Personal Narrative

Donovan Henson

9/12/2013

English 12

                       When I was 16, I moved to North Carolina; where my dad lived, away from Alaska; where my mom lived, for eight months. It was the one of the worst times of my life. I had decided that I was tired of Skagway, or at least tired of having what I thought was nothing to do. Little did I know that after moving I would have even fewer things to do. 
                       Every day I woke up, I felt so sick of North Carolina that I felt as if I was going to vomit. It wasn’t the change in climate, my family (at first), or even my friends. It was the overwhelming sense of boredom and the feeling that I would never do anything entertaining again. The nearest basketball court was a three-mile bike ride away, and for some reason my dad would always refuse me rides in the car.

“Hey, dad, could I get a ride to the basketball court?”, I would ask.

“No, there’s a bike up on the wall you can use.”

So whenever I did want to go to the court, I would take down the bike, and ride those three miles in sweltering heat. Nearly every time I arrived, I was so exhausted from the bike ride that I could barely muster up enough energy to play basketball.

            When I first arrived, my dad was living with my uncle, in a suburban neighborhood occupied by mostly upper-class people white, black, and Indian people, who lived in large two-story houses. These houses were nicer and larger than the average two-story houses; even the basements of the house were nice and held master bedrooms.  Less than 400 yards away from my house was a community swimming pool and outdoor basketball court. I often frequented both of them. My dad’s plan for me was to go to a new school that just opened. I was happy and had things I liked to do, until my dad got married. I wasn’t unhappy because I disliked his new bride, but because his new wife and my uncle, whose house we all lived in, did not get along.

            They had arguments about things like how much salt should be in cornbread, or why we shouldn’t eat fast-food, but said so many things behind one another’s back, and just made their relationship worse. I would overhear my step-mom squabbling and saying things like

“That food was so nasty and undercooked, we’re just going out to eat.”

My uncle too said things;

“Can you believe her? She’s ridiculous.”

They both however made sure that the other would not hear their snarky comments.

            So, instead of working out their problems like adults my step-mom convinced my dad that the only solution was moving. So, we moved into a house with more rent, where we would no longer have a swimming pool or basketball court, and relocated into a poor neighborhood filled with crime. Now, the closest basketball court was three-miles away, the nearest pool was at least ten, and I could no longer get rides from family to school unless they were to wake up half-an-hour earlier. Because I had no rides, I had to wake up at 6am to catch my bus.

            Oddly enough, school actually gave me something to do. Instead of sitting inside doing nothing all day, I got to meet new people. Plus, I got to get away from my family for a bit. Although Skagway offered more opportunities, what took up most of my time in North Carolina were sports: cross-country, football, and basketball. My dad continued to promise that we would go to a hockey rink and play pick-up games, but after several months, it became apparent to me that he had other things that he prioritized over sports. However, I could only participate in some of his hobbies, like working on motorcycles or taking apart phones for his work.

            Even though I had those few sports and hobbies to kill time with, I missed Skagway more than I thought was possible, and after missing out on Christmas vacation and not being able to see my friends, I was determined to come back home no matter what. I would often tell my mom that I wanted to return. After I told my dad of the situation, instead of saying he wants me to do what’s best or being just slightly supportive, he told me

“Some people can’t handle it.” If he meant I wanted to stop living with people who constantly irritated me with petty arguments, then yes, I couldn’t handle it. About mid-way through January, my mom had finally raised enough money to get me back. During the conversations I had with my dad about moving back to Skagway, I kept telling myself that if he was to sincerely ask me to stay with him, I would puff up my chest and deal with North Carolina. But instead of being asked to stay I just kept listening to him tell me things like

"I can't handle it" or "It's too tough, I get it." 

Needless to say, that's why I am in Skagway today, because I lacked the support from my dad that I needed, and I knew that my mom could give it to me in a much more applicable way. Being away from a place that I was so happy to leave, I first believed it to be great. You only realize how much home means to you once you are away from it for so long.

           

*Why did I want to move back to Skagway?

*How are Skagway’s athletics and opportunities different from Northwest’s?