Personal Narrative: A Place In A Car With Two Children

Good morning! I hope you slept well, I might need a cat nap. Perhaps tonight Ill get back into the swing of going to bed before 12, JEREMY you know I literally stare at your picture going to sleep. Once you are in bed the laptop stays in the living room. I did figure out I can zoom in though. Have you ever tried to cuddle with a laptop? I might count the blocks on your shirt if I get bored. I couldn't move up my appointment next Thursday to this Friday. blah.

"Are you sure you don't want to come babe? There are going to be games and food and everyone's going to be there. It will be fun." "Mom, I'm fine. I'll stay and finish cleaning. Go. Go have fun with your friends." I say pushing her out the front door. "Okay well, call me if you need anything. I don't think I'm going to stay that long. When I get back we can have that movie night I promised." "Have fun at the barbecue. Bye mom. I love you." Before getting into her old gray pick-up truck, she waves to me and blows me a kiss.

People who walk through the Children’s Hospital are sometimes unable to shift their focus off of all the sick kids, I was one of those kids. From the time I was two I practically lived in that place. The doctors couldn't find a cause for my immune system to be so weak so I was continuously having tests performed on me. I was in quarantine and the doctors and nurses had to wear hazmat suits to come into my room. Cancer patients as young as me were everywhere and each week there would be kids I stopped seeing.

The car drove up into the driveway where the contents of the house had been ransacked, abandoned in the yard, and tossed aside like the four children. Memories flicker as the furnishings are reviewed. Empty beer bottles, a young girl being dragged into her bedroom brusquely by her hair. Assorted clothes, a teenager having to beg for hand-me-downs. A box of pots and pans, a family surviving off of donated food. A folder of awards, a father neglecting any achievements. The sum of all these morose recollections, debased an already insecure girl, making her unsure of the chance of a bright future or even one worth living in.

During my initial meet with the 3-year-olds, I felt like a celebrity as the children swarmed in to catch ahold of my attention. I was bombarded with many hugs of sorts and lingering eyes filled with a sense of curiosity. There was one child, in particular, that caught my immediate attention. Her name is J, a 3-year-old child that was filled with energy and radiance. Though, many of her peers exhibited those traits as well. However, J was seemingly more complex to analyze in accordance to the developmental standards of her age group, in which triggered my peculiar interest. J was often quick, persistent, and took initiative when answering questions that I presented to the crowd to resolve. These questions pertained to Disney characters that

I turned up the volume in my headphones as my sister, Amelia’s annoying voice sang louder as one of her favorites, but otherwise a terrible song began to play on the car radio. All I could think was just how much longer I would have to be in the car with her, I was ready to get out and stretch anyway, we’ve been in the car for nearly 3 hours. I knew that I would have to suck it up and deal with it until we got there, until then I would just have to keep quiet, saying something would only encourage her to sing louder. I started dazing out of the window thinking about our destination, we were headed to my great grandfather's house to try and clear out all of his belongings in order to sell the house after his recent death. His death didn’t affect

For me, growing up has been nothing but an exhilarating ride called the “You don’t get everything you want” train. By no means has my family struggled, it just would have been much different for us if we had been brought up by money. It took time to understand that I could not buy every toy in the store that I wanted, or go to the mall every weekend with my friends. Being raised in the middle class made me a stronger and smarter person in my opinion, but growing up in the upper class would have allowed us to spend more money on ourselves and not think about the consequences.

I drive home. My car is falling apart. I just finished my job at the community college. I volunteer at the library. It doesn't pay a whole lot, but I'm okay.

I had only been six years old during the time of the move. Yet, nothing had processed to me that we were moving in no less than a month. Not the endless piles of boxes filled with all our belongings or the large trucks that had come and gone while taking the boxes with them. None of these reasons had processed in my head.

A few days ago my mom told me I was supposed to be a December baby, but I am a October baby. I was born two months early. When I was born my skin was yellow. I had to be wrapped in a blue blanket that made me light up blue. Its called a Bilirubin blanket.The doctors said I was Jaundice. My mom and I had to stay in the Hospital for a few days to recover. Even though I was born very early I was still very healthy. I still am.

There was a slight breeze in the air as I stepped out of work and I felt a spark of relief at the feeling, because it made the long walk to the parking lot seem just a bit more promising. Sweat seemed to pool under my arms and in between my shoulder blades. The only relief coming from the occasional whoosh of wind that delivered a brief, but satisfying just out of the pool feeling. The sensation causing me to remember all the summer days my brother and I had spent in pools throughout the years before school and life inevitably took us our separate ways.

I've never been able to tell a story if i haven't experienced it! I had a baby.

On the fifteenth of January 2009, I sat with my nine-month pregnant mother, in our miniature one bedroom apartment, discussing the gender of her baby. I continually expressed my desire for a brother, who would share my interests of destroying toys; however, my mother insisted on a sister, believing she would counteract my vicious attitude. Debating for hours on end about every aspect the child exhausted me to the point of passing out. Soon, it approached my bedtime, 9 p.m., I quickly tucked in next my mother beginning to dream about the adventures I would encounter with my new sibling.

There comes a time in most of our lives where we have to find out things the hard way. Growing up as a child, I have always tried things. My mom would tell me several times not to do something, but I have always done the opposite and did things my way. My mom would always tell me, “Girl your head is hard as a rock”, “You are going to learn the hard way.” However, I did listen to her, but I did not care to do as she said. There was a car accident involving two of my friends. One of my friends has always told my friend the driver to never drink and drive, but my friend the driver did not care to listen until he was in a serious accident. Although, he lived, but this taught him a lesson not to drink and drive. He learned his lesson the hard way.

Growing up, I never really liked children. From the crying over no reason to the whiny voices of deceitful little monsters, the feeling of overwhelmness and depression seemed to rush into me instantaneously whenever I was near one. I dreaded helping out in the nursery during Relief Society Enrichments and yearned to be free when I was stuck babysitting hyper little ones who did not seem to know what an indoor voice was and was all too familiar with screaming. The thought of having kids, let alone being near them was a nightmare. As I saw my peers coo and fuss over a first grader (who seemed to me, knew just the kind of power he had) for hours, I wandered how anyone could be so fascinated by a simple child. It was not until my Junior year that I received more than just that answer.