Personal Narrative: The Mile High City

I have written many essays since I was in middle school yet most of my writing was not that important besides for a grade. Yet there is one piece of writing I wrote that change my life and felt that it had an important impact to The City of Chicago. My teacher during that time wanted the class to enter in a citywide competition, which is called “Do The Write Thing”. It is a way for students to voice their opinions on how to stop the violence in Chicago. I wanted to help reduce the violence in Chicago since many youths are being killed in the streets every single day. In my paper, I mainly focused on three body paragraphs. The first one was why the violence in the city was increasing. The second one was some type of violence that I have witness in my own personal life. The final paragraph

I grew up in a city named Colorado City, TX – the city is located in Central West Texas. I had a really good friend, that I became best friends with, named Daniel. We went riding our bikes everywhere around this little town, scraping our knees on concrete and crashing our bikes on practically everything (since there was practically nothing to do in this town – this was before the 3M Palace Theatre was reopened).

I witnessed my cousins boyfriend corpse lying on my neighbors lawn. It was a humid summer night around 3:30 when I peeked through my window and saw my devastated cousin sobbing uncontrollably on my decaying porch. Being from East chicago, Indiana has transformed me into the person I am today.

Today my Hilarious Fiend Jasper and I will be leaving Dupree around 2:00. We will be traveling 2 hours 20 minutes and One Hundred Forty Five miles. To Rapid City South Dakota

The pleasures of Rapid City were in my sights when I asked Malory to make the 2-hour trip with me.To begin our trip to Rapid, we would get in my cobalt, and drive to the Dupree Cenex to fill up on snacks, drinks, and gas. Mallory would get Root Beer and Pringles. I would get M&M’s and Cherry Sprite. We would get in the car, after we filled it up with gas, put on our favorite music, and truly start the trip.

I have lived in two distinct communities: the first was the town of Moraga, the second, is the city of Stockton. The former is the epitome of white picket fence suburbia, with friendly neighbors, a high ranking public school system, and a non-existent crime rate. Growing up in Moraga, I was able to receive a great education, roam around freely, and never feared horrors such as gang shootings and drug abuse. Sadly, when I moved to the latter, most of these horrors were apparent weekly.

In the small city of Harvill, there were a group of investigators. The six of them named Willy, Mary, Shawn, twins, Jojo and Carol, and I, Hubert. We solved many crimes though the one where had recently started was an interesting and puzzling one. We were the only ones qualified who could actually solve a case. There was a killer amuck.

Jon and his friend were with their families on a trip to Salt Lake City. They were starting in Salt Lake City, but were going to go south all over Utah. As their families went through Salt Lake City, they were going to visit Great Salt Lake.

I spent my childhood in a small, suburban neighborhood just outside of the shadow of Minneapolis, Minnesota. My street is located in a city called Edina: a city that prides itself on “green spaces” and the protection of its environment. Whenever there are too many fires, or a bike path were to be constructed, activist groups gather and protest the damages to both the environment and the city’s image. By the time I was ten, Edina had passed ordinances restricting private citizens’ abilities to cut down living trees older than 10 years (or trees more than 12 inches in diameter one foot from the ground). The city also spent two decades cultivating a pride in our shared landscapes: lakes, forests, wetlands, and prairies. To expose students and

My story began on September 12, 2000, in Phoenix, Arizona. I was born to my mother, a faithful member of the gospel, and my father, an alcoholic. These two traits did not function well together and they ended up getting a divorce in 2001. This would start a new chapter that took my mother, three sisters and I to Elko, Nevada. Nearby was the reservation of my Native American (NA) tribe, the Western Shoshone. My NA heritage came from my father, so when he left my life, he took the culture with him. My grandmother did all she could to include me in the tribe by making me traditional NA items such as moccasins and shawls.

From what I can remember my life began in Houston. I was born in Charleston, West Virginia, but moved to Houston before I turned two. I have an older brother and an older sister. I grew up in the Clear Lake area, and stayed there until I finished high school. My family is Catholic, so my parents raised me to be a person that follows the rules and tries to adhere to a moral code. While living in Houston there were relatively strict rules when I was younger that have since faded away. For example, they used to limit drinking pop by only the family drink it on Fridays and Saturdays, and we were only allowed to drink three cans each day. Although they had pretty clear ideas on how we should act, there was not much open communication about politics.

I have a lengthy history with Urban Promise Miami. I first joined their program when I was ten years old along with my brother and cousins. The mission of their organization is to equip Miami’s children and young adults with the necessary skills to attain academic achievement, life management, spiritual growth and leadership rooted in the Christian faith, and that is a goal that I have become testament to them achieving.

On a day in which the sun was shining like a new fluorescent light bulb, I sat on a heated metal bench that was located in front of a large, stone fountain where a brace of ducks lingered, and I began to read Chasing Brooklyn.

I was born and raised in the wonderful and populous city of Houston. At first I possessed a young and carefree attitude,but slowly my thoughts started to revolve around the real world in different ways. Not always was I able to get the things I desired due to various circumstances, such as not enough money. This started to pave way to my deeper thoughts about the world, and how I wished to become someone who would take care of my parents. Slowly, I started to witness the problems and worries of my parents concerning monetary issues and so forth. My parents always smile brightly and did not show any signs of pain, because they did not want to worry a small child like me.After witnessing some of their occasional pain, this also hurt me and made

I lived in an odd place for a time, all through a single summer I languished in the confines of its chipped sidewalks and heat-warped streets. The air was hot, it felt as if one was within the red-lit depths of an oven set to broil, the June sun cooking all that rested below its unforgiving harangue. The sky was vibrantly blue, like a cerulean drape had been pulled over the surface of the earth. Flashing neon lights and vibrant pink flamingos incessantly reminded me that I was in the boundaries of Fabulous Las Vegas, although I did not particularly want to be. There were aggressive and caustic smells that filled the air: Boiling oils from deep frying, spilled alcoholic beverages, and curious stale cigarette aromas, all of which bothered me