MY ROLE MODEL MY role model is my dad Robert‚ he is an amazing guy. He was a little wild as a teenager but over came that after a couple years. He met my mother back in 1982. They both started dating; she jokes and says he wanted me for my chicken‚ because she was working at church’s chicken. I found that really funny growing up. When I came along they were stationed in Germany where I was born in September 1983. I don’t really remember to much about Germany other than my dad had
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MY LAST MOMENTS WITH MY FATHER In the year 1992‚ Senegal was‚ for the first time‚ the capital of the African football. The African nation football cup was taking place in Dakar and Ziguinchor. Everybody was very exciting to have the best players of the continent in Senegal and it may be the year to win the African cup for the first time. With all that excitement‚ I kind of forgot that my dad was very sick and he too wanted people to forget that he was seriously ill. It began‚ one cold night
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Gift from My Dad It was around the time that my father was going to turn 60. He became very ill. He had moved to Asheville‚ North Carolina. He asked me to come see him. I went‚ and he explained that he had the Agent Orange Poisoning and it was causing all his internal organs to shut down. He also said that it would only be a few weeks before he would probably be dead. I sat there emotionless. He asked me to stay with him until he passed away because he wanted me to be his caregiver. I agreed.
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Washington 1983 was the year my dad came to America. He was 17 years old and had little money with him when he came. My dad came to have a fresh start at life. They were a total family of seven and lived in a small house in India. My dad is the smallest in his family there are four older than him‚ two sisters and two brothers. They live in a small village called Talwan. It’s were many poor people live. We have farmland were my grandpa would grow crops and sell them to make money‚ but the money that
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My dad was extremely involved in my life especially when I was younger. I was a daddy’s girl one hundred percent growing up. My dad got me involved in all the sports I partook in. Encouraging me‚ giving me lessons‚ and helping me become better in any way he could. My mom was normally just there for moral support but my dad was the one to push me. He encouraged me to be good at anything I wanted to do. My dad played such a strong role in my life‚ and helped me become who I am today. The influences
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Lessons from “Rich Dad‚ Poor Dad” by Robert Kiyosaki Being rich in the near future is everybody’s dream. Our notion of being rich is having all the money to buy all our wants and needs without exerting much effort. As a child‚ we are sent to school for which the primary reason is to learn‚ so that in the future‚ we would obtain stable jobs. It is with this same reason that the author of the book emphasized why a lot never get rich. Through this reading‚ I gained a lot of insights which will help
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My Dad As I think about my childhood I remember many happy memories spending time with my family. My Dad has always been my role model. He spoiled me‚ taught me right vs. wrong‚ and provided me with a positive insight about life. Many people say that children will grow up to live life exactly like their parents. Well‚ for me I’ve always wanted to grow up to be exactly like my father. But now that I’m grown up and have my own life‚ it seems like nothing has turned out like I thought it would. Growing
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"Dad‚ I’m gay." The thought of actually saying the words out loud makes me shudder. "I must stand firm" I instruct myself‚ as the disappointed expression on his face flashes before my eyes. He will tell himself he should have been more involved. That he should have taught me to be more of a ’man’. That letting me wear my sister’s dresses as a kid wasn’t a good idea. He’ll find convoluted ways to blame himself. But maybe‚ just maybe he’ll understand. He was the first man in his family to have an inter-caste
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My dad and I passionately walked up to the dart game. I asked him if I could play‚ excitement in my dazzling eyes. “Can I dad?” I asked‚ willingly. He smiled and agreed. But my hesitant body shook‚ throwing the lean dart off its one-sided course. I felt destroyed‚ banished‚ and even regretful. Why didn’t I throw it better‚ can I not aim? Why did I shake‚ was I afraid? I questioned myself‚ gripping my hands into fists. Dad started to play the game‚ trying to win the buffalo for me. I looked up at
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spring of 2001. My dad at the time was 69‚ he had had quadruple bypass surgery three years earlier. I had four children a 17 year old step daughter‚ nine year old daughter‚ six year old son and a three year old daughter. My husband was out of town with his father attending his niece’s blessing. (it is the equivalent of a catholic christening.) His mom had decided to not go since she was there when my niece was born for two weeks and felt she needed to be home for the weekend. My mom was out of
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