My Speech On My Miracle

I grew up alongside the wild Rocky Mountain Columbines, where the air is crisp and the winters are long. I spent my time engaging in the arts such as acting, writing, and creating. From a young age I was drawn to the world of imagination and found happiness through producing art. We all face and over come challenges within our lives and whenever I am faced with hardship I find comfort in visually expressing myself.

Throughout my early teen years, I was exposed to different mediums of art and discovered that I could express myself through more channels than just paper. Although Barry found comfort in her 11 x 17 newsprint and some paint, I was able to focus my energy on making music and taking photographs. Without my art teachers, I wouldn’t have the expressive outlet I do today. My childhood was not filled with unhappiness as Lynda Barry’s was, but from both backgrounds, we found a warmth from the exposure of art that the educational system gave to us.

The psychological effects of one’s childhood experiences can have a huge toll on the person we blossom into in life and that was the divorce of my two parents at the age of six. Growing up with an alcoholic father has had an outstanding impact on my self-worth. I could never see myself opening up to others; I could never be my true self in front of anyone except for a few people that have supported me through it all. I’ve always wondered over the period of my life that there was a reason for my father’s actions and why my father wasn’t there through the most important events throughout my sister and I’s lives.

The more I observe, the more I understand who I am. I come from a small town in a very cold part of the world, where very few exciting events occur. This means, I have to work extra hard to become an artist. I remember having my neighbor say, “You aren’t an artist until I buy a painting from you,” and she did. I never wanted the money, but I did enjoy the satisfaction of knowing that what I create makes others happy. So many people in town encourage me and support me with my dreams, and all I do in return is help them back in return. When people need a little sunshine on gray, winter days, I am there to lend them my happiness. That is why I am able to succeed. When failure strikes his wrath upon me, I learn from the mistakes rather be held back –being optimistic allows me to grow much quicker than if I were to be

I walked away feeling like I was a complete failure and that I didn’t deserve to go on. On the way home my mother tried to talk to me, but, I put on my headphones and cried silently. Once we were home my father asked how it went. The tears that were in my eyes and they became more evident as my shoulders and chest were shaking and trembling. The only sound in the room was the sound of me crying and wailing. I started crumbling and falling to the ground and my mother and father rushed to my side. They held me until the tears came to a stop and a little bit afterwards

I came home one day to see both of my parents sad. As a third grader, I didn’t completely understand at the time, but my father had been laid off from the job he’d had since his teenage years. My father had started at the age of eighteen as a student worker at Southern Miss, and after years of hard work he had been promoted to the manager of shipping and receiving on campus. When the recession struck, the need to save money resulted in his position being terminated. My father was without a job. My father loved that job and when he lost it, he changed. He found a new love, alcohol. He let his love for alcohol become an addiction. He would do anything for alcohol; he even had secret stashes when my mom had removed all the prior alcohol from the house. Quickly my father became a violent drunk and began to routinely beat my mother and me. He became unstoppable; no person could get him back on track so my mother, in an attempt to keep me safe, removed him from the house. Even my mother’s best efforts weren’t always enough, as my father constantly broke into our house. One day my mother and I came home and my father was waiting in our den with a gun. We walked in, he pointed the gun at us, and then back at himself. He couldn’t decide to kill my mother, himself, or just all of us. He had more hatred in his eyes

I sat on the stairs with tears streaming down my face. I look up, sobbing as I wipe the snot from my nose. “This is goodbye for now, but I promise I will see you soon”, my dad had said as he held me. I grabbed onto my dad’s shirt as he tried to put me back down on the stairs and I felt as if my whole world came crashing down. Growing up with divorced parents was a challenge, but it has changed me drastically and for the better. I had to take care of my younger brother during the divorce, which made our relationship stronger and would mature me more than I would ever actually realize.

