Personal Narrative: Dottie Franklin Home

On 05/07/2018 at about 2255 hours, I was dispatched to 113 Frad Ave in reference to a battery that had occurred.

On Monday 6/29/2015 Sgt. Alexander and I was dispatched to the Hostess House located at 6741 Highway 70 in reference to 2 subject, Mr. Burnette and Mr. Jacobs that were renting room 251 and had outstanding warrants.

The sun rising and birds chirping, a fresh a breath air consumed my lungs. It was the start of my junior year at Coral Park Sr. High, and I was ready to enjoy my year with old friends and maybe have a girlfriend. As I pass through classmate and teachers outside the classroom; going up the main stairs in the back of the school entrance, I was interrupted by a wonderful fruity smell. As I turned to see what aroma lured me, suddenly I bumped my head and fell off the stairs. Once I realize what happen, I quickly ran up to the girl and held her hand; her hair was covering her face at that time so I didn’t pay so much attention. Ring! Ring! Ring! The bell rung and I was late. I apologize to her and told her that I would invite

I saw several examples of nonverbal behavior; pulling out your Bible, and sitting and listening to the preacher. Having your Bible represents shows that you are their to learn. Listening to the preacher while sitting down shows respect and that you want to be learning about God.

As high school freshmen, most kids do not get very excited about walking into their College Preparatory Biology class, but I sure did! Everyday I looked forward to Mrs. Wilson's 3rd period biology lesson because she never disappointed. Mrs. Wilson was a special kind of teacher, she was the type to turn boring lectures into a captivating learning tale and had the gift of making tests enjoyable with her creative illustrations. Yes, you read that right, I enjoyed her tests. One day, Mrs. Wilson presented us with a demanding project; “Okay class, I am challenging you to create the BEST “Bunnimoose.” she announced. As we sat there with puzzled faces, she went further into explanation.

I didn't always live in California. Before California I lived in Denver, Colorado. Before Denver I lived in Aurora, Colorado. When we moved to california we had a family of five. We moved to California, when I was six, Then we lived at my grandma’s house in Riverside for a year. We found a place on Ferree Street and that became our home.

The person I have chosen to do my essay on is Mrs. Gardner. Mrs. Gardner is my advisory teacher. When I first started school here at Potosi High School, I had a very difficult time adjusting to this new place. I had come fresh out of a homeschooling program and before that, I attended a small private school. I was scared that I wouldn't do well in this school. I was especially nervous about grade checks. I've always been a good student and made good grades, but I was worried that the stress of switching schools would get to me and I'd struggle. Mrs. Gardner has been encouraging and empathetic to me since day one. She has reminded me not to worry so much and that as long as I'm doing my best, that's all that matters. She has taught me

1.There’s no way for her to escape 2.Her hands and feet are tied behind a chair. 3.Shes in the woods, in a cabin. 4.There is a light bulb hanging on the ceiling 5.With a string that can turn it on and off. 6.Her eyes are covered with a red bandana. 7.She can feel him walking toward her.

Finally it's friday. Everyone going to prom skips today just so they can get ready. First, I went out and get my hair done. They braided it in a side pony tail. It looked so pretty. Hopefully better than Sally’s hair. I kept checking my phone incase Sally posted anything. After I got my hair done I carefully drive back to my friend Alexsia’s house. When i walked in a wave of hair spray slapped me in the face. They were all talking about how Sally is trying way to hard to win.

“Hey, terrorist,” a boy called out to me from across the classroom, drawing laughter from his friends. I pretended not to hear and stared into my book. It was a typical day in my life growing up as a first-generation American attending public school in a poor Bronx neighborhood. Being one of the few Indian kids there, I was relentlessly picked on. My school was desperately underfunded where teachers often spent their own money on supplies.

I was especially bored. I knew it would happen again. Addison was competing in a Glamour Girl pageant, but I had to go. I knew she would win and I was proud of her, but I had to practice the clarinet in my school band. Suddenly the announcer calls out my identical sister, Addison Hand, onstage. She had won $500 plus a 6” tall trophy. Addison and I are exact opposites except for our faces. She is an extrovert and popular and I am an introvert and nerdy. She came off stage acting so surprised that she won. “Great job Addi!” I said running up to her. She ran right past me into the arms of her boyfriend, Brady Anderson. Brady is a cute high school stereotype boy, plays football, gets B’s and has the cutest girls in school being his girlfriends.

When I matriculated to Oregon State University, I realized how alone I really was, and that my popularity had meant nothing because I had no true connections with people in high school. I did not know how to work for anything because everything seemed to be handed to me. Finally my sophomore year of college, I met Harper, who immediately fit perfectly into my life. I’d never been that close to someone before, we did everything together. As I sat on the bus thinking about her my stomach began to contract violently and I masticated on one of my apple slices to try to calm it. Senior year Harper and I had decided to go to a big party for Halloween in Portland. Half way through the night Harper came up to me crying and insisted for me to drive her home, refusing to tell me why. I agreed because the party wasn’t that great anyway, but we got in a huge fight over why she wasn’t being honest with me or telling me what had happened. I had turned my head to look at her just for a moment, her red hair cascading around her shoulders, her eyes filled with

As I look at all the picture and videos on my phone, I came across a photo of James, my best friend, and I floating on air mattress on Christina Lake. Then it shot me, I remember what happened at the lake, as clear as day.

It has been ten years, ten years since I have seen or even talked to my mother and Maggie. I am on my way home, I look out the window to my right and see a whole field of white with a family of deer. They seem so at peace. As the radio plays White Christmas, I really start dreading my decision to come home for the holidays. I know that last time I was with mother and Dee that I over reacted about the quilts, now that I think of it, mama made the right decision to give them to Dee. I regret the way I acted towards them. They tried to reach out to me over the years, but I just didn’t have it in me to have anything to do with them. After about 4 years they stopped trying to get ahold of me. I hadn’t told a single soul that I am coming

My subject is my aunt, Florence Lucey. She is a 65-year-old female, who identifies with her gender. She is a white, heterosexual, Catholic, Italian woman who has lived in Connecticut for her entire life. She currently lives in Weston, CT, in the home that she has lived in for the past 20 years. Florence has been married twice; she was widowed in 2003 and remarried in 2014. She has one sister, Donna, my mother, and 4 kids, all who are out of the house. I was able to gather my information over facetime and received real-time data coverage. I will be referring to my subject as Florence throughout this paper.