Personal Narrative: A Place In A Car With Two Children

"Are you sure you don't want to come babe? There are going to be games and food and everyone's going to be there. It will be fun." "Mom, I'm fine. I'll stay and finish cleaning. Go. Go have fun with your friends." I say pushing her out the front door.

My son, John, embattled in virtual warfare, finds his spaceship commandeered by a rival. Such a manoeuvre strikes him as odd given the framework of a game geared to skill and ability rather than attack, aggression.

I was 15 and had just bought my car in July with my own money. A 1993 Mustang. I had been saving up since I was 8. I didn’t have a lot of money so the car wasn’t exactly street legal. Don’t worry it wasn’t stolen. It was only missing the entire front half of it. It was December now and I still hadn’t driven it. Nothing had changed. It was still the same glossy black car with the missing front pieces exposing its rustic and bare metal frame. I wanted to drive it, I did, but deep down a part of me kept telling myself that I would never be able to drive the manual gearbox. Sure, I had watched videos of how to do it, but whenever I would take the cover off the car and sit down in it my mind would be overrun with other thoughts of anxiety. So instead

In a world of noise, there are yet many who have no voice, whose cries go unheard. The world looks at them from afar, rarely embracing them. As for me, actually seeing, touching, and living among those with no voice, so near my childhood home, marked an awakening in me

A Place Disputes and debates, current conflicts and hypothetical resolutions: it seems this is all we hear. When we turn on the TV, we hear it. At work, we hear it. Occasionally with family, we hear it. These issues may be important, and perhaps timely, but while I have your attention, not one word will be said about the ongoing controversy. Instead, I’m recounting my own epiphany in hopes that it inspires you to find happiness amid the turmoil that is our country’s atmosphere today. Being but seventeen, with nothing other than a high school transcript as credibility to my name, I’m engaging you, America, in the only way I know how: to tell my story.

I turned up the volume in my headphones as my sister, Amelia’s annoying voice sang louder as one of her favorites, but otherwise a terrible song began to play on the car radio. All I could think was just how much longer I would have to be in the car with her, I was ready to get out and stretch anyway, we’ve been in the car for nearly 3 hours. I knew that I would have to suck it up and deal with it until we got there, until then I would just have to keep quiet, saying something would only encourage her to sing louder. I started dazing out of the window thinking about our destination, we were headed to my great grandfather's house to try and clear out all of his belongings in order to sell the house after his recent death. His death didn’t affect

For me, growing up has been nothing but an exhilarating ride called the “You don’t get everything you want” train. By no means has my family struggled, it just would have been much different for us if we had been brought up by money. It took time to understand that I could not buy every toy in the store that I wanted, or go to the mall every weekend with my friends. Being raised in the middle class made me a stronger and smarter person in my opinion, but growing up in the upper class would have allowed us to spend more money on ourselves and not think about the consequences.

On the fifteenth of January 2009, I sat with my nine-month pregnant mother, in our miniature one bedroom apartment, discussing the gender of her baby. I continually expressed my desire for a brother, who would share my interests of destroying toys; however, my mother insisted on a sister, believing she would counteract my vicious attitude. Debating for hours on end about every aspect the child exhausted me to the point of passing out. Soon, it approached my bedtime, 9 p.m., I quickly tucked in next my mother beginning to dream about the adventures I would encounter with my new sibling.

The car drove up into the driveway where the contents of the house had been ransacked, abandoned in the yard, and tossed aside like the four children. Memories flicker as the furnishings are reviewed. Empty beer bottles, a young girl being dragged into her bedroom brusquely by her hair.

During my initial meet with the 3-year-olds, I felt like a celebrity as the children swarmed in to catch ahold of my attention. I was bombarded with many hugs of sorts and lingering eyes filled with a sense of curiosity. There was one child, in particular, that caught my immediate attention. Her name is J, a 3-year-old child that was filled with energy and radiance. Though, many of her peers exhibited those traits as well. However, J was seemingly more complex to analyze in accordance to the developmental standards of her age group, in which triggered my peculiar interest. J was often quick, persistent, and took initiative when answering questions that I presented to the crowd to resolve. These questions pertained to Disney characters that

There comes a time in most of our lives where we have to find out things the hard way. Growing up as a child, I have always tried things. My mom would tell me several times not to do something, but I have always done the opposite and did things

I had only been six years old during the time of the move. Yet, nothing had processed to me that we were moving in no less than a month. Not the endless piles of boxes filled with all our belongings or the large trucks that had come and gone while taking the boxes with them. None of these reasons had processed in my head.

FC met with family. Gabriella was in the home chasing the family's cats. Gabriella said "cat," "couch," and cat running." Gabriella ran and offered the two cats different toys. Gabriella noticed the FC's bag and questioned the contents, such as "what's that." Gabriella began to play with the family's ball and brought her own toys in the living room. Once the FC began the ELAP with Gabby's brother, Gabriella often yelled and attempted to take the toys from Mason. Christina often redirected Gabriella's behavior, but Gabriella was consistently became upset. FC offered Gabriella a puzzle, in which she needed assistance in completing. Gabriella's had often gotten frustrated in the process and returned to wanting toys Mason played with. Christina

I've never been able to tell a story if i haven't experienced it! I had a baby.

Nineteen years ago, my family experienced the most earth-shattering moment anyone could imagine, the death of a child. Growing up, I have always seen boy’s picture that hangs above our mantle. Every January, we have family and friends bombard us with phone calls, trying to take my family’s minds off of the tragedy, but until recently, I never understood exactly why. At fourteen, I finally gained the nerve to ask about the boy whose picture hung above the mantle, so my teary-eyed mother sat me down and told me about the death of my big brother.