Personal Narrative Essay : Growing Up In My Family

For the past seventeen years of my life minus a few months, I have lived in the United States. I grew up skiing and bicycling in Grand Rapids, Michigan, until my family decided to move all the way out west to Flagstaff, Arizona. Many eleven-year-olds might become stubborn and defensive in response to such a massive, life-changing move, but I remember embracing it because I was with my family, and I was ready to face any obstacle that unveiled itself to me because I knew that my late comedic father, my worrisome mother, and my troublesome brother would be right by my side. As we made the two-day drive from Michigan to Arizona in our SUV together, we watched the numbers on the odometer crawl up more and more until there were 2,000 more miles on the car than there were when we started, and we

Even tho many are lucky to have their parents together and grow up in one family that was altogether, I was lucky to grow in a divorced family and I say lucky because I have become stronger because of this situation and even tho I have become stronger, I have also learned to cut off the slack off myself. I grew up with 3 older male siblings and we were not the type to get along and share, some of us would help each other and the older tell the younger how to survive through different circumstances but I was left out.

The world was soft and warm. There were sweet voices and bright colors that surrounded me, begging for comfort. I lay with my small body swaddled in a blanket, resting on a soft green sofa. My head propped up on a plump pillow facing the fireplace. The sound of the sweet voice in my ears and the smooth blanket eased my aching. My brain pulsed behind my eyelids with every movement. My bones were stiff and sharp, but still gave me the urge to move them awake again. I arch my back and widened my arms, my fingers outstretched to the room. My hand falls on something wet and cold. I grasp it and am met with a hot slimey tongue over my fingers; a greeting. I turn to meet the wide brown eyes of my companion, the one who refused to leave my side from the beginning of my harsh fever. He whined and laid his jaw on my belly, still not taking his big eyes off me.

This is the typical response I get when I reveal to someone that there are ten kids in my family. When the shock subsides I am always bombarded with the same questions. "The same two parents? How big is your house? How many bedrooms are there? Are there any twins?" and more importantly, "How many bathrooms does your house have?" My personal favorite is, "Can you say all your siblings'

My personal narrative has to do with my journey alongside my family in an event that we all faced. When I was in fourth grade my father got cancer. I am not over protective of the fact that he did, in fact I am quite open on the subject. If they haven’t forgotten, then my friends know, and classmates at the time did know. In this way it is very personal, but also a shared story. As I stated earlier, my father got cancer when I was in fourth grade. This can certainly be considered an unusual childhood. I do not think that many children have had their parents go through cancer when they were around this age. My family spent lots of time in this situation. We were open with this fact, and people had helped us. My fourth grade class

I cannot say that growing up in the family I am in hasn't been difficult for me, because it has. However, to say that it is something I'd like to change if I could, I also cannot say. The turbulence and commotion I have experienced has sculpted my character. Had I not grown up the way I did, I would not be as tenacious and ambitious as I am today. Through the struggles I've faced and whom I've faced them with, I have not let them define me, and I have even grown more because of them.

Researching my family and my background, I have found that I have ancestors from several countries, including Germany, Sweden, England, Ireland, and Scotland. They all came to America for a variety of reasons ranging from religious persecution, hope for a better life with better economic conditions, famine, family issues, and to colonize America.

You use check lists for lots of things in life – for groceries, for homework, for chores, and in the case of my family it was for life. It was my parents’ way of keeping me safe. “Go down the list” or “Follow the plan” were common phrases in my home growing up. Post 9/11, it was the way to keep our family safe. The racism, the persecution, and the vehement looks were something that continue to plague my memories, but what truly resonates the most was the uneasy feeling I had growing up in the US. Knowing that I was not wanted nor was I welcomed in this country made me especially fearful and despondent growing up. In order to combat this, my parents explained the check list. If you stayed on track, and continued to check things off nothing could ever hurt or harm you. I am unsure if it was for my benefit or for theirs as well, but it kept us safe and gave us peace of mind.

As I endured the prospect of creating a genogram, I allowed myself to reflect and interpret the history and impacts that affected my family. During my review of my genogram, I was able to consider my family within a multigenerational, diverse, and socio-political context. By creating a genogram, a dialogue was started within my head and with my partner about which family traits, issues, strengths, and resiliencies made me who I am today. Subsequently, this dialogue made me aware that being raised in a small family has many advantages along with some disadvantages when acquiring information about influences and the history of preceding generations. Consequently, I did not have to contend with many conflicting recollections but I did have to rely mostly on my own memory, public records, and journals to piece together my genogram. Although all things discovered and recollected are not always fortunate on the surface, they subsist as basis to my personal resilience and strength as a gay man.

Growing up as a Latina consisted of loud family gatherings and a well-built background. My grandparents are the backbone to our family. They built a name for themselves when they came to America at a young age. To me, they are the true definition of a hard worker. They started off from the bottom and crawled out of the struggle to provide for our family. Although life didn’t come easy they continued to push their way to the top. As an old traditional family we were taught to have strong morals. One moral that we have is to always work hard and challenge ourselves to be better. My family has never had anyone attend a college therefore I would be the first. It’s a true blessing to have an opportunity to go to college, but it means that I have

Childhood is rough and everyone’s family is to some degree dysfunctional. I say this in hopes to let you know that you are not alone. Your story has fascinated me, and I see your memories jump off the page as I read. Vivid descriptions of the surroundings and in-depth explanation of how you feel during each situation has allowed me to relate to you on a personal level. Through your story I have been able to come to terms with unresolved issues in my own past. It has also allowed me the distinct pleasure of knowing that it was okay to have the emotions that I did during my own experiences. With all that aside I wish to speak to you regarding a couple of decisions that you made during some very tough situations. I believe if you would have taken a different approach and looked at it through a fresh perspective before making them that you would have chosen differently. Blaming yourself after what Dr. Boudreaux did, trying to get in the middle of your parents arguments with each other, and

Everything was about to change, we wouldn’t order take-out on Sundays, it was a big deal, I was losing my best friend, the only father figure I have ever had so far. I watched him taking all of his stuff out of the apartment, I was getting more and more mad. Wasn’t our beautiful relationship enough to make him stay? I even blame myself I thought I had done something wrong, maybe wearing his clothes and leaving them all messy, I apologize and swear not to do it again, but it didn’t matter the decision was already made.

my family is a strange one to say the least, m ybrothers names is jacob hitt baldowski and he's a good brother, he can tell when im not in a good mood, he tries to get me into a better mood but it almost always leads to a fight where i end up getting hurt.

Every second of every day, something unexpected happens to someone. A life taken, a relationship that has ended, or even a positive pregnancy test. Because these events are unexpected, we cannot control them and sometimes can’t help them. I believe everything happens for a reason, although not always a good reason. Maybe I could’ve stopped what happened on that brisk, morning of May 19th, 2016. Yet, I’m happy that it wasn’t worse than it was.

When I was 16 years old me and my family moved from America to Europe. We wanted to start a new life away from the troubles we encountered in our town. We constantly had overdue bills, not enough food, or so little money we could barely get by. We didn’t know if we could live in this torture area much longer. We had plenty of euros. I think we had like 10,000 or something. We originally had family there who would send us the euros as gifts, then we became collectors. We all wanted to live in Paris, France. My Grandmama lived there with my Auntie Sage and her children. They didn’t know we were moving there it was their Christmas surprise. We were almost done packing when we forgot about my cat , Daise. “Daise, Daise, here kitty cat” I