My Father 's Life On My Dad 's Father, And The Loving Memories Of His Mother

I try to spend most of my time by the ocean every day I am there because I feel like I cannot get enough of it. On a typical day I try to wake up early but that doesn’t always happen. I try to do this because in the early morning the beach peaceful and the sunrise incredible. And at this early hour you can also find the best seashells and sand dollars, too. After an early morning stroll, usually with my aunt and uncle who are the only other ones to get up early, I go back to the house to change into my bathing suit. I put my suntan lotion on for a long day on the sand. After that I go down by the water and get my beach blanket out so that I can sunbathe for most of the day. I will take a few breaks to go into the water, but only when I get so hot that I can’t stand it. I do enjoy the ocean, and although the waves are really rough during high tide, it’s still a lot of fun to be out there in the water getting jostled around. I enjoy boogie boarding or

Coming to Miami from the communitst country of Cuba in 1995, was the least to say a culture shock for my grandparents. With the little change that they had in their pockets, they set out to give their family a better life than their own. Their lives had already began to take a turn, as my grandfather was drafted into the United Sates army, sending them off to Germany. During his service, he was a barber for his camp, which he told me was his passion, because of the relationships he could make with others.When he describes this time for me he explains how this was not the beginning of his new life, it was only the road to get him there. This really resonated with me, because he knew in his heart when he had made it, which was neither in Germany nor New York where they had lived right after is service.

For my veteran essay, I decided to interview my grandpa, Joe (my mom’s dad). When he served, he served in the army as a chef for two years. His rank was specialist, 5th class. In 1965, Joe came home from work and saw his girlfriend (my grandma) and his mom looking at a letter, crying. She gave him the letter and he felt a bus token. When you were drafted, they would give you a bus token to get to the army. He was stationed in Fort Gordon in Georgia. He stayed in the U.S because his father died when he was eight years old and he had to support his mother and my grandma.

I was a sea sissy. I loved to look out across Mexico's Sea of Cortez from the deck of our sailboat. The wide expanse of the ocean sprawled out like an endless turquoise lawn. But, swimming in it? I envisioned giant poisonous, sharp-toothed, spiny beasts with gnashing teeth. For weeks my husband and children taunted me to join them as they frolicked in the salty surf. I fancied beach combing alone for seashells instead.

Moving to a different place is exciting but for my grandma was the complete opposite. In 1979, at the age of 38 years old, my grandma, Ruby Arzayus, made the decision to move to the United States. Leaving her two little blessings back home, she made the decisions to move to the states because she wanted to give both of her daughters a better future. Growing up, I have been close to my grandma but I have never asked her about her voyage to the United States. She’s always been so reserved about it. I really never thought about my family antiquity until I learned the hardship and struggles that my grandmother faced trying to come to this beautiful country, I call home.

Most people spend their life attempting to discover who they are. They focus on their interests, their lifestyle, and how they feel. However, a key component to who we are resides in the past. It depends on our ancestors, our culture, our history, and our family’s story. I am the great-granddaughter of Ernest Stockler. I am the great-granddaughter of a Czechoslovakian immigrant that traveled across the ocean to make a better life for his future children. His story made my story what it is. But, what exactly is his story? Ernest Stockler’s story revolves around his desire to leave Czechoslovakia, the appeal of the United States of America, and the life he made in the home of the free.

My grandmother’s parents immigrated to Johnstown, Pennsylvania from a small town in Poland close to Warsaw. As a young child she spoke two languages Polish at home and English when she went to school or with friends. Life started out very difficult and never really got any easier.. Her life continued to get worse when she lost her husband in a mining accident and her eldest son to a car accident. My grandma used to tell me the stories of their deaths, and how it taught her how strong she really is. She turned the hardships in her life into something beautiful, something joyous, and something sentimental. These moments shaped her into who she is, but they do not define her. These moments that she shares allow me to move on and find something joyful about every situation even if they are not be ideal. When my grandfather passed away my grandmother gave me the strength to look on the brighter side of the situation instead of the sad side.

This paper is about a very special person in my life, who is my mom. Her parents were originally from Canada. In 1942 during World War 2 they migrated to the United States. They moved to the United States so my grandpa didn’t have to enlist in the war due to their culture. My mom was born five years later in 1974 in Olivet, South Dakota.

