My Memories Of My Childhood

Ever since I could remember, soccer had been in my life. If there was a soccer team that needed a coach, my father was always the first to volunteer. There were almost too many strenuous weekends spent hours away from home for soccer tournaments to count. My entire family, consisting of my parents, my siblings, my dog, and myself, packed in a mini-van heading to a city that I had never heard of for soccer games. But when I entered high school, all that would soon go away. I kept playing the same sport that I always had, although now I had to wake up at five in the morning for six hours of high school soccer practice in the smoldering summer heat in order to make the high school team. High School sports were more competitive than anything I had done before. I put in as much effort as I could to make the Varsity High School team, staying out past dinner to practice even longer. I was utterly divulged in soccer and trying to be the best I could be. Soon, I would regret placing a game over spending time with my family.

Soccer had taught me many things in life. It showed me the significance of family in all forms, to be responsible and appreciative of my peers and elders. I will never forget that day, no matter how old I am, because I had learned an essential lesson, to never give

For as long as I can remember I have played soccer every fall and spring with a team. However that all came to an abrupt stop in the ninth grade during high school tryouts when I failed to make the list of about thirty-six boys who made either the junior varsity or varsity soccer team. I was in disbelief and questioned myself, “did I still obtain the desire to continue playing the sport I enjoyed for so long?” After ruminating on this issue, I resolved that I wasn’t going to let this disappointment hold me back from playing a high school sport, and I joined track and field. Track and field was an enjoyable experience where I met many new friends, however my passion for soccer had not died, and I was not content with my failure to make

At the age of 5 I was given my first pair of Velcro-cleats. Back then; it wasn’t about getting an All-Conference Title, or wining a full scholarship to the school of your dreams. It was simply about having fun. By the age of 12, I was being developed and shaped into a player that would have a successful future with soccer, and would hopefully receive scholarships. But, that future for me crumbled by the time I was 16. I don’t know what happened over those 4 years, but I simply lost the joy in playing. It became more of an obligation to go to

In year 10 I decided to stop playing soccer, it was an unusual time for me. The standards from grade 8 and 9 were nothing to what I had been facing that year and I didn’t know how to cope. Pressure to do well in school and excel in sports was daunting, my father wanted me to become a medical doctor and a professional soccer player at the same time.

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.

My grandma has brown hair with light brown highlights, she is dark skinned, with brown eyes, she is a big people person and does everything to make everyone happy. She works for a dentist and says she would retire if I wasn't hers, she is 56 and still getting shorter. My papa on the other hand is light skinned, has reddish brown hair, blue eyes, he is a controlling but sweet person and he likes things his way, he is retired now and loves it, he is 58 years old, he can't see very well so he's always squinting or has glasses on. I don’t live with my parents or sister but they are still a part of my life. My mom is tan, with brown eyes with reddish hair. She is loving and doesn’t care about what people think. My mom stays at home most of the time to keep my niece Kinley while my sister is at school. My dad looks a lot like my papa except skinnier and has green eyes, “he is a Tosto” my grandma says by that she means he’s just as hard headed as my pa and I. Katie my sister is 17 and raising a child she has dirty blond hair. She is very protective about the people she loves and will do anything for them. I’m the youngest out of my family but I’ve kinda grown up as an only child because it’s just my grandparents and me at the house. My grandma gets her dark skin from her parents because both of them are cherokee indian, my papa on the other hand is very light skinned he gets this from his irish and scottish roots.

This was my earliest memory. I was four years old and it was around the time of Christmas. Me and my brother David were in the kitchen eating our snack at the brown breakfast table we always ate at before we went to preschool. My mom was putting up the the decorations on the christmas tree in the living room that was adjacent to our kitchen and just a step down. She always put up these tiny plastic houses, old shops and tiny churches - usually on the top above our television case - that were covered in snow and would light up when you plugged them into the wall and you could always see the little figures through the tiny windows. She always used fluffy white cotton fabric that she would place around the little houses to imitate snow. She also would always put up the scene of Jesus in the manger with the wise men and the barn animals which too would light up. These were always pleasing to look at and help set up. My dad was outside putting the yellow lights on the gutter of our white house - “white house” is how we always remembered our house back in Madison Wisconsin. We were not big into decorations when it came to holidays like halloween where we would just carve a few pumpkins, but when christmas came my parents seemed to enjoy decorating the most.

