It wasn’t until one fateful summer day that my view of the world changed forever. From the moment my dad told me we were going to a dirt bike race, I knew I wasn’t going to enjoy myself. It still seems so vivid, when I went to that race. Motocross is what they call it. The first time I went to a race was in the summer of 2015, and I was only 8. The first couple weeks into summer had been long and middling, but it had been a while since my friends asked me to hangout, so it felt even longer. I was down in the dumps, so I decided to go outside. Except when I went outside, the only thing I could see was my dad packing the truck. His bike, I could clearly see in the back of his truck. By now I was walking up to my dad, who was standing in our driveway. …show more content…
I had no idea how far Massachusetts was, and I didn’t want to know. I grimaced to show my discomfort with this, but my dad just said I looked like the grinch and cheered me up. So, on I went on a journey with my family, in a truck, for 5 hours. The drive was excruciating. It’s not like I had something to entertain myself, I didn’t have a phone, and I hadn’t brought my toys, so I felt stuck. And my parents didn’t treat me any better, they acted like I wasn’t there and just enjoyed the drive. When I finally arrived, I felt so low. The worst I’ve ever felt in all my 8 years of life. I was basically drowning in my own sweat. It was humid and barren, like a desert, and it was so windy, the dust was always in my clothes and
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...
It was the fall of 2010 and little did I know that my world was about to change drastically. We had moved back to Kenosha, Wisconsin in 2008 after living in Mexico, and I was starting to enjoy my life in the dairy state. My 6th Grade classes had just started at Bullen Middle School. It was right at this time when my world seemingly got flipped upside down. My parents had a family meeting and informed my siblings and me that we were moving to a small Iowa town called Orange City. I had feelings of nervousness, excitement, and sadness all mixed together.
When I was nine years old, my parents, two siblings, and uncle decided that it was time for us to move from Missouri up to chilly Massachusetts. Both my uncle and father were construction workers. There were so many projects in Massachusetts, it was sensible for us to move. Financially, this was also the solution to our money problems. All around we were all very excited for this move, all except for myself. About halfway to Massachusetts, I had a gut feeling that this was a bad decision. Upon arrival, I felt like a fish out of water and, I was. Everything was so different compared to how Missouri was.
As my family piled into our car for our four-hour drive, I sincerely hoped my brothers wouldn’t ruin the best chance that we’ve had in a long time. They were already arguing about who got what video game, and were not making my mom and dad feel any better about going. We were going to Illinois, to Chicago, to be even more specific. Chicago was the city I’d been dreaming about visiting for a long time. (Well, that and New York.) I could not believe that my parents were getting out of their comfort zone and taking us to a big city.
Tears streaming down my face, I kept walking ahead wherever my small, roughed up feet would take me unaware of the consequences of doing so. I felt tears roll off of my cheeks slowly, and then all at once. My shirt was wet and cold because of the salt filled tears, my nose was runny and I used my Winnie the Pooh hanky to wipe the snot away. Within seconds, my nose felt irritated despite the soft, microfiber of the handkerchief and my hands were tired. My vision became really cloudy and I could barely see where I was going. At this point, I had lost all hope and my heart felt heavy, pushing me down with every hurtful step I took. I wanted to sit down and wait for my parents to come to me themselves, so I did. I sat down next to the gate to one of the other rides and waited for what I thought was years of time. I remember getting strange looks from people, as they walked by and I kept wondering why. The ground I was sitting on was unwelcoming, rough, and littered. My pants would definitely need to take a spin in the laundry. Mom wouldn’t be too happy about this, not just the fact that my parents had forgotten me and left me to venture out into the world solitary but also the fact that my clothes were dirty and I had generally made a mess of
J.D. Salinger’s The Catcher In the Rye, flips through its pages like a worn-out diary, inviting readers into the intimate world of Holden Caulfield– a world filled with the raw emotions of adolescence, the need to belong, and authentic connections with those around him. With New York City’s lively neighborhood and the racket of societal expectations, Holden’s red hunting hat emerges as more than just an accessory to be worn, it becomes a concrete symbol of his humanity. This relic becomes witness to his sorrow, joy, and journey to belong. As his most cherished companion, the hat accompanies Holden on his adventures of self-discovery, offering itself as a reminder of the authenticity he is so desperate to find in a world that seems to demand
As we pull into the racetrack I look around. There are a ton of trailers which means a ton of cars, which also means a ton of people. Aside from all the diversity we all love the same thing, racing. We all unite together, we are all there for the same reason and we all have the same goal. To win the Kyle Larson Outlaw Kart Showcase. One day, two Nascar drivers, three classes, over 225 cars. The biggest outlaw kart race in history to ever be held, and I’m apart of it. I can feel the tension of everyone around me, whispers of people talking about all their set-up ¨secrets¨
It was the middle of the night when my mother got a phone call. The car ride was silent, my father had a blank stare and my mother was silently crying. I had no idea where we were headed but I knew this empty feeling in my stomach would not go away. Walking through the long bright hallways, passing through an endless amount of doors, we had finally arrived. As we
I was curled up in my warm blankets listening to the wind throw a tantrum outside. I thought about how much I hate wind, hoping that it would die down by the time I had to head out for school. I think suddenly thought about tents and sleeping bags on the sideway. I wondered how they were doing at that moment. I wondered if they were warm and how they were faring in the wind. I wondered how they ended up there and who’s to blame. I wondered why there wasn’t an easy solution. The next morning, as the bus approached the camp, instead of counting the tents and sleeping bags, I tried to look at their faces and reflect on how they got
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.
The experience that I will discuss in this Personal Narrative is when I was about six years old and just learning how to ride a dirt-bike for the first time.It will tell you about how I almost died but learned a valuable lesson. Even though it didn 't really change the way that I ride or if I wear a helmet or not! So when I was about six years old I had gotten my very first dirt-bike.I was over-joyed because my father had just bought me a new 50cc honda motorsport, which was one of the best bikes at the time.When he bought me this I would always ask to go out and ride day and night even if it was pouring down rain or a hundred degrees outside.He would always tell me"no it 's too dangerous" and I would just sit there and just complain for the rest of the day.
I seemed older, and I felt like I could do anything I wanted. I had been learning how to ride for two days now. Today was the day I succeeded, and I accomplished my goal. I tried completing my route again. I crashed the first time, then I finished the day off with completing the entire route.
This year has definitely been one of growth for me. This was the first year that I actually trained and committed to racing, and it was a season wrought with immense suffering, stupid mistakes and a little bad luck. All these feelings were topped off with lots of joy, smiles and a new perspective of bicycle racing. My last mountain bike race of the year was a time trial.
Looking back, who would have guessed that an accident that happened six years ago would have been the most life-changing, yet frightening moment of my life? It was the first day of summer in 2010, and I had just learned how to ride a bike. It was a typical Friday for me: my parents were getting home from work, and my siblings and I were packing for a camping trip in Lyndon, IL. Camping in Lyndon, IL is an event my whole family looks forward to in the summer since its outdoors, and there are many fun things to do.
It was December 4, 2014 and it was snowing outside. I was sitting at the kitchen table doing homework. All my family was downstairs, so I was all alone. My English teacher told us to write a paper about how I am different from my classmates. I was thinking about what in my life makes me different and slowly my whole life was playing like a movie in my head. The first memory that popped into my head was my fourth birthday party. It was supposed to be the best birthday ever. My dad was going to come. It was February 24, 2002 at my birthday party. There were so many people there, but I was so focused on my dad coming, no one else seemed to matter. My cake was pink and yellow with a bicycle on it. I had a red and blue inflatable that kids were