Page One English 12Tanner Trimble
Period 69/16/09 Story of an Unknown Man
“And in those days shall men seek Death, and shall not find it; and shall desire to die, and death shall flee from them” Rev. 9:6. This story is not meant to be full of happy memories that kept me warm and cuddly inside. What lesson can be taught from having everything handed to a person? How can a person who has never experienced pain truly talk about happiness? I don’t plan to answer this, because that isn’t the point of this. The point to talk about how memories in our lives have taught us what we know right now. Only through our past experience can anyone understand how we are taught. With that in mind you must understand that I am not going to talk about happy experiences, because my painful past describes more of who I am. I will start off with days in my past that effected me the most. These include memories that may make you ill to the stomach, but I didn’t write the story prompt. Evil is everyone, and good is only part of us. It doesn’t matter if you believe in God or the theory of evolution. We all have the essential evil within us. We are born into a world of pain and that pain spawns sin in any form. Those who have everything are pressured by greed and gluttony. Those who are beaten and neglected tend to go off and do crimes. I am one of the few to get away from that path. Yet, that doesn’t make me good. My evil is inside just like yours is,
and our good is the only shield we have to fight it off. Some day the evil may get out and it is our job to restrain for as long as we can. My father never knew this lesson and so his good shield never protected anyone. Part One: The Evil of My Father My child hood started off in pain. The day I was born and cleaned up, ready to go home, my father stole me from the hospital. My father’s name is Biff Boyd, and he is the essence of pure disillusion. It may not be my place to tell you about my father, but in order to understand what I grew up with you must understand the man. My father is Scottish born, which you already know he is a drinker. He has owned an escort service, was put in jail for armed robbery, owned and illegal car dealer ship and he even bought my mother a stolen car for their marriage. The day he kidnapped me my uncle caught him, and fought him. My uncle is the man that inspired me to be a fighter. Two weeks later my father and my mother got a divorce. The only memory I have till the age of three is my birthday party. I lived in Utah at the time and my new stepfather was there. He got the Green Power Ranger to be the entertainment at my party yet me and my brother thought it would be fun to mess with the Ranger. I went on all fours behind the Ranger and my brother went to push him. Only problem was the Ranger was a bit smarter then that. He moved out of the way and my brother fell over me. My brother cut his lip and I broke a rib at the time. The Ranger didn’t get mad he just continued on showing moves but my brother went to a corner to pout. The next memory I have is at the age of four, maybe even five. Biff had been drinking and driving with me in the front seat. We where driving for twelve minutes until the crash started.
He made his way onto a one way street and he was going the wrong way. His expedition ran into another car. The other driver was a handicapped man with a specialized car. I remember my stomach pushing into the seat belt. The pain I felt made me black out. My father was arrested and I was put into a hospital and taken out of the area and to the hospital. From the hospital I was fixed up and checked for internal bleeding. I didn’t have it but they put tubes up my nose and kept me there for a week. I can remember the feeling of dying because I ripped the tubes out of my nose. The worst of my life didn’t start until I was six years old. My father got drunk and began to get worse. My stepsister ran into the room crying, but not hurt. My father came, screaming and I could tell he wanted to hurt some one. He moved into the way of my sister and was thrown into a door. My father grabbed my toy and threw it into the wall. It was one of those furbies, black and white. The cops came over and hog tied him down. Yet, he was always a sly man. He talked his way out and the next day he kidnapped me. I didn’t know I was kidnapped until the cops came to get me. The whole time I thought I was on vacation at Lake Powel. I suppressed a lot of thinks in my past, but once I started to think about them I remembered what really happened. While on the house boat on the lake my father and some friends where doing drugs and drinking like crazy. They pushed me into the water, threw me off the top and tried to get me to take a hit. I was smart though. I knew that it was wrong to do what they tried to get me to do. I spent two days on the boat and was taken away on a police boat. My mother had a helicopter from a friend watching the house boat and that’s how they found me. The cops taught me how to play cards while my mother was driving down to the
