Personal Narrative: My Grandmother, By Joan Stack House

My subject is my aunt, Florence Lucey. She is a 65-year-old female, who identifies with her gender. She is a white, heterosexual, Catholic, Italian woman who has lived in Connecticut for her entire life. She currently lives in Weston, CT, in the home that she has lived in for the past 20 years. Florence has been married twice; she was widowed in 2003 and remarried in 2014. She has one sister, Donna, my mother, and 4 kids, all who are out of the house. I was able to gather my information over facetime and received real-time data coverage. I will be referring to my subject as Florence throughout this paper.

My mother, Amy Neuzil, has grit because she works hard everyday to get things done. She is the reason the word grit was invented. She stumbles out of bed every day at six a.m. Then she retrieves my sister, Madison, from her sleeping quarters and dresses her in the fanciest get-up you’ve ever seen. While she is completing that task, she also has to dress for work or college. While cramming a turkey sandwich, blueberries, and five or six bulky blocks of frosted plastic ice into a teeny tiny black insulated lunch bag. After she has finished that magic act, she is practically late for whatever she is trying to get to. So, she frantically gathers Madison into the Buick. Then she starts rushing back and forth through the front door, to grab

Religion has always been around for many years and will continue to live on. Since 2014, there are an estimated 4,200 different religions, all over the world each believing in different things Having their own set of rules and tradition that must be followed. Storytelling became a way to give people advice or telling people what would happen if they disobey their religious rules or tradition. In the story of a grandmother, it critiques religion for the way it can lead to snap judgments and a loss of freedom.

My grandma was a mother of three. She had my Aunt heather, Aunt Angie, and my mother. She raised my mother and Heather while going to college, which is a fight on its own, but to make it more difficult, she had hodgkins and had spent over an entire year fighting it in Iowa’s childrens hospital and held victory her senior year.. The chances of surviving hodgkins in the 60’s was around 75% and wasn’t the end for my Grandma, she lived to fight another day. Moving on in her life,She spent most of her time studying, she graduated high school on the top of her class, then going to college of hamilton for business. During that time, she had my mom and my Aunt Heather on the way.

Imagine how California would be if there is no immigration? Immigration is what has made California what is today. Without it, California would not be California. I am immigrant because I wanted better opportunities to provide for myself and my family. However, what about Connie Young Yu’s grandmother or Mexican immigrants? What brought the immigrants here? Each immigration has a different purpose in order to come California, but as Richard Rodriguez and Conni Young Yu describes in their section, getting to the place that is a land of immigrants is not always easy. Connie Young Yu, the author of the story of our grandmothers, is a historian, archaeologist, and author on the Chinese experience in America. Rodriguez is a Mexican American writer and has written many articles about immigration. He describes the immigration of Mexicans in his selection called proof. They focus on people whom the California dream has attracted through the years, including immigrants from Latin America, Asia, and the Near East. Therefore, as we read their stories, we are exploring the different lives of Californian’s immigrants, and the readers also

Oh Junior, such a poor kid. Growing up with such an array of disabilities has definitely taken a toll on him. Seeing him constantly falling victim to teasing and bullying certainly makes me sad but sometimes I feel that he brings it upon himself; of course I am not allowed to say that though, being his grandmother I am required to be supportive of my grandson. I wish that he would somehow manage to at least find a few new friends. The only kid I ever see him around is that Rowdy boy. I know that they have been friends since birth but he is absolutely cruel and is constantly fighting others on the reservation - I do not think that he is a very good influence for Junior to be around. Rowdy had

It is worth nothing that “Every cause produces more than one effect,” (Spencer). In like manner my grandmother’s selfless acts of compassion left lifelong effects on every individual she encountered. Beatrice Strong was a backbone of her family and the community: She supported us by working two full time jobs, she volunteered in her church, and sojourned the elderly in nursing homes. Her love and support have helped me and my family conquer the inevitable. She managed to instill positivity in everyone who knew her. Not only was she an amazing role model, she was a hardworking woman who believed “Happiness does not come through selfishness, but through selflessness.”

