Personal Narrative : My Father And My Uncle

One summer morning, my Uncle Dudley was in his sugar works clearing rather large trees with a chainsaw when he cut one in just a way that it fell on him by accident. He was pinned beneath the tree for a few hours with his leg snapped apart. Earlier that morning as he headed up the mountain, Dud left his phone in his truck along with the firefighting radio he almost always has for the volunteer fire department. That day my uncle thought he was going to die. Before too much time went by, he decided that he wasn’t going to allow himself to be left like that, and instead allowed the adrenaline to take its toll. Somehow, he found a way to wriggle himself out from underneath the tree, and drag his very broken body down the mountain to his truck so

It was a normal day Brayden, Seth and I just got done with basketball practice. We were wondering if we had plans for the remainder of the day.

My father is profoundly wise in the topic of athletics. He knows more ways to get stronger, faster, or even more flexible than anyone I have ever encountered. Putting this knowledge with my determination, we made a rigorous workout plan that we would do at home every single night. One note to make, is that my dad was not forcing me to do these workouts in any way. He asked me if I still wanted soccer to be as exhilarating as it was when I was younger, then I needed to put the time in to my craft every day. Soccer is in my blood, and I was not ready to give it up yet. The workouts were composed of mile runs on the treadmill, medicine ball exercises, and leg strengthening drills. After the preliminary week of this aspiring effort to to achieve

"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.

Have you ever seen a car that you loved so much, and you just had to have it, and you could just die? Well calm down. This is the story of how i got my car.

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.

Over 300 people lined up at the door of an oratory waiting to pay their respects. Regardless if they knew my grandpa or not it’s as if people felt some sort of obligation, like it’s the right thing to do to mourn over the loss of someone they may or may not have known. It was late January in the small town of Hastey, Minnesota, the ground was as frozen as the hearts of those mourning over the loss of my grandpa. When I found out my grandpa had passed away the piercing feeling in my gut was as harsh as the morbid,Minnesota winter.Majority of people there were nicely dressed in black, with black under their eyes as an accent because nothing but tears have seen those eyes in days.

The person I am interviewing for this project is my friend Richard’s mom, Mrs. Triplett. He and I have been friend since middle school, and we have an interracial friendship. He is culturally Black, and I am Vietnamese. I decide to interview his mom because I consider us to be different from each other in some key dimension. Unlike me, who am an immigrant to the United States of America, Richard’s family is native to New Orleans. His parents were born in New Orleans and they stayed in New Orleans their whole life. They been through many struggles and have seen many hurricanes. The recipe his mom decided to share with me is red beans and rice.

You know how when your a kid and you dont think anything could go wrong: well thats what I thought and then everything went wrong. Let me start at the beginning though I was born July 1st 1996,i was sort of an unexpected surprise my mother had only wanted one child and she was already planing on leaving my dad when she found out she was pregnant. Not wanting to leave two kids without a father she tried working things out with my father again that only lasted 6months after I was born and mom came back home with her parents with not one but two kids. My grandparents immediately took charge of the situation and helped there single daughter raise her children in doing so they took us in as there children. How you may ask well by they took us in as there children they literally took us in my mom

My immediate family includes my father Craig, mother Judy, younger sister Chloe, and myself. The heritage of my father’s family originates in Ireland and Denmark. His ancestors came to the United States around 1905. My mother’s family traveled from Germany to America in 1855. My parents married in 1994 in the Saint Patrick Catholic Church where they both grow up, in Montrose, South Dakota. Three years later, I was born at the Avera Mckennan Hospital in Sioux Falls, South Dakota. Specifically, I entered the world on April 15, 1997. Six year later my family expanded by the addition of my sister. She was born in the same hospital on July 27, 2003.

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 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 a wet sock in a dryer. Head over heals I tumbled, my skin scrapped by the crushed sea shells that covered the sand. After what felt like an eternity I found myself on the wet sand as the wave retreated out to sea; I’m pretty sure it laughed and gave me the finger as it left.

In 2005, it was 75 degrees in Tampa, Florida and my dad, sister, and I were at the beach. I was only eight years old and I felt relaxed. Growing up in Florida was tough because it was only my dad that took care of us. Every morning he wakes up at 6 A.M, makes his coffee, wakes my sister and I up, makes breakfast, and bring us to day care. Since my mom was not around it was difficult for him, being a single parent trying to make means for his family. Just like in “Aunt Alice vs. Bob Marley,” Kareem Kennedy’s aunt describes her parents as “hard workers.” She said, “Mom didn’t have to work, but she chose to work because she wanted to make sure we had everything. They always made sure we had a decent meal.”

My life is very common with the story I tracked my phone my dad’s phone my mom’s phone and my sisters phone. Some of the story is very similar and some of it is not similar at all.

I remember when my Dad and I were at my old house playing catch. After we would finish playing catch he would tell me what I need to work on and help me out. My Dad helps out a lot of people, like his patients. He is a very skilled eye doctor and helps many people everyday. He is also a very good athlete, ever since he was a kid to a grown man.

When I was eight years old, I realized I was slightly different from my dad, but very similar. My dad, and my brother, and I were sitting upstairs in our room and my dad said, “I’m gonna draw something for you guys to guess.” So my brother and I sat there waiting and watched him draw it. My brother and I were interested and what he was drawing and we really liked it. My dad made sure the drawing was well done so we could all guess what it was. He was getting close to the end and me and my brother kept trying to guess it and have fun with it. It took a minute for my brother and I to guess it, but when we finally got it is when I realized I wasn't talented at drawing like my dad and I don't like to draw as much as him. Although I had fun with him, we are very different.