Personal Narrative Personal Narrative Personal Narrative Personal Narrative

1. Personal Narrative
Hello, Dr. Taft, I look forward to another exciting semester with you, and my cohorts exploring my
inner and outer world. Let's start with my family constellations it begins with my stepmother, and
my father, my older brother Steven along with myself. At the time, I did not know that Ann was my
stepmother, and I did not find out until I was older, and she had two sons who lived in Arizona. A
few years later her eldest son Tommy would come to live with us, and the life that we were
accustomed to would change the outcome of all our lives.
The social, economic level that we as a family was at was one of middle–class, and living in a
middle–class neighborhood in the city of Boston gave us a sense of accomplishment. In the 60s life
as I knew it was great, we always had plenty of presents for Christmas, and birthdays were enjoyable
also. There was always plenty of food and clothes, and we also took family vacations every year. My
father worked at Converse Rubber, and he would bring bags of Chuck Taylor sneakers home. Chuck
Taylor was a brand name of Converse...show more content...
He went on driving a brand–new Cadillac every year, to driving a 1973 Cutlass. Little did any of us
know, that would be the last time he would ever buy? Before that the time of my father`s death,
we went on welfare. Back in the early to mid 70`s, welfare did not give you food stamps or EBT
cards. Families had to come down to the local office and pick up food items, things like; chopped
meat, cheese, and powdered milk. We would also get these bottles of corn syrup and macaroni.
We would have boxes and boxes of that stuff. When people in the neighborhood found out you
were on welfare, you laughed at and ridiculed as being poor. It was very embarrassing and
shameful to have people make fun of you and call you names. As a direct result of this economic
change in our status, a direct change in our social values changed with
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2. Personal Narrative
The sky melted from a clear blue to creamsicle orange and pinks to a dark, starry navy. I could see
the sun's transition really well inside the little glass diner I worked at, Cosmo's. The ceiling and
walls were constructed entirely of glass, and blue lights made up the floor, giving the small diner a
cold, lonely feeling. The booths were silver with pastel blue cushions, the tables silver with
shimmery blue tablecloths, pressed under glass. The bar table, that enveloped me, silver with blue
lights underneath the glass top, accompanied by tall, blue faux leather bar stools.
It was usually this empty on a Friday night. Well, after the move in robot servants, people rarely ate
out, or left their houses at all. The only people who came in there...show more content...
The game stopped, everyone began to huddle around him. I stood up from my seat, my head
spinning as I flooded with adrenaline. I ran down the stairs and onto the field, my heart pounding
against my chest. When they took off his helmet, I saw that he was bleeding too.
"Who are you?" I heard one of his teammates say. "Adrien and I are friends, he drove us here. What
happened? Is he alright?" I spewed out, my tongue was dry, my hands were sweaty. "I think he
might have a concussion, an ambulance is on its way. You should probably meet him there, to pick
him up after too." His coach said to me, sounding completely unfazed, no emotion in his tone
whatsoever.
The sirens became loud, causing my ears to ache with pain. I watched, frozen, as two men in
uniforms ran over to us. They laid out a stretcher, laid him atop, and carried him away. I ran after
them. Then, using the keys Adrien left with me, jumped into his Jeep and drove after them, all the
way to the hospital. *** 9 pm ***
I sat in the waiting room for approximately 2 hours until they informed me I could go see him.
When I entered the room, he looked bad. His hair was matted, his lips dry and his eyes were small
and puffy. He had a hospital gown on. "Winona!" He spoke with joy, but he still sounded tired,
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3. Personal Narrative
It was the final night of the camping trip. My family had come to the woods, and having spent
two days toughing it out in a tent, we decided to treat ourselves and stay in a cabin. The day was
well spent and included fishing, roasting marshmallows, and playing games with my mom, dad, and
little sister, Payton. Understandably, all four of us were exhausted. Things started to go wrong
when I entered the cabin bedroom. Late at night, when I concluded everyone had went to bed after
accidentally falling asleep on the patio, I hastily walked into the room I shared with my sister.
Through the dark, I saw a faint outline of her blonde hair on the top bunk. After quietly slipping into
bed, I began to hear quiet, timorous humming coming from above me.
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4. Personal Narrative
All or Nothing My eyes pop open to the sound of my phone blaring "Turn my Swag on" by Soulja
Boy. Hesitantly, I roll out of bed to see the sun– whispering through my window– promising me
another warm day. Knowing that I had to be out of the door in thirty minutes, I swiftly dressed
myself, chugged my morning smoothie, grabbed my bag, and ran out the door. While departing
form my house to Atlanta, a journey I had done too many times too count, I recall the first time
that I had made this very trip. "But Dad, I don't wanna drive!" I whined, even though there had
been no time for that; we had two hours of open highway to conquer. I had felt butterflies adding to
my stomach with every mile closer the gps informed me I was getting to the practice...show more
content...
I had been ready for practice. It was only when I had finally gotten back, sitting in the same
concrete bleachers watching another group of athletes practice; I had begun to feel nervous. Unlike
the minicamp, I had attended the day before; the athletes were throwing a foreign object that I had
never seen or heard of before–the weight. Coach Ronda and I walked up to the tennis courts that
were parallel to the track. I had a weight in hand, and while she had been excited to teach me, was
far more excited about having someone in the club that is as tall as her. At first she showed me
position one, two, and three. We put the three steps together, and practiced until the positions of
my turns were acceptable. What felt like eternity, but in all reality had only been about an hour, it
was finally time for shot put! Coach Mike was pouring so much information into my saturated
mind like how I should be lifting with my hips, striking my arm out over the toe board while I
released the shot put, and the most important thing he had emphasized, was that I needed to get
faster. All too soon it had been time to head back home. While heading home, of course my dad
wanted to talk about practice had gone, I told him that there was no way I could ever go back to
basketball knowing how much throwing could hold in store for
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