My Memories Of My Childhood

Last years, I was in Iraq, in Baghdad, in my house with my mom and sister. It was a beautiful weather, when the phone rang and my mom answered, immediately the smile became on her face when she heard we would travel to another country. After the phone closed, she came to us and said,¨we will finally travel to United States,let us go to prepare the backpacks, we do not have more time to waste¨these news were amazing, but I became sad that we left my cousin, my friend in Iraq. Next, we prepare to go to the pline, we moved in pline to Ardon, then to Germany, and then to United States. It was a fun trip in airport and also a tired one. Then,

I returned home, returned to the same streets and hangouts, to the same people. Yet everything had moved on in my absence; perhaps it was foolish to imagine even one thing would remain the same. My few friends were beyond excited to embrace me and chatter, catching up like we never missed a beat. Afterwards, it was all too obvious that the gaping hole I left on departure had long since healed and scarred up. I'm no longer part of the natural flow of their lives, everyone's grown apart and there is an awkwardness I never expected.

I was six, I knew that we couldn’t stay one place forever. That concept was foreign. Every few years my family and I were stationed to a new place, this time 45 minutes away. Of course, being the stubborn and impatient six year old I was, that seemed a light year away. I have never had friends that lasted over 3 years. Either they left, or I moved. This time, I left first. My friends were my world. I was happy. They were devastated to get the news of my departure. Tears were mixed with the “goodbyes”, and the occasional “I’ll never forget you”.

Some of my fondest childhood memories are of camping trips my parents would take me on starting at a very young age. These memories consist of walking a dark forest trail in the middle of the night, black bags hanging from the hands of all the young children with hopes of catching the mysterious snipe that had been roaming the woods, gathering around warm fires on cool nights with people you barely know and hearing out their past adventures, hoping to one day to take their place with adventurous of my own, getting poison ivy rashes from roaming too far off the trail, scraping up my elbows and knees tumbling over and through rough trails, and getting a fishing hook to wedge itself deeply into my palm. Every day was some plan to try

I spent a year in the foster care system. My foster home was an old creaky house. The room I slept in was at the top of the stairs, third door on the left. I was the only one in my room, it was the only thing I had that was just mine. It was quiet, great for thinking. Early in the morning the sun would streak across the dark hardwood floor and reflect off the white walls, showing all the dust particles in the air. It may have smelt, as many old houses do, of must and mildew, but that morning I did not care. I was about to taste freedom. It was the morning I would leave to live with my mother full-time. Before I left, I sat on my hard mattress with its scratchy tan sheets one last time and reflected on all the events that had led up to this point.

Since my friends and I shared numerous qualities, enjoyed the same games, and enjoyed living life, we began forming an inseparable bond. Growing up, many of my friends would stay at my house because of problems at home, creating a sense of trust between us. The friends made during childhood are crucial in development, " They’re the type of relationships that last longer than any others we have because they’re formed during a time where we’re really seeking attachment.” (Holmes Par 3). The friends I made as a child molded me into the person I am today, their humor, sense of adventure, and trust created a bond between us, lasting to this day.

Luckily, my childhood marked my life in a positive way for the most part. As I got older, I became a social person and even though I don’t have many friends, I enjoyed the few I have because we share the same virtue and authenticity in life. As an adult, I have realized that I rather keep few good friends, instead of having many, but not the support system I need in my life.

When I was young, I didn’t have many friends. I was not very socially outgoing, but I had three great friends that were bound to me by the virtue of meeting at an early age. While I was not a popular young man; my three friends and I managed to create our own niche .We made our own little group that could become our refuge, our own world where we could be each other’s strength, entertainment, support in school, and eventually life itself. Acquaintances, coworkers and schoolmates came and went, but our friendships remained. Eventually, this came to be the foundation of a belief of mine in life. I would always believe in and gave my loyalty to my friends and was given back faith and enduring companionship. If only I had known that years later I would experience something that would shatter my faith in friendship.

