Personal Narrative: True Colors

It was late one day in June, and the sky was as blue and clear as sparkling wine. I sat back in my hammock reading the book Unbroken enjoying myself, and my uncle came up and asked me if I wanted to play poker with him, 5$ buy in. I jumped at the idea finished my page and went inside the house. Poker is a pretty big thing in my family and I’ve grown up playing and my uncle was one of the best, so spending time with him playing poker is always one of my favorite things to do. We proceed to set up the table, “Texas Holdem“ he says, Jacks to open”. Nothing weird, so we get the game going and the pots getting pretty big when all of the sudden he drops his cards. I stare the cards dead in the eye and see that i'm going to surpass him! He looks

When I walked in today, some of the children were sitting on the floor and some were trying to play with the toys. As soon as I walked in Faith said hi to me and told me that we were going to go bowling and play bean bag toss after circle time. I sat with her and talked about what she did today, while we waited for the other big kids to come in. When circle time began Faith sat quietly on the rug. She did not sing along, but observed everyone else. She also didn’t do the hand motions besides for the weekday song. When Shalyn passed out the balloons Faith told me that she loves purple and really wanted to get the color purple. She waited her turn patiently and was just as excited to get the color blue. When it was time for her to get up and

I was born and raised in the small but growing city of Perris, CA. This isn’t the best city out there but it tends to grow on you, and you begin to truly love it for what it is. The people, however, not so much. The community can vary from which part of the city you’re in. That’s because there’s diversity here in Perris. I’m a product of this diversity, being half Mexican and half African American. My parents fell in love after high school and later on began a family. I am the youngest of five. I have two older brothers, an older sister, and an older cousin who lives with us. The order is boy, girl, boy, boy, girl with my cousin being included in there too. We all live in the same house with my parents and are quite close with each other. They all seem to have raised me growing up due to the fact that my parents were busy trying to provide for us. This was a challenge by itself, resulting in lots of house moving and my father being unemployed for six years after losing his job. I never complained about moving because I knew that my parents were doing their absolute best and were working with all that they had and then some. This unquestionably made me adaptable to new environments and gave me a

When the two men went to the same car dealership to see who would be helped in a decent manner, the salesman of the same racial descent as the African American tester, Glenn, was completely ignored. The white American tester, John, got help within the first few seconds of browsing from the same African American salesman that ignored Glenn (Harvey 1991). I was also surprised that Glenn was assumed to be attempting to commit a crime when browsing the record store, despite no obvious suspicious acts (Harvey 1991). Even when the two show the same need for assistance inside a store or in a parking lot, Glen was always ignored. Even the prices of items John asked about almost doubled when Glenn asked. Furthermore, when interviewed for job positions Glenn got lectured upon laziness, being late, and drug abuse, despite the preference on race over a criminal background (Pager 2007). Lastly, I was surprised they didn’t see who would be more likely to get help or hired in an inner city.

When I think about my red house, a free and easy feeling rushes over. Worries consisted of macaroni being too hot, swinging too high, and Dora, my first dog, pooping in my room. With bookshelves filled with stuffed animals and countless Pooh Bear toys, I was always content. The playground in my backyard provided days of fun, and nights in my mom and dad’s bed gave me peaceful and comforting sleep, preparing me for the next day of work. The kitchen was where I liked to claim I “worked”. Although I didn’t do a lot of the actual cooking, I liked to be there while my mom was. A love for cooking and baking developed at a young age, around the same time I realized I wanted to be just like my mom. The song “Best Day” by Taylor Swift perfectly describes

At the beginning of my freshman year I was attempting to develop motivation as well as seeking purpose and determining value. Whether in school or during sports or other activities and events in my life, I was constantly searching for motivation towards a goal or achievement.

Cathy’s idea that its okay to be a late bloomer felt like an incredibly Grinnellian notions. While reasonable, I feel that it is used as an excuse for not making something out of your life and education, and I take issue with this. I understand that I am judging from a place of privilege, having never attempted to find work post-grad myself, however I simply cannot understand how individuals can “throw away” their education in this fashion. There are countless job opportunities out there, and while they may not fully encapsulate exactly what you want in your career, they do represent something else: the experience that is necessary to succeed. It felt to me like the majority of the Creative Careerists who spoke to us understood this, yet a

In the readings on authentic leadership, “True North” is described as one’s clear knowledge of who they are, where they are going and what the right thing to do is (Northouse, ch. 9). Personally, discovering the values that defined my True North was difficult. As I have never been in a position where I knowingly practiced authentic leadership, I never thought to evaluate the internal compass that guides the decisions and behaviors I choose to make in life. After giving it some thought, however, I was able to determine what can be defined as my True North.

AC/DC’s “Back in Black” blared over the weight room’s speakers as I first sized up a dull iron bar. Staring straight ahead at the blank white wall, time slowed down. I racked my brain trying to recall what I had seen the lifters around me do. Phil, our weight room coach, commanded me, “Get over the bar.” I inched closer to the weight, toes beneath the bar, and attempted to lift it first off the ground, and then up on top of my shoulders.

It was a hot, humid afternoon when I jumped off of the school bus and sprinted home. The first thing that I did was to kick off my shoes and threw my book bag onto the ground with my books scattered all across the floor. I ignored the mess that I just made, and darted towards my brother’s room. Banging on the door with my fist, I couldn’t stop the adrenaline rising from my body urging him to play. He opened the door and his face cringed as he shoved something in my hand and slammed the door shut right in front of me. I continued to bang on the door and yelled for his name. For a constant five minutes, there wasn’t any noise coming from the other side of the door as I slowly sat on the ground and remembered that I was grabbing onto something.

In San Francisco, about a year after my mother died, when I was nine or ten years old and going to the second new school since moving in with my father, I had a desperate crush on a girl named Lisa. She was a year older than me, in the next grade level up (our classrooms were combined). She was pretty, Asian, was popular with a group of friends that would surround her during recesses.

Three, Two, One, and the race is off. 30,000 runners pass me in the blink of an eye. I hear the laughter all around. I feel the joy spreading through the area. As the time flys by I see runners starting to cross the finish line and the whole atmosphere turned. Boom! A loud noise followed by a large chunks of gravel flying in the air. Screaming and terror rose as another bomb exploded 12 seconds after. I see the fear of faces scatter throughout the street. Myself and many others, can’t put together what just happened. My instincts kicked in and I run into the action. We’ve just been apart of another U.S terrorist attack.

At this point it was halfway through the year of 2006, summer break had just begun. The third grade was a difficult school year, this year I was introduced to the End of Grade state exams. Nonetheless, I passed the third grade along with Ruby passing kindergarten. This year so far was already a fantastic year, and it was only about to become better. My family had discussed plans about this summer, it was going to be the best summer ever. This summer was packed with trips to public swimming pools, visiting our relatives, fishing at my grandparents, and our annual trip to the beach. On this warm, breezy evening in early June, eight-year-old me in this brand-new blue dress with two bright yellow bows with my sister, were in my parent’s bedroom

“Look on the flip side we found a lighter that changes colors,” coolly responded Derick.

I turned to my left and all that I saw was flat land, bodacious white clouds, and a clear blue sky, when I looked to my right I saw a 200 pound man drooling over the complimentary peanuts. Suddenly I hear a loud screech followed by a deep voice saying “we will be landing in less than thirty minutes.” As my face exploded with excitement all that I could think about was the adventures that my Nana would go on this summer. As our plane had gently landed and gradually made its way to the unloading gate, the Captain made his final speech and released us to depart the plane. I knew that my Nana would be waiting for me right by the gate. When I met eye contact with her I sprinted to her and gave her a huge hug. The first