Narrative Essay On Homeless Home

At the age of nine most kids are spending their time outside at the playground with their friends, when I was nine I got to experienced what is was being homeless. Growing up I never knew my home was dysfunctional because my mother did everything she could to shield me and my siblings from the reality of that was actually happening, until she couldn’t anymore. My father was in and out of jail and struggling with drugs and alcohol, till this day I don’t think my mom really knew I understood what that meant but it was hard not to even at such a young age. I knew exactly what was happening, I remember the sleepless nights of hearing my parents screaming and yelling back and forth, and the cops showing up to arrest my dad. One day my mom had enough and decided she wasn’t going to put our family though it anymore, so she packed out bags and we left.

“Y’all ain’t going nowhere!” grandma would yell bickering back

There were tall buildings and so many cars it was insane, people riding bikes in the street and homeless men and women holding up signs. It was almost too much to take in, I was so tired from the trip but I couldn’t stop gazing. One memory that seems to stick with me until this day was riding across the Coronado Bridge that connects downtown San Diego to Coronado island. When we drove across it for the first time I sat back and dug my face into Ashley’s shoulder, “Stop it and look.” Ashley would yell as she forced me to look and I’m glad she did because it was beautiful. The ocean was a deep blue color and when the bright sun rays hit it, it looked as if a bunch of mirrors were down in the water. That was the first time I’d seen an ocean and in that moment I fell in love with my new