Personal Narrative: A Sight Word

As we close out the 43rd game of the season, the Phillies drop to 15-28. As the pitching woes continue, it's tough to look on the bright side. It's understandable for the fans to be anxious, but it's all apart of the rebuild. I'm here to tell you to R-E-L-A-X. The team is still incredibly young and in the process of getting back to October. Maikel Franco is struggling a bit at the plate. Picking up the slack in the lineup is Tommy Joseph, who has been on absolute tear through the month of May. Cesar Hernandez has cooled off a bit but still playing some good ball. What can't I say about Aaron Altherr? He's everything you can ask for right now and then some. One thing you can look forward to is one of the most exciting

In 2025, I will be twenty-nine years old and hopefully married. I will be married to my significant other of ten years Earnest Palmer III, who is a dentist. I would have been recently graduating with a bachelor’s in Culinary Arts and trying to plan to open my own restaurant, BubbaD’s Eateries. Knowing my big headed husband of mine, I probably had a baby then and trying to have another baby. Hopefully, by then Earnest will get rid of the idea naming our son, King. We will be living in the suburbs near New York City but working in the city. Being a woman with great memory, I probably wrote a memoir about my crazy life and trying to sell it to a publisher. If none of the publishers wants to publish my memoir, I will probably sell it the Lifetime

“Casey, your group needs to do the stunt one more time!” coach said imprudently. It happened March 26, 2015; it was at the end of a two hour practice. During the summer months in South Georgia, it is utterly hot and humid, especially in our cheer gym (a warehouse with no air conditioner); it only has two heavy-duty fans and a roll-up door. With this in mind, my group became slightly irritated. Everyone was exhausted; nevertheless we still had to do the stunt anyway.

I quickly swallowed my homemade authentic Indian food leftovers and gulped down my chocolate milk. Looking down at my watch that read 11:28am, I knew that I only had two minutes until my most favorite part of the day: recess. This particular day in 5th grade, I had run a lap around the playground before getting the rest of recess to myself. As I started walking for my warmup, another student ran up and said, “My parents said that your people caused 9/11.” Completely caught off guard, I held back the tears in my eyes and tried to shake off his comment. I had never encountered something like this.

Walking away from everything you once knew and starting over is never a picnic. Leaving Iraq, and moving to America has impacted my life more than anything. I was only 4 years old at that time, and the only English I spoke was “excuse me, water please.” My family and I did not know it then, but our lives were going to change; we would become “Americanized”. Learning English was one of the massive changes that occurred, the way I dressed (culture), and even the way I had power to go to school and educate myself.

Throughout the conversation, Susan did not inform me that the home was still in First Look and not open to investors at this time. Susan did not highlight any features of the home, nor did she talk about the neighborhood or the surrounding area. When asked, Susan paused to reference the property file and stated, "In looking at the pictures it appears that it needs interior paint, carpet, appliances, and a few windows, which the previous seller must have taken." She stated, "I don't know why they have to remove things from the homes." I asked, "Do you have offers?" She paused to check the property file and answered, "No offers." I asked, "Is the property behind the home farmland?" She paused to reference the property file and replied, "It appears

I’m fairly new to the adult romance genre, and after reading a few that I adored I got a blogger friend of mine to give me some recommendations. On her list of recommendations for romances that are more rom-com was Melissa Foster’s The Real Thing. This was my first Melissa Foster book and I absolutely loved it! I’m so glad I decided to pick up this one as one of my first picks. he Real Thing takes place in a small town called Sugar Lake and features Zane and Willow who have a somewhat complicated history. I loved that they technically started out as friends and kept in touch all those years before getting together as it just made their chemistry and relationship all the more steamier and swoonier. And while the fake relationship trope was used

When I walked into the store, I was greeted by the sales associate, Cathy. She came over and asked me how she can help me today. I replied that I was looking for a new mattress and was told by a co-worker that they had a new Sleep Number bed and I was interested in finding out about them. The associate asked me about my current mattress and what I was looking for in a new mattress. After I answered her questions, she led me over to the demonstration mattress and asked me to lie down. She gave me the demonstration and then asked me to come over to the m7 mattress and lie down on that mattress. The associate then demonstrated the adjustable frame of the m7. She then gave me the laminated pricing sheet and explained that there was a current

“Hey you want to drive”, my step-dad yelled over the loud engine of blue grizzly 4x4 quad I yelled “yes!!”, so as I got one the quad I put on my helmet and fased the strap on the same color helmet.

My initial perceptions about the students of St. Angela were very stereotypical. Honestly, I expected those students to come from single parent backgrounds and come from a low income household. I expected to deal with students who live life in a survival type of manner. What I mean by survival type of manner is for one to be on defense seeing the type of the children are from the Austin area. Walking in to St. Angela I expected to deal with kids that didn’t listen and know respect for authority. I expected this due to my upbringing in the same neighborhood.

Home is the beginning of one’s book. It is where your story begins, forms its characters, shows its purpose, and reveals its ora. This is how mine is written. Home is on the buzzing highway down a bumpy gravel road. It’s Brandon, Mississippi. It is the only home I’ve ever known. Home is the smell of homemade biscuits and tomato gravy on Saturday mornings. It is “Bless Your Heart” and “Yes Mam” and “No Sir”. The little bedroom in the back of a grey double-wide where Carrie Underwood songs played and where I learned to curl my hair and put on mascara. My cousins and I running around with mason jars, chasing the lightning bugs. Bar-B-q on the back porch and never meeting a stranger. It is the morals learned and the identity

Growing up in a family of six, there was never a shortage of people to read to me, the only shortage that existed was my ability to understand and appreciate the story in front of me. I was always on the move and the sedentary act of reading a book never appealed to my childish motives. Coupling my inability to hear well and my stagnant progress in school, I was quickly falling behind. With most of my childhood dedicated to the fantastical world I had created, I had no time to listen to someone else’s story. I would not continue on this way though, for my mom, noticing my lack of literacy skills, made it her effort to divulge in me the wonders of someone else’s world, each world becoming a part of my own.

A speak is moving on the paper. Tracing every letter with a little spark that flickers. I stick my fingers out to touch it and the instant contact burns me and I drop the paper with a gasp. Light comes up from the ground the second the paper hits the floor, shining so bright it could very possibly light a whole city. I cover my eyes at the brightness of it. The light gets bigger and closer and within less than three seconds, the light surrounds us. I want to scream bloody murder out of pure confusion and fear. Then, I feel as if I'm being sucked forward until my whole body, without my permission, is slowly being lifted off my window seat. I try to grab for Amanda, but everything is gone the second I blink.

everybody, so it must be our eyes." She looked at me and told me, "You

Reading over your discussion post I have to say I agree with you 100%. Especially when you stated “just because they saw “black” people does not necessarily mean they were from Africa”. My reasoning for agreeing with this statement is because people come in many different shades of colors what made him so sure that they were African? Like I mention in my initial post I believe that his whole theory was based off of assumption. I think if he would’ve had more concrete information it would be more than just a theory.