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Peer pressure and its effects
Peer pressure and its effects
Effects of peer pressure
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September 16, 2007 was the day of my best friend Anthony’s death. I was 12 years old. I remember it like if it was yesterday. Anthony and I met in the same neighborhood around the time I turned 11 years old. At the time Anthony was 15 years old. Anthony was the type of kid everybody adored. He always had a smile on his face and for whatever reason, you may have been having a bad day, but Anthony could always turn that day upside down. Destiny was not always kind to me and Anthony. We both were raised around drugs and gun shots. Not everyone gets to escape from the hood and Anthony was a prime example of this. The day started like every other day. I woke up early in the morning and got ready for school. Anthony and I went to the same school. We both had first and third period class together. I remember seeing him that day standing outside near the school doorway, like always, joking around. I walked up to Anthony and we hung out with our friends for a few minutes before the bell rang. Anthony and I went to class together and sat at the same table. We were talking about a kid we had problems with up on the block. That same day I had had a fight with a kid who was trying to play me by talking to my girl. I was put in after school detention for fighting him. After being in detention for an hour and a half they let …show more content…
Anthony was on his way home and two kids got Anthony alone and killed him because they wanted his money. Anthony ran 2 blocks before he finally got to my house and died. The kid who killed Anthony was found in less than 24 hours. Anthony did not have a family. The only family he had was my family. Anthony made lot of money, but I’m sure he would turn it all in just to be alive again for one day. I will never forget the looks in his eyes. Even though he know he was about to die Anthony smiled for the last time. I will never forget Anthony and how he influenced our
Despite the differences we share many similar diversions such as good quality time with our families. Arthur was known to spend countless hours reading and listening to music with his mom. Yet at the age of 6 Arthur had to face one of the most traumatic expierences of his life when he lost his mother, Matti Ashe, to a fatal case of toxemia while in labor. Similar to this experience I lost my grandfather at the age of five. Although I was impacted greatly it was not a loss as great as Arthurs loss of a loving mother. I Can recall the day it happened just as well as Arthur recalled the details of when he last saw his mother.
October 2, 2001 started like a normal Tuesday morning at Hotchkiss High School. As I lazily wandered past Mr. Schelle into his advisory class, I noticed that he seemed quite upset about something. I dared not ask what had happened, for it was really none of my business. Soon after the bell rang, Mr. Schelle, whose eyes were welling up with tears, struggled to compose himself enough to say, "Guys, I've got some bad news for you." I sensed a bit of hesitation as he proceeded to read a letter as clearly as possible. The letter explained that Derek Grillos, a sophomore at our school and a good friend of mine, had died the night before. At first, my mind failed to register his name. I sat wondering who Derek Grillos was. As everyone questioned Mr. Schelle to find out who Derek was, I sat quiet. Finally, the fact that Derek, my "soccer buddy", had died hit me and hit me hard. I could feel my eyes darting back and forth in confusion and my heart pounding so hard I could feel it in my toes. I stared aimlessly at everything yet nothing. I su...
It is amazing how many things we take for granted. We make plans for the day, and don't think twice about how those plans can be taken away in the blink of an eye. I never thought much about it myself, until I was faced with the shock, and undeniable truth of my cousin's death. I don't think anyone really thinks about tragedy until they are actually faced with shocking news.
Megan Meier, age 13, was depressed for years before she committed suicide. She was unhappy and hated life until one day. She checked her MySpace and had a message from a boy named Josh Evans. They soon became cyber friends and because he lived in another state, they could no...
After, she passed, life seemed darker for awhile. Perhaps, losing loved ones, are physical and mental blows, that I can’t seem to get away from. I would cry for days with wondering thoughts on how I could have saved them. As family and friends disappeared whether by death or just lack of communications in friendships, it had negatively affected me, wondering when will the last day be. However, as I begun to face the realities of life, I am learning that you enjoy life today and focus on whatever comes when it comes.
To start with, I have had a lot go on in the past few weeks, involving family. My oldest brother Rowdy was arrested and that was really rough for me because I look up to him. My Mom bailed him out and he came home. He was so happy to be out and I talked with him and it was awesome to have him back. My grandma called Rowdy and asked if he could come over to eat and talk. Rowdy said he’ll be right over. He then takes off on the motorcycle and he doesn’t come back for a while and I’m freaking out. Then my mom calls me saying Rowdy was in a motorcycle accident and that she will be home soon. My Mom comes home and gets me then we rush to the hospital to see him. Thankfully he wasn’t too bad, he has a broken clavicle and severe road rash. Several days later he has surgery done to his clavicle and he is now in a lot of pain. It is hard to see
By the time I got home, my brother had already arrived and was enthusiastically recounting the day’s events to my mom, who had obviously been crying. When he finally stopped carrying on, my mom told me to sit down and then she told me. I will never forget her exact words or even the way she said them. “Megan committed suicide today.” I stared blankly at her, I knew she had to be lying, she had to be wrong, Megan would never do that. We had been too good of friends for too long, I knew her too well. Megan was always happy, she always had a joke to tell. She had such a bright future, she was an excellent athlete and it seemed as though she succeeded in everything she tried.
