My Personal Narrative

It's a Friday afternoon, I plan to go to Great Wolf Lodge in an hour with my church. I see one of my friends so he says to his mom “ Hey, that's my friend” I said “Crap” So I go inside to sign in to go and see my friends just sitting in a corner on a big sofa. We are listening to music and just talking then a green bus comes.

I love living in a small town, it gives me a sense of guaranteed safety and simplicity.

"Stop asking questions!" my mom had told my brothers for about the one hundredth time. We were in our family minivan on our way to Florida. My mom and step dad would not tell my younger brothers where they had planned for us to go. I could see Bailey and Lucas Jr.'s ( We call him LJ) frustration and boredom as we passed the "Leaving Louisiana" sign. Though I knew we were going to Florida, I didn't know exactly where or why. My mom, Tonia, sat in the passenger seat; the entire ride all I saw was the back of her reddish-brown hair. I could see Lucas', my step dad, light hazel eyes in the rearview mirror hanging in the middle of the roof. The two youngest, Bailey and LJ, sat in the middle seats, and Timothy, my other brother, and I sat in the

I like to beat the rush for lines and do not prefer being late, but

For the first ten years of my life, I had a very normal childhood. I went to a private catholic school in a small town called Westwego. We were about twenty five minutes south of New Orleans. During the summers, friends and family would come over to our house and we would all swim and boil seafood. The summer of 2005 was no different; I was looking forward to entering 5th grade. Fast forward to one week before school is about to start when Hurricane Katrina formed in the Atlantic Ocean. Hurricanes were no strangers to us as we have been through several throughout the years. However, a few days later the storm is upgraded to a Category 3 and is predicted to hit New Orleans dead on. My parents felt it was time for us to leave and we traveled

My personal narrative was not very detailed because I could not remember most of the race and the reason I black out at the finish line. I gave everything had in the race and I barely remember any part of race. Till my family told I the whole race and I guess it finally came back to me but very few moments. But I remember everything before the first mile of the race and looking back that I’m a very spiritually person. Plus, I keep my traditions alive and still believe my way in my Native world. Instead of falling into the white way but I have to act white so I can make in this world and make a living for myself. I had to write about my last race because it was the best day of my life and I remember eating after the race at Texas roadhouse.

Hello, Dr. Taft, I look forward to another exciting semester with you, and my cohorts exploring my inner and outer world. Let’s start with my family constellations it begins with my stepmother, and my father, my older brother Steven along with myself. At the time, I did not know that Ann was my stepmother, and I did not find out until I was older, and she had two sons who lived in Arizona. A few years later her eldest son Tommy would come to live with us, and the life that we were accustomed to would change the outcome of all our lives.

For my personal narrative, I have to write about a hero of mine, my hero is my best friend, Kat. Kat is my hero for multiple reasons, such as making me a better person, and a happier one. She also helps me edit and draw a lot of the time, which helps because she is super good at both those things.

Her fingers traced the binders that line the wall, skimming the countless hours they had taken to compile; they stopped promptly upon one labeled, “reminders.” She drew it from the wall and took it to her desk. The wood was heavily worn, its user having spent obsessive nights and days perfecting each piece of work that met its face. Her eyes stared at the page, three boys pictures were smiling back at her with contempt. The smell of cigarettes came from these photos and the details listed below them, vivid descriptions of their lives and personalities. The tallest of the three was sandy haired and grinned, showing off yellow-stained teeth that should have belonged to a middle-aged drunk. His arms hung low to his waist and his legs added to

Opening the link, I was hit with instant nostalgia, memories of my grandfather calling me to the living room, rambling about a man with no limbs. I remember sitting there with him, smiling as a result of my grandfather being passionate about Nick and his seminars, tuning in time to time, listening to the voice over translation in spanish. At the time, I didn't fully understand what my grandfather meant when he said he was an inspiration and how he gives hope to others, as I was a relatively cheerful (snobby for the lack of a better word) pre-teen. I went along with it, hoping to somehow get out of watching this man as it was translated in Spanish and it took quite the effort for me to piece the words and sentences together.

A rainy Saturday filled with a bit of cleaning, a lot of work and a constant rain, the hubs and I found ourselves with a hankering for burgers. Of course downtown has options, but we also wanted to get home just in case the downpour decided to continue. One never knows in Michigan after all.

I've never had to write a personal narrative before. Nor do I like to. Personally, I've always just tried to forget a lot that goes on around me. I hate diary entries and journaling. The closest I've come to any of it is writing poems. They were never any good though. Mostly talking about teenage angst or what I think the color green would taste like. But some of them were like stories. Stories about my friends, and about dreams.

There’s nothing like summer to make you realize the tediousness of life. You go every day of school waiting for it to be over, just for summer to start up and start the whole cycle all over again. By the time May came around, I wanted to get away from everything. I only hung out with my friends two times the whole summer. Hell, even that surprised me.

I awoke with my head clouded with images of failure. My dad, beating me with a stick for not going out to get milk. My mother, hitting me across the head with her hand yelling at me for not making friends. My parents were very strict when it came to my studies, social life, and chores. They made sure I was taught right and how to impress girls for my 16th birthday, when I would choose a wife, but I had no business in doing so. I was 11 and my parents were already getting ready for my wedding.

This will be a long personal narrative about my current stressful life. Before, I came down to the University of Georgia to work with the football team my life back in East Lansing, Michigan was quite peaceful. However, I will admit I was still overly stressed with the endless amount of coursework I had, but I still had time to relax or had time to be bored and question what I should do with my time. Now taking all of my credits online and working 12-15 hour days, then traveling to the games on Saturday has me begging for more time. Furthermore, the current stressor affecting my life is time management. After learning about epigenetics and how lifestyle choices and stress can alter your gene expression, this paper came at a perfect time to