In my thirteen years of schooling I have studied under more than fifty teachers, all of which have dropped a coin or two into my academic piggy bank. But, when I think of a person who has had an important influence on my life, one name stands out in my mind more than others: Mrs.Cox. This woman was one of a kind! As both my second and third grade teacher, Mrs.Cox had two full years to fill my head with the wonders of science, math, reading, and writing. Within this time frame she taught me with strategies I had never seen before and ultimately helped me gain an in-depth understanding of the core subjects in a way that made me realize that with unwavering focus and commitment I could master anything I was given.

This week’s readings really hit home because according to paper my mother was diagnosed schizophrenia, mildly retardation and borderline personality disorder. These disorders are very scary and can take a toll on many relationships if they are tended to. I once had a neighbor who was a sufferer from schizophrenia and she would always come to my driveway and yell at my children and I to stop watching her. There were times that she would come banging on my door screaming to the top of her lungs to take our surveillance system down or she was going to take it down herself. We never had a surveillance system up, so after reading the chapter I realized she was having a delusion about the surveillance cameras.

It was a Monday night; I remember it like it was yesterday. I had just completed my review of Office Administration in preparation for my final exams. As part of my leisure time, I decided to watch my favorite reality television show, “I love New York,” when the telephone rang. I immediately felt my stomach dropped. The feeling was similar to watching a horror movie reaching its climax. The intensity was swirling in my stomach as if it were the home for the butterflies. My hands began to sweat and I got very nervous. I could not figure out for the life of me why these feelings came around. I lay there on the couch, confused and still, while the rings continued. My dearest mother decided to answer this eerie phone call. As she

I will tell you a tale of a woman of great success. This is a woman that has inspired me to be something great one day and to never give up trying. Though she may be growing into her elderly years she has lived a very challenging, joyful, loving and successful life. She is a woman of great faith and character, she is my grandmother.

My grandmother, Esther Turner, has impacted my life in more ways than just simply being there for me, as a grandmother. She’s much more than that, in my eyes. Being the eldest of three, I’ve always taken on more responsibility as the older sister. It was my job to show my little brother and sister which paths were safe to take in this wild, confusing maze called life. At times, I felt like a mother myself, and at a young age, I found myself slightly intimidated by all the responsibilities that were laid on my shoulders. The main person I could talk to freely and openly, without judgment, was my grandmother. We have always been able to speak to each other about any and everything, nothing was off limits. That’s what I think brought us so close, the fact that she accepted me entirely for the person I presented to her.

June 11, 2015. It was a regular summer day, or so I thought. Only five days until my fifteenth birthday and I was super excited. My mom had taken the morning off from work to take my grandmother to the doctors. She was going for her regular heart check-up appointment. As we always did, my mother and I drove that morning over to the nursing home in St. Matthews, South Carolina. My mother had recently entered my grandmother into the nursing home because my mom needed to start working more and could not fulfill the obligations of taking care of my grandmother like she normally would. When we got to the nursing home, we parked the car under the awning which was in the front of the nursing and covered a little walkway where people loaded their family members. I got out first and headed back to the room as my mom followed closely behind. When I walked into the room, I saw my sweet loving grandmother sitting there. As always, my beautiful grandmother, with her white hair, her green eyes, her frail but beautiful skin, and her smile glistened as she awaited her day out. My grandmother did not get out much so even going to the doctors was a good day out for her. We helped her into her wheelchair, a normal struggle for my mother and I, and we rolled her down the hallway to the car. We loaded her into the car, another struggle, and we headed off to Orangeburg which was where the doctors office was. While riding to the doctor's office my grandmother mentioned that her hands looked green

Sudha Murthy's How I Taught My Grandmother to Read and Other Stories provides lessons for life through its twenty-five, splendidly written stories. Sudha Murthy has even picked out anecdotes from her own life to present to the readers a book that shows them the forgotten values of life.How I Taught My Grandmother to Read and Other Stories is filled with heart touching tales varying from one about how her grandmother asked the then twelve-year-old author to teach her the alphabet. Sudha talks about her encounter with J.R.D Tata. Each of the twenty-five stories in the book provides some inspiration to its readers.The stories are presented in an effortless and humorous fashion. Sudha Murthy recounts tales from her life in a simple yet engrossing

At just over five feet tall, she was the kind of woman that you saw on the street and knew to move out of her way. Her demeanor was strict, her hands tied with thick blue veins, criss­crossing over her thin, frail fingers.