Personal Narrative: Pettygrove

I have lived in only one location my entire life: Edwardsville, Illinois. A peripheral suburb of St. Louis, it stands as the rare oasis of people in a desert of corn, pinned in its own personal bubble. Due to this blend of time and isolation, I developed a natural familiarity with my hometown. But, throughout my childhood, I longed to break free from the confines of the bubble and venture outward. However, this changed last summer, as I walked through Richards Brickyard, our family heirloom, that my great-grandfather, Benjamin Richards, founded over 120 years ago. I felt these childlike sentiments slip away. The bubble that had surrounded me for so long began to vanish, and the picture that it had been obscuring was slowly revealed.

As we got to the Veterans hospital, I got out of the car and felt a cold wind blow. The fact that we just passed Penhurst creeped me out. My christmas I should be spending this at my house with my family this isn't going to be fun at all I tried begging nothing wok this isn't going to be fun at all.

The first steps I took outside of my comfort zone were on the same city grounds where Rutgers lies. Not far from New Brunswick’s busy main roads, there is a quaint little store called the George Street Co-op. It is a non-profit health foods store and cafe that is run by its members and student volunteers. Their Sweat Equity program for students is what called my attention first while searching for places to volunteer; the more I researched the co-op, the more it drew me in. I fell in love with the store as soon as I walked in; there was a poem painted on the stairs leading to the cafe and a large chalkboard displaying a well-known quote by Hippocrates saying, “Let thy food be thy medicine…”. Flyers urging people to “Ban Fracking Now!” and to look for the “Non-GMO Project” label covered the message board. I knew that this was the place where I could find people with the same interests and values as me.

Have you ever seen the TV show the “Walton’s?” If you have, then you will definitely be able to identify how unique the place was where I was raised. I was raised in North Arkansas in a small community called Onia. In fact, the road that I lived on was called Lawrence Road. It was named this because all of my relatives lived down this road. My Grandpa, who is now a retired Baptist preacher, lived down this road along with his brothers and sisters. The church that I grew up going to was also pastored by my grandfather for over thirty years and it was about two miles down the road. The community bordered the Ozark National Forest so it was very rural and isolated. Most of the traffic on Lawrence Road was mainly the people who lived

I’ve always been an outsider, it’s been hard for me to build friendships and relationships. Not too long ago, there I sat in the corner of the room in the way back, trying to hide from the world, and be myself. I didn’t really want to get involved with anything or anyone. I was afraid to open up, talk to others, maybe because I was afraid to get rejected. Until, I met the best people I could ever meet, my best friends Marisa Mendoza, Jessica Contreras and Deseray Reyes, the ones who up to this day have sticked by my side, at my best, and worst moments. They have all been a big part of my life, I can enjoy every minute I spend with them. For me, they aren’t only my friends they are like my sisters.

The clouds were black, immeasurable, and grotesque. I still believe it was because my best friend was leaving for war. My friend Nicholas was the only person that I could have reliance and certainty with. He was the person that when the stresses of the world got to heavy on my shoulders he would pick the world up of my shoulders and carry the burden of the stresses of reality for me. In the end there are no words to describe the signification he has in my life and there is no comfort that can fix the loss that I feel in my heart because of his absence. So for the time being my heart will be in two places, half with me here in Denver, Colorado and the other half in Kandahar, Afghanistan.

Throughout the conversation, Susan did not inform me that the home was still in First Look and not open to investors at this time. Susan did not highlight any features of the home, nor did she talk about the neighborhood or the surrounding area. When asked, Susan paused to reference the property file and stated, "In looking at the pictures it appears that it needs interior paint, carpet, appliances, and a few windows, which the previous seller must have taken." She stated, "I don't know why they have to remove things from the homes." I asked, "Do you have offers?" She paused to check the property file and answered, "No offers." I asked, "Is the property behind the home farmland?" She paused to reference the property file and replied, "It appears

In late September of 2010, was the year I learned a new word “Depression”! I was in 1st grade and everything was fun because I had no responsibilities or worries. I didn’t know how to feel grief for a long time because I was always happy. I didn’t know that a family member could own a child.

After Finals, I came back to San Pedro for the summer. You wouldn't think the place would have changed that much in a year, but it sure as hell felt like I was living in another country. Most of the guys I went to high school had moved on by then and the whole town seemed so fucking strange.

I was designated out of necessity. My older brother was sent to prison the year before she was diagnosed. My twin sister was married at the time with three small children and my younger brother was only 16 years old. Therefore, I tried to become everything that she needed. Helping her through her battle would prove to me that life is too short to not pursue my dreams.

My interest in writing wasn’t always apparent to me even though I sought out activities that included the skill. I enjoyed English classes growing up, but I never thought I would utilize writing at a heightened capacity for different disciplines and my own creative pursuits. Soon enough, writing became an activity that I did outside of the classroom, especially in public health pursuits during my time in college and creatively post-graduation. It is a part of my constant development as a person who contributes to causes and activities that I care about and a part of the impact I believe I can make in the medical field.

We moved to the house on Wilhoyt Lane when I was in fourth grade. Before we moved to the house on Wilhoyt Lane we lived in a two story house in the middle of some fields. Before my dad got a job in Yerington my mom was a teacher in Fernaly and my dad did tile. The house that we lived in was a one story house that was in a decent sized neighborhood, with a small backyard. The house that we lived in Fernaly was definably smaller than the houses we lived in Yerington.

It has been an honor and a privilege to work for Richard Henderson this year. He always pushes our staff to go above and beyond our best selves. The standards that he has for our staff and community are very high but I think that it has made us a strong team and an even stronger community. Richard is in his office with the door open during the week, available for anyone with questions or concerns. It is easy to strike up a conversation with him at any time and it will most likely be memorable, due to his great sense of humor and great Scottish accent. Richard makes a point to be out in the community, showing off his pool skills or walking his two dogs Brody and Mosa, the residents know and love him. His wife is also very present in our community

I stare at the TV with incomplete fascination, my pencil tightly gripped in between my fingers.

I slowly take a step back. My mate takes a step forward, but then he limps and grimaces. I take another step back. He takes another step forward, and then he limps. He's still whines every time he takes a step, which is gut ranching for me. Finally after twelve steps, I can't take it anymore. I turn around, and slowly walk up to him.