police station. She had to come all the way from Boston so it took her around twelve hours. In court my father talked about how it was his right to take me to the Lake because it was his visitation time. He got out of trouble and still got part custody of me. Within four years, from six to ten, I remember numerous times that my father hit me. When I was eight I was playing with my dog, Wishbone. He was a golden retriever. Biff had the stench of musky beer on his person and with that smell I knew what was happening. My dog started barking at a passing car but Biff thought it was me that caused the barking. He threw his beer bottle at me and it nipped my side and shattered. I began developing psychological problems and got angrier. But when my father got angry the first thing I did was get my little siblings into their rooms and took the furry. My father would get mad at my sister and I would say something to turn his attention on me. I would get pushed, hit, and beaten. The only times he beat me was when I had to stay at his house for a few weeks. When I was beaten he would tell me that if I told anyone that I would never see that family again. At the time I was worried about them getting hurt. Later I would realize that it wasn’t about them, it was always me he was after. I am the son of the wife he hated. When I was ten years old I had the most traumatic day of my life. My stepmother’s brother was staying with us at the time. I was still in the anger stages of my life and I would constantly back talk him. I would tell him that he wasn’t related to me so he didn’t have any say over me. His name was Chris. He was also an alcoholic so I had two threats in my life. Chris would scar me by getting drunk and threatening to kill me. One day I got him past the point of no return. Chris pinned me to the ground and poured a beer down my throat. The feeling of drowning was taking over my senses. I got up and spit the beer out. The beer hit my fathers leg and that seemed to be my misfortune. Biff chased me around the house and pushed me down a flight of stairs. My body hit the door at the bottom and my face cut open at the corner of my left eye. He took me to the doctors and made me tell them it was a biking accident. I did and once again my father got away with abuse. When a husband hits his wife and the wife does not say anything, they call it battered wife syndrome. They start to think it was their fault, or that they can never escape. That was me at the earlier ages of my life. I was constantly thinking that I had no way out of being thrown around. I would either think my brother and sister where in trouble, or I deserved the beating. But not kid deserves to be hit by their parent, not even the evilest child known to man. It was at the age of thirteen that I finally got away from my father. He came home one day, drunk and sweating from a game of golf. He headed for the refrigerator to grab another cold one. “What is that, your twelfth one today?” I smirked and made fun of him. It was stupid on my part, but I was no longer afraid of him. He pushed me into the dishes, cutting my arm. He chuckled and turned away. At this moment I knew my siblings where never going to be hit. I knew my father was only after one child and that child was me. I grabbed Biffs golf club and swung. The club hit my father in the head and he had to go to the hospital. Later he put me on trial for Assault with a deadly weapon. The evidence was that I hit him after he turned away and that my life had never been in danger. My lawyer advised me to plea bargain for an easier sentence. I did and had to do two hundred in fifty hours, plus probation, drug tests, and therapy. But I was free and willing to do anything to keep it that way. It has been four years since I have seen that spawn of disgust, my father. The lesson that I learned here was the most painful one some one could go through. Everyone is evil and no one deserves to take your innocence away. Those who do should get no respect from the world and if there is a God then they should repent. Hopefully those who abuse will see the mistakes of their ways and stop, but I will never respect them even if they do stop. Part Two: Extracurricular activities In Colorado I developed a fighting problem. Whenever a kid messed with me I would go crazy and beat them up. It was at the age twelve that I changed from beating up any kid to beating up those who where bullies. My elementary school knew me as a protector. I would never let any bully get away because when I saw them I saw my father. I had been playing football for four years. I can still remember my first game. I was a running back and scored two touchdowns. My third year playing I made fun off the coaches son who was the quarterback. The coach made me take his spot and my first run I made it past the defensive side. He told the offensive line to not do anything and even then I made it through. I played as second string quarter back. After my third game I got bigger and had to play the line. It was my fifth year that I began to love the Defensive Line. I didn’t only play football for eight years. I also played basketball for four. My team and I where like a pack. We always stuck together. But out of the twelve players there was three that where my best friends. We played the saxophone together as well. We did everything together. When I moved it was hard, but I knew that life might get better. I also dabbled in a few other sports. I played baseball for six years, soccer for four and I tried a few things like racquetball. Nothing compared to football thought. Yet, my sophomore year playing I hurt my shoulder during tryout season. I had to quite football and try something knew. I started debate and know I am one of two ofthe Alta Debate Team’s best impromptu speakers. I won Region and did very well in Nationals. I worked hard to form my speaking ability and if I wasn’t going to the army after high school I would have a well paying job as a motivational speaker with my stepfather. I would have to say my biggest hobby is writing. I have written poems, short stories, beginnings of books and even songs. My mother is a singer and so I developed a love for writing rap music for fun. I had a folder that had twenty poems in them. Seven where happy poems and thirteen where more depressing. My books came out to be mostly fantasy types. The ideas that where going through my head became the closet thing I had to freedom. I would play video games, watch TV and write all so I could live someone else’s life. One that had adventure, romance and even horror. The lessons I learned with my extracurricular life is that even if you hit one door, another will open.
