Personal Narrative : The Life Of My Life

The last day I saw my family was a day I’ll never forget. There I was a stout 12-year-old boy sitting on the back porch on a cool October evening. The wind blew my brown messy hair across my forehead as the birds sang. Fall was always my favorite time of year as a kid not too hot not too cold; you could spend the whole evening playing outside. As I watched the autumn leaves sway on the trees completely distracting my young mind to what was coming. Little did I know that would be a day forever haunting my memories.

The cool morning but apparent good October weather made it feel as if it’d be a good day. The large black man stood smiling and welcomed us with open arms as we walked into the building much before school that day was set to start, and as he motioned us into a conference room he said, “Welcome to St. Xavier High School, please be seated and we’ll start soon once just about everyone gets here.” And after sitting down anywhere we liked, because the Rumpke’s seemed to arrive early at places, waited for the other kids to roll in. Once they had all arrived, Pete and I sat talking

It was a warm sunny day in May, and it was almost the end of the school year. Bus 1995 was full of annoying and yelling kids.

Seven fifteen Tuesday the twenty ninth of November I bundled up in my black peacoat and headed up the road from Peabody hall to Ellison Campus center. It was a surprisingly warm evening for late November, sprinkling with a soft breeze. I was on my way to a Salem State Writer’s Series Event. Up Drinkwater Way the lights of the campus glowing in the rain it was a soft peaceful evening, a good atmosphere for a poetry reading. I headed into the campus center, it was busy considering how few people I had seen on my walk over. People were meeting up chatting amicable about the events they were arriving to witness. I headed through the lobby to the stairs and descended down into the basement. Normally the basement of Ellison reminds me a bit to much of an empty hospital hallway in a horror movie. All long windowless corridors and locked doors. But tonight, as it often is on event night, the hallways at the end of stairs was bustling with people. The metro room, the location of the nights events, was already nearly full. Faculty, alumni, students, and guest crowded together on hotel ballroom chairs. People were chatting and laughing and the atmosphere was light like fizzy water, despite the weather outside. With the usual nervous trepidation I feel as a young person going anywhere I’ve never been before alone, I sat in a chair on the end of a row closer to the back, leaving a polite distance of one chair between myself and the girl next to me. Then, as time was creeping just a few

Arriving at Northride High School, I finally caught a break from my mum’s rambling in the car and I attended my first class of the day. The clock winded down till the end so fast like the foam-flakes drifts on the river. As it did, I wandered to the back of the school at the end of the day and an

I marched out of the school with my younger brother after a insipid day. Everyone was having conversations about what they are going to do over the weekend and what wild and insane event had taken place in their classroom. As I trotted across the crosswalk, I had my last words with my friends and other fellow students. I was taking the regular path home, keeping my head down, until I noticed my dad’s silver, slick sedan.

In life, one may face many defining moments that can shape them in a variety of shapes and forms. Whether they are good or bad, they result in a significant change for a person. In my life, two defining moments that I have faced include being labelled gifted and placed in a gifted education program, and moving towards high school.

On June, 7th of 2013 my daughter, Ayva Maria Gantt, was born prematurely. Ayva arrived three months early at 26 weeks gestation. I was originally scheduled to deliver Ayva on September 13th of 2013 at Civista hospital in La Plata, Maryland. Little did I know I would get to meet my daughter Ayva much sooner than expected. Ayva was born in Baltimore, Maryland at University of Maryland Medical Center so that she could get the care a premature born baby would need.

There are defining moments in every person’s life. These moments are characterized by their negative connotations and it is the way in which we choose to respond to these unfortunate situations that define who we will become. One such moment was when my biological father called me worthless. Hovering around the ages of either nine or ten, this was a very emotionally damaging experience for me. Neither my brother nor myself have ever been close to my father and that alone is harmful to a child because although a stereotypical belief, we seek affection from the mother and advice and direction from the father. Lack of time spent with your father is damaging enough, but even more so when those few interactions you do have are destructive to your self-perception. This was a defining moment for me

It felt nostalgic, hearing the same phrase every year and the same feeling of anxiety starting to kick in. As I stepped on the newly painted pavement my heart began racing. It beat so heavily it felt like it was about to burst from my chest. I inhaled and let out a long sigh leaving a ghost-grey mist in the air. The air smelled of the early morning dew and freshly cut grass. Just then a ray of warmth beamed through the grey-cloudy skies as I made my way toward the long puzzling path. Before I could scan the rest of the school’s backyard my brother began pacing toward the front entrance. The pound of my heart grew louder with each step I took trying to catch up with him.

The day had started out as any would usually go. It was so cold outside I couldn’t feel my fingers or toes. My ears were full of the complaining wind wishing I wasn’t there. I walked up to the school doors feeling like I had recently woken up.

My day started like every other day. Laying in bed and unwinding until you have the energy to actually get out of bed and be productive. Except, it really wasn’t. It was August of 2014, beginning of the school year. I had lived on a street called Larsen Lane nearly all of my life, and had gone to the same school all my life, too. We should’ve been getting ready for school, but our parents decided we should take the day off. This kind of unwinding was different because my brother and I had slept on just mattresses; our bed frames had already been packed. Our room was just plain. The blue walls had stayed here ever since we had got them painted years ago, but that was it. The stickers we collected on our sliding glass doors to our closet were all taken off. I laid there, bland and lifeless, on the verge of tears even, thinking about the choice that could set me up for middle school. Our mom settled herself in bed with us, comforting us so we would couldn’t get too overwhelmed by the emotions of leaving behind our old life.

I long to be free. To be free from the metal chains that hold me down. To be free from the whispering as I descend into my empty slumber. My heart couldn’t handle the pain of the immortal whispers and figures that popped up here and there trying to help or drag me with them.

In late March the day finally came. I stood in the Hingham High School cafeteria, clustered among my fellow classmates, peering into the parking lot shrouded by darkness. Although it was nearly midnight on a

Within what felt like minutes, it was my last day of school. Apart from dejection, I felt a guilty wrench in my stomach walking through the narrow school gates for the last time as I perceived that I was deserting my friends after all our wonderful times together. The good luck cards came in swarms and several swimming pools could have been filled with the tears shed that day. The 3 o’clock bell chimed, which would usually be a sound of bliss, but now it brought