Personal Narrative: My Grandpa's Cabin

My home town, where I grew up at, and where I am at now. These three characters link to the three different houses.

My current plan as far as outlining where this thesis is going to go involves dividing Grandpa’s story whereby every part of it will fit into each among the five assigned milestones, starting with his earliest memory in 1941 of Christmas Day at 4 River Lane.

I wrestled with pillows, quilts and books spread on the bed finding some space for nap. Again the hotter months of summers and spring were there; the work was strenuous, combatting uncontrollable wildfires. Because of the generally hot and dry climate, they pose a great risk to life and infrastructure. I struggled to fall asleep but the overbearing heat mocked at me. The air conditioner had gone off an hour agao, forcing my crew out of cabin but i was desperate to get some rest despite the fact i was sweating profusely. Eventually my eyes started to close slowly as i felt the heavy curtain of sleep. I was about to doze off but to my dismay, the fore alarm went off. We had to gear up quickly because the threat level was

I don’t remember the exact date but I remember that the year was either 2008 or 2009 and I was around eight or nine years old. I skipped school that day so I could go hunting with my dad, and so I got to skip school. At that time my dad was part of a hunting club and he was allowed to bring me with him.

Before I even knew it, a bunch of people crowds around like it was a crime scene. I then left the area with a group of concerned people by my side. That’s when my mom chimes in, “ARE YOU OKAY!?” my mom yelled with concern.

I knew this was my only break so I made the most of it. I spotted the house across the street and the cover it could provide. I left my bike on the ground as I ran over to the house quickly, not looking back the entire way. It felt as if my feet weren’t even touching the ground, the second they did they leapt up again in fear, as if the asphalt were lava.

The first day was pretty great. There was many cabins. Six of my friends and I decided to stay in a cabin called “willow.” The cabin had bunk beds and it had a bathroom and shower which was great because my friends and I wouldn’t have to share bathrooms and shower with all of the people. At the introduction they were telling me about the rules of the camp and our expectations. Then we ate lunch and I liked the food there it was really good. Then the real fun began. My friends and I went swimming. When I was standing on the edge of the bridge one of my friends pushed me. I got him back by doing it to him too. Then my friend and I went canoeing and we were doing really great at not tipping over but then we did tip over and we all fell in. It

If you travel roughly 29 miles up Highway 14 from Cedar City, Utah, you will stumble upon a small community called Duck Creek. The drive up the road takes you past streams, animal life, hunters, and ATV riders. Snuggled in the center of this community is my father’s log cabin. This is where I spent most of my childhood, and where memories of my first hunt, great ATV rides, and family adventures took place. This cabin is my second home, and an important place that I will share with my children to make new memories.

So one day I had a friend named Kahlin Orso. He came over to my house to play for a little while. So after a while we got bored so we went on a fourwheeler ride through a 30 acre grass field. So we were riding along and out of nowhere the frontend just takes a big nose dive into a big creek bed and it got stuck. So we didn’t think it was that big of a deal and we tried to get it unstuck and we tried for about 20 minutes but we didn’t get it so we called Kahlin’s grandma because that's who he was staying with that weekend so we called her for help but she couldn’t help cause she was not at the house. Then I knew if I called my dad we would get in trouble so we tried to get it out for a few more minutes but again we failed.

Pounding music I’ve never heard before, dancing kids, and lights flashing everywhere. That describes the exact moment I realized I want to do music. I was 8 years old and this was all foreign for me, I have never experienced anything like that. I knew what concerts where and seen videos of big ones, but if I was never introduced to local band concerts my life would have not been the same today. Something about watching kids in their teens playing their music with such passion made me so passionate, the kids in the audience too dancing, crowd surfing, singing every word to every song that their friends made, it made me want be a part of that community more than anything in the world. So that’s just what I did, I asked my sister to

I have an abundance of grotesque, yet, barely visible memories of childhood. However, no breathtaking family trips, no unique family togetherness that taught a moral lesson, no abnormal holidays. We still ate family meals together, but most often the children and adults lived in different worlds. When I needed comforting or wanted the best of both worlds, I could turn to my Grandpa.

It all happened in a matter of seconds. He had decided to ride his motorcycle that day to work, unaware that it was going to rain later than evening. The roads were slick with rain and various other fluids, making the ride home a challenge. He was careful. At least, he thought he was. Turning his head to look at the billboard on the side of the road, his front tire hit a pothole. Beyond the face shield of his helmet, the terror on his face was evident as he lost control of bike and began to slide across the pavement. Though he wore a helmet, it was ill fitting and it came off as the out of control bike dragged him across the pavement. The friction from the bike sliding across the asphalt caused sparks. Unfortunately, a car with an oil leak

When I was a child, my late grandfather and I spent every summer on the bank of the river ganges. We would skip stones across the water, breaking the surface of incoming swells. We would wage Wrs, with sticks for swords and shells for arrows, like the most fearsome of ancient kings and queens. Idyllic. They never ended. Like the ebb and flow of the tide, under the azure and warmth of the indian skies, these days continued. My earliest memories of my grandfather were couloured by the times in these moments. Coating the wet-sand with the dryer sand grains on the bay, throwing clay-sand bombs from his biomechanical trbuchet. Twiddling his toes amongst the cool baysand and fiddling with his platinum-irridium vile. 20 years later I cant help but feel the same cool clay on the bank .

I rushed down the road; my chubby cheeks jiggling as the wind blew swiftly onto my face. I felt like even Usain Bolt himself wouldn’t have been able to accelerate at the astonishing speeds I was going. Suddenly, once my father decided let go of my shoulders, I found myself spiraling down a hill uncontrollably. I grabbed the handlebars firmly as I screamed towards the heavens at the top of my lungs. My feet flailing around whilst attempting to scour for the pedals. Seconds later, I found myself crashing onto the side of the road, looking as though I had just challenged Evander Holyfield to a twelve–round fistfight. At that moment, I had decided, with the firm resolve of a fickle-minded ten-year old kid, to never ride a bike again.

While I was spending this past year in Israel studying, my grandparents decided to come spend a couple months there touring and spending time with their grandchildren who were there. My grandfather always surprises me with new stories beginning with him escaping from the holocaust all the way until coming to the United States and starting a beautiful family. Many of my weekends in Israel while my grandparents were there, were spent going with them to visit different family members and friends living in different cities. In Israel, a lot of people don't have cars because there is an amazing transportation system which is a lot less expensive than owning a car and paying for gas. Being so, while spending my weekends with my grandparents we would take buses to all the places we were going to, some of them being longer bus rides, so my cousin and I would ask our grandfather to tell us any stories he had not told us yet and we would sit there recording and listening to all the stories there were. There would even be times where we would be passing through different places where some of my grandfather's stories took place and he would point them out, which was really cool because we were actually able to see and imagine what he was talking about.