|By Jadesark (Jadesark) on Wednesday, November 12, 2003 - 07:55 pm: Edit|
I just wrote this essay for english, but I'm thinking I might be able to use it as a college essay 9yeah, it sucks, I would have to edit it quite a bit, I'm sure)
Growing up in a two room apartment with four other members of your family and a messy divorice and child custody battle looming overhead sounds like it would be almost horrific. Ironically, my childhood years (from approximately ages seven to twelve) were the best times of my life.
When I was seven years old, my family and I moved to an apartment on 45th and Springfield avenue. It in was a nice little community that included a park, family-owned grocery stores, a church, etc. There were also many kids living close to me, something which I had never experienced before. My brother, Aman (a year younger than I) immediately clicked with the neighborhood kids, while my other brother, Nigel, was a bit too young (about three years old) to make friends. These kids were the best part about living in the area.
My best friends (Michael and Luam), Aman, and I decided to start a club. Being the imaginative kids we were, we made up positions for ourselves, dues (taxes for everyone who joined; about $0.05 a week), club rules, club games, secret club passwords, etc. Everyone joined as soon as they could; it was the cool thing to do. We held elections weekly, and, predictably, my brother and I always won the titles of King and Queen. With our high rankings, we got to decide what to do with the club treasury. Every few months we’d have club picnics, buying pizza, snacks, and soda. After a while, with the smooth and prosperous run of the club, we made a decision to donate to the “greater good”. We organized and held the annual club Olympics, charging parents $0.10 each to watch with the proceeds going to the church collection plate. We also organized neighborhood cleanups, where we’d go around with trash bags and pick up litter that we’d come across. With all of this club business, we became sort of characters of the neighborhood.
There were many different types of people around, but there were a few characters, staples, that made up the community. I still remember them vividly, as if I still knew them. We had our own names for these people, names that described perfectly to us who and what they were. They included “the money man”, “the old man and lady”, “the candy man”, “the bad boys” and “the boxer”. These people were as much a part of my experience as “the club”.
So what is it about these seemingly arbitrary details about my childhood that make them so memorable? It’s the details, the little things, that shape a person. Everything I’ve experienced has, in some way, contributed to who I am today. Looking back, I realize that my active role in the community was a sort of coping method for my not-so-stellar home life. I was able to ignore the chaos around me and focus on positive aspects of my surroundings, something which proves to be helpful throughout life.
BTW- 501 words
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