On October 9th‚ 2013‚ my Grandmother died from cancer. Two days later we were at the funeral home a couple of minutes away from her house in urban Philadelphia. When we got out of our car I felt a strong brisk of wind and a cold chilling sense down my spine‚ “This isn’t going to be a good day.” I thought to myself and walked up the ramp and into the funeral home. I immediately noticed an overwhelming smell. Like elders and salt‚ probably from the tears that were shed here. I looked around and walked
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Looking for Home I remember when they kicked us out. It was only a couple of weeks ago. We Indians were minding our own business when the troops first came. They dragged us out of our tents and sent us walking with only the clothes on our back. My family decided to go to the Oklahoma region along with our tribe. And so here we are‚ walking through forests‚ woods‚ and plains on The Trail of Tears‚ looking for our destination. We have been walking since‚ and our clothing can do nothing against the
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measurements‚ and what needed to be contained in the house. Simple things like a restroom‚ two bedrooms‚ a kitchen. Otherwise‚ we were set free to do as we pleased. I remember this because I became charmed by solving the problems that come with drafting a home. Making things make sense‚ and fit‚ was frustrating‚ but in a way that motivated me to keep going at full speed. That is why I seeked out an architect to shadow. Before starting my research‚ or participating in my shadowing‚ I knew very little about
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Jessica runs down the field‚ towards to goal. She can feel the wind rushing past her. She lifts her foot up and swings at the worn out soccer ball. The ball just slips past the goalies gloves and hits the back of the net. That’s what she craved‚ except that feeling was separated by the feeling of her parents saying that she had four F’s and a D on her report card. “I know this report card didn’t exactly pass with flying colors but this season has me crammed with drills and skill building exercises
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Military strategist Napoleon Bonaparte equips‚ “A soldier will fight long and hard for a bit of colored ribbon” (Brainy quote). It was a sunny day with beautiful white specks glistening as they fell down to the ground and attached together into large clumps. The houses were filled with sparkling red and green lights and decorative yard figures. Traffic rushed from place to place for their last minute Christmas gifts as others were getting ready for their family photos. As everyone is planning to
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that I knew that things were going to be different. I didn’t know who I was going to live with‚ and I understood that one parent typically pays the other child support‚ and I didn’t want either of my parents to have to do that. After that‚ the vibe at home was very tense‚ with my mom and dad fighting‚
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from friends‚ doctors‚ nurses‚ and family. As I returned home from the hospital the front door to our house resembled a revolving door with friends and family constantly coming and going. The teachers from my high school personally called me to express their love and care‚ one even offered to bring a web cam into her classroom so I would not fall behind on the material! The sheer support and constant uplifting made my month long journey of home recovery fly by. After three years‚ a trip to the Chapel
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Leaving Home I can still remember the day I knew I wanted to move to Arizona. I was in Pittsburg‚ Pennsylvania‚ working a new store opening for Longhorn Steakhouse. It was a Saturday night and we were getting slammed in the kitchen. My job was to train and coach the new cooks through the shift. I was sweating like I was running a marathon in the summer heat of Arizona. After the big push of guests came through the kitchen‚ and the new cooks could handle the line‚ the trainers and I headed to
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church‚ but man oh man can he recite the verses‚ at least the scary vague Hail Mary ones. Just by the way he talks I could tell he’s seen some shit. At the same time‚ his eyes have dark rings around it‚ bloodshot. A chiseled perma-scowl that practically completes his entire face. His head lurched forward from the rest of his body‚ with a pointy nose covered in acne scars. His hair is reddish and curly‚ goes down to his shoulders and parts from his forehead. This was the part that scared me
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The Responsibilities of a Soldier As an opening I will be giving a short summary on the different responsibilities a soldier has and what I will be covering in this essay. The Army itself is a large responsibility that every soldier has. As I’m often told it’s the little stuff that really matter because all the little things amount to bigger things. Each and every soldier is responsible for their appearance‚ being on time‚ physical fitness and a good deal of other thing that form their responsibilities
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