As I hefted my gigantic duffel bag onto my back and hugged my pillow tightly, I searched the crowd of what seemed like millions of parents for mine. I finally spotted them standing by the baseball field. As I tried to make my way through the crowd, I noticed how different my mother looked. Her face looked much older than I ever remember it looking, but that was soon forgotten in all my excitement. When I finally got to my parents, I gave them each big hugs, and then we headed for the car. Once we got in the car, I erupted like a volcano pouring forth every event that had happened in that one week at camp.
When I ran out of stories about camp, I asked them how their week had been. I did not really notice that my mother opened her mouth to say something and then stopped and looked to my father for guidance. "Just fine sweetheart," he said in a calm voice. Then he tried to shift the conversation back to me by asking, "How were all the meals?" I had already told him, but I went ahead and told him again. After that the car grew quiet, and everyone seemed to be intently focused on listening to what was playing on the radio. I watched as my mother would tighten her hand into a tight fist, then release her fingers, letting them stretch out as far as they would as if she was trying to will them to grow, then roll them back up into a tight fist again.
The car ride home seemed to take forever, and the fatigue from a week of barely any sleep was catching up; I finally just feel asleep. I awoke when the car finally came to a stop; I opened my eyes and was surprised to see that we were in my grandfather's driveway.
I hated going to his house; we spent most of our time there. When I would ask why we had to go the...
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...hort while, for I realized that my tears would never bring him back.
While my parents were away, my grandfather had slipped in the pool and hit his head and drowned. Apparently my father was the one who found him. He tried his best to revive him, but it was to no use. At first I was mad at my parents for leaving him alone; then I was mad at my father for not being able to save him. I had always thought of my father as someone who could fix anything; this was the first time he was not able to fix it. I soon realized that it was not their fault and that they did the best they could.
We went back to the house only a few times after that and only for short amounts of time. We sold the house in October and were able to get rid of most my grandfather's stuff at a garage sale that we had. We were all to eager to close that chapter of our life.
...rnia. Wyatt Earp died on January 13, 1929, and his fame as a lawman has continued to grow since his death. Wyatt Earp literally shot his way into the hearts of Western America. He is familiar to the nation’s people, young and old. From Ellsworth, Kansas to Tombstone, Arizona, he cleaned the streets of desperadoes in town after town. He shot coolly, he shot straight, and he shot deadly, but only in self-defense. Like any other person whose reputation leaned on firepower, there were those who wanted to test, to see if their draw was a split second quicker or if they could find a weak spot. Wyatt put many of their doubts to rest. When the history of the western lawmen is placed in view, Earp’s name leads the parade of Hickok, Masterson, Garrett, Tilghman and all the rest.
?When I was still in school I read a story about a boy who had to
In 1876 Wyatt Earp was hired as an assistant Marshall in Dodge City, Kansas, one of the worst places in America at the time. In Dodge City daylight muggings and nighttime shootings were an everyday thing. When Wyatt became a lawman there he was able to stop the crimes without killing anybody, he put them in jail. One of his techniques was called ?buffaloing? where he would knock a criminal on the head with his favorite weapon, the Colt 45.
police man in Dodge City was from May 12, 1878 until September 8, 1879. After that on
In the Spring of 1877, Wyatt hauled wood in Deadwood, Dakota Territory, and claimed to have made $130 a day in the process. On the night of City Marshal Fred White’s fatal shooting in Tombstone, Wyatt wasn’t heeled and had to borrow a weapon. Although lionized for single-handedly standing off a mob in the Johnny-Behind-The-Deuce affair, Wyatt isn’t mentioned in any know newspaper accounts of the incident. The so-called Gunfight at the O.K. Corral didn’t occur there. It took place in a vacant lot west of the rear entrance to the O.K. Corral has been mistakenly identified as the site of 1926 and drew the fight location in the wrong place. Wyatt didn’t wear a holster at the famous
...teristics and literary devices. The general archetypical description of a hero follows an outline of a muscular figure and super abilities. Yet on the contrary, in myths, heroes may not possess any of those traits. Whether the so-called hero is learning their lesson, overcoming struggle or even descending into darkness, all heroes share some similar and almost identical characteristics. A vast majority of all mythological heroes share the same basic idea which, helps audiences identify whether or not the character is indeed a hero or not. From story to myth or fairytale to drama, the hero is one character who changes the plot entirely. Whether that hero may be saving a burning building, or discovering who they are themselves, our heroes all give us hopes and dreams that one day even our worth will be recognized by ourselves and others as our admirable hero’s are.
