My first memory involving religion of any kind is when my grandmother was my temporary Sunday school teacher. This memory had absolutely nothing to do with reading the bible or praying or doing anything of that sort. I have no idea why I remember it either. The memory is of about four other kids and me sitting around the Sunday school table while my grandma sang a song about our ancestry and how it didn’t start with monkeys. The song went like this “I’m no kin to the monkey‚ the monkey’s no kin to
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Well‚ in my case‚ band has been the one thing I would look forward doing since I first witnessed my sister pick up her own flute and play her first tune. Band‚ in middle school‚ was a hobby that I truly treasured because it wasn’t your typical core class. This class‚ notably‚ enhanced the need to utilize my analytical skills‚ engage my mind‚ and run free with my covert musical self. After graduating middle school‚ starting marching band over the summer before my freshman year was my cloud of bewilderment
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Once upon a time I lived a semi normal life. The last day I lived that life was Thanksgiving of 2002. The people that made up my semi normal life was Papa‚ Nannie‚ Mom‚ Aunt Jodi‚ and me. As you may of concluded it was Thanksgiving‚ but this one wasn’t like the rest. We were going to Chicago to my Aunt Jackie and Uncle John’s house to have Thanksgiving dinner. The thing is we would of had dinner at Nannie and Papa’s‚ but a little less than a year before Papa was diagnosed with lung cancer. Lung
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that my family grew up wealthy. I grew up privileged because my family valued books and knowledge. My childhood was spent the majority of the time at the library and I was constantly surrounded by books at home. My whole family’s lives were in books and they were found to be an oddity because they treasured books over material items. Growing up in this environment‚ I mimicked their philosophy. When my mom came home with a wagon filled with books‚ I was walking next to her with a stack in my arms
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pull hard at each other‚ battling one another for the complete claim of me. However‚ I remain stuck in between the two‚ not knowing which culture has conquered me. September 6th‚ 2006 was the day my brother‚ and I left our mother and home in Ghana to come to America. After a long 12 hour flight‚ I met my father for the first time. It was an unforgettable moment. He was taller than I imagined and had a brilliant smile. His eyes sparkled with delight as he helped us carry our bags. He asked us a plethora
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My father inspired me to step into a world outside of my comfort zone. During high school‚ I was known as an introverted person who did not get along with others as much. I was afraid of being a part of a large crowd simply because I knew that fitting in would be impossible. However‚ by the time I became a junior‚ the daily life that I had lived routinely suddenly began to change. With the recent news about racial violence‚ such as the deaths of Trayvon Martin and Michael Brown‚ I started to feel
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from my mother’s grasp‚ I charged. With arms flailing and chubby legs fluttering beneath me‚ I was the ferocious two year old rampaging through Costco on a Saturday morning. My mother’s eyes widened in horror as I jettisoned my churro; the cinnamonsugar rocket gracefully sliced its way through the air while I continued my spree. I sprinted through the aisles‚ looking up in awe at the massive bulk products that towered over me. Overcome with wonder‚ I wanted to touch and taste‚ to stick my head
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he smile and said thank you for accepting my invitation. I brought you here to show you how much I appreciate you for working the extra hours and allow me to get paid for it. Few people would work another’s shifts and gave them the hours. That was the only way he could go through his training and still keep his pay. I had not minded doing that for him. While we sat in the restaurant he thanked me repeatedly for helping him. Then he told me about his life. He came to New York
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introduced me to new hobbies‚ activities and just how to appreciate life in general. Let’s start off in my early childhood. Growing up I had the biggest dreams like becoming an astronaut. As I kept older I looked into more realistic things like becoming a vet and or a nurse. I looked up to my parents and their jobs so I wanted to be just as accomplished as they are. They worked‚ and still do work‚ at Boeing. They work as a team; my mom buys the plane parts
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forever. I knew that my grandpa was about 84 years old‚ he was getting older. All he had was my Aunt Vickie to take care of him because he was all by himself before he moved into his nursing home. I didn’t know that in late June was the last time I would see him
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