Personal Narrative Essay : The Father Of My Father

The fear of spiders is just your imagination messing with you thinking into the future. That the spider will attack you but in reality it's more scared of you then you're scared of it.

Have you ever missed something more than you ever thought possible? My dad, David Thorne, was 43 years old when he passed away in Clairmont, Alberta. I found the website of his obituary, and multiple condolences. ‘David was loved and he leaves behind a beautiful girl.’ Said by an Anonymous Poster. ‘My thoughts are with all of you and what a wonderful son,brother and dad he was.’ Said by another Anonymous Poster. I display how much I miss David by the roses I give him, the memories I have with him, and how I remember him.

As a small child, I looked at the world with hope and excitement, little gleaming, baby blue eyes, staring in awe at everything that was new and interesting. Then my father died when I was five, that’s when those baby blue eyes lost their gleam and the world seems a little bit duller. Those baby blue eyes changed to ice grey and dark blue, and my outlooked changed as life events shaped who I am. My ex-best friend and I had a fight back in March of 2017, causing me pain and sadness. In March of 2017 that same day, things looked a little brighter, when my now boyfriend helped me through it. July of 2017, the world seemed brighter and through all of this my values were clear: growth, happiness, and love.

The first time I met him it was a hot, humid day in September with the sun blazing down on all four of us. My sister’s face was beaming proudly as she finally introduced us to her new boyfriend as he stepped around the front of his maroon truck. We stood in the large parking lot next to the quarter mile, two story school that Lianna and I went to. He was tall, a bit lanky but also muscular. My first impression doesn’t give him much credit to the man he is today, but he gave a firm handshake and pretended not to notice when Lianna and I gave McKenna looks of approval, which just added to the reasons to shoot McKenna more looks making her blush.

The first time I met him it was a hot humid day with the sun blazing down on all four of us in late september. My sister’s face was beaming proudly as she finally introduced us to her new boyfriend as he stepped around the front of his maroon truck. It was just the four of us in the large parking lot next to the quarter mile two story school that lianna and I went to. He was tall, a bit lanky but also muscular. My first impression doesn’t give him much credit to the man he is today but he gave a firm handshake and pretended not to notice when Lianna and I gave McKenna looks of approval which just added to the reasons to shoot McKenna looks of approval making her blush.

Growing up from a family of 4 me being the youngest watched my daddy walk out my life like I wasn’t an option. So, the streets became my father. I did everything under the sun, even made my mam cry. I felt like everybody was out to get me. Family became enemies, friends start to envy the streets had got so hot. All my friends start going to jail so only thing was left for me to leave the hood for a while before I become dead or in jail.

Your parents- your father and I- we are the reason you are here. My parents weren’t. My birth mother bore me and in doing so she created a new life. A life that she held dominion over for only a brief moment. A life that she neither understood, nor cared to understand. My parents are the ones who didn’t make me, but rather allowed me to make myself. They didn’t inhibit me. They raised me the only way they knew how with the best of intentions, which is a good start. It’s simple and it’s true.

My father was born on December 15, 1950, in Da Nang, a sleepy city located in Central Vietnam. His mother, my grandma, died when he was very little, so growing up, it was just him and his dad (my grandpa). Hearing my dad tell stories of him and Grandpa together brought to light just how much my grandpa meant to Dad. Every principle that Dad has taught me, he has learned from Grandpa. Sadly, that relationship was short-lived; my grandpa died when Dad was in high school. From the day his dad died to his high school graduation, Dad moved in with his uncle and his uncle’s family. Being the oldest member of his uncle’s children, Dad often had to take care of his cousins, juggling schoolwork with home responsibilities. The death of his parents so early in his life and the added responsibility of looking after his cousins meant that Dad had to grow up fast. In the time where most kids his age were exploring their surroundings and not having a care in the world, Dad was hard at work: tackling schoolwork and domestic chores at once. He tells me he had little time for sleep. After making sure all his cousins were in bed, Dad often stayed up until 3 in the morning, immersing himself in schoolwork. Then he would sleep until 6, and the day would repeat itself. Dad’s situation was not uncommon in Vietnam. Society in Vietnam expects the oldest male child in a family to carry the brunt of the workload among siblings: the one to help out the parents. They expected the child to juggle many

When I was 10 years old, I realized I was different from my father. I was in my room playing with LEGO’s when dad called up.

My major paper is going to be about my father. It is going to include all different types of things about him but it will probably be mostly about why i hate him so much. I chose this subject because it is something sensitive to me. Everyday it is a heart break to me because i do not fully understand why he does the things he does. It simply does not make sense how a father could be so terrible. I look around at everyone else who has a dad or at least grew up with a dad and it aggravates me because i never got the chance with that.

Every person I have ever met has someone that they are able to look up to and can say that that specific person is their hero. A very important person in my life that has affected me in many ways would be my father. There is so much to know about such a great person. Lance Knight is a mentor, a hard worker, a businessman, an avid ice hockey fan, and a loving dad. Whether he is at home, in the office, or out socializing with friends and family you can always expect a friendly and positive demeanor. My father is one of the most paramount and compelling people in my life due to his love he shares for others, his influential advice, and the countless similarities we have in common.

Oh, how mistaken my dad was. I remember him looking down at me, he a towering height of 6’6 and I a height of 3’5, telling me that I wasn’t reading. I remember looking down and getting sad and angry, that I thought I was reading.

My father is everything to me, he can be stern and hard but also soft and sweet. He's always the one who can make me laugh in the worst of times. My father has been my rock in everything that I've ever experienced, good and bad. I always get the "You're just like your father." From the portion of our family that know us best. I see myself in him and he sees himself in me. If I mess up, he is right there to put me back on my feet. If he happened to murder someone, I'd be there to cover his tracks and he'd do the same for me. No one dares to underestimate the power we have when we're together. We complement each other like the moon and the sun.

It was a cold brisk morning which wasn 't a bad thing considering it discouraged the daily tourists taking their morning strolls while attempting to live out their New York fantasies, but this only had a minuscule effect on the already lively city buzzing with locals. I myself fit didn 't fit into the city though. I am a tall older man who is beginning bald and my fashion sense is a bit plain. I began my walk to work from my smaller apartment on the lower east side with my morning coffee and briefcase in hand while mentally preparing myself for the hectic day ahead of me. I strategically mapped my route to work today so that I could stop by the cemetery to replace the flowers on my father 's grave.

Sometimes I think I know everything there is to know about my father. I know he only shaves when the greys start to show. I know he likes green tea better than black. He watches Hallmark movies at Christmas because it reminds him of Gran. He likes to wear plaid ironically. He watched me being born when he was seventeen-years-old. He tells me he loves me, not every day but every week at least. He doesn’t have to say it too often. He just loves.