Snapchat Personal Narrative

It's a Friday afternoon, I plan to go to Great Wolf Lodge in an hour with my church. I see one of my friends so he says to his mom “ Hey, that's my friend” I said “Crap” So I go inside to sign in to go and see my friends just sitting in a corner on a big sofa. We are listening to music and just talking then a green bus comes.

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.

On November 19th, 2016, My family and I were going to Western Michigan University. We were heading off to watch the football and hockey game, my father told me it would take a few hours. Hours went flying by it felt like we were in a race car, we finally arrived hours later. We went straight to the dining area, it smelled like fresh made pasta and many more thrilling smells. As we made our way through the crowd, we found a table to sit at. Afterwards when we found a seat, we went darting off in many directions to look at all the food stations. Few minutes passed by when we all swarm like bees back to the table. We all seated and started eating, we talked about what we got for food.

It is true in life that everything happens for a reason. It is also true to say that sometimes it is all about being in the right place, at the right time. There was never a more prominent example of this than a traumatic summers evening, only a few years ago.

The day my parents drove into the driveway with a Jeep was one of the most exciting days in my life. Although it would be six long months before I actually had a driver's license, the Jeep represented freedom. Still to this day, I am grateful for the privilege to roll down the top and blast my music. But, I’m still a kid with a desire to one day go from zero to sixty in less than three seconds. The Jeep is enjoyable but I hope one day earn enough money to buy a Dodge Hellcat for many reasons.

That was a lot of money, and I didnt want to let Tony down so I got in the car and started to drive. As I drove the road was empty. I had confidence I was not going o get caught. It was a slightly wormer day out witch might have been because the sun was out. I had the windows down and was blaring music just trying to enjoy life when a cop pulls out behind me.

I had three expectations when I bought my first car. I needed a car that was well built, low cost, and simple to maintain. I expected the car would have no problems, so it can haul me to my next duty station after Navy basic training. The A/C, stereo, and the engine would all perform flawlessly. The only expense I would have would be fuel. I had saved money for months to purchase this car. At the car lot a jet-black, old-school American

The clean, low mileage, comfortable riding red truck that my father once drove has become, over the years, a scratched, dented, and rough riding daily driver that my brother and I can barely fit in the back of. Red Roy, as we like to call it, is a 1996 maroon red Toyota T100 with nearly 300,000 miles on it. Surprisingly, this old truck has never had any serious problems. My father would not trade his truck for anything due to the sentimental value that it holds in our family. My dad purchased it, and everyone in the family has driven and ridden in it. The value of a man’s truck after so many years only increases no matter the actual value of it.

Immediately, when I turned sixteen I woke up in the morning and saw a pair of shinny silver keys sitting on my desk. I jumped up with excitement and rushed out the door wearing only my boxers, with the keys dangling in my hand. There it was: my brand new GMC Envoy, dark hunter green with a wax that could blind you. I stared at the car with excitement and admiration; it was the most beautiful thing I have ever seen, and it was mine. I took it for a test drive around the block and opened it up on the highway only three blocks from my house. It had a V8 under the hood, black leather seats, a Bose sound system and enough horsepower to tow anything I desired. After my first test drive around the neighborhood, I picked up

I stayed in my warm, fuzzy blankets next to my fluffy 100 pound dog until 10:30 am on the morning of November 4, 2016. After scrolling through countless pictures on Instagram and tapping through about 30 stories on Snapchat, I finally rolled out of bed. My hardwood floors creaked with every step I took over to my 55 inch TV to grab the remote. I turned the news on to watch the rally. The whole screen quickly turned to a sea of blue because of all the cubs jerseys. My phone buzzed and flashed with two yellow ghosts that read: Snapchat from Katie and Olivia. I opened Katie’s and there was a picture of Bryant. Then I opened Olivia’s and there was a picture of Rizzo. I wish I could have gone to the parade and rally with all my friends, but I knew

I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for CHAT. Throughout the years as a participant, I learned to be mature, help others, I even got a mentor along the way. I would be on the streets, in fights, in a community where my life will just be a step in a different direction. Most of my life CHAT has been a resource to me at home, at school, and at work as well. I have grown to know the neighbors, the volunteers, the interns, and the staff of CHAT very well. CHAT has given me the confidence I need to succeed in life.

For as long as I can remember, I was around car culture, especially that of the hot rod culture. My dad is the root of that passion. I grew up hearing stories of all the muscle cars he owned back in the day, all the street races and burnout contests. I grew up hearing about hot rod culture of the 1950’s. See, my dad isn’t like everyone else’s. He’s not in his forties, just now graying at the temples. My dad is sixty-eight. He grew up in the heyday of the muscle car era, and he passed that love right into me.

I think about it for a moment. "Thanks for the offer babe, but I'd rather fly this one solo" I reply to him.

When I was younger, my uncles to joke about the fact that I was americanized; that I didn’t know how life really was back in the motherland. I would just laugh and tell them to leave me alone. Then, I saw what they meant when we went to Africa in 2009.

Despite the wintry conditions, cold and very windy, each dealership was packed with potential customers browsing the lots and test driving new vehicles. Everyone gets a “rush” when in the market for new cars, maybe because we do it so infrequently! Even before dealing with any salespeople, Mike was eager about checking out the 2013 models, and what cool new features are now available. Even though Mike knew he wasn’t going to be making a purchase, he was excited to see what kind of strides Ford had made since the infamous government bailout of 2009.