Personal Narrative: A Parent's Home

Since I was a kid, I had a ton of responsibilities, cleaning up after myself, doing chores, managing to not fight with my brother, although we fought all day everyday, but you know, it happens. One thing that I didn't know wasn't normal was parenting your parent. I go to school do all my class work and during recess and lunch I listened to all the other kids talk about going to the park after school and eating dinner together with their parents. When I got home from school, I had to do my homework and then take care of my mother. Bring her things she needed such as food, water, help her with many other simple everyday activities. Of course I wasn't the only one who was her “little helper” as she put it, my dad helped her and my older brother by two years,

A brief background of my family will provide some meaning to our family structure. My parents were both born and raised in Muncie, Indiana at a time when the economy was not strong. My father was the fourth of five siblings in a household dominated by a physically abusive and alcoholic father. My mother lost both of her parents at a young age. I would learn later in life that my father

Someone broke into my car and about $400 worth of cash and items were stolen.

My interviewee is a second generation immigrant with one parent who was born in El Salvador and the other who has Mexican roots but was born in the United States. For the purposes of confidentiality my interviewee will be addressed as Ana from here on out. In this interview paper I will discuss the experiences that Ana faced growing up in a tri-racial household. I will also evaluate her experiences regarding assimilation to the lectures and reading assigned through out this course.

I woke up on a warm sunny Saturday morning and went down stairs and called my friend Joey Gliech and said “Today is the day!”

I left my radio in the back room in was most likely with the volunteer who was covering for me. He yelled at me to "get up" and told me lets talk in Joshs' office (which was a few steps away). Daniel storms in Joshs' office, turns on the light and sits down in the office chair in front of the desk with his arms crossed and a sticky note in his hand. I follow him and prop the door open with the door stop is I say "lets keep the door open it's hot in here." The real reason I did this was because I was extremely uncomfortable. He then yells, "Do you want to tell me where you have been?". I was standing in the door way, not completely in the room when I told him that I met with HR. He asked very angrily who I got permission to leave from and then stated that I left my post without permission.

I HAD BEEN ASLEEP QUITE SOUNDLY FOR A COUPLE HOURS, WHEN I WAS AWOKEN BY AN ALL TOO FAMILIAR SOUND. IT SEEMED LIKE EVERY TIME MY BRAIN REGISTERED CERTAIN NOISES - EVEN WHEN I WAS DEEP IN SLEEP, IT SENT OFF A PANIC TRIGGER THAT FLOODED THROUGH MY MIND. THIS WAS ANOTHER ONE OF THOSE TIMES.

The agency I chose to interview was MyHouse at 300 North Willow in Wasilla, Alaska. Their mission is to provide safe shelter for homeless youth with a goal of connecting kids to a network of caring individuals and agencies able to assist them in becoming self-sufficient. They have a board of directors that meet regularly to discuss issues and where to go next with the agency.

“Dad!” Was the only word that had rushed out of Russell’s mouth the instant he saw his father enter the room. And, once he finished hugging Cary he then added, “Have you found him? What did those people you arrested say?”

You never actually said your name out loud to anyone, and I'm not entirely sure how I managed to find it out in the first place. I'm sure it was through the whisper chains you hear every so often in this cafe. You have a soft voice you know, it's barely audible when you say things, it's not quite what I'd call gruff or gritty, it just has this sort of toughness. It's as though you've steadily built up a defence mechanism in your voice so people don't ask you things you'd rather not answer.

When I was thirteen years old, I gave myself a shot. I was never good with medical things as a child, like never wanting to take medicine and absolutely hating needles. Many children, and even adults, hate needles but they just have to suck it up and deal with it. That was what I did for most of my life, until I had a very bad ingrown toenail. My mother made an appointment with a podiatrist and off we went. I had no idea what to expect, and figured they could just remove it with not too much difficulty. However, the doctor informed me that removing it would be extremely painful and that my foot had to be numbed before he could do the procedure. Naturally, I freaked out, especially when he pulled out the needle. In my mind, the needle was a

All I had ever wanted to be when I grew up was a mom. My husband and I tried for years to have children but alas it wasn't in God's plan for us. So we needed a new plan. We looked into foster care.

Xavier was beginning to have a light problem with involuntarily being knocked out or foreced to sleep. Again. He was honestly surprised no one in the house coined him Sleeping Brutee. Okay, maybe it was lame but his head really fucking hurt. His slowly dragged his hand and placed it on his forehead, dragging his arm indeed was a challenge. It was like he was carrying his own dead weight around...in his dense state.

In my seventh-period P.E. class Mrs. Greene announced to us, “That it is cold outside so you can either stay in the gym or go outside.” Faith, Jessica, and I stood up from the hard black unappealing plastic bleachers to go outside. As I opened the door, the wind whipped around my bare skin and leaves whirled along the ground. “It is freezing; I'm going back inside.” I retorted. We were walking along the narrow hallway going back to the gym when we met Carlie. She gave us no room to walk by her so I retreated to the wall that way we wouldn’t collide with each other. I turned around and saw Carlie bump into Faith. “Move outta my way.” Faith screeched ferociously. Carlie looked at Faith with her eyes glaring, but preceded to walk onward down

The person I am interviewing for this project is my friend Richard’s mom, Mrs. Triplett. He and I have been friend since middle school, and we have an interracial friendship. He is culturally Black, and I am Vietnamese. I decide to interview his mom because I consider us to be different from each other in some key dimension. Unlike me, who am an immigrant to the United States of America, Richard’s family is native to New Orleans. His parents were born in New Orleans and they stayed in New Orleans their whole life. They been through many struggles and have seen many hurricanes. The recipe his mom decided to share with me is red beans and rice.