Personal Narrative: My Personal Migration

My Personal Migration Story

My recorded family history only goes 4 generations back from me. That’s on my mom’s side. On my dad’s side we once tried contacting my great grandmother. Things did not go well, “Leave the dead alone” she says and hangs up. There isn’t much to tell about my ancestors long ago. I’m stuck to telling the stories of those who lived within the past one or two centuries. The farthest back I can think of is when European immigrants came to America. Somewhere one of my ancestors got married and had children. I don’t know who or when or where, so don’t ask. Skip like half a century and you end up with members of the LDS church. After being persecuted in state after state they finally take up on a journey of phenomenal measure.

They build handcarts and pile all their essential belongings on them. Most weigh around 100 pounds. Only the sick and weak got to ride in the few wagons that they had. Dozens died during and after the trip.

But they populated the other side of the country so, not only was religious freedom achieved but the settlement of the states as well. They continued to settle the surrounding states like colorado and stuff, but it seems that my family stayed in the same place for some reason. I lose track of what happens between that and when my grandparents are born. I know that there were locust storms and presidents and wars. I know that the shape of our country change greatly. That’s about it. My grandparents were born in 1952 or 51. I’m not a hundred percent sure cause every time I ask they give me some cryptic answer like not young enough or 20. I know they both grew up on farms and lived in the same area. How they met I don’t know or ask. My grandpa fought in the the Vietnamese war and to this day suffer from the effects of the chemical Agent Orange. They had five daughters including my mother. My mother grew up went to college and met my dad sometime after. As you may be able to see, my grasp on time lines is very weak. They got married and about a year later had me. We lived in a small apartment and my parents had crappy jobs, in a crappy place. Somehow my dad applied for a job in the state department and got in, despite lacking many of the

advantages of other applicants. After I think we moved to Alexandria, Virginia when I was three.. We were assigned to go to Indonesia, but Samuel had just been born and was not legally or physically capable of traveling overseas. So went back to Utah to chill with my grandparents till sam turned two. My father though went on to our new “home”. We moved there later that year, and left nearly a year and a half later. Because both my parents knew spanish we almost immediately got our post to Bogota, Columbia. Once again we lived there for a year and a half then returned to the states, this time to Silver Springs, Maryland. We lived there for I think is 3 years. There Joseph was born and we left soon after to Miami, Florida to work a joint op with the Military, Department of State and Honduras’s government.
I lived there miserably for like two years. After my dad took the mandatory one year post in Kabul, Afghanistan. First he had to learn Arabic so we moved to Falls Church, Virginia to learn Dari. I was there for one school year. When he left for the other side of the world we went to Utah again bought a house and lived there. For one year it was one of the best and worst times of my life. Since his return I ended up here. I plan to live here till the end of the school year and continue on my personal story of migration.