Part Three: Anger and My Parents Relationship When I got away from my father I was diagnosed Bipolar and A.D.H.D. My parents sent me to a psychiatrist to figure out how to help me. The man’s name was Dr. Davies and he didn’t do a single thing. He was waiting for me to open up to him instead of trying to get to the bottom of the problem. I knew that my parents where losing a lot of money so I decided to stop seeing him. But I knew that my anger was causing even more problems for my parents. I researched Bipolar disorders and found out that it was very psychological more then physical. From the age of fourteen in a half to now I have meditated for one hour every day. I would sit in my room and concentrate on what I wanted out of life. That concentration easily got rid of my anger. The furry that was inside was suddenly gone and I could finally breath the fresh air of freedom. I have not been angry about anything for two years. When I moved to Utah during seventh grade my parents began having even more problems. But they where not problems that I could fix. My mother was feeling lonely since her husband was always out of town speaking. She began to call all her old friend and would hang with one of them every day. I never saw my mother, not the same way at least. But all of her friends hurt her some way. They tricked her or had her spend money because they where poor. She would call people that harmed others ‘the wolves’. I tried so hard to help her out but it seemed to be a lost cause. So for a whole year I quite trying to help her. But all the pain I have been through and that I was going through took a large toll on my academic life. My parents seemed to no longer love each other, and when they seemed to try I could tell it was a fraud. I never blamed my stepfather because he supported my family and my mother dwindled it away. My stepfather is the only true role model I have in my life.
Part Four: Jacob Noel Trimble, my brother My older brother had a large impact on my life. His real father was never around so he didn’t know what I went through. But he did have to experience my mothers bipolar craziness more then I did. I was the good child, the one that stayed away from trouble or at least hid it. My brother was the most popular kid in Colorado. He had all the friends, the hot girlfriends and he was even the second best running back in the state. He taught me a lot of things on the way, even if he didn’t try to. He helped me develop my skills in football and fighting. He taught me to be less annoying to kids so that I seemed a bit cooler. My brother had a painful past but he never understood what I went through. The biggest thing he taught me though was to never blame others for your problems. He did that through his whole life. When he got bad grades in college he would blame it on no one teaching him how to study correctly. When he quite football at college he blamed my mother for making it seem like he was important on the team and that the coach knew who he was. My brother was always blaming the world for his problems and I knew I had to change my outlook on life. I thank the people in my life for what they have taught me, even though the methods where emotionally damaging to me. But I do not blame everyone for my problems. I have only learned to blame one person and that person is me.
Part Five: My Stepfather My stepfather, Ronald Baron, had the easiest beginning life of anyone I knew. His parents where rich and so he went to the best schools in New York. His father died when he was a teenager but he always strived to be better. He is my biggest role model because he has taught me how to perfect myself or at least project myself to others better. He tried helping me in school and the beginning of my life I had great grades. But he was a very busy man. He is a Motivational Speaker and he goes around teaching business owners how to protect their businesses. He led me to love speaking and it was a large part of who I want to be. But he never understood the fighting part of my life. I soon began to use fighting as a way of expressing myself rather then hurting others. Fighting, to me, is an art that others judge because they do not understand. My stepfather never did understand that but I knew it was because he was brought up in an academic lifestyle.
