Personal Narrative Essay : The Best Days Of My Childhood

1.1 – Explain the factors that need to be taken into account when assessing development

Summer of 1994. New York City smelled no different than hot rat piss and looked accordingly. Fresh off my 15th birthday and wandering the Brooklyn streets with Hakeem, we followed the music wherever it played. Our community cherished music through constant airplay. Anyone with loud speakers, either in their car, apartment, or boombox, blared any of the anthems from the future greats. Whether it's Nas, Wu-Tang, Biggie, or Tribe, the list is blissfully endless. Hakeem’s brother, a well-connected music promoter, gave Hakeem two tickets to this secret show he was putting on for Ice Cube, who, despite being the first notable west coast rapper, carries a rage within him that the east coast entirely recognizes.

Childhood is the most innocent stage and also the sweetest period of man’s life. They cheer our heart and make us forget distresses. So, often I look back to my childhood days and try to gather joy from their happy memories. I recall many things that give me joy even today and many others that fill my mind with pain. Yet the cherish memories of childhood linger on. My childhood memories are those of a sheltered and carefree life, cherished with love and affection. As I was the first child in the family, so everybody doted on me.

One day i was getting ready for the park with my dad, cousins and uncle.When i was ready for the park i got my soccer shoes.We were almost there to the park just talking to my cousins and uncles.When we got to the park we were setting up the goals,it wasn't that long.Then we were talking about who's being our teammates.

Everyone remembers something from their childhood whether it be bad or good everyone remember something. Most of these memories are good such as meeting your best friend or getting that one toy that you always wanted. Sometimes it is a bad memory because of family or sometime happened to you or to one of your family members. Whatever the case might be everyone remembers something or at least they should remember something. One time when I was little I remember getting surgery done when I was about six years old, like I said some are good others are bad.

Childhood is being like drunk, everyone remembers what you did, except you. In the photo, I was probably four years old, sitting in the room with my grandfather, my two cousins and my elder brother whose face is covered with spidermen’s mask.

When I was a young child I would love to hear my parents tell me that we were going on a trip. I would be full of excitement, because I knew that we would be going to a place that I had never seen before. My parents, my brother, and I would pack our luggage and venture out in our small gray minivan. Three of my most cherished memories in our minivan are when we went to Disney World, the beach, and the mountains.

My earliest memory I remember as a child is around the age of two years old. My Mother would put me in the playpen but I refused to stay. I was able to climb out of it. I remembered my Mother’s face expression that let me know that I better not climb out of the playpen again. This was one of my earliest memories of her setting her boundaries. When I got older, my Mother told me about the situation. She needed to clean and/or cook so she had to put me in the playpen. At the age of two years old, I just wanted to explore and didn’t want to stay in the playpen. This set the tone between us moving forward.

My childhood wasn’t always perfect. When I was younger I lived up north with my biological father, mother, and siblings. We looked like a perfect american family. Seemed nice and perfect out in public. But no one really knew how my father was. Let's just say I didn't have the perfect father. All people saw was the good part of him. The part my mom fell in love with. My mother is a kind lady. Caring and always taking care of others. I would say maybe she was sometimes a little too nice when she was younger always forgiving people. She would wake up every morning make breakfast and even lay my father's clothes out for him before work. So all he would have to do is wake up and go on about his life.

I pulled up in front of my house after completing the first day of my senior year. I knew it would be my hardest year of school, but I already had college on my mind. Somehow I felt energized from the warm day and glowing sun. When I got inside, my gram and uncle were there waiting for me. They asked me to sit down and I knew something was wrong. Gram was calm as she said, "The coroner came to the house this morning." My heart dropped. I asked if my dad was okay. She said, "Your dad is fine, but your mother is dead. She killed herself." The words stunned me. Part of me knew this day was inevitable. The other part did not want to believe what I was just told. I asked, “How?” Gram said, “She hanged herself.” My mother has not been a part of my life or my sister's for thirteen years. She walked out on us when I was four years old. The last time I saw her was about ten years ago. My mother went down the wrong path and made bad choices. Her decisions affected me more than she would ever know.

I’ve said them waking up from a great night’s sleep, when I had plans I was really looking forward to. I’ve also said them when I slept terribly and was anxious about something, or had a task coming up I flat didn’t want to do.

My day typically starts with a complete balanced meal of Coach Anderson’s imagination of 1 egg white and 3 grapes. I couldn’t eat my apple though because I had to throw it at Chris to defend my dad when he called me a piece of shit. I let everyone know what I eat, but not as bad as Will Hanken snapping pics of the shit to everyone that has a pulse. I get dressed and ready for school. I put on my muscle shirt first so I can show off these biceps that I’ve worked so hard for. I speed off to school, setting a new record. I only hit 1 parked car on the way today. At school I show off my brilliance for all things academic by excelling in my hardest classes, fashion and PE. I do count myself lucky however, I could be as dumb as Alec Tabora or Tyler Estill, who managed to be ineligible in art for one month straight. As the school day comes to an end, I get a letter in 8th hour. It’s a brand new offer from a college! Too bad I don’t even know where it is, because when I google the school nothing comes up, kinda like Avila.

“Sometimes you find yourself in the middle of nowhere, but sometimes in the middle of nowhere you find yourself”-Travis Pastrana. I got distracted and didn’t see the guy in fourth, he kicked me into the wall. I bounced off the wall and tried to catch my fall with my arms. That didn’t work I could hear my arms crackle and break. I saw the guy in sixth coming toward me, but I couldn’t move. Bam! everything went black.

I was making some Tea and all of a sudden I hear someone outside so I move from where i'm making the tea and I peek through the window and I see a nice young good looking boy about the right age and I am making sure he is good to work with. I am waiting for him to knock on my door but real quick I make sure everything is just right. I run upstairs and check that all the bedrooms are closed except the perfect one for him so I make the bed and make it look neat then I check out the window and I see him he is stepping up so I think why not just open the door so I do.

Everyone has a brief blink in life of prime innocence. Maybe a year, or a couple months, where everything appears to be magical. You’re old enough to barely grasp the simple version of what life is, but young enough to believe that Moss is just tiny fairy forests, or that if you pray hard enough, you might become one yourself. Kindergarten was my happy place as a child. Sure, I loved my family more than anything and definitely could not have been without my mother for more than 4 hours without breaking out in tears, but I loved that place with my whole heart. At home, my hyper, high maintenance sister would almost always take priority, even though I was the youngest by 2 and a half years. I didn't mind though, because I got to go to kindergarten the day after, where I got to play with my friends and make little bumble bee drawings. We had a teacher named Mrs. Altenburg, a tall woman with short blonde hair. I'm sure she looked like a giant to all of us, but we loved her more than anything. It was impossible not to, she gave us hello kitty bandaids and pancakes on pajama day.