I had never seen such affection and care as I did from my family. After all the goodbyes we made our way into the airport. I held tight to my rolling suitcase as I walked to my future and I never forgot the love and support that stood there weeping. After waiting in the airport for over two hours. The plane finally arrived. I was sitting in my airplane seat slowly anticipating to see my mom that I haven’t seen in six years. I remember the first day that I had came to America. Getting out of the airplane exhausted not being able to walk because I had been sitting in the plane for 12 hours. I was in the Phoenix airport, looking around nervously in a peculiar place filled with peculiar people. But, the moment I saw my Mom and my other family,

One of my fondest memories of my dad was when I was young perhaps 10. Dad had stopped drinking and still had the love of dogs and hunting. Each day he would work and come in looking like he had rebuilt the entire stadium of McCarther field. Big work boots, jeans that hung down to his tail, white working shirt, and a beginning bulging belly from too many steaks and too many half gallons of ice cream. It was not uncommon for we older girls to hear his beat up Chevy coming down the road from a block or two away and whoever was there, would have a large glass of tea with ice waiting by the time he drove into the drive way.

I remember all the memories that my dad and I shared when I was younger, and I wish that I could continue to make more with him today. It hurts me to think about his absence and to see other young men with a father and to not have one in my life. I have a lot of special memories with my dad. Every morning he would take me to the baby sitters. When I was three he started taking me to get breakfast from a deli, the same deli everyday, called “Renny’s” in Dover Plains, NY. We also used to go to the firehouse all the time, and I would sit in the fire truck and beg him for rides. He would say no, but one day when I was about five he finally took me for a ride in the truck and I was so happy that i finally got to go for a ride in the truck. I turned the sirens and lights on and he would yell at me for it, but if I kept doing it he wouldn’t say anything anymore and just let me have fun. I also remember my dad taking the day off of work one day and when I woke up to go to school, I got ready and walked out of the house, and got in the truck. When he started driving I noticed we were going the wrong way. He told me we were going out to hang out together for the day. So we went to Lebanon Valley for a truck pull and tractor pull. I will never forget that day because I had the whole day to spend with my dad, just me and him.

From a young age, myself and my papa were extremely close, I was his youngest grandchild and his last. My Papa was a hardworking man that grew up in the Gorbals, despite a rough upbringing, my papa is one of the sweetest most placid people you would ever meet, which is where he received his childhood nickname style. My Papa was a highly influential man who was a role model to: me, my brother and my dad. My papa was very comical, thoughtful man with a great character; this is why anyone could socialise with my papa because he was such a loveable character. My papa had an imposing life, he lived in Germany for a number of years with his wife and three children (My nana, dad, uncle and auntie) living on a farm with a great job, it was a great time for him, I remember talking to him about the farm, he would talk about how he would retrieve fresh eggs every morning from the chickens and how he would feed the animals. This great life in Germany did not last forever though, my papa would be involved a perilous car crash in 1971, where he would break his hip as well as many other nasty injuries, due to these injuries my papa would spend nearly a year in hospital which ultimately would result in him being let go from his job and returning to Scotland. When my papa and family returned to Scotland it was extremely difficult for him to find work, despite his injuries he found work in the ship yards, in which he would work the majority of his days.

On January 12th, 1999, a bouncing baby boy by the name of Martin Nitzken came into the world. The hospital room was full of his loved ones who, even though he didn’t know, were going to be there for him for the rest of his days. He weighed in at nine pounds and fifteen ounces and was twenty-two inches long, quite the big boy. But it wasn’t just himself that was big, his heart was big too. For his years to come, this heart would help him to make connections with people who would eventually guide him to where he is today.

This section of my life essay is split between what I have faint memories of and what my mother remembers so clearly. I have united the two into one smooth narrative, but it is still a united effort. However, in my mind, I can see perfectly clear the moment we found out that a third airplane had crashed into The Pentagon, where my father was. The sound that came from my mother was not human. She fell from the chair, dirt-caked knees digging deep into the floor, pink shirt already stained with tears. Her blonde, curly hair had clumps of mud in it, and her eyes were so red. Her mouth was open so wide, I feel like I could have looked down and seen her heart. She screamed and screamed, and in his crib my brother started to scream in unison, as

The Earth man lives on is ninety-seven percent ocean, but man cannot control himself when it comes to protecting the ocean. Without the ocean the world’s population would no longer have seafood to help with nutrition, jobs as sailors and fishermen would no longer exist, beaches would not exist for children to create memories, and the world would no longer be the same. As a young girl I use to always go visit my aunt in Connecticut, and since I grew up in Las Vegas, Nevada the closest I got to water was the pool in my grandparents backyard, so my aunt and uncle always made sure that while I was with them we went to the beach. Although this one particular year stands out to me when I think of the beach; 2011 I was fifteen in RI at