It is hard to recall which one of my memories is actually the first because there are so many. However, as I tried to decide between various different memories there was one that stuck out to me. The memory itself is a little bit foggy, but I can remember that I was extremely young. It must have been a weekend because both of my parents were home, and I can remember the sun shining through the windows in my house. I was in my room playing and dancing around, watching myself in the mirror. I heard my mom scream out for help and I dashed down the hallway, through the living room and kitchen where I found my mom on the stairs. She was about halfway down the stairs and had something resting on her lap. I remember being frightened as I rushed down the stairs to see what had happened. Her screams were loud and dramatic and I wondered why my sister and father were not there. I realized that the item on her lap was a laundry basket full of towels, she had fallen on her way to the laundry room. I tried to help my mom, but as little as I was there was not much to do. My mom explained for me to go get my dad or sister because she was hurting. I then also began yelling, looking for my family. I found my dad downstairs on the couch snoring, he had slept through the incident. When I woke him and explained that mom needed him, he was not as concerned as I expected. He got up slowly, saying “I’m coming, I’m coming” as I ran back to sit with my mom. I held her hand, worried, until both my

My first memory was of my cousin and I playing on the balcony of our two-bedroom apartment in Silver Spring, Maryland. We were throwing a tennis ball back and forth and when it was my turn to throw it to my cousin, I threw it a smidge too far. The tennis ball went behind a broken mirror table, and my cousin insisted that he should go and retrieve it. So he did, and we continue to play without a clue that my cousin had actually been deeply cut on his cheek by the broken glass. My aunt realized it as soon as we came indoors. It was a deep wound and the scar of it is still there today. This event may seem irrelevant, but that was how my life was structured-- going on with life without realizing the pain.

One of my fondest memories of my dad was when I was young perhaps 10. Dad had stopped drinking and still had the love of dogs and hunting. Each day he would work and come in looking like he had rebuilt the entire stadium of McCarther field. Big work boots, jeans that hung down to his tail, white working shirt, and a beginning bulging belly from too many steaks and too many half gallons of ice cream. It was not uncommon for we older girls to hear his beat up Chevy coming down the road from a block or two away and whoever was there, would have a large glass of tea with ice waiting by the time he drove into the drive way.

The oldest memory I have is of the blurry figure of my mother as she cradles me close to her chest and sings me a lullaby that is off key. This off-key lullaby is my oldest and most fond memory. A memory that fills me with warmth when I think of it. Those moments have since ceased as I have grown up. My mother no longer holds me to her chest and sings me to sleep. Most of the time she is not home, but far away and tapping at her keyboard as she works endlessly to provide for us. This has been a fact since I was three years old. When she first started traveling to different cities, states, and countries for work, I was wracked with intense feelings of loss for my mother who, even though I knew would be back within a week, was taken from me by an outside force. I would stand by a window in my silent house and watch as her car left our similarly quiet neighborhood. These feelings of loss have become dull with the years of exposure. My mother used to ask me every so often, “Grace, do you feel I’m leaving you too much?”

Vacations are a time where people tend to make memories. One vacation I have a lot of memories of is when I went to the lake with my friends family. Over the summer, my friends Matt and Zack asked me if I wanted to go to Clark Hill Lake near Augusta with them. They are twins. We have been friends for seven years, and every time we are together we always make memories. When they asked me, all I could think about was all the memories we could make, so I said, “yes I would love to go”. I had no idea of what memories were to come.

My childhood memories reflect both good and bad times, but every moment makes my life precious. However, a sad memory always resonates within my heart stronger. This is such because a good memory makes me feel positive, yet a bad one has the power to help me grow up and understand what is important in my life. It is about a difficult time with my dad, which helped me grow and mature. The moment was meaningful that I would never trade it for the world.

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.