Childhood injuries were common every now and then when I was younger. One of my first injuries I remember having was on a swing set. Around the age where I was a toddler and had a baby sitter, we would go outside and play on the days it was sunny or warm. So the first thing I would run to is the swing set. After this point I would start swinging and think that it would be impressing to do a stunt. (Till this day, I still do this stunt on a swing set) The little rascal that I was thought it would be impressing to lean back and wrap my legs around the swing chains with my head closer to the ground. So, as the swing was coming back down, I had my head a little too close to the ground and scraped my forehead in the dirt. After this happened, I ran inside crying my eyes out telling the babysitter that the swing set needs a time out. This is one of the injuries I will never forget.
My little brother walks in and asked me to take him to the store. He wanted to get some things for his daughter before we left to Cold Lake. So I went for a quick drive to town and returned home within 16 minutes. When I approached my mom’s house I beeped the horn for her to hurry up because I wanted to get there before the stores closed. Of course me I forgot it was Friday which means late night shopping.
he foundation of my personal hell was laid that day. I was in absolute terror for the remains five minutes of the trip to my house. I slowly reached for the handle to the car door, but my hand was trembling so badly I missed the handle on my first attempt. The calm tone of my father’s voice was in dissonance with the anger he outwardly displayed. He told me to go straight to the basement and wait for his arrival. I heard my father speaking to my sister in hushed tones. In order to understanding of what they were discussing it was necessary for me to get closer to the two of them, but I only dared to venture to the third step from the bottom. I was close enough to hear what they were saying from that distance while also being close enough to
Words Can Hurt Bombarded by the bullies and lies, it all started in 6th grade by being called a “slut” from my so called friends. I would go home after school to be put down once again, I was “dumb” according to my family. By then I had no faith in myself and the world came crashing down on me. I was getting D’s and F’s in school. I would go home and lock myself in my room trying to get away fro the name calling but that didn’t help.
"Waking Up from Abuse" Awakening to the reality that your entire life has been a lie is about the harshest wake up call you can get. I speak from experience. I've actually done it twice now. The first time I "woke up" was when I finally realized I was the survivor of childhood narcissistic abuse.
It was a hockey treatment for my brother and I came with them. The parents went out to eat and the kids stayed at the holt tall. I had nothing to do all the other kids were playing nee hockey I sell my friend on the bad throw a stuffed animal around. So I went on the bed, then he said what are you doing Then he shoved me off the bed off the bed.
Personal Narrative My freshman year of high school, during basketball season, I injured my knee while playing in a home game versus Paola. I ended up tearing my acl and meniscus in my right knee, resulting in a surgery and a lot of therapy. I loved playing basketball and it was my favorite sport, but ever since I injured myself I haven’t felt the same way about the sport.
I had one assault charge whenever I was really young, I got detained for a few days then went on my merry way home. About 7 years later, there's another assault charge put against me - whenever someone had spit on me (Hey! That's an assault on a minor!), I had grabbed their throat and put it against a wall - then let go after realizing I just flipped shit.
The transition from eighth grade to ninth grade is one of the most difficult but unforgettable things a student must do in his adolescence. For me, it was filled with new opportunities of taking Ap classes and joining clubs. One of these cubs was Youth and Government (Y&G). For as long as I can remember my brother, Riad, has boasted about how amazing Y&G is and how it has changed his life. My brother is three years older then me, so as a freshman he was a senior in Y&G. I was so excited for the year due to the fact that i got to experience Y&G with my brother. Little did I know that senior year changed my brother.
In my brief life, I have overcome a lot of adversity. My mom fled Mexico with her three young children to escape domestic violence. When we came to this country we had only a few personal belongings and the promise of a better future. We came to this country and lived in a small trailer with no toilet other than a bucket, and no shower except for the one that was lent to us from the kindness of a stranger, our new neighbor. As a single parent, my mother had to work day and night to support us. While she was working long hours cleaning people’s houses, as the oldest of three children, I had to quickly learn how to cook, how to clean and take care of my siblings. From getting the kids ready for school, helping them with their homework, and
For fifteen years, I put my heart, effort, and soul into my band Murky Waters. I made it into a career that supports my wife, my stepdaughter, and my parents. Murky Waters is what saved my family and me from poverty in the ghetto of Warsaw, Poland, and it’s what saved me from giving up on life entirely before I met my wife. I met her only a year after Murky Waters began and she was introduced to me by my best friend and drummer, Tony. Anka was two months pregnant with my stepdaughter, Antonia, at the time we met. When I fell in love with Anka after a couple months of hanging out after Murky Waters shows, I knew I wanted to support her and Antonia for the rest of my life. I was broke, an alcoholic, and had no idea how to raise a family, so I forced myself to figure it out and pretend that I had everything under control. Anka, the band, Antonia, and I
It was a taciturn gloomy morning, the year of 1862. The 12th of September. At the end of it, I might be with my family again or buried someplace underground. It was my time to go into battle as soon as I finish saying goodbye to my loved ones. The tears slid down my wife’s face and my daughters lingered into their mother’s arms to cover their dripping faces. I gave everyone one last family hug as my wife said to me “Be careful”.
Many things pass my mind once I experience them, but this incident left me with a traumatizing repercussion. The first day of 7th grade had arrived, and I was terribly nervous. For as long as I could remember, I had always been that kid that got overly anxious for first days, or any type of social situation for that matter. My anxiousness was most probably fostered from the sheltered environment I grew up in. I was constantly ridiculously too shy to socialize or interact with new people. It would take me for what felt like centuries to settle into a classroom and be somewhat comfortable with the class and teachers. Since it was the first day of school, I knew the dreadful introducing ourselves assignments were coming up.
The Tough Mudder is very impressive for me by its motivations of all participants. Unlike the relax atmosphere at Noosa Jazz Festival, the day I attendant in Tough Mudder was a very busy Sunday with over five thousands of attendees in that day. My first job was cheering people up in the first obstacle, Kiss of the Mud, and it is really interesting experience to me. In most of the event, the volunteers are the boundary spanners of the event organization. So that before I did my job, the volunteer manager told us we should do whatever things we could to cheer people up by encourage them and make some noise. Though our passionate encouraging, people seemed more enthusiastic about competing in the challenges and expecting about the further obstacles.
How my writing has changed throughout this course This course has tuned my critical thinking and my appreciation of narrative strategy. This course required a daily journal regarding one or more short stories or excerpts. These daily journals have refined my analysis skills and my understand of how powerful narrative strategy can effect my perspective of stories and the charterers in the stories. “The reader has a powerful view of the world.