Founding Fathers Essay

watch. I sat in the emergency room for over two hours with Marcos, a tall man who spoke broken English, whose only job was to make sure I would not strangle myself with the bed sheets. My mother was signing paper work, getting food and calling my father for a majority of those two hours. By the time she came back, it looked like she had aged ten years. Another hour passed, my dad arrived. We all sat in the emergency room together, and Marcos took post in the hallway. Eventually, a doctor showed

mother slip on a long white flowy dress, dab some perfume on her neck that smelt like the daises I picked as a child, and we were out the door. I asked where were we going, and she said “Scott and me are getting married Sydney, you are going to have a father now.” I laid my head down in the back seat praying things would be better now. Watching him spin her around and pronounce his love to her, it was history from that moment. And for the first time in my life, as luck would have it, I had a place to

became a broken home in 2009, but not just any broken home. It became a home searching for a renewing, searching for a reconnection. With whom? Well, we did not quite know that answer at that point of our beautiful tragedy either. From the alcoholic father, to the sleepless mother, I grew up in a family that seemed perfect enough for me. My dad, my mom, my sister Charli, and I spent most weekends with my dad 's family, our friends, and my dad 's best friend Darrell. Other than the times my dad would

In a remote part of the world lived a newly tuned eighteen-year-old girl named Skylark Triton. Her father had given her that name. He believed if a person was going to been exceptional in life, they needed an exceptional name. This being said, she lived with her single mother, a lonely marine biologist, studying the coral reef growth patterns in the area. Because of this, her home was a sea boat. From the outside, the chipped whitely painted boat looked small in size, but inside the sailboat held

Within a week, Sarah comes into the office to meet with Thom and me. I’m amazed how large her belly has grown in a short time and she looks tired. On the way to his office, she remarks, “Thom’s a workaholic. He expects everyone to work as hard as he does. Be sure to pace yourself.” In the meeting, I sit and listen as Thom and Sarah go over the scripts in development. The conversation between them is polite. However, there is a hint of tension. In particular it’s evident, when they don’t see eye

Over the last few years I have acquire more information about my family and who we are. Therefore, I am Jamaican and Indian and on my mother’s side we are consider to be royalty. However, I have not gone to Jamaica, but I plan on doing so one day. When we talk about my family traditions and communication pattern, that I have observed and further analyses, the different behavior in my family growing up. Based on my own personal experiences, I would view Jamaica as a collectivistic culture with a high

the stairs to be sure not to wake up Lisa. When he got to the bottom of the stairs, Dan sees both his parents, father at the kitchen table drinking coffee and reading the newspaper, and mother at the counter spreading the jam on the mountain of toast beside her. The quiet morning is comfortable and pleasant. “How did you sleep?” Father asked? “Fine,” Dan responded. He knew that Father was eager to say something else. “Your mother and I have been talking and have decided to take the day off from

It’s March 22, 1756 and I’m spending my day around town with my younger sister Emily. It’s hot but I don’t mind. I’m just glad I don’t have to have the rest of my huge family with me. There’s my mom, my dad, my eight year old sister Emily, my two younger brothers, Jack, who is six, and henry, who is five, there’s also a baby who is a year and a half old, her name is penny and she is the only reason I don’t lose my mind living with a loud, chaotic, messy family of seven. You might think being a fourteen

Realistic Story: Flash Draft I listened to my tennis-shoe-clad feet hitting the track. Smack! Smack! “C’mon Brody! My coach shouted. “finish strong!” I was on my last interval and I knew my legs were shaking. We had probably run ten miles today and my body knew it. But when I run long distances, I just repeat this mantra my coach had told me and the team. We chanted it before every meet. “One step, one stride, one lap at a time” I finished my last lap, and sat down and pulled off my shoes. I had

Many people don’t know much about me. Including my real name. I live in a small town with a forest surrounding the small edge, it’s located by Minneapolis. I go to school just like any other 17 year old. But I never go home at the end of the day. Instead I walk around town see what I can. And at the end of the day I go through neighborhoods until I reach the highway. I keep walking until I get to a corner... my corner. I have a few blankets, a pillow, my cat Bessy, some boxes, a shopping cart, a