Personal Narrative: Where I Grow Up

Where I come from it's taking pride in your yard, knowing every single one of your neighbors, and leaving doors unlocked because there isn’t a thing to worry about. I find comfort in that small town feel, and I am more than proud to be from good ol’ Warrenton, Indiana. Here, we are just a wee bit shy of being big enough to be on a map, but we have a name and we have town lines. Within those lines nearly two hundred people have found a home, and thanks to Mr.Dave Gruible our community is steadily flourishing. There are now three subdivisions on the rise in addition to the church, salon, family restaurant, and campgrounds that nestled into the area years ago.

I raced down the stairs back to the third floor. I was running down the hallway and leaped into my brothers dormroom.

My throat tightened when I thought of Margaret now, the pain she had been through, how I had helped her heal, but how Andrés had more. Frank’s mouth hung open, his eyebrows raised, his comment justified in his world. I stepped towards Frank and pushed my index finger into his hard chest.

Where are you from? Although a common icebreaker question, this is one I often hesitate to answer. I’ve never felt there was a clear-cut answer to this simple question. This question has always seemed to me to be asking more than just where is one born, but who one calls family, where one feels most comfortable, and what experiences have shaped one into who they are?

When asked ‘where are you from?’, as I often am due to my last name, I was once at a loss for words. My birth certificate would argue Ile Ife, Nigeria. Years spent in Portland, Decatur, and Fairburn give them all claims as a possible hometown. Fortunately, last year I found my answer. However, it wasn’t a city or even a place. I was “at home” when I helped someone in dire need of my help. The smile on a face who just received their first and possibly only meal for the Thanksgiving season. Eyes lighting up upon finally receiving an audience to listen to their stories.

Even though I was born in Neptune, New Jersey I feel very valiant to say that I cannot pinpoint a place where I grew up. My whole life consists of me, on average, moving every three years and all I can say is that I would not have it any other way. I was only three months old my first move from New Jersey to Rhode Island. In my life, I have lived in 7 states, 11 towns and 15 houses. Although, if I were to pick a place to say ‘where I grew up’ it would either be Arizona or Pennsylvania considering I have lived in both of those states for around seven years. Growing up in both of those states are obviously complete polar opposites. For example, growing up in Arizona as a kid I always remember I lived in this small little neighborhood from when

Over the years my neighborhood, family, and environment has shaped me to become the person I am today. It’s been a rough ride here and there, but the view is great and I am ecstatic and ready for the adventures that will cross my path.

Growing up, I never really liked children. From the crying over no reason to the whiny voices of deceitful little monsters, the feeling of overwhelmness and depression seemed to rush into me instantaneously whenever I was near one. I dreaded helping out in the nursery during Relief Society Enrichments and yearned to be free when I was stuck babysitting hyper little ones who did not seem to know what an indoor voice was and was all too familiar with screaming. The thought of having kids, let alone being near them was a nightmare. As I saw my peers coo and fuss over a first grader (who seemed to me, knew just the kind of power he had) for hours, I wandered how anyone could be so fascinated by a simple child. It was not until my Junior year that I received more than just that answer.

Sitting at the dinner table, I shoved a bite of steak in my mouth. Forks and knives scraped at the table, breaking the silence in the air. I grabbed the cold cup that held my drink and glared at my dad. Sitting there, all quietly, as if he had done nothing wrong. He had gone from being the man who would race down stairs when dinner was ready so he could spend time with his family, to the man who was cooped up in his office.

After the movers hauled away Jacob’s belongings, I went through a few things in the attic and the garage. When there was a pile of junk in the middle of the floor, I wondered how I was going to gather all of the crap by the curve with the trash bins. I looked around the garage and spotted Jacob’s green wheelbarrow. That was how I was going to get this mess out of here. After filling the wheelbarrow up three times, I was finished in the garage.

My family is full of narrow-minded, supercritical Italians; they know what they like and what they do not like. When it comes to food and customer service, my family does not mess around. Growing up around that for so many years, I would say that I also carry those traits. During a conversation, my aunt brought up a restaurant called Hearthstone. She went on a rant about the price of the food and how the quality of her meal was not as extravagant as it should have been for how much they were charging for it. Mind you, my aunts' been to some of the best restaurants in the country so she has a lot of background. Once she had all of those negative things to say, I already had a predetermined mindset of this place. I knew I had to try this so-called

I was only 18 when I lost mom and when I was 35, I lost dad as well. I remember getting a phone call from the prison on Monday, November 16, telling me that there was an altercation that day, which was code for prison riot. I saw it on the news later that night, 4 other guys besides dad died as well. They told me that dad was shanked 9 times and by the time the guards were back in control, he had already lost too much blood. Becky, my wife of 11 years saw me cry for the first time in our marriage. I had never gotten to say goodbye to my mother and I was also deprived of saying goodbye to my father as well, I just hoped my 8 year old daughter, Katherine, would not share my same fate.

As impossible it might look, it only takes effort, hard work and willingness to accomplish your achievements.

Where I’m From I am from Guatemala city born in a hospital near a bus station I’m from being given up for a better education I’m from orphanages to hospitals being diagnosed with viral meningitis I'm from being pretty scared when i first got bronchitis I’m from Staten island to Hazlet and all the friends i’ve made I’m from oranges to mangos Making lemonade I’m from pancakes and bacon sitting on a tray I’m from Kmart to Walmart browsing beats by dre I’m from crazy laboratories to science fairs and baking soda volcanos I’m from Call of Duty to Undertale and self sustaining tornados I’m from puns to riddles and making people cringe I’m from Engineer to Mechanic Fixing my door hinge

It is the one thing many cannot help themselves to refrain from asking. It is a question that I have received so many times in my lifetime, but never quite had a precise answer. I was born in Libya, but my family was forced into exile for political reasons soon after to Jordan. I grew up to the same questions of where I am from and what brought me here, while I was still figuring it out myself. The concept of “home” came up a lot, and while everyone else was sure of theirs, I was amid two.