Why I Should Go Home Now

afternoon while I was hitchhiking home from school, it struck me like a baseball in the back: my mother wanted me to marry someone of my own social

Words and actions have a large impact on the way you work with the world around you, they have the ability to make you feel indescribable emotions in every way. The poem “Little Boy,” written by B.H. Fairchild begins as a young boy questions his father’s hurtful past, as the speaker demonstrates that he asked the questions as he would’ve asked if he ever saw “Dimaggio or Mantle,” and develops into an examination of a lifeless relationship between father and son. In the poem the little boy’s persistent focus on the father’s brutal past reveals a case of PTSD from his involvement in WWII, and how it affects the advancement of an already bad and unsteady and unchanging relationship of a father and son.

The lady slowly turns around and I glare into her bloodshot eyes as she mutters, “Oh silly little girl, you are not going home

My father’s love for his family and his bravery to protect it, made him our hero and there are memorials, which continually remind his family of the sacrifices made by him.

I’m glad my dad came home safely from the war and still in his right mind. A six year war like that could kill a man physically, emotionally, or socially. But that war was fought mostly by hillbillies no one has ever heard of like my daddy and granddaddy, but grand dad wasn’t so fortunate as daddy was. I imagine when I grow up there will be another war and I’ll be drafted and I’ll walk up my driveway to my wife and

As my wife, Amanda, stares at the T.V. set in horror knowing that her father was killed in the bombings of Pearl Harbor; the sun hides behind menacing clouds that know what is to come of this. I hold her as she cries and whimpers while she firmly grasps are new born son, Charlie.

When I was nine years old, my dad had an accident that caused him to become paraplegic. As years passed, my father’s physical state went from paraplegic to quadriplegic. I felt alone and fell into depression as each year passed because there was never a sign of hope. I didn’t want to upset my mother by telling her that I might be depressed. So I took on myself to find a way. Since I was young and stupid, the only way I found was religion. So, I became religious hoping that my dad would become better if I prayed. However, my mother took this the wrong way, assuming I wanted to get married. In one week my parents found a guy in Pakistan. My parents took advantage of my religious phase by knowing that in our religion girls have to obey their

There once was a 13 year old boy named Jonathan who dreamed of becoming a soldier just like his father, cousin, and brother. His father would not let him because he did not want anything bad to happen to him. One day, the tavern bell rang to call all soldiers to come fight in a war. This made Jonathan think that this could be his opportunity to finally become a soldier. When he returned home he told his mother that he was going out to see what the ringing of the tavern bell was for, but he was really going there so he could join the troops. When he arrived, he was recruited by the Corporal to join them in a war against enemy soldiers.

The poem “Invictus” by William Ernest Henley came to me an important but trying part of my life. The end of my seventh grade year changed my life because I was moving schools the following year and the knowledge weighed heavily on me. On top of the impending move, my already divorced parents were arguing over my future. My father resented my mother for trying to move me to an “unsafe” school while my mother realized that the change would improve my quality of life by removing me from a Mean Girl situation while also cutting out a thirty minute commute to school. Ultimately the choice came down to what I wanted but both sides were doing everything in their power to sway my decision. It nearly tore my family apart until my mother arranged a shadow

“You’re late” she said in her smooth and gentle voice. “The captain must have filled you in on the case.

Seeing your son willing to give his life for his country and asking you for permission to do this must have been heart breaking. I can't imagine how hard making this decision must have been. Also, knowing that your husband does not agree to this and blames you if something happens to Peter. I'm sorry that you had to go through all this. I admire your son for his braveness and determination, but at the same time I'm sorry that he died on the name of his country like thousand other that went as well. There isn't enough words to describe how you felt when you received that letter. You did't even have the chance to burry him yourself. Now, all I have to say is I'm sorry again and that you have to be strong for your husband and yourself. You have to be strong enough to keep going. It's not your fault. He wanted to go and wanted to fight for his country. I know nothing I say will make you feel better now, but at least I will try. I'm sorry for you loss.My condolences are with you and your

My left hand clasped her right hand lightly. The day I had dreamed of my whole life had finally arrived, though much sooner than I had expected, and now I stood beside a beautiful woman, far too beautiful for I, but her hand felt cold, unlike the fire kindling beside us. She stopped and poured the last of the rice in the flame; I felt it grow an inch shorter. She reached up to grab my hand and we circled the table one last time, seven more steps, each for a vow I wasn’t sure I wanted to keep, but I knew I couldn’t back out now for fear of dishonoring my family. I knew then that my marriage would never be anything more than that, and she would never be more than my wife, not a partner, because I had almost instantly built a barrier separating

On our 3rd night, my relatives invited us to a luxurious restaurant in downtown Beijing. Upon arrival, two people opened the doors of the car for me. As I stepped out, I marveled at the entrance of the restaurant, it was shaped like the gate of the emperor’s palace. However, I caught a glance at the back: it was a dark, back alley. Despite that, we ate a lavish dinner, my cousins ordered me a delicious serving of pecan

Alen, why do you keep coming home so late? You have not even touched the dinner I set out for you last night," my mother said to me in Bosnian. Little did she know that I had been roaming the streets of Detroit with my group of knucklehead friends the night prior. Drinking malt liquor and smoking marijuana, like your typical young degenerate who was throwing away all of his potential for the street life. The difference between me and the people I chose to put myself around was a very scary but blunt truth. The truth was, I fully realized what I was doing was wrong and that altering my state of mind was just that, an escape from reality. The reality of having the gift of spoken word, and never using it. The harsh reality of having physical God-given gifts and letting them deteriorate due to putting cigarettes in my lungs, and alcohol in my liver. See, to understand this frame of mind, one has to understand all I ever saw around me was failure, poverty, and desperation. My angelic mother managed to raise a son with a sense of right and wrong in a place where that was as foreign an idea as never seeing jail bars. One day, I came home from hanging out with my friends to see my mother and father sitting in the living room waiting for me. My parents tell me they sense a shift in my attitude and behaviors since the end of high school, and that we as a family were going to move to St. Louis, Missouri. The reasoning behind this move would be to give me a chance to change my life and

As the day ended, my daughter thanked me to what she saw, even though she cannot say to her friends, but was enough to complete her essay. We stood at the corner of a hut, so no one can see us, holding our hands, saluting the freedom fighters, for their efforts, to what we are today, and closed our eyes. When we opened we were back in our living room. It was 3.00 o’clock in the afternoon. We took pride, sang our national anthem together and left the room.