house, who I met at Boy's State, to see a rodeo. My roommate, Nathan, had
... and I started to realize some of the good effects that moving has had. I now understand that this experience has changed me in positive ways as well. Soon I would have friends in different places in the world that I can visit. I would have many places where I could go and feel like home. Most importantly, I would learn that one can adapt to every town and its people and that friends can be made everywhere. Every place has its conveniences and its problems. Every town has its generous and heartless citizens.
Life in the middle school and high school was not easy for me. I had become an introvert, I still didn’t know how to be social, and I had very few friends. I was teased for being very quiet, and some people insinuated that I’m scared of fellow people. On the other hand life at home was difficult. My mother had become so bitter and pleased her was next to impossible. She became very harsh with my brother and me, and we were always scolded for even the smallest mistakes. Once in a while, my father would come for us and take us to the city he lived. I would look out of the windows as we drove out of town and would imagine how life in another city would feel like. I looked at the skies, and all I saw were promises of a better future. All my life I had lived in San
... the Criminal Justice system. The author offers the reader a front row seat to the unfairness and unreliability of the CJ system. Grisham is not a fair writer himself and is biased in his writing throughout the entire novel. It is evident to the reader by the end of the novel that the prosecution in the case went to every extreme possible to put Fritz and Williamson in prison for a crime they did not commit. From the reader’s perspective, we knew from the beginning that Fritz and Williamson, no matter how much negative behavior they engaged in, were not the criminals and that there was a high likelihood of Gore being the offender. Nevertheless, Grisham takes us on a wild, nail-biting edge-of-your-seat ride through the Criminal Justice system in this book that leads us through an unfair trial and a slew of biased opinions, lies and deceptions and unjust procedures.
Losing my father was a major obstacle in my life. However, through overcoming this hardship, I was able to learn a great deal about myself and how to overcome other obstacles. Through observing my mother and how she dealt with her loss, as well as my own, I found strength and a different view on confronting obstacles. Additionally, it taught me to seize every moment I can. While losing a parent is a very difficult obstacle that I would wish on no one, in an unfortunate way, losing my father taught me many things about
.... Finally, my parents arrived, riding the sound of their running footsteps on the hollow wooden dock. Dad immediately relieved my weary arms of their burden and pulled my brother out of the cold blue lake. I looked up into my Mom's face to see tears of mixed panic and joy as she embraced my younger brother, heedless of the world that surrounded the two of them. She focused only on her son, who looked back at her silently with deep brown chestnut eyes.
When I think of a hero I immediately think of someone who is strong, intelligent, handsome, and daring. Upon closer examination, many different qualities than these become apparent. Courage, honesty, bravery, selflessness, and the will to try are just a few of the overlooked qualities of a hero. The definition of heroism changes with the context and time. Heroes of the past are not necessarily heroes of present time and vise versa.
I miss her and I’ll miss her always. My aunt, Catherine passed away on Christmas 1997, and it was the biggest chock for my whole family and me. I was living in Syria at that time and my parents flew to Switzerland for the funeral.
The car was hot and stuffy when I slipped back into the driver's seat. I found the most depressing music I owned and drove out of Glenwood as the sun started to set. Two more hours until I was home, two more hours of thinking what a terrible day I had gone through, and two more hours of cussing myself for being so naïve. The drive was a long one.