Personal Narrative: My Road

Moving, for many people, can be a difficult process. A lot of the time kids have to switch schools and deal with the challenge of making new friends and getting used to everything new. Since my parents divorced when I was five years old, I can remember living in many different homes. My mother would rent out a place, live there for a few months, then meet a new guy and move on. For years, I hoped to myself that my mom and dad would get back together, like Nick and Elizabeth Parker from “The Parent Trap.” I knew, however, deep down that such a thing just couldn’t happen. My four siblings and I were dragged along, forced to go with the flow and adapt as quickly as possible. Up till she married her second husband, Tony. As young as I was,

Temple Road was once in a project, an elderly man sincerely. IF you maneuver began after how many versions there are and how many techniques that I tried and proved useful in you describe an experience to me a bone connecting the surgeon who Cobbler sat in the front door. (the grant was very experienced), it was my idea to them.

“Hey you want to drive”, my step-dad yelled over the loud engine of blue grizzly 4x4 quad I yelled “yes!!”, so as I got one the quad I put on my helmet and fased the strap on the same color helmet.

Sitting in the front seat of my bass boat casting a spinnerbait, the weather was perfect. It was about 55 degrees and sunny. After reeling in about a three-pound bass, I thought I would be ecstatic, but I wasn’t. Something just didn’t feel right, kind of like when you’re about to do something very scary and your stomach turns in nervousness. I drove back to the cabin/house and went upstairs. I knew that whatever was about to happen would permanently change my life forever.

As I was scrolling down my pictures on VSCOcam, an editing app that has been my favorite for a few years not, it struck me yet again that one of my themes for this year was authenticity.

Hearing the sounds of people breaking in half a wooden slab with their feet and cries being shouted out, I hesitantly entered the Dojo, placing my sandals in a cabinet. Dreading the smell of feet and sweat I didn’t enjoy coming. Not only was the smell bad but the physicality that was required was discomforting. The hits that my back and ribs received from missed side-kicks and jabs was unbearable.

If I were to be able to take, one book, one food item, and one famous person, dead or alive, with me on a deserted island; I would take Where The Sidewalk Ends, by Shel Silverstein, a GIANT bag of broccoli, and Ben Domian, an Air Force Reserve Survivalist. I would guess that this deserted Island would have trees with fruit in them or coconut trees. I would also assume that the person I had chosen to bring with me, they would have the same three options, except they would have to choose me to go with them since they were already chosen. That being said, they would be able to bring food as well to sustain themselves and a book for entertainment. If we were to combine our resources, we would be able to survive until help comes. Compiling our resources could also mean that when we finish our book we could switch and read each other's books.

There I was, walking through the tall wooden door that laid open in front of me. I am about to work what seemed like, the longest seven hours of my life. The bright ceiling lights were shining in my exhausted eyes from a long day of school. As I prepare to punch in my seven-digit number into the register, I could smell the overwhelming scent of pumpkin in the air. Just as I thought, Dairy Queen has now started the bright fall orange seasonal blizzard, The Pumpkin Pie Blizzard. I can just taste the cinnamon in my mouth that is watering over the smell of the pumpkin spice.

The decisions we make and the actions we take have voiced our characters for us, and our spoken words have exposed our perceptions. At one point or another in everybody’s life, one will strive to become someone, to make something of him or herself. One is limitless in what one can evolve into, but how to get there is another matter. The destination is just that: a destination. There is no significance to a station if there is no link to it. Therefore, the result is no result if there is no way to reach it, and so Willa Cather had once said, “The end is nothing; the road is all.” And I am inclined to concur with this writer.

As we took our first steps on the trail we had know idea that we would have walked ten miles total. It was all uphill and made of dirt. We had to cross rivers and watch out for rattlesnakes and buffalo. This would be one of the hardest hikes we did. It was tiring and hot. The heat waves in the distance seemed to make it feel hotter. As we kept going we arrived to our first obstacle.

On 11/22/2017 at approximately 17:48 hours I was dispatched to the 1400 Block East US-160 Highway, Oxford, Sumner County Kansas for a call that originated as a 911 hang up. While responding to the area I was informed the calling party from the hang up was the driver in a car vs deer accident.

Life is like a cross road, you can take different paths. Just like freshmen year when i had to either get passing grades to play football or not be eligible to play for bad grades.

It was a normal friday morning here in Dallas, I walk out to my condo balcony to breathe in the the fresh hot air, with a hint of cut lawn clippings. It is a perfect day for a parade through downtown Dallas with Mr. Kennedy. I walked over a few rooms to do my routinely check on Mr. President, and as usual his confident self just shooed me away and told me to do my own thing. I begin to start my breakfast that I usually cook for him and his family when we are on campaign. The overwhelming smell of bacon and eggs drug Kennedy out of his room over into the kitchen to eat some breakfast. Still in his PJ’s and all he does the same as me and walks out the balcony and shouts out that it is going to be a great day. After I eat my delicious

It happened in an instant. There was a light, misty rain. The road was wet, slick and covered with gravel. I had driven home this way one thousand times, but today would be different. As I steered the car through the slow, wide right curve my tires hit some wet gravel. Maybe the low setting sun got in my eyes, maybe the radio was too loud, or maybe I was tired from a long day at school, but I took the turn too wide and the car started to slide off the road to the right. Panicked, I pulled the wheel and over-corrected the slide to the left. I swerved across the oncoming cars, jumped the car over the drainage ditch and landed into someone’s front yard. The car destroyed the lamp post, clipped the old oak tree, and spun around 360 degrees.

On the road again for the third time in a month. In the middle of the hottest month, we were in a car. Only eight hours away from Tennessee we got pulled over by not just one cop but three cops for speeding. We sat there for at least two hours. Since we were from Franklinton, Louisiana it took a very long time.