Please Scroll Down to See Forums Below 
This essay is going to be about how I changed as a person when my father passed away...I know some of you are good at proof reading, so I would appreciate it if you notice anything that could have some work on it to point it out.
Oh and names and locations are taken out for privacy reasons.
Thanks.
As I sit here staring into space recounting who I was and what I experienced in the past, I feel an urge coming over myself…an urge to let go…But I don’t even know what I need to let go of. Collecting my thoughts and ideas is a chore, everything is a blur. I spent the first 8 years of my life living in (...)and then moved to where I now currently reside in (...). I lived with my father (...), mother (...), and younger brother (...), whom I respected, and loved with all my heart. I was content with who I was and what I did back then, as I took after my father, who had a prestigious position with the navy as a mechanical engineer and whom valued and taught education and life’s morals with the utmost intensity. In fact, my father did not allow television in our second house as he viewed it as a distraction to my school work even though I was only in 5th grade. I remember the nights where we would sit at the dinner table for hours completing homework, reading Hooked on Phonics, and working on random math equations, as he viewed math as the answer to everything it seemed. At the conclusion of our sessions he would make me a glass of Ovalteen and send me off to bed. Why I respected and modeled him so much I don’t know, as this daily routine would seem to be a nightmare for most children. I was a goody goody, I hardly ever did anything wrong, and when I did, I was given a good spanking by either a spatchula or a wooden stick. My father was old fashioned, he taught me the Golden Rules and read Aesop Fable’s to teach me morals that he thought made up a good person. Looking back, I see I spent most of my time with him when he was not at work or doing work on the house. His consistent education and morality lessons were a daily routine up until the summer of 2001, the year in which I turned fifteen years old and was preparing for my first year of high school, but then faded out, and not by his choice. When my father’s influential teachings and moralities stopped, I changed for what some may say would be for the worst. I became myself.
Oh and names and locations are taken out for privacy reasons.
Thanks.
As I sit here staring into space recounting who I was and what I experienced in the past, I feel an urge coming over myself…an urge to let go…But I don’t even know what I need to let go of. Collecting my thoughts and ideas is a chore, everything is a blur. I spent the first 8 years of my life living in (...)and then moved to where I now currently reside in (...). I lived with my father (...), mother (...), and younger brother (...), whom I respected, and loved with all my heart. I was content with who I was and what I did back then, as I took after my father, who had a prestigious position with the navy as a mechanical engineer and whom valued and taught education and life’s morals with the utmost intensity. In fact, my father did not allow television in our second house as he viewed it as a distraction to my school work even though I was only in 5th grade. I remember the nights where we would sit at the dinner table for hours completing homework, reading Hooked on Phonics, and working on random math equations, as he viewed math as the answer to everything it seemed. At the conclusion of our sessions he would make me a glass of Ovalteen and send me off to bed. Why I respected and modeled him so much I don’t know, as this daily routine would seem to be a nightmare for most children. I was a goody goody, I hardly ever did anything wrong, and when I did, I was given a good spanking by either a spatchula or a wooden stick. My father was old fashioned, he taught me the Golden Rules and read Aesop Fable’s to teach me morals that he thought made up a good person. Looking back, I see I spent most of my time with him when he was not at work or doing work on the house. His consistent education and morality lessons were a daily routine up until the summer of 2001, the year in which I turned fifteen years old and was preparing for my first year of high school, but then faded out, and not by his choice. When my father’s influential teachings and moralities stopped, I changed for what some may say would be for the worst. I became myself.
