My papaw, Fred, has always played a role of being easy going and simple. He’s about six foot, has wire glasses, wears khaki Carhart overalls everyday and when you stand close enough, his afternoon smoke will put your senses on overdrive. He drives a small, bright red pickup truck, along with every other man in Kingsport, that you can almost taste the gasoline when it passed. He moved to Kingsport, Tennessee when he left the air force, and was only twenty-one at the time. He had very little to his name, but had hopes higher than all the stars on a clear, country night. There was one thing that my papaw was sure to have with him at all times, and that was a cigarette. If he has his cigarettes then he knows that someone will have a lighter. His addiction isn’t healthy, but it relieves his stress. With his cigarette, he carries PTSD and shaky hands. My family used to give him a hard time until we saw him go without one. He dreams of jets taking off over his head and the roaring engines leaving him deaf in one ear. His slightly discolored fingertips shake with anxiety at the thought of ever being on another plane. He can name every part, what it does, and exactly how the engine works. He recites it as if he is staring straight at one, the memories absorbed into his mind like a paper towel soaking up spilled water. When he sees a plane fly over, I see his yellow stained fingers reach for another. My papaw says he is a simple man, but he is far from it. His billfold hangs out
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I watch, I listen, I learn. I have lived for hundreds of years and will continue to do so for many more to come. I have watched lovers marry, beloved children die, and even watched the making of new life in all of its wonderful ways. The people that surround me know nothing of me or my history. They do not know that in my life time I have had over three hundred robins make their homes on me. That I have been struck by lightning once and have survived the ordeal. They do not even know that I watched them as they tore down my brothers and sisters to make room for their roads and houses, which have become abandoned and long forgotten by the people that live here.
“I don’t feel good,” exclaimed the auburned haired girl with the tomboy look and ragged denim jacket. “I don't feel good at all. Where is my dog anyways? He should have been home half an hour ago” She looked around to hopefully find a trace of where her speckled, droopy eared beagle went and then she saw it, a huge contraption about a foot and half taller than ten feet. She ran to PawPaw and said in excitement “what is that huge thing in the barn?”
October 31st, 2006, almost 11 years ago my life took a dramatic turn. At only 9 years old I stepped on a roller coaster-like life event that is going to change my life forever. A 9 foot fall from a house would threaten my father’s life in an instant.
John has not had any major illness until later in life when being diagnosed with Type 2 diabetes at the age of 62, and suffering skin cancer on the face and ear. Neuropathy also has plagued John he is not able to walk his usual two miles daily. John started smoking at a young age and continued for years, smoking three packs a day in his prime. He quit smoking off and on for several years, he is happy to say the last cigarette to touch his lips has been 16 years. When asking him what made him quit for the final time oddly enough it was not for health reasons. When businesses would not let patrons smoke in their establishments he said, “To hell with you, I will show you whose boss!” therefore, he quit. John’s father died when he was nine months old from a brain tumor, his mother at the ripe old age of 87, from complications due to diabetes and Alzheimer’s.
Grandpa Casper (“Cap”), my mother’s father, had a difficult life. His mother died shortly after he was born and he grew up in the tiny town of Judge, Missouri. His family did not have much money; it was sometimes necessary to get up early to shoot a squirrel so that he would have food for breakfast. Grandpa Cap completed a sixth-grade education at age sixteen because Pointer’s Creek, the public one-room schoolhouse, was far from home and he had to walk the distance; however, he strove to attend. It was important to both him and his family that he receive his first
My Papaw, Ronald Christie Smith has inspired strength and in almost everyone he meets. Whether it be helping around in a lower class house as a kid, working for his family after his father's death, or even raising a family of six at such a young age, Ron has always been a major stronghold for his family.
Even after being begged not to move from the tiny apartment to Clybourne Park, an all white part of Chicago, the Youngers decided to move anyway. They decided to take the leap of faith and start a new life in a part of town where they knew they wouldn’t be welcomed with open arms. They knew that they weren’t going to get to their new house and see a gift basket on the front porch. The Youngers had courage though, and they took the chance.
It was a chilly, yet warm, summer night. My grandparents were babysitting my siblings and me for what seemed like eternity. My parents were at a business meeting out of the municipality of Wabash. For some odd, strange reason I was chattering to my pappaw on my miniscule front porch. For a different reason I was in a colossal, camouflaged sleeping bag. I was covered completely from my shoulders to my dactyls discussing to my pappaw about random subjects. Then, all of a sudden, we were onto the subject of the gruesome Vietnam War. He lasted for almost a year.“Boom! I flew into the air. I can’t remember what happened after I stepped on the land mine. The next thing I knew my leg had been amputated .”
In the small town of Paulsville, Pennsylvania, a middle class family was beginning their morning. They were most certainly accustomed to the monotonous hum of daily life, and on that one day, nine-year old Joseph Myers merrily went through his regular routine. First he brushed his teeth, then he showered, and eventually lumbered downstairs to enjoy a plentiful breakfast that included two whole eggs, toast, a banana, an orange, and a tall glass of milk. His father, Daniel, was still asleep from a hard night of work, and his mother, Jessica, was getting ready to leave to her law firm. Finally, Joseph was ready to begin his two mile tricycle ride to Dabson Elementary School. Just before he ventured outside, he caught a glimpse of his father’s
Xion emerged from the dark portal into an alley. 'It's super quiet...' Wasking out of the alley, she found day that the main square outside of the Collisuem was empty. 'Where is everyone?' She wondered.
Xion created a dark portal, today would be her first solo mission, partly because she wanted to prove her own worth, but mostly because was too distraught to think about getting a partner.
A young man with slick brown hair and an annoyed expression stood in the natural lighted kitchen. The walls were painted with a calm beige, and a steel black oven sat in front of him. He spoke in an annoyed tone. “Hey Jake do you mind telling me why you got this oven from Portugal?! I can’t read the instructions you dimwit!”
A young adult man met his primary care physician for the first time, during which his prior military history came to light. The young man recalled the anxiety he experienced when he received his military orders for deployment to Iraq. Prior to the notice of deployment, he smoked cigarettes only occasionally, maybe 1 or 2 cigarettes a day. As the time for deployment approached, he started smoking more cigarettes and by the time he arrived in Iraq was up to a full pack a day. Throughout the 12-month deployment, he steadily increased his smoking with peak consumption of nearly 40 cigarettes a day. The soldier suffered several significant combat-related traumas resulting in mild physical injuries.
Hello Mom, This was probably handed to you as an excuse for getting up so late, I think it would work marvelously as such, but thats a moot point under the circumstances. This was written between 4:30-6 in the morning, and is a completely unexaggerated account of my dream, I usually have two step removed from having the dream and reciting it, this is what only one step looks like, so hopefully it paints a better picture of what the inside of my head looks like than my garbled groggy morning talk ever could. It’s fading away quickly, but for now I have a photographic like memory of it. I will write it like a short story.