Personal Narrative: Lake House

The sun began to creep up behind the towering pine trees as I sip on my torrid coffee. I glance at my watch which reads 5:45 am, I gather my tackle box that's overflows with hooks and line and stick in underneath the damp boat seat. The water glistens in the morning sunlight, I aboard the scent of pine needles which is always prominent the crisp air of Northern Wisconsin.

On April 1, 2000, I was placed into a group home because of my behavior at the home. My dad and I didn’t get along. So he sent me to a placed called Bowman House. When I arrived there the first person I met was a lady name Alexander, she begin showing me around the units. Alexander was called the granny of the units. It was two units for the boys and girls. She took me to the boys unit first to look at the units. After I looked at the boys unit she took me to the girls unit. Where I would be staying. I had the chance to bond with Alexander, it wasn’t something I was trying to do it just happen. I had to stay with Alexander until the staff came back from picking the other peers up from school. An hour pass and the peers came back I had to go

I was raised in an affluent community in the North Suburbs of Chicago. My hometown Lake Forest is sometimes stereotyped for being full of “out of touch” and wealthy families. It may even be characterized as a “bubble” which surrounds us, protecting us from the harsh realities of issues that affect the urban Chicago communities like gun violence, gangs, and poor neighborhoods. Yes, we have beautiful homes that sit along the shores of Lake Michigan, a lovely community beach, and good schools; however, I would like the stereotype of Lake Forest being a suburban town that is not aware of surrounding community issues to change because I believe this is not deserved.

The agency I chose to interview was MyHouse at 300 North Willow in Wasilla, Alaska. Their mission is to provide safe shelter for homeless youth with a goal of connecting kids to a network of caring individuals and agencies able to assist them in becoming self-sufficient. They have a board of directors that meet regularly to discuss issues and where to go next with the agency.

I was excited for this weekend to be in new my lake house with my parents. My dad recently got a really good job so he surprised us with this huge cabin. We have a quiet but pleasant bonfire, now its time for bed. I’m still kind of creeped out since this house is dark and pretty isolated but I don’t think of it, and head for bed. My mom tucks me in which you might think is weird, but I love her. She gives me a kiss on the cheek grabs my cat Rosie from my chest, and closes the door. I play on my phone until it dies, put it on the charger, then I completely go out cold.

“Dad!” Was the only word that had rushed out of Russell’s mouth the instant he saw his father enter the room. And, once he finished hugging Cary he then added, “Have you found him? What did those people you arrested say?”

We didn’t always live on Mason Park Way. Before it was Biddeford Pl on the first floor and before that it was the eleventh floor in Belgium and before that I can’t remember. By the time we got to Biddeford Pl, it was the four of us. Me my mom my brother and my dad. Until we had moved to our house on Mason Park Way, I never fully understood what having a family and a home meant to me. The house on Mason Park Way is ours. We don’t have to worry about paying rent or keeping the immaculate white walls clean. It’s ours and we have the liberty to do whatever we want. And it’s big. The large rugs are cozy and our furniture is inviting. And it’s ours.

“Tell me, how does a pathetic, worthless, but yet intelligent person get into this mess and end up here?” Seymour asks, not really expecting an answer, but to dignify his still anger, uses his carved, smooth surface of his wooden baseball bat to strike her left knee, which has fell off for the fifth time now, since she awoken in the mysterious room. She was tired, hungry, thirsty, homesick, and yet so furious the adrenaline pumped bitter life into her and she sat, ropes to her chest, arms, and legs, thinking about life before this moment. “She gets the million dollar questions correct, but only by taking wild guesses,” she manages to say, hoping this sacred fuel will last forever. Before taking another swing at her leg, he chuckles, and then

I believe what sets me aside from others is my background and my open-mindedness accompanied with my positive attitude.

You never actually said your name out loud to anyone, and I'm not entirely sure how I managed to find it out in the first place. I'm sure it was through the whisper chains you hear every so often in this cafe. You have a soft voice you know, it's barely audible when you say things, it's not quite what I'd call gruff or gritty, it just has this sort of toughness. It's as though you've steadily built up a defence mechanism in your voice so people don't ask you things you'd rather not answer.

When she passed by him minutes later, he stepped out from behind the lockers, his fingers forcefully latching onto her wrists. She yelped as she was pulled into the restroom alongside him, a hand quickly pressed to her lips, muffling her cries.

turn this into an actual transcription that we will be able to pull from and we'll send you some of what you said, which you are going to find very illuminating for yourself.

Xavier was beginning to have a light problem with involuntarily being knocked out or foreced to sleep. Again. He was honestly surprised no one in the house coined him Sleeping Brutee. Okay, maybe it was lame but his head really fucking hurt. His slowly dragged his hand and placed it on his forehead, dragging his arm indeed was a challenge. It was like he was carrying his own dead weight around...in his dense state.

One year ago, our lives changed when we moved into the lakefront dream home. Freshly engaged, we packed up our one bedroom apartment in sunny Florida and headed north. Happy to be closer to family and excited to begin a new chapter of our lives.

Bennett Miller was not calm.  He was, in fact, further from calm than he had been since he grew out of his tantrum-throwing phase as a toddler, and it was the most he could do to stop the sobs from escaping his throat; he could feel the tears silently streaming down his cheeks.  He furiously wiped the tears away and straightened his blue bowtie, but wished he had chosen clothes that were less conspicuous.  He didn’t want to be noticed today.  For the first time in months he regretted coming out of the closet.