Personal Narrative: My Dad

We packed clothes for the weekend and hopped in the car for the 45 minute ride to Eian’s house. When we got there my dad helped hook up the boat to his friend Eric's car.

It was the last day of our summer vacation in Dallas, Texas. After a week of scorching heat and sunburns, we were ready to head home. It was early in the morning and the sun was beginning to stretch its arms getting ready for the day. Our suitcases were packed and we began to get ready for the long trip back home to Michigan. We loaded the car filling every empty space in the trunk with luggage. As we finished, we got into the car and drove to the lobby of the hotel to return the keys from our rooms. All of us waited in the car besides my step father who went to check us out of the hotel. The rest of us stayed in the car waiting and eating the continental breakfast from the hotel. Once my family and I were all situated in the car as my dad began speaking. “I want to take you all somewhere before we leave,” he announced, looking into the rear-view mirror back at us. My brother and I weren’t acknowledging what he said and we continued the movie we were watching in the car assuming that he was taking us to visit another relative or a restaurant.

We pulled up at Howell’s Furniture in Beaumont, and I quickly got out of the truck. My dad was telling me to wait, but I was very car sick and told him I needed to walk around. That is when he told me we weren’t here to pick up a desk, we were here to see Paula Deen! I was a little confused

Ever since I was a little girl, I always loved going to work with my Dad. My Dad is the fleet owner of a trucking company in Cabot, AR. I remember when we would pull into the truck yard and take inventory of the 18-wheelers and trailers left on the yard.

My dad started working at the age of nine, and by the time he was sixteen he helped my grandmother with the bills. My dad had to grow up fast, and his ambition to come to America made it even faster. At the age of twenty-three, I came along and my dad was with my stepmom. My stepmom (or as I call her my mom), took me in as if I were her own and gave me unconditional love like any other mother would. Just like my dad, my mom started working at a young age. By the time she was fourteen my mom had two jobs and by the age of nineteen, she bought her first car. Growing up with ambitious parents like mine means having a lot of expectations, and being the oldest sibling put more weight of that plate of expectations.

"Never forget the past…because it may haunt you forever. Regret all the bad things…cherish the good things. Look ahead always…but don't let the bad things from the past get in your mind." As a young child, there were so many incidents in my life that made me become the person I am today. There were rough times as well as good times. If I were to tell you all of them, I would remember half of them. I think some of my incidents really had some impact, and some were just simple ways of life. To tell you the truth, the incident that had the most impact on me has to be when my real father left me at the age of three. I never knew my father. I mean being a baby, you really have no experience or recognition of somebody else.

My father was a lifeguard, but not in my lifetime, so maybe loving the ocean was in our blood. As children we grew up in Brooklyn and we would go to Riis Park for our day at the beach. One very distinct memory is of my father as he stood waist deep in the ocean with my brother and sister; the waves periodically lifted and dropped them in the water at his side. Waist deep for my father meant it was well over my head so I remained a safe distance (or so I thought) behind them. Suddenly, a wave appeared and and before I could turn and rush to the shoreline the ocean attacked. I found myself in a world of foam, pockets of air allowed me to breathe as I was tossed about like

If there was one thing that my father made sure I experienced from a young age, it was hard work. When he first traveled to this country, the only thing to his name was his suitcase and a handful of money. Shortly after when I was born, he worked from the ground up to ensure I had a good upbringing. When I graduated high school, he didn't have the money to send me to college, and I didn't want to be snared by student loans, so I had to find another way. I wanted to work for everything that I earned, so I joined the military.

It seemed like I was talking about the same thing over and over but all I could think of were about my feelings. I was only thinking of myself at that moment and not of anyone around me, I was selfish. It was crazy to think that everything was going fine one day and the next day everything turned upside down. I finally understood the news on the television about children of immigrant parents being scared everyday you can possibly think of. I became one of those statistics that they talk about all around. Losing my dad was one of the most hardest things that had happen to me out of all my 18 years of living, and there might be more in the future but this hit me the hardest. I never imagined my dad to be ripped from me and less did I ever to

One bright early morning on the field of the 2015 Annual Wiffle Ball Championship laid the bright golden trophy next to the pitcher's mound. The sun glared at the trophy in joy leaving the bright beams of light reflecting into the eyes of the players. As I was on the field I heard the loud smashing voice of the opponent's team line-up harshly told by the coach. By the sound of his voice he seemed determined to win the trophy. I then turned to look at my dad playing 3rd and he said with a soft voice ¨be patient¨. At the time I was eager to get a hold of the wiffle ball. Finally the inning was over. As I went back to

Well, if you'll pardon my saying so, I guess it is interesting, the many ways you and I overlap and whatnot. You begin with our Daddies. Your daddy was a pastor of the New Hope Baptist Church; my daddy was a pastor of a church at Excelsior Springs. Um. You're the youngest of the three James boys; I'm the youngest of the five Ford boys. Between Charley and me, is another brother, Wilbur here, with six letters in his name; between Frank and you was a brother, Robert, also with six letters. Robert is my Christian name. You have blue eyes; I have blue eyes. You're five feet eight inches tall. I'm five feet eight inches tall. Oh me, I must've had a list as long as your nightshirt when I was twelve, but I've lost some curiosities over the years.

When I was fourteen I started making excuses to stay with my grandma as much as I could, whether it would be joining clubs, working football games, or just that I wanted to see her. I hated living with my mom and step father. He would go into a drunken rage and I was always his target for bullying so my grandma would gladly take me in. She would hold me when I wanted to break down and cry from the way he would treat me and promised that she would help me in anyway possible. Times that my step father would say something demeaning and hurtful towards me she would be right there to pick up the pieces and put him into his place. She took me in shortly after.

anyone who truly cared about me knew that. “He's a deadbeat, jackass, horrible father. If he was half of-” that's when I cut her off. “Don't talk about my father like that. I'll see you next weekend. Goodbye,” and with that I hung up. It only lead to more rage.

One Friday night, my dad and I were sitting around the fire talking about all of grandpa’s past memories. I will never be able to forget this story. In my future, I can only hope my love story will be this good.

“Izzy, come down here.” “Izzy comes down here,” “Izzy come down here!” I heard my dad shout. “What dad!!?” I hollered I didn't know why my dad called my name three times in the last 2 minutes. I got a coat on and trudged downstairs. I just got home from school and was trying to do my homework. As I opened the door to go into the garage, I took a deep breath and thought that today was not any special day so what is the problem?