My grandma has brown hair with light brown highlights, she is dark skinned, with brown eyes, she is a big people person and does everything to make everyone happy. She works for a dentist and says she would retire if I wasn't hers, she is 56 and still getting shorter. My papa on the other hand is light skinned, has reddish brown hair, blue eyes, he is a controlling but sweet person and he likes things his way, he is retired now and loves it, he is 58 years old, he can't see very well so he's always squinting or has glasses on. I don’t live with my parents or sister but they are still a part of my life. My mom is tan, with brown eyes with reddish hair. She is loving and doesn’t care about what people think. My mom stays at home most of the time to keep my niece Kinley while my sister is at school. My dad looks a lot like my papa except skinnier and has green eyes, “he is a Tosto” my grandma says by that she means he’s just as hard headed as my pa and I. Katie my sister is 17 and raising a child she has dirty blond hair. She is very protective about the people she loves and will do anything for them. I’m the youngest out of my family but I’ve kinda grown up as an only child because it’s just my grandparents and me at the house. My grandma gets her dark skin from her parents because both of them are cherokee indian, my papa on the other hand is very light skinned he gets this from his irish and scottish roots.

Childhood memories are something people cherish for a lifetime. Even the memories you do not want to remember have an impact on you. Only thing you get out of these bad memories are the lessons that will never be forgotten. My most vivid childhood memory is when my dad and I went to gym and I had torn my ligament while playing basketball, because a soldier had stepped on my ankle.

Throughout this paper I will be writing about my life, starting from my very first memory and ending with my life as it is now. Since I was brought into this world I had an older sister who is two and a half years older than I am. My parents said right away that my sister was so excited to have me in her life that she did not care that she was no longer the center of my parent’s attention. She acted as if I was her baby. When I was just starting out, as a toddler was the time that I started to develop my first memories, which are not all good. Lets start from the beginning, my first memory that I have of myself would be from when I was almost two years old. In this memory I was attending my papas funeral. I remember that there was the colour red everywhere, all over the walls and even on the seats. It was his favourite colour according to what my parents tell me. From this memory I also remember my parents walking me up to him during his wake and allowing my older sister and I to put a photo of us into his shirt pocket so we would always be with him. After this memory, my next one occurs when I am around the age of two as well. I remember being in my families first home sitting in our kitchen with my mom, on her lap wrapped in my little mermaid blanket, drinking a little bit of tea with her while we watched my older sister catch the bus to go to school. This is still one of my favourite memories because I truly fell that this helped shaped the person I am today. I also

I think of my life and memories as an ocean: serene and still or rough and rigid. But in the end it’s always beautiful and breath-taking. Some of my memories warm me up from the inside. But they also tore me apart. Unfortunately, the memories that tore me apart are the best I can remember. My childhood memories, when I look back at them, are filled with resentment and bitterness. The first few memories, I was spent with strangers. Strangers my parents paid to be our care-givers. Some of these strangers were kind and compassionate, some were troubled and negligent. My dad received so much help due to the circumstances in his country. I remember an instance when my community gave us a helping-hand. They helped us fix our trailer and built a

As a child growing up, some of my earliest memories were my mother taking us to church every Sunday. It was a traditional type of Church that didn 't believe in the gifts of the Spirit, let alone God speaking through dreams. Even though the gifts or ministry of the Spirit was not discussed in Church, even as a child, I had a knowing that God speaks through dreams.

Have you ever had moments in your life when your own courage or someone else’s courage put you in awe? Was it that moment you saw firefighters rushing down the street to unknowingly help strangers in a burning building? Or, when you saw your baby brother finally build up the courage to ride a bike without training wheels for the first time? For many, the world “courage” has boundless meanings. Courage helped me become a woman and to close a roughly written chapter in my life I thought I could never close.

As human beings in a world growing so fast, factors of a person are bound to change. At this point of my life, I can say that I am my genuine self. My grandmother’s presence and death, torment in middle school and acceptance into the Regional Arts Program affected me to a great extent, not many people knew. I was a very sensitive and reclusive child, however, have learned to become a more outspoken and stronger person. As a child, I felt the need to restrain from being myself. I describe it as feeling like being trapped in a cage, being able to reach out but not fully letting myself to show who I am. I instantly became a follower, allowing my insecurities to mute what I actually felt and enjoyed. I constantly weaved in and out of situations, which lead to some of the darkest times of my life. My insecurities and fears were the bars of my cage that never let me break free.