filled with a variety of flowers that gave colorful, contentment and comfort. Sometimes we felt like a donut that there is a hole in the middle, tasteless, no filling that gave as challenge in our lives.