bfallers_30
02-07-2007, 07:52 PM
I am currently writing a two page paper for my english class, and I am stuck at the end of page one. The topic of the paper is that we had to take a photo of ourselves from our past and compare it to who we are now. I chose a photo of me and my father(who has passed) . I was the age of two...ahahasdjljalskdjf.. I need help...here is what i have thus far.
Photo Memoir
My family was your everyday average “Leave it to Beaver”, replica. A Loving parents with a father who went to work everyday while mother stayed home with the children. What America would call the perfect family? In all actuality, my family was far from what America would call perfect.
Growing up I always knew the man I called my dad wasn’t my biological father. My older brother’s and sister made sure I never thought otherwise. My mother had been divorced and re-married a few times which caused us to move around quite a bit. No matter where we went, I always had the same picture at my bedside, a sort of security I guess you could say. That picture was of my father and I, taken the day before he passed away. My father had re-married as well before he passed away. The photo was taken by his new wife, my stepmother.
In this photo I was two years old; just four months shy of my third birthday. I had not yet attended my first day of school, and gotten my first boyfriend on the bus ride home. I had not yet learned how to play the piano, or gotten the lead role as little red riding hood in my fourth grade play. When this photo was taken I had not yet become a young woman.
I had no idea that my life you be so difficult or as wonderful as it has been so far. That moment in time when the photo was taken, I had yet to experience life. To experience love, and heartbreak almost unbearable at times.
Photo Memoir
My family was your everyday average “Leave it to Beaver”, replica. A Loving parents with a father who went to work everyday while mother stayed home with the children. What America would call the perfect family? In all actuality, my family was far from what America would call perfect.
Growing up I always knew the man I called my dad wasn’t my biological father. My older brother’s and sister made sure I never thought otherwise. My mother had been divorced and re-married a few times which caused us to move around quite a bit. No matter where we went, I always had the same picture at my bedside, a sort of security I guess you could say. That picture was of my father and I, taken the day before he passed away. My father had re-married as well before he passed away. The photo was taken by his new wife, my stepmother.
In this photo I was two years old; just four months shy of my third birthday. I had not yet attended my first day of school, and gotten my first boyfriend on the bus ride home. I had not yet learned how to play the piano, or gotten the lead role as little red riding hood in my fourth grade play. When this photo was taken I had not yet become a young woman.
I had no idea that my life you be so difficult or as wonderful as it has been so far. That moment in time when the photo was taken, I had yet to experience life. To experience love, and heartbreak almost unbearable at times.