Especially because I don't want you to end up like me.” The conversation is still fresh in my memory and tears form in the corner of my eyes when I think about it. My mother was aware that her life was no walk in the park and I think that's what hurt me the most. I would never want my children to see me in such a state that I've seen my mother in. At the same time I would want her to see that hard work truly pays off. A miracle is just another word for the result of hard work. Some people are born with silver spoons in their mouth and I've seen how meaningless their lives turn out to be. My mother proved to me that your struggles make you stronger and define who you are. Struggling is almost impossible to avoid and rather than sulking about it, I'd rather use it to make me a stronger person, like my mom

The first class I took part in was weaving and fibers, and similar to that of playing an instrument, art influenced my life. Weaving and fibers opened up a whole new world I had never experienced; my grandfather built me my own loom, and my whole family became interested in my art projects. After taking my first art class I chose to participate in many more: arts & crafts (twice), ceramics, and stained glass. Art opened up many opportunities for me both socially and intellectually. I participated in art competitions including the contest for the Erie Times News 100th year anniversary (my school placed second) and the Vans Custom Culture contest. I collaborated and built friendships with diverse groups of individuals, worked on group projects (such as stained glass windows), and a plethora of independent study projects (macrame hangings, dream catcher’s, gnome houses…). Through the arts both musical and visual I experienced unimaginable opportunities and experiences that allowed both self-expression and

It all started on a warm sunny day, my dad had just arrived from Michigan. He came into the house gave my siblings, my mother and me a hug and told us the big news. “We are moving to Michigan” he said. He said it so calmly as if expecting my siblings, my mother and myself to react in a good way. Immediately I started to panic, I didn’t want to leave the place I grew up in. I was only eleven years old, I didn’t know how the people in Michigan would be. Finally I spoke “ I don’t want to move dad, I love it here!” which he responded with “I’m sorry but we are going to move because we can’t afford to live here anymore” He said this so emotionless as if not knowing how this could affect me. I hardly got any sleep that night for the fact that my parents were arguing for what felt like all night, but in reality was just an hour.

Creativity and art have been a significant parts of my life for as long as I can remember. When I was little and we visited my Grandma Carol in the summers, my favorite thing to do with her was make art. She taught me about so many different media, such as: acrylics, oil pastels, and the ink press. Sometimes, I would bring my sketchbook from home and she would help me set up art shows around her house. I would sell my art for a few dollars each, and then use the little bit of money I earned to buy more art supplies. As she introduced me to more artistic styles and mediums in the

It was my freshman year of high school when I took Drawing A; I quickly learned that I had a skill that I had previously ignored and began embracing it. Sophomore year, though, was when I truly started using my art. It was during this year that I received a 4 on my AP-Studio Art portfolio, and won four awards at Scholastic Art and Writing in photography. Art gave me a feeling of accomplishment that I didn’t usually get in the rest of my academics, so I always tried my

My parents would always force me to study, so therefore, I would always study hard and try to finish my daily chores as soon as possible so I can find time to squeeze in art. My parents always expected me to receive high grades, so as they wished, I gradually stopped doing art and focused more on studying throughout my school years. However, my passion for art never decreased, but had to be hidden deep inside my heart. I always had to convince myself that art was something I could do as a hobby and there was something more important that I needed to focus on for a brighter future, however, I was

Art school showed me several things I did not know about myself. Like how visual arts is ingrained in every bone in my body, and that I yearn for a concoction of academics with visual arts. Here, academics were enjoyable, while on the contrary, what felt extremely demanding was the art aspect. Art school reminded me about minor failures that would transform into drastic dramatic catastrophes. As a result, it also reminded me about my friends, all of which thought I was too meticulous. They were right, often I would make an immense deal about a minor failure then completely attempt to make it flawless the second time. Thus, high school made me realize how detail-oriented I was and how my perfectionism often required the best of me. Even in the most

Devastated, I ran to my room gushing my eyes out. All these emotions going through my head of how my life would be without my parents in the same room or even house. From what I remember it all started about mid-June, the weeks before that were crucial. My parents would always argue over how to deal with a situation between me and my brother, Skyler. They hardly spoke to one another, but when they did they would just start bickering. I remember, one night after dinner they both went into ''their'' room with the door locked yelling at one another. Skyler and I didn’t know what to do, so we went downstairs and tried to figure out what was going to happen. With a scared tone I asked if mom and dad were going to get a divorce?" He answered back '' No, they love each other, they wouldn’t do that to us." That following night, was a school night everything was quiet except for my crying. I couldn’t sleep; all I was thinking about how it's going to affect my family.