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Parents influence on children's development
Parents influence on children's development
Parents influence on children's development
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Nine teenage girls and their leaders crammed on outdated bench seats as the smell of various sack dinners and chocolate filled the borrowed short bus. Vinyl seats cracking, teenage girls laughing and the makeshift radio blasting we followed behind the boys in their SUV to Woodland Park. The brisk March wind rattled the old windows of our little white and blue, borrowed bus. Miles of twisting roads and pine trees that seemed to pierce the low floating clouds lead us to our retreat house. Gravel crunched beneath our tires, hitting the sides of our bus, creating a rumble under our feet as we pulled up the drive.
Great gray boulders outlined planters along the front of the patio and knotted wood planking covered every side of the house. Two cracking trunks stood like guards on either side of the green door, supporting the green metal roof. Mirror like widows reflected back the fragrant pine trees and our puffs of breaths as we trudged across the still frozen ground to the cement patio stairs.
We walked into pure white walls, and a grand staircase that split part way up leading off to the left and to the right. Giant, single paned windows let in the fading sunlight as shouts of “Dibs!” were heard from every vanilla scented room in the girls’ wings upstairs, as the sounds of the boys wrestling drifted up from their wings in the basement. Soon every good hiding spot in the house was found and utilized during a competitive game of sardines. Multiple teenage bodies attempted to pack together under beds or in closets and cabinets. Hearts thudded and joints stiffened at the sound of approaching footsteps as giggles were suppressed through toothy smiles.
Once the sun fell behind the mountains and it became too dark to see, we gathered in the ...
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...nt between childhood and adulthood last forever. While at this cabin, everything that was waiting for us back in the city didn’t matter. Every mistake and hardship we faced at home weren’t present here. Being grown up isn't half as fun as growing up: These are the best days of our lives*. We were free, able to dream like children, but given the resources to succeed like adults.
That was our last weekend together as children. No longer were we insecure and immature. We had become confirmed adults. Those few late nights filled with secrets, fears and candy shared beneath the glow of flashlights brought us together while, morning sunrises brought renewal and hope for better days to come. The only thing that matters is just following your heart, and eventually you'll finally get it right*
Works Cited
*Song lyrics from In This Diary (Best Days of Our Life) by Ataris
Filban said the home had a yard that was overgrown. “The trees and bushes were overgrown, and the house was dark,” Filban said. “And the windows were covered.” She and her sister slept in the front bedroom of the house. She remembers the bedroom having a large, floor-to-ceiling window. She said you could look out and see the wra...
The night was tempestuous and my emotions were subtle, like the flame upon a torch. They blew out at the same time that my sense of tranquility dispersed, as if the winds had simply come and gone. The shrill scream of a young girl ricocheted off the walls and for a few brief seconds, it was the only sound that I could hear. It was then that the waves of turmoil commenced to crash upon me. It seemed as though every last one of my senses were succumbed to disperse from my reach completely. As everything blurred, I could just barely make out the slam of a door from somewhere alongside me and soon, the only thing that was left in its place was an ominous silence.
Adulthood, as a child, was always portrayed as a time of freedom. The short sighted minds of children, as I once also had, only wanted to get away from the parent’s all-seeing eyes. I never thought a job too bad, what my mom did, my dad did, it didn’t seem too bad, but how wrong I was. I thought I could
cold, harsh, wintry days, when my brothers and sister and I trudged home from school burdened down by the silence and frigidity of our long trek from the main road, down the hill to our shabby-looking house. More rundown than any of our classmates’ houses. In winter my mother’s riotous flowers would be absent, and the shack stood revealed for what it was. A gray, decaying...
I prepared myself for the upcoming adventurous day. I set out along a less-traveled path through the woods leading to the shore. I could hear every rustle of the newly fallen leaves covering the ground. The brown ground signaled the changing of seasons and nature's way of preparing for the long winter ahead. Soon these leaves would be covered with a thick layer of snow. The leaves still clinging to the trees above displayed a brilliant array of color, simultaneously showing the differences of each and the beauty of the entire forest.
