“Not for the first time, an argument had broken out over breakfast at number four Privet Drive. Mr. Vernon Dursley had been woken in the early hours of the morning by a loud, hooting noise from his nephew Harry’s room.” — these are the words that framed my childhood. Unlike other children, who were raised to spend time playing outside, I was raised alongside a young British wizard with a scar on his forehead and a penchant for finding trouble. Of course, the adventures of Harry Potter are not actually fact; however, to a boy gleefully resting on his mother’s lap their authenticity was never in question. I can still remember so many things about the way that she would read to me on those lazy Sunday afternoons. Entranced by her soft voice rising and falling as each syllable passed over her lips, I sat and dreamed for endless hours. …show more content…
Eventually, she believed that I had developed enough as a reader to try my hand at reading one on my own. Nothing scared me more than the prospect of failing in front of her; however, I forged ahead and read what was in front of me. At first, I failed. Stumbling over words and misreading entire sentences, I was a complete mess during my time reading, but somehow my mother continued to smile and credited me for reading well. Despite how horrible I knew I had been, my mother’s support reassured me to try again with the next
Growing up with a father in the military, you move around a lot more than you would like to. I was born just east of St. Louis in a city called Shiloh in Illinois. When I was two years old my dad got the assignment to move to Hawaii. We spent seven great years in Hawaii, we had one of the greatest churches I have ever been to name New Hope. New Hope was a lot like Olivet's atmosphere, the people were always friendly and there always something to keep someone busy. I used to dance at church, I did hip-hop and interpretive dance, but you could never tell that from the way I look now.
Over my years of school, one big influence on me has always been sports. Ever since a young age, I have always enjoyed playing and watching sports. In my four years in high school, I have fell in love with the sport of lacrosse.
I woke up and took one bite out of my pop tart but that one bite was all I could eat. My legs were shaking, and my heart was pounding. My dad told me, “It is a true honor to even make it this far so go out there and have some fun.” Once I heard this statement, I knew I was ready to go. I arrived at school and boarded the bus. The car ride was an hour and fifteen minutes of hearing the squeaking of the wheel on the bus. My teammates were getting their heads ready for the big game.
As Robert Frost beautifully wrote in A Road Not Taken, “Two roads diverged in a wood and I- I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference.” You see, I wish I could’ve taken the path that was flat. Always constant, easy on the heart, body, and soul. Yet, it was not so, I took the path that was littered with poisonous traps and massive inclines upwards and valleys that would discourage even the most courageous soul. It was a road that I wouldn’t wish my worst enemy to travel. Yet, this isn’t a sob story, rather, a story of triumph.
Starting over. Those two simple words pretty much sum up where I am at in my life at the moment. I am a 34 year old mother of three. I have never been to college. My husband just recently left me. It has been a whirlwind summer to say the least, but before I get into what brought me back to school, I'll start at the beginning. I was born in FL., and quite literally spent all my time either at the beach or running bare foot on my grandparents farm. I loved every second. Shortly after I turned 8 my mom met my step-dad, and we were quickly headed on our first big adventure, moving to Texas! While I missed my family in FL., I can not tell you enough how happy I was that my mom married my dad. He has been a rock and solid foundation for me my whole
There I was on the block next to the High Bar. It was about 5:00 at night when my coach told me to do a Kip. As I got up on the bar my nose filled with the smell of chalk. I started to swing, and as I came out of my half turn I looked good. Everything seemed fine but as I came to the part of the Kip where I have to pull my legs up to the bar, I slammed my shins into the bar. My momentum was stopped and I dropped on to the mat, missing the Kip. I felt like I had let down my coach and I had let down myself too. That day I experienced failure. That failure made me want my Kip even more so I worked harder and had support from my teammates.
Delano then pulled a gun from his ankle holster and places it on the table top. --
When my mother asked me to read a book a few months ago, I was hesitant to agree. A stressful school year was approaching, and seeing my friends on a Saturday night seemed much more appealing. When I was younger, curling up with a good book was a typical pastime. Then came high school, and reading was replaced with countless hours of studying, cheer practice, and trying to figure out when I could catch up on some much needed rest.
I chose to break the norm of either smiling at strangers or giving them a neutral look when you make eye contact. I decided to give every stranger I passed a confused look like they had just spoken to me in another language. I must admit, this made me feel a bit goofy. I was on the fence as to whether or not to do this in the first place but I decided I just had to. The responses I received were quite comical. A few people asked if I was alright, and one person even asked if I had a problem with them.
It was my first time going geese hunting with a shotgun. I was really nervous to going because my uncle and my grandpa are really good at it. They go every weekend and more than half of the time they get their lemont. Also I was very excited to go just growing up going and always watching them going hunting with guns and i always watched. I was getting tired of it. I thought it was time for me to have a gun and on more messing around as much
In American Culture its commonplace for someone to promise they “won’t tell a soul”,after hearing another person’s secret. This phrase is often uttered when the secret is negative. In cases of child abuse these words may not be uttered, but the child is left with the understanding that the incident isn’t to be discussed. The abuser may threaten to do further harm to the victim, if they tell anyone about what happened. In other instances the child may not want anyone else to know because they feel ashamed about the abuse; guilt, and betrayal are also common emotions experienced by victims of abuse. I know because over the past twenty-six years, I’ve experienced all of them. Although, my need to experience the unconditional
culture. As a business student, I am no less influenced by money than the next
i apologized about this , I didn't realize it was that many hours he, but I know there would be some over time this week we had couple of incident , the day we had to do Eric and ken write-up I had him site in both , also the Sunday training added to it , he also went over Tuesday when we did the Ops meeting , this is not the norm I will keep the hours in check
When I was ten and I lived in Mesquite my mom asked me if I wanted to run five miles in Dallas, and I said "sure it sounds fun". The next morning I got up at eight o'clock and my mom said it was at eleven so we left at ten. If you watch the Dallas news and saw the big letters in the courtyard, that’s where it started. There was a total of 532 people at the place I can remember because everyone got a paper wristband and a number was put in on a computer for every person and it showed up on a big screen.It was around ten forty five at the time.When it turned eleven an anouncer said to start. The entire walk was five miles it was 2.5 to the end and back. My mom pushed my little brother for most of it he got out at the half way point.When we got
My voice is heard through my writing; although seemingly silent within the language of ink veiled across my paper, it is powerful, deafening, resilient. I speak my mind without speaking, and it is, to me, somehow worth more than any vibration of vocal cords. When writing, I am free; free to clearly express thoughts that usually turn into a muddled mess on my tongue; free to “say” what I wish; free to be