Autobiographical Autobiography

When I first saw in the syllabus the type of paper we would be writing for this course I thought about what culture means to me. What was the culture of my family? Where did we come from? How did we end up in Virginia? How did we end up believing some of the things we believe? To me culture was basically how I was raised—my behaviors, beliefs, values, and ideas cultivated during my youth and its evolvement as I grew into an adult. This truly was to be a very interesting and involved quest for information. Though I attempted to use websites such as www.genealogy.com and www.ancestry.com, I found most of the information from a couple of the adults in my family. Adults? I, too, am an adult, but in my family, age comes

The 22nd day of May, 2005, it was a sunny day, few clouds in the sky. It also happened to be my mom's birthday. I remember it as if it were yesterday as surprising as that may seem. It was a beautiful spring day, birds chirping and kids running around. I was playing baseball outside of my house with my friend Jake. Mom inside on the phone, completely unaware of what was going to happen next. We were playing baseball, I walked over to Jake to tell him to use a different bat and just as I walked over, he swung the bat and hit me just above the eye. My head flopped back and the tears rolled down my face. Blood oozed down my cheek as I lost perception of reality. I don’t think I was fully aware of how severe the situation was until I was in the

Typical, just a typical summer day for me. In fact, everything about it was typical. The time I got up, what I had for breakfast and what projects my dad had in store for me to do on the old house. My other family members would too also get jobs and projects to do around the house. Most of the time everyone would work on separate things and we would get many things accomplished putting us closer to our goal of getting the house on the market. But there would be times where we would have to work with other people. Depending on who you worked with you either got stuff done or you were arguing with that person about the silliest of things which would inevitably cause you to slow done and not get anything done. For me, that was

My mother is a enormous factor in my ethical thinking. Till I was about five years old it was just me and her. She is a strong working women and nothing can stop her. For the longest time I didn’t really think anything about it. It was just me and my mom against the world. I came to realize that she was someone I wanted to grow up to be. No matter what happened she was always there for me. Another big factor was my Aunt. She was about sixteen when I was born and thought the world of me. No matter if she was really young she would help my mom take care of me. She was never afraid to tell me what was right and wrong. With my aunt being so young I saw her grow up into a mature adult. Many people I am friends with are because

That day I learned something the hard way being scared on a ride. Most people might think about that ride being fun but when being on a ride with having drops you get scared. Especially if you haven't rode any rides that drop. When the place says its suppose to The Happiest Place on Earth!

As a first year sociology student, my sociological file is minute and underdeveloped. I have my interests and research questions when it comes to sociology because of my inexperience. With the Persian heritage I obtain, I have an interest in how society reacts to those of Middle Eastern ancestry in public.

We had this playset that had a bar on the left side to do flips on. On the other side there was a climbing rope, and in the front there were two swings. My brother and I came up with a game to see who could get over the bar fastest by doing a flip. So the first few times I did it I was fine, I grabbed the bar put my stomach on it and spun down. My brother and I took turns and on my 3rd turn I must not have done it correctly, but either way I hit my head on it right below my eyebrow. I fell on the ground and held my hand to my eye, by then I started crying because of shock. Surprisingly it didn’t hurt that bad, but it was just throbbing. My brother came over and told me to move my hand so he could look at it when I did he looked worried, he told me that we had to go in the house right away. I had blood all over the palm of my hand and on the right side of my face. He helped me up and walked there with me to the house.

I was born in Dallas, Texas but when I was 3 years old I was taken to my parents’ home country, Mexico. My mother took my younger sister and me to Mexico while my father stayed in the United States and worked to provide for us. I spend 6 years in Mexico and I went to school there. I had an amazing childhood in the place my parents were born and had the opportunity to grow up around my family and culture. I became a fond lover of the traditions and the peaceful life of what I consider my country. I have many amazing memories from living in Mexico. The way everything called for a celebration where everyone was invited. The dedication that every festival I attended showed. Simply all the traditions that even when I live miles away from Mexico have stuck with me, things I still celebrate with my family every year. I love to be able to call myself Mexican American and to be able to share my parents. My love for Mexican culture plays a role in my decision to want to go to Spain. I want to see where some of the customs I know originated from and see where my ancestors came from.

One sociological biography can be difficult because checking once else is almost the form of a case study thinking be difficult to look at it objectively without an ingrained certain beliefs about oneself this paradigm must be shifted to look at ones self objectively. Personally I was born Alabama and raised in Texas; this experience meant that I did not have many countercultures to interact with on a daily basis in Elementary school and high school. This isolation lead to certain beliefs became ingrained age creating almost a cultural imperialism Keirns, et al. 2015) that myself, and everyone around me clung too. Although in the south is overwhelmingly especially in the early 2000 the south what's overwhelming conservative religiously and

In November of 2012, I got sick. For three days my mother kept me out of school, for a mild fever. I don 't even remember feeling ill; it was simply three days off for fun. After the fever broke, I went back to school as normal. All I remember next is my head never stopped aching. Day or night, school or home, medicine or no medicine. Nothing ever made me better. It is now October of 2017, five years, and I can 't tell you the last day I remember my head not aching.

Have you ever walked down that white tile floor that reeked of bleach, with a bouquet of roses and daisies, all tied into one? Well, I have. My brother was in a small hospital room for a little over a week, trying to recover from a car accident with a minor concussion. I remember standing close by my dad as we went into the huge elevator filled with people. I slowly made my way to the far right corner and waited till our stop. As the elevator ringed, we snuck out of the crowd of people and turned the corner. I knocked on the door. The door slowly squeaked opened with a nurse on the other end. I look over to the bed; my brother had needles and wires stuck into him like a pincushion. But yet, he still managed to get some sleep. I set the box of chocolates on the table beside him, and then set my own self onto the small, unpleasing couch. Trying to get comfortable, I

Does the task of memoir writing puzzle you? It’s alright. This autobiography example for students is here to show you that memoir writing can be easy and even exciting. All you need to do is to scroll this page down and enjoy this amazing sample and the related, practical hints.

My earliest memories of being read to were when I was five years of age and my

My earliest memories of being read to was when I was about four or five years old, my mom had read me princess books along with cat in the hat ones. She knew that in order for me to fall asleep, she had to read me a couple pages of the book I wanted. The earliest memory I have of writing was when I started Pre-K, there I began to learn how to write my name. Like most little kids, my handwriting wasn’t the best but It improved over time. I only remember the teacher would give us a worksheet full of colors and we had to learn how to write them out. In Pre-K the students were basically forced to take a nap, before that nap the teacher that I had read us maybe ten pages of a book. All of my memories were

I remember myself sitting near a little block with letters and my mother teaching me the name of each of them. She starts to sing me a song to help me to memorize the alphabet. It is so funny singing the ABC song. At that instant, the door opens, and my father enters the room. That is the first thing carved in my memory, and each time when I think about it, I conclude that we are the best family in the world.