Personal Narrative: The Paper Route That Changed My Life

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.

Many people are crafted by the events that have had an impact them and made them who they are today. Like me, I have had so many experiences in my life that have made me who I am today, but there is one that defines me and made me how I am overall. The one experience that truly shaped me and made who I am today is an event that happened on my first day in 1st Grade.

When I got fired from my job over the summer I realized there wasn't a lot to do. I was bored. This led to me exploring the woods around my house.I found lots of things, old oil cans, empty budweisers, and coyote traps, but the biggest thing I found was a trailer.

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

As Vickie Karp once said, “When we read, we start at the beginning and continue until we reach the end. When we write, we start in the middle and fight our way out.” At an early age, writing gave solace. My first exposure to writing was through journaling. In my elementary years, my parents separated, leaving my brother and me in the eye of the storm. At the age of ten, I only understood so much, but I did know how much my mother and father detested each other on a regular basis. Objects and harsh words established the darkness and fear in the corner of my mind. Once father left home, before I even had a chance to say goodbye, I felt abandoned and alone. The anxiety of my mother leaving me and struck with depression of already been abandoned

I slid into stiff boots, strapped a fifty pound pack to my back, and set out on my trek through the wilderness. As I stepped from asphalt to the dirt trail, excitement for the next five days rushed over me. Each stride brought me farther from the comforts of civilization, deeper into the natural habitats of hundreds of species. The reversal of roles filled me with respect, for it was I, not them, who was the intruder. My surroundings were untouched, unspoiled by the destructive forces of man. I was awestruck by the rough, uncut beauty. The trail itself was a source of joy; it was as distinctive and engaging as Mother Nature herself. Every bend brought forth new challenges, presented new opportunities to distinguish myself as a hiker. Once,

Blood flow rushing through my veins, lungs heavily breathing through thin air, heart pounding loudly, I couldn’t bear. Slowly I unsealed my eyes from its long tender slumber, and grazed everything around me. Pitch black light loomed in my sight. I perceived nothing except darkness and a shadowy site. Terrified of my blindness, cascades of water started whooshing down my eyes. With all my might, I stretched out my long podgy arms as stiff as I can as it hit a large rigid structure similar to a wall. Four compacted fortifications built to confine me inside this hollow full of terror.

Did the journal changed my life or the way I lived it, not particularly. Before this project started I would write almost every night anyway, not necessarily in a journal because I prefer typing to writing as it feels less permanent and certainly more changeable but the journal I used for the project was my actual one, with entries in it long before the project was assigned. Carrying the book around your neck was a bit overkill, but I have always carried a notebook with me. Over the summer I went to Philly almost every day and I filled up about 3 notebooks full of random thoughts because everyday on the train I would have to wait 20 minutes to get to my stop at 12th 13th and locust so I could go to work and during that time I didn't really have much

“There is a house in New Orleans, they call the Rising Sun, it’s been the ruin of many poor boys, and God I know I’m one”

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.

Howard, Reno and I were at my friend’s house TJ smoking marijuana when Howard told me about Chambers.

My road starts in Iraq, where I started playing soccer. Soccer has and still is, a big part of my life. I started it after my uncle died. He loved soccer and was the best uncle ever. My father did soccer and so is my brother at FFC. 2 years in soccer at a game is where I first broke a bone, my right leg. I threw up and then fainted. I spend about a week in the hospital. My road keeps moving to Jordan, more specifically in Amman. I have stopped playing soccer after I broke my leg. So I got into karate. I began karate about the 2nd month living in Jordan. I picked it up very quickly.I earned my black belt. One tragic day at a competition, the same leg broke again.

I would say distraction was one of the challenges I had to overcome to get where I am today. My friends, relationships, staying up late, watching television or doing something else rather than doing my work, would always back track me even if I thought “I’ll be okay” and just catch back up; it’s not that easy. I use to focus so much on other people in my life, I’d forget about myself and what’s best for me. When I was in the middle school, I would get so distracted by my cell phone, my mom would have a restriction on it so that I couldn’t send or receive text within school hours. Nevertheless, I didn’t understand, but now I see where it could hurt my grades.

“We can go on a hike and have a picnic. I know a trail that at the end of it there is a gazebo that looks over the forest. We can go on that trail.” said Lauren and Kyle’s mom.

The cars continue to zoom by me as I begin to cry. The acrid smell of burning tires and exhaust fumes fill my nose. A horn honks, prodding me to cross, but my own indecision forbids me. My tears only make seeing harder, and now I’m crying both at that fact that I’m immobilized by fear, and at my own futility. I’m a chubby, little eight-year-old girl standing at the edge of the curb, trying cross the street. I am at the final intersection before my school, but all the crosswalk guards are gone. Earlier that morning I woke up late, so I had to ride my bike to school. The cars seem to be going at an impossible speed and veering toward me. I stand there for five minutes, contemplating whether I can cross, before I finally give up and walk back home in shame.