Personal Narrative Essay: Growing Up In The Bronx

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Still after 6 years, I am not used to life in the suburbs. The houses in perfect alignment, lawns with perfect hedges, and dogs roaming without large, spiked collars. I look to my window, and the splendid manifestation of the suburban delusion in life and living color awkwardly gawks back. After all, it was not long ago that that angelic green grass was repugnant grey concrete, that that white poodle was a growling greyhound, and that the glass on the window was barricaded by harrowing metal bars, where outside, the American dream had mutated into the American nightmare. I was raised in the south Bronx of New York City. The coldest, darkest armpit of NY. My first prayer was in the Bronx, as was my first tumble from a bike and my first best friend. But one thing I’ve learned growing up in the Bronx is that . The would be gone the next morning. That was the Bronx. Instead of the chirp of a morning bird or the jingle of an ice cream truck, the pattering of cockroaches and tire screeches had let me know I was home. That was the Bronx. Instead of romping in my backyard, I was reminded that I didn’t have one, and settled for the concrete space in front of my complex. That was the…show more content…
It impels me to save my allowance in order to donate several hundred dollars to charitable organizations. It enables a compassion that allows me to wake every Saturday morning to volunteer at the . The cognizance that life is temporary and that I am imperfect keeps me humble. No matter how life changes, my values remain the same. Uniting former gang members and police officers who would have despised the sight of each other 20, 30 something odd years ago. Tutoring young kids who the previous year were held back because their reading was not up to par. It’s they who grant me the motivation to improve myself and

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