Storytelling-Personal Narrative

When I was a child, I would practice sketching at the local zoo where my father was a superintendent, which is a person who manages or superintends an organization or activity. Another thing is that my mother would sing her pie-selling songs to me that would give me ideas and make me go to sleep.

I never thought that I would be saving someone life from drowning. That was until my friends and I did help someone. Which was something that happened very fast.

When I was younger I had always been described as mature. Although I wasn’t anywhere near being “mature”, it was a word always used to describe me, well-mannered and mature. While my brother was goofy and social, I was shy and serious. We were twins yet total opposites. As a child, because that was the word almost always associated with me, it crae unusual, almost toxic idea about myself. I had to be mature to be what people liked about me. So, it never occurred to me to be able to not take myself seriously and say something like “Oops that was dumb” and laugh it off. For some reason that didn’t make sense to me to say silly things like that.

The most important game of the year was coming up and I was ready. Everything was going perfect for me, because I was the starting QB as a freshmen at Englert High School. We were playing Joston High School the number 1 team in the nation since 1960, it was going to be a tough game because they had the number 1 ranked defense, but we had the best offense. The day before the game was just a normal day I went to school and had football practice after school. A couple weeks ago one of the other teams that we had played earlier in the year wanted another game so we decided to play them. They had been the hardest team we had played all year, we had only beat them by a last efforts field goal it hardly went in as it bounced in off the crossbar.

I have a horizontal file cabinet in my office that can tell you a good story or two. Not a day goes by that someone doesn’t stop to have a seat on this file cabinet and share a story or two with me. I enjoy every minute of it. I love hearing other people’s stories and how they connect us, but most importantly as Robert Coles states in his book, The Call of Stories: Teaching and the Moral Imagination, (1989) that we learn lasting moral lessons through stories.

I woke up. Feeling groggy, I went to take my pills. Being the way my brain was, I needed pills to function. I see things, but others don’t see them. These things, they are right in front of my face, but they are not visible to other people. I could not find my pills, I looked everywhere, even in my drug stash. They were not there. Wait, I sold them to Angelo. Well, remembering this, I need to go to the drug store.

When I was in middle school, I use to be keen on writing and so dedicated to it. I would walk around with this Blue, tattered and withered notebook, that I used to jot down ideas for stories, then later put my ideas together. I had so many spiral notebooks full of stories with fictional characters, magical places, and occasionally poetry, for which I have even won a few awards! I would sit and dream of the day I would be publishing my own books making it big in the publishing world

I was designated out of necessity. My older brother was sent to prison the year before she was diagnosed. My twin sister was married at the time with three small children and my younger brother was only 16 years old. Therefore, I tried to become everything that she needed. Helping her through her battle would prove to me that life is too short to not pursue my dreams.

When I was 11 I owned a dog named Bruno, who always managed to bring a smile to my face. Unfortunately one day when I returned from Mexico, I was devastated to find out he had run away. Ever since I was young I've been self-reliant so it was lovely to have someone there for any circumstance. My parents would usually be at work and when they home they'd usually be in their room resting. In addition, I'm the youngest child, my youngest older brother winning me by 8 years, so I didn't really have siblings to accompany me especially since they all started a family significantly young—this of course only led to them moving on faster meaning I was pretty much on my own. It was nice to have someone so ecstatic to see you that they literally jumped

My family is full of musicians. My parents and my grandfather all play in the same wind band, in which my great grandfather used to play as well, so it was assumed that I continue the tradition. For a long time I thought that wind music is old-fashioned and certainly not ”cool” enough. I dreamt of becoming a famous singer making cheerful pop music. I’ve changed a lot since then.

With reading came writing. The stories were no longer confined to the boundaries of my mind. I could write the stories I had dreamed up in my head down with words I had learned from the books that lined the library shelves. I painted my stories with words. It was then that I became an

I barely slept, ate on the run, and by the time the week drew to a close, I had accumulated close to twenty thousand dollars due to perseverance, and resiliency. Also, with Tyche on my side, I was able to rent an economical two bedroom apartment with plenty of sunlight, four blocks from ‘Ink it Baby’, and secured a job waiting tables at Harry’s Diner, two blocks from my abode.

I am ready to step into the place that God has placed in my heart. About ten years ago, I sought the Lord to direct my life. He answered one day and all I heard was “counselor” in my head. It echoed in my head as like a man standing on a mountain top calling in the wind. At the time I heard this, I wasn't ready for the task… There were so many things from my past that were still holding me captive. I had to let go and let God; but the distractions of the world, and fear of failure were too strong for me to fully begin to walk in God’s calling for me. At the age of seven I was molested. It was a hard and confusing time for me. It was a time where a young child should be playing, and simply just enjoying growing up. I felt like there was nowhere to turn for help or the understanding of those emotions.

Reading and writing are essential to any humans’ way of life. From the ages of 3 to 6 my mom had read to me every night before bedtime. The stories she had read to me ranged from fairytales to Dr. Seuss. The first chapter book I remember reading was in 1st grade. The teacher allowed us access to one book from her bookshelf. I chose Kristy’s Big Day from The Babysitters Club collection. I took such a huge liking to it that I begged my mom to buy me a collection of the books, which now reside at my aunt’s house. It took me the whole summer to a set of 15 books. While, I was in 3rd grade I began to write poetry. I showed my teacher some of the poems and she thought they were so incredible that she wanted me to write more,

My eyes shoot open, blood rushes through my veins, a harsh ring pierces my ears, adrenaline jumpstarts my nervous system. Catapulting out of bed, feet crash onto the wood floor with a resounding thud, vibrations shoot up my legs. Intent on murdering my morning nemesis, I take aim at the blaring red-eyed demon sitting next to the fan. Striking with a swift click of the on/off switch, I end the incessant blare of my alarm. "6:15, Monday, not late." A relieved sigh escapes my lips, gaze shifting to my dresser. My anxiety calms quickly, and I notice the cold wooden floor nips at my toes.