Part Six: Moving three times When I three I moved to Boston where I spent most my time playing soccer. I would have to take a six hour flight to see my father and then go back. When I was six we moved to Colorado. I developed many friends and close people. I played many sports and that was the only freedom I seemed to have at that moment. But when I was twelve we moved to Utah. My father told my parents that it would be good for me to be near my other family. When we moved I remember the pain I felt. I knew that life for me was going to get harder because I would be away from my freedom and closer to the clutches of despair, known as my father. But I didn’t argue because, once again, I thought it was a lost cause. When I moved here I got a few friends but usually I stayed to myself. I was a bit annoying at that age, because I did want attention from some one. The lesson I learned when I moved was that life throws you bad curve balls. Its up to me to figure out how to hit them into the right direction
Part Seven: My third girlfriend My first two girlfriends where just elementary school flings. When I got to Utah I met a girl named Erica Vlahinos. She was Greek Orthodox and interesting to me. We always hung out and tried to keep a good relationship. But she wanted more. Her older sister was always filling her head with sexual things making her interest peak. I knew that, at that age, the damage could be catastrophic. Because of that she cheated on me with a few high school guys. I found out over spring break and my heart was crushed. I spent the whole week in my room. I ate very little and sleep maybe two hours a day. My parents wanted to check me into a mental institution but I refused to go. I pushed my self off my bed and tried to figure out how I was going to get better. I just did though. I didn’t know how I did it but I got over the pain. After Erica, getting a relationship was hard. I was straightforward with girls so that they knew what kind of guy I was. That way I wouldn’t be hurt the same way. But every girl I tried to be myself with hurt me some way. This year I decided not to care as much and it worked. I found a girl that I really liked, and that she said liked me back. But she met a girl I flirted with last year and for some reason decided that she no longer liked me. The hurting wasn’t nearly as bad, because I knew what to expect. I learned that if I don’t try to do something, that something turns out working for me.
To conclude my long essay, we must all strive to be better people. We cannot turn out to be the mostly evil people that my father is an example of. If we want to be good then we must believe that we have a reason in life to be better. My life was hard, but I do not blame the world for it. My stepfather always said that your past is like dog crap, you walk over it and then it is behind you. That is what my past is, it is behind me. This essay did make me look back at my past but it wasn’t as hard to do. I know that I can be a better person because I never want to be my father. I want to be me. I am Tanner Trimble, and that’s all I need to be.
English 12 Tanner Trimble
Period 6 9/16/09
Story of an Unknown Man
“And in those days shall men seek Death, and shall not find it; and shall desire to die, and death shall flee from them” Rev. 9:6. This story is not meant to be full of happy memories that kept me warm and cuddly inside. What lesson can be taught from having everything handed to a person? How can a person who has never experienced pain truly talk about happiness? I don’t plan to answer this, because that isn’t the point of this. The point to talk about how memories in our lives have taught us what we know right now. Only through our past experience can anyone understand how we are taught. With that in mind you must understand that I am not going to talk about happy experiences, because my painful past describes more of who I am. I will start off with days in my past that effected me the most. These include memories that may make you ill to the stomach, but I didn’t write the story prompt.
Evil is everyone, and good is only part of us. It doesn’t matter if you believe in God or the theory of evolution. We all have the essential evil within us. We are born into a world of pain and that pain spawns sin in any form. Those who have everything are pressured by greed and gluttony. Those who are beaten and neglected tend to go off and do crimes. I am one of the few to get away from that path. Yet, that doesn’t make me good. My evil is inside just like yours is,
and our good is the only shield we have to fight it off. Some day the evil may get out and it is our job to restrain for as long as we can. My father never knew this lesson and so his good shield never protected anyone.
Part One: The Evil of My Father
My child hood started off in pain. The day I was born and cleaned up, ready to go home, my father stole me from the hospital. My father’s name is Biff Boyd, and he is the essence of pure disillusion. It may not be my place to tell you about my father, but in order to understand what I grew up with you must understand the man. My father is Scottish born, which you already know he is a drinker. He has owned an escort service, was put in jail for armed robbery, owned and illegal car dealer ship and he even bought my mother a stolen car for their marriage. The day he kidnapped me my uncle caught him, and fought him. My uncle is the man that inspired me to be a fighter. Two weeks later my father and my mother got a divorce. The only memory I have till the age of three is my birthday party. I lived in Utah at the time and my new stepfather was there. He got the Green Power Ranger to be the entertainment at my party yet me and my brother thought it would be fun to mess with the Ranger. I went on all fours behind the Ranger and my brother went to push him. Only problem was the Ranger was a bit smarter then that. He moved out of the way and my brother fell over me. My brother cut his lip and I broke a rib at the time. The Ranger didn’t get mad he just continued on showing moves but my brother went to a corner to pout.
