Personal Narrative: I M Your Angel By Richard Joseph Carda

I was born July 18, 1999 to my parents Joel and Kathy at Forrest General Hospital in Hattiesburg, Mississippi. I was a month early, but I was such a large baby that the doctor said “if he came on time he would have driven us home”. My mom was thrilled to have her first and only child; she named me Dylan, after the son of Motley Crue drummer Tommy Lee. My name was strongly debated by my Irish Catholic Great Grandmother, who insisted I be named after a saint. After a failed attempt by Father Tommy Conway to convince her of the great Saint Dylan, my mother agreed to give me the middle name Thomas.

On Friday 02/23/18 at 1447 hours I was dispatched to a juvenile problem at 3340

Zachari's grandmother showed the QP the court documents the probation officer left that reports he has 20 hours of community services, have no contact with the co-defendants, curfew set by the parent, and contact with his probation officer.

Well, I suppose I should start with my name. I am Carolina Yanette Vlaun. I was born Monday, November 22nd 1999 at 7:14 pm at 9lbs and 1 oz in San Antonio, Texas on a nice and cool night at santa rosa methodist hospital. My mom likes to say that was the best day of her life after being in labor for 2 days i’d finally decided to get out. My dad said he was just excited to finally meet the baby that caused so much trouble. However no matter how happy my parents were the day of my birth my father had still wanted his first born to be a boy, instead he got me. I suppose that he would’ve named his son carlos after him, but since he had me he used the male version of his name and i became carolina. Whenever my mom tells the story she never leaves

I was born on the thirteenth of May in the year 2000 to Clair and Jay Brake. At the time, my parents still lived in Mocksville, North Carolina, so I was born in Davis Hospital. I weighed 6 pounds. When I was three, on August the twenty ninth, my little brother Jason was born. My earliest memory is of Dad holding Jason on the first night back from the hospital, and I asked why Mom hadn’t come home with us yet. Dad said she needed to heal from Jason, and I went to bed.

After I met with the Knights of Columbus, I drove out to my aunt’s place. As we ate lunch, she said, “You know your father was kicked out of the Knights for arguing with the pastor over the parting of the Red Sea,” and she went on to tell me the story. He said an asteroid landed in the Mediterranean Sea, and it had an affect like dropping a rock in a puddle. It pushed the Red Sea into the Gulf of Aden, and by the time the Egyptian Army entered the Red Sea, the waters were returning to their normal elevation.

It ripped through my chest like a beast trying to escape its cage. I finally felt it, God was in my heart. He had released all the displeasure, grief, and hopelessness I had felt for so many years and I knew from that moment, for the rest of my living and breathing life, I needed to show others who He was and what He could do. The feeling was indescribable and incomparable to anyone else, but I could see him moving through the other students’ lives around me that night. From the first gentle touch of his love, I vowed I would follow, respect, and live a life for Him always. Since then, my journey has been the most incredible and agonizing experience that I can describe. I have faced many difficult challenges and have hit the points of break

Driving over 1,700 miles is not the most enjoyable thing to do; especially when you’re moving. It’s not so rough when you have time to stop and sightsee. But when your truck and a moving truck are full of household and personal items sightseeing is out of the question. That means stopping and stretching legs comes when a truck needs to be filled up and windows washed. The nice thing about having a teen driver is they get to experience the “thrill” of driving across country on roads and highways that are not jam-packed with cars.

March 6, 1986 is the day my mother gave birth to her youngest of two. Celia Jael was the name chosen for me by my father. He decided to name me after my two grandmothers, even though my mother wanted to name me after herself. Some people have difficulty pronouncing my name; they call me CJ instead. I was raised in a very family oriented environment; we played, cried and laughed together. My family’s history was made on Sundays. Everyone would come to the house; adults in the living room and kids running around and having fun in the patio. When dinner time came up, all of us would at the table ready to enjoy my mother’s cooking.

Sirens blared as we raced across the Sahara on horseback. With the reins gripped tightly in my hands, I was flying. Nothing could stop us. That summer, I was Indiana Jones and she was Marion Ravenwood. Trek’s hooves engulfed me in a wave of dust as they rolled across the hard sand. Then suddenly the sounds of the sirens transformed into that all too familiar whistle—it was dad calling me home for dinner. I tugged the shoelace that doubled as reins and turned my bike around to make my way back home.

On a chilly Wednesday on January 14 of the year 1998, I, an eight pounds, six ounces baby, was born. My mom and dad were in bed at ten the night before, and it was decided that the time was now, for her water broke and they were on their way to the hospital. I was dark haired and brown eyed, and my mom wanted to name me after her, but dad decided on the name Jolene, with a pronunciation twist and his own spelling.

Steve and Angel brought their little guy, Braeden, to my baby photographer studio recently for 11-month field portraits. This kind of session involves bringing older babies outdoors to a field near my studio. We bring a few props and take some really beautiful images. Parents love the resulting photographs of their little one, and I hope Steve and Angel are no exception.

There I was, a sophomore in high school nervously selecting my classes for the next year. I realized I would not want to be taking an AP english class along with 2 math classes.Now I find I’m in a pinch to find something. I see my friends choosing gym classes or other blow offs, however I wanted to challenge myself. I look through the list feverishly and see a class that stood out, sociology. I had always done well in social studies classes so I figured it would be a good choice. Over the next five months or so I put almost no thought into what the class may bring or even the fact it may end up on my schedule. I had come to realize that I would be in the class at the beginning of the year upon getitng my schedule.

It was a cold winter morning as my mother and father rushed into the local hospital; my mother was about to have her first child. My mother was sure she would have the daughter she dreamed of. She was supposed to be named Catherine, but my mother would not get a daughter, instead she got a healthy baby boy, but after hours of labor, she did not care what the baby was, as long as it was in her arms and not inside of her. My parents did have a plan if I was a guy; I was to be James Martin Milleville, a name that now outlines me in almost every capacity.

It was a warm summer day with good air, most kids were out riding their bikes, scooters, etc. or running around, playing tag, yet I was huddled inside, reading a good book. The sun was shining bright, yet the clouds were blocking it, acting like the filter in a juice machine, separating the good stuff from the bad stuff. The clouds let the light come in just enough so it can light up everything, but not enough to make you sweat when not doing draining activities. This made it the perfect weather to play outside (that’s why so many other kids were scootering, biking, etc.), I was gripped in the midst of my book waiting for it to go on, so I didn’t follow the other kids’ lead and go out and play. Finally, my mom got enough of me cooped up in