Hollow eyes glanced around the pristine apartment, the gray scale color scheme seems to match the women clasping her hands together, pursing her lips and searching for approval from the girl that stood in the doorway. Automatically, the girl deduced the woman was quite wealthy, especially in the neighborhood she'd now live in. The streets were busier, filled with nicer cars instead of busted ones without their fenders falling apart at the edge. Her nimble fingers explored the wall as she took careful steps into the living room. Winnie wasn't acclimated to this life style: the wallpaper wasn't being striped at the corners, stainless carpets without nothing questionable left behind, no sign of undesirable critters, and silence. She could finally
"These boys, now, were living as we'd been living then, they were growing up with a rush and their heads bumped abruptly against the low ceiling of their actual possibilities.
11:14 p.m.-I slowly ascend from my small wooden chair, and throw another blank sheet of paper on the already covered desk as I make my way to the door. Almost instantaneously I feel wiped of all energy and for a brief second that small bed, which I often complain of, looks homey and very welcoming. I shrug off the tiredness and sluggishly drag my feet behind me those few brief steps. Eyes blurry from weariness, I focus on a now bare area of my door which had previously been covered by a picture of something that was once funny or memorable, but now I can't seem to remember what it was. Either way, it's gone now and with pathetic intentions of finishing my homework I go to close the door. I take a peek down the hall just to assure myself one final time that there is nothing I would rather be doing and when there is nothing worth investigating, aside from a few laughs a couple rooms down, I continue to shut the door.
One Saturday night, Kasi, Beth, Beka, Amy, and I had nothing to do. Like always, at times like this, we decided we would ride around town. We let the top down on Kasi’s vehicle. It was a red Jeep Wrangler, with red interior and big mud tires. We climbed in the Jeep one by one until we were all inside. Amy, Beka, and Beth all sat in the back after a fight about who had said “shotgun” first. The back was the most uncomfortable. The Jeep was only built for two backseat passengers, so with three back there, it was a tough ride. Kasi and I slid into the front seats. We strapped on our seatbelts, trying to convince the three of them in the back to do so. Our friends did not want to bother strapping in because they were too crowded, and there were only two seatbelts anyway. I was sixteen at the time, and they were all seventeen. We were the perfect picture of youth, five young girls packed into a Jeep with shorts, sweatshirts, and ball caps on.
Though people see adulthood and childhood more different than alike, we never stop growing, no matter the age. We never stop learning. We always have rules to follow through life. There is an
I wearily drag myself away from the silken violet comforter and slump out into the living room. The green and red print of our family’s southwestern style couch streaks boldly against the deep blues of the opposing sitting chairs, calling me to it. Of course I oblige the billowy haven, roughly plopping down and curling into the cushions, ignoring the faint smell of smoke that clings to the fabric. My focus fades in and out for a while, allowing my mind to relax and unwind from any treacherous dreams of the pervious night, until I hear the telltale creak of door hinges. My eyes flutter lightly open to see my Father dressed in smart brown slacks and a deep earthy t-shirt, his graying hair and beard neatly comber into order. He places his appointment book and hair products in a bag near the door signaling the rapid approaching time of departure. Soon he is parading out the door with ever-fading whispers of ‘I love you kid,’ and ‘be good.’
The speaker in this poem is portrayed as being immediately joyful, which represents Blake’s larger view of childhood as a state of joy that is untouched by humanity, and is untarnished by the experience of the real world. In contrast, Blake’s portrayal of adulthood is one of negativity and pessimism.... ... middle of paper ... ...
The sunless sky covered the woods over the treetops which created a canopy over my head. The crimson and auburn foliage was a magnificent sight, as this was the season known as Fall. There was a gentle breeze, creating the single sound of rustling leaves. The leaves appeared as though they were dying to fall out of the tree and join their companions on the forest floor. Together with pine needles and other flora the leaves formed a thick springy carpet for me to walk upon.
The sunset was not spectacular that day. The vivid ruby and tangerine streaks that so often caressed the blue brow of the sky were sleeping, hidden behind the heavy mists. There are some days when the sunlight seems to dance, to weave and frolic with tongues of fire between the blades of grass. Not on that day. That evening, the yellow light was sickly. It diffused softly through the gray curtains with a shrouded light that just failed to illuminate. High up in the treetops, the leaves swayed, but on the ground, the grass was silent, limp and unmoving. The sun set and the earth waited.
The sun was still below the horizon but the clouds above the mountains were tainted the color of pomegranates. Around me the shadows seemed empty. I tried not to look into the brush as I walked down the driveway. I had stopped before, looking to see the back of the shadows; staring hard, only to have them retreat from my eyes indefinitely. Invisible birds called from within. Their sound followed me down the driveway and onto the road.