The next memory I have is at the age of four, maybe even five. Biff had been drinking and driving with me in the front seat. We where driving for twelve minutes until the crash started.
He made his way onto a one way street and he was going the wrong way. His expedition ran into another car. The other driver was a handicapped man with a specialized car. I remember my stomach pushing into the seat belt. The pain I felt made me black out. My father was arrested and I was put into a hospital and taken out of the area and to the hospital. From the hospital I was fixed up and checked for internal bleeding. I didn’t have it but they put tubes up my nose and kept me there for a week. I can remember the feeling of dying because I ripped the tubes out of my nose.
The worst of my life didn’t start until I was six years old. My father got drunk and began to get worse. My stepsister ran into the room crying, but not hurt. My father came, screaming and I could tell he wanted to hurt some one. He moved into the way of my sister and was thrown into a door. My father grabbed my toy and threw it into the wall. It was one of those furbies, black and white. The cops came over and hog tied him down. Yet, he was always a sly man. He talked his way out and the next day he kidnapped me. I didn’t know I was kidnapped until the cops came to get me. The whole time I thought I was on vacation at Lake Powel.
I suppressed a lot of thinks in my past, but once I started to think about them I remembered what really happened. While on the house boat on the lake my father and some friends where doing drugs and drinking like crazy. They pushed me into the water, threw me off the top and tried to get me to take a hit. I was smart though. I knew that it was wrong to do what they tried to get me to do. I spent two days on the boat and was taken away on a police boat. My mother had a helicopter from a friend watching the house boat and that’s how they found me. The cops taught me how to play cards while my mother was driving down to the
police station. She had to come all the way from Boston so it took her around twelve hours. In court my father talked about how it was his right to take me to the Lake because it was his visitation time. He got out of trouble and still got part custody of me.
Within four years, from six to ten, I remember numerous times that my father hit me. When I was eight I was playing with my dog, Wishbone. He was a golden retriever. Biff had the stench of musky beer on his person and with that smell I knew what was happening. My dog started barking at a passing car but Biff thought it was me that caused the barking. He threw his beer bottle at me and it nipped my side and shattered. I began developing psychological problems and got angrier. But when my father got angry the first thing I did was get my little siblings into their rooms and took the furry. My father would get mad at my sister and I would say something to turn his attention on me. I would get pushed, hit, and beaten. The only times he beat me was when I had to stay at his house for a few weeks. When I was beaten he would tell me that if I told anyone that I would never see that family again. At the time I was worried about them getting hurt. Later I would realize that it wasn’t about them, it was always me he was after. I am the son of the wife he hated.
When I was ten years old I had the most traumatic day of my life. My stepmother’s brother was staying with us at the time. I was still in the anger stages of my life and I would constantly back talk him. I would tell him that he wasn’t related to me so he didn’t have any say over me. His name was Chris. He was also an alcoholic so I had two threats in my life. Chris would scar me by getting drunk and threatening to kill me. One day I got him past the point of no return. Chris pinned me to the ground and poured a beer down my throat. The feeling of drowning was taking over my senses. I got up and spit the beer out. The beer hit my fathers leg and that seemed to be my misfortune. Biff chased me around the house and pushed me down a flight of stairs. My body hit the door at the bottom and my face cut open at the corner of my left eye. He took me to the doctors and made me tell them it was a biking accident. I did and once again my father got away with abuse.
When a husband hits his wife and the wife does not say anything, they call it battered wife syndrome. They start to think it was their fault, or that they can never escape. That was me at the earlier ages of my life. I was constantly thinking that I had no way out of being thrown around. I would either think my brother and sister where in trouble, or I deserved the beating. But not kid deserves to be hit by their parent, not even the evilest child known to man.
It was at the age of thirteen that I finally got away from my father. He came home one day, drunk and sweating from a game of golf. He headed for the refrigerator to grab another cold one. “What is that, your twelfth one today?” I smirked and made fun of him. It was stupid on my part, but I was no longer afraid of him. He pushed me into the dishes, cutting my arm. He chuckled and turned away. At this moment I knew my siblings where never going to be hit. I knew my father was only after one child and that child was me. I grabbed Biffs golf club and swung. The club hit my father in the head and he had to go to the hospital. Later he put me on trial for Assault with a deadly weapon. The evidence was that I hit him after he turned away and that my life had never been in danger. My lawyer advised me to plea bargain for an easier sentence. I did and had to do two hundred in fifty hours, plus probation, drug tests, and therapy. But I was free and willing to do anything to keep it that way. It has been four years since I have seen that spawn of disgust, my father. The lesson that I learned here was the most painful one some one could go through. Everyone is evil and no one deserves to take your innocence away. Those who do should get no respect from the world and if there is a God then they should repent. Hopefully those who abuse will see the mistakes of their ways and stop, but I will never respect them even if they do stop.
Part Two: Extracurricular activities
In Colorado I developed a fighting problem. Whenever a kid messed with me I would go crazy and beat them up. It was at the age twelve that I changed from beating up any kid to beating up those who where bullies. My elementary school knew me as a protector. I would never let any bully get away because when I saw them I saw my father. I had been playing football for four years. I can still remember my first game. I was a running back and scored two touchdowns. My third year playing I made fun off the coaches son who was the quarterback. The coach made me take his spot and my first run I made it past the defensive side. He told the offensive line to not do anything and even then I made it through. I played as second string quarter back. After my third game I got bigger and had to play the line. It was my fifth year that I began to love the Defensive Line.
I didn’t only play football for eight years. I also played basketball for four. My team and I where like a pack. We always stuck together. But out of the twelve players there was three that where my best friends. We played the saxophone together as well. We did everything together. When I moved it was hard, but I knew that life might get better. I also dabbled in a few other sports. I played baseball for six years, soccer for four and I tried a few things like racquetball. Nothing compared to football thought.
Yet, my sophomore year playing I hurt my shoulder during tryout season. I had to quite football and try something knew. I started debate and know I am one of two of the Alta Debate Team’s best impromptu speakers. I won Region and did very well in Nationals. I worked hard to form my speaking ability and if I wasn’t going to the army after high school I would have a well paying job as a motivational speaker with my stepfather.
I would have to say my biggest hobby is writing. I have written poems, short stories, beginnings of books and even songs. My mother is a singer and so I developed a love for writing rap music for fun. I had a folder that had twenty poems in them. Seven where happy poems and thirteen where more depressing. My books came out to be mostly fantasy types. The ideas that where going through my head became the closet thing I had to freedom. I would play video games, watch TV and write all so I could live someone else’s life. One that had adventure, romance and even horror. The lessons I learned with my extracurricular life is that even if you hit one door, another will open.
Part Three: Anger and My Parents Relationship
When I got away from my father I was diagnosed Bipolar and A.D.H.D. My parents sent me to a psychiatrist to figure out how to help me. The man’s name was Dr. Davies and he didn’t do a single thing. He was waiting for me to open up to him instead of trying to get to the bottom of the problem. I knew that my parents where losing a lot of money so I decided to stop seeing him. But I knew that my anger was causing even more problems for my parents. I researched Bipolar disorders and found out that it was very psychological more then physical. From the age of fourteen in a half to now I have meditated for one hour every day. I would sit in my room and concentrate on what I wanted out of life. That concentration easily got rid of my anger. The furry that was inside was suddenly gone and I could finally breath the fresh air of freedom. I have not been angry about anything for two years.
When I moved to Utah during seventh grade my parents began having even more problems. But they where not problems that I could fix. My mother was feeling lonely since her husband was always out of town speaking. She began to call all her old friend and would hang with one of them every day. I never saw my mother, not the same way at least. But all of her friends hurt her some way. They tricked her or had her spend money because they where poor. She would call people that harmed others ‘the wolves’. I tried so hard to help her out but it seemed to be a lost cause. So for a whole year I quite trying to help her. But all the pain I have been through and that I was going through took a large toll on my academic life. My parents seemed to no longer love each other, and when they seemed to try I could tell it was a fraud. I never blamed my stepfather because he supported my family and my mother dwindled it away. My stepfather is the only true role model I have in my life.
Part Four: Jacob Noel Trimble, my brother
My older brother had a large impact on my life. His real father was never around so he didn’t know what I went through. But he did have to experience my mothers bipolar craziness more then I did. I was the good child, the one that stayed away from trouble or at least hid it. My brother was the most popular kid in Colorado. He had all the friends, the hot girlfriends and he was even the second best running back in the state. He taught me a lot of things on the way, even if he didn’t try to. He helped me develop my skills in football and fighting. He taught me to be less annoying to kids so that I seemed a bit cooler. My brother had a painful past but he never understood what I went through. The biggest thing he taught me though was to never blame others for your problems. He did that through his whole life. When he got bad grades in college he would blame it on no one teaching him how to study correctly. When he quite football at college he blamed my mother for making it seem like he was important on the team and that the coach knew who he was.
My brother was always blaming the world for his problems and I knew I had to change my outlook on life. I thank the people in my life for what they have taught me, even though the methods where emotionally damaging to me. But I do not blame everyone for my problems. I have only learned to blame one person and that person is me.
Part Five: My Stepfather
My stepfather, Ronald Baron, had the easiest beginning life of anyone I knew. His parents where rich and so he went to the best schools in New York. His father died when he was a teenager but he always strived to be better. He is my biggest role model because he has taught me how to perfect myself or at least project myself to others better. He tried helping me in school and the beginning of my life I had great grades. But he was a very busy man. He is a Motivational Speaker and he goes around teaching business owners how to protect their businesses. He led me to love speaking and it was a large part of who I want to be. But he never understood the fighting part of my life. I soon began to use fighting as a way of expressing myself rather then hurting others. Fighting, to me, is an art that others judge because they do not understand. My stepfather never did understand that but I knew it was because he was brought up in an academic lifestyle.
Part Six: Moving three times
When I three I moved to Boston where I spent most my time playing soccer. I would have to take a six hour flight to see my father and then go back. When I was six we moved to Colorado. I developed many friends and close people. I played many sports and that was the only freedom I seemed to have at that moment. But when I was twelve we moved to Utah. My father told my parents that it would be good for me to be near my other family. When we moved I remember the pain I felt. I knew that life for me was going to get harder because I would be away from my freedom and closer to the clutches of despair, known as my father. But I didn’t argue because, once again, I thought it was a lost cause. When I moved here I got a few friends but usually I stayed to myself. I was a bit annoying at that age, because I did want attention from some one. The lesson I learned when I moved was that life throws you bad curve balls. Its up to me to figure out how to hit them into the right direction
Part Seven: My third girlfriend
My first two girlfriends where just elementary school flings. When I got to Utah I met a girl named Erica Vlahinos. She was Greek Orthodox and interesting to me. We always hung out and tried to keep a good relationship. But she wanted more. Her older sister was always filling her head with sexual things making her interest peak. I knew that, at that age, the damage could be catastrophic. Because of that she cheated on me with a few high school guys. I found out over spring break and my heart was crushed. I spent the whole week in my room. I ate very little and sleep maybe two hours a day. My parents wanted to check me into a mental institution but I refused to go. I pushed my self off my bed and tried to figure out how I was going to get better. I just did though. I didn’t know how I did it but I got over the pain.
After Erica, getting a relationship was hard. I was straightforward with girls so that they knew what kind of guy I was. That way I wouldn’t be hurt the same way. But every girl I tried to be myself with hurt me some way. This year I decided not to care as much and it worked. I found a girl that I really liked, and that she said liked me back. But she met a girl I flirted with last year and for some reason decided that she no longer liked me. The hurting wasn’t nearly as bad, because I knew what to expect. I learned that if I don’t try to do something, that something turns out working for me.
To conclude my long essay, we must all strive to be better people. We cannot turn out to be the mostly evil people that my father is an example of. If we want to be good then we must believe that we have a reason in life to be better. My life was hard, but I do not blame the world for it. My stepfather always said that your past is like dog crap, you walk over it and then it is behind you. That is what my past is, it is behind me. This essay did make me look back at my past but it wasn’t as hard to do. I know that I can be a better person because I never want to be my father. I want to be me. I am Tanner Trimble, and that’s all I need to be.