The sun gleamed vibrantly on August 5, 2008, but I did not sense the warmth as my thoughts were elsewhere. I was only six years old at the time and preparing to begin first grade in less than one month. As I crossed the threshold into the home of my best friend, I had a sensation everything would change. At such a young age, I was having to tell my best friend goodbye. Blake Basgall had leukemia and would not be around when I returned from vacation, according to my mom. That day, I had spent hours coloring a picture in his favorite color, blue, so I could give it to him prior to heading to my grandma’s for the week. Blake was my first real friend. He had a thoughtful and daring heart through all of his surgeries and medication treatments. Blake Lee Basgall would become an inspiration
My father passed away in 1991, two weeks before Christmas. I was 25 at the time but until then I had not grown up. I was still an ignorant youth that only cared about finding the next party. My role model was now gone, forcing me to reevaluate the direction my life was heading. I needed to reexamine some of the lessons he taught me through the years.
The concept of ‘the Death of the Author’ was proposed by, French philosopher and literary theorist, Roland Barthes in his essay with the same title. He proposed a paradigm shift in the way that authorship should be viewed by the ‘Critic’. In opposition to the classical model of critique, Barthes proposed that the focus should be on the readers experience and interpretation; he proposed the idea of ‘readerly’ and ‘writerly’ texts. Rather than focusing on the author’s intent, his or her past building up to the text and the singularity of his or her intent, he suggested that once a text has been committed to written words it transcends into a ‘tissue of signs’ and ‘immense dictionary from which he [the writer] draws a writing that can know no halt’ [Barthes 1977, 147] and the only thing of importance to the critique of the work would be the experience of the reader. He proposed that ‘the work’ itself is merely a string of words that, without a reader, would be void of meaning. He also suggests that these two polar opposites were mutually exclusive of one another and that ‘the birth of the reader must be at the cost of the death of the Author’ [Barthes 1977, 148]. The discussion that follows will be based on Stephen Heath’s French-to-English translation of Barthes work from the compilation of essays, ‘Image – Music – Text’, translated and compiled in 1977 (three years before Roland Barthes’ death).
When 12 years old came around, nothing could’ve primed me for the amount of devastation that was to submerge my happy little world. Two months after my birthday, I received word that my renowned and dearly loved, Uncle Dean, had been killed in an unfortunate automobile accident. Crushed, yet filled with a strange numbness, I became withdrawn and dwindled in disbelief. “How could this be?” I would repeat those words of this question over and over to myself, as if it were some magical mantra that could resurrect my deceased best ally. I began taking in the gravity of what this all meant: no more “piggy-back” rides, no more wrestling matches, no more late-night video game contests, ultimately no more fun with Uncle Dean, ever. I never got a opportunity to say good-bye.
It was a bright and warm summer morning when I woke from a good night sleep. Nothing prepared me for the dark, gloomy and sad day ahead of me. You see, this was the day that my cousin and childhood best friend passed away in an auto accident.
The year 2013 was the most deviating year for me, many were killed. That year my friend died, without accomplishing all that she wanted. I remember her saying many times that she wanted to go back to school, but kept on getting discouragement from her brother. She was never true to herself, instead was true to others. My friend death didn’t make me gloomy; it just made me want to live my life to the fullest and be true to myself. Many people did not realize until the end of their life all the things that wish to accomplish, and been happy is a choice. The most common regret is when looking back they see how many dreams has gone unfilled. Therefore the death of my friend makes me want to live my life to the fullest, be true to myself, not the live other people expected me to have, and I wish my friend had allowed herself to be happy. I do things every day that will make me happy, and I encourage people to do so. I live my life likes little children who never hesitate if they want something because they know that, if they lose it they will burst into tears. I have been have been havi...
My brother’s junior year I had seen a little improvement, but not enough. My mom had gotten remarried that summer; I think that had a little to do with his behavior improving, due to their being a man in the house. Sadly hakim wasn’t able to change his conduct quick enough. On October 10, 2016 he snuck out the house; on his way back, he was shot and killed by a drive by shooting. It all happen so fast my mom came screaming in my room “Keelah, Keelah , Keelah!” I had never woken up so fast in my life. She told me my brother was shot, and my heart just dropped.
I was having a weekend getaway with my cousins when, at midnight, we were told that we had to return immediately. I was unaware of the gravity of why I had to come back home so soon, but I knew that it was severe. When I arrived to the hospital, I found out my brother had suffered a heart attack and passed away. I was numb and didn’t know how to process that information. He was my guiding light on my journey going back to school and coping with the death of my first brother. Instead of crying hysterically, all I could think of was “situations like this need to be prevented.” It could have been easy to give up but perseverance and resilience were my only options. Giving up on my dreams had never crossed my mind but my fortitude grew stronger with every wrench thrown my