Childhood Memories Essay

My most significant childhood experience is when I came to the United States for the first time. I was born and raised in Cali, Colombia for 12 years. For most of the people outside the country, who is struggling financially, coming to this country is a dream full of opportunities. It was a long process to come here, since my biological father was a homeless person, and I needed permission from him to come here. Thankfully after two years of dealing with lawyers, my sister and I made it to get our visas. It was my first time in an airplane as well, so everything was an adventure.

Often times we find ourselves thinking about the past only to try to force the memories away and return to our current delusion. We can never erase the past, but if the past is who we are, then should we just welcome pain back into our lives? Embarrassment, guilt, and pride betray us as we choose to bury our darkest memories in our head and look to a positive future without ever having to readdress them and acknowledge that they had ever happened in the first place. Thinking back now my weakest moment caught me by complete surprise.

Sometimes she’d come to my regional finals. During the season, Sunday was soup day- she’d make it while we were with dad, zipping up and down the sidelines, and heated it up in that well-scrubbed, large silver pot when we came in from soccer. Some days it was kind of a proper soup, a bit like those Penelope had in her mansion near town, from a real recipe- cream of mushroom, minestrone, or French onion. Never cream of chicken though… the place up in town was quite pricey. Other times it’d just be a Mum’s Mix just the way I liked it, made from whatever scraps and bits and pieces needed to be used up. The ultimate rule to good cooking, she’d say, if you put nice things in it, it can’t possibly turn out nasty. In went the leftover bits of ham, corn cobs, softened tomatoes, the stalk of chives sitting at the back of the fridge, left over herbs from the garden, and a tiny cube of chicken stock. Dad would stomp in, the floor boards creaking as he limped into the kitchen. Grey eyed, and growling with hunger, he’d slurp down the whole without even picking up his spoon, bits and pieces sticking to his unruly black moustache. It was true too, I’ve lived with Mum’s philosophy to this day cooking in the front kitchen overlooking the harbour…it’s still loved by

The anticipation of this day had been building up for some time over that last few months, and now it was upon me at last. I didn’t feel the same excitement I had leading up to this moment, I even kind of grumbled to myself about how I wished the bus was bigger so that I would be more comfortable. We all had our assigned seats, but no one seemed to be where they were supposed to be. The anxiousness of getting to Colorado was causing a great deal of confusion, chaos, and

“One, Two, THREE!” Lennie and I sprint toward the bus. I don’t think I have ever seen Lennie run so fast. Just as I think we have made it to safety, a gunshot goes off. Right in front of the old bus, I fall to my knees as my vision becomes blurry. Even through all of the noise and commotion, all I can hear is my ears ringing. Most people would be scared or angry that they are dying, but I was happy because Lennie was safe. Surprisingly, the bus driver took Lennie and drove off. The bus before had just seemed like a bus, but now it was like a chariot, because it carried the only thing important to me in it. As the sight of the bus became vague, my eyes slowly shut and my smile slowly

My knees shivered as I walked up the huge steps onto the bus. Millions of things were running through my mind; I was nervous. There was a loud chatter throughout the bus, but it wasn’t normal chatter. Everyone was on a light edge as we were all more than aware about what we were about to face. The bus pulled up into a familiar area. Elsternwick was busy and the sun was bright. I personally am always in Elsternwick and I never knew the museum was

“There‘s my little genius!” My Dad exclaimed as I sat up on the chair and started digging into my delicious strawberry oatmeal.

When we got on the bus to drive the rest of the way to silver, I tasted my lunch. The bus ride was

Everything was about to change, we wouldn’t order take-out on Sundays, it was a big deal, I was losing my best friend, the only father figure I have ever had so far. I watched him taking all of his stuff out of the apartment, I was getting more and more mad. Wasn’t our beautiful relationship enough to make him stay? I even blame myself I thought I had done something wrong, maybe wearing his clothes and leaving them all messy, I apologize and swear not to do it again, but it didn’t matter the decision was already made.

My First Memory- Personal Narrative I’ve had many memories during my lifetime, many good, and some bad. My

Social constructionism gives meaning to phenomenon in social context and connections between culture and society build up realities in their circumstances. The studies of this idea have been conducted more than thirty years by a number of North American, British and continental writers (Burr, 1995). However, in childhood studies this notion appears later on. It is mostly held universally, childhood is a stage that biologically existing in human life in early years. It should be considered this childhood is constructed in the society. As a social being, it brings into the mind the relationship between society and child, inevitably. However, the dominant understanding of childhood attributes biological and social

When I was a young child I would love to hear my parents tell me that we were going on a trip. I would be full of excitement, because I knew that we would be going to a place that I had never seen before. My parents, my brother, and I would pack our luggage and venture out in our small gray minivan. Three of my most cherished memories in our minivan are when we went to Disney World, the beach, and the mountains.

My earliest memory I remember as a child is around the age of two years old. My Mother would put me in the playpen but I refused to stay. I was able to climb out of it. I remembered my Mother’s face expression that let me know that I better not climb out of the playpen again. This was one of my earliest memories of her setting her boundaries. When I got older, my Mother told me about the situation. She needed to clean and/or cook so she had to put me in the playpen. At the age of two years old, I just wanted to explore and didn’t want to stay in the playpen. This set the tone between us moving forward.

During my childhood waking up early in the morning was one of my favorite things,especially during the summer.I remember waking up one morning to the sound of spongebob on my T.V..Almost as soon as I opened my eyes I immediately got out of bed and ran into the kitchen to find bacon on the table.I shoved two whole peices straight into my mouth and I swear that it was some of the best I have ever had.I sat down in my wooden chairto eat more off of the table.As I finished I remember looking ouside to a bright day.The suns rays hit the dew on the grass just right to make it glisten.

My mom sets down a medium white